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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/8158-0.txt b/8158-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..bd35e28 --- /dev/null +++ b/8158-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,9429 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Barlasch of the Guard, by H. S. Merriman + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere 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 + + +Title: Barlasch of the Guard + +Author: H. S. Merriman + +Release Date: May, 2005 [EBook #8158] +Last Updated: October 26, 2016 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK BARLASCH OF THE GUARD *** + + + + +Produced by Les Bowler + + + + + + + + +BARLASCH OF THE GUARD + + +By Henry Seton Merriman + + + + + “And they that have not heard shall understand” + + + + +CONTENTS + +CHAPTER + + I. ALL ON A SUMMER'S DAY + II. A CAMPAIGNER + III. FATE + IV. THE CLOUDED MOON + V. THE WEISSEN ROSS'L + VI. THE SHOEMAKER OF KONIGSBERG + VII. THE WAY OF LOVE + VIII. A VISITATION + IX. THE GOLDEN GUESS + X. IN DEEP WATER + XI. THE WAVE MOVES ON + XII. FROM BORODINO + XIII. IN THE DAY OF REJOICING + XIV. MOSCOW + XV. THE GOAL + XVI. THE FIRST OF THE EBB + XVII. A FORLORN HOPE + XVIII. MISSING + XIX. KOWNO + XX. DESIREE'S CHOICE + XXI. ON THE WARSAW ROAD + XXII. THROUGH THE SHOALS + XXIII. AGAINST THE STREAM + XXIV. MATHILDE CHOOSES + XXV. A DESPATCH + XXVI. ON THE BRIDGE + XXVII. A FLASH OF MEMORY + XXVIII. VILNA + XXIX. THE BARGAIN + XXX. THE FULFILMENT + + + + +CHAPTER I. ALL ON A SUMMER'S DAY. + + + + Il faut devoir lever les yeux pour regarder ce qu'on aime. + +A few children had congregated on the steps of the Marienkirche at +Dantzig, because the door stood open. The verger, old Peter Koch--on +week days a locksmith--had told them that nothing was going to happen; +had been indiscreet enough to bid them go away. So they stayed, for they +were little girls. + +A wedding was in point of fact in progress within the towering walls of +the Marienkirche--a cathedral built of red brick in the great days of +the Hanseatic League. + +“Who is it?” asked a stout fishwife, stepping over the threshold to +whisper to Peter Koch. + +“It is the younger daughter of Antoine Sebastian,” replied the verger, +indicating with a nod of his head the house on the left-hand side of the +Frauengasse where Sebastian lived. There was a wealth of meaning in the +nod. For Peter Koch lived round the corner in the Kleine Schmiedegasse, +and of course--well, it is only neighbourly to take an interest in those +who drink milk from the same cow and buy wood from the same Jew. + +The fishwife looked thoughtfully down the Frauengasse where every house +has a different gable, and none of less than three floors within the +pitch of the roof. She singled out No. 36, which has a carved stone +balustrade to its broad verandah and a railing of wrought-iron on either +side of the steps descending from the verandah to the street. + +“They teach dancing?” she inquired. + +And Koch nodded again, taking snuff. + +“And he--the father?” + +“He scrapes a fiddle,” replied the verger, examining the lady's basket +of fish in a non-committing and final way. For a locksmith is almost +as confidential an adviser as a notary. The Dantzigers, moreover, are a +thrifty race and keep their money in a safe place; a habit which was to +cost many of them their lives before the coming of another June. + +The marriage service was a long one and not exhilarating. Through the +open door came no sound of organ or choir, but the deep and monotonous +drawl of one voice. There had been no ringing of bells. The north +countries, with the exception of Russia, require more than the ringing +of bells or the waving of flags to warm their hearts. They celebrate +their festivities with good meat and wine consumed decently behind +closed doors. + +Dantzig was in fact under a cloud. No larger than a man's hand, +this cloud had risen in Corsica forty-three years earlier. It had +overshadowed France. Its gloom had spread to Italy, Austria, Spain; had +penetrated so far north as Sweden; was now hanging sullen over Dantzig, +the greatest of the Hanseatic towns, the Free City. For a Dantziger +had never needed to say that he was a Pole or a Prussian, a Swede or a +subject of the Czar. He was a Dantziger. Which is tantamount to having +for a postal address a single name that is marked on the map. + +Napoleon had garrisoned the Free City with French troops some years +earlier, to the sullen astonishment of the citizens. And Prussia had not +objected for a very obvious reason. Within the last fourteen months the +garrison had been greatly augmented. The clouds seemed to be gathering +over this prosperous city of the north, where, however, men continued to +eat and drink, to marry and to be given in marriage as in another city +of the plain. + +Peter Koch replaced his snuff-stained handkerchief in the pocket of his +rusty cassock and stood aside. He murmured a few conventional words +of blessing, hard on the heels of stronger exhortations to the waiting +children. And Desiree Sebastian came out into the sunlight--Desiree +Sebastian no more. + +That she was destined for the sunlight was clearly written on her face +and in her gay, kind blue eyes. She was tall and straight and slim, +as are English and Polish and Danish girls, and none other in all the +world. But the colouring of her face and hair was more pronounced than +in the fairness of Anglo-Saxon youth. For her hair had a golden tinge in +it, and her skin was of that startlingly milky whiteness which is only +found in those who live round the frozen waters. Her eyes, too, were of +a clearer blue--like the blue of a summer sky over the Baltic sea. The +rosy colour was in her cheeks, her eyes were laughing. This was a bride +who had no misgivings. + +On seeing such a happy face returning from the altar the observer might +have concluded that the bride had assuredly attained her desire; that +she had secured a title; that the pre-nuptial settlement had been safely +signed and sealed. + +But Desiree had none of these things. It was nearly a hundred years ago. + +Her husband must have whispered some laughing comment on Koch, or +another appeal to her quick sense of the humorous, for she looked into +his changing face and gave a low, girlish laugh of amusement as they +descended the steps together into the brilliant sunlight. + +Charles Darragon wore one of the countless uniforms that enlivened the +outward world in the great days of the greatest captain that history has +seen. He was unmistakably French--unmistakably a French gentleman, as +rare in 1812 as he is to-day. To judge from his small head and clean-cut +features, fine and mobile; from his graceful carriage and slight limbs, +this man was one of the many bearing names that begin with the fourth +letter of the alphabet since the Terror only. + +He was merely a lieutenant in a regiment of Alsatian recruits; but that +went for nothing in the days of the Empire. Three kings in Europe had +begun no farther up the ladder. + +The Frauengasse is a short street, made narrow by the terrace that each +house throws outward from its face, each seeking to gain a few inches +on its neighbour. It runs from the Marienkirche to the Frauenthor, and +remains to-day as it was built three hundred years ago. + +Desiree nodded and laughed to the children, who interested her. She was +quite simple and womanly, as some women, it is to be hoped, may succeed +in continuing until the end of time. She was always pleased to see +children; was glad, it seemed, that they should have congregated on the +steps to watch her pass. Charles, with a faint and unconscious reflex of +that grand manner which had brought his father to the guillotine, felt +in his pocket for money, and found none. + +He jerked his hand out with widespread fingers, in a gesture indicative +of familiarity with the nakedness of the land. + +“I have nothing, little citizens,” he said with a mock gravity; “nothing +but my blessing.” + +And he made a gay gesture with his left hand over their heads, not the +act of benediction, but of peppering, which made them all laugh. The +bride and bridegroom passing on joined in the laughter with hearts as +light and voices scarcely less youthful. + +The Frauengasse is intersected by the Pfaffengasse at right angles, +through which narrow and straight street passes much of the traffic +towards the Langenmarkt, the centre of the town. As the little bridal +procession reached the corner of this street, it halted at the approach +of some mounted troops. There was nothing unusual in this sight in the +streets of Dantzig, which were accustomed now to the clatter of the +Saxon cavalry. + +But at the sight of the first troopers Charles Darragon threw up his +head with a little exclamation of surprise. + +Desiree looked at him and then turned to follow the direction of his +gaze. + +“What are these?” she murmured. For the uniforms were new and +unfamiliar. + +“Cavalry of the Old Guard,” replied her husband, and as he spoke he +caught his breath. + +The horsemen vanished into the continuation of the Pfaffengasse, and +immediately behind them came a travelling carriage, swung on high +wheels, three times the size of a Dantzig drosky, white with dust. +It had small square windows. As Desiree drew back in obedience to a +movement of her husband's arm, she saw a face for an instant--pale and +set--with eyes that seemed to look at everything and yet at something +beyond. + +“Who was it? He looked at you, Charles,” said Desiree. + +“It is the Emperor,” answered Darragon. His face was white. His eyes +were dull, like the eyes of one who has seen a vision and is not yet +back to earth. + +Desiree turned to those behind her. + +“It is the Emperor,” she said, with an odd ring in her voice which none +had ever heard before. Then she stood looking after the carriage. + +Her father, who was at her elbow--tall, white-haired, with an +aquiline, inscrutable face--stood in a like attitude, looking down the +Pfaffengasse. His hand was raised before his face with outspread fingers +which seemed rigid in that gesture, as if lifted hastily to screen his +face and hide it. + +“Did he see me?” he asked in a low voice which only Desiree heard. + +She glanced at him, and her eyes, which were clear as a cloudless sky, +were suddenly shadowed by a suspicion quick and poignant. + +“He seemed to see everything, but he only looked at Charles,” she +answered. For a moment they all stood in the sunshine looking towards +the Langenmarkt where the tower of the Rathhaus rose above the high +roofs. The dust raised by the horses' feet and the carriage wheels +slowly settled on their bridal clothes. + +It was Desiree who at length made a movement to continue their way +towards her father's house. + +“Well,” she said with a slight laugh, “he was not bidden to my wedding, +but he has come all the same.” + +Others laughed as they followed her. For a bride at the church-door, or +a judge on the bench, or a criminal on the scaffold-steps, need make but +a very small joke to cause merriment. Laughter is often nothing but the +froth of tears. + +There were faces suddenly bleached in the little group of +wedding-guests, and none were whiter than the handsome features of +Mathilde Sebastian, Desiree's elder sister, who looked angry, had +frowned at the children, and seemed to find this simple wedding too +bourgeois for her taste. She carried her head with an air that told the +world not to expect that she should ever be content to marry in such +a humble style, and walk from the church in satin slippers like any +daughter of a burgher. + +This, at all events, was what old Koch the locksmith must have read in +her beautiful, discontented face. + +“Ah! ah!” he muttered to the bolts as he shot them. “But it is not the +lightest hearts that quit the church in a carriage.” + +So simple were the arrangements that bride and bridegroom and +wedding-guests had to wait in the street while the servant unlocked +the front door of No. 36 with a great key hurriedly extracted from her +apron-pocket. + +There was no unusual stir in the street. The windows of one or two of +the houses had been decorated with flowers. These were the houses of +friends. Others were silent and still behind their lace curtains, where +there doubtless lurked peeping and criticizing eyes--the house of a +neighbour. + +The wedding-guests were few in number. Only one of them had a +distinguished air, and he, like the bridegroom, wore the uniform of +France. He was a small man, somewhat brusque in attitude, as became +a soldier of Italy and Egypt. But he had a pleasant smile and that +affability of manner which many learnt in the first years of the great +Republic. He and Mathilde Sebastian never looked at each other: either +an understanding or a misunderstanding. + +The host, Antoine Sebastian, played his part well enough when he +remembered that he had a part to play. He listened with a kind attention +to the story of a very old lady, who it seemed had been married herself, +but it was so long ago that the human interest of it all was lost in a +pottle of petty detail which was all she could recall. Before the story +was half finished, Sebastian's attention had strayed elsewhere, though +his spare figure remained in its attitude of attention and polite +forbearance. His mind had, it would seem, a trick of thus wandering away +and leaving his body rigid in the last attitude that it had dictated. + +Sebastian did not notice that the door was open and all the guests were +waiting for him to lead the way. + +“Now, old dreamer,” whispered Desiree, with a quick pinch on his arm, +“take the Grafin upstairs to the drawing-room and give her wine. You are +to drink our healths, remember.” + +“Is there wine?” he asked with a vague smile. “Where has it come from?” + +“Like other good things, my father-in-law,” replied Charles with his +easy laugh, “it comes from France.” + +They spoke together thus in confidence, in the language of that same +sunny land. But when Sebastian turned again to the old lady, still +recalling the details of that other wedding, he addressed her in German, +offering his arm with a sudden stiffness of gesture which he seemed to +put on with the change of tongue. + +They passed up the low time-worn steps arm-in-arm, and beneath the high +carved doorway, whereon some pious Hanseatic merchant had inscribed +his belief that if God be in the house there is no need of a watchman, +emphasizing his creed by bolts and locks of enormous strength, and bars +to every window. + +The servant in her Samland Sunday dress, having shaken her fist at the +children, closed the door behind the last guest, and, so far as the +Frauengasse was concerned, the exciting incident was over. From the open +window came only the murmur of quiet voices, the clink of glasses at the +drinking of a toast, or a laugh in the clear voice of the bride herself. +For Desiree persisted in her optimistic view of these proceedings, +though her husband scarcely helped her now at all, and seemed a +different man since the passage through the Pfaffengasse of that dusty +travelling carriage which had played the part of the stormy petrel from +end to end of Europe. + + + +CHAPTER II. A CAMPAIGNER. + + + + Not what I am, but what I Do, is my Kingdom. + +Desiree had made all her own wedding-clothes. “Her poor little +marriage-basket,” she called it. She had even made the cake which was +now cut with some ceremony by her father. + +“I tremble,” she exclaimed aloud, “to think what it may be like in the +middle.” + +And Mathilde was the only person there who did not smile at the +unconscious admission. The cake was still under discussion, and the +Grafin had just admitted that it was almost as good as that other cake +which had been consumed in the days of Frederick the Great, when the +servant called Desiree from the room. + +“It is a soldier,” she said in a whisper at the head of the stairs. “He +has a paper in his hand. I know what that means. He is quartered on us.” + +Desiree hurried downstairs. In the entrance-hall, a broad-built little +man stood awaiting her. He was stout and red, with hair all ragged at +the temples, almost white. His eyes were lost behind shaggy eyebrows. +His face was made broader by little whiskers stopping short at the level +of his ear. He had a snuff-blown complexion, and in the wrinkles of his +face the dust of a dozen campaigns seemed to have accumulated. + +“Barlasch,” he said curtly, holding out a long strip of blue paper. “Of +the Guard. Once a sergeant. Italy, Egypt, the Danube.” + +He frowned at Desiree while she read the paper in the dim light that +filtered through the twisted bars of the fanlight above the door. + +Then he turned to the servant who stood, comely and breathless, looking +him up and down. + +“Papa Barlasch,” he added for her edification, and he drew down his left +eyebrow with a jerk, so that it almost touched his cheek. His right +eye, grey and piercing, returned her astonished gaze with a fierce +steadfastness. + +“Does this mean that you are quartered upon us?” asked Desiree without +seeking to hide her disgust. She spoke in her own tongue. + +“French?” said the soldier, looking at her. “Good. Yes. I am quartered +here. Thirty-six, Frauengasse. Sebastian; musician. You are lucky to get +me. I always give satisfaction--ha!” + +He gave a curt laugh in one syllable only. His left arm was curved +round a bundle of wood bound together by a red pocket-handkerchief not +innocent of snuff. He held out this bundle to Desiree, as Solomon may +have held out some great gift to the Queen of Sheba to smooth the first +doubtful steps of friendship. + +Desiree accepted the gift and stood in her wedding-dress holding the +bundle of wood against her breast. Then a gleam of the one grey eye that +was visible conveyed to her the fact that this walnut-faced warrior was +smiling. She laughed gaily. + +“It is well,” said Barlasch. “We are friends. You are lucky to get me. +You may not think so now. Would this woman like me to speak to her in +Polish or German?” + +“Do you speak so many languages?” + +He shrugged his shoulders and spread out his arms as far as his many +burdens allowed. For he was hung round with a hundred parcels and +packages. + +“The Old Guard,” he said, “can always make itself understood.” + +He rubbed his hands together with the air of a brisk man ready for any +sort of work. + +“Now, where shall I sleep?” he asked. “One is not particular, you +understand. A few minutes and one is at home--perhaps peeling the +potatoes. It is only a civilian who is ashamed of using his knife on a +potato. Papa Barlasch, they call me.” + +Without awaiting an invitation he went forward towards the kitchen. He +seemed to know the house by instinct. His progress was accompanied by +a clatter of utensils like that which heralds the coming of a carrier's +cart. + +At the kitchen door he stopped and sniffed loudly. There certainly was +a slight odour of burning fat. Papa Barlasch turned and shook an +admonitory finger at the servant, but he said nothing. He looked round +at the highly polished utensils, at the table and floor both alike +scrubbed clean by a vigorous northern arm. And he was kind enough to nod +approval. + +“On a campaign,” he said to no one in particular, “a little bit of +horse thrust into the cinders on the end of a bayonet--but in times of +peace...” + +He broke off and made a gesture towards the saucepans which indicated +quite clearly that he was between campaigns--inclined to good living. + +“I am a rude fork,” he jerked to Desiree over his shoulder in the +dialect of the Cotes du Nord. + +“How long will you be here?” asked Desiree, who was eminently practical. +A billet was a misfortune which Charles Darragon had hitherto succeeded +in warding off. He had some small influence as an officer of the +head-quarters' staff. + +Barlasch held up a reproving hand. The question, he seemed to think, was +not quite delicate. + +“I pay my own,” he said. “Give and take--that is my motto. When you have +nothing to give... offer a smile.” + +With a gesture he indicated the bundle of firewood which Desiree still +absent-mindedly carried against her white dress. He turned and opened a +cupboard low down on the floor at the left-hand side of the fireplace. +He seemed to know by an instinct usually possessed by charwomen and +other domesticated persons of experience where the firewood was kept. +Lisa gave a little exclamation of surprise at his impertinence and his +perspicacity. He took the firewood, unknotted his handkerchief, and +threw his offering into the cupboard. Then he turned and perceived for +the first time that Desiree had a bright ribbon at her waist and on her +shoulders; that a thin chain of gold was round her throat and that there +were flowers at her breast. + +“A fete?” he inquired curtly. + +“My marriage fete,” she answered. “I was married half an hour ago.” + +He looked at her beneath his grizzled brows. His face was only capable +of producing one expression--a shaggy weather-beaten fierceness. But, +like a dog which can express more than many human beings, by a hundred +instinctive gestures he could, it seemed, dispense with words on +occasion and get on quite as well without them. He clearly disapproved +of Desiree's marriage, and drew her attention to the fact that she was +no more than a schoolgirl with an inconsequent brain, and little limbs +too slight to fight a successful battle in a world full of cruelty and +danger. + +Then he made a gesture half of apology as if recognizing that it was no +business of his, and turned away thoughtfully. + +“I had troubles of that sort myself,” he explained, putting together the +embers on the hearth with the point of a twisted, rusty bayonet, +“but that was long ago. Well, I can drink your health all the same, +mademoiselle.” + +He turned to Lisa with a friendly nod and put out his tongue, in the +manner of the people, to indicate that his lips were dry. + +Desiree had always been the housekeeper. It was to her that Lisa +naturally turned in her extremity at the invasion of her kitchen by Papa +Barlasch. And when that warrior had been supplied with beer it was with +Desiree, in an agitated whisper in the great dark dining-room with its +gloomy old pictures and heavy carving, that she took counsel as to where +he should be quartered. + +The object of their solicitude himself interrupted their hurried +consultation by opening the door and putting his shaggy head round the +corner of it. + +“It is not worth while to consult long about it,” he said. “There is a +little room behind the kitchen, that opens into the yard. It is full of +boxes. But we can move them--a little straw--and there!” + +With a gesture he described a condition of domestic peace and comfort +which far exceeded his humble requirements. + +“The blackbeetles and I are old friends,” he concluded cheerfully. + +“There are no blackbeetles in the house, monsieur,” said Desiree, +hesitating to accept his proposal. + +“Then I shall resign myself to my solitude,” he answered. “It is quiet. +I shall not hear the patron touching on his violin. It is that which +occupies his leisure, is it not?” + +“Yes,” answered Desiree, still considering the question. + +“I too am a musician,” said Papa Barlasch, turning towards the kitchen +again. “I played a drum at Marengo.” + +And as he led the way to the little room in the yard at the back of the +kitchen, he expressed by a shake of the head a fellow-feeling for the +gentleman upstairs, whose acquaintance he had not yet made, who occupied +his leisure by touching the violin. + +They stood together in the small apartment which Barlasch, with the +promptitude of an experienced conqueror, had set apart for his own +accommodation. + +“Those trunks,” he observed casually, “were made in France”--a mental +note which he happened to make aloud, as some do for better remembrance. +“This solid girl and I will soon move them. And you, mademoiselle, go +back to your wedding.” + +“The good God be merciful to you,” he added under his breath when +Desiree had gone. + +She laughed as she mounted the stairs, a slim white figure amid the +heavy woodwork long since blackened by time. The stairs made no sound +beneath her light step. How many weary feet had climbed them since they +were built! For the Dantzigers have been a people of sorrow, torn by +wars, starved by siege, tossed from one conqueror to another from the +beginning until now. + +Desiree excused herself for her absence and frankly gave the cause. She +was disposed to make light of the incident. It was natural to her to be +optimistic. Both she and Mathilde made a practice of withholding from +their father's knowledge the smaller worries of daily life which sour so +many women and make them whine on platforms to be given the larger woes. + +She was glad to note that her father did not attach much importance +to the arrival of Papa Barlasch; though Mathilde found opportunity to +convey her displeasure at the news by a movement of the eyebrows. + +Antoine Sebastian had applied himself seriously now to his role of host, +so rarely played in the Frauengasse. He was courteous and quick to see +a want or a possible desire of any one of his guests. It was part of his +sense of hospitality to dismiss all personal matters, and especially a +personal trouble, from public attention. + +“They will attend to him in the kitchen, no doubt,” he said with that +grand air which the dancing academy tried to imitate. + +Charles hardly noted what Desiree said. So sunny a nature as his might +have been expected to make light of a minor trouble, more especially the +minor trouble of another. He was unusually thoughtful. Some event of the +morning had, it would appear, given him pause on his primrose path. He +glanced more than once over his shoulder towards the window, which stood +open. He seemed at times to listen. + +Suddenly he rose and went to the window. His action caused a brief +silence, and all heard the clatter of a horse's feet and the quick +rattle of a sword against spur and buckle. + +After a glance he came back into the room. + +“Excuse me,” he said, with a bow towards Mathilde. “It is, I think, a +messenger for me.” + +And he hurried downstairs. He did not return at once, and soon the +conversation became general again. + +“You,” said the Grafin, touching Desiree's arm with her fan, “you, who +are now his wife, must be dying to know what has called him away. Do not +consider the 'convenances,' my child.” + +Desiree, thus admonished, followed Charles. She had not been aware of +this consuming curiosity until it was suggested to her. + +She found Charles standing at the open door. He thrust a letter into his +pocket as she approached him, and turned towards her the face that +she had seen for a moment when he drew her back at the corner of the +Pfaffengasse to allow the Emperor's carriage to pass on its way. It +was the white, half-stupefied face of one who has for an instant seen a +vision of things not earthly. + +“I have been sent for by the... I am wanted at head-quarters,” he said +vaguely. “I shall not be long...” + +He took his shako, looked at her with an odd attempt to simulate +cheerfulness, kissed her fingers and hurried out into the street. + + + +CHAPTER III. FATE. + + + We pass; the path that each man trod + Is dim; or will be dim, with weeds. + +When Desiree turned towards the stairs, she met the guests descending. +They were taking their leave as they came down, hurriedly, like persons +conscious of having outstayed their welcome. + +Mathilde listened coldly to the conventional excuses. So few people +recognize the simple fact that they need never apologize for going away. +Sebastian stood at the head of the stairs bowing in his most Germanic +manner. The urbane host, with a charm entirely French, who had dispensed +a simple hospitality so easily and gracefully a few minutes earlier, +seemed to have disappeared behind a pale and formal mask. + +Desiree was glad to see them go. There was a sense of uneasiness, a +vague unrest in the air. There was something amiss. The wedding party +had been a failure. All had gone well and merrily up to a certain +point--at the corner of the Pfaffengasse, when the dusty travelling +carriage passed across their path. From that moment there had been a +change. A shadow seemed to have fallen across the sunny nature of the +proceedings; for never had bride and bridegroom set forth together with +lighter hearts than those carried by Charles and Desiree Darragon down +the steps of the Marienkirche. + +During its progress across the whole width of Germany, the carriage +had left unrest behind it. Men had travelled night and day to stand +sleepless by the roadside and see it pass. Whole cities had been kept +astir till morning by the mere rumour that its flying wheels would be +heard in the streets before dawn. Hatred and adoration, fear and that +dread tightening of the heart-strings which is caused by the shadow of +the superhuman, had sprung into being at the mere sound of its approach. + +When therefore it passed across the Frauengasse, throwing its dust upon +Desiree's wedding-dress, it was only fulfilling a mission. When it +broke in upon the lives of these few persons seeking dimly for their +happiness--as the heathen grope for an unknown God--and threw down +carefully constructed plans, swept aside the strongest will and crushed +the stoutest heart, it was only working out its destiny. The dust +sprinkled on Desiree's hair had fallen on the faces of thousands +of dead. The unrest that entered into the quiet little house on the +left-hand side of the Frauengasse had made its way across a thousand +thresholds, of Arab tent and imperial palace alike. The lives of +millions were affected by it, the secret hopes of thousands were +undermined by it. It disturbed the sleep of half the world, and made men +old before their time. + +“More troops must have arrived,” said Desiree, already busying herself +to set the house in order, “since they have been forced to billet this +man with us. And now they have sent for Charles, though he is really on +leave of absence.” + +She glanced at the clock. + +“I hope he will not be late. The chaise is to come at four o'clock. +There is still time for me to help you.” + +Mathilde made no answer. Their father stood near the window. He was +looking out with thoughtful eyes. His face was drawn downwards by a +hundred fine wrinkles. It was the face of one brooding over a sorrow +or a vengeance. There was something in his whole being suggestive of a +bygone prosperity. This was a lean man who had once been well-seeming. + +“No!” said Desiree gaily, “we were a dull company. We need not disguise +it. It all came from that man crossing our path in his dusty carriage.” + +“He is on his way to Russia,” Sebastian said jerkily. “God spare me to +see him return!” + +Desiree and Mathilde exchanged a glance of uneasiness. It seemed that +their father was subject to certain humours which they had reason to +dread. Desiree left her occupation and went to him, linking her arm in +his and standing beside him. + +“Do not let us think of disagreeable things to-day,” she said. “God will +spare you much longer than that, you depressing old wedding-guest!” + +He patted her hand which rested on his arm and looked down at her with +eyes softened by affection. But her fair hair, rather tumbled, which met +his glance must have awakened some memory that made his face a marble +mask again. + +“Yes,” he said grimly, “but I am an old man and he is a young one. And I +want to see him dead before I die.” + +“I will not have you think such bloodthirsty thoughts on my +wedding-day,” said Desiree. “See, there is Charles returning already, +and he has not been absent ten minutes. He has some one with him--who is +it? Papa... Mathilde, look! Who is it coming back with Charles in such a +hurry?” + +Mathilde, who was setting the room in order, glanced through the lace +curtains. + +“I do not know,” she answered indifferently. “Just an ordinary man.” + +Desiree had turned away from the window as if to go downstairs and meet +her husband. She paused and looked back again over her shoulder towards +the street. + +“Is it?” she said rather oddly. “I do not know--I--” + +And she stood with the incompleted sentence on her lips waiting +irresolutely for Charles to come upstairs. + +In a moment he burst into the room with all his usual exuberance and +high spirit. + +“Picture to yourselves!” he cried, standing in the doorway with his arms +extended before him. “I was hurrying to head-quarters when I ran into +the embrace of my dear Louis--my cousin. I have told you a hundred times +that he is brother and father and everything to me. I am so glad that he +should come to-day of all days.” + +He turned towards the stairs with a gesture of welcome, still with +his two arms outheld, as if inviting the man, who came rather slowly +upstairs, to come to his embrace and to the embrace of those who were +now his relations. + +“There was a little suspicion of sadness--I do not know what it was--at +the table; but now it is all gone. All is well now that this unexpected +guest has come. This dear Louis.” + +He went to the landing as he spoke, and returned bringing by the arm a +man taller than himself and darker, with a still brown face and steady +eyes set close together. He had a lean look of good breeding. + +“This dear Louis!” repeated Charles. “My only relative in all the world. +My cousin, Louis d'Arragon. But he, par exemple, spells his name in two +words.” + +The man bowed gravely--a comprehensive bow; but he looked at Desiree. + +“This is my father-in-law,” continued Charles breathlessly. “Monsieur +Antoine Sebastian, and Desiree and Mathilde--my wife, my dear +Louis--your cousin, Desiree.” + +He had turned again to Louis and shook him by the shoulders in the +fulness of his joy. He had not distinguished between Mathilde and +Desiree, and it was towards Mathilde that D'Arragon looked with a polite +and rather formal repetition of his bow. + +“It is I... I am Desiree,” said the younger sister, coming forward with +a slow gesture of shyness. + +D'Arragon took her hand. + +“I have been happy,” he said, “in the moment of my arrival.” + +Then he turned to Mathilde and bowed over the hand she held out to him. +Sebastian had come forward with a sudden return of his gracious and +rather old-world manner. He did not offer to shake hands, but bowed. + +“A son of Louis d'Arragon who was fortunate enough to escape to +England?” he inquired with a courteous gesture. + +“The only son,” replied the new-comer. + +“I am honoured to make the acquaintance of Monsieur le Marquis,” said +Antoine Sebastian slowly. + +“Oh, you must not call me that,” replied D'Arragon with a short laugh. +“I am an English sailor--that is all.” + +“And now, my dear Louis, I leave you,” broke in Charles, who had rather +impatiently awaited the end of these formalities. “A brief half-hour and +I am with you again. You will stay here till I return.” + +He turned, nodded gaily to Desiree and ran downstairs. + +Through the open windows they heard his quick, light footfall as he +hurried up the Frauengasse. Something made them silent, listening to it. + +It was not difficult to see that D'Arragon was a sailor. Not only had he +the brown face of those who live in the open, but he had the attentive +air of one whose waking moments are a watch. + +“You look at one as if one were the horizon,” Desiree said to him +long afterwards. But it was at this moment in the drawing-room in the +Frauengasse that the comparison formed itself in her mind. + +His face was rather narrow, with a square chin and straight lips. He was +not quick in speech like Charles, but seemed to think before he spoke, +with the result that he often appeared to be about to say something, and +was interrupted before the words had been uttered. + +“Unless my memory is a bad one, your mother was an Englishwoman, +monsieur,” said Sebastian, “which would account for your being in the +English service.” + +“Not entirely,” answered d'Arragon, “though my mother was indeed English +and died--in a French prison. But it was from a sense of gratitude that +my father placed me in the English service--and I have never regretted +it, monsieur.” + +“Your father received kindnesses at English hands, after his escape, +like many others.” + +“Yes, and he was too old to repay them by doing the country any service +himself. He would have done it if he could--” + +D'Arragon paused, looking steadily at the tall old man who listened to +him with averted eyes. + +“My father was one of those,” he said at length, “who did not think that +in fighting for Bonaparte one was necessarily fighting for France.” + +Sebastian held up a warning hand. + +“In England--” he corrected, “in England one may think such things. But +not in France, and still less in Dantzig.” + +“If one is an Englishman,” replied D'Arragon with a smile, “one may +think them where one likes, and say them when one is disposed. It is one +of the privileges of the nation, monsieur.” + +He made the statement lightly, seeing the humour of it with a +cosmopolitan understanding, without any suggestion of the boastfulness +of youth. Desiree noticed that his hair was turning grey at the temples. + +“I did not know,” he said, turning to her, “that Charles was in Dantzig, +much less that he was celebrating so happy an occasion. We ran against +each other by accident in the street. It was a lucky accident that +allowed me to make your acquaintance so soon after you have become his +wife.” + +“It scarcely seems possible that it should be an accident,” said +Desiree. “It must have been the work of fate--if fate has time to think +of such an insignificant person as myself and so small an event as my +marriage in these days.” + +“Fate,” put in Mathilde in her composed voice and manner, “has come to +Dantzig to-day.” + +“Ah!” + +“Yes. You are the second unexpected arrival this afternoon.” + +D'Arragon turned and looked at Mathilde. His manner, always grave and +attentive, was that of a reader who has found an interesting book on a +dusty shelf. + +“Has the Emperor come?” he asked. + +Mathilde nodded. + +“I thought I saw something in Charles's face,” he said reflectively, +looking back through the open door towards the stairs where Charles had +nodded farewell to them. “So the Emperor is here, in Dantzig?” + +He turned towards Sebastian, who stood with a stony face. + +“Which means war,” he said. + +“It always means war,” replied Sebastian in a tired voice. “Is he again +going to prove himself stronger than any?” + +“Some day he will make a mistake,” said D'Arragon cheerfully. “And then +will come the day of reckoning.” + +“Ah!” said Sebastian, with a shake of the head that seemed to indicate +an account so one-sided that none could ever liquidate it. “You are +young, monsieur. You are full of hope.” + +“I am not young--I am thirty-one--but I am, as you say, full of hope. I +look to that day, Monsieur Sebastian.” + +“And in the mean time?” suggested the man who seemed but a shadow of +someone standing apart and far away from the affairs of daily life. + +“In the mean time one must play one's part,” returned D'Arragon, with +his almost inaudible laugh, “whatever it may be.” + +There was no foreboding in his voice; no second meaning in the words. He +was open and simple and practical, like the life he led. + +“Then you have a part to play, too,” said Desiree, thinking of Charles, +who had been called away at such an inopportune moment, and had gone +without complaint. “It is the penalty we pay for living in one of the +less dull periods of history. He touches your life too.” + +“He touches every one's life, mademoiselle. That is what makes him so +great a man. Yes. I have a little part to play. I am like one of the +unseen supernumeraries who has to see that a door is open to allow the +great actors to make an effective entree. I am lent to Russia for the +war that is coming. It is a little part. I have to keep open one small +portion of the line of communication between England and St. Petersburg, +so that news may pass to and fro.” + +He glanced towards Mathilde as he spoke. She was listening with an +odd eagerness which he noted, as he noted everything, methodically and +surely. He remembered it afterwards. + +“That will not be easy, with Denmark friendly to France,” said +Sebastian, “and every Prussian port closed to you.” + +“But Sweden will help. She is not friendly to France.” + +Sebastian laughed, and made a gesture with his white and elegant hand, +of contempt and ridicule. + +“And, bon Dieu! what a friendship it is,” he exclaimed, “that is based +on the fear of being taken for an enemy.” + +“It is a friendship that waits its time, monsieur,” said D'Arragon +taking up his hat. + +“Then you have a ship, monsieur, here in the Baltic?” asked Mathilde +with more haste than was characteristic of her usual utterance. + +“A very small one, mademoiselle,” he answered. “So small that I could +turn her round here in the Frauengasse.” + +“But she is fast?” + +“The fastest in the Baltic, mademoiselle,” he answered. “And that is why +I must take my leave--with the news you have told me.” + +He shook hands as he spoke, and bowed to Sebastian, whose generation was +content with the more formal salutation. Desiree went to the door, and +led the way downstairs. + +“We have but one servant,” she said, “who is busy.” + +On the doorstep he paused for a moment. And Desiree seemed to expect him +to do so. + +“Charles and I have always been like brothers--you will remember that +always, will you not?” + +“Yes,” she answered with her gay nod. “I will remember.” + +“Then good-bye, mademoiselle.” + +“Madame,” she corrected lightly. + +“Madame, my cousin,” he said, and departed smiling. + +Desiree went slowly upstairs again. + + + +CHAPTER IV. THE CLOUDED MOON. + + + + Quand on se mefie on se trompe, quand on ne se mefie pas, on est +trompe. + +Charles Darragon had come to Dantzig a year earlier. He was a +lieutenant in an infantry regiment, and he was twenty-five. Many of his +contemporaries were colonels in these days of quick promotion, when men +lived at such a rate that few of them lived long. But Charles was too +easy-going to envy any man. + +When he arrived he knew no one in Dantzig, had few friends in the army +of occupation. In six months he possessed acquaintances in every street, +and was on terms of easy familiarity with all his fellow-officers. + +“If the army of occupation had more officers like young Darragon,” a +town councillor had grimly said to Rapp, “the Dantzigers would soon be +resigned to your presence.” + +It seemed that Charles had the gift of popularity. He was open and +hearty, hail-fellow-well-met with the new-comers, who were numerous +enough at this time, quick to understand the quiet men, ready to make +merry with the gay. Regarding himself, he was quite open and frank. + +“I am a poor devil of a lieutenant,” he said, “that is all.” + +Reserve is fatal to popularity, yet friendship cannot exist without +it. Charles had, it seemed, nothing to hide, and was indifferent to the +secrets of others. It is such people who receive many confidences. + +“But it must go no farther...” a hundred men had said to him. + +“My friend, by to-morrow I shall have forgotten all about it,” he +invariably replied, which men remembered afterwards and were glad. + +A certain sort of friendship seemed to exist between Charles Darragon +and Colonel de Casimir--not without patronage on one side and a slightly +constraining sense of obligation on the other. It was de Casimir who +had introduced Charles to Mathilde Sebastian at a formal reception at +General Rapp's. Charles, of course, fell in love with Mathilde, and out +again after half-an-hour's conversation. There was something cold and +calculating about Mathilde which held him at arm's length with as much +efficacy as the strictest duenna. Indeed, there are some maidens who +require no better chaperon for their hearts than their own heads. + +A few days after this introduction Charles met Mathilde and Desiree in +the Langgasse, and he fell in love with Desiree. He went about for +a whole week seeking opportunity to tell her without delay what had +happened to him. The opportunity presented itself before long; for +one morning he saw her walking quickly towards the Kuh-brucke with her +skates swinging from her wrist. It was a sunny, still, winter morning, +such as temperate countries never know. Desiree's eyes were bright +with youth and happiness. The cold air had slightly emphasized the rosy +colour of her cheeks. + +Charles caught his breath at the sight of her, though she did not happen +to perceive him. He called a sleigh and drove to the barracks for his +own skates. Then to the Kuh-brucke, where a reach of the Mottlau was +cleared and kept in order for skating. He overpaid the sleigh-driver and +laughed aloud at the man's boorish surprise. There was no one so happy +as Charles Darragon in all the world. He was going to tell Desiree that +he loved her. + +At first Desiree was surprised, as was only natural. For she had +not thought again of the pleasant young officer introduced to her by +Mathilde. They had not even commented on him after he had made his gay +bow and gone. + +She had of course thought of these things in the abstract when her +busy mind had nothing more material and immediate to consider. She had +probably arranged how some abstract person should some day tell her of +his love and how she should make reply. But she had never imagined the +incident as it actually happened. She had never pictured a youth in a +gay uniform looking down at her with ardent eyes as he skated by her +side through the crisp still air, while the ice sang a high clear song +beneath their feet in accompaniment to his hurried laughing words of +protestation. He seemed to touch life lightly and to anticipate nothing +but happiness. In truth, it was difficult to be tragic on such a +morning. + +These were the heedless days of the beginning of the century, when men +not only threw away their lives, but played ducks-and-drakes with their +chances of happiness in a manner quite incomprehensible to the careful +method of human thought to-day. Charles Darragon lived only in the +present moment. He was in love with her. Desiree must marry him. + +It was quite different from what she had anticipated. She had looked +forward to such a moment with a secret misgiving. The abstract person +of her thoughts had always inspired her with a painful shyness and an +indefinite, breathless fear. But the lover who was here now in the flesh +by her side inspired none of these feelings. On the contrary, she felt +easy and natural and quite at home with him. There was nothing alarming +about his flushed face and laughing eyes. She was not at all afraid of +him. She even felt in some vague way older than he, though he had just +told her that he was twenty-five, and four years her senior. + +She accepted the violets which he had hurriedly bought for her as he +came through the Langenmarkt, but she would not say that she loved him, +because she did not. She was in most ways quite a matter-of-fact person, +and she was of an honest mind. She said she would think about it. She +did not love him now--she knew that. She could not say that she would +not learn to love him some day, but there seemed no likelihood of it at +present. Then he would shoot himself! He would certainly shoot himself +unless she learnt to love him! And she asked “When?” and they both +laughed. They changed the subject, but after a time they came back to +it; which is the worst of love--one always comes back to it. + +Then suddenly he began to assume an air of proprietorship, and burst +into a hundred explanations of what fears he felt for her; for her +happiness and welfare. Her father was absent-minded and heedless. He +was not a fit guardian for her. Was she not the prettiest girl in all +Dantzig--in all the world? Her sister was not fond enough of her to care +for her properly. He announced his intention of seeing her father the +next day. Everything should be done in order. Not a word must be hinted +by the most watchful neighbour against the perfect propriety of their +betrothal. + +Desiree laughed and said that he was progressing rather rapidly. She had +only her instinct to guide her through these troubled waters; which was +much better than experience. Experience in a woman is tantamount to a +previous conviction against a prisoner. + +Charles was grave, however; a rare tribute. He was in love for the +first time, which often makes men quite honest for a brief period--even +unselfish. Of course, some men are honest and unselfish all their lives; +which perhaps means that they remain in love--for the first time--all +their lives. They are rare, of course. But the sort of woman with whom +it is possible to remain in love all through a lifetime is rarer. + +So Charles waylaid Antoine Sebastian the next day as he went out of the +Frauenthor for his walk in the morning sun by the side of the frozen +Mottlau. He was better received than he had any reason to expect. + +“I am only a lieutenant,” he said, “but in these days, monsieur, you +know--there are possibilities.” + +He laughed gaily as he waved his gloves in the direction of Russia, +across the river. But Sebastian's face clouded, and Charles, who was +quick and sympathetic, abandoned that point in his argument almost +before the words were out of his lips. + +“I have a little money,” he said, “in addition to my pay. I assure you, +monsieur, I am not of mean birth.” + +“You are an orphan?” said Sebastian curtly. + +“Yes.” + +“Of the... Terror?” + +“Yes; I--well, one does not make much of one's parentage in these rough +times--monsieur.” + +“Your father's name was Charles--like your own?” + +“Yes.” + +“The second son?” + +“Yes, monsieur. Did you know him?” + +“One remembers a name here and there,” answered Sebastian, in his stiff +manner, looking straight in front of him. + +“There was a tone in your voice--,” began Charles, and, again perceiving +that he was on a false scent, broke off abruptly. “If love can make +mademoiselle happy--,” he said; and a gesture of his right hand seemed +to indicate that his passion was beyond the measure of words. + +So Charles Darragon was permitted to pay his addresses to Desiree in the +somewhat formal manner of a day which, upon careful consideration, +will be found to have been no more foolish than the present. He made no +inquiries respecting Desiree's parentage. It was Desiree he wanted, and +that was all. They understood the arts of love and war in the great days +of the Empire. + +The rest was easy enough, and the gods were kind. Charles had even +succeeded in getting a month's leave of absence. They were to spend +their honeymoon at Zoppot, a little fishing-village hidden in the pines +by the Baltic shore, only eight miles from Dantzig, where the Vistula +loses itself at last in the salt water. + +All these arrangements had been made, as Desiree had prepared her +trousseau, with a zest and gaiety which all were invited to enjoy. It is +said that love is an egoist. Charles and Desiree had no desire to keep +their happiness to themselves, but wore it, as it were, upon their +sleeves. + +The attitude of the Frauengasse towards Desiree's wedding was only +characteristic of the period. Every house in Dantzig looked askance upon +its neighbour at this time. Each roof covered a number of contending +interests. + +Some were for the French, and some for the conqueror's unwilling ally, +William of Prussia. The names above the shops were German and Polish. +There are to-day Scotch names also, here as elsewhere on the Baltic +shores. When the serfs were liberated it was necessary to find surnames +for these free men--these Pauls-the-son-of-Paul; and the nobles of +Esthonia and Lithuania were reading Sir Walter Scott at the time. + +The burghers of Dantzig (“They must be made to pay, these rich +Dantzigers,” wrote Napoleon to Rapp) trembled for their wealth, and +stood aghast by their empty counting-houses; for their gods had been +cast down; commerce was at a standstill. There were many, therefore, +who hated the French, and cherished a secret love of those bluff British +captains--so like themselves in build, and thought, and slowness of +speech--who would thrash their wooden brigs through the shallow seas, +despite decrees and threats and sloops-of-war, so long as they could lay +them alongside the granaries of the Vistula. Lately the very tolls had +been collected by a French customs service, and the wholesale smuggling, +to which even Governor Rapp--that long-headed Alsatian--had closed his +eyes, was at an end. + +Again, the Poles who looked on Dantzig as the seaport of that great +kingdom of Eastern Europe which was and is no more, had been assured +that France would set up again the throne of the Jagellons and the +Sobieskis. There was a Poniatowski high in the Emperor's service and +esteem. The Poles were for France. + +The Jew, hurrying along close by the wall--always in the shadow--traded +with all and trusted none. Who could tell what thoughts were hidden +beneath the ragged fur cap--what revenge awaited its consummation in the +heart crushed by oppression and contempt? + +Besides these civilians there were many who had a military air within +their civil garb. For the pendulum of war had swung right across from +Cadiz to Dantzig, and swept northwards in its wake the merchants of +death, the men who live by feeding soldiers and rifling the dead. + +All these were in the streets, rubbing shoulders with the gay epaulettes +of the Saxons, the Badeners, the Wurtembergers, the Westphalians, and +the Hessians, who had been poured into Dantzig by Napoleon during the +months when he had continued to exchange courteous and affectionate +letters with Alexander of Russia. For more than a year the broad-faced +Bavarians (who have borne the brunt of every war in Central Europe) had +been peaceably quartered in the town. Half a dozen different tongues +were daily heard in this city of the plain, and no man knew who might +be his friend and who his enemy. For some who were allies to-day were +commanded by their kings to slay each other to-morrow. + +In the wine-cellars and the humbler beer-shops, in the great houses of +the councillors, and behind the snowy lace curtains of the Frauengasse +and the Portchaisengasse a thousand slow Northerners spoke of these +things and kept them in their hearts. A hundred secret societies passed +from mouth to mouth instruction, warning, encouragement. Germany has +always been the home of the secret society. Northern Europe gave birth +to those countless associations which have proved stronger than +kings and surer than a throne. The Hanseatic League, the first of the +commercial unions which were destined to build up the greatest empire of +the world, lived longest in Dantzig. + +The Tugendbund, men whispered, was not dead but sleeping. Napoleon, who +had crushed it once, was watching for its revival; had a whole army of +his matchless secret police ready for it. And the Tugendbund had had its +centre in Dantzig. + +Perhaps, in the Rathskeller itself--one of the largest wine stores in +the world, where tables and chairs are set beneath the arches of the +Exchange, a vast cave under the streets--perhaps here the Tugendbund +still encouraged men to be virtuous and self-denying for no other or +higher purpose than the overthrow of the Scourge of Europe. Here the +richer citizens have met from time immemorial to drink with solemnity +and a decent leisure the wines sent hither in their own ships from the +Rhine, from Greece and the Crimea, from Bordeaux and Burgundy, from +the Champagne and Tokay. This is not only the Rathskeller, but the real +Rathhaus, where the Dantzigers have taken counsel over their afternoon +wine from generation to generation, whence have been issued to all the +world those decrees of probity and a commercial uprightness between +buyer and seller, debtor and creditor, master and man, which reached to +every corner of the commercial world. And now it was whispered that +the latter-day Dantzigers--the sons of those who formed the Hanseatic +League: mostly fat men with large faces and shrewd, calculating eyes; +high foreheads; good solid men, who knew the world, and how to make +their way in it; withal, good judges of a wine and great drinkers, like +that William the Silent, who braved and met and conquered the European +scourge of mediaeval times--it was whispered that these were reviving +the Tugendbund. + +Amid such contending interests, and in a free city so near to several +frontiers, men came and went without attracting undesired attention. +Each party suspected a new-comer of belonging to the other. + +“He scrapes a fiddle,” Koch had explained to the inquiring fishwife. And +perhaps he knew no more than this of Antoine Sebastian. Sebastian was +poor. All the Frauengasse knew that. But the Frauengasse itself was +poor, and no man in Dantzig was so foolish at this time as to admit that +he had possessions. + +This was, moreover, not the day of display or snobbery. The king of +snobs, Louis XVI., had died to some purpose, for a wave of manliness had +swept across human thought at the beginning of the century. The world +has rarely been the poorer for the demise of a Bourbon. + +The Frauengasse knew that Antoine Sebastian played the fiddle to gain +his daily bread, while his two daughters taught dancing for that same +safest and most satisfactory of all motives. + +“But he holds his head so high!” once observed the stout and +matter-of-fact daughter of a Councillor. “Why has he that grand manner?” + +“Because he is a dancing-master,” replied Desiree with a grave +assurance. “He does it so that you may copy him. Chin up. Oh! how fat +you are.” + +Desiree herself was slim enough and as yet only half grown. She did not +dance so well as Mathilde, who moved through a quadrille with the air of +a duchess, and threw into a polonaise or mazurka a quiet grace which was +the envy and despair of her pupils. Mathilde was patient with the slow +and heavy of foot, while Desiree told them bluntly that they were fat. +Nevertheless, they were afraid of Mathilde, and only laughed at Desiree +when she rushed angrily at them, and, seizing them by the arms, danced +them round the room with the energy of despair. + +Sebastian, who had an oddly judicial air, such as men acquire who are +in authority, held the balance evenly between the sisters, and +smiled apologetically over his fiddle towards the victim of Desiree's +impetuosity. + +“Yes,” he would reply to watching mothers, who tried to lead him to say +that their daughter was the best dancer in the school: “Yes, Mathilde +puts it into their heads, and Desiree shakes it down to their feet.” + +In all matters of the household Desiree played a similar part. She was +up early and still astir after nine o'clock at night, when the other +houses in the Frauengasse were quiet, if there were work to do. + +“It is because she has no method,” said Mathilde, who had herself a +well-ordered mind, and that quickness which never needs to hurry. + + + +CHAPTER V. THE WEISSEN ROSS'L. + + + + The moth will singe her wings, and singed return, + Her love of light quenching her fear of pain. + +There are quite a number of people who get through life without +realizing their own insignificance. Ninety-nine out of a hundred persons +signify nothing, and the hundredth is usually so absorbed in the message +which he has been sent into the world to deliver that he loses sight of +the messenger altogether. + +By a merciful dispensation of Providence we are permitted to bustle +about in our immediate little circle like the ant, running hither and +thither with all the sublime conceit of that insect. We pick up, as he +does, a burden which on close inspection will be found to be absolutely +valueless, something that somebody else has thrown away. We hoist it +over obstructions while there is usually a short way round; we fret and +sweat and fume. Then we drop the burden and rush off at a tangent to +pick up another. We write letters to our friends explaining to them what +we are about. We even indite diaries to be read by goodness knows whom, +explaining to ourselves what we have been doing. Sometimes we find +something that really looks valuable, and rush to our particular +ant-heap with it while our neighbours pause and watch us. But they +really do not care; and if the rumour of our discovery reach so far as +the next ant-heap, the bustlers there are almost indifferent, though a +few may feel a passing pang of jealousy. They may perhaps remember our +name, and will soon forget what we discovered--which is Fame. While we +are falling over each other to attain this, and dying to tell each other +what it feels like when we have it, or think we have it, let us pause +for a moment and think of an ant--who kept a diary. + +Desiree did not keep a diary. Her life was too busy for ink. She had had +to work for her daily bread, which is better than riches. Her life had +been full of occupation from morning till night, and God had given her +sleep from night till morning. It is better to work for others than to +think for them. Some day the world will learn to have a greater respect +for the workers than for the thinkers, who are idle, wordy persons, +frequently thinking wrong. + +Desiree remembered the siege and the occupation of Dantzig by French +troops. She was at school in the Jopengasse when the Treaty of +Tilsit--that peace which was nothing but a pause--was concluded. She +had seen Luisa of Prussia, the good Queen who baffled Napoleon. Her +childhood had passed away in the roar of siege-guns. Her girlhood, in +the Frauengasse, had been marked by the various woes of Prussia, by each +successive step in the development of Napoleon's ambition. There were +no bogey-men in the night-nursery at the beginning of the century. One +Aaron's rod of a bogey had swallowed all the rest, and children buried +their sobs in the pillow for fear of Napoleon. There were no ghosts in +the dark corners of the stairs when Desiree, candle in hand, went to bed +at eight o'clock, half an hour before Mathilde. The shadows on the wall +were the shadows of soldiers--the wind roaring in the chimney was +like the sound of distant cannon. When the timid glanced over their +shoulders, the apparition they looked for was that of a little man in a +cocked hat and a long grey coat. + +This was not an age in which the individual life was highly valued. Men +were great to-day and gone to-morrow. Women were of small account. It +was the day of deeds and not of words. + +Desiree had never been oppressed by a sense of her own importance, which +oppression leaves its mark on many a woman's face in these times. She +had not, it would seem, expected much from life; and when much was +given to her she received it without misgivings. She was young and +light-hearted, and she lived in a reckless age. + +She was not surprised when Charles failed to return. The chaise that was +to carry them to Zoppot stood in the Frauengasse on the shady side of +the street in the heat of the afternoon for more than an hour. Then she +ran out and told the driver to go back to his stables. + +“One cannot go for a honeymoon alone,” she explained airily to her +father, who was peevish and restless, standing by the window with the +air of one who expects without knowing what to expect. “It is, at all +events, quite clear that there is nothing for me to do but wait.” + +She made light of it, and laughed at her father's grave face. Mathilde +said nothing, but her silence seemed to suggest that this was no more +than she had foretold, or at all events foreseen. She was too proud or +too generous to put her thoughts into words. For pride and generosity +are often confounded. There are many who give because they are too proud +to withhold. + +Desiree got her needlework and sat by the open window awaiting Charles. +She could hear the continuous clatter of carts on the quay, and the +voices of the men working in the great granaries across the river. + +The whole city seemed to be astir, and men hurried to and fro in even +the quiet Frauengasse, while the clatter of cavalry and the heavy rumble +of gun carriages could be heard over the roofs from the direction of the +Langenmarkt. There was a sense of hurry in the dusty air. The Emperor +had arrived, and the magic of his name lifted men out of themselves. It +seemed nothing extraordinary to Desiree that her life should be taken up +by this whirlwind, and carried on she knew not whither. + +At dinner-time Charles had not returned. Antoine Sebastian dined at +half-past four, in the manner of Northern Europe; but his daughters +provided his table with the lighter meats of France, which he preferred +to the German cuisine. Sebastian's dinner was an event in the day, +though he ate sparingly enough, and found a mental rather than a +physical pleasure in the ceremonious sequence of courses. + +It was now too late to think of going to Zoppot. After dinner Mathilde +and Desiree prepared the rooms which had been destined for the +occupation of the married pair after the honeymoon. + +“We shall have to omit Zoppot, that is all,” said Desiree cheerfully, +and fell to unpacking the bridal clothes which had been so merrily laid +in the trunks. + +At half-past six a soldier brought a hurried note from Charles. + +“I cannot return to-night, as I am about to start for Konigsberg,” he +wrote. “It is a commission which I could not refuse if I wished to. You, +I know, would have me go and do my duty.” + +There was more which Desiree did not read aloud. Charles had always +found it easy enough to tell Desiree how much he loved her, and was +gaily indifferent to the ears of others. But she seemed to be restrained +by some feeling which had found birth in her heart during her wedding +day. She said nothing of Charles's protestations of love. + +“Decidedly,” she said, folding the letter, and placing it in her +work-basket, “Fate is interfering in our affairs to-day.” + +She turned to her work again without further complaint, almost with +a sense of relief. Mathilde, whose steady grey eyes saw everything, +penetrating every thought, glanced at her with a suddenly aroused +interest. Desiree herself was half surprised at the philosophy with +which she met this fresh misfortune. + +Antoine Sebastian had never acquired the habit of drinking tea in the +evening, which had found favour in these northern countries bordering +on Russia. Instead, he usually went out at this time to one of the many +wine-rooms or Bier Halles in the town to drink a slow and meditative +glass of beer with such friends as he had made in Dantzig. For he was a +lonely man, whose face was quite familiar to many who looked for a bow +or a friendly salutation in vain. + +If he went to the Rathskeller it was on the invitation of a friend; for +he could not afford to pay the vintage of that cellar, though he drank +the wine with the slow mouthing of a connoisseur when he had it. + +More often than not he took a walk first, passing out of the Frauenthor +on to the quay, where he turned to left or right and made his way back +through one or other of the town gates, by devious narrow streets +to that which is still called the Portchaisengasse though chairs and +carriers have long ceased to pass along it. Here, on the northern +side of the street is an old inn, “Zum weissen Ross'l,” with a broken, +ill-carved head of a white horse above the door. Across the face of the +house is written, in old German letters, an invitation: + + Gruss Gott. Tritt ein! + Bring Gluck herein. + +But few seemed to accept it. Even a hundred years ago the White Horse +was behind the times, and fashion sought the wider streets. + +Antoine Sebastian was perhaps ashamed of frequenting so humble a house +of entertainment, where for a groschen he could have a glass of beer. +He seemed to make his way through the narrower streets for some purpose, +changing his route from day to day, and hurrying across the wider +thoroughfares with the air of one desirous to attract but little +attention. He was not alone in the quiet streets, for there were many +in Dantzig at this time who from wealth had fallen to want. Many +counting-houses once noisy with prosperity were now closed and silent. +For five years the prosperous Dantzig had lain crushed beneath the iron +heel of the conqueror. + +It would seem that Sebastian had only waited for the explanation of +Charles's most ill-timed absence to carry out his usual programme. The +clock in the tower of the Rathhaus had barely struck seven when he took +his hat and cloak from the peg near the dining-room door. He was so +absorbed that he did not perceive Papa Barlasch seated just within the +open door of the kitchen. But Barlasch saw him, and scratched his head +at the sight. + +The northern evenings are chill even in June, and Sebastian fumbled with +his cloak. It would appear that he was little used to helping himself in +such matters. Barlasch came out of the kitchen when Sebastian's back +was turned and helped him to put the flowing cloak straight upon his +shoulders. + +“Thank you, Lisa, thank you,” said Sebastian in German, without looking +round. By accident Barlasch had performed one of Lisa's duties, and +the master of the house was too deeply engaged in thought to notice +any difference in the handling or to perceive the smell of snuff that +heralded the approach of Papa Barlasch. Sebastian took his hat and went +out closing the door behind him, and leaving Barlasch, who had followed +him to the door, standing rather stupidly on the mat. + +“Absent-minded--the citizen,” muttered Barlasch, returning to the +kitchen, where he resumed his seat on a chair by the open door. He +scratched his head and appeared to lapse into thought. But his brain was +slow as were his movements. He had been drinking to the health of the +bride. He thumped himself on the brow with his closed fist. + +“Sacred-name-of-a-thunderstorm,” he said. “Where have I seen that face +before?” + +Sebastian went out by the Frauenthor to the quay. Although it was dusk, +the granaries were still at work. The river was full of craft and the +roadway choked by rows and rows of carts, all of one pattern, too big +and too heavy for roads that are laid across a marsh. + +He turned to the right, but found his way blocked at the corner of the +Langenmarkt, where the road narrows to pass under the Grunes Thor. Here +the idlers of the evening hour were collected in a crowd, peering over +each other's shoulders towards the roadway and the bridge. Sebastian +was a tall man, and had no need to stand on tip-toe in order to see the +straight rows of bayonets swinging past, and the line of shakos rising +and falling in unison with the beat of a thousand feet on the hollow +woodwork of the drawbridge. + +The troops had been passing out of the city all the afternoon on the +road to Elbing and Konigsberg. + +“It is the same,” said a man standing near to Sebastian, “at the Hohes +Thor, where they are marching out by the road leading to Konigsberg by +way of Dessau.” + +“It is farther than Konigsberg that they are going,” was the significant +answer of a white-haired veteran who had probably been at Eylau, for he +had a crushed look. + +“But war is not declared,” said the first speaker. + +“Does that matter?” + +And both turned towards Sebastian with the challenging air that invites +opinion or calls for admiration of uncommon shrewdness. He was better +clad than they. He must know more than they did. But Sebastian looked +over their heads and did not seem to have heard their conversation. + +He turned back and went another way, by side streets and the little +narrow alleys that nearly always encircle a cathedral, and are still +to be found on all sides of the Marienkirche. At last he came to the +Portchaisengasse, which was quiet enough in the twilight, though he +could hear the tramp of soldiers along the Langgasse and the rumble of +the guns. + +There were only two lamps in the Portchaisengasse, swinging on +wrought-iron gibbets at each end of the street. These were not yet +alight, though the day was fading fast, and the western light could +scarcely find its way between the high gables which hung over the road +and seemed to lean confidentially towards each other. + +Sebastian was going towards the door of the Weissen Ross'l when some +one came out of the hostelry, as if he had been awaiting him within the +porch. + +The new-comer, who was a fat man with baggy cheeks and odd, light blue +eyes--the eyes of an enthusiast, one would say--passed Sebastian, making +a little gesture which at once recommended silence, and bade him turn +and follow. At the entrance to a little alley leading down towards +the Marienkirche the fat man awaited Sebastian, whose pace had not +quickened, nor had his walk lost any of its dignity. + +“Not there to-night,” said the man, holding up a thick forefinger and +shaking it sideways. + +“Then where?” + +“Nowhere to-night,” was the answer. “He has come--you know that?” + +“Yes,” answered Sebastian slowly, “for I saw him.” + +“He is at supper now with Rapp and the others. The town is full of his +people. His spies are everywhere. There are two in the Weissen Ross'l +who pretend to be Bavarians. See! There is another--just there.” + +He pointed the thick forefinger down the Portchaisengasse where it +widens to meet the Langgasse, where the last remains of daylight, +reflected to and fro between the houses, found freer play than in the +narrow alley where they stood. + +Sebastian looked in the direction indicated. An officer was walking away +from them. A quick observer would have noticed that his spurs made no +noise, and that he carried his sword instead of allowing it to clatter +after him. It was not clear whence he had come. It must have been from a +doorway nearly opposite to the Weissen Ross'l. + +“I know that man,” said Sebastian. + +“So do I,” was the reply. “It is Colonel de Casimir.” + +With a little nod the fat man went out again into the Portchaisengasse +in the direction of the inn, as if he were keeping watch there. + + + +CHAPTER VI. THE SHOEMAKER OF KONIGSBERG. + + + + Chacun ne comprend que ce qu'il trouve en soi. + +Nearly two years had passed since the death of Queen Luisa of Prussia. +And she from her grave yet spake to her people--as sixty years later she +was destined to speak to another King of Prussia, who said a prayer by +her tomb before departing on a journey that was to end in Fontainebleau +with an imperial crown and the reckoning for all time of the seven years +of woe that followed Tilsit and killed a queen. + +Two years earlier than that, in 1808, while Luisa yet lived, a +few scientists and professors of Konigsberg had formed a sort of +Union--vague enough and visionary--to encourage virtue and discipline +and patriotism. And now, in 1812, four years later, the memory of Luisa +still lingered in those narrow streets that run by the banks of the +Pregel beneath the great castle of Konigsberg, while the Tugendbund, +like a seed that has been crushed beneath an iron heel, had spread its +roots underground. + +From Dantzig, the commercial, to Konigsberg, the kingly and the learned, +the tide of war rolled steadily onwards. It is a tide that carries +before it a certain flotsam of quick and active men, keen-eyed, +restless, rising--men who speak with a sharp authority and pay from a +bottomless purse. The arrival of Napoleon in Dantzig swept the first of +the tide on to Konigsberg. + +Already every house was full. The high-gabled warehouses on the +riverside could not be used for barracks, for they too had been crammed +from floor to roof with stores and arms. So the soldiers slept where +they could. They bivouacked in the timber-yards by the riverside. The +country-women found the Neuer Markt transformed into a camp when they +brought their baskets in the early morning, but they met with eager +buyers, who haggled laughingly in half a dozen different tongues. There +was no lack of money, however. + +Cartloads of it were on the road. + +The Neuer Markt in Konigsberg is a square, of which the lower side is a +quay on the Pregel. The river is narrow here. Across it the country is +open. The houses surrounding the quadrangle are all alike--two-storied +buildings with dormer windows in the roof. There are trees in front. In +front of that which is now Number Thirteen, at the right-hand corner, +facing west, sideways to the river, the trees grow quite close to the +windows, so that an active man or a boy might without great risk leap +from the eaves below the dormer window into the topmost branches of the +linden, which here grows strong and tough, as it surely should do in the +fatherland. + +A young soldier, seeking lodgings, who happened to knock at the door of +Number Thirteen less than thirty hours after the arrival of Napoleon at +Dantzig, looked upward through the shady boughs, and noted their growth +with the light of interest in his eye. It would almost seem that the +house had been described to him as that one in the Neuer Markt against +which the lindens grew. For he had walked all round the square between +the trees and houses before knocking at this door, which bore no number +then, as it does to-day. + +His tired horse had followed him meditatively, and now stood with +drooping head in the shade. The man himself wore a dark uniform, white +with dust. His hair was dusty and rather lank. He was not a very tidy +soldier. + +He stood looking at the sign which swung from the doorpost, a relic +of the Polish days. It bore the painted semblance of a boot. For in +Poland--a frontier country, as in frontier cities where many tongues are +heard--it is the custom to paint a picture rather than write a word. So +that every house bears the sign of its inmate's craft, legible alike to +Lithuanian or Ruthenian, Swede or Cossack of the Don. + +He knocked again, and at last the door was opened by a thickly-built +man, who looked, not at his face, but at his boots. As these wanted no +repair he half closed the door again and looked at the newcomer's face. + +“What do you want?” he asked. + +“A lodging.” + +The door was almost closed, when the soldier made an odd and, as it +would seem, tentative gesture with his left hand. All the fingers were +clenched, and with his extended thumb he scratched his chin slowly from +side to side. + +“I have no lodging to let,” said the bootmaker. But he did not shut the +door. + +“I can pay,” said the other, with his thumb still at his chin. He had +quick, blue eyes beneath the shaggy hair that wanted cutting. “I am very +tired--it is only for one night.” + +“Who are you?” asked the bootmaker. + +The soldier was a dull and slow man. He leant against the doorpost with +tired gestures before replying. + +“Sergeant in a Schleswig regiment, in charge of spare horses.” + +“And you have come far?” + +“From Dantzig without a halt.” + +The shoemaker looked him up and down with a doubting eye, as if there +were something about him that was not quite clear and above-board. The +dust and fatigue were, however, unmistakable. + +“Who sent you to me, anyway?” he grumbled. + +“Oh, I do not know,” was the half-impatient answer; “the man I lodged +with in Dantzig or another, I forget. It was Koch the locksmith in the +Schmiedegasse. See, I have money. I tell you it is for one night. Say +yes or no. I want to get to bed and to sleep.” + +“How much do you pay?” + +“A thaler--if you like. Among friends, one is willing to pay.” + +After a short minute of hesitation the shoemaker opened the door wider +and came out. + +“And there will be another thaler for the horse, which I shall have +to take to the stable of the wood-merchant at the corner. Go into the +workshop and sit down till I come.” + +He stood in the doorway and watched the soldier seat himself wearily on +a bench in the workshop among the ancient boots, past repair, one would +think, and lean his head against the wall. + +He was half asleep already, and the bootmaker, who was lame, shrugged +his shoulders as he led away the tired horse, with a gesture half of +pity, half of doubting suspicion. Had it suggested itself to his mind, +and had it been within the power of one so halt and heavy-footed to turn +back noiselessly, he would have found his visitor wide-awake enough, +hurriedly opening every drawer and peering under the twine and needles, +lifting every bale of leather, shaking out the very boots awaiting +repair. + +When the dweller in Number Thirteen returned, the soldier was asleep, +and had to be shaken before he would open his eyes. + +“Will you eat before you go to bed?” asked the bootmaker not unkindly. + +“I ate as I came along the street,” was the reply. “No, I will go to +bed. What time is it?” + +“It is only seven o'clock--but no matter.” + +“No, it is no matter. To-morrow I must be astir by five.” + +“Good,” said the shoemaker. “But you will get your money's worth. The +bed is a good one. It is my son's. He is away, and I am alone in the +house.” + +He led the way upstairs as he spoke, going heavily one step at a time, +so that the whole house seemed to shake beneath his tread. The room was +that attic in the roof which has a dormer window overhanging the linden +tree. It was small and not too clean; for Konigsberg was once a Polish +city, and is not far from the Russian frontier. + +The soldier hardly noticed his surroundings, but sat down instantly, +with the abandonment of a shepherd's dog at the day's end. + +“I will put a stitch in your boots for you while you sleep,” said the +host casually. “The thread is rotten, I can see. Look here--and here!” + +He stooped, and with a quick turn of the awl which he carried in his +belt he snapped the sewing at the join of the leg and the upper leather, +bringing the frayed ends of the thread out to view. + +Without answering, the soldier looked round for the boot-jack, lacking +which, no German or Polish bedroom is complete. + +When the bootmaker had gone, carrying the boots under his arm, the +soldier, left to himself, made a grimace at the closed door. Without +boots he was a prisoner in the house. He could hear his host at work +already, downstairs in the shop, of which the door opened to the stairs +and allowed passage to that smell of leather which breeds Radical +convictions. + +The regular “tap-tap” of the cobbler's hammer continued for an hour +until dusk, and all the while the soldier lay dressed on his bed. Soon +after, a creaking of the stairs told of the surreptitious approach of +the unwilling host. He listened outside, and even tried the door, but +found it bolted. The soldier, open-eyed on the bed, snored aloud. At the +sound of the key on the outside of the door he made a grimace again. His +features were very mobile, for Schleswig. + +He heard the bootmaker descend the stairs again almost noiselessly, +and, rising from the bed, he took his station at the window. All the +Langgasse would seem to be eating-houses. The basement, which has a +separate door, gives forth odours of simple Pomeranian meats, and every +other house bears to this day the curt but comforting inscription, “Here +one eats.” It was only to be supposed that the bootmaker at the end of +his day would repair for supper to some special haunt near by. + +But the smell of cooking mingling with that of leather told that he was +preparing his own evening meal. He was, it seemed, an unsociable man, +who had but a son beneath his roof, and mostly lived alone. + +Seated near the window, where the sunset light yet lingered, the +Schleswiger opened his haversack, which was well supplied, and finding +paper, pens and ink, fell to writing with one eye watchful of the window +and both ears listening for any movement in the room below. + +He wrote easily with a running pen, and sometimes he smiled as he wrote. +More than once he paused and looked across the Neuer Markt above the +trees and the roofs, towards the western sky, with a sudden grave +wistfulness. He was thinking of some one in the west. It was assuredly +not of war that this soldier wrote. Then, again, his attention would be +attracted to some passer in the street below. He only gave half of his +attention to his letter. He was, it seemed, a man who as yet touched +life lightly; for he was quite young. But, nevertheless, his pen, urged +by only half a mind that had all the energy of spring, flew over the +paper. Sowing is so much easier than reaping. + +Suddenly he threw his pen aside and moved quickly to the window which +stood open. The shoemaker had gone out, closing the door softly behind +him. + +It was to be expected that he would turn to the left, upwards towards +the town and the Langgasse, but it was in the direction of the river +that his footsteps died away. There was no outlet on that side except by +boat. + +It was almost dark now, and the trees growing close to the window +obscured the view. So eager was the lodger to follow the movements of +his landlord that he crept in stocking-feet out on to the roof. By lying +on his face below the window he could just distinguish the shadowy form +of a lame man by the river edge. He was moving to and fro, unchaining a +boat moored to the steps, which are more used in winter when the Pregel +is a frozen roadway than in summer. There was no one else in the Neuer +Markt, for it was the supper hour. + +Out in the middle of the river a few ships were moored: high-prowed, +square-sterned vessels of a Dutch build trading in the Frische Haaf and +in the Baltic. + +The soldier saw the boat steal out towards them. There was no other boat +at the steps or in sight. He stood up on the edge of the roof, and after +carefully measuring his distance, with quick eyes aglow with excitement, +he leapt lightly across the leafy space into the topmost boughs, where +he alighted in a forked branch almost without sound. + +At dawn the next morning, while the shoemaker still slept, the soldier +was astir again. He shivered as he rose, and went to the window, where +his clothes were hanging from a rafter. The water was still dripping +from them. Wrapt in a blanket he sat down by the open window to write +while the morning air should dry his clothes. + +That which he wrote was a long report--sheet after sheet closely +written. And in the middle of his work he broke off to read again the +letter that he had written the night before. With a quick, impulsive +gesture he kissed the name it bore. Then he turned to his work again. + +The sun was up before he folded the papers together. By way of a +postscript he wrote a brief letter. + +“DEAR C.--I have been fortunate, as you will see from the enclosed +report. His Majesty cannot again say that I have been neglectful. I was +quite right. It is Sebastian and only Sebastian that we need fear. Here +they are clumsy conspirators compared to him. I have been in the river +half the night listening at the open stern-window of a Reval pink to +every word they said. His Majesty can safely come to Konigsberg. Indeed, +he is better out of Dantzig. For the whole country is riddled with that +which they call patriotism, and we treason. But I can only repeat what +his Majesty disbelieved the day before yesterday--that the heart of the +ill is Dantzig, and the venom of it Sebastian. Who he really is and +what he is about you must find out how you can. I go forward to-day to +Gumbinnen. The enclosed letter to its address, I beg of you, if only in +acknowledgment of all that I have sacrificed.” + +The letter was unsigned, and bore the date, “Dawn, June 10.” This and +the report, and that other letter (carefully sealed with a wafer) +which did not deal with war or its alarms, were all placed in one large +envelope. He did not seal it, however, but sat thinking while the sun +began to shine on the opposite houses. Then he withdrew the open letter, +and added a postscript to it: + +“If an attempt were made on N.'s life--I should say Sebastian. If +Prussia were to play us false suddenly, and cut us off from France--I +should say nothing else than Sebastian. He is more dangerous than a +fanatic; for he is too clever to be one.” + +The writer shivered and laughed in sheer amusement at his own misery +as he drew on his wet clothes. The shoemaker was already astir, and +presently knocked at his door. + +“Yes, yes,” the soldier cried, “I am astir.” + +And as his host rattled the door he opened it. He had unrolled his long +cavalry cloak, and wore it over his wet clothes. + +“You never told me your name,” said the shoemaker. A suspicious man is +always more suspicious at the beginning of the day. + +“My name,” answered the other carelessly. “Oh! my name is Max Brunner.” + + + +CHAPTER VII. THE WAY OF LOVE. + + + + Celui qui souffle le feu s'expose a etre brule par les +etincelles. + +It was said that Colonel de Casimir--that guest whose presence +and uniform lent an air of distinction to the quiet wedding in the +Frauengasse--was a Pole from Cracow. Men also whispered that he was in +the confidence of the Emperor. But this must only have been a manner of +speaking. For no man was ever admitted fully into the thoughts of that +superhuman mind. + +De Casimir was left behind in Dantzig when the army moved forward. + +“There will be a great battle,” he said, “somewhere near Vilna--and I +shall miss it.” + +Indeed, every man was striving to get to the front. He who, himself, had +given a new meaning to human ambition seemed able to inspire not only +Frenchmen but soldiers of every nationality with fire from his own +consuming flame. + +“Yes! madame,” said de Casimir; for it was to Desiree that he spoke, +“and your husband is more fortunate than I. He is sure of a staff +appointment. He will be among the first. It will soon be over. To-morrow +war is to be declared.” + +They were in the street--not far from the Frauengasse, whence Desiree, +always practical, was hurrying towards the market-place. De Casimir had +seemed idle until he perceived her. + +Desiree made a little movement of horror at the announcement. She did +not know that the fighting had already begun. + +“Ah!” cried de Casimir with a reassuring smile. “You must be of good +cheer. There will be no war at all. I tell you that in confidence. +Russia will be paralyzed. I was going towards the Frauengasse when I +perceived you; to pay my respects to your father, to say a word to you. +Come--you are smiling again. That is right. You were so grave, madame, +as you hurried along with your eyes looking far away. You must not think +of Charles, if the thoughts make you look as you looked then.” + +His manner was kind and confidential and easy--inviting in response that +which the confidential always expect, a return in kind. It is either +hit or miss with such people; and de Casimir missed. He saw Desiree draw +back. She was young, and of that clear fairness of skin which seems to +let the thoughts out through the face so that any can read them. That +which her face expressed at that moment was a clear and definite refusal +to confide anything whatsoever in this little dark man who stood in +front of her, looking into her eyes with a deferential and sympathetic +glance. + +“I know for certain,” he said, “that Charles was well two days ago, and +that he is highly thought of in high quarters. I can tell you that, at +all events.” + +“Thank you,” said Desiree. She had nothing against de Casimir. She had +only seen him once or twice, and she knew him to be Charles's friend, +and in some sense his patron. For de Casimir held a high position in +Dantzig. She was quite ready to like him since Charles liked him; but +she intended to do so at her own range. It is always the woman who +measures the distance. + +Desiree made a little movement as if to continue on her way; and de +Casimir instantly stood aside, with a bow. + +“Shall I find your father at home?” he asked. + +“I think so. He was at home when I left,” she answered, responding to +his salute with a friendly nod. + +De Casimir watched her go and stood for a moment in reflection, as if +going over in his mind that which had passed between them. + +“I must try the other one,” he said to himself as he turned down the +Pfaffengasse. He continued his way at a leisurely pace. At the corner of +the Frauengasse he lingered in the shadow of the linden trees, and while +so doing saw Antoine Sebastian quit the door of No. 36, going in +the opposite direction towards the river, and pass out through the +Frauenthor on to the quay. + +He made a little gesture of annoyance on being told by the servant that +Sebastian was out. After a moment's reflection, he seemed to make up his +mind to ignore the conventionalities. + +“It is merely,” he said in his friendly and confidential manner to the +servant, in perfect German, “that I have news from Monsieur Darragon, +the husband of Mademoiselle Desiree. Madame is out--you say. Well, then, +what is to be done?” + +He had a most charming, grave manner of asking advice which few could +resist. + +The servant nodded at him with a twinkle of understanding in her eye. + +“There is Fraulein Mathilde.” + +“But... well, ask her if she will do me the honour of speaking to me for +an instant. I leave it to you....” + +“But come in,” protested the servant. “Come upstairs. She will see you; +why not?” + +And she led the way upstairs. Papa Barlasch, sitting just within the +kitchen door, where he sat all day doing nothing, glanced upwards +through his overhanging eyebrows at the clink of spurs and the clatter +of de Casimir's sword against the banisters. He had the air of a +watchdog. + +Mathilde was not in the drawing-room, and the servant left the visitor +there alone, saying that she would seek her mistress. There were one or +two books on the tables. One table was rather untidy; it was Desiree's. +A writing-desk stood in the corner of the room. It was locked--and the +lock was a good one. De Casimir was an observant man. He had time +to make this observation, and to see that there were no letters in +Desiree's work-basket; to note the titles of the books and the absence +of name on the flyleaf, and was looking out of the window when the door +opened and Mathilde came in. + +This was a day when women were treated with a great show of deference, +while in reality they had but little voice in the world's affairs. De +Casimir's bow was deeper and more elaborate than would be considered +polite to-day. On standing erect he quickly suppressed a glance of +surprise. + +Mathilde must have expected him. She was dressed in white, and her hair +was tied with a bright ribbon. In her cheeks, usually so pale, was a +little touch of colour. It may have been because Desiree was not near, +but de Casimir had never known until this moment how pretty Mathilde +really was. There was something in her eyes, too, which gripped his +attention. He remembered that at the wedding he had never seen her eyes. +They had always been averted. But now they met his with a troubling +directness. + +De Casimir had a gallant manner. All women commanded his eager +respect, which they could assess at such value as their fancy painted, +remembering that it is for the woman to measure the distance. On the few +occasions of previous encounters, de Casimir had been empresse in his +manner towards Mathilde. As he looked at her, his quick mind ran back to +former meetings. He had no recollection of having actually made love to +her. + +“Mademoiselle,” he said, “for a soldier--in time of war--the conventions +may, perhaps, be slightly relaxed. I was told that you were alone--that +your father is out, and yet I persisted--” + +He spread out his hands and laughed appealingly, begging her, it +would seem, to help him out of the social difficulty in which he found +himself. + +“My father will be sorry--” she began. + +“That is hardly the question,” he interrupted; “I was thinking of your +displeasure. But I have an excuse, I assure you. I only ask a moment to +tell you that I have heard from Konigsberg that Charles Darragon is in +good health there, and is moving forward with the advance-guard to the +frontier.” + +“You are kind to come so soon,” answered Mathilde, and there was an odd +note of disappointment in her voice. De Casimir must have heard it, for +he glanced at her again with a gleam of surprise in his eyes. + +“That is my excuse, Mademoiselle,” he said with a tentative emphasis, as +if he were feeling his way. He was an opportunist with all the quickness +of one who must live by his wits among others existing on the same +uncertain fare. He saw her flush, and again he hesitated as a wayfarer +may hesitate when he finds an easy road where he had expected to climb a +hill. What was the meaning of it? he seemed to ask himself. + +“Charles does not interest you so much as he interests your sister?” he +suggested. + +“He has never interested me much,” she replied indifferently. She did +not ask him to sit down. It would not have been etiquette in an age +when women were by some odd misjudgment considered incapable of managing +their own hearts. + +“Is that because he is in love, Mademoiselle?” inquired de Casimir with +a guarded laugh. + +“Perhaps so.” + +She did not look at him. De Casimir had not missed this time. His air +of candid confidence had met with a quick response. He laughed again and +moved towards the door. Mathilde stood motionless, and although she said +no word, nor by any gesture bade him stay, he stopped on the threshold +and turned again towards her. + +“It was my conscience,” he said, looking at her over his shoulder, “that +bade me go.” + +Her face and her averted eyes asked why, but her straight lips were +silent. + +“Because I cannot claim to be more interesting than Charles Darragon,” + he hazarded. “And you, Mademoiselle, confess that you have no tolerance +for a man who is in love.” + +“I have no tolerance for a man who is weakened by love. He should be +strengthened and hardened by it.” + +“To--?” + +“To do a man's work in the world,” said Mathilde coldly. + +De Casimir was standing by the open door. He closed it with his foot. +He was professedly a man alert for the chance of a moment, which he +was content to grasp without pausing to look ahead. Should there be +difficulties yet unperceived, these in turn might present an opportunity +to be seized by the quick-witted. + +“Then you would admit, Mademoiselle,” he said gravely, “that there may +be good in a love that fights continually against ambition, and--does +not prevail.” + +Mathilde did not answer at once. There was an odd suggestion of +antagonism in their attitude towards each other--not irreconcilable, the +poets tell us, with love--but this is assuredly not the Love that comes +from Heaven and will go back there to live through eternity. + +“Yes,” said she at length. + +“Such is my love for you,” he said, his quick instinct telling him that +with Mathilde few words were best. + +He only spoke the thoughts of his age; for ambition was the ruling +passion in men's hearts at this time. All who served the Great +Adventurer gave it the first place in their consideration, and de +Casimir only aped his betters. Though oddly enough the only two of +all the great leaders who were to emerge still greater from the coming +war--Ney and Eugene--thought otherwise on these matters. + +“I mean to be great and rich, Mademoiselle,” he added after a pause. “I +have risked my life for that purpose half a dozen times.” + +Mathilde stood looking across the room towards the window. He could +only see her profile and the straight line of her lips. She too was the +product of a generation in which men rose to dazzling heights without +the aid of women. + +“I should not have troubled you with these details, Mademoiselle,” he +said, watching her. His instinct was very keen, for not one woman in +a thousand, even in those days, would have admitted that love was a +detail. “I should not have mentioned it--had you not given me your +views--so strangely in harmony with my own.” + +Whatever his nationality, his voice was that of a Pole--rich, musical, +and expressive. He could have made, one would have thought, a very +different sort of love had he wished, or had he been sincere. But he was +an opportunist. This was the sort of love that Mathilde wanted. + +He came a step nearer to her and stood resting on his sword--a lean hard +man who had seen much war. + +“Until you opened my eyes,” he said, “I did not know, or did not care to +know, that love, far from being a drag on ambition, may be a help.” + +Mathilde made a little movement towards him which she instantly +repressed. The heart is quicker, but the head nearly always has the last +word. + +“Mademoiselle,” he said--and no doubt he saw the movement and the +restraint--“will you help me now at the beginning of the war, and listen +to me again at the end of it--if I succeed?” + +After all, he was modest in his demands. + +“Will you help me? Together, Mademoiselle--to what height may we not +rise in these days?” + +There was a ring of sincerity in his voice, and her eyes answered it. + +“How can I help you?” she asked in a doubting voice. + +“Oh, it is a small matter,” was the reply. “But it is one in which the +Emperor is personally interested. Such things have a special attraction +for him. The human interest never fails to hold his attention. If I do +well, he will know it and remember me. It is a question, Mademoiselle, +of secret societies. You know that Prussia is riddled with them.” + +Mathilde did not answer. He studied her face, which was clean cut and +hard like a marble bust--a good face to hide a secret. + +“It is my duty to watch here in Dantzig and to report to the Emperor. +In serving myself I could also perhaps serve a friend, one who might +otherwise run into danger--who may be in danger while you and I stand +here. For the Emperor strikes hard and quickly. I speak of your father, +Mademoiselle--and of the Tugendbund.” + +Still he could not see from the pale profile whether Mathilde knew +anything at all. + +“And if I procure information for you?” asked she at length, in a quiet +and collected voice. + +“You will help me to attain a position such as I could ask--even you--to +share with me. And you would do your father no harm. You would even +render him a service. For all the secret societies in Germany will not +stop Napoleon. It is only God who can stop him now, Mademoiselle. All +men who attempt it will only be crushed beneath the wheels. I might save +your father.” + +But Mathilde did not seem to be thinking of her father. + +“I am hampered by poverty,” de Casimir said, changing his ground. “In +the old days it did not matter. But now, in the Empire, one must be +rich. I shall be rich--at the end of this campaign.” + +Again his voice was sincere, and again her eyes responded. He made a +step forward, and gently taking her hand, he raised it to his lips. + +“You will help me!” he said, and, turning abruptly on his heel, he left +her. + +De Casimir's quarters were in the Langenmarkt. On returning to them, he +took from his despatch-case a letter which he turned over thoughtfully +in his hand. It was addressed to Desiree, and sealed carefully with a +wafer. + +“She may as well have it,” he said. “It will be as well that she should +be occupied with her own affairs.” + + + +CHAPTER VIII. A VISITATION. + + + + Be wiser than other people if you can, but do not tell them so. + +Whenever Papa Barlasch caught sight of his unwilling host's face, he +turned his own aside with a despairing upward nod. Once or twice, during +the early days of his occupation of the room behind the kitchen in the +Frauengasse, he smote himself sharply on the brow, as if calling upon +his brain to make an effort. But afterwards he seemed to resign himself +to this lapse of memory, and the upward despairing nod gradually lost +intensity until at last he brought himself to pass Antoine Sebastian in +the narrow passage with no more emphatic notice than a scowl. + +“You and I,” he said to Desiree, “are the friends. The others--” + +And his gesture seemed to permit the others to go hang if they so +desired. The army had gone forward, leaving Dantzig in that idle +restlessness which holds those who, finding themselves in a house of +sickness, are not permitted entry to the darkened chamber, but must +await the crisis elsewhere. + +There were some busy enough in the commerce that must exist between a +huge army and its base, in the forwarding of war material and stores, in +accommodating the sick and sending out in return those who were to +fill the gaps. But the Dantzigers themselves had nothing to do. Their +prosperous trade was paralyzed. Those who had aught to sell had sold it. +The high-seas and the high-roads were alike blocked by the French. And +rumour, ever busy among those that wait, ran to and fro in the town. + +The Emperor of Russia had been taken prisoner. Napoleon had been +checked at the passage of the Niemen. There had been a great battle at +Gumbinnen, and the French were in full retreat. Vilna had capitulated to +Murat, and the war was at an end. A hundred authentic despatches of the +morning were the subject of contemptuous laughter at the supper-table. + +Lisa heard these tales in the market-place, and told Desiree, who, +as often as not, translated them to Barlasch. But he only held up his +wrinkled forefinger and shook it slowly from side to side. + +“Woman's chatter!” he said. “What is the German for 'magpie'?” + +And on being told the word, he repeated it gravely to Lisa. For he had +not only fulfilled his promise of settling down in the house, but had +assumed therein a distinct and clearly defined position. He was the +counsellor, and from his chair just within the kitchen he gave forth +judgment. + +“And you,” he said to Desiree one morning, when household affairs had +taken her to the kitchen, “you are troubled this morning. You have had a +letter from your husband?” + +“Yes--and he is in good health.” + +“Ah!” + +Barlasch glared at her beneath his brows, looking her up and down, +noting her quick movements, which had the uncertainty of youth. + +“And now that he is gone,” he said, “and that there is war, you are +going to employ yourself by falling in love with him, when you had all +the time before, and did not take advantage of it.” + +Desiree laughed at him and made no other answer. While she spoke to Lisa +he sat and watched them. + +“It would be like a woman to do such a thing,” he pursued. “They are +so inconvenient--women. They get married for fun, and then one fine +Thursday they find they have missed all the fun, like one who comes late +to the theatre--when the music is over.” + +He went to the table and examined the morning marketing, which Lisa +had laid out in preparation for dinner. Of some of her purchases he +approved, but he laughed aloud at a lettuce which had no heart, and at +such a buyer. + +Then Desiree attracted his scrutiny again. + +“Yes,” he said, half to himself, “I see it. You are in love. Just +Heaven, I know! I have had them in love with me.... Barlasch.” + +“That must have been a long time ago,” answered Desiree with her gay +laugh, only giving him half her attention. + +“Yes, it was a century ago. But they were the same then as they are now, +as they always will be--inconvenient. They waited, however, till they +were grown up!” + +And with his ever-ready accusing finger he drew Desiree's attention to +her own slimness. They were left alone for a minute while Lisa answered +a knock at the door, during which time Barlasch sat in grim silence. + +“It is a letter,” said Lisa, returning. “A sailor brought it.” + +“Another?” said Barlasch, with a gesture of despair. + +“Can you give me news of Charles?” Desiree read, in a writing that was +unknown to her. “I shall wait a reply until midnight on board the +Elsa, lying off the Krahn-Thor.” The letter bore the signature, “Louis +d'Arragon.” Desiree turned slowly and went upstairs, carrying it folded +small in her closed hand. + +She was alone in the house, for Mathilde was out and her father had not +yet returned from his evening walk. She stood at the head of the stairs, +where the last of the daylight filtered through the barred window, and +read the letter again. Then she turned and gave a slight start to see +Barlasch at the foot of the stairs beckoning to her. He made no attempt +to come up, but stood on the mat like a dog that has been forbidden the +upper rooms. + +“Is it about your father?” he asked, in a hoarse whisper. + +“No!” + +He made a gesture commanding secrecy and silence. Then he went to close +the kitchen door and returned on tip-toe. + +“It is,” he explained, “that they are talking of him in the cafes. There +are many to be arrested to-morrow. They say the patron is one of them, +and employs himself in plotting. That his name is not Sebastian at all. +That he is a Frenchman who escaped the guillotine. What do I know? It is +the gossip of the cafes. But I tell it you because we are friends, you +and I. And some day I may want you to do something for me. One thinks +of one's self, eh? It is good to make friends. For some day one may want +them. That is why I do it. I think of myself. An old soldier. Of the +Guard.” + +With many gestures of tremendous import, and a face all wrinkled and +twisted with mystery, he returned to the kitchen. + +Mathilde was not to return until late. She had gone to the house of the +old Grafin whose reminiscences had been a fruitful topic at Desiree's +wedding. After dining there she and the Grafin were to go together to +a farewell reception given by the Governor. For Rapp was bound for the +frontier with the rest, and was to go to the war as first aide-de-camp +to the Emperor. + +Mathilde could not be back until ten o'clock. She, who was so quick and +quiet, had been much occupied in social observances lately, and had made +fast friends with the Grafin during the last few days, constantly going +to see her. + +Desiree knew that what Barlasch had repeated as the gossip of the cafes +was in part, if not wholly, true. She and Mathilde had long known that +any mention of France had the instant effect of turning their father +into a man of stone. It was the skeleton in this quiet house that sat at +table with its inmates, a shadowy fourth tying their tongues. The rattle +of its bones seemed to paralyze Sebastian's mind, and at any moment he +would fall into a dumb and stricken apathy which terrified those about +him. At such times it seemed that one thought in his mind had swallowed +all the rest, so that he heard without understanding and saw without +perceiving. + +He was in such a humour when he came back to dinner. He passed Desiree +on the stairs without speaking and went to his room to change his +clothes, for he never relaxed his formal habits. At the dinner-table he +glanced at her as a dog, knowing that he is ill, may be seen to glance +with a secret air at his master, wondering whether he is detected. + +Desiree had always hoped that her father would speak to her when this +humour was upon him and tell her the meaning of it. Perhaps it would +come to-night, when they were alone. There was an unspoken sympathy +existing between them in which Mathilde took no share, which had even +shut out Charles as out of a room where there was no light, into which +Desiree and her father went at times and stood hand-in-hand without +speaking. + +They dined in silence, while Lisa hurried about her duties, oppressed by +a sense of unknown fear. After dinner they went to the drawing-room as +usual. It had been a dull day, with great clouds creeping up from the +West. The evening fell early, and the lamps were already alight. Desiree +looked to the wicks with the eye of experience when she entered the +room. Then she went to the window. Lisa did not always draw the curtains +effectually. She glanced down into the street, and turned suddenly on +her heel, facing her father. + +“They are there,” she said. For she had seen shadowy forms lurking +beneath the trees of the Frauengasse. The street was ill-lighted, but +she knew the shadows of the trees. + +“How many?” asked Sebastian, in a dull voice. + +She glanced at him quickly--at his still, frozen face and quiescent +hands. He was not going to rise to the occasion, as he sometimes did +even from his deepest apathy. She must do alone anything that was to be +accomplished to-night. + +The house, like many in the Frauengasse, had been built by a careful +Hanseatic merchant, whose warehouse was his own cellar half sunk beneath +the level of the street. The door of the warehouse was immediately under +the front door, down a few steps below the street, while a few more +steps, broad and footworn, led up to the stone veranda and the level of +the lower dwelling-rooms. A guard placed in the street could thus watch +both doors without moving. + +There was a third door, giving exit from the little room where Barlasch +slept to the small yard where he had placed those trunks which were made +in France. + +Desiree had no time to think. She came of a race of women of a brighter +intelligence than any women in the world. She took her father by the +arm and hastened downstairs. Barlasch was at his post within the kitchen +door. His eyes shone suddenly as he saw her face. It was said of Papa +Barlasch that he was a gay man in battle, laughing and making a hundred +jests, but at other times lugubrious. Desiree saw him smile for the +first time, in the dim light of the passage. + +“They are there in the street,” he said; “I have seen them. I thought +you would come to Barlasch. They all do--the women. In here. Leave him +to me. When they ring the bell, receive them yourself--with smiles. They +are only men. Let them search the house if they want to. Tell them he +has gone to the reception with Mademoiselle.” + +As he spoke the bell rang just above his head. He looked up at it and +laughed. + +“Ah, ah!” he said, “the fanfare begins.” + +He drew Sebastian within and closed the door of his little room. Lisa +had already gone to answer the bell. When she opened the door three +men stepped quickly over the threshold, and one of them, thrusting her +aside, closed the door and turned the key. Desiree, in her white evening +dress, on the bottom step, just beneath the lamp that hung from the +ceiling, made them pause and look at each other. Then one of the three +came towards her, hat in hand. + +“Our duty, Fraulein,” he said awkwardly. “We are but obeying orders. A +mere formality. It will all be explained, no doubt, if the householder, +Antoine Sebastian, will put on his hat and come with us.” + +“His hat is not there, as you see,” answered Desiree. “You must seek him +elsewhere.” + +The man shook his head with a knowing smile. “We must seek him in +this house,” he said. “We will make it as easy for you as we can, +Fraulein--if you make it easy for us.” + +As he spoke he produced a candle from his pocket, and encouraged the +broken wick with his finger-nail. + +“It will make it pleasanter for all,” said Desiree cheerfully, “if you +will accept a candlestick.” + +The man glanced at her. He was a heavy man, with little suspicious eyes +set close together. He seemed to be concluding that she had outwitted +him--that Sebastian was not in the house. + +“Where are the cellar-stairs?” he asked. “I warn you, Fraulein, it is +useless to conceal your father. We shall, of course, find him.” + +Desiree pointed to the door next to that giving entry to the kitchen. It +was bolted and locked. Desiree found the key for them. She not only gave +them every facility, but was anxious that they should be as quick as +possible. They did not linger in the cellar, which, though vast, was +empty; and when they returned, Desiree, who was waiting for them, led +the way upstairs. + +They were rather abashed by her silence. They would have preferred +protestations and argument. Discussion always belittles. The smile +recommended by Papa Barlasch, lurking at the corner of her lips, made +them feel foolish. She was so slight and young and helpless, that a sort +of shame rendered them clumsy. + +They felt more at home in the kitchen when they arrived there, and the +sight of Lisa, sturdy and defiant, reminded them of the authority upon +which Desiree had somehow cast a mystic contempt. + +“There is a door there,” said the heavy official, with a brusque return +of his early manner. “Come, what is that door?” + +“That is a little room.” + +“Then open it.” + +“I cannot,” returned Lisa. “It is locked.” + +“Aha!” said the man, with a laugh of much meaning. “On the inside, eh?” + +He went to it, and banged on it with his fist. + +“Come,” he shouted, “open it and be done.” + +There was a short silence, during which those in the kitchen listened +breathlessly. A shuffling sound inside the door made the officer of the +law turn and beckon to his two men to come closer. + +Then, after some fumbling, as of one in the dark, the door was unlocked +and slowly opened. + +Papa Barlasch stood in a very primitive night-apparel within the door. +He had not done things by halves, for he was an old campaigner, and knew +that a thing half done is better left undone in times of war. He noted +the presence of Desiree and Lisa, but was not ashamed. The reason of it +was soon apparent. For Papa Barlasch was drunk, and the smell of drink +came out of his apartment in a warm wave. + +“It is the soldier billeted in the house,” explained Lisa, with a +half-hysterical laugh. + +Then Barlasch harangued them in the language of intoxication. If he had +not spared Desiree's feelings, he spared her ears less now; for he was +an ignorant man, who had lived through a brutal period in the world's +history the roughest life a man can lead. Two of the men held him +with difficulty against the wall, while the third hastily searched the +room--where, indeed, no one could well be concealed. + +Then they quitted the house, followed by the polyglot curses of +Barlasch, who was now endeavouring to find his bayonet amidst his +chaotic possessions. + + + +CHAPTER IX. THE GOLDEN GUESS. + + + + The golden guess + Is morning star to the full round of truth. + +Barlasch was never more sober in his life than when he emerged a minute +later from his room, while Lisa was still feverishly bolting the door. +He had not wasted much time at his toilet. In his flannel shirt, his +arms bare to the elbow, knotted and muscular, he looked like some rude +son of toil. + +“One thinks of one's self,” he hastened to explain to Desiree, fearing +that she might ascribe some other motive to his action. “Some day the +patron may be in power again, and then he will remember a poor soldier. +It is good to think of the future.” + +He shook his head pessimistically at Lisa as belonging to a sex liable +to error: instanced in this case by bolting the door too eagerly. + +“Now,” he said, turning to Desiree again, “have you any in Dantzig to +help you?” + +“Yes,” she answered rather slowly. + +“Then send for him.” + +“I cannot do that.” + +“Then go for him yourself,” snapped Barlasch impatiently. + +He looked at her fiercely beneath his shaggy eyebrows. + +“It is no use to be afraid,” he said; “you are afraid--I see it in your +face. And it is never any use. Before they hammered on that door there, +my legs shook. For I am easily afraid--I. But it is never any use. And +when one opens the door, it goes.” + +He looked at her with a puzzled frown, seeking in vain, it may have +been, the ordinary symptoms of fear. She was hesitating but not afraid. +There ran blood in her veins which will for all time be associated by +history with a gay and indomitable courage. + +“Come,” he said sharply; “there is nothing else to do.” + +“I will go,” said Desiree, at length, deciding suddenly to do the one +thing that is left to a woman once or twice in her life--to go to the +one man and trust him. + +“By the back way,” said Barlasch, helping her with the cloak that Lisa +had brought, and pulling the hood forward over her face with a jerk. +“Ah, I know that way. The patron is hiding in the yard. An old soldier +looks to the retreat--though the Emperor has saved us that, so far. +Come, I will help you over the wall, for the door is rusted.” + +The way, which Barlasch had perceived, led through the room at the back +of the kitchen to a yard, and thence through a door not opened by the +present occupiers of the old house, into a very labyrinth of narrow +alleys running downward to the river and round the tall houses that +stand against the cathedral walls. + +The wall was taller than Barlasch, but he ran at it like a cat, +and Desiree standing below could see the black outline of his limbs +crouching on the top. He stooped down, and grasping her hands, lifted +her by the sheer strength of one arm, balanced her for an instant on the +wall, and then lowered her on the outer side. + +“Run,” he whispered. + +She knew the way, and although the night was dark, and these narrow +alleys between high walls had no lamps, Desiree lost no time. The +Krahn-Thor is quite near to the Frauengasse. Indeed, the whole +of Dantzig occupied but a small space between the rivers in those +straitened days. The town was quieter than it had been for months, and +Desiree passed unmolested through the narrow streets. She made her way +to the quay, passing through the low gateway known as the door of the +Holy Ghost, and here found people still astir. For the commerce that +thrives on a northern river is paralyzed all the winter, and feverishly +active when the ice has gone. + +“The Elsa,” replied a woman, who had been selling bread all day on the +quay, and was now packing up her stall, “you ask for the Elsa. There is +such a ship, I know. But how can I say which she is? See, they lie right +across the river like a bridge. Besides, it is late, and sailors are +rough men.” + +Desiree hurried on. Louis d'Arragon had said that the ship was lying +near to the Krahn-Thor, of which the great hooded roof loomed darkly +against the stars above her. She was looking about her when a man came +forward with the hesitating step of one who has been told to wait the +arrival of some one unknown to him. + +“The Elsa,” she said to him; “which ship is it?” + +“Come along with me, Mademoiselle,” the man replied; “though I was not +told to look for a woman.” + +He spoke in English, which Desiree hardly understood; for she had never +heard it from English lips, and looked for the first time on one of that +race upon which all the world waited now for salvation. For the +English, of all the nations, were the only men who from the first had +consistently defied Napoleon. + +The sailor led the way towards the river. As he passed the lamp burning +dimly above some steps, Desiree saw that he was little more than a boy. +He turned and offered her his hand with a shy laugh, and together they +stood at the bottom of the steps with the water lapping at their feet. + +“Have you a letter,” he said, “or will you come on board?” + +Then perceiving that she did not understand, he repeated the question in +German. + +“I will come on board,” she answered. + +The Elsa was lying in the middle of the river, and the boat into which +Desiree stepped shot across the water without sound of oars. The sailor +was paddling it noiselessly at the stern. Desiree was not unused to +boats, and when they came alongside the Elsa she climbed on board +without help. + +“This way,” said the sailor, leading her towards the deckhouse where +a light burned dimly behind red curtains. He knocked at the door and +opened it without awaiting a reply. In the little cabin two men sat at a +table, and one of them was Louis d'Arragon dressed in the rough clothes +of a merchant seaman. He seemed to recognize Desiree at once, though she +still stood without the door, in the darkness. + +“You?” he said in surprise. “I did not expect you, madame. You want me?” + +“Yes,” answered Desiree, stepping over the combing. Louis's companion, +who was also a sailor, coarsely clad, rose and, awkwardly taking off his +cap, hurried to the door, murmuring some vague apology. It is not always +the roughest men who have the worst manners towards women. + +He closed the door behind him, leaving Desiree and Louis looking at each +other by the light of an oil lamp that flickered and gave forth a greasy +smell. The little cabin was smoke-ridden, and smelt of ancient tar. It +was no bigger than the table in the drawing-room in the Frauengasse, +across which he had bowed to her in farewell a few days earlier, little +knowing when and where they were to meet again. For fate can always turn +a surprise better than the human fancy. + +Behind the curtain, the window stood open, and the high, clear song of +the wind through the rigging filled the little cabin with a continuous +minor note of warning which must have been part of his life; for he must +have heard it, as all sailors do, sleeping or waking, night and day. + +He was probably so accustomed to it that he never heeded it. But it +filled Desiree's ears, and whenever she heard it in after-life, in +memory this moment came again to her, and she looked back to it, as a +traveller may look back to a milestone at a cross-road, and wonder where +his journey might have ended had he taken another turning. + +“My father,” she said quickly, “is in danger. There is no one else in +Dantzig to whom we can turn, and--” + +She paused. What was she going to add? She hesitated, and then was +silent. There was no reason why she should have elected to come to him. +At all events she gave none. + +“I am glad I was in Dantzig when it happened,” he said, turning to take +up his cap, which was of rough dark fur, such as seamen wear even in +summer at night in the Northern seas. + +“Come,” he added, “you can tell me as we go ashore.” + +But they did not speak while the sailor sculled the boat to the steps. +On the quay they would probably pass unnoticed, for there were many +strange sailors at this time in Dantzig, and Louis d'Arragon might +easily be mistaken for one of the French seamen who had brought stores +by sea from Bordeaux and Brest and Cherbourg. + +“Now tell me,” he said, as they walked side by side; and in voluble +French, Desiree launched into her story. It was rather incoherent, by +reason, perhaps, of its frankness. + +“Stop--stop,” he interrupted gravely, “who is Barlasch?” + +Louis walked rather slowly in his stiff sea-boots at her side, and she +instinctively spoke less rapidly as she explained the part that Barlasch +had played. + +“And you trust him?” + +“Of course,” she answered. + +“But why?” + +“Oh, you are so matter-of-fact,” she exclaimed; “I do not know. Because +he is trustworthy, I suppose.” + +She continued the story, but suddenly stopped and looked up at him under +the shadow of her hood. + +“You are silent,” she said. “Do you know something about my father of +which I am ignorant? Is that it?” + +“No,” he answered, “I am trying to follow--that is all. You leave so +much to my imagination.” + +“But I have no time to explain things,” she protested. “Every moment +is of value. I will explain all those things some other time. At this +moment all I can think of is my father and the danger he is in. If it +had not been for Barlasch, he would have been in prison by now. And as +it is, the danger is only half averted. For he, himself, is so little +help. All must be done for him. He will do nothing for himself while +this humour is upon him; you understand?” + +“Partly,” he answered slowly. + +“Oh!” she exclaimed half-impatiently, “one sees that you are an +Englishman.” + +And she found time, even in her hurry, to laugh. For she was young +enough to float buoyant upon that sea of hope which ebbs in the course +of years and leaves men stranded on the hard facts of life. + +“You forget,” he said in self-defence. + +“I forget what?” + +“That a week ago I had never seen Dantzig, or your father, or your +sister, or the Frauengasse. A week ago I did not know that there was +anybody called Sebastian in the world--and did not care.” + +“Yes,” she admitted thoughtfully, “I had forgotten that.” + +And they walked on in silence, a long way, till they came to the Gate of +the Holy Ghost. + +“But you can help him to escape?” she said at length, as if following +the course of her own thoughts. + +“Yes,” he answered, and that was all. + +They passed through the smaller streets in silence, and Desiree led the +way into a narrow alley running between the street of the Holy Ghost and +the Frauengasse. + +“There is the wall to be climbed,” she said; but, as she spoke, the door +giving exit to the alley was cautiously opened by Barlasch. + +“A little oil,” he whispered, “and it was soon done.” + +The yard was dark within, for there might be watchers at any of the +windows above them in the pointed gables that made patterns against the +star-lit sky. + +“All is well,” said Barlasch; “those sons of dogs have not returned, and +the patron is waiting in the kitchen, cloaked and ready for a journey. +He has collected himself--the patron.” + +He led the way through his own room, which was dark, save for a shaft +of lamp-light coming from the kitchen. He looked back keenly at Louis +d'Arragon. + +“Salut!” he growled, scowling at his boots. “A sailor,” he muttered +after a pause. “Good. She has her wits at the top of the basket--that +child.” + +Desiree was throwing back her hood and looking at her father with a +reassuring smile. + +“I have brought Monsieur d'Arragon,” she said, “to help us.” + +For Sebastian has not recognized the new-comer. He now bowed in his +stiff way, and began a formal apology, which D'Arragon cut short with a +quick gesture. + +“It is the least I could do,” he said, “in the absence of Charles. Have +you money?” + +“Yes--a little.” + +“You will require money and a few clothes. I can get you a passage to +Riga or to Helsingborg to-night. From there you can communicate with +your daughter. Events will follow each other rapidly. One never knows +what a week may bring forth in time of war. It may be safe for you to +return soon. Come, monsieur, we must go.” + +Sebastian made a gesture with his outspread arms, half of protestation, +half of acquiescence. It was plain that he had no sympathy with these +modern, hurried methods of meeting the emergencies of daily life. A +valise, packed and strapped, lay on the table. D'Arragon weighed it in +his hand, and then lifted it to his shoulder. + +“Come, monsieur,” he repeated leading the way through Barlasch's room to +the yard. “And you,” he added, addressing himself to that soldier, “shut +the door behind us.” + +With another gesture of protest Sebastian gathered his cloak round him +and followed. D'Arragon had taken Desiree so literally at her word +that he allowed her father no time for hesitation, nor a moment to say +farewell. + +She was alone in the kitchen before she had realized that they were +going. In a minute Barlasch returned. She could hear him setting in +order the room which had been hurriedly disorganized in order to open +the door leading to the yard, where her father had concealed himself. He +was muttering to himself as he lifted the furniture. + +Coming back into the kitchen, he found Desiree standing where he had +left her. Glancing at her, he scratched his grey head in a plebeian way, +and gave a little laugh. + +“Yes,” he said, pointing to the spot where D'Arragon had stood. “That +was a man, that you fetched to help us--a man. It makes a difference +when such as that goes out of the room--eh?” + +He busied himself in the kitchen, setting in order that which remained +of the mise en scene of his violent reception of the secret police. +Suddenly he turned in his emphatic manner, and threw out his rugged +forefinger to hold her attention. + +“If there had been some like that in Paris, there would have been no +Revolution. Za-za, za-za!” he concluded, imitating effectively the +buzz of many voices in an assembly. “Words and not deeds,” Barlasch +protested. Whereas to-night, he clearly showed by two gestures, they had +met a man of deeds. + + + +CHAPTER X. IN DEEP WATER. + + + + Le coeur humain est un abime qui trompe tous les calculs. + +It is to be presumed that Colonel de Casimir met friends at the +reception given by Governor Rapp in the great rooms of the Rathhaus. +For there were many Poles present, and not a few officers of other +nationalities. + +The army indeed that set forth to conquer Russia was not a +French-speaking army. Less than half of the regiments were of that +nationality, while Italians, Bavarians, Saxons, Wurtembergers, +Westphalians, Prussians, Swiss, and Portuguese went gaily forward on the +great venture. There were soldiers from the numerous petty states of the +German Confederation which acknowledged Napoleon as their protector, +for the good reason that they could not protect themselves against him. +Finally, there were those Poles who had fought in Spain for Napoleon, +hoping that in return he would some day set the ancient kingdom upon its +feet among the nations. Already the whisperers pointed to Davoust as the +future king of the new Poland. + +Many present at the farewell reception of the Governor carried a sword, +though they were the merest civilians, plotting, counter-plotting, +and whispering a hundred rumours. Perhaps Rapp himself, speaking bluff +French with a German accent, was as honest as any man in the room, +though he lacked the polish of the Parisian and had not the subtlety of +the Pole. Rapp was not a shining light in these brilliant circles. He +was a Governor not for peace, but for war. His day was yet to come. + +Such men as de Casimir shrugged their supple shoulders at his simple +talk. They spoke of him half-contemptuously as of one who had had a +thousand chances and had never taken them. He was not even rich, and he +had handled great sums of money. He was only a General, and he had slept +in the Emperor's tent--had had access to him in every humour. He might +do the same again in the coming campaign. He was worth cultivating. De +Casimir and his like were full of smiles which in no wise deceived the +shrewd Alsatian. + +Mathilde Sebastian was among the ladies to whom these brilliant warriors +paid their uncouth compliments. Perhaps de Casimir was aware that her +measuring eyes followed him wherever he went. He knew, at all events, +that he could hold his own amid these adventurers, many of whom had +risen from the ranks; while others, from remote northern States, had +birth but no manners at all. He was easy and gay, carrying lightly that +subtle air of distinction which is vouchsafed to many Poles. + +“Here to-day, Mademoiselle, and gone to-morrow,” he said. “All these +eager soldiers. And who can tell which of us may return?” + +If he had expected Mathilde to flinch at this reminder of his calling, +he was disappointed. Her eyes were hard and bright. She had had so few +chances of moving amidst this splendour, of seeing close at hand the +greatness which Napoleon shed around him as the sun its rays. She was +carried away by the spirit of the age. Anything was better, she felt, +than obscurity. + +“And who can tell,” whispered de Casimir with a careless and confident +laugh, “which of us shall come back rich and great?” + +This brought the glance from her dark eyes for which his own lay +waiting. She was certainly beautiful, and wore the difficult dress of +that day with assurance and grace. She possessed something which the +German ladies about her lacked; something which many suddenly lack when +a Frenchwoman is near. + +His manner, half respectful, half triumphant, betrayed an understanding +to which he did not refer in words. She had bestowed some favour upon +him--had acceded to some request. He hoped for more. He had overstepped +some barrier. She, who should have measured the distance, had allowed +him to come too close. The barriers of love are one-sided; there is no +climbing back. + +“A hundred envious eyes are watching me,” he said in an undertone as he +passed on; “I dare not stay longer. I am on duty to-night.” + +She bowed and watched him go. She was, it would seem, aware of that +fallen barrier. She had done nothing, had permitted nothing from +weakness. There was no weakness at all perhaps in Mathilde Sebastian. +She had the quiet manner of a skilled card-player with folded cards laid +face down upon the table, who knows what is in her hand and is waiting +for the foe to lead. + +De Casimir did not see her again. In such a throng it would have been +difficult to find her had he so desired. But, as he had told her, he was +on duty to-night. There were to be a hundred arrests before dawn. Many +who were laughing and talking with the French officers to-night were +already in the grasp of Napoleon's secret police, and would drive +straight from the door of the Rathhaus to the town prison or to the old +Watch-house in the Portchaisengasse. Others, moving through the great +rooms with a high head, were already condemned out of their own bureaux +and escritoires now being rifled by the Emperor's spies. + +The Emperor himself had given the order, before quitting Dantzig to take +command of the maddest and greatest enterprise conceived by the mind +of man. There was nothing above the reach of his mind, it seemed, and +nothing too low for him to bend down and touch. Every detail had been +considered by himself. He was like a man who, having an open wound on +his back, attends to it hurriedly before showing an undaunted face to +the enemy. + +His inexorable finger had come down on the name of Antoine Sebastian, +figuring on all the secret reports--first in many. + +“Who is this man?” he asked, and none could answer. + +He had gone to the frontier without awaiting the solution to the +question. Such was his method now. He had so much to do that he could +but skim the surface of his task. For the human mind, though it be +colossal, can only work within certain limits. The greatest orator in +the world can only move his immediate hearers. Those beyond the inner +circle catch a word here and there, and imagination supplies the rest or +improves upon it. But those in the farthest gallery hear nothing and see +a little man gesticulating. + +De Casimir was not entrusted with the execution of the Emperor's orders. +As a member of General Rapp's staff, resident in Dantzig since the +city's occupation by the French, he had been called upon to make +exhaustive reports upon the feeling of the burghers. There were many +doubtful cases. De Casimir did not pretend to be better than his +fellows. To some he had sold the benefit of the doubt. Some had paid +willingly enough for their warning. Others had put off the payment; for +there were many Jews, then as now, in Dantzig; slow payers requiring +something stronger than a threat to make them disburse. + +De Casimir therefore quitted the Rathhaus among the first to go, and +walked through the busy streets to his rooms in the Langenmarkt, +where he not only lived but had a small office to which orderlies and +aides-de-camp came by day or night. Two sentries kept guard on the +pavement. Since the spring, this office had been one of the busiest +military posts in Dantzig. Its doors were open at all hours, and in +truth many of de Casimir's assistants preferred to transact their +business in the dark. + +There might be some recalcitrant debtor driven by stress of circumstance +to clear his conscience to-night. It would be as well, de Casimir +thought, to be at one's post. Nor was he mistaken. Though it was only +ten o'clock, two men were awaiting his return, and, their business +despatched, de Casimir deemed it wise to send away his assistants. +Immediately after they had gone a woman came. She was half distracted +with fear, and the tears ran down her pallid cheeks. But she dried them +at the mention of de Casimir's price, and fell to abusing him. + +“If your husband is innocent, there is all the more reason why he should +be grateful to me for warning him,” he said, with a smile. And at last +the lady paid and went away. + +The town clocks had struck eleven before another footstep on the +pavement made de Casimir raise his head. He did not actually expect any +one, but a certain surreptitiousness in the approach of this visitor, +and the low knock on the door, made him suspect that this was grist for +his mill. + +He opened the door and, seeing that it was a woman, stepped back. When +she had entered, he closed the door while she stood watching him in the +dark passage, beneath the shadow of her hood. Knowing the value of such +small details, he locked the door rather ostentatiously and dropped the +key into his pocket. + +“And now, madame,” he said reassuringly, as he followed his visitor into +the room where a shaded lamp lighted his writing-table. She threw back +her hood, and it was Mathilde! The surprise on de Casimir's face was +genuine enough. Romance could not have brought about this visit, nor +love be its motive. + +“Something has happened,” he said, looking at her doubtfully. + +“Where is my father?” was the reply. + +“Unless there has been some mistake,” he answered glibly, “he is at home +in bed.” + +She smiled contemptuously into his innocent face. + +“There has been a mistake,” she said; “they came to arrest him +to-night.” + +De Casimir made a gesture of anger and seemed to be mentally assigning a +punishment to some blunderer. + +“And?” he asked, without looking at her. + +“And he escaped.” + +“For the moment?” + +“No; he has left Dantzig.” + +Something in her voice--the cold note of warning--made him glance +uneasily at her. This was not a woman to be deceived, and yet she was +womanly enough to fear deception and to resent her own fears, visiting +her anger on any who aroused them. In the flash of an eye he understood +her, and forestalled the words that were upon her lips. + +“And I promised that he should come to no harm--I know that,” he said +quickly. “At first I thought that it must have been a blunder, but on +reflection I am sure that it is not. It is the Emperor. He must have +given the order for the arrest himself, behind my back. That is his way. +He trusts no one. He deceives those nearest to him. I made out the list +of those to be arrested to-night, and your father's name was not on it. +Do you believe me? Mademoiselle, do you believe me?” + +It was only natural in such a man to look for disbelief. The air he +breathed was infected by suspicion. No deception was too small for the +great man whom he served. Mathilde made no answer. + +“You came here to accuse me of having deceived you,” he said rather +anxiously. “Is that it?” + +She nodded without meeting his eyes. It was not the truth. She had +come to hear his defence, hoping against hope that she might be able to +believe him. + +“Mathilde,” he asked slowly, “do you believe me?” + +He came a step nearer, looking down at her averted face, which was oddly +white. Then suddenly she turned, without a sound, without lifting her +eyes--and was in his arms. It seemed that she had done it against her +will, and it took him by surprise. He had thought that she was trying +to attract his love because she believed in his capability to make his +fortune like so many soldiers of France; that she was only playing a +woman's subtle game. And, after all, she was like the rest--a little +cleverer, a little colder--but, like the rest. + +While his arms were still round her, his quick mind leapt forward to the +future, wondering already to what end this would lead them. For a moment +he was taken aback. He was over the last of those barriers which are so +easy from the outside and unclimbable from within. She had thrust into +his hands a power greater than, for the moment, he knew how to wield. It +was characteristic of him to think first whither it would lead him, and +next how he could turn it to good account. + +Some instinct told him that this was a different love from any that he +had met before. The same instinct made him understand that it was crying +aloud to be convinced; and, oddly enough, he had told her the truth. + +“See,” he said, “here is a copy of the list, and your father's name is +not on it. See, here is Napoleon's letter, expressing satisfaction with +my work here and in Konigsberg, where I have been served by an agent +of my own choosing. Many have climbed to a throne with less than that +letter for their first step. See...!” he opened another drawer. It was +full of money. + +“See, again!” he said with a low laugh, and from an iron chest he +took two or three bags which fell upon the table with the discreet +unmistakable chink of gold. “That is the Emperor's. He trusts me, you +see. These bags are mine. They are to be sent back to France before I +follow the army to Russia. What I have told you is true, you see.” + +It was an odd way of wooing, but this man rarely made a mistake. There +are many women who, like Mathilde Sebastian, are readier to love success +than console failure. + +“See,” he said, after a moment's hesitation, opening another drawer +in his writing-table, “before I went away I had intended to ask you to +remember me.” + +As he spoke he drew a jewel-case from under some papers, and slowly +opened it. He had others like it in the drawer; for emergencies. + +“But I never hoped,” he went on, “to have an opportunity of seeing you +thus alone--to ask you never to forget me. You permit me?” + +He clasped the diamonds round her throat, and they glittered on the +poor, cheap dress, which was the best she had. She looked down at them +with a catching breath, and for an instant the glitter was reflected in +her eyes. + +She had come asking for reassurance, and he gave her diamonds; which +is an old tale told over and over again. For in human love we have to +accept not what we want, but what is given to us. + +“No one in Dantzig,” he said, “is so glad to hear that your father has +escaped as I am.” + +And, with the glitter still lurking in her dark-grey eyes, she believed +him. He drew her cloak round her, and gently brought her hood over her +hair. + +“I must take you home,” he said tenderly, “without delay. And as we go +through the streets you must tell me how it happened, and how you were +able to come to me.” + +“Desiree was not asleep,” she answered; “she was waiting for me to +return, and told me at once. Then she went to bed, and I waited until +she was asleep. It was she who managed the escape.” + +De Casimir, who was locking the drawers of his writing-table, glanced up +sharply. + +“Ah! but not alone?” + +“No--not alone. I will tell you as we go through the streets.” + + + +CHAPTER XI. THE WAVE MOVES ON. + + + + La meme fermete qui sert a resister a l'amour sert aussi a le +rendre violent et durable. + +It is only in war that the unexpected admittedly happens. In love and +other domestic calamities there is always a relative who knew it all the +time. + +The news that Napoleon was in Vilna, hastily evacuated by the Russians +in full retreat, came as a surprise and not to all as a pleasant one, in +Dantzig. + +It was Papa Barlasch who brought the tidings to the Frauengasse, one +hot afternoon in July. He returned before his usual hour, and sent Lisa +upstairs, with a message given in dumb show and interpreted by her into +matter-of-fact German, that he must see the young ladies without delay. +Far back in the great days of the monarchy, Papa Barlasch must have +been a little child in a peasant's hut on those Cotes du Nord where +they breed a race of Frenchmen startlingly similar to the hereditary foe +across the Channel, where to this day the men kick off their sabots at +the door and hold that an honest labourer has no business under a roof +except in stocking-feet and shirt-sleeves. + +Barlasch had never yet been upstairs in the Sebastians' house, and +deemed it only respectful to the ladies to take off his boots on +the mat, and prowl to the kitchen in coarse blue woollen stockings, +carefully darned by himself, under the scornful immediate eye of Lisa. + +He was in the kitchen when Mathilde and Desiree, in obedience to his +command, came downstairs. The floor in one corner of the room was +littered with his belongings; for he never used the table. “He takes +up no more room than a cat,” Lisa once said of him. “I never fall over +him.” + +“She leaves her greasy plates here and there,” explained Barlasch in +return. “One must think of one's self and one's uniform.” + +He was in his stocking-feet with unbuttoned tunic when the two girls +came to him. + +“Ai, ai, ai,” he said, imitating with his two hands the galloping of a +horse. “The Russians,” he explained confidentially. + +“Has there been a battle?” asked Desiree. + +And Barlasch answered “Pooh!” not without contempt for the female +understanding. + +“Then what is it?” she inquired. “You must remember we are not +soldiers--we do not understand those manoeuvres--ai, ai, like that.” + +And she copied his gesture beneath his scowling contempt. + +“It is Vilna,” he said. “That is what it is. Then it will be Smolensk, +and then Moscow. Ah, ah! That little man!” + +He turned and took up his haversack. + +“And I--I have my route. It is good-bye to the Frauengasse. We have been +friends. I told you we should be. It is good-bye to these ladies--and to +that Lisa. Look at her!” + +He pointed with his curved and derisive finger into Lisa's eyes. And in +truth the tears were there. Lisa was in heart and person that which +is comprehensively called motherly. She saw perhaps some pathos in the +sight of this rugged man--worn by travel, bent with hardship and many +wounds, past his work--shouldering his haversack and trudging off to the +war. + +“The wave moves on,” he said, making a gesture, and a sound illustrating +that watery progress. “And Dantzig will soon be forgotten. You will be +left in peace--but we go on to--” He paused and shrugged his shoulders +while attending to a strap. “India or the devil,” he concluded. + +“Colonel Casimir has gone,” he added in what he took to be an aside to +Mathilde. Which made her wonder for a moment. “I saw him depart with his +staff soon after daybreak. And the Emperor has forgotten Dantzig. It is +safe enough for the patron now. You can write him a letter to tell him +so. Tell him that I said it was safe for him to return quietly here, and +live in the Frauengasse--I, Barlasch.” + +He was ready now, and, buttoning his tunic, he fixed the straps across +his chest, looking from one to the other of the three women watching +him, not without some appreciation of an audience. Then he turned to +Desiree, who had always been his friend, with whom he now considered +that he had the soldier's bond of a peril passed through together. + +“The Emperor has forgotten Dantzig,” he repeated, “and those against +whom he had a grudge. But he has also forgotten those who are in prison. +It is not good to be forgotten in prison. Tell the patron that--to put +it in his pipe and smoke it. Some day he may remember an old soldier. +Ah, one thinks of one's self.” + +And beneath his bushy brows he looked at her with a gleam of cunning. +He went to the door and, turning there, pointed the finger of scorn at +Lisa, stout and tearful. He gave a short laugh of a low-born contempt, +and departed without further parley. + +On the doorstep he paused to put on his boots and button his gaiters, +stooping clumsily with a groan beneath his burden of haversack and kit. +Desiree, who had had time to go upstairs to her bedroom, ran after him +as he descended the steps. She had her purse in her hand, and she thrust +it into his, quickly and breathlessly. + +“If you take it,” she said, “I shall know that we are friends.” + +He took it ungraciously enough. It was a silken thing with two small +rings to keep the money in place, and he looked at it with a grimace, +weighing it in his hand. It was very light. + +“Money,” he said. “No, thank you. To get drink with, and be degraded and +sent to prison. Not for me, madame. No, thank you. One thinks of one's +career.” + +And with a gruff laugh of worldly wisdom he continued his way down +the worn steps, never looking back at her as she stood in the sunlight +watching him, with the purse in her hand. + +So in his old age Papa Barlasch was borne forward to the war on that +human tide which flooded all Lithuania, and never ebbed again, but sank +into the barren ground, and was no more seen. + +As the slow autumn approached, it became apparent that Dantzig no longer +interested the watchers. Vilna became the base of operations. Smolensk +fell, and, most wonderful of all, the Russians were retiring on Moscow. +Dantzig was no longer on the route. For a time it was of the world +forgotten, while, as Barlasch had predicted, free men continued at +liberty, though their names had an evil savour, while innocent persons +in prison were left to rot there. + +Desiree continued to receive letters from her husband, full of love and +war. For a long time he lingered at Konigsberg, hoping every day to be +sent forward. Then he followed Murat across the Niemen, and wrote of +weary journeys over the rolling plains of Lithuania. + +Towards the end of July he mentioned curtly the arrival of de Casimir at +head-quarters. + +“With him came a courier,” wrote Charles, “bringing your dead letter. I +don't believe you love me as I love you. At all events, you do not seem +to tell me that you do so often as I want to tell you. Tell me what you +do and think every moment of the day....” And so on. Charles seemed +to write as easily as he talked, and had no difficulty in setting forth +his feelings. “The courier is in the saddle,” he concluded. “De Casimir +tells me that I must finish. Write and tell me everything. How is +Mathilde? And your father? Is he in good health? How does he pass his +day? Does he still go out in the evening to his cafe?” + +This seemed to be an afterthought, suggested perhaps by conversation +passing in the room in which he sat. + +The other exile, writing from Stockholm, was briefer in his +communications. + +“I am well,” wrote Antoine Sebastian, “and hope to arrive soon after you +receive this. Felix Meyer, the notary, has instructions to furnish you +with money for household expenses.” + +It would appear that Sebastian possessed other friends in Dantzig, who +had kept him advised of all that passed in the city. + +For neither Mathilde nor Desiree had obeyed Barlasch's blunt order to +write to their father. They did not know whither he had fled, neither +had they received any communication giving an address or a hint as to +his future movements. It would appear that the same direct and laconic +mind which had carried out his escape deemed it wiser that those left +behind should be in no position to furnish information. + +In fairness to Barlasch, Desiree had made little of that soldier's part +in Sebastian's evasion, and Mathilde displayed small interest in such +details. She rather fastened, however, upon the assistance rendered by +Louis d'Arragon. + +“Why did he do it?” she asked. + +“Oh, because I asked him,” was the reply. + +“And why did you ask him?” + +“Who else was there to ask?” returned Desiree, which was indeed +unanswerable. + +Perhaps the question had been suggested to her by de Casimir, who, on +learning that Louis d'Arragon had helped her father to slip through the +Emperor's fingers, had asked the same in his own characteristic way. + +“What could he hope to gain by doing it?” he had inquired as he +walked by Mathilde's side, along the Pfaffengasse. And he made other +interrogations respecting D'Arragon which Mathilde was no more able to +satisfy, as he accompanied her to the Frauengasse. + +Since that time the dancing-lessons had been resumed to the music of a +hired fiddler, and Desiree had once more taken up her household task of +making both ends meet. She approached the difficulties as impetuously +as ever, and danced the stout pupils round the room with undiminished +energy. + +“It seems no good at all, your being married,” said one of these +breathlessly, while Desiree laughingly attended to her dishevelled hair. + +“Why not?” + +“Because you still make your own dresses and teach dancing,” replied +the pupil, with a quick sigh at the thought of some smart bursch in the +Prussian contingent. + +“Ah, but Charles will return a colonel, and I shall bow to you in a +silk dress from a chaise and pair--come, left foot first. You are not so +tired as you think you are.” + +For those that are busy, time flies quickly enough. And there is nothing +more absorbing than keeping the wolf from the door, else assuredly the +hungry thousands would find time to arise and rend the overfed few. + +August succeeded a hot July and brought with it Sebastian's curt letter. +Sebastian himself--that shadowy father--returned to his home a few +hours later. He was not alone, for a heavier step followed his into the +passage, and Desiree, always quick to hear and see and act, coming to +the head of the stairs, perceived her father looking upwards towards +her, while his companion in rough sailor's clothes turned to lay aside +the valise he had carried on his shoulder. + +Mathilde was close behind Desiree, and Sebastian kissed his daughters +with that cold repression of manner which always suggested a strenuous +past in which the emotions had been relinquished for ever as an +indulgence unfit for a stern and hard-bitten age. + +“I took him away and now return him,” said the sailor coming forward. +Desiree had always known that it was Louis, but Mathilde gave a little +start at the sound of the neat clipping French in the mouth of an +educated Frenchman so rarely heard in Dantzig--so rarely heard in all +broad France to-day. + +“Yes--that is true,” answered Sebastian, turning to him with a sudden +change of manner. There was that in voice and attitude which his hearers +had never noted before, although Charles had often evoked something +approaching it. It seemed to indicate that, of all the people with whom +they had seen their father hold intercourse, Louis d'Arragon was the +only man who stood upon equality with him. + +“That is true--and at great risk to yourself,” he said, not assigning, +however, so great an importance to personal danger as men do in these +careful days. As he spoke, he took Louis by the arm and by a gesture +invited him to precede him upstairs with a suggestion of camaraderie +somewhat startling in one usually so cold and formal as Antoine +Sebastian, the dancing-master of the Frauengasse. + +“I was writing to Charles,” said Desiree to D'Arragon, when they reached +the drawing-room, and, crossing to her own table, she set the papers in +order there. These consisted of a number of letters from her husband, +read and re-read, it would appear. And the answer to them, a clean sheet +of paper bearing only the date and address, lay beneath her hand. + +“The courier leaves this evening,” she said, with a queer ring of +anxiety in her voice, as if she feared that for some reason or another +she ran the risk of failing to despatch her letter. She glanced at the +clock, and stood, pen in hand, thinking of what she should write. + +“May I enclose a line?” asked Louis. “It is not wise, perhaps, for me +to address to him a letter--since I am on the other side. It is a small +matter of a heritage which he and I divide. I have placed some money in +a Dantzig bank for him. He may require it when he returns.” + +“Then you do not correspond with Charles?” said Mathilde, clearing a +space for him on the larger table, and setting before him ink and pens +and paper. + +“Thank you, Mademoiselle,” he said, glancing at her with that light +of interest in his dark eyes which she had ignited once before by a +question on the only occasion that they had met. He seemed to detect +that she was more interested in him than her indifferent manner would +appear to indicate. “No, I am a bad correspondent. If Charles and I, +in our present circumstances, were to write to each other it could only +lead to intrigue, for which I have no taste and Charles no capacity.” + +“You seem to hint that Charles might have such a taste then,” she said, +with her quiet smile, as she moved away leaving him to write. + +“Charles has probably found out by this time,” he answered with the +bluntness which he claimed as a prerogative of his calling and nation, +“that a soldier of Napoleon's who intrigues will make a better career +than one who merely fights.” + +He took up his pen and wrote with the absorption of one who has but +little time and knows exactly what to say. By chance he glanced towards +Desiree, who sat at her own table near the window. She was stroking +her cheek with the feather of her pen, looking with puzzled eyes at the +blank paper before her. Each time D'Arragon dipped his pen he glanced at +her, watching her. And Mathilde, with her needlework, watched them both. + + + +CHAPTER XII. FROM BORODINO. + + + + However we brave it out, we men are a little breed. + +War is the gambling of kings. Napoleon, the arch-gambler, from that +Southern sea where men, lacking cards or dice and the money to buy +either, will yet play a game of chance with the ten fingers that God +gave them for another purpose--Napoleon had dealt a hand with every +monarch in Europe before he met for the second time that Northern +adversary of cool blood who knew the waiting game. + +It is only where the stakes are small that the leisurely players, idly +fingering the fallen cards, return in fancy to certain points--to this +trick trumped or that chance missed, playing the game over again. But +when the result is great it overshadows the game, and all men's thoughts +fly to speculation on the future. How will the loser meet his loss? What +use will the winner make of his gain? + +The results of the Russian campaign were so stupendous to history that +the historians of the day, in their bewilderment, sought rather to +preserve these than the details of the war. Thus the student of to-day, +in piecing together an impression of bygone times, will inevitably find +portions of his picture missing. As a matter of fact, no one can say for +certain whether Alexander gently led Napoleon onward to Moscow or was +himself driven thither in confusion by the conqueror. + +Perhaps each merely pushed on from day to day, as men who are not +Emperors must needs do in the stress of life. It is only in calm weather +that the eye is able to discern things afar off and make ready; but in +a storm the horizon is dimmed by cloud and spray. All Europe was so +obscured at this time. And even Emperors, being only men, could look no +farther than the immediate and urgent danger of the moment. + +Napoleon's generals were scarcely social lights. Ney, the hero of the +retreat, the bravest of the brave, was a rough man who ate horseflesh +without troubling to cook it. Rapp, whose dogged defence of an abandoned +city is without compare in the story of war, had the manners and the +mind of a peasant. These gentlemen dealt more in deeds than in words. +They had not much to say for themselves. + +As for the Russians, Russia remains at this time the one European +country unhampered and unharassed by a cheap press--the one country +where prominent men have a quiet tongue. A hundred years ago Russians +did great deeds, and the rest was silence. Neither Kutusoff nor +Alexander ever stated clearly whether the retreat to Moscow was +intentional or unavoidable; and these are the only men who knew. Perhaps +Napoleon knew; at all events, he thought he did, or pretended to +think it long afterwards at St. Helena, for Napoleon the Great was a +consummate liar. + +Be that as it may, the Russians retreated, and the French advanced +farther and farther from their base. It was a great army--the greatest +ever seen. For Napoleon had eight monarchs serving with the eagles; +generals innumerable, many of them immortal--Davoust, the greatest +strategist; Prince Eugene, the incomparable lieutenant; Ney, the +fearless; four hundred thousand men. And they carried with them only +twenty days' provision. + +They had marched from the Vistula, full of shipping, across the Pregel, +loaded with stores, to the Niemen, where there was no navigation. +Dantzig, behind them--that Gibraltar of the North--was stored with +provision enough for the whole army. But there was no transport; for the +roads of Lithuania were unsuitable for the heavy carts provided. + +The country across the Niemen could scarce sustain its own sparse +population, and had nothing to spare for an invading army. This had once +been Poland, and was now inimical to Russia; but Russia did not care, +and the friendship of Lithuania was like many human friendships which we +make sacrifices to preserve--not worth having. + +All the while the Russians retreated, and, stranger still, the French +followed them, eking out their twenty days' provision. + +“I will make them fight a big battle, and beat them,” said Napoleon; +“and then the Emperor will sue for peace.” + +But Barclay de Tolly continued to run away from that great battle. Then +came the news that Barclay had been deposed; that Kutusoff was coming +from the South to take command. It was true enough; and Barclay +cheerfully served in a subordinate position to the new chief. September +brought great hopes of a battle, for Kutusoff seemed to retreat with +less despatch, like a man choosing his ground--Kutusoff, that master of +the waiting game. + +Early in September Murat, the impetuous leader of the pursuit, +complained to Nansouty that a cavalry charge had not been pushed home. + +“The horses have no patriotism,” replied Nansouty. “The men will fight +on empty stomachs, but not the horses.” + +An ominous reply at the beginning of a campaign, while communications +were still open. + +At last, within a few days' march of Moscow, Kutusoff made a stand. At +last the great battle was imminent, after a hundred false alarms, +after many disappointed hopes. The country had been flat hitherto. The +Borodino, running in a wider valley than many of these rivers, which are +merely great ditches, seemed to offer possibilities of defence. It was +the only hope for Moscow. + +“At last,” wrote Charles to Desiree on September 6, “we are to have a +great battle. There has been much fighting the last few days, but I have +seen none of it. We are only eighty miles from Moscow. If there is a +great battle to-morrow we shall see Moscow in less than a week. For +we shall win. I have now found out from one who is near him that +the Emperor saw and remembered me the day he passed us in the +Frauengasse--our wedding-day, dearest. Nobody is too insignificant for +him to know. He thought that my marriage to you (for he knows that you +are French) would militate against the work I had been given to do in +Dantzig, so he gave orders for me to be sent at once to Konigsberg and +to continue the work there. De Casimir tells me that the Emperor is +pleased with me. De Casimir is the best friend I have; I am sure of +that. It is said that under the walls of Moscow the Emperor will dictate +his terms to Alexander. Every one wonders that Alexander of Russia did +not make proposals of peace when Vilna and Smolensk fell. In a week we +may be at Moscow. In a month I may be back at Dantzig, Desiree....” + +And the rest would have been for Desiree's eyes alone, had it ever been +penned. For next in sacredness to heaven-inspired words are mere human +love letters; and those who read the love-letters of another commit a +sacrilege. But Charles never finished the letter, for the dawn surprised +him where he wrote in a shed by the miserable Kalugha, a streamlet +running to the Moskwa. And it was the dawn of September 7, 1812. + +“There is the sun of Austerlitz,” said Napoleon to those who were near +him when it arose. But it was not. It was the sun of Borodino. And +before it set the great battle desired by the French had been fought, +and eight French generals lay dead, while thirty more were wounded. +Murat, Davoust, Ney, Junot, Prince Eugene, Napoleon himself--all were +there; and all fought to finish a war which from the first had been +disliked. The French claimed it as a victory; but they gained nothing by +it, and they lost forty thousand killed and wounded. + +During the night the Russians evacuated the position which they had +held, and lost, and retaken. They retreated towards Moscow, but Napoleon +was hardly ready to pursue. + +These things, however, are history, and those who wish to know of them +may read them in another volume. While to the many orderly persons who +would wish to see everything in its place and the history-books on the +top shelf to be taken down and read on a future day (which will never +come), to such the explanation is due that this battle of Borodino is +here touched upon because it changed the current of some lives with +which we have to deal. + +For battles and revolutions and historical events of any sort are the +jagged instruments with which Fate rough-hews our lives, leaving us to +shape them as we will. In other days, no doubt, men rough-hewed, while +Fate shaped. But as civilization advances men will wax so tender, so +careful of the individual, that they will never cut and slash, but move +softly, very tolerant, very easy-going, seeking the compromise that +brings peace and breeds a small and timid race of men. + +Into such lives Fate comes crashing like a woodman with his axe, leaving +us to smooth the edges of the gaping wound and smile, and say that we +are not hurt; to pare away the knots and broken stumps; and hope that +our neighbour, concealing such himself, will have the decency to pretend +not to see. + +Thus the battle of Borodino crashed into the lives of Desiree and +Mathilde, and their father, living quietly on the sunny side of the +Frauengasse in Dantzig. Antoine Sebastian was the first to hear the +news. He had, it seemed, special facilities for learning news at the +Weissen Ross'l, whither he went again now in the evening. + +“There has been a great battle,” he said, with so much more than his +usual self-restraint that Desiree and Mathilde exchanged a glance of +anxiety. “A man coming this evening from Dirschau saw and spoke with +the Imperial couriers on their way to Berlin and Paris. It was a great +victory, quite near to Moscow. But the loss on both sides has been +terrible.” + +He paused and glanced at Desiree. It was his creed that good blood +should show an example of self-restraint and a certain steadfast, +indifferent courage. + +“Not so much among the French,” he said, “as among the Bavarians and +Italians. It is an odd way of showing patriotism, to gain victories for +the conqueror. One hoped--” he paused and made a gesture with his right +hand, scarcely indicative of a staunch hope, “that the man's star might +be setting, but it would appear to be still in the ascendant. Charles,” + he added, as an afterthought, “would be on the staff. No doubt he only +saw the fighting from a distance.” + +Desiree, from whose face the colour had faded, nodded cheerfully enough. + +“Oh yes,” she answered, “I have no doubt he is safe. He has good +fortune.” + +For she was an apt pupil, and had already learnt that the world only +wishes to leave us in undisputed possession of our anxieties or sorrows, +however ready it may be to come forward and take a hand in good fortune. + +“But there is no definite news,” said Mathilde, hardly looking up from +the needlework at which her fingers were so deft and industrious. + +“No.” + +“No news of Charles, I mean,” she continued, “or of any of our friends. +Of Monsieur de Casimir, for instance?” + +“No. As for Colonel de Casimir,” returned Sebastian thoughtfully, +“he, like Charles, holds some staff appointment of which one does not +understand the scope. He is without doubt uninjured.” + +Mathilde glanced at her father not without suspicion. His grand manner +might easily be at times a screen. One never knows how much is perceived +by those who look down from a high place. + +The town was quiet enough all that night. Sebastian must have heard the +news from some unofficial source, for none other seemed to know it. But +at daybreak the church bells, so rarely used in Dantzig for rejoicing, +awoke the burghers to the fact that the Emperor bade them make merry. +Napoleon gave great heed to such matters. In the churches of Lithuania +and farther on in Russia he had commanded the popes to pray for him at +their altars instead of for the Czar. + +When Desiree came downstairs, she found a packet awaiting her. The +courier had come in during the night. This was more than a letter. +A number of papers had been folded in a handkerchief and bound with +string. The address was written on a piece of white leather cut from +the uniform of one who had fallen at Borodino, and had no more need of +sabretasche or trapping. + + “Madame Desiree Darragon--nee Sebastian, + Frauengasse 36, + Dantzig.” + +Desiree's heart stood still; for the writing was unknown to her. As she +cut the network of string, she thought that Charles was dead. When the +enclosed papers fell upon the table, she was sure of it; for they were +all in his writing. She did not pick and choose as one would who has +leisure and no very strong excitement, but took up the first paper and +read: + +“Dear C.--I have been fortunate, as you will see from the enclosed +report. His Majesty cannot again say that I have been neglectful. I was +quite right. It is Sebastian and only Sebastian that we need fear. Here, +they are clumsy conspirators compared to him. I have been in the river +half the night, listening at the open stern window of a Reval pink to +every word they said. His Majesty can safely come to Konigsberg. Indeed, +he is better out of Dantzig. For the whole country is riddled with that +which they call patriotism, and we, treason. But I can only repeat what +His Majesty disbelieved the day before yesterday--that the heart of the +ill is Dantzig, and the venom of it Sebastian. Who he really is and +what he is about, you must find out how you can. I go forward to-day to +Gumbinnen. The enclosed letter to its address--I beg of you--if only in +acknowledgment of all that I have sacrificed.” + +The letter was unsigned, but the writing was the writing of Charles +Darragon, and Desiree knew what he had sacrificed--what he could never +recover. + +There were two or three more letters addressed to “Dear C.,” bearing no +signature, and yet written by Charles. Desiree read them carefully with +a sort of numb attention which photographed them permanently on her +memory like writing that is carved in stone upon a wall. There must be +some explanation in one of them. Who had sent them to her? Was Charles +dead? + +At last she came to a sealed envelope addressed to herself by Charles. +Some other hand had copied the address from it in identical terms on +the piece of white leather. She opened and read it. It was the letter +written to her by Charles on the bank of the Kalugha river on the eve of +Borodino, and left unfinished by him. He must be dead. She prayed that +he might be. + +She was alone in the room, having come down early, as was her wont, to +prepare breakfast. She heard Lisa talking with some one at the door--a +messenger, no doubt, to say that Charles was dead. + +One letter still remained unread. It was in a different writing--the +writing on the white leather. + +“Madame,” it read, “The enclosed papers were found on the field by one +of my orderlies. One of them being addressed to you, furnishes a clue +to their owner, who must have dropped them in the hurry of the advance. +Should Captain Charles Darragon be your husband, I have the pleasure to +inform you that he was seen alive and well at the end of the day.” + The writer assured Desiree of his respectful consideration, and wrote +“Surgeon” after his name. + +Desiree had read the explanation too late. + + + +CHAPTER XIII. IN THE DAY OF REJOICING. + + + + Truth, though it crush me. + +The door of the room stood open, and the sound of a step in the passage +made Desiree glance up, as she hastily put together the papers found on +the battlefield of Borodino. + +Louis d'Arragon was coming into the room, and for an instant, before his +expression changed, she saw all the fatigue that he must have endured +during the night; all that he must have risked. His face was usually +still and quiet; a combination of that contemplative calm which +characterises seafaring faces, and the clean-cut immobility of a racial +type developed by hereditary duties of self-restraint and command. + +He knew that there had been a battle, and, seeing the papers on the +table, his eyes asked her the inevitable question which his lips were +slow to put into words. + +In reply Desiree shook her head. She looked at the papers in quick +thought. Then she withdrew from them the letter written to her by +Charles--and put the others together. + +“You told me to send for you,” she said in a quiet, tired voice, “if I +wanted you. You have saved me the trouble.” + +His eyes were hard with anxiety as he looked at her. She held the +letters towards him. + +“By coming,” she added, with a glance at him which took in the dust, +and the stains of salt-water on his clothes, the fatigue he sought +to conceal by a rigid stillness, and the tension that was left by the +dangers he had passed through--daring all--to come. + +Seeing that he looked doubtfully at the papers, she spoke again. + +“One,” she said, “that one on the stained paper, is addressed to me. You +can read it--since I ask you.” + +The letter told him, at all events, that Charles was not killed, and, +seeing his face clear as he read, she gave an odd, curt laugh. + +“Read the others,” she said. “Oh! you need not hesitate. You need not be +so particular. Read one, the top one. One is enough.” + +The windows stood open, and the morning breeze fluttering the curtains +brought in the gay sound of bells, the high clear bells of Hanseatic +days, rejoicing at Napoleon's new success--by order of Napoleon. A bee +sailed harmoniously into the room, made the circuit of it, and sought +the open again with a hum that faded drowsily into silence. + +D'Arragon read the letter slowly from beginning to the unsigned end, +while Desiree, sitting at the table, upon which she leant one elbow, +resting her small square chin in the palm of her hand, watched him. + +“Ah?” she exclaimed at length, with a ring of contempt in her voice, as +if at the thought of something unclean. “A spy! It is so easy for you to +keep still, and to hide all you feel.” + +D'Arragon folded the letter slowly. It was the fatal letter written +in the upper room in the shoemaker's house in Konigsberg in the Neuer +Markt, where the linden trees grow close to the window. In it Charles +spoke lightly of the sacrifice he had made in leaving Desiree on his +wedding-day, to do the Emperor's bidding. It was indeed the greatest +sacrifice that man can make; for he had thrown away his honour. + +“It may not be so easy as you think,” returned D'Arragon, looking +towards the door. + +He had no time to say more; for Mathilde and her father were talking +together on the stairs as they came down. D'Arragon thrust the letters +into his pocket, the only indication he had time to give to Desiree of +the policy they must pursue. He stood facing the door, alert and quiet, +with only a moment in which to shape the course of more than one life. + +“There is good news, Monsieur,” he said to Sebastian. “Though I did not +come to bring it.” + +Sebastian pointed interrogatively to the open window, where the sound +of the bells seemed to emphasize the sunlight and the freshness of the +morning. + +“No--not that,” returned D'Arragon. “It is a great victory, they tell +me; but it is hard to say whether such news would be good or bad. It was +of Charles that I spoke. He is safe--Madame has heard.” + +He spoke rather slowly, and turned towards Desiree with a measured +gesture, not unlike Sebastian's habitual manner, and a quick glance to +satisfy himself that she had understood and was ready. + +“Yes,” said Desiree, “he was safe and well after the battle, but he +gives no details; for the letter was actually written the day before.” + +“With a mere word, added in postscriptum, to say that he was unhurt +at the end of the day,” suggested Sebastian, already drawing forward +a chair with a gesture full of hospitality, inviting D'Arragon to be +seated at the simple breakfast-table. But D'Arragon was looking at +Mathilde, who had gone rather hurriedly to the window, as if to breathe +the air. He had caught a glimpse of her face as she passed. It was hard +and set, quite colourless, with bright, sleepless eyes. D'Arragon was +a sailor. He had seen that look in rougher faces and sterner eyes, and +knew what it meant. + +“No details?” asked Mathilde in a muffled voice, without looking round. + +“No,” answered Desiree, who had noticed nothing. How much more clearly +we should understand what is going on around us if we had no secrets of +our own to defend! + +In obedience to Sebastian's gesture, D'Arragon took a chair, and even +as he did so Mathilde came to the table, calm and mistress of herself +again, to pour out the coffee, and do the honours of the simple meal. +D'Arragon, besides having acquired the seamen's habit of adapting +himself unconsciously and unobtrusively to his surroundings, was of a +direct mind, lacking self-consciousness, and simplified by the pressure +of a strong and steady purpose. For men's minds are like the atmosphere, +which is always cleared by a steady breeze, while a changing wind +generates vapours, mist, uncertainty. + +“And what news do you bring from the sea?” asked Sebastian. “Is your sky +there as overcast as ours in Dantzig?” + +“No, Monsieur, our sky is clearing,” answered D'Arragon, eating with a +hearty appetite the fresh bread and butter set before him. “Since I +saw you, the treaties have been signed, as you doubtless know, between +Sweden and Russia and England.” + +Nodding his head with silent emphasis, Sebastian gave it to be +understood that he knew that and more. + +“It makes a great difference to us at sea in the Baltic,” said +D'Arragon. “We are no longer harassed night and day, like a dog, +hounded from end to end of a hostile street, not daring to look into any +doorway. The Russian ports and Swedish ports are open to us now.” + +“One is glad to hear that your life is one of less hardship,” said +Sebastian gravely. “I.... who have tasted it.” + +Desiree glanced at his lean, hard face. She rose, went out of the room, +and returned in a few minutes carrying a new loaf which she set on the +table before him with a short laugh, and something glistening in her +eyes that was not mirth. + +But neither Desiree nor Mathilde joined in the conversation. They were +glad for their father to have a companion so sympathetic as to produce +a marked difference in his manner. For Sebastian was more at ease with +Louis d'Arragon than he was with Charles, though the latter had the tie +of a common fatherland, and spoke the same French that Sebastian spoke. +D'Arragon's French had the roundness always imparted to that language by +an English voice. It was perfect enough, but of an educated perfection. + +The talk was of such matters as concerned men more than women; of armies +and war and treaties of peace. For all the world thought that Alexander +of Russia would be brought to his knees by the battle of Borodino. None +knew better how to turn a victory to account than he who claimed to be +victor now. “It does not suffice,” Napoleon wrote to his brother at this +time, “to gain a victory. You must learn to turn it to advantage.” + +Save for the one reference to his life in the Baltic during the past two +months, D'Arragon said nothing of himself, of his patient, dogged work +carried on by day and by night in all weathers. Content to have escaped +with his life, he neither referred to, nor thought of, his part in the +negotiations which had resulted in the treaty just signed. For he had +been the link between Russia and England; the never-failing messenger +passing from one to the other with question and answer which were +destined to bear fruit at last in an understanding brought to perfection +in Paris, culminating at Elba. + +Both were guarded in what they said of passing events, and both seemed +to doubt the truth of the reports now flying through the streets of +Dantzig. Even in the quiet Frauengasse all the citizens were out on +their terraces calling questions to those that passed by beneath the +trees. The itinerant tradesman, the milkman going his round, the vendors +of fruit from Langfuhr and the distant villages of the plain, lingered +at the doors to tell the servants the latest gossip of the market-place. +Even in this frontier city, full of spies, strangers spoke together in +the streets, and the sound of their voices, raised above the clang of +carillons, came in at the open window. + +“At first a victory is always a great one,” said D'Arragon, looking +towards the window. + +“It is so easy to ring a bell,” added Sebastian, with his rare smile. + +He was quite himself this morning, and only once did the dull look +arrest his features into the stony stillness which his daughters knew. + +“You are the only one of your name in Dantzig,” said D'Arragon, in the +course of question and answer as to the safe delivery of letters in time +of war. + +“So far as I know, there is no other Sebastian,” replied he; and +Desiree, who had guessed the motive of the question, which must have +been in D'Arragon's mind from the beginning, was startled by the fulness +of the answer. It seemed to make reply to more than D'Arragon had asked. +It shattered the last faint hope that there might have been another +Sebastian of whom Charles had written. + +“For myself,” said D'Arragon, changing the subject quickly, “I can +now make sure of receiving letters addressed to me in the care of the +English Consul at Riga, or the Consul at Stockholm, should you wish to +communicate with me, or should Madame find leisure to give me news of +her husband.” + +“Desiree will no doubt take pleasure in keeping you advised of Charles's +progress. As for myself, I fear I am a bad correspondent. Perhaps not a +desirable one in these days,” said Sebastian, his face slowly clearing. +He waved the point aside with a gesture that looked out of place on a +hand lean and spare, emerging from a shabby brown sleeve without cuff or +ruffle. + +“For I feel assured,” he went on, “that we shall continue to hear good +news of your cousin; not only that he is safe and well, but that he +makes progress in his profession. He will go far, I am sure.” + +D'Arragon bowed his acknowledgment of this kind thought, and rose rather +hastily. + +“My best chance of quitting the city unseen,” he said, “is to pass +through the gates with the market-people returning to the villages. To +do that, I must not delay.” + +“The streets are so full,” replied Sebastian, glancing out of the +window, “that you will pass through them unnoticed. I see beneath the +trees, a neighbour, Koch the locksmith, who is perhaps waiting to give +me news. While you are saying farewell, I will go out and speak to him. +What he has to tell may interest you and your comrades at sea--may help +your escape from the city this morning.” + +He took his hat as he spoke and went to the door. Mathilde, thirsting +for the news that seemed to hum in the streets like the sound of bees, +rose and followed him. Desiree and D'Arragon were left alone. She had +gone to the window, and, turning there, she looked back at him over her +shoulder, where he stood by the door watching her. + +“So, you see,” she said, “there is no other Sebastian.” + +D'Arragon made no reply. She came nearer to him, her blue eyes sombre +with contempt for the man she had married. Suddenly she pointed to the +chair which D'Arragon had just vacated. + +“That is where he sat. He has eaten my father's salt a hundred times,” + she said, with a short laugh. For whithersoever civilization may take +us, we must still go back to certain primaeval laws of justice between +man and man. + +“You judge too hastily,” said D'Arragon; but she interrupted him with a +gesture of warning. + +“I have not judged hastily,” she said. “You do not understand. You think +I judge from that letter. That is only a confirmation of something that +has been in my mind for a long time--ever since my wedding-day. I knew +when you came into the room upstairs on that day that you did not trust +Charles.” + +“I--?” he asked. + +“Yes,” she answered, standing squarely in front of him and looking +him in the eyes. “You did not trust him. You were not glad that I had +married him. I could see it in your face. I have never forgotten.” + +D'Arragon turned away towards the window. Sebastian and Mathilde were +in the street below, in the shade of the trees, talking with the eager +neighbours. + +“You would have stopped it if you could,” said Desiree; and he did not +deny it. + +“It was some instinct,” he said at length. “Some passing misgiving.” + +“For Charles?” she asked sharply. + +And D'Arragon, looking out of the window, would not answer. She gave a +sudden laugh. + +“One cannot compliment you on your politeness,” she said. “Was it for +Charles that you had misgivings?” + +At last D'Arragon turned on his heel. + +“Does it matter?” he asked. “Since I came too late.” + +“That is true,” she said, after a pause. “You came too late; so it +doesn't matter. And the thing is done now, and I..., well, I suppose I +must do what others have done before me--I must make the best of it.” + +“I will help you,” said D'Arragon slowly, almost carefully, “if I can.” + +He was still avoiding her eyes, still looking out of the window. +Sebastian was coming up the steps. + + + +CHAPTER XIV. MOSCOW. + + + + Nothing is so disappointing as failure--except success. + +While the Dantzigers with grave faces discussed the news of Borodino +beneath the trees in the Frauengasse, Charles Darragon, white with dust, +rose in his stirrups to catch the first sight of the domes and cupolas +of Moscow. + +It was a sunny morning, and the gold on the churches gleamed and +glittered in the shimmering heat like fairyland. Charles had ridden to +the summit of a hill and sat for a moment, as others had done, in +silent contemplation. Moscow at last! All around him men were shouting: +“Moscow! Moscow!” Grave, white-haired generals waved their shakos in the +air. Those at the summit of the hill called the others to come. Far down +in the valley, where the dust raised by thousands of feet hung in the +air like a mist, a faint sound like the roar of falling water could be +heard. It was the word “Moscow!” sweeping back to the rearmost ranks of +these starving men who had marched for two months beneath the glaring +sun, parched with dust, through a country that seemed to them a Sahara. +Every house they approached, they had found deserted. Every barn was +empty. The very crops ripening to harvest had been gathered in and +burnt. Near to the miserable farmhouses, a pile of ashes hardly cold +marked where the poor furniture had been tossed upon the fire kindled +with the year's harvest. + +Everywhere it was the same. There are, as God created it, few countries +of a sadder aspect than that which spreads between the Moskwa and the +Vistula. But it has been decreed by the dim laws of Race that the ugly +countries shall be blessed with the greater love of their children, +while men born in a beautiful land seem readiest to emigrate from it and +make the best settlers in a new home. There is only one country in the +world with a ring-fence round it. If a Russian is driven from his home, +he will go to another part of Russia: there is always room. + +Before the advance of the spoilers, chartered by their leader to +unlimited and open rapine--indeed, he had led them hither with that +understanding--the Prussians, peasant and noble alike, fled to the East. +A hundred times the advance guard, fully alive to the advantages of +their position, had raced to the gates of a chateau only to find, on +breaking open the doors, that it was empty--the furniture destroyed, the +stores burnt, the wine poured out. + +So also in the peasants' huts. Some, more careful than the rest, had +pulled the thatch from the roof to burn it. There was no corn in this +the Egypt of their greedy hopes. And, lest they should bring the corn +with them, the spoilers found the mills everywhere wrecked. + +It was something new to them. It was new to Napoleon, who had so +frequently been met halfway, who knew that men for greed will part +smilingly with half in order to save the residue. He knew that many, +rather than help a neighbour who is in danger by a robber, will join the +robber and share the spoil, crying out that force majeure was used to +them. + +But, as every man must judge according to his lights, so must even the +greatest find himself in the dark at last. No man of the Latin race will +ever understand the Slav. And because the beginning is easy--because in +certain superficial tricks of speech and thought Paris and Petersburg +are not unlike--so much the more is the breach widened when necessity +digs deeper than the surface. For, to make the acquaintance of a +stranger who seems to be a counterpart of one's self in thought and +taste, is like the first hearing of a kindred language such as Dutch to +the English ear. At first it sounds like one's own tongue with a hundred +identical words, but on closer listening it will be found that the words +mean something else, and that the whole is incomprehensible and the more +difficult to acquire by the very reason of its resemblance. + +Napoleon thought that the Russians would act as his enemies of the +Latin race had acted. He thought that like his own people they would be +over-confident, urging each other on to great deeds by loud words and a +hundred boasts. But the Russians lack self-confidence, are timid rather +than over-bold, dreamy rather than fiery. Only their women are glib of +speech. He thought that they would begin very brilliantly and end with a +compromise, heart-breaking at first and soon lived down. + +“They are savages out here in the plains,” he said. “It is a barbaric +and stupid instinct that makes them destroy their own property for the +sake of hampering us. As we approach Moscow we shall find that the +more civilized inhabitants of the villages, enervated by an easy +life, rendered selfish by possession of wealth, will not abandon their +property, but will barter and sell to us and find themselves the victims +of our might.” + +And the army believed him. For they always believed him. Faith can, +indeed, move mountains. It carried four hundred thousand men, without +provisions, through a barren land. + +And now, in sight of the golden city, the army was still hungry. Nay! it +was ragged already. In three columns it converged on the doomed capital, +driving before it like a swarm of flies the Cossacks who harassed the +advance. + +Here again, on the hill looking down into the smiling valley of the +Moskwa, the unexpected awaited the invaders. The city, shimmering in +the sunlight like the realization of some Arab's dream, was silent. +The Cossacks had disappeared. Except those around the Kremlin, towering +above the river, the city had no walls. + +The army halted while aides-de-camp flew hither and thither on their +weary horses. Charles Darragon, sunburnt, dusty, hoarse with cheering, +was among the first. He looked right and left for de Casimir, but +could not see him. He had not seen his chief since Borodino, for he was +temporarily attached to the staff of Prince Eugene, who had lost heavily +at the Kalugha river. + +It was usual for the army to halt before a beleaguered city and await +the advent in all humility of the vanquished. Commonly it was the mayor +of a town who came, followed by his councillors in their robes, to +explain that the army had abandoned the city, which now begged to throw +itself upon the mercy of the conqueror. + +For this the army waited on that sunny September morning. + +“He is putting on his robes,” they said gaily. “He is new to this work.” + +But the mayor of Moscow disappointed them. At last the troops moved on +and camped for the night in a village under the Kremlin walls. It was +here that Charles received a note from de Casimir. + +“I am slightly wounded,” wrote that officer, “but am following the army. +At Borodino my horse was killed under me, and I was thrown. While I +was insensible, I was robbed and lost what money I had, as well as my +despatch-case. In the latter was the letter you wrote to your wife. It +is lost, my friend; you must write another.” + +Charles was tired. He would put off till to-morrow, he thought, and +write to Desiree from Moscow. As he lay, all dressed on the hard ground, +he fell to thinking of what he should write to Desiree to-morrow from +Moscow. The mere date and address of such a letter would make her love +him the more, he thought; for, like his leaders, he was dazed by a +surfeit of glory. + +As he fell asleep smiling at these happy reflections, Desiree, far away +in Dantzig, was locking in her bureau the letter which had been lost +and found again; while, on the deck of his ship, lifting gently to the +tideway where the Vistula sweeps out into the Dantziger Bucht, Louis +d'Arragon stood fingering reflectively in his jacket-pocket the unread +papers which had fallen from the same despatch-case. For it is a very +small world in which to do wrong, though if a man do a little good in +his lifetime it is--heaven knows--soon mislaid and trodden under the +feet of the new-comers. + +The next day it was definitely ascertained that the citizens of Moscow +had no communication to make to the conquering leaders. Soon after +daylight the army moved towards the city. The suburbs were deserted. The +houses stood with closed shutters and locked doors. Not so much as a dog +awaited the triumphant entry through the city gates. + +Long streets without a living being from end to end met the eyes of +those daring organizers of triumphal entries who had been sent forward +to clear a path and range the respectful citizens on either hand. But +there were no citizens. There was not a single witness to this triumph +of the greatest army the world had seen, led across Europe by the first +captain in all history to conquer a virgin capital. + +The various corps marched to their quarters in silence, with nervous +glances at the shuttered windows. Some, breaking rank, ventured into the +churches which stood open. The candles were lighted on the altars, they +reported to their comrades in a hushed voice when they returned, but +there was no one there. + +Certain palaces were selected as head-quarters for the general officers +and the chiefs of various departments. As often as not a summons would +be answered and the door opened by an obsequious porter, who handed the +keys to the first-comer. But he spoke no French, and only cringed in +silence when addressed. Other doors were broken in. + +It was like a play acted in dumb show on an immense stage. It was +disquieting and incomprehensible even to the oldest campaigner, while +the young fire-eaters, fresh from St. Cyr, were strangely depressed +by it. There was a smell of sour smoke in the air, a suggestion of +inevitable tragedy. + +On the Krasnaya Ploschad--the great Red Square, which is the central +point of the old town--the soldiers were already buying and selling the +spoil wrested from the burning Exchange. It seemed that the citizens +before leaving had collected their merchandise in this building to burn +it. To the rank-and-file this meant nothing but an incomprehensible +stupidity. To the educated and the thoughtful it was another evidence +of that dumb and sullen capacity for infinite self-sacrifice which makes +Russians different from any other race, and which has yet to be reckoned +with in the history of the world. For it will tend to the greatest good +of the greatest number, and is a power for national aggrandisement quite +unattainable by any Latin people. + +Charles, with the other officers of Prince Eugene's staff, was quartered +in a palace on the Petrovka--that wide street running from the Kremlin +northward to the boulevards and the parks. Going towards it he passed +through the bazaars and the merchants' quarters, where, like an army of +rag-pickers, the eager looters were silently hurrying from heap to heap. +Every warehouse had, it seemed, been ransacked and its contents thrown +out into the streets. The first-comers had hurried on, seeking something +more valuable, more portable, leaving the later arrivals to turn over +their garbage like dogs upon a dust-heap. + +The Petrovka is a long street of great houses, and was now deserted. +The pillagers were nervous and ill at ease, as men must always be in the +presence of something they do not understand. The most experienced of +them--and there were some famous robbers in Murat's vanguard--had never +seen an empty city abandoned all standing, as the Russians had +abandoned Moscow. They felt apprehensive of the unknown. Even the least +imaginative of them looked askance at the tall houses, at the open doors +of the empty churches, and they kept together for company's sake. + +Charles's rooms were in the Momonoff Palace, where even the youngest +lieutenant had vast apartments assigned to him. It was in one of +these--a lady's boudoir, where his dust-covered baggage had been thrown +down carelessly by his orderly on a blue satin sofa--that he sat down to +write to Desiree. + +His emotions had been stirred by all that he had passed through--by the +first sight of Moscow, by the passage beneath the Gate of the Redeemer, +where every man must uncover and only Napoleon dared to wear a hat; by +the bewildering sense of triumph and the knowledge that he was taking +part in one of the epochs of man's history on this earth. The emotions +lie very near together, so that laughter being aroused must also touch +on tears, and hatred being kindled warms the heart to love. + +And, here in this unknown woman's room, with the very pen that she had +thrown aside, Charles, who wrote and spoke his love with such facility, +wrote to Desiree a love-letter such as he had never written before. + +When it was sealed and addressed he called his orderly to take it to the +officer to whose duty it fell to make up the courier for Germany. But +he received no reply. The man had joined his comrades in the busier +quarters of the city. Charles went to the head of the stairs and called +again, with no better success. The house was comparatively modern, built +on the familiar lines of a Parisian hotel, with a wide stair descending +to an entrance archway where carriages passed through into a courtyard. + +Descending the stairs, Charles found that even the sentry had absented +himself from his duty. His musket, leant against the post of the stone +doorway, indicated that he was not far. Listening in the silence of that +great house, Charles heard some one at work with hammer and chisel in +the courtyard. He went there, and found the sentry kneeling at a low +door, endeavouring to break it open. The man had not been idle; from a +piece of rope slung across his back half a dozen clocks were suspended. +They rattled together like the wares of a travelling tinsmith at every +movement of his arms. + +“What are you doing there, my friend?” asked Charles. + +The man held up one finger over his shoulder without looking round, and +shook it from side to side, as not desiring to be interrupted. + +“The cellar,” he answered, “always the cellar. It is human nature. We +get it from the animals.” + +He glanced round as he worked, and, perceiving that he had been +addressing an officer, he scrambled to his feet with a grumbled curse. +He was an old man, baked by the sun. The wrinkles in his face were +filled with dust. Since quitting the banks of the Vistula no opportunity +for ablution seemed to have presented itself to him. He stood at +attention, his lips working over sunken gums. + +“I want you to take this letter,” said Charles, “to the officer on +service at head-quarters, and ask him to include it in his courier. It +is, as you see, a private letter--to my wife at Dantzig.” + +The man looked at it, and grumbled something inaudible. He took it in +his hand and turned it over with the slow manner of the illiterate. + + + +CHAPTER XV. THE GOAL. + + + + God writes straight on crooked lines. + +Charles, having given his letter to the sentry with the order to take it +to its immediate destination, turned towards the stairs again. In those +days an order was given in a different tone to that which servitude +demands in later times. + +He returned to his room on the first floor without even waiting to make +sure that he would be obeyed. He had scarcely seated himself when, after +a fumbling knock, the sentry opened the door and followed him into the +room, still holding the letter in his hand. + +“Mon capitaine,” he said with a certain calmness of manner as from +an old soldier to a young one, “a word--that is all. This letter,” + he turned it in his hand as he spoke, and looking at Charles beneath +scowling brows, awaited an explanation. “Did you pick it up?” + +“No--I wrote it.” + +“Good. I...” he paused, and tapped himself on the chest so that there +could be no mistake; there was a rattling sound behind him suggestive of +ironware. Indeed, he was hung about with other things than clocks, and +seemed to be of opinion that if a soldier sets value upon any object he +must attach it to his person. “I, Barlasch of the Guard--Marengo, the +Danube, Egypt--picked up after Borodino a letter like it. I cannot read +very quickly--indeed--Bah! the old Guard needs no pens and paper--but +that letter I picked up was just like this.” + +“Was it addressed like that to Madame Desiree Darragon?” + +“So a comrade told me. It is you, her husband?” + +“Yes,” answered Charles, “since you ask; I am her husband.” + +“Ah!” replied Barlasch darkly, and his limbs and features settled +themselves into a patient waiting. + +“Well,” asked Charles, “what are you waiting for?” + +“Whatever you may think proper, mon capitaine, for I gave the letter to +the surgeon who promised that it should be forwarded to its address.” + +Charles laughingly sought his purse. But there was nothing in it, so he +looked round the room. + +“Here, add this to your collection,” and he took a small French clock +from the writing-table, a pretty, gilded toy from Paris. + +“Thank you, mon capitaine.” + +Barlasch, with shaking fingers, unknotted the rope around his shoulders. +As he was doing so one of the clocks on his back began to strike. He +paused, and stood looking gravely at his superior officer. Another clock +took up the tale and a third, while Barlasch sternly stood at attention. + +“Four o'clock,” he said to himself, “and I, who have not yet +breakfasted--” + +With a grunt and a salute he turned towards the door which stood open. +Some one was coming up the stairs rather slowly, his spurs clinking, +his scabbard clashing against the gilded banisters. Papa Barlasch stood +aside at attention, and Colonel de Casimir came into the room with a gay +word of greeting. Barlasch went out, but he did not close the door. It +is to be presumed that he stood without, where he might have overheard +all that they said to each other for quite a long time, until it was +almost the half-hour when the clocks would strike again. But de Casimir, +perceiving that the door was open, closed it quietly from within, and +Barlasch, shut out on the wide landing, made a grimace at the massive +woodwork before turning to descend the stairs. + +It was the middle of September, and the days were shortening. The dusk +of evening had already closed over the city when de Casimir and Charles +at length came downstairs. No one had troubled to open the shutters of +such rooms as were not required; and these were many. For Moscow was +even at that day a great city, though less spacious and more fantastic +than it is to-day. There was plenty of room for the whole army in the +houses left empty by their owners, so that many lodged as they had never +lodged before and would never lodge again. + +The stairs were almost dark when Charles and his companion descended +them. The rusted musket poised against the doorpost still indicated the +supposed presence of a sentry. + +“Listen,” said Charles, “I found him burrowing like a rat at a +cellar-door in the courtyard. Perhaps he has got in.” + +They listened, but could hear nothing. Charles led the way towards the +courtyard. A glimmer of light guided him to the door he sought. It stood +open. Barlasch had succeeded in effecting an entry to the cellar, where +his experience taught him to seek the best that an abandoned house +contains. + +Charles and de Casimir peered down the narrow stairs. By the light of +a candle Barlasch was working vigorously amid a confused pile of cases, +and furniture, and roughly tied bundles of clothing. He had laid +aside nothing, and his movements were attended by the usual rattle of +hollow-ware. They could see the perspiration gleaming on his face. Even +in this cellar there lingered the faint smell of sour smoke that filled +the air of Moscow. + +De Casimir caught the gleam of jewellery, and went hurriedly downstairs. + +“What are you doing there, my friend?” he asked, and the words were +scarcely out of his mouth, when Barlasch extinguished his candle. There +followed a dead silence, such as comes when a rodent is disturbed at his +work. The two men on the cellar-stairs were conscious of the gaze of the +bright, rat-like eyes below. + +De Casimir turned and followed Charles upstairs again. + +“Come up,” he said, “and go to your post.” + +There was no movement in response. + +“Name of a dog,” cried de Casimir, “is all discipline relaxed? Come up, +I tell you, and obey my orders.” + +He emphasized his command with the cocking of a pistol, and a slight +disturbance in the darkness of the cellar heralded the unwilling +approach of Barlasch, who climbed the stairs step by step like a +schoolboy coming to punishment. + +“It is I who found the door, mon colonel, behind that pile of firewood. +It is I who opened it. What is down there is mine,” he said, sullenly. +But the only reply that de Casimir made was to seize him by the arm and +jerk him away from the stairs. + +“To your post,” he said, “take your arm, and out into the street, in +front of the house. That is your place.” + +But while he was still speaking, they were all startled by a sudden +disturbance in the cellar, and in the gloom a man stumbled up the stairs +and ran past them. Barlasch had taken the precaution of bolting the huge +front door, which was large enough to give passage to a carriage. The +man, who exhaled an atmosphere of dust mingled with the disquieting +and all-pervading odour of smoke, rushed at the huge door and tugged +furiously at its handles. + +Charles, who was on his heels, grasped his arm, but the man swung round +and threw him off as if he were a child. He had a hatchet in his hand +with which he aimed a blow at Charles, but missed him. Barlasch was +already going towards his musket, which stood in the corner against +the door-post, but the Russian saw his movement, and forestalled him. +Seizing the gun, he presented the bayonet to them, and stood with his +back to the door, facing the three men in a breathless silence. He was +a large man, dishevelled, with long hair tumbled about his head, and +light-coloured eyes, glaring like the eyes of a beast at bay. + +In the background de Casimir, quick and calm, had already covered him +with the pistol produced as a persuasive to Barlasch. For a second there +was silence, during which they all could hear the call to arms in the +street outside. The patrol was hurrying down the Petrovka, calling the +assembly. + +The report of the pistol rang through the house, shaking the doors and +windows. The man threw up his arms and stood for a moment looking at de +Casimir with an expression of blank amazement. Then his legs seemed to +slip away from beneath him, and he collapsed to the floor. He turned +over with movements singularly suggestive of a child seeking a +comfortable position in bed, and lay quite still, his cheek on the +pavement and his staring eyes turned towards the cellar-door from which +he had emerged. + +“He has his affair--that parishioner,” muttered Barlasch, looking at him +with a smile that twisted his mouth to one side. And, as he spoke, the +man's throat rattled. De Casimir was reloading his pistol. So persistent +was the gaze of the dead man's eyes that de Casimir turned on his heel +to look in the same direction. + +“Quick!” he exclaimed, pointing to the doorway, from which a lazy white +smoke emerged in thin puffs. “Quick, he has set fire to the house!” + +“Quick--with what, mon colonel?” asked Barlasch. + +“Why, go and fetch some men with a fire-engine.” + +“There are no fire-engines left in Moscow, mon colonel!” + +“Then find buckets, and tell me where the well is.” + +“There are no buckets left in Moscow, mon colonel. We found that out +last night, when we wanted to water the horses. The citizens have +removed them. And there is not a well of which the rope has not been +cut. They are droll companions, these Russians, I can tell you.” + +“Do as I tell you,” repeated de Casimir, angrily, “or I shall put you +under arrest. Go and fetch men to help me to extinguish this fire.” + +By way of reply, Barlasch held up one finger in a childlike gesture of +attention to some distant sound. + +“No, thank you,” he said, coolly, “not for me. Discipline, mon colonel, +discipline. Listen, you can hear the 'assembly' as well as I. It is the +Emperor that one obeys. One thinks of one's military career.” + +With knotted and shaking fingers he drew back the bolts and opened the +door. On the threshold he saluted. + +“It is the call to arms, mes officiers,” he said. Then, shouldering his +musket, he turned away, and all his clocks struck six. The bells of the +city churches seemed to greet him as he stepped into the street, for in +Moscow each hour is proclaimed with deafening iteration from a thousand +towers. + +He looked down the Petrovka; from half the houses which bordered the +wide roadway--a street of palaces--the smoke was pouring forth in puffs. +He went uphill towards the Red Square and the Kremlin, where the Emperor +had his head-quarters. It was to this centre that the patrols had +converged. Looking back, Barlasch saw, not one house on fire, but a +hundred. The smoke arose from every quarter of the city at once. He +hurried on, but was stopped by a crowd of soldiers, all laden with +booty, gesticulating, shouting, abusing one another. It was Babel +over again. The riff-raff of sixteen nations had followed Napoleon to +Moscow--to rob. Half a dozen different tongues were spoken in one army +corps. There remained no national pride to act as a deterrent. No man +cared what he did. The blame would be laid upon France. + +The crowd was collected in front of a high, many-windowed building in +flames. + +“What is it?” Barlasch asked first one and then another. But no one +spoke his tongue. At last he found a Frenchman. + +“It is the hospital.” + +“And what is that smell? What is burning there?” + +“Twelve thousand wounded,” answered the man, with a sickening laugh. +And even as he spoke one or two of the wounded dragged themselves, half +burnt, down the wide steps. No one dared to approach them, for the walls +of the building were already bulging outwards. One man was half covered +with a sheet which was black, and his bare limbs were black with smoke. +All the hair was burnt from his head and face. He stood for a moment in +the doorway--a sight never to be forgotten--and then fell headlong down +the steps, where he lay motionless. Some one in the crowd laughed--a +high cackle which was heard above the roar of the fire and the deafening +chorus of burning timbers. + +Barlasch passed on, following some officers who were leading their +horses towards the Kremlin. The streets were full of soldiers carrying +burdens, and staggering beneath the weight of their spoil. Many were +wearing priceless fur cloaks, and others walked in women's wraps of +sable and ermine. Some wore jewellery, such as necklaces, on their rough +uniforms, and bracelets round their sunburnt wrists. No one laughed +at them, but only glanced enviously at the pillage. All were in +deadly earnest, and none graver than those who had found drink and now +regretted that they had given way to the temptation; for their sober +comrades had outwitted them in finding treasure. + +One man gravely wore a gilt coronet crammed over the crown of his shako. +He joined Barlasch, staggering along beside him. + +“I come from the Cathedral,” he explained, confidentially. “St. Michael +they call it. They said there was great treasure there hidden in the +cellars, but I only found a company of old kings in their coffins. We +stirred them up. They were quiet enough when we found them, under their +counterpanes of red velvet. We stirred them up with the bayonet, and the +dust got into our throats and choked us. Name of God, I am thirsty. You +have nothing in your bottle, comrade?” + +“No.” + +Barlasch trudged on, all his possessions swinging and clanking together. +The confidential man turned towards him and lifted his water-bottle, +weighed it, and found it wanting. + +“Name of a name, of a name, of a name,” he muttered, walking on. “Yes, +there was nothing there. Even the silver plates on the coffins with the +names of those gentlemen were no thicker than a sword. But I found a +crown in the church itself. I borrowed it from St. Michael. He had a +sword in his hand, but he did not strike. No. And there was only tinsel +on the hilt. No jewels.” + +He walked on in silence for a few minutes, coughing out the smoke and +dust from his lungs. It was almost dark, but the whole city was blazing +now, and the sky glowed with a red light that mingled with the remnants +of a lurid sunset. A strong wind blew the smoke and the flying sparks +across the roofs. + +“Then I went into the sacristy,” continued the man, stumbling over the +dead body of a young girl and turning to curse her. Barlasch looked +at him sideways and cursed him for doing it, with a sudden fierce +eloquence. For Papa Barlasch was a man of unclean lips. + +“There was an old man in there, a sacristan. I asked him where he kept +the dishes, and he said he could not speak French. I jerked my bayonet +into him--name of a name! he soon spoke French.” + +Barlasch broke off these delicate confidences by a quick word of +command, and himself stood rigid in the roadway before the Imperial +Palace of the Kremlin, presenting arms. A man passed close by them on +his way towards a waiting carriage. He was stout and heavy-shouldered, +peculiarly square, with a thick neck and head set low in the shoulders. +On the step of the carriage he turned and surveyed the lurid sky and +the burning city to the east with an indifferent air. Into his deep +bloodshot eyes there flashed a sudden gleam of life and power, as he +glanced along the row of watching faces to read what was written there. + +It was Napoleon, at the summit of his dream, hurriedly quitting the +Kremlin, the boasted goal of his ambition, after having passed but one +night under that proud roof. + + + +CHAPTER XVI. THE FIRST OF THE EBB. + + + + Tho' he trip and fall + He shall not blind his soul with clay. + +The days were short, and November was drawing to its end when Barlasch +returned to Dantzig. Already the frost, holding its own against a sun +that seemed to linger in the North that year, exercised its sway almost +to midday, and drew a mist from the level plains. + +The autumn had been one of unprecedented splendour, making the +imaginative whisper that Napoleon, like a second Joshua, could exact +obedience even from the sun. A month earlier, soon after the retreat +was ordered, the nights had begun to be cold, but the days remained +brilliant. Now the rivers were shrouded in white mist, and still water +was frozen. + +Barlasch seemed to take it for understood that a billet holds good +throughout a whole campaign. But the door of No. 36 Frauengasse was +locked when he turned its iron handle. He knocked, and waited on the +step. + +It was Desiree who opened the door at length--Desiree, grown older, with +something new in her eyes. Barlasch, sure of his entree, had already +removed his boots, which he carried in his hand; this added to a certain +surreptitiousness in his attitude. A handkerchief was bound over his +left eye. He wore his shako still, but the rest of his uniform verged +on the fantastic. Under a light-blue Bavarian cavalry cape he wore a +peasant's homespun shirt, and he carried no arms. + +He pushed past Desiree rather unceremoniously, glad to get within +doors. He was very lame, and of his blue knitted stockings only the legs +remained; he was barefoot. + +He limped towards the kitchen, glancing over his shoulder to make sure +that Desiree shut the door. The chair he had made his own stood just +within the open door of the kitchen. It was nine o'clock in the morning, +and Lisa had gone to market. Barlasch sat down. + +“Voila,” he said, and that was all. But by a gesture he described the +end of the world. Then he scowled at her with his available eye with +suspicion, and she turned away suddenly, as one may who has not a clear +conscience. + +“What is the matter with your eye?” she asked, in order to break the +silence. He laid aside his hat, and his ragged hair, quite white, fell +to his shoulders. By way of answer, he unknotted the bloodstained dusky +handkerchief, and looked up at her. The hidden eye was uninjured and as +bright as the other. + +“Nothing,” he answered, and he confirmed the statement by a low-born +wink. More than once he glanced, with a glaring light in his eye, +towards the cupboard where Lisa kept the bread, and quite suddenly +Desiree knew that he was starving. She ran to the cupboard, and +hurriedly set down on the table before him what was there. It was not +much--a piece of cold meat and a whole loaf. + +He had taken off his haversack, and was fumbling in it with unsteady +hands. At last he found that which he sought. It was wrapped in a silk +scarf that must have come from Cashmere to Moscow, and from Moscow in +his haversack with pieces of horseflesh and muddy roots to Dantzig. With +that awkwardness in giving and taking which belongs to his class, +he held out to Desiree a little square “ikon” no bigger than a +playing-card. It was of gold, set with diamonds, and the faces of the +Virgin and Child were painted with exquisite delicacy. + +“It is a thing to say your prayers to,” he said gruffly. + +By an effort he kept his eyes averted from the food on the table. + +“I met a baker on the bridge,” he said, “and offered it to him for a +loaf, but he refused.” + +And there was a whole history of human suffering and temptation--of the +human fall--in his curt laugh. While Desiree was looking at the treasure +in speechless admiration, he turned suddenly and took the bread and meat +in his grimy hands. His crooked fingers closed over the loaf, making the +crust crack, and for a second the expression of his face was not human. +Then he hurried to the room that had been his, like a dog that seeks to +hide its greed in its kennel. + +In a surprisingly short time he came back, the greyness all gone from +his face, though his eyes still glittered with the dry, hard light of +starvation. He went back to the chair near the door, and sat down. + +“Seven hundred miles,” he said, looking down at his feet with a shake of +the head, “seven hundred miles in six weeks.” + +Then he glanced at her and out through the open door, to make sure none +could overhear. + +“Because I was afraid,” he added in a whisper. “I am easily frightened. +I am not brave.” + +Desiree shook her head and laughed. Women have from all time accepted +the theory that a uniform makes a man courageous. + +“They had to abandon the guns,” he went on, “soon after quitting Moscow. +The horses were starving. There was a steep hill, and the guns were left +at the bottom. Then I began to be afraid. There were some marching +with candelabras on their backs and nothing in their carnassieres. They +carried a million francs on their shoulders and death in their faces. I +was afraid. I carried salt--salt--and nothing else. Then one day I saw +the Emperor's face. That was enough. The same night I crept away while +the others slept round the fire. They looked like a masquerade. Some of +them wore ermine. Oh! I was afraid, I tell you. I only had the salt and +some horse. There was plenty of that on the road. And that toy. I found +it in Moscow. I stood in a cellar, as big as this room, full of such +things. But one thinks of one's life. I only carried salt, and that +picture for you... to say your prayers to. The good God will hear you, +perhaps; He has no time to listen to us others.” + +And he used the last words as a French peasant, which is a survival of +serfdom that has come down through the furnace of the Revolution. + +“But I cannot take it,” said Desiree. “It is worth a million francs.” + +He looked at her fiercely. + +“You think that I look for something in return?” + +“Oh no!” she answered, “I have nothing to give you in return. I am as +poor as you.” + +“Then we can be friends,” he said. He was eyeing surreptitiously a mug +of beer which Desiree had set before him on the table. Some instinct, or +the teaching of the last two months, made it repugnant to him to eat or +drink beneath his neighbour's eye. He was a sorry-looking figure, not +far removed from the animals, and in his downward journey he had picked +up, perhaps, the instinct which none can explain, telling an animal to +take its food in secret. + +Desiree went to the window, turning her back to him, and looked out into +the yard. She heard him drink, and set the mug down again with a gulp. + +“You were in Moscow?” she said at length, half turning towards him so +that he could see her profile and her short upper lip, which was parted +as if to ask a question which she did not put into words. He looked her +slowly up and down beneath his heavy eyebrows, his little cunning eyes +alight with suspicion. He watched her parted lips, which were tilted at +the corners, showing humour and a nature quick to laugh or suffer. Then +he jerked his head upwards as if he saw the unasked question quivering +there, and bore her some malice for her silence. + +“Yes! I was in Moscow,” he said, watching the colour fade from her face. +“And I saw him--your husband--there. I was on guard outside his door the +night we entered the city. It was I who carried to the post the letter +he wrote you. He was very anxious that it should reach you. You received +it--that love-letter?” + +“Yes,” answered Desiree gravely, in no wise responding to a sudden +forced gaiety in Papa Barlasch, which was only an evidence of the +shyness with which rough men all the world over approach the subject of +love. The gaiety lapsed into a sudden silence. He waited for her to ask +a question, but in vain. + +“I never saw him again,” went on Barlasch, “for the 'general' sounded, +and I went out into the streets to find the city on fire. In a great +army, as in a large country, one may easily lose one's own brother. But +he will return--have no fear. He has good fortune--the fine gentleman.” + +He stopped and scratched his head, looked at her sideways with a grimace +of bewilderment. + +“It is good news I bring you,” he muttered. “He was alive and well when +we began the retreat. He was on the staff, and the staff had horses and +carriages. They had bread to eat, I am told.” + +“And you--what had you?” asked Desiree, over her shoulder. + +“No matter,” he answered gruffly, “since I am here.” + +“And yet you believe in that man still,” flashed out Desiree, turning to +face him. + +Barlasch held up a warning finger, as if bidding her to be silent on a +subject on which she was not capable of forming a judgment. He wagged +his head from side to side and heaved a sigh. + +“I tell you,” he said, “I saw his face after Malo-Jaroslavetz; we lost +ten thousand that day. And I was afraid. For I saw in it that he +was going to leave us as he did in Egypt. I am not afraid when he is +there--not afraid of the Devil--or the bon Dieu, but when Napoleon is +not there--” He broke off with a gesture describing abject terror. + +“They say in Dantzig,” said Desiree, “that he will never get back across +the Beresina, for the Russians are bringing two armies to stop him +there. They say that the Prussians will turn against him.” + +“Ah--they say that already?” + +“Yes.” + +He looked at her with a sudden light of anger in his eyes. + +“Who has taught you to hate Napoleon?” he asked bluntly. + +And again Desiree turned away from his glance as if she could not meet +it. + +“No one,” she answered. + +“It is not the patron,” said Barlasch, muttering his thoughts as +he hobbled to the door of his little room, and began unloading his +belongings with a view to ablution; for he was a self-contained +traveller, carrying with him all he required. “It is not the patron. +Because such a hatred as his cannot be spoken of. It is not your +husband, because Napoleon is his god.” + +He broke off with one of his violent jerks of the head, almost +threatening to dislocate his neck, and looked at her fixedly. + +“It is because you have grown into a woman since I went away.” + +And out came his accusing finger, though Desiree had her back turned +towards him, and there was none other to see. + +“Ah!” he said, with deadly contempt, “I see, I see!” + +“Did you expect me to grow up into a man?” asked Desiree, over her +shoulder. + +Barlasch stood in the doorway, his lips and jaw moving as if he were +masticating winged words. At length, having failed to find a tremendous +answer, he softly closed the door. + +This was not the only wise old veteran of the Grand Army to see which +way the wind blew; for many another after the battle of Malo-Jaroslavetz +packed upon his back such spoil as he could carry, and set off on foot +for France. For the cold had come at length, and not a horse in the +French army was roughed for the snowy roads, nor, indeed, had provision +been made to rough them. This was a sign not lost upon those who had +horses to care for. The Emperor, who forgot nothing, had forgotten this. +He who foresaw everything, had omitted to foresee the winter. He had +ordered a retreat from Moscow, in the middle of October, of an army in +summer clothing, without provision for the road. The only hope was to +retreat through a new line of country not despoiled by the enormous army +in its advance of every grain of corn, every blade of grass. But this +hope was frustrated by the Russians who, hemming them in, forced them to +keep the road along which they had made so triumphant a march on Moscow. + +Already, in the ranks, it was whispered that by the light of the burning +city some had perceived dark forms moving on the distant plains--a +Russian army passing westward in front of them to await and cut them off +at the passage of some river. The Russians had fought well at Borodino: +they fought desperately at Malo-Jaroslavetz, which town was taken and +retaken eleven times and left in cinders. + +The Grand Army was no longer in a position to choose its way. It was +forced to cross again the battlefield of Borodino, where thirty thousand +dead lay yet unburied. But Napoleon was still with them, his genius +flashing out at times with something of the fire which had taken men's +breath away and burnt his name indelibly into the pages of the world's +history. Even when hard pressed, he never missed a chance of attacking. +The enemy never made a mistake that he did not give them reason to rue +it. + +To the waiting world came at length the news that the winter, so long +retarded, had closed down over Russia. In Dantzig, so near the frontier, +a hundred rumours chased each other through the streets; and day by day +Antoine Sebastian grew younger and gayer. It seemed as if a weight +long laid upon his heart had been lifted at last. He made a journey to +Konigsberg soon after Barlasch's return, and came back with eager eyes. +His correspondence was enormous. He had, it seemed, a hundred +friends who gave him news and asked something in exchange--advice, +encouragement, warning. And all the while men whispered that Prussia +would ally herself to Russia, Sweden, and England. + +From Paris came news of a growing discontent. For France, among a +multitude of virtues, has one vice unpardonable to Northern men: she +turns from a fallen friend. + +Soon followed the news of Beresina--a poor little river of +Lithuania--where the history of the world hung for a day as on a thread. +But a flash of the dying genius surmounted superhuman difficulties, and +the catastrophe was turned into a disaster. The divisions of Victor and +Oudinot--the last to preserve any semblance of military discipline--were +almost annihilated. The French lost twelve thousand killed or drowned in +the river, sixteen thousand prisoners, twelve of the remaining guns. +But they were across the Beresina. There was no longer a Grand Army, +however. There was no army at all--only a starving, struggling trail of +men stumbling through the snow, without organization or discipline or +hope. + +It was a disaster on the same gigantic scale as the past victories--a +disaster worthy of such a conqueror. Even his enemies forgot to rejoice. +They caught their breath and waited. + +And suddenly came the news that Napoleon was in Paris. + + + +CHAPTER XVII. A FORLORN HOPE. + + + + The fire i' the flint + Shows not, till it be struck. + +“It is time to do something,” said Papa Barlasch on the December morning +when the news reached Dantzig that Napoleon was no longer with the +army--that he had made over the parody of command of the phantom army +to Murat, King of Naples--that he had passed like an evil spirit unknown +through Poland, Prussia, Germany, travelling twelve hundred miles night +and day at breakneck speed, alone, racing to Paris to save his throne. + +“It is time to do something,” said all Europe, when it was too late. +For Napoleon was himself again--alert, indomitable, raising a new army, +calling on France to rise to such heights of energy and vitality as +only France can compass; for the colder nations of the North lack the +imagination that enables men to pit themselves against the gods at the +bidding of some stupendous will, only second to the will of God Himself. + +“Go to Dantzig, and hold it till I come,” Napoleon had said to Rapp. +“Retreat to Poland, and hold on to anything you can till I come back +with a new army,” he had commanded Murat and Prince Eugene. + +“It is time to do something,” said all the conquered nations, looking at +each other for initiation. And lo! the Master of Surprises struck them +dumb by his sudden apparition in his own capital, with all the strings +of the European net gathered as if by magic into his own hands again. + +While everybody told his neighbour that it was time to do something, no +one knew what to do. For it has pleased the Creator to put a great +many talkers into this world and only a few men of action to make its +history. + +Papa Barlasch knew what to do, however. + +“Where is that sailor?” he asked Desiree, when she had told him the news +which Mathilde brought in from the streets. “He who took the patron's +valise that night--the cousin of your husband.” + +“There is a man at Zoppot who will tell you,” she answered. + +“Then I go to Zoppot.” + +Barlasch had lived unmolested in the Frauengasse since his return. He +was an old man, ill-clad, with a bloody handkerchief bound over one eye. +No one asked him any questions, except Sebastian, who heard again and +again the tale of Moscow--how the army which had crossed into Russia +four hundred thousand strong was reduced to a hundred thousand when the +retreat began; how handmills were issued to the troops to grind corn +which did not exist; how the horses died in thousands and the men in +hundreds from starvation; how God at last had turned his face from +Napoleon. + +“Something must be done. The patron will do nothing; he is in the +clouds, he is dreaming dreams of a new France, that bourgeois. I am an +old man. Yes, I will go to Zoppot.” + +“You mean that we should have heard from Charles before now,” said +Desiree. + +“Name of thunder! he may be in Paris!” exclaimed Barlasch, with the +sudden anger that anxiety commands. “He is on the staff, I tell you.” + +For suspense is one of the most contagious of human emotions, and makes +a quicker call upon our sympathy than any other. Do we not feel such a +desire that our neighbour may know the worst without delay, that we race +to impart it to him? + +Nor was Desiree alone in the trial which had drawn certain lines about +her gay lips; for Mathilde had told her father and sister that should +Colonel de Casimir return from the war he would ask her hand in +marriage. + +“And that other--the Colonel,” added Barlasch, glancing at Mathilde, +“he is on the staff too. They are safe enough, I tell you that. They are +doubtless together. They were together at Moscow. I saw them, and took +an order from them. They were... at their work.” + +Mathilde did not like Papa Barlasch. She would, it seemed, rather have +no news at all of de Casimir than learn it from the old soldier, for +she quitted the room without even troubling to throw him a glance of +disdain. + +Barlasch waited with working lips until the sound of her footsteps +ceased on the stairs. Then he pushed across the kitchen table a piece of +writing-paper, rather yellow and woolly. It had been to Moscow and back. + +“Write a word to him,” he said. “I will take it to Zoppot.” + +“But you can send a message by the fisherman whose name I have given +you,” answered Desiree. + +“And will he heed the message? Will he come ashore at a word from +me--only Barlasch? Remember it is his life that he carries in his hand. +An English sailor with a French name! Thunder of thunder! They would +shoot him like a rat!” + +Desiree shook her head; but Barlasch was not to be denied. He brought +pen and ink from the dresser, and pushed them across the table. + +“I would not ask it,” he said, “if it was not necessary. Do you think he +will mind the danger? He will like it. He will say to me, 'Barlasch, I +thank you.' Ah? I know him. Write. He will come.” + +“Why?” asked Desiree. + +“Why? How should I know that? He came before when you asked him.” + +Desiree leant over the table and wrote six words: + +“Come, if you can come safely.” + +Barlasch took up the paper, and, pushing up the bandage which had +served to bring him unharmed through Russia, he frowned at it without +understanding. + +“It is not all writings that I can read,” he admitted. “Have you signed +it?” + +“No.” + +“Then sign something that he will know, and no other--they might shoot +me. Your baptismal name.” + +And she wrote “Desiree” after the six words. + +Barlasch folded the paper carefully and placed it in the lining of an +old felt hat of Sebastian's which he now wore. He bound a scarf over his +ears, after the manner of those who live on the Baltic shores in winter. + +“You can leave the rest to me,” he said; and, with a nod and a grimace +expressive of cunning, he left her. + +He did not return that night. The days were short now, for the winter +was well set in. It was nearly dark the next afternoon and very cold +when he came back. He sent Lisa upstairs for Desiree. + +“First,” he said, “there is a question for the patron. Will he quit +Dantzig?--that is the question.” + +“No,” answered Desiree. + +“Rapp is coming,” said Barlasch, emphasizing each point with one finger +against the side of his nose. “He will hold Dantzig. There will be a +siege. Let the patron make no mistake. It will not be like the last one. +Rapp was outside then; he will be inside this time. He will hold Dantzig +till the bottom falls out of the world.” + +“My father will not leave,” said Desiree. “He has said so. He knows that +Rapp is coming, with the Russians behind him.” + +“But,” interrupted Barlasch, “he thinks that Prussia will turn and +declare war against Napoleon. That may be. Who knows? The question is, +Can the patron be induced to quit Dantzig?” + +Desiree shook her head. + +“It is not I,” said Barlasch, “who ask the question. You understand?” + +“Yes, I understand. My father will not quit Dantzig.” + +Whereupon Barlasch made a gesture conveying a desire to think as kindly +of Antoine Sebastian as he could. + +“In half an hour,” he said, “when it is dark, will you come for a walk +with me along the Langfuhr road--where the unfinished ramparts are?” + +Desiree looked at him and hesitated. + +“Oh--good--if you are afraid--” said Barlasch. + +“I am not afraid--I will come,” she answered quickly. + +The snow was hard when they set out, and squeaked under their feet, as +it does with a low thermometer. + +“We shall leave no tracks,” said Barlasch, as he led the way off the +Langfuhr road towards the river. There was broken ground here, where +earthworks had been begun and never completed. The trees had been partly +cut, and beneath the snow were square mounds showing where the timber +had been piled up. But since the departure of Rapp, all had been left +incomplete. + +Barlasch turned towards Desiree and pointed out a rising knoll of land +with fir-trees on it--an outline against the sky where a faint aurora +borealis lit the north. She understood that Louis was waiting there, and +must necessarily see them approaching across the untrodden snow. For an +instant she lingered, and Barlasch turning, glanced at her sharply over +his shoulder. She had come against her will, and her companion knew it. +Her feet were heavy with misgiving, like the feet of one who treads +an uncertain road into a strange country. She had been afraid of Louis +d'Arragon when she first caught sight of him in the Frauengasse. The +fear of him was with her now, and would not depart until he himself +swept it away by the first word he spoke. + +He came out from beneath the trees, made a few steps forward, and +then stopped. Again Desiree lingered, and Barlasch, who was naturally +impatient, turned and took her by the arm. + +“Is it the snow--that you find slippery?” he asked, not requiring an +answer. A moment later Louis came forward. + +“There is nothing but bad news,” he said laconically. “Barlasch will +have told you; but there is no need to give up hope. The army has +reached the Niemen; the rearguard has quitted Vilna. There is nothing +for it but to go and look for him.” + +“Who will go?” she asked quietly. + +“I.” + +He was looking at her with grave eyes trained to darkness. But she +looked past him towards the sky, which was faintly lighted by the +aurora. Her averted eyes and rigid attitude were not without some +suggestion of guilt. + +“My ship is ice-bound at Reval,” said D'Arragon, in a matter-of-fact +way. “They have no use for me until the winter is over, and they have +given me three months' leave.” + +“To go to England?” she asked. + +“To go anywhere I like,” he said, with a short laugh. “So I am going to +look for Charles, and Barlasch will come with me.” + +“At a price,” put in that soldier, in a shrewd undertone. “At a price.” + +“A small one,” corrected Louis, turning to look at him with the close +attention of one exploring a new country. + +“Bah! You give what you can. One does not go back across the Niemen for +pleasure. We bargained, and we came to terms. I got as much as I could.” + +Louis laughed, as if this were the blunt truth. + +“If I had more, I would give you more. It is the money I placed in a +Dantzig bank for my cousin. I must take it out again, that is all.” + +The last words were addressed to Desiree, as if he had acted in +assurance of her approval. + +“But I have more,” she said; “a little--not very much. We must not think +of money. We must do everything to find him--to give him help, if he +needs it.” + +“Yes,” answered Louis, as if she had asked him a question. “We must do +everything; but I have no more money.” + +“And I have none with me. I have nothing that I can sell.” + +She withdrew her fur mitten and held out her hand, as if to show that +she had no rings, except the plain gold one on her third finger. + +“You have the ikon I brought you from Moscow,” said Barlasch gruffly. +“Sell that.” + +“No,” answered Desiree; “I will not sell that.” + +Barlasch laughed cynically. + +“There you have a woman,” he said, turning to Louis. “First she will not +have a thing, then she will not part with it.” + +“Well,” said Desiree, with some spirit, “a woman may know her own mind.” + +“Some do,” admitted Barlasch carelessly; “the happy ones. And since you +will not sell your ikon, I must go for what Monsieur le capitaine offers +me. + +“Five hundred francs,” said Louis. “A thousand francs, if we succeed in +bringing my cousin safely back to Dantzig.” + +“It is agreed,” said Barlasch, and Desiree looked from one to the other +with an odd smile of amusement. For women do not understand that spirit +of adventure which makes the mercenary soldier, and urges the sailor to +join an exploring expedition without hope of any reward beyond his daily +pay, for which he is content to work and die loyally. + +“And I,” she asked, “what am I to do?” + +“We must know where to find you,” replied D'Arragon. + +There was so much in the simple answer that Desiree fell into a train of +thought. It did not seem much for her to do, and yet it was all. For it +summed up in six words a woman's life: to wait till she is found. + +“I shall wait in Dantzig,” she said at length. + +Barlasch held up his finger close to her face so that she could not fail +to see it, and shook it slowly from side to side commanding her careful +and entire attention. + +“And buy salt,” he said. “Fill a cupboard full of salt. It is cheap +enough in Dantzig now. The patron will not think of it. He is a +dreamer. But a dreamer awakes at length, and is hungry. It is I who tell +you--Barlasch.” + +He emphasized himself with a touch of his curved fingers on either +shoulder. + +“Buy salt,” he said, and walked away to a rising knoll to make sure +that no one was approaching. The moon was just below the horizon, and a +yellow glow was already in the sky. + +Desiree and Louis were left alone. He was looking at her, but she was +watching Barlasch with a still persistency. + +“He said that it is the happy women who know their own minds,” she said +slowly. + +“I suppose he meant--Duty,” she added at length, when Louis made no sign +of answering. + +“Yes,” he said. + +Barlasch was beckoning to her. She moved away, but stopped a few yards +off, and looked at Louis again. + +“Do you think it is any good trying?” she asked, with a short laugh. + +“It is no good trying unless you mean to succeed,” he answered lightly. +She laughed a second time and lingered, though Barlasch was calling her +to come. + +“Oh,” she said, “I am not afraid of you when you say things like that. +It is what you leave unsaid. I am afraid of you, I think, because you +expect so much.” + +She tried to see his face. + +“I am only an ordinary human being, you know,” she said warningly. + +Then she followed Barlasch. + + + +CHAPTER XVIII. MISSING. + + + + I should fear those that dance before me now + Would one day stamp upon me; it has been done: + Men shut their doors against a setting sun. + +During the first weeks of December the biting wind abated for a time, +and immediately the snow came. It fell for days, until at length the +grey sky seemed exhausted; for the flakes sailed downwards in twos and +threes like the stragglers of an army bringing up the rear. Then the sun +broke through again, and all the world was a dazzling white. + +There had been a cessation in that stream of pitiable men who staggered +across the bridge from the Konigsberg road. Some instinct had turned +it southwards. Now it began again, and the rumour spread throughout +the city that Rapp was coming. At length, in the middle of December, an +officer brought word that Rapp with his staff would arrive next day. + +Desiree heard the news without comment. + +“You do not believe it?” asked Mathilde, who had come in with shining +eyes and a pale face. + +“Oh yes, I believe it.” + +“Then you forget,” persisted Mathilde, “that Charles is on the staff. +They may arrive to-night.” + +While they were speaking Sebastian came in. He looked quickly from one +to the other. + +“You have heard the news?” he asked. + +“That the General is coming back?” said Mathilde. + +“No; not that. Though it is true. Macdonald is in full retreat on +Dantzig. The Prussians have abandoned him--at last.” + +He gave a queer laugh and stood looking towards the window with restless +eyes that flitted from one object to another, as if he were endeavouring +to follow in mind the quick course of events. Then he remembered Desiree +and turned towards her. + +“Rapp returns to-morrow,” he said. “We may presume that Charles is with +him.” + +“Yes,” said Desiree, in a lifeless voice. + +Sebastian wrinkled his eyes and gave an apologetic laugh. + +“We cannot offer him a fitting welcome,” he said, with a gesture of +frustrated hospitality. “We must do what we can. You and he may, of +course, consider this your home as long as it pleases you to remain with +us. Mathilde, you will see that we have such delicacies in the house +as Dantzig can now afford--and you, Desiree, will of course make such +preparations as are necessary. It is well to remember, he may return... +to-night.” + +Desiree went towards the door while Mathilde laid aside the delicate +needlework which seemed to absorb her mind and employ her fingers from +morning till night. She made a movement as if to accompany her sister, +but Desiree shook her head sharply and Mathilde remained where she was, +leaving Desiree to go upstairs alone. + +The day was already drawing to its long twilight, and at four o'clock +the night came. Sebastian went out as usual, though he had caught cold. +But Mathilde stayed at home. Desiree sent Lisa to the shops in the +Langenmarkt, which is the centre of business and gossip in Dantzig. Lisa +always brought home the latest news. Mathilde came to the kitchen to +seek something when the messenger returned. She heard Lisa tell Desiree +that a few more stragglers had come in, but they brought no news of the +General. The house seemed lonely now that Barlasch was gone. + +Throughout the night the sound of sleigh-bells could be faintly +heard through the double windows, though no sleigh passed through the +Frauengasse. A hundred times the bells seemed to come closer, and always +Desiree was ready behind the curtains to see the light flash past into +the Pfaffengasse. With a shiver of suspense she crept back to bed to +await the next alarm. In the early morning, long before it was light, +the dull thud of steps on the trodden snow called her to the window +again. She caught her breath as she drew back the curtain; for through +the long watches of the night she had imagined every possible form of +return. + +This must be Barlasch. Louis and Barlasch must, of course, have met Rapp +on his homeward journey. On finding Charles, they had sent Barlasch back +in advance to announce the safety of Desiree's husband. Louis would, of +course, not come to Dantzig. He would go north to Russia, to Reval, and +perhaps home to England--never to return. + +But it was not Barlasch. It was a woman who staggered past under a +burden of firewood which she had collected in the woods of Schottland, +and did not dare to carry through the streets by day. + +At last the clocks struck six, and, soon after, Lisa's heavy footstep +made the stairs creak and crack. + +Desiree went downstairs before daylight. She could hear Mathilde astir +in her room, and the light of candles was visible under her door. +Desiree busied herself with household affairs. + +“I have not slept,” said Lisa bluntly, “for thinking that your husband +might return, and fearing that we should make him wait in the street. +But without doubt you would have heard him.” + +“Yes, I should have heard him.” + +“If it had been my husband, I should have been at the window all night,” + said Lisa, with a gay laugh--and Desiree laughed too. + +Mathilde seemed a long time in coming, and when at length she appeared +Desiree could scarcely repress a movement of surprise. Mathilde was +dressed, all in her best, as for a fete. + +At breakfast Lisa brought the news told to her at the door that the +Governor would re-enter the city in state with his staff at midday. The +citizens were invited to decorate their streets, and to gather there to +welcome the returning garrison. + +“And the citizens will accept the invitation,” commented Sebastian, +with a curt laugh. “All the world has sneered at Russia since the Empire +existed--and yet it has to learn from Moscow what part a citizen may +play in war. These good Dantzigers will accept the invitation.” + +And he was right. For one reason or another the city did honour to Rapp. +Even the Poles must have known by now that France had made tools of +them. But as yet they could not realize that Napoleon had fallen. There +were doubtless many spies in the streets that cold December day--one who +listened for Napoleon; and another, peeping to this side and that, +for the King of Prussia. Sweden also would need to know what Dantzig +thought, and Russia must not be ignorant of the gossip in a great Baltic +port. + +Enveloped in their stiff sheepskins, concealed by the high collars which +reached to the brim of their hats--showing nothing but eyes where the +rime made old faces and young all alike, it was difficult for any to +judge of his neighbour--whether he were Pole or Prussian, Dantziger or +Swede. The women in thick shawls, with hoods or scarves concealing their +faces, stood silently beside their husbands. It was only the children +who asked a thousand questions, and got never an answer from the +cautious descendants of a Hanseatic people. + +“Is it the French or the Russians that are coming?” asked a child near +to Desiree. + +“Both,” was the answer. + +“But which will come first?” + +“Wait and see--silentium,” replied the careful Dantziger, looking over +his shoulder. + +Desiree had changed her clothes, and wore beneath her furs the dress +that had been prepared for the journey to Zoppot so long ago. Mathilde +had noticed the dress, which had not been seen for six months. Lisa, +more loquacious, nodded to it as to a friend when helping Desiree with +her furs. + +“You have changed,” she said, “since you last wore it.” + +“I have grown older--and fatter,” answered Desiree cheerfully. + +And Lisa, who had no imagination, seemed satisfied with the explanation. +But the change was in Desiree's eyes. + +With Sebastian's permission--almost at his suggestion--they had selected +the Grune Brucke as the point from which to see the sight. This bridge +spans the Mottlau at the entrance to the Langenmarkt, and the roadway +widens before it narrows again to pass beneath the Grunes Thor. There is +rising ground where the road spreads like a fan, and here they could see +and be seen. + +“Let us hope,” said Sebastian, “that two of these gentlemen may perceive +you as they pass.” + +But he did not offer to accompany them. + +By half-past eleven the streets were full. The citizens knew their +governor, it seemed. He would not keep them waiting. Although Rapp +lacked that power of appealing to the imagination which has survived +Napoleon's death with such astounding vitality that it moves men's minds +to-day as surely as it did a hundred years ago, he was shrewd enough +to make use of his master's methods when such would seem to serve his +purpose. He was not going to creep into Dantzig like a whipped dog into +his kennel. + +He had procured a horse at Elbing. Between that town and the Mottlau he +had halted to form his army into something like order, to get together a +staff with which to surround himself. + +But the Dantzigers did not cheer. They stood and watched him in a sullen +silence as he rode across the bridge now known as the “Milk-Can.” His +bridle was twisted round his arm, for all his fingers were frostbitten. +His nose and his ears were in the same plight, and had been treated by +a Polish barber who, indeed, effected a cure. One eye was almost closed. +His face was astonishingly red. But he carried himself like a soldier, +and faced the world with the audacity that Napoleon taught to all his +disciples. + +Behind him rode a few staff officers, but the majority were on foot. +Some effort had been made to revive the faded uniforms. One or two +heroic souls had cast aside the fur cloaks to which they owed their +life, but the majority were broken men without spirit, without +pride--appealing only to pity. They hugged themselves closely in +their ragged cloaks and stumbled as they walked. It was impossible +to distinguish between the officers and the men. The biggest and the +strongest were the best clad--the bullies were the best fed. All were +black and smoke-grimed--with eyes reddened and inflamed by the dazzling +snow through which they stumbled by day, as much as by the smoke into +which they crouched at night. Every garment was riddled by the holes +burnt by flying sparks--every face was smeared with blood that ran +from the horseflesh they had torn asunder with their teeth while it yet +smoked. + +Some laughed and waved their hands to the crowd. Others, who had known +the tragedy of Vilna and Kowno, stumbled on in stubborn silence still +doubting that Dantzig stood--that they were at last in sight of food and +warmth and rest. + +“Is that all?” men asked each other in astonishment. For the last +stragglers had crossed the new Mottlau before the head of the procession +had reached the Grune Brucke. + +“If I had such an army as that,” said a stout Dantziger, “I should bring +it into the city quietly, after dusk.” + +But the majority were silent, remembering the departure of these +men--the triumph, the glory, and the hope. For a great catastrophe is +a curtain that for a moment shuts out all history and makes the human +family little children again who can but cower and hold each other's +hands in the dark. + +“Where are the guns?” asked one. + +“And the baggage?” suggested another. + +“And the treasure of Moscow?” whispered a Jew with cunning eyes, who had +hidden behind his neighbour when Rapp glanced in his direction. + +Emerging on the bridge, the General glanced at the old Mottlau. A crowd +was collected on it. The citizens no longer used the bridges but crossed +without fear where they pleased, and heavy sleighs passed up and down as +on a high-road. Rapp saw it, made a grimace, and, turning in his saddle, +spoke to his neighbour, an engineer officer, who was to make an immortal +name and die in Dantzig. + +The Mottlau was one of the chief defences of the city, but instead of a +river the Governor found a high-road! + +Rapp alone seemed to look about him with the air of one who knew his +whereabouts. In the straggling trail of men behind him, not one in a +hundred looked for a friendly face. Some stared in front of them with +lifeless eyes, while others, with a little spirit plucked up at the +end of a weary march, glanced up at the gabled houses with the interest +called forth by the first sight of a new city. + +It was not until long afterwards that the world, piecing together +information purposely delayed and details carefully falsified, knew that +of the four hundred thousand men who marched triumphantly to the Niemen, +only twenty thousand recrossed that river six months later, and of these +two-thirds had never seen Moscow. + +Rapp, whose bloodshot eyes searched the crowd of faces turned towards +him, recognized a number of people. To Mathilde he bowed gravely, and +with a kindlier glance turned in his saddle to bow again to Desiree. +They hardly heeded him, but with colourless faces turned towards the +staff riding behind him. + +Most of the faces were strange: others were so altered that the features +had to be sought for as in the face of a mummy. Neither Charles nor +de Casimir was among the horsemen. One or two of them bowed, as their +leader had done, to the two girls. + +“That is Captain de Villars,” said Mathilde, “and the other I do not +know. Nor that tall man who is bowing now. Who are they?” + +Desiree did not answer. None of these men was Charles. Unconsciously +holding her two mittened hands at her throat, she searched each face. + +They were well placed to see even those who followed on foot. Many of +them were not French. It would have been easy to distinguish Charles or +de Casimir among the dark-visaged southerners. Desiree was not conscious +of the crowd around her. She heard none of the muttered remarks. All her +soul was in her eyes. + +“Is that all?” she said at length--as the others had said at the +entrance to the town. + +She found she was standing hand-in-hand with Mathilde, whose face was +like marble. + +At last, when even the crowd had passed away beneath the Grunes Thor, +they turned and walked home in silence. + + + +CHAPTER XIX. KOWNO. + + + + Distinct with footprints yet + Of many a mighty marcher gone that way. + +There are many who overlook the fact that in Northern lands, more +especially in such plains as Lithuania, Courland, and Poland, travel in +winter is easier than at any other time of year. The rivers, which run +sluggishly in their ditch-like beds, are frozen so completely that +the bridges are no longer required. The roads, in summer almost +impassable--mere ruts across the plain--are for the time ignored, and +the traveller strikes a bee-line from place to place across a level of +frozen snow. + +Louis d'Arragon had worked out a route across the plain, as he had been +taught to shape a course across a chart. + +“How did you return from Kowno?” he asked Barlasch. + +“Name of my own nose,” replied that traveller. “I followed the line of +dead horses.” + +“Then I will take you by another route,” replied the sailor. + +And three days later--before General Rapp had made his entry into +Dantzig--Barlasch sold two skeletons of horses and a sleigh at an +enormous profit to a staff officer of Murat's at Gumbinnen. + +They had passed through Rapp's army. They had halted at Konigsberg to +make inquiry, and now, almost in sight of the Niemen, where the land +begins to heave in great waves, like those that roll round Cape Horn, +they were asking still if any man had seen Charles Darragon. + +“Where are you going, comrades?” a hundred men had paused to ask them. + +“To seek a brother,” answered Barlasch, who, like many unprincipled +persons, had soon found that a lie is much simpler than an explanation. + +But the majority glanced at them stupidly without comment, or with only +a shrug of their bowed shoulders. They were going the wrong way. They +must be mad. Between Dantzig and Konigsberg they had indeed found a few +travellers going eastward--despatch-bearers seeking Murat--spies going +northwards to Tilsit, and General Yorck still in treaty with his own +conscience--a prominent member of the Tugendbund, wondering, like many +others, if there were any virtue left in the world. Others, again, told +them that they were officers ordered to take up some new command in the +retreating army. + +Beyond Konigsberg, however, D'Arragon and Barlasch found themselves +alone on their eastward route. Every man's face was set towards the +west. This was not an army at all, but an endless procession of tramps. +Without food or shelter, with no baggage but what they could carry on +their backs, they journeyed as each of us must journey out of this world +into that which lies beyond--alone, with no comrade to help them over +the rough places or lift them when they fell. For there was only one +man of all this rabble who rose to the height of self-sacrifice, and a +persistent devotion to duty. And he was coming last of all. + +Many had started off in couples--with a faithful friend--only to quarrel +at last. For it is a peculiarity of the French that they can only have +one friend at a time. Long ago--back beyond the Niemen--all friendships +had been dissolved, and discipline had vanished before that. For when +Discipline and a Republic are wedded we shall have the millennium. +Liberty, they cry: meaning, I may do as I like. Equality: I am better +than you. Fraternity: what is yours is mine, if I want it. + +So they quarrelled over everything, and fought for a place round the +fire that another had lighted. They burnt the houses in which they had +passed a night, though they knew that thousands trudging behind them +must die for lack of this poor shelter. + +At the Beresina they had fought on the bridge like wild animals, and +those who had horses trod their comrades underfoot, or pushed them over +the parapet. Twelve thousand perished on the banks or in the river; and +sixteen thousand were left behind to the mercy of the Cossacks. + +At Vilna the people were terrified at the sight of this inhuman rabble, +which had commanded their admiration on the outward march. And the +commander, with his staff, crept out of the city at night, abandoning +sick, wounded, and fighting men. + +At Kowno they crowded numbly across the bridge, fighting for precedence, +when they might have walked at leisure across the ice. They were +no longer men at all, but dumb and driven animals, who fell by the +roadside, and were stripped by their comrades before the warmth of life +had left their limbs. + +“Excuse me, comrade? I thought you were dead,” said one, on being +remonstrated with by a dying man. And he went on his way reluctantly, +for he knew that in a few minutes another would snatch the booty. But +for the most part they were not so scrupulous. + +At first D'Arragon, to whom these horrors were new, attempted to help +such as appealed to him, but Barlasch laughed at him. + +“Yes,” he said. “Take the medallion, and promise to send it to his +mother. Holy Heaven--they all have medallions, and they all have +mothers. Every Frenchman remembers his mother--when it is too late. I +will get a cart. By to-morrow we shall fill it with keepsakes. And here +is another. He is hungry. So am I, comrade. I come from Moscow--bah!” + +And so they fought their way through the stream. They could have +journeyed by a quicker route--D'Arragon could have steered a course +across the frozen plain as over a sea--but Charles must necessarily be +in this stream. He might be by the wayside. Any one of these pitiable +objects, half blind, frost-bitten, with one limb or another swinging +useless, like a snapped branch, wrapped to the eyes in filthy +furs--inhuman, horrible--any one of these might be Desiree's husband. + +They never missed a chance of hearing news. Barlasch interrupted the +last message of a dying man to inquire whether he had ever heard of +Prince Eugene. It was startling to learn how little they knew. The +majority of them were quite ignorant of French, and had scarcely heard +the name of the commander of their division. Many spoke in a language +which even Barlasch could not identify. + +“His talk is like a coffee-mill,” he explained to D'Arragon, “and I do +not know to what regiment he belonged. He asked me if I was Russki--I! +Then he wanted to hold my hand. And he went to sleep. He will wake among +the angels--that parishioner.” + +Not only had no one heard of Charles Darragon, but few knew the name of +the commander to whose staff he had been attached in Moscow. There +was nothing for it but to go on towards Kowno, where it was understood +temporary head-quarters had been established. + +Rapp himself had told D'Arragon that officers had been despatched to +Kowno to form a base--a sort of rock in the midst of a torrent to divert +the currents. There had then been a talk of Tilsit, and diverting the +stream, or part of it towards Macdonald in the north. But D'Arragon knew +that Macdonald was likely to be in no better plight than Murat; for +it was an open secret in Dantzig that Yorck, with four-fifths of +Macdonald's army, was about to abandon him. + +The road to Kowno was not to be mistaken. On either side of it, like +fallen landmarks, the dead lay huddled on the snow. Sometimes D'Arragon +and Barlasch found the remains of a fire, where, amid the ashes, the +chains and rings showed that a gun-carriage had been burnt. The trees +were cut and scored where, as a forlorn hope, some poor imbecile had +stripped the bark with the thought that it might burn. Nearly every +fire had its grim guardian; for the wounds of the injured nearly always +mortified when the flesh was melted by the warmth. Once or twice, with +their ragged feet in the ashes, a whole company had never awakened from +their sleep. + +Barlasch pessimistically went the round of these bivouacs, but rarely +found anything worth carrying away. If he recognized a veteran by +the grizzled hair straggling out of the rags in which all faces were +enveloped, or perceived some remnant of a Garde uniform, he searched +more carefully. + +“There may be salt,” he said. And sometimes he found a little. They +had been on foot since Gumbinnen, because no horse would be allowed by +starving men to live a day. They existed from day to day on what they +found, which was, at the best, frozen horse. But Barlasch ate singularly +little. + +“One thinks of one's digestion,” he said vaguely, and persuaded +D'Arragon to eat his portion because it would be a sin to throw it away. + +At length D'Arragon, who was quick enough in understanding rough men, +said-- + +“No, I don't want any more. I will throw it away.” + +And an hour later, while pretending to be asleep, he saw Barlasch get +up, and crawl cautiously into the trees where the unsavoury food had +been thrown. + +“Provided,” muttered Barlasch one day, “that you keep your health. I am +an old man. I could not do this alone.” + +Which was true, for D'Arragon was carrying all the baggage now. + +“We must both keep our health,” answered Louis. “I have eaten worse +things than horse.” + +“I saw one yesterday,” said Barlasch, with a gesture of disgust; “he +had three stripes on his arm, too; he was crouching in a ditch eating +something much worse than horse, mon capitaine. Bah! It made me sick. +For three sous I would have put my heel on his face. And later on at the +roadside I saw where he or another had played the butcher. But you saw +none of these things, mon capitaine?” + +“It was by that winding stream where a farm had been burnt,” said Louis. + +Barlasch glanced at him sideways. + +“If we should come to that, mon capitaine....” + +“We won't.” + +They trudged on in silence for some time. They were off the road now, +and D'Arragon was steering by dead-reckoning. Even amid the pine-woods, +which seemed interminable, they frequently found remains of an +encampment. As often as not they found the campers huddled over their +last bivouac. + +“But these,” said Barlasch, pointing to what looked like a few bundles +of old clothes, continuing the conversation where he had left it after a +long silence, as men learn to do who are together day and night in some +hard enterprise, “even these have a woman dinning the ears of the good +God for them, just as we have.” + +For Barlasch's conception of a Deity could not get further than the +picture of a great Commander who in times of stress had no leisure to +see that non-commissioned officers did their best for the rank and file. +Indeed, the poor in all lands rather naturally conclude that God will +think of carriage-people first. + +They came within sight of Kowno one evening, after a tiring day over +snow that glittered in a cloudless sun. Barlasch sat down wearily +against a pine tree, when they first caught sight of a distant +church-tower. The country is much broken up into little valleys +here, through which streams find their way to the Niemen. Each river +necessitated a rapid descent and an arduous climb over slippery snow. + +“Voila,” said Barlasch. “That is Kowno. I am done. Go on, mon capitaine. +I will lie here, and if I am not dead to-morrow morning, I will join +you.” + +Louis looked at him with a slow smile. + +“I am tired as you,” he said. “We will rest here until the moon rises.” + +Already the bare larches threw shadows three times their own length on +the snow. Near at hand it glittered like a carpet of diamonds, while the +distance was of a pale blue, merging to grey on the horizon. A far-off +belt of pines against a sky absolutely cloudless suggested infinite +space--immeasurable distance. Nothing was sharp and clearly outlined, +but hazy, silvery, as seen through a thin veil. The sea would seem to be +our earthly picture of infinite space, but no sea speaks of distance so +clearly as the plain of Lithuania--absolutely flat, quite lonely. The +far-off belt of pines only leads the eye to a shadow beyond, which is +another pine-wood; and the traveller walking all day towards it knows +that when at length he gets there he will see just such another on the +far horizon. + +Louis sat down wearily beside Barlasch. As far as eye could see, they +were alone in this grim white world. They had nothing to say to each +other. They sat and watched the sun go down with drawn eyes and a queer +stolidity which comes to men in great cold, as if their souls were numb. + +As the sun sank, the shadows turned bluer, and all the snow gleamed like +a lake. The silver tints slowly turned to gold; the greys grew darker. +The distant lines of pines were almost black now, a silhouette against +the golden sky. Near at hand the little inequalities in the snow loomed +blue, like deeper pools in shallow water. + +The sun sank very slowly, moving along the horizon almost parallel with +it towards two bars of golden cloud awaiting it, the bars of the West +forming a prison to this poor pale captive of the snows. The stems of a +few silver-birch near at hand were rosy now, and suddenly the snow +took a similar tint. At the same moment, a wave of cold seemed to sweep +across the world. + +The sun went down at length, leaving a brownish-red sky. This, too, +faded to grey in a few minutes, and a steely cold gripped the world as +in a vice. + +Louis d'Arragon made a sudden effort and rose to his feet, beneath which +the snow squeaked. + +“Come,” he said. “If we stay, we shall fall asleep, and then--” + +Barlasch roused himself and looked sleepily at his companion. He had a +patch of blue on either cheek. + +“Come!” shouted Louis, as if to a deaf man. “Let us go on to Kowno, and +find out whether he is alive or dead.” + + + +CHAPTER XX. DESIREE'S CHOICE. + + + + Our wills and fates do so contrary run, + That our devices still are overthrown. + Our thoughts are ours, their ends none of our own. + +Rapp found himself in a stronghold which was strong in theory only. For +the frozen river formed the easiest possible approach, instead of an +insuperable barrier to the enemy. He had an army which was a paper army +only. + +He had, according to official returns, thirty-five thousand men. In +reality a bare eight thousand could be collected to show a face to the +enemy. The rest were sick and wounded. There was no national spirit +among these men; they hardly had a language in common. For they were men +from Africa and Italy, from France, Germany, Poland, Spain, and Holland. +The majority of them were recruits, raw and of poor physique. All +were fugitives, flying before those dread Cossacks whose “hurrah! +hurrah!”--the Arabic “kill! kill!”--haunted their fitful sleep at night. +They came to Dantzig not to fight, but to lie down and rest. They were +the last of the great army--the reinforcements dragged to the frontier +which many of them had never crossed. For those who had been to +Moscow were few and far between. The army of Moscow had perished at +Malo-Jaroslavetz, at the Beresina, in Smolensk and Vilna. + +These fugitives had fled to Dantzig for safety; and Rapp in crossing the +bridge had made a grimace, for he saw that there was no safety here. + +The fortifications had been merely sketched out. The ditches were full +of snow, the rivers were frozen. All work was at a standstill. Dantzig +lay at the mercy of the first-comer. + +In twenty-four hours every available smith was at work, forging ice-axes +and picks. Rapp was going to cut the frozen Vistula and set the river +free. The Dantzigers laughed aloud. + +“It will freeze again in a night,” they said. And it did. So Rapp set +the ice-cutters to work again next day. He kept boats moving day and +night in the water, which ran sluggish and thick, like porridge, with +the desire to freeze and be still. + +He ordered the engineers to set to work on the abandoned fortifications. +But the ground was hard like granite, and the picks sprang back in the +worker's grip, jarring his bones, and making not so much as a mark on +the surface of the earth. + +Again the Dantzigers laughed. + +“It is frozen three feet down,” they said. + +The thermometer marked between twenty and thirty degrees of frost every +night now. And it was only December--only the beginning of the winter. +The Russians were at the Niemen, daily coming nearer. Dantzig was full +of sick and wounded. The available troops were worn out, frost-bitten, +desperate. There were only a few doctors, who were without medical +stores; no meat, no vegetables, no spirits, no forage. + +No wonder the Dantzigers laughed. Rapp, who had to rely on Southerners +to obey his orders--Italians, Africans, a few Frenchmen, men little used +to cold and the hardships of a Northern winter--Rapp let them laugh. He +was a medium-sized man, with a bullet-head and a round chubby face, a +small nose, round eyes, and, if you please, side-whiskers. + +Never for a moment did he admit that things looked black. He lit +enormous bonfires, melted the frozen earth, and built the fortifications +that had been planned. + +“I took counsel,” he said, long afterwards, “with two engineer officers +whose devotion equalled their brilliancy--Colonel Richemont and General +Campredon.” + +Soldiers might for all time study with advantage the acts of such +obscure and almost forgotten men as these. For, through them, Napoleon +was now teaching the world that a fortified place might be made stronger +than any had hitherto suspected. That he should turn round and teach, +on the other hand, that a city usually considered impregnable could +be taken without great loss of life, was only characteristic of his +splendid genius, which, like a towering tree, grew and grew until it +fell. + +The days were very short now, and it was dark when the sappers--whose +business it was to keep the ice moving in the river at that spot where +the Government building-yard abuts the river front to-day--were roused +from their meditations by a shout on the farther bank. + +They pushed their clumsy boat through the ice, and soon perceived +against the snowy distance the outline of a man wrapped, swaddled, +disguised in the heaped-up clothing so familiar to Eastern Europe at +this time. The joke of seeing a grave artilleryman clad in a lady's +ermine cloak had long since lost its savour for those who dwelt near the +Moscow road. + +“Ah! comrade,” said one of the boatmen, an Italian who spoke French and +had learnt his seamanship on the Mediterranean, by whose waters he would +never idle again. “Ah! you are from Moscow?” + +“And you, countryman?” replied the new-comer, with a non-committing +readiness, as he stumbled over the gunwale. + +“And you--an old man?” remarked the Italian, with the easy frankness of +Piedmont. + +By way of reply, the new-comer held out one hand roughly swathed in +cloth, and shook it from side to side slowly, taking exception to such +personal matters on a short acquaintance. + +“A week ago, when I quitted Dantzig on a mission to Kowno,” he said, +with a careless air, “one could cross the Vistula anywhere. I have been +walking on the bank for half a league looking for a way across. One +would think there is a General in Dantzig now.” + +“There is Rapp,” replied the Italian, poling his boat through the +floating ice. + +“He will be glad to see me.” + +The Italian turned and looked over his shoulder. Then he gave a curt, +derisive laugh. + +“Barlasch--of the Old Guard!” explained the new-comer, with a careless +air. + +“Never heard of him.” + +Barlasch pushed up the bandage which he still wore over his left eye, in +order to get a better sight of this phenomenal ignoramus, but he made no +comment. + +On landing he nodded curtly, at which the boatman made a quick gesture +and spat. + +“You have not the price of a glass in your purse, perhaps,” he +suggested. + +Barlasch disappeared in the darkness without deigning a reply. Half an +hour later he was on the steps of Sebastian's house in the Frauengasse. +On his way through the streets a hundred evidences of energy had caught +his attention, for many of the houses were barricaded, and palisades +were built at the end of the streets running down towards the river. The +town was busy, and everywhere soldiers passed to and fro. Like Samuel, +Barlasch heard the bleating of sheep and the lowing of oxen in his ears. + +The houses in the Frauengasse were barricaded like others--many of the +lower windows were built up. The door of No. 36 was bolted, and through +the shutters of the upper windows no glimmer of light penetrated to the +outer darkness of the street. Barlasch knocked and waited. He thought he +could hear surreptitious movements within the house. Again he knocked. + +“Who is that?” asked Lisa just within, on the mat. She must have been +there all the time. + +“Barlasch,” he replied. And the bolts which he, in his knowledge of such +matters, himself had oiled, were quickly drawn. + +Inside he found Lisa, and behind her Mathilde and Desiree. + +“Where is the patron?” he asked, turning to bolt the door again. + +“He is out, in the town,” answered Desiree, in a strained voice. “Where +are you from?” + +“From Kowno.” + +Barlasch looked from one face to the other. His own was burnt red, +and the light of the lamp hanging over his head gleamed on the icicles +suspended to his eyebrows and ragged whiskers. In the warmth of the +house his frozen garments began to melt, and from his limbs the water +dripped to the floor with a sound like rain. Then he caught sight of +Desiree's face. + +“He is alive, I tell you that,” he said abruptly. “And well, so far as +we know. It was at Kowno that we got news of him. I have a letter.” + +He opened his cloak, which was stiff like cardboard and creaked when +he bent the rough cloth. Under his cloak he wore a Russian peasant's +sheepskin coat, and beneath that the remains of his uniform. + +“A dog's country,” he muttered, as he breathed on his fingers. + +At last he found the letter, and gave it to Desiree. + +“You will have to make your choice,” he commented, with a grimace +indicative of a serious situation, “like any other woman. No doubt you +will choose wrong.” + +Desiree went up two steps in order to be nearer the lamp, and they all +watched her as she opened the letter. + +“Is it from Charles?” asked Mathilde, speaking for the first time. + +“No,” answered Desiree, rather breathlessly. + +Barlasch nudged Lisa, indicated his own mouth, and pushed her towards +the kitchen. He nodded cunningly to Mathilde, as if to say that they +were now free to discuss family affairs; and added, with a gesture +towards his inner man-- + +“Since last night--nothing.” + +In a few minutes Desiree, having read the letter twice, handed it to her +sister. It was characteristically short. + +“We have found a man here,” wrote Louis d'Arragon, “who travelled as far +as Vilna with Charles. There they parted. Charles, who was ordered to +Warsaw on staff work, told his friend that you were in Dantzig, and +that, foreseeing a siege of the city, he had written to you to join him +at Warsaw. This letter has doubtless been lost. I am following Charles +to Warsaw, tracing him step by step, and if he has fallen ill by the +way, as so many have done, shall certainly find him. Barlasch returns +to bring you to Thorn, if you elect to join Charles. I will await you at +Thorn, and if Charles has proceeded, we will follow him to Warsaw.” + +Barlasch, who had watched Desiree, now followed Mathilde's eyes as they +passed to and fro over the closely written lines. As she neared the +end, and her face, upon which deep shadows had been graven by sorrow and +suspense, grew drawn and hopeless, he gave a curt laugh. + +“There were two,” he said, “travelling together--the Colonel de Casimir +and the husband of--of la petite. They had facilities--name of God!--two +carriages and an escort. In the carriages they had some of the Emperor's +playthings--holy pictures, the imperial loot--I know not what. Besides +that, they had some of their own--not furs and candlesticks such as we +others carried on our backs, but gold and jewellery enough to make a man +rich all his life.” + +“How do you know that?” asked Mathilde, a dull light in her eyes. + +“I--I know where it came from,” replied Barlasch, with an odd smile. +“Allez! you may take it from me.” And he muttered to himself in the +patois of the Cotes du Nord. + +“And they were safe and well at Vilna?” asked Mathilde. + +“Yes--and they had their treasure. They had good fortune, or else they +were more clever than other men; for they had the Imperial treasure to +escort, and could take any man's horse for the carriages in which also +they had placed their own treasure. It was Captain Darragon who held the +appointment, and the other--the Colonel--had attached himself to him as +volunteer. For it was at Vilna that the last thread of discipline was +broken, and every man did as he wished.” + +“They did not come to Kowno?” asked Mathilde, who had a clear mind, +and that grasp of a situation which more often falls to the lot of the +duller sex. + +“They did not come to Kowno. They would turn south at Vilna. It was as +well. At Kowno the soldiers had broken into the magazines--the brandy +was poured out in the streets. The men were lying there, the drunken +and the dead all confused together on the snow. But there would be no +confusion the next morning; for all would be dead.” + +“Was it at Kowno that you left Monsieur d'Arragon?” asked Desiree, in a +sharp voice. + +“No--no. We quitted Kowno together, and parted on the heights above the +town. He would not trust me--monsieur le marquis--he was afraid that +I should get at the brandy. And he was right. I only wanted the +opportunity. He is a strong one--that!” And Barlasch held up a warning +hand, as if to make known to all and sundry that it would be inadvisable +to trifle with Louis d'Arragon. + +He drew the icicles one by one from his whiskers with a wry face +indicative of great agony, and threw them down on the mat. + +“Well,” he said, after a pause, to Desiree, “have you made your choice?” + +Desiree was reading the letter again, and before she could answer, a +quick knock on the front door startled them all. Barlasch's face broke +into that broad smile which was only called forth by the presence of +danger. + +“Is it the patron?” he asked in a whisper, with his hand on the heavy +bolts affixed by that pious Hanseatic merchant who held that if God be +in the house there is no need of watchmen. + +“Yes,” answered Mathilde. “Open quickly.” + +Sebastian came in with a light step. He was like a man long saddled with +a burden of which he had at length been relieved. + +“Ah! What news?” he asked, when he recognised Barlasch. + +“Nothing that you do not know already, monsieur,” replied Barlasch, +“except that the husband of Mademoiselle is well and on the road to +Warsaw. Here--read that.” + +And he took the letter from Desiree's hand. + +“I knew he would come back safely,” said Desiree; and that was all. + +Sebastian read the letter in one quick glance--and then fell to +thinking. + +“It is time to quit Dantzig,” said Barlasch quietly, as if he +had divined the old man's thoughts. “I know Rapp. There will be +trouble--here, on the Vistula.” + +But Sebastian dismissed the suggestion with a curt shake of the head. + +Barlasch's attention had been somewhat withdrawn by a smell of cooking +meat, to which he opened his nostrils frankly and noisily after the +manner of a dog. + +“Then it remains,” he said, looking towards the kitchen, “for +Mademoiselle to make her choice.” + +“There is no choice,” replied Desiree, “I shall be ready to go with +you--when you have eaten.” + +“Good,” said Barlasch, and the word applied as well to Lisa, who was +beckoning to him. + + + +CHAPTER XXI. ON THE WARSAW ROAD. + + + + Oft expectation fails, and most oft there + Where it most promises; and oft it hits + Where hope is coldest and despair most sits. + +Love, it is said, is blind. But hatred is as bad. In Antoine Sebastian +hatred of Napoleon had not only blinded eyes far-seeing enough in +earlier days, but it had killed many natural affections. Love, too, +may easily die--from a surfeit or a famine. Hatred never dies; it only +sleeps. + +Sebastian's hatred was all awake now. It was aroused by the disasters +that had befallen Napoleon; of which disasters the Russian campaign +was only one small part. For he who stands above all his compeers must +expect them to fall upon him should he stumble. Napoleon had fallen, +and a hundred foes who had hitherto nursed their hatred in a hopeless +silence were alert to strike a blow should he descend within their +reach. + +When whole empires had striven in vain to strike, how could a mere +association of obscure men hope to record its blow? The Tugendbund had +begun humbly enough; and Napoleon, with that unerring foresight +which raised him above all other men, had struck at its base. For an +association in which kings and cobblers stand side by side on an equal +footing must necessarily be dangerous to its foes. + +Sebastian was not carried off his feet by the great events of the +last six months. They only rendered him steadier. For he had waited a +lifetime. It is only a sudden success that dazzles. Long waiting nearly +always ensures a wise possession. + +Sebastian, like all men absorbed in a great thought, was neglectful +of his social and domestic obligations. Has it not been shown that he +allowed Mathilde and Desiree to support him by giving dancing lessons? +But he was not the ordinary domestic tyrant who is familiar to all--the +dignified father of a family who must have the best of everything, whose +teaching to his offspring takes the form of an unconscious and solemn +warning. He did not ask the best; he hardly noticed what was offered to +him; and it was not owing to his demand, but to that feminine spirit of +self-sacrifice which has ruined so many men, that he fared better than +his daughters. + +If he thought about it at all, he probably concluded that Mathilde and +Desiree were quite content to give their time and thought to the +support of himself--not as their father, but as the motive power of the +Tugendbund in Prussia. Many greater men have made the same mistake, +and quite small men with a great name make it every day, thinking +complacently that it is a privilege to some woman to minister to their +wants while they produce their immortal pictures or deathless +books; whereas, the woman would tend him as carefully were he a +crossing-sweeper, and is only following the dictates of an instinct +which is loftier than his highest thought and more admirable than his +most astounding work of art. + +Barlasch had not lived so long in the Frauengasse without learning the +domestic economy of Sebastian's household. He knew that Desiree, like +many persons with kind blue eyes, shaped her own course through life, +and abided by the result with a steadfastness not usually attributed to +the light-hearted. He concluded that he must make ready to take the +road again before midnight. He therefore gave a careful and businesslike +attention to the simple meal set before him by Lisa; and, looking +up over his plate, he saw for the second time in his life Sebastian +hurrying into his own kitchen. + +Barlasch half rose, and then, in obedience to a gesture from Sebastian, +or remembering perhaps the sturdy Republicanism which he had not learnt +until middle-age, he sat down again, fork in hand. + +“You are prepared to accompany Madame Darragon to Thorn?” inquired +Sebastian, inviting his guest by a gesture to make himself at +home--scarcely a necessary thought in the present instance. + +“Yes.” + +“And how do you propose to make the journey?” + +This was so unlike Sebastian's usual method, so far from his lax +comprehension of a father's duty, that Barlasch paused and looked at him +with suspicion. With the back of his hand he pushed up the unkempt +hair which obscured his eyes. This unusual display of parental anxiety +required looking into. + +“From what I could see in the streets,” he answered, “the General +will not stand in the way of women and useless mouths who wish to quit +Dantzig.” + +“That is possible; but he will not go so far as to provide horses.” + +Barlasch gave his companion a quick glance, and returned to his supper, +eating with an exaggerated nonchalance, as if he were alone. + +“Will you provide them?” he asked abruptly, at length, without looking +up. + +“I can get them for you, and can ensure you relays by the way.” + +Barlasch cut a piece of meat very carefully, and, opening his mouth +wide, looked at Sebastian over the orifice. + +“On one condition,” pursued Sebastian quietly; “that you deliver a +letter for me in Thorn. I make no pretence; if it is found on you, you +will be shot.” + +Barlasch smiled pleasantly. + +“The risks are very great,” said Sebastian, tapping his snuff-box +reflectively. + +“I am not an officer to talk of my honour,” answered Barlasch, with +a laugh. “And as for risk”--he paused and put half a potato into his +mouth--“it is Mademoiselle I serve,” concluded this uncouth knight with +a curt simplicity. + +So they set out at ten o'clock that night in a light sleigh on high +runners, such as may be seen on any winter day in Poland down to the +present time. The horses were as good as any in Dantzig at this date, +when a horse was more costly than his master. The moon, sailing high +overhead through fleecy clouds, found it no hard task to light a world +all snow and ice. The streets of Dantzig were astir with life and +the rumble of waggons. At first there were difficulties, and Barlasch +explained airily that he was not so accomplished a whip in the streets +as in the open country. + +“But never fear,” he added. “We shall get there, soon enough.” + +At the city gates there was, as Barlasch had predicted, no objection +made to the departure of a young girl and an old man. Others were +quitting Dantzig by the same gate, on foot, in sleighs and carts; but +all turned westward at the cross-roads and joined the stream of refugees +hurrying forward to Germany. Barlasch and Desiree were alone on the wide +road that runs southward across the plain towards Dirschau. The air +was very cold and still. On the snow, hard and dry like white dust, the +runners of the sleigh sang a song on one note, only varied from time to +time by a drop of several octaves as they passed over a culvert or +some hollow in the road, after which the high note, like the sound of +escaping steam, again held sway. The horses fell into a long steady +trot, their feet beating the ground with a regular, sleep-inducing thud. +They were harnessed well forward to a very long pole, and covered the +ground with free strides, unhampered by any thought of their heels. The +snow pattered against the cloth stretched like a wind-sail from their +flanks to the rising front of the sleigh. + +Barlasch sat upright, a thick motionless figure, four-square to the +cutting wind. He drove with one hand at a time, sitting on the other to +restore circulation between whiles. It was impossible to distinguish the +form of his garments, for he was wrapped round in a woollen shawl like +a mummy, showing only his eyes beneath the ragged fur of a sheepskin +cap upon which the rime caused by the warmth of the horses and his own +breath had frozen like a coating of frosted silver. + +Desiree was huddled down beside him, with her head bent forward so as to +protect her face from the wind, which seared like a hot iron. She wore a +hood of white fur lined with a darker fur, and when she lifted her face +only her eyes, bright and wakeful, were visible. + +“If you are warm, you may go to sleep,” said Barlasch in a mumbling +voice, for his face was drawn tight and his lips stiffened by the cold. +“But if you shiver, you must stay awake.” + +But Desiree seemed to have no wish for sleep. Whenever Barlasch leant +forward to peer beneath her hood she looked round at him with wakeful +eyes. Whenever, to see if she were still awake, he gave her an +unceremonious nudge, she nudged back again instantly. As the night wore +on, she grew more wakeful. When they halted at a wayside inn, which +must have been minutely described to Barlasch by Sebastian, and Desiree +accepted the innkeeper's offer of a cup of coffee by the fire while +fresh horses were being put into harness, she was wide awake and +looked at Barlasch with a reckless laugh as he shook the rime from his +eyebrows. In response he frowningly scrutinized as much of her face as +he could see, and shook his head disapprovingly. + +“You laugh when there is nothing to laugh at,” he said grimly. “Foolish. +It makes people wonder what is in your mind.” + +“There is nothing in my mind,” she answered gaily. + +“Then there is something in your heart, and that is worse!” said +Barlasch, which made Desiree look at him doubtfully. + +They had done forty miles with the same horses, and were nearly halfway. +For some hours the road had followed the course of the Vistula on the +high tableland above the river, and would so continue until they reached +Thorn. + +“You must sleep,” said Barlasch curtly, when they were once more on the +road. She sat silent beside him for an hour. The horses were fresh, and +covered the ground at a great pace. Barlasch was no driver, but he was +skilful with the horses, and husbanded their strength at every hill. + +“If we go on like this, when shall we arrive?” asked Desiree suddenly. + +“By eight o'clock, if all goes well.” + +“And we shall find Monsieur Louis d'Arragon awaiting us at Thorn?” + +Barlasch shrugged his shoulders doubtfully. + +“He said he would be there,” he muttered, and, turning in his seat, he +looked down at her with some contempt. + +“That is like a woman,” he said. “They think all men are fools except +one, and that one is only to be compared with the bon Dieu.” + +Desiree could not have heard the remark, for she made no answer and sat +silent, leaning more and more heavily against her companion. He changed +the reins to his other hand, and drove with it for an hour after all +feeling had left it. Desiree was asleep. She was still sleeping when, +in the dim light of a late dawn, Barlasch saw the distant tower of Thorn +Cathedral. + +They were no longer alone on the road now, but passed a number of heavy +market-sleighs bringing produce and wood to the town. Barlasch had been +in Thorn before. Desiree was still sleeping when he turned the horses +into the crowded yard of the “Drei Kronen.” The sleighs and carriages +were packed side by side as in a warehouse, but the stables were empty. +No eager host came out to meet the travellers. The innkeepers of Thorn +had long ceased to give themselves that trouble. For the city was on the +direct route of the retreat, and few who got so far had any money left. + +Slowly and painfully Barlasch unwound himself and disentangled his legs. +He tried first one and then the other, as if uncertain whether he could +walk. Then he staggered numbly across the yard to the door of the inn. + +A few minutes later Desiree woke up. She was in a room warmed by a great +white stove and dimly lighted by candles. Some one was pulling off +her gloves and feeling her hands to make sure that they were not +frost-bitten. She looked sleepily at a white coffee-pot standing on the +table near the candles; then her eyes, still uncomprehending, rested on +the face of the man who was loosening her hood, which was hard with +rime and ice. He had his back to the candles, and was half-hidden by the +collar of his fur coat, which met the cap pressed down over his ears. + +He turned towards the table to lay aside her gloves, and the light fell +on his face. Desiree was wideawake in an instant, and Louis d'Arragon, +hearing her move, turned anxiously to look at her again. Neither spoke +for a minute. Barlasch was holding his numbed hand against the stove, +and was grinding his teeth and muttering at the pain of the restored +circulation. + +Desiree shook the icicles from her hood, and they rattled like hail on +the bare floor. Her hair, all tumbled round her face, caught the light +of the candles. Her eyes were bright and the colour was in her cheeks. +D'Arragon glanced at her with a sudden look of relief, and then turned +to Barlasch. He took the numbed hand and felt it; then he held a candle +close to it. Two of the fingers were quite white, and Barlasch made a +grimace when he saw them. D'Arragon began rubbing at once, taking no +notice of his companion's moans and complaints. + +Without desisting, he looked over his shoulder towards Desiree, but not +actually at her face. + +“I heard last night,” he said, “that the two carriages are standing in +an inn-yard three leagues beyond this on the Warsaw road. I have traced +them step by step from Kowno. My informant tells me that the escort has +deserted, and that the officer in charge, Colonel Darragon, was going +on alone, with the two drivers, when he was taken ill. He is nearly well +again, and hopes to continue his journey to-morrow or the next day.” + +Desiree nodded her head to signify that she had heard and understood. +Barlasch gave a cry of pain, and withdrew his hand with a jerk. + +“Enough, enough!” he said. “You hurt me. The life is returning now; a +drop of brandy perhaps--” + +“There is no brandy in Thorn,” said D'Arragon, turning towards the +table. “There is only coffee.” + +He busied himself with the cups, and did not look at Desiree when he +spoke again. + +“I have secured two horses,” he said, “to enable you to proceed at once, +if you are able to. But if you would rather rest here to-day--” + +“Let us go on at once,” interrupted Desiree hastily. + +Barlasch, crouching against the stove, glanced from one to the other +beneath his heavy brows, wondering, perhaps, why they avoided looking at +each other. + +“You will wait here,” said D'Arragon, turning towards him, “until--until +I return.” + +“Yes,” was the answer. “I will lie on the floor here and sleep. I have +had enough. I--” + +Louis left the room to give the necessary orders. When he returned in a +few minutes, Barlasch was asleep on the floor, and Desiree had tied on +her hood again, which concealed her face. He drank a cup of coffee and +ate some dry bread absent-mindedly, in silence. + +The sound of bells, feebly heard through the double windows, told them +that the horses were being harnessed. + +“Are you ready?” asked D'Arragon, who had not sat down; and in response, +Desiree, standing near the stove, went towards the door, which he held +open for her to pass out. As she passed him, she glanced at his face, +and winced. + +In the sleigh she looked up at him as if expecting him to speak. He was +looking straight in front of him. There was, after all, nothing to be +said. She could see his steady eyes between his high collar and the fur +cap. They were hard and unflinching. The road was level now, and the +snow beaten to a gleaming track like ice. D'Arragon put the horses to a +gallop at the town gate, and kept them at it. + +In half an hour he turned towards her and pointed with his whip to a +roof half hidden by some thin pines. + +“That is the inn,” he said. + +In the inn yard he indicated with his whip two travelling-carriages +standing side by side. + +“Colonel Darragon is here?” he said to the cringing Jew who came to meet +them; and the innkeeper led the way upstairs. The house was a miserable +one, evil-smelling, sordid. The Jew pointed to a door, and, cringing +again, left them. + +Desiree made a gesture telling Louis to go in first, which he did at +once. The room was littered with trunks and cases. All the treasure had +been brought into the sick man's chamber for greater safety. + +On a narrow bed near the window a man lay huddled on his side. He turned +and looked over his shoulder, showing a haggard face with a ten-days' +beard on it. He looked from one to the other in silence. + +It was Colonel de Casimir. + + + +CHAPTER XXII. THROUGH THE SHOALS. + + + + I see my way, as birds their trackless way. + +De Casimir had never seen Louis d'Arragon, and yet some dim resemblance +to his cousin must have introduced the new-comer to a conscience not +quite easy. + +“You seek me, Monsieur,” he asked, not having recognized Desiree, who +stood behind her companion, in her furs. + +“I seek Colonel Darragon, and was told that we should find him in this +room.” + +“May I ask why you seek him in this rather unceremonious manner?” asked +De Casimir, with the ready insolence of his calling and his age. + +“Because I am his cousin,” replied Louis quietly, “and Madame is his +wife.” + +Desiree came forward, her face colourless. She caught her breath, but +made no attempt to speak. + +De Casimir tried to lift himself on his elbows. + +“Ah! madame,” he said. “You see me in a sorry state. I have been very +ill.” And he made a gesture with one hand, begging her to overlook his +unkempt appearance and the disorder of his room. + +“Where is Charles?” asked Desiree curtly. She had suddenly realized how +intensely she had always disliked De Casimir, and distrusted him. + +“Has he not returned to Dantzig?” was the ready answer. “He should have +been there a week ago. We parted at Vilna. He was exhausted--a mere +question of over-fatigue--and at his request I left him there to recover +and to pursue his way to Dantzig, where he knew you would be awaiting +him.” + +He paused and looked from one to the other with quick and furtive eyes. +He felt himself easily a match for them in quickness of perception, in +rapid thought, in glib speech. Both were dumb--he could not guess why. +But there was a steadiness in D'Arragon's eyes which rarely goes with +dulness of wit. This was a man who could be quick at will--a man to be +reckoned with. + +“You are wondering why I travel under your cousin's name, Monsieur,” + said De Casimir, with a friendly smile. + +“Yes,” returned Louis, without returning the smile. + +“It is simple enough,” explained the sick man. “At Vilna we found all +discipline relaxed. There were no longer any regiments. There was no +longer staff. There was no longer an army. Every man did as he thought +best. Many, as you know, elected to await the Russians at Vilna, rather +than attempt to journey farther. Your cousin had been given the command +of the escort which has now filtered away, like every other corps. He +was to conduct back to Paris two carriages laden with imperial treasure +and certain papers of value. Charles did not want to go back to Paris. +He wished most naturally to return to Dantzig. I, on the other hand, +desired to go to France; and there place my sword once more at the +Emperor's service. What more simple than to change places?” + +“And names,” suggested D'Arragon, without falling into De Casimir's easy +and friendly manner. + +“For greater security in passing through Poland and across the +frontier,” explained De Casimir readily. “Once in France--and I hope +to be there in a week--I shall report the matter to the Emperor as it +really happened: namely, that, owing to Colonel Darragon's illness, he +transferred his task to me at Vilna. The Emperor will be indifferent, so +long as the order has been carried out.” + +De Casimir turned to Desiree as likely to be more responsive than this +dark-eyed stranger, who listened with so disconcerting a lack of comment +or sympathy. + +“So you see, madame,” he said, “Charles will still get the credit for +having carried out his most difficult task, and no harm is done.” + +“When did you leave Charles at Vilna?” asked she. + +De Casimir lay back on the pillow in an attitude which betrayed his +weakness and exhaustion. He looked at the ceiling with lustreless eyes. + +“It must have been a fortnight ago,” he said at length. “I was trying to +count the days. We have lost all account of dates since quitting Moscow. +One day has been like another--and all, terrible. Believe me, madame, +it has always been in my mind that you were awaiting the return of your +husband at Dantzig. I spared him all I could. A dozen times we saved +each other's lives.” + +In six words Desiree could have told him all she knew: that he was a spy +who had betrayed to death and exile many Dantzigers whose hospitality +had been extended to him as a Polish officer; that Charles was a +traitor who had gained access to her father's house in order to watch +him--though he had honestly fallen in love with her. He was in love with +her still, and he was her husband. It was this thought that broke into +her sleep at night, that haunted her waking hours. + +She glanced at Louis d'Arragon, and held her peace. + +“Then, Monsieur,” he said, “you have every reason to suppose that if +Madame returns to Dantzig now, she will find her husband there?” + +De Casimir looked at D'Arragon, and hesitated for an instant. They both +remembered afterwards that moment of uncertainty. + +“I have every reason to suppose it,” replied De Casimir at length, +speaking in a low voice, as if fearful of being overheard. + +Louis waited a moment, and glanced at Desiree, who, however, had +evidently nothing more to say. + +“Then we will not trouble you farther,” he said, going towards the door, +which he held open for Desiree to pass out. He was following her when De +Casimir called him back. + +“Monsieur,” cried the sick man, “Monsieur, one moment, if you can spare +it.” + +Louis came back. They looked at each other in silence while they heard +Desiree descend the stairs and speak in German to the innkeeper who had +been waiting there. + +“I will be quite frank with you,” said De Casimir, in that voice of +confidential friendliness which so rarely failed in its effect. “You +know that Madame Darragon has an elder sister, Mademoiselle Mathilde +Sebastian?” + +“Yes.” + +De Casimir raised himself on his elbows again, with an effort, and gave +a short, half shamefaced laugh which was quite genuine. It was odd that +Mathilde and he, who had walked most circumspectly, should both have +been tripped up, as it were, by love. + +“Bah!” he said, with a gesture dismissing the subject, “I cannot tell +you more. It is a woman's secret, Monsieur, not mine. Will you deliver a +letter for me in Dantzig, that is all I ask?” + +“I will give it to Madame Darragon to give to Mademoiselle Mathilde, if +you like; I am not returning to Dantzig,” replied Louis. But de Casimir +shook his head. + +“I am afraid that will not do,” he said doubtfully. “Between sisters, +you understand--” + +And he was no doubt right; this man of quick perception. Is it not from +our nearest relative that our dearest secret is usually withheld? + +“You cannot find another messenger?” asked De Casimir, and the anxiety +in his face was genuine enough. + +“I can--if you wish it.” + +“Ah, Monsieur, I shall not forget it! I shall never forget it,” said +the sick man quickly and eagerly. “The letter is there, beneath that +sabretasche. It is sealed and addressed.” + +Louis found the letter, and went towards the door, as he placed it in +his pocket. + +“Monsieur,” said De Casimir, stopping him again. “Your name, if I may +ask it, so that I may remember a countryman who has done me so great a +service.” + +“I am not a countryman; I am an Englishman,” replied Louis. “My name is +Louis d'Arragon.” + +“Ah! I know. Charles has told me, Monsieur le--” + +But D'Arragon heard no more, for he closed the door behind him. + +He found Desiree awaiting him in the entrance hall of the inn, where a +fire of pine-logs burnt in an open chimney. The walls and low ceiling +were black with smoke, the little windows were covered with ice an inch +thick. It was twilight in this quiet room, and would have been dark but +for the leaping flames of the fire. + +“You will go back to Dantzig,” he asked, “at once?” + +He carefully avoided looking at her, though he need not have feared +that she would have allowed her eyes to meet his. And thus they stood, +looking downward to the fire--alone in a world that heeded them not, and +would forget them in a week--and made their choice of a life. + +“Yes,” she answered. + +He stood thinking for a moment. He was quite practical and +matter-of-fact; and had the air of a man of action rather than of one +who deals in thoughts, and twists them hither and thither so that good +is made to look ridiculous, and bad is tricked out with a fine new name. +He frowned as he looked at the fire with eyes that flitted from one +object to another, as men's eyes do who think of action and not of +thought. This was the sailor--second to none in the shallow +northern sea, where all marks had been removed, and every light +extinguished--accustomed to facing danger and avoiding it, to foresee +remote contingencies and provide against them, day and night, week +in, week out; a sailor, careful and intrepid. He had the air of being +capable of that concentration without which no man can hope to steer a +clear course at all. + +“The horses that brought you from Marienwerder will not be fit for the +road till to-morrow morning,” he said. “I will take you back to Thorn at +once, and--leave you there with Barlasch.” + +He glanced towards her, and she nodded, as if acknowledging the sureness +and steadiness of the hand at the helm. + +“You can start early to-morrow morning, and be in Dantzig to-morrow +night.” + +They stood side by side in silence for some minutes. He was still +thinking of her journey--of the dangers and the difficulties of that +longer journey through life without landmark or light to guide her. + +“And you?” she asked curtly. + +He did not reply at once but busied himself with his ponderous fur coat, +which he buttoned, as if bracing himself for the start. Beneath her +lashes she looked sideways at the deliberate hands and the lean strong +face, burnt to a red-brown by sun and snow, half hidden in the fur +collar of his worn and weather-beaten coat. + +“Konigsberg,” he answered, “and Riga.” + +A light passed through her watching eyes, usually so kind and gay; like +the gleam of jealousy. + +“Your ship?” she asked sharply. + +“Yes,” he answered, as the innkeeper came to tell them that their sleigh +awaited them. + +It was snowing now, and a whistling, fitful wind swept down the valley +of the Vistula from Poland and the far Carpathians which made the +travellers crouch low in the sleigh and rendered talk impossible, had +there been anything to say. But there was nothing. + +They found Barlasch asleep where they had left him in the inn at Thorn, +on the floor against the stove. He roused himself with the quickness and +completeness of one accustomed to brief and broken rest, and stood up +shaking himself in his clothes, like a dog with a heavy coat. He took no +notice of D'Arragon, but looked at Desiree with questioning eyes. + +“It was not the Captain?” he asked. + +And Desiree shook her head. Louis was standing near the door giving +orders to the landlady of the inn--a kindly Pomeranian, clean and +slow--for Desiree's comfort till the next morning. + +Barlasch went close to Desiree, and, nudging her arm with exaggerated +cunning, whispered-- + +“Who was it?” + +“Colonel de Casimir.” + +“With the two carriages and the treasure from Moscow?” asked Barlasch, +watching Louis out of the corner of one eye, to make sure that he did +not hear. It did not matter whether he heard or not, but Barlasch came +of a peasant stock that always speaks of money in a whisper. And when +Desiree nodded, he cut short the conversation. + +The hostess came forward to tell Desiree that her room was ready, +kindly suggesting that the “gnadiges Fraulein” must need sleep and rest. +Desiree knew that Louis would go on to Konigsberg at once. She wondered +whether she should ever see him again--long afterwards, perhaps, when +all this would seem like a dream. Barlasch, breathing noisily on his +frost-bitten fingers, was watching them. Desiree shook hands with Louis +in an odd silence, and, turning on her heel, followed the woman out of +the room without looking back. + + + +CHAPTER XXIII. AGAINST THE STREAM. + + + + Wo viel Licht ist, ist starker Schatten. + +In the mean time the last of the Great Army had reached the Niemen, that +narrow winding river in its ditch-like bed sunk below the level of the +tableland, to which six months earlier the greatest captain this world +has ever seen rode alone, and, coming back to his officers, said-- + +“Here we cross.” + +Four hundred thousand men had crossed--a bare eighty thousand lived +to pass the bridge again. Twelve hundred cannons had been left behind, +nearly a thousand in the hands of the enemy, and the remainder buried or +thrown into those dull rivers whose slow waters flow over them to this +day. One hundred and twenty-five thousand officers and men had been +killed in battle, another hundred thousand had perished by cold +and disaster at the Beresina or other rivers where panic seized the +fugitives. + +Forty-eight generals had been captured by the Russians, three thousand +officers, one hundred and ninety thousand men, swallowed by the silent +white Empire of the North and no more seen. + +As the retreat neared Vilna the cold had increased, killing men as the +first cold of an English winter kills flies. And when the French quitted +Vilna, the Russians were glad enough to seek its shelter, Kutusoff +creeping in with forty thousand men, all that remained to him of two +hundred thousand. He could not carry on the pursuit, but sent forward a +handful of Cossacks to harry the hare-brained few who called themselves +the rearguard. He was an old man, nearly worn out, with only three +months more to live--but he had done his work. + +Ney--the bravest of the brave--left alone in Russia at the last with +seven hundred foreign recruits, men picked from here and there, called +in from the highways and hedges to share the glory of the only Marshal +who came back from Moscow with a name untarnished--Ney and Girard, +musket in hand, were the last to cross the bridge, shouting defiance at +their Cossack foes, who, when they had hounded the last of the French +across the frontier, flung themselves down on the bloodstained snow to +rest. + +All along the banks of the Vistula, from Konigsberg and Dantzig up to +Warsaw--that slow river which at the last call shall assuredly give up +more dead than any other--the fugitives straggled homewards. For the +Russians paused at their own frontier, and Prussia was still nominally +the friend of France. She had still to wear the mask for three long +months when she should at last openly side with Russia, only to be +beaten again by Napoleon. + +Murat was at Konigsberg with the Imperial staff, left in supreme command +by the Emperor, and already thinking of his own sunny kingdom of the +Mediterranean, and the ease and the glory of it. In a few weeks he, too, +must tarnish his name. + +“I make over the command to you,” he said to Prince Eugene; and +Napoleon's step-son made an answer which shows, as Eugene showed again +and again, that contact with a great man makes for greatness. + +“You cannot make it over to me,” he replied. “Only the Emperor can +do that. You can run away in the night, and the supreme command will +devolve on me the next morning.” + +And what Murat did is no doubt known to the learned reader. + +Macdonald, abandoned by Yorck with the Prussian contingent, in great +peril, alone in the north, was retreating with the remains of the Tenth +Army Corps, wondering whether Konigsberg or Dantzig would still be +French when he reached them. On his heels was Wittgenstein, in touch +with St. Petersburg and the Emperor Alexander, communicating with +Kutusoff at Vilna. And Macdonald, like the Scotchman and the Frenchman +that he was, turned at a critical moment and rent Wittgenstein. Here was +another bulldog in that panic-stricken pack, who turned and snarled and +fought while his companions slunk homewards with their tails between +their legs. There were three of such breed--Ney and Macdonald, and +Prince Eugene de Beauharnais. + +Napoleon was in Paris, getting together in wild haste the new army +with which he was yet to frighten Europe into fits. And Rapp, doggedly +fortifying his frozen city, knew that he was to hold Dantzig at any +cost--a remote, far-thrown outpost on the Northern sea, cut off from +all help, hundreds of miles from the French frontier, nearly a thousand +miles from Paris. + +At Marienwerder, Barlasch and Desiree found themselves in the midst of +that bustle and confusion which attends the arrival or departure of an +army corps. The majority of the men were young and of a dark skin. They +seemed gay, and called out salutations to which Barlasch replied curtly +enough. + +“They are Italians,” said he to his companion; “I know their talk and +their manners. To you and me, who come from the North, they are like +children. See that one who is dancing. It is some fete. What is to-day?” + +“It is New Year's Day,” replied Desiree. + +“New Year's Day,” echoed Barlasch. “Good. And we have been on the road +since six o'clock; and I, who have forgotten to wish you--” He paused +and called cheerily to the horses, which had covered more than forty +miles since leaving their stable at Thorn. “Bon Dieu!” he said in a +lower tone, glancing at her beneath the ice-bound rim of his fur cap, +“Bon Dieu--what am I to wish you, I wonder?” + +Desiree did not answer, but smiled a little and looked straight in front +of her. + +Barlasch made a movement of the shoulders and eyebrows indicative of a +hidden anger. + +“We are friends,” he asked suddenly, “you and I?” + +“Yes.” + +“We have been friends since--that day--when you were married?” + +“Yes,” answered Desiree. + +“Then between friends,” said Barlasch, gruffly; “it is not necessary to +smile--like that--when it is tears that are there.” + +Desiree laughed. + +“Would you have me weep?” she asked. + +“It would hurt one less,” said Barlasch, attending to his horses. They +were in the town now, and the narrow streets were crowded. Many sick and +wounded were dragging themselves wearily along. A few carts, drawn by +starving horses, went slowly down the hill. But there was some semblance +of order, and thus men had the air and carriage of soldiers under +discipline. Barlasch was quick to see it. + +“It is the Fourth Corps. The Viceroy's army. They have done well. He is +a soldier, who commands them. Ah! There is one I know.” + +He threw the reins to Desiree, and in a moment he was out on the snow. +A man, as old, it would seem, as himself, in uniform and carrying a +musket, was marching past with a few men who seemed to be under his +orders, though his uniform was long past recognition. He did not +perceive, for some minutes, that Barlasch was coming towards him, and +then the process of recognition was slow. Finally, he laid aside his +musket, and the two old men gravely kissed each other. + +Quite forgetful of Desiree, they stood talking together for twenty +minutes. Then they gravely embraced once more, and Barlasch returned to +the sleigh. He took the reins, and urged the horses up the hill without +commenting on his encounter, but Desiree could see that he had heard +news. + +The inn was outside the town, on the road that follows the Vistula +northwards to Dirschau and Dantzig. The horses were tired, and stumbled +on the powdery snow which was heavy, like sand, and of a sandy colour. +Here and there, by the side of the road, were great stains of blood and +the remains of a horse that had been killed, and eaten raw. The faces of +many of the men were smeared with blood, which had dried on their cheeks +and caked there. Nearly all were smoke-grimed and had sore eyes. + +At last Barlasch spoke, with the decisive air of one who has finally +drawn up a course of action in a difficult position. + +“He comes from my own country, that man. You heard us? We spoke together +in our patois. I shall not see him again. He has a catarrh. When he +coughs there is blood. Alas!” + +Desiree glanced at the rugged face half turned away from her. She was +not naturally heartless; but she quite forgot to sympathize with the +elderly soldier who had caught a cold on the retreat from Moscow; for +his friend's grief lacked conviction. Barlasch had heard news which he +had decided to keep to himself. + +“Has he come from Vilna?” asked Desiree. + +“From Vilna--oh yes. They are all from Vilna.” + +“And he had no news”--persisted she, “of--Captain Darragon?” + +“News--oh no! He is a common soldier, and knows nothing of the officers +on the staff. We are the same--he and I--poor animals in the ranks. +A little gentleman rides up, all sabretasche and gold lace. It is an +officer of the staff. 'Go down into the valley and get shot,' he says. +And--bon jour! we go. No--no. He has no news, my poor comrade.” + +They were at the inn now, and found the huge yard still packed with +sleighs and disabled carriages, and the stables ostentatiously empty. + +“Go in,” said Barlasch; “and tell them who your father is--say Antoine +Sebastian and nothing else. I would do it myself, but when it is so cold +as that, the lips are stiff, and I cannot speak German properly. They +would find out that I am French, and it is no good being French now. My +comrade told me that in Konigsberg, Murat himself was ill-received by +the burgomaster and such city stuff as that.” + +It was as Barlasch foretold. For at the name of Antoine Sebastian the +innkeeper found horses--in another stable. + +It would take a few minutes, he said, to fetch them, and in the meantime +there were coffee and some roast meat--his own dinner. Indeed, he could +not do enough to testify his respect for Desiree, and his commiseration +for her, being forced to travel in such weather through a country +infested by starving brigands. + +Barlasch consented to come just within the inner door, but refused to +sit at the table with Desiree. He took a piece of bread, and ate it +standing. + +“See you,” he said to her when they were left alone, “the good God has +made very few mistakes, but there is one thing I would have altered. +If He intended us for such a rough life, He should have made the human +frame capable of going longer without food. To a poor soldier marching +from Moscow to have to stop every three hours and gnaw a piece of horse +that has died--and raw--it is not amusing.” + +He watched Desiree with a grudging eye. For she was young, and had eaten +nothing for six freezing hours. + +“And for us,” he added; “what a waste of time!” + +Desiree rose at once with a laugh. + +“You want to go,” she said. “Come, I am ready.” + +“Yes,” he admitted, “I want to go. I am afraid--name of a dog! I am +afraid, I tell you. For I have heard the Cossacks cry, 'Hurrah! Hurrah!' +And they are coming.” + +“Ah!” said Desiree, “that is what your friend told you.” + +“That, and other things.” + +He was pulling on his gloves as he spoke, and turned quickly on his heel +when the innkeeper entered the room, as if he had expected one of those +dread Cossacks of Toula who were half savage. But the innkeeper carried +nothing more lethal in his hand than a yellow mug of beer, which he +offered to Barlasch. And the old soldier only shook his head. + +“There is poison in it,” he muttered. “He knows I am a Frenchman.” + +“Come,” said Desiree, with her gay laugh, “I will show you that there is +no poison in it.” + +She took the mug and drank, and handed the measure to Barlasch. It was +a poor thin beer, and Barlasch was not one to hide his opinion from the +host, to whom he made a reproving grimace when he returned the empty +mug. But the effect upon him was nevertheless good, for he took the +reins again with a renewed energy, and called to the horses gaily +enough. + +“Allons,” he said; “we shall reach Dantzig safely by nightfall, and +there we shall find your husband awaiting us, and laughing at us for our +foolish journey.” + +But being an old man, the beer could not warm his heart for long, and +he soon lapsed again into melancholy and silence. Nevertheless, +they reached Dantzig by nightfall, and although it was a bitter +twilight--colder than the night itself--the streets were full. Men stood +in groups and talked. In the brief time required to journey to Thorn +something had happened. Something happened every day in Dantzig; for +when history wakes from her slumber and moves, it is with a heavy and +restless tread. + +“What is it?” asked Barlasch of the sentry at the town gate, while they +waited for their passports to be returned to them. + +“It is a proclamation from the Emperor of Russia--no one knows how it +has got here.” + +“And what does he proclaim--that citizen?” + +“He bids the Dantzigers rise and turn us out,” answered the soldier, +with a grim laugh. + +“Is that all?” + +“No, comrade, that is not all,” was the answer in a graver voice. + +“He proclaims that every Pole who submits now will be forgiven and set +at liberty; the past, he says, will be committed to an eternal oblivion +and a profound silence--those are his words.” + +“Ah!” + +“Yes, and half the defenders of Dantzig are Poles--there are your +passports--pass on.” + +They drove through the dark streets where men like shadows hurried +silently about their business. + +The Frauengasse seemed to be deserted when they reached it. It was +Mathilde who opened the door. She must have been at the darkened window, +behind the curtain. Lisa had gone home to her native village in Sammland +in obedience to the Governor's orders. Sebastian had not been home all +day. Charles had not returned, and there was no news of him. + +Barlasch, wiping the snow from his face, watched Desiree, and made no +comment. + + + +CHAPTER XXIV. MATHILDE CHOOSES. + + + + But strong is fate, O Love, + Who makes, who mars, who ends. + +Desiree was telling Mathilde the brief news of her futile journey, when +a knock at the front door made them turn from the stairs where they were +standing. It was Sebastian's knock. His hours had been less regular of +late. He came and went without explanation. + +When he had freed his throat from his furs, and laid aside his gloves, +he glanced hastily at Desiree, who had kissed him without speaking. + +“And your husband?” he asked curtly. + +“It was not he whom we found at Thorn,” she answered. There was +something in her father's voice--in his quick, sidelong glance at +her--that caught her attention. He had changed lately. From a man of +dreams he had been transformed into a man of action. It is customary +to designate a man of action as a hard man. Custom is the brick wall +against which feeble minds come to a standstill and hinder the progress +of the world. Sebastian had been softened by action, through which his +mental energy had found an outlet. But to-night he was his old self +again--hard, scornful, incomprehensible. + +“I have heard nothing of him,” said Desiree. + +Sebastian was stamping the snow from his boots. + +“But I have,” he said, without looking up. + +Desiree said nothing. She knew that the secret she had guarded so +carefully--the secret kept by herself and Louis--was hers no longer. In +the silence of the next moments she could hear Barlasch breathing on +his fingers, within the kitchen doorway just behind her. Mathilde made +a little movement. She was on the stairs, and she moved nearer to the +balustrade and held to it breathlessly. For Charles Darragon's secret +was De Casimir's too. + +“These two gentlemen,” said Sebastian slowly, “were in the secret +service of Napoleon. They are hardly likely to return to Dantzig.” + +“Why not?” asked Mathilde. + +“They dare not.” + +“I think the Emperor will be able to protect his officers,” said +Mathilde. + +“But not his spies,” replied Sebastian coldly. + +“Since they wore his uniform, they cannot be blamed for doing their +duty. They are brave enough. They would hardly avoid returning to +Dantzig because--because they have outwitted the Tugendbund.” + +Mathilde's face was colourless with anger, and her quiet eyes flashed. +She had been surprised into this sudden advocacy, and an advocate who +displays temper is always a dangerous ally. Sebastian glanced at her +sharply. She was usually so self-controlled that her flashing eyes and +quick breath betrayed her. + +“What do you know of the Tugendbund?” he asked. + +But she would not answer, merely shrugging her shoulders and closing her +thin lips with a snap. + +“It is not only in Dantzig,” said Sebastian, “that they are unsafe. It +is anywhere where the Tugendbund can reach them.” + +He turned sharply to Desiree. His wits, cleared by action, told him that +her silence meant that she, at all events, had not been surprised. She +had, therefore, known already the part played by De Casimir and Charles, +in Dantzig, before the war. + +“And you,” he said, “you have nothing to say for your husband.” + +“He may have been misled,” she said mechanically, in the manner of one +making a prepared speech or meeting a foreseen emergency. It had +been foreseen by Louis d'Arragon. The speech had been, unconsciously, +prepared by him. + +“You mean, by Colonel de Casimir,” suggested Mathilde, who had recovered +her usual quiet. And Desiree did not deny her meaning. Sebastian looked +from one to the other. It was the irony of Fate that had married one +of his daughters to Charles Darragon, and affianced the other to De +Casimir. His own secret, so well kept, had turned in his hand like a +concealed weapon. + +They were all startled by Barlasch, who spoke from the kitchen door, +where he had been standing unobserved or forgotten. He came forward to +the light of the lamp hanging overhead. + +“That reminds me...” he said a second time, and having secured their +attention, he instituted a search in the many pockets of his nondescript +clothing. He still wore a dirty handkerchief bound over one eye. It +served to release him from duty in the trenches or work on the frozen +fortifications. By this simple device, coupled with half a dozen +bandages in various parts of his person, where a frost-bite or a wound +gave excuse, he passed as one of the twenty-five thousand sick and +wounded who encumbered Dantzig at this time, and were already dying at +the rate of fifty a day. + +“A letter...” he said, still searching with his maimed hand. “You +mentioned the name of the Colonel de Casimir. It was that which recalled +to my mind...” He paused, and produced a letter carefully sealed. He +turned it over, glancing at the seals with a reproving jerk of the head, +which conveyed as clearly as words a shameless confession that he had +been frustrated by them... “this letter. I was told to give it you, +without fail, at the right moment.” + +It could hardly be the case that he honestly thought this moment might +be so described. But he gave the letter to Mathilde with a gesture of +grim triumph. Perhaps he was thinking of the cellar in the Palace on the +Petrovka at Moscow, and the treasure which he had found there. + +“It is from the Colonel de Casimir,” he said, “a clever man,” he added, +turning confidentially to Sebastian, and holding his attention by an +upraised hand. “Oh!... a clever man.” + +Mathilde, her face all flushed, tore open the envelope, while Barlasch, +breathing on his fingers, watched with twinkling eye and busy lips. + +The letter was a long one. Colonel de Casimir was an adept at +explanation. There was, no doubt, much to explain. Mathilde read the +letter carefully. It was the first she had ever had--a love-letter in +its guise--with explanations in it. Love and explanation in the same +breath. Assuredly De Casimir was a daring lover. + +“He says that Dantzig will be taken by storm,” she said at length, “and +that the Cossacks will spare no one.” + +“Does it signify,” inquired Sebastian in his smoothest voice, “what +Colonel de Casimir may say?” + +His grand manner had come back to him. He made a gesture with his hand +almost suggestive of a ruffle at the wrist, and clearly insulting to +Colonel de Casimir. + +“He urges us to quit the city before it is too late,” continued +Mathilde, in her measured voice, and awaited her father's reply. He took +snuff with a cold smile. + +“You will not do so?” she asked. And by way of reply, Sebastian laughed +as he dusted the snuff from his coat with his pocket-handkerchief. + +“He asks me to go to Cracow with the Grafin, and marry him,” said +Mathilde finally. And Sebastian only shrugged his shoulders. The +suggestion was beneath contempt. + +“And...?” he inquired with raised eyebrows. + +“I shall do it,” replied Mathilde, defiance shining in her eyes. + +“At all events,” commented Sebastian, who knew Mathilde's mind, and met +her coldness with indifference, “you will do it with your eyes open, +and not leap in the dark, as Desiree did. I was to blame there; a man +is always to blame if he is deceived. With you... Bah! you know what the +man is. But you do not know, unless he tells you in that letter, that he +is even a traitor in his treachery. He has accepted the amnesty offered +by the Czar; he has abandoned Napoleon's cause; he has petitioned the +Czar to allow him to retire to Cracow, and there live on his estates.” + +“He has no doubt good reasons for his action,” said Mathilde. + +“Two carriages full,” muttered Barlasch, who had withdrawn to the dark +corner near the kitchen door. But no one heeded him. + +“You must make your choice,” said Sebastian, with the coldness of a +judge. “You are of age. Choose.” + +“I have already chosen,” answered Mathilde. “The Grafin leaves +to-morrow. I will go with her.” + +She had, at all events, the courage of her own opinions--a courage not +rare in women, however valueless may be the judgment upon which it is +based. And in fairness it must be admitted that women usually have the +courage not only of the opinion, but of the consequence, and meet it +with a better grace than men can summon in misfortune. + +Sebastian dined alone and hastily. Mathilde was locked in her room, +and refused to open the door. Desiree cooked her father's dinner while +Barlasch made ready to depart on some vague errand in the town. + +“There may be news,” he said. “Who knows? And afterwards the patron will +go out, and it would not be wise for you to remain alone in the house.” + +“Why not?” + +Barlasch turned and looked at her thoughtfully over his shoulder. + +“In some of the big houses down in the Niederstadt there are forty and +fifty soldiers quartered--diseased, wounded, without discipline. There +are others coming. I have told them we have fever in the house. It is +the only way. We may keep them out; for the Frauengasse is in the +centre of the town, and the soldiers are not needed in this quarter. But +you--you cannot lie as I can. You laugh--ah! A woman tells more lies; +but a man tells them better. Push the bolts, when I am gone.” + +After his dinner, Sebastian went out, as Barlasch had predicted. He said +nothing to Desiree of Charles or of the future. There was nothing to be +said, perhaps. He did not ask why Mathilde was absent. In the stillness +of the house, he could probably hear her moving in her rooms upstairs. + +He had not been long gone when Mathilde came down, dressed to go out. +She came into the kitchen where Desiree was doing the work of the absent +Lisa, who had reluctantly gone to her home on the Baltic coast. Mathilde +stood by the kitchen table and ate some bread. + +“The Grafin has arranged to quit Dantzig to-morrow,” she said. “I am +going to ask her to take me with her.” + +Desiree nodded and made no comment. Mathilde went to the door, but +paused there. Without looking round, she stood thinking deeply. They had +grown from childhood together--motherless--with a father whom neither +understood. Together they had faced the difficulties of life; the +hundred petty difficulties attending a woman's life in a strange land, +among neighbours who bear the sleepless grudge of unsatisfied curiosity. +They had worked together for their daily bread. And now the full stream +of life had swept them together from the safe moorings of childhood. + +“Will you come too?” asked Mathilde. “All that he says about Dantzig is +true.” + +“No, thank you,” answered Desiree, gently enough. “I will wait here. I +must wait in Dantzig.” + +“I cannot,” said Mathilde, half excusing herself. “I must go. I cannot +help it. You understand?” + +“Yes,” said Desiree, and nothing more. + +Had Mathilde asked her the question six months ago, she would have said +“No.” But she understood now, not that Mathilde could love De Casimir; +that was beyond her individual comprehension, but that there was no +alternative now. + +Soon after Mathilde had gone, Barlasch returned. + +“If Mademoiselle Mathilde is going, she will have to go to-morrow,” he +said. “Those that are coming in at the gates now are the rearguard of +the Heudelet Division which was driven out of Elbing by the Cossacks +three days ago.” + +He sat mumbling to himself by the fire, and only turned to the supper +which Desiree had placed in readiness for him when she quitted the +room and went upstairs. It was he who opened the door for Mathilde, +who returned in half an hour. She thanked him absent-mindedly and went +upstairs. He could hear the sisters talking together in a low voice in +the drawing-room, which he had never seen, at the top of the stairs. + +Then Desiree came down, and he helped her to find in a shed in the +yard one of those travelling-trunks which he had recognized as being of +French manufacture. He took off his boots, and carried it upstairs for +her. + +It was ten o'clock before Sebastian came in. He nodded his thanks +to Barlasch, and watched him bolt the door. He made no inquiry as to +Mathilde, but extinguished the lamp, and went to his room. He never +mentioned her name again. + +Early the next morning, the girls were astir. But Barlasch was before +them, and when Desiree came down, she found the kitchen fire alight. +Barlasch was cleaning a knife, and nodded a silent good morning. +Desiree's eyes were red, and Barlasch must have noted this sign of +grief, for he gave a contemptuous laugh, and continued his occupation. + +It was barely daylight when the Grafin's heavy, old-fashioned carriage +drew up in front of the house. Mathilde came down, thickly veiled and +in her travelling furs. She did not seem to see Barlasch, and omitted to +thank him for carrying her travelling-trunk to the carriage. + +He stood on the terrace beside Desiree until the carriage had turned the +corner into the Pfaffengasse. + +“Bah!” he said, “let her go. There is no stopping them, when they are +like that. It is the curse--of the Garden of Eden.” + + + +CHAPTER XXV. A DESPATCH. + + + + In counsel it is good to see dangers; and in execution not to +see them unless they be very great. + +Mathilde had told Desiree that Colonel de Casimir made no mention of +Charles in his letter to her. Barlasch was able to supply but little +further information on the matter. + +“It was given to me by the Captain Louis d'Arragon at Thorn,” he said. +“He handled it as if it were not too clean. And he had nothing to say +about it. You know his way, for the rest. He says little; but he knows +the look of things. It seemed that he had promised to deliver the +letter--for some reason, who knows what? and he kept his promise. The +man was not dying by any chance--that De Casimir?” + +And his little sharp eyes, reddened by the smoke of camp-fires, inflamed +by the glare of sun on snow, searched her face. He was thinking of the +treasure. + +“Oh no!” + +“Was he ill at all?” + +“He was in bed,” answered Desiree, doubtfully. + +Barlasch scratched his head without ceremony, and fell into a long train +of thought. + +“Do you know what I think?” he said at length. “I think that De Casimir +was not ill at all--any more than I am; I, Barlasch. Not so ill, +perhaps, as I am, for I have an indigestion. It is always there at the +summit of the stomach. It is horse without salt.” + +He paused and rubbed his chest tenderly. + +“Never eat horse without salt,” he put in parenthetically. + +“I hope never to eat it at all,” answered Desiree. “What about Colonel +de Casimir?” + +He waved her aside as a babbler who broke in upon his thoughts. These +seemed to be lodged in his mouth, for, when reflecting, he chewed and +mumbled with his lips. + +“Listen,” he said at length. “This is De Casimir. He goes to bed and +lets his beard grow--half an inch of beard will keep any man in the +hospital. You nod your head. Yes; I thought so. He knows that the +viceroy, with the last of the army, is at Thorn. He keeps quiet. He +waits in his roadside inn until the last of the army has gone. He +waits until the Russians come, and to them he hands over the Emperor's +possessions--all the papers, the maps, the despatches. For that he will +be rewarded by the Emperor Alexander, who has already promised pardon to +all Poles who have taken arms against Russia and now submit. De Casimir +will be allowed to retain his own baggage. He has no loot taken at +Moscow--oh no! Only his own baggage. Ah--that man! See, I spit him out.” + +And it is painful to record that he here resorted to graphic +illustration. + +“Ah!” he went on triumphantly, “I know. I can see right into the mind +of such a man. I will tell you why. It is because I am that sort of man +myself.” + +“You do not seem to have been so successful--since you are poor,” said +Desiree, with a laugh. + +He frowned at her apparently in speechless anger, seeking an answer. But +for the moment he could think of none, so he turned to the knives again, +which he was cleaning on a board on the kitchen-table. At length he +paused and glanced at Desiree. + +“And your husband,” he said slowly. “Remember that he is a partner with +this De Casimir. They hunt together. I know it; for I was in Moscow. Ah! +that makes you stand stiffly, and push your chin out.” + +He went on cleaning the knives, and, without looking at her, seemed to +be speaking his own thoughts aloud. + +“Yes! He is a traitor. And he is worse than the other; for he is no +Pole, but a Frenchman. And if he returns to France, the Emperor will +say: 'Where are my despatches, my maps, my papers, which were given into +your care?'” + +He finished the thought with three gestures, which seemed to illustrate +the placing of a man against a wall and shooting him. His meaning could +not be mistaken. + +“And that is what the patron means when he says that Monsieur Charles +Darragon will not return to Dantzig. I knew that he meant that last +night, when he was so angry--on the mat.” + +“And why did you not tell me?” + +Barlasch looked at her thoughtfully for a moment, before replying slowly +and impressively. + +“Because, if I had told you, you might have decided to quit Dantzig with +Mademoiselle Mathilde, and go hunting your husband in a country overrun +by desperate fugitives and untamed Cossacks. And I did not want that. I +want you here--in Dantzig; in the Frauengasse; in this kitchen; under my +hand--so that I can take care of you till the war is over. I--who speak +to you--Papa Barlasch, at your service. And there is not another man in +the world who will do it so well. No; not one.” + +And his eyes flashed as he threw the knives into a drawer. + +“But why should you do all this for me?” asked Desiree. “You could have +gone home to France--quite easily--and have left us to our fate here in +Dantzig. Why did you not go home?” + +Barlasch looked at her with surprise, not unmixed with a sudden dumb +disappointment. He was preparing to go out according to his wont +immediately after breakfast; for Lisa had unconsciously hit the mark +when she compared him to a cat. He had the regular and self-contained +habits of that unobtrusive friend. He buttoned his rough coat slowly, +and looked round the kitchen with eyes dimly wistful. He was very old +and ragged and homeless. + +“Is it not enough,” he said, “that we are friends?” + +He went towards the door, but came back and warned her by the familiar +upheld finger not to let her attention wander from his words. + +“You will be glad yet that I have stayed. It is because I speak a little +plainly of your husband that you wish me gone. Bah! What does it matter? +All men are alike. We are only men--not angels. And you can go on +loving him all the same. You are not particular, you women. You can love +anything--even a man like that.” + +And he went out muttering anathemas on the hearts of all women. + +“It seems,” he said, “that a woman can love anything.” + +Which is true; and a very good thing for some of us. For without that +Heaven-sent capacity the world could not go on at all. + +It was later in the day when Barlasch made his way into the low and +smoke-grimed Bier Halle of the Weissen Ross'l. He must have known +Sebastian's habits, for he went straight to that corner of the great +room where the violin-player usually sat. The stout waitress--a country +girl of no intelligence, smiled broadly at the sight of such a ragged +customer as she followed him down the length of the sawdust-strewn +floor. + +Sebastian's face showed no surprise when he looked up and recognized the +new-comer. The surrounding tables were empty. It was too early in the +evening for the regular customers, whose numbers, moreover, had been +sadly thinned during the last few months. For the peaceful Dantzigers, +remembering the siege of seven years ago, had mostly fled at the first +mention of the word. + +Sebastian nodded in answer to Barlasch's somewhat ceremonious bow, and +by a gesture invited him to be seated on the chair upon which he had +already laid his hand. The atmosphere of the room was warm, and Barlasch +laid aside his sheepskin coat, as he had seen the great and the rich +divest themselves of their sables. He turned sharply and caught the +waitress with an amused smile still on her face. He drew her attention +to a little pool of beer on the table, and stood until she had made good +this lapse in her duty. Then he pointed to Sebastian's mug of beer +and dismissed her giggling, to get one for him of the same size and +contents. + +Making sure that there was no one within earshot, he waited until +Sebastian's dreamy eye met his, and then said-- + +“It is time we understood each other.” + +A light of surprise--passing and half-indifferent--flashed into +Sebastian's eyes and vanished again at once when he saw Barlasch had +meant nothing: made no sign or countersign with his hand. + +“By all means, my friend,” he answered. + +“I delivered your letters,” said Barlasch, “at Thorn and at the other +places.” + +“I know; I have already had answers. You would be wise to forget the +incident.” + +Barlasch shrugged his shoulders. + +“You were paid,” said Sebastian, jumping to a natural conclusion. + +“A little,” admitted Barlasch, “a small little--but it was not that. I +always get paid in advance, when I can. Except by the Emperor. He +owes me some--that citizen. It was another question. In the house I am +friends with all--with Lisa who has gone--with Mademoiselle Mathilde +who has gone--with Mademoiselle Desiree, so-called Madame Darragon, who +remains. With all except you. Why should we not be friends?” + +“But we are friends--” protested Sebastian, with a bow. As if in +confirmation of the statement, he held out his beer-mug, and Barlasch +touched it with the rim of his own before drinking. Sebastian's +attitude, his bow, his manner of drinking, were those of the Court; +Barlasch was distinctly of the camp. But these were strange days, and +all society had been turned topsy-turvy by one man. + +“Then,” said Barlasch, licking his lips, “let us understand one another. +You say there will be no siege. I say you are wrong. You think that the +Dantzigers will rise in answer to the Emperor Alexander's proclamations, +and turn the French out. I say the Dantzigers' stomachs are too big. I +say that Rapp will hold Dantzig, and that the Russians will not take it +by storm, because they are too weak. There will be a siege, and a +long one. Are you and Mademoiselle and I going to sit it out in the +Frauengasse together?” + +“We shall be honoured to have you as our guest,” answered Sebastian, +with that levity which went before the Revolution, and was never +understood of the people. + +Barlasch did not understand it. He glanced doubtfully at his companion, +and sipped his beer. + +“Then I will begin to-night.” + +“Begin what, my friend?” + +Barlasch waved aside all petty detail. + +“My preparations. I go out about ten o'clock--after you are in. I will +take the key of the front door, and let myself in when I come back. +I shall make two journeys. Under the kitchen floor is a large hollow +space. I fill that with bags of corn.” + +“But where will you get the corn, my friend?” + +“I know where to get it--corn and other things. Salt I have +already--enough for a year. Other things I can get for three months.” + +“But we have no money to pay for them.” + +“Bah!” + +“You mean you will steal them,” suggested Sebastian, not without a ring +of contempt in his mincing voice. + +“A soldier never steals,” answered Barlasch, carelessly announcing a +great truth. + +Sebastian laughed. It was obvious that his mind, absorbed in great +thought, heeded small things not at all. His companion pushed his fur +cap to the back of his head, and ruffled his hair forward. + +“That is not all,” he said at length. He looked round the vast room, +which was almost deserted. The stout waitress was polishing pewter mugs +at the bar. “You say you have already had answers to those letters. It +is a great organization--your secret society--whatever it is called. It +delivers letters all over Prussia--eh? and Poland perhaps--or farther +still.” + +Sebastian shrugged one shoulder, and made no answer for some time. + +“I have already told you,” he said impatiently, at length, “to forget +the incident; you were paid.” + +By way of reply, the old soldier laboriously emptied his pockets, +searching the most remote of them for small copper coins. He counted +slowly and carefully until he had made up a thaler. + +“But it is not my turn to be paid this time. It is I who pay.” + +He held out his hand with a pound weight of base metal in it, but +Sebastian refused the money with a sudden assumption of his cold and +scornful manner, oddly out of keeping with his humble surroundings. + +“As between friends--” suggested Barlasch, and, on receiving a more +decided negative, returned the coins to his pocket, not without +satisfaction. + +“I want your friends to pass on a letter for me--I am willing to pay,” + he said in a whisper. “A letter to Captain Louis d'Arragon--it concerns +the happiness of Mademoiselle Desiree. Do not shake your head. Think +before you refuse. The letter will be an open one--six words or +so--telling the Captain that his cousin, Mademoiselle's husband, is not +in Dantzig, and cannot now return here since the last of the rearguard +entered the city this morning.” + +Sebastian seemed to be considering the matter, and Barlasch was quick to +combat possible objections. + +“The Captain went to Konigsberg. He is there now. Your friends can +easily find him, and give him the letter. It is of great importance to +Mademoiselle. The Captain is not looking for Monsieur Charles Darragon, +because he thinks that he is here in Dantzig. Colonel de Casimir assured +him that Mademoiselle would find him here. Where is he--that Monsieur +Charles--I wonder? It is of great importance to Mademoiselle. The +Captain would perhaps continue his search.” + +“Where is your letter?” asked Sebastian. + +By way of reply, Barlasch laid on the table a sheet of paper. + +“You must write it,” he said. “My hand is injured. I write not badly, +you understand. But this evening I do not feel that my hand is well +enough.” + +So, with the sticky, thick ink of the Weissen Ross'l, Sebastian wrote +the letter, and Barlasch, forgetting his scholarly acquirements, took +the pen and made a mark beneath his own name written at the foot of it. + +Then he went out, and left Sebastian to pay for the beer. + + + +CHAPTER XXVI. ON THE BRIDGE. + + + + They that are above + Have ends in everything. + +A lame man was standing on the bridge that crosses the Neuer Pregel from +the Kant Strasse--which is the centre of the city of Konigsberg--to the +island known as the Kneiphof. This bridge is called the Kramer Brucke, +and may be described as the heart of the town. From it on either hand +diverge the narrow streets that run along the river bank, busy with +commerce, crowded with the narrow sleighs that carry wood from the +Pregel up into the town. + +The wider streets--such as the Kant Strasse, running downhill from the +royal castle to the river, and the Kneiphof'sche Langgasse, leading +southward to the Brandenburg gate and the great world--must needs make +use of the Kramer Brucke. Here, it may be said, every man in the town +must sooner or later pass in the execution of his daily business, +whether he go about it on foot or in a sleigh with a pair of horses. +Here the idler and those grave professors from the University, which was +still mourning the death of the aged Kant, nearly always passed in their +thoughtful and conscientious promenades. + +Here this lame man, a cobbler by trade, plying his quiet calling in a +house in the Neuer Markt, where the lime-trees grow close to the upper +windows, had patiently kept watch for three days. He was, like many lame +men, of an abnormal width and weight. He had a large, square, dogged +face, which seemed to promise that he would wait there till the crack of +doom rather than abandon a quest. + +It was very cold--mid-winter within a few miles of the frozen Baltic +on the very verge of Russia, at that point where old Europe stretches +a long arm out into the unknown. The cobbler was wrapped in a sheepskin +coat, which stood out all round him with the stiffness of wood, so +that he seemed to be living inside a box. To keep himself warm he +occasionally limped across from end to end of the bridge, but never +went farther. At times he leant his arms on the stone wall at the Kant +Strasse end of the bridge, and looked down into the Lower Fish +Market, where women from Pillau and the Baltic shores--mere bundles of +clothes--stood over their baskets of fish frozen hard like sticks. It +was a silent market. One cannot haggle long when a minute's exposure +to the air will give a frost-bite to the end of the nose. The would-be +purchaser can scarcely make an effective bargain through a fringe of +icicles that rattle against his lips if he open them. + +The Pregel had been frozen for three months, with only the one temporary +thaw in November which cost Napoleon so many thousands at his broken +bridge across the Beresina. Though no water had flowed beneath this +bridge, many strange feet had passed across it. + +It had vibrated beneath Napoleon's heavy carriage, under the lumbering +guns that Macdonald took northward to blockade Riga. Within the last few +weeks it had given passage to the last of the retreating army, a mere +handful of heartsick fugitives. Macdonald with his staff had been +ignominiously driven across it by the Cossacks who followed hard after +them, the great marshal still wild with rage at the defection of Yorck +and the Prussian contingent. + +And now the Cossacks on their spare and ill-tempered horses passed to +and fro, wild men under an untamed leader whose heart was hardened to +stone by bereavement. The cobbler looked at them with a countenance of +wood. It was hard to say whether he preferred them to the French, or +was indifferent to one as to the other. He looked at their boots with +professional disdain. For all men must look at the world from their own +standpoint and consider mankind in the light of their own interests. +Thus those who live on the greed or the vanity, or batten on the charity +of their neighbour, learn to watch the lips. + +The cobbler, by reason of looking at the lower end of men, attracted +little attention from the passer-by. He who has his eyes on the ground +passes unheeded. For the surest way of awakening interest is to appear +interested. It would seem that this cobbler was waiting for a pair of +boots not made in Konigsberg. And on the third day his expressionless +black eyes lighted on feet not shod in Poland, or France, or Germany, +nor yet in square-toed Russia. + +The owner of these far-travelled boots was a lightly-built dark-faced +man, with eyes quietly ubiquitous. He caught the interested glance of +the cobbler, and turned to look at him again with the uneasiness that is +bred of war. The cobbler instantly hobbled towards him. + +“Will you help a poor man?” he said. + +“Why should I?” was the answer, with one hand already half out of its +thick glove. “You are not hungry; you have never been starved in your +life.” + +The German was quick enough, but it was not quite the Prussian German. + +The cobbler looked at the speaker slowly. + +“An Englishman?” he asked. + +And the other nodded. + +“Come this way.” + +The cobbler hobbled towards the Kneiphof, where the streets are quiet, +and the Englishman followed him. At the corner of the Kohl Markt he +turned and looked, not at the man, but at his boots. + +“You are a sailor?” he said. + +“Yes.” + +“I was told to look for an English sailor--Louis d'Arragon.” + +“Then you have found me,” was the reply. + +Still the cobbler hesitated. + +“How am I to know it?” he asked suspiciously. + +“Can you read?” asked D'Arragon. “I can prove who I am--if I want to. +But I am not sure that I want to.” + +“Oh! it is only a letter--of no importance. Some private business of +your own. It comes from Dantzig--written by one whose name begins with +'B.'” + +“Barlasch,” suggested D'Arragon quietly, as he took from his pocket a +paper which he unfolded and held beneath the eyes of the cobbler. It was +a passport written in three languages. If the man could read, he was not +anxious to boast of an accomplishment so far above his station; but +he glanced at the paper, not without a practised skill, to seize the +essential parts of it. + +“Yes, that is the name,” he said, searching in his pockets. “The letter +is an open one. Here it is.” + +In passing the letter, the man made a scarcely perceptible movement of +the hand which might have been a signal. + +“No,” said D'Arragon, “I do not belong to the Tugendbund or to any other +secret society. We have need of no such associations in my country.” + +The cobbler laughed, not without embarrassment. + +“You have a quick eye,” he said. “It is a great country, England. I have +seen the river full of English ships before Napoleon chased you off the +seas.” + +D'Arragon smiled as he unfolded the letter. + +“He has not done it yet,” he said, with that spirit which enables +mariners of the Anglo-Saxon race to be amused when there is a talk of +supremacy on the high seas. He read the letter carefully, and his face +hardened. + +“I was instructed,” said the cobbler, “to give you the letter, and at +the same time to inform you that any assistance or facilities you may +require will be forth-coming; besides...” he broke off and pointed with +his thick, leather-stained finger, “that writing is not the writing of +him who signs.” + +“He who signs cannot write at all.” + +“That writing,” went on the cobbler, “is a passport in any German state. +He who carries a letter written in that hand can live and travel free +anywhere from here to the Rhine or the Danube.” + +“Then I am lucky in possessing a powerful friend,” said D'Arragon, “for +I know who wrote this letter. I think I may say he is a friend of mine.” + +“I am sure of it. I have already been told so,” said the cobbler. “Have +you a lodging in Konigsberg? No? Then you can lodge in my house.” + +Without awaiting a reply, which he seemed to consider a foregone +conclusion, he limped down the Kohl Markt towards the steps leading to +the river, which in winter is a thoroughfare. + +“I live in the Neuer Markt,” he said breathlessly, as he laboured +onwards. “I have waited for you three days on that bridge. Where have +you been all this time?” + +“Avoiding the French,” replied D'Arragon curtly. Respecting his own +affairs he was reticent, as commanders and other lonely men must always +be. They walked side by side on the dusty and trodden ice without +further speech. At the steps from the river to Neuer Markt, D'Arragon +gave the lame man his hand, and glanced a second time at the fingers +which clasped his own. They had not been born to toil, but had had it +thrust upon them. + +They crossed the Neuer Markt together, and went into that house where +the linden grows so close as to obscure the windows. And the lodging +offered to Louis was the room in which Charles Darragon had slept in his +wet clothes six months earlier. So small is the world in which we live, +and so narrow are the circles drawn by Fate around human existence and +endeavour. + +The cobbler having shown his visitor the room, and pointed out its +advantages, was turning to go when D'Arragon, who was laying aside his +fur coat, seemed to catch his attention, and he paused on the threshold. + +“There is French blood in your veins,” he said abruptly. + +“Yes--a little.” + +“So. I thought there must be. You reminded me--it was odd, the way you +laid aside your coat--reminded me of a Frenchman who lodged here for +one night. He was like you, too, in build and face. He was a spy, if you +please--one of the French Emperor's secret police. I was new at the work +then, but still I suspected there was something wrong about him. I took +his boots--a pretext of mending them. I locked him in. He got out of +that window, if you please, without his boots. He followed me, and +learnt much that he was not meant to know. I have since heard it from +others. He did the Emperor a great service--that man. He saved his life, +I think, from assassination in Dantzig. And he did me an ill turn--but +it was my own carelessness. I thought to make a thaler by lodging him, +and he was tricking me all the while.” + +“What was his name?” asked D'Arragon. + +“Oh--I forgot the name he gave. It was a false one. He was disguised as +a common soldier--and he was in reality an officer of the staff. But I +know the name of the officer to whom he wrote his report of his night's +lodging here--his colleague in the secret police, it would seem.” + +“Ah!” said D'Arragon, busying himself with his haversack. + +“It was De Casimir--a Polish name. And in the last two days I have +heard of him. He has accepted the Emperor's amnesty. He has married a +beautiful woman, and is living like a prince at Cracow. All this since +the siege of Dantzig began. In time of war there is no moment to lose, +eh?” + +“And the other? He who slept in this room. Has he passed through +Konigsberg again?” + +“No, that he has not. If he had, I should have seen him. You can +believe me, I wanted to see him. I was at my place on the bridge all +the time--while the French occupied Konigsberg--when the last of them +hurried away a month ago with the Cossacks close behind. No. I should +have seen him, and known him. He is not on this side of the Niemen, that +fine young gentleman. Now, what can I do to help you to-morrow?” + +“You can help me on the way to Vilna,” answered D'Arragon. + +“You will never get there.” + +“I will try,” said the sailor. + + + +CHAPTER XXVII. A FLASH OF MEMORY. + + + + Nothing can cover his high fame but Heaven, + No pyramids set off his memories, + But the eternal substance of his greatness + To which I leave him. + +“Why I will not let you go out into the streets?” said Barlasch one +February morning, stamping the snow from his boots. “Why I will not let +you go out into the streets?” + +He turned and followed Desiree towards the kitchen, after having +carefully bolted the heavy oaken door which had been strengthened as if +to resist a siege. Desiree's face had that clear pallor which marks an +indoor life; but Barlasch, weather-beaten, scorched and wrinkled, showed +no sign of having endured a month's siege in an overcrowded city. + +“I will tell you why I will not let you go into the streets. Because +they are not fit for any woman to go into--because if you walked from +here to the Rathhaus you would see sights that would come back to you in +your sleep, and wake you from it, when you are an old woman. Do you know +what they do with their dead? They throw them outside their doors--with +nothing to cover their starved nakedness--as Lisa put her ashes in the +street every morning. And the cart goes round, as the dustman's cart +used to go in times of peace, and, like the dustman's cart, it drops +part of its load, and the dust that blows round it is the infection of +typhus. That is why you cannot go into the streets.” + +He unbuttoned his fur coat and displayed a smart new uniform; for Rapp +had put his miserable army into new clothes, with which many of the +Dantzig warehouses had been filled by Napoleon's order at the beginning +of the war. + +“There,” he said, laying a small parcel on the table, “there is my +daily ration. Two ounces of horse, one ounce of salt beef, the same as +yesterday. One does not know how long we shall be treated so generously. +Let us keep the beef--we may come to want some day.” + +And giving a hoarse laugh, he lifted a board in the floor, beneath which +he hoarded his stores. + +“Will you cook your dejeuner yourself,” asked Desiree. “I have something +else for my father.” + +“And what have you?” asked Barlasch curtly; “you are not keeping +anything hidden from me?” + +“No,” answered Desiree, with a laugh at the sternness of his face, “I +will give him a piece of the ham which was left over from last night.” + +“Left over?” echoed Barlasch, going close to her and looking up into her +face, for she was two inches taller than he. “Left over? Then you did +not eat your supper last night?” + +“Neither did you eat yours, for it is there under the floor.” + +Barlasch turned away with a gesture of despair. He sat down in the high +armchair that stood on the hearth, and tapped on the floor with one foot +in pessimistic thought. + +“Ah! the women, the women,” he muttered, looking into the smouldering +fire. “Lies--all lies. You said that your supper was very nice,” he +shouted at her over his shoulder. + +“So it was,” answered she gaily, “so it is still.” + +Barlasch did not rise to her lighter humour. He sat in reflection for +some minutes. Then his thoughts took their usual form of a muttered +aside. + +“It is a case of compromise. Always like that. The good God had to +compromise with the first woman he created almost at once. And men have +done it ever since--and have never had the best of it. See here,” he +said aloud, turning to Desiree, “I will make a bargain with you. I will +eat my last night's supper here at this table, now, if you will eat +yours.” + +“Agreed.” + +“Are you hungry?” asked Barlasch, when the scanty meal was set out +before him. + +“Yes.” + +“So am I.” + +He laughed quite gaily now, and the meal was not without a certain air +of festivity, though it consisted of nothing better than two ounces of +horse and half an ounce of ham eaten in company of that rye-bread made +with one-third part of straw which Rapp allowed the citizens to buy. + +For Rapp had first tamed his army, and was now taming the Dantzigers. +He had effected discipline in his own camp by getting his regiments into +shape, by establishing hospitals (which were immediately filled), and by +protecting the citizens from the depredations of the starving fugitives +who had been poured pell-mell into the town. + +Then he turned his attention to the Dantzigers, who were openly or +secretly opposed to him. He seized their churches and turned them into +stores; their schools he used for hospitals, their monasteries for +barracks. He broke into their cellars, and took the wine for the sick. +Their storehouses he placed under the strictest guard, and no man could +claim possession of his own goods. + +“We are,” he said in effect, with that grim Alsatian humour which the +Prussians were slow to understand; “we are one united family in a narrow +house, and it is I who keep the storeroom key.” + +Barlasch had proved to be no false prophet. His secret store escaped the +vigilance of the picket, whom he himself conducted to the cellars in +the Frauengasse. Although he was sparing enough, he could always +provide Desiree with anything for which she expressed a wish, and even +forestalled those which she left unspoken. In return he looked for +absolute obedience, and after their frugal breakfast he took her to task +for depriving herself of such food as they could afford. + +“See you,” he said, “a siege is a question of the stomach. It is not the +Russians we have to fight; for they will not fight. They sit outside +and wait for us to die of cold, of starvation, of typhus. And we are +obliging them at the rate of two hundred a day. Yes, each day Rapp is +relieved of the responsibility of two hundred mouths that drop open and +require nothing more. Be greedy--eat all you have, and hope for release +to-morrow, and you die. Be sparing--starve yourself from parsimony or +for the love of some one who will eat your share and forget to +thank you, and you will die of typhus. Be careful, and patient, and +selfish--eat a little, take what exercise you can, cook your food +carefully with salt, and you will live. I was in a siege thirty years +before you were born, and I am alive yet, after many others. Obey me and +we will get through the siege of Dantzig, which is only just beginning.” + +Then suddenly he gave way to anger, and banged his hand down on the +table. + +“But, sacred name of thunder, do not make me believe you have eaten when +you have not,” he shouted. “Never do that.” + +Carried away by the importance of this question, he said many things +which cannot be set before the eyes of a generation sensitive to +plainness of speech, and only tolerant of it in suggestions of +impropriety. + +“And the patron,” he ended abruptly, “how is he?” + +“He is not very well,” answered Desiree. Which answer did not satisfy +Barlasch, who insisted on taking off his boots, and going upstairs to +see Sebastian. + +It was a mere nothing, the invalid said. Such food did not suit him. + +“You have been accustomed to live well all your life,” answered +Barlasch, looking at him with the puzzled light of a baffled memory in +his eye which always came when he looked at Desiree's father. “One must +see what can be done.” + +And he went out forthwith to return after an hour and more with a +chicken freshly killed. Desiree did not ask him where he had procured +it. She had given up such inquiries, for Barlasch always confessed quite +bluntly to theft, and she did not know whether to believe him or not. + +But the change of diet had no beneficial effect, and the next day +Desiree sent Barlasch to the house of the doctor whose practice lay in +the Frauengasse. He came and shook his head bluntly. For even an old +doctor may be hardened at the end of his life by an orgy, as it were, of +death. + +“I could cure him,” he said, “if there were no Russians outside the +walls; if I could give him fresh milk and good brandy and strong soup.” + +But even Barlasch could not find milk in Dantzig. The brandy was +forthcoming, and the fresh meat; the soup Desiree made with her own +hands. Sebastian had not been the same man since the closing of the +roads and the gradual death of his hopes that the Dantzigers would rise +against the soldiers that thronged their streets. At one time it would +have been easy to carry out such a movement, and to throw themselves +and their city upon the mercy of the Russians. But Dantzig awoke to this +possibility too late, when Rapp's iron hand had closed in upon it. +He knew his own strength so well that he treated with a contemptuous +leniency such citizens as were convicted of communicating with the +enemy. + +Sebastian's friends seemed to have deserted him. Perhaps it was not +discreet to be seen in the company of one who had come under Napoleon's +displeasure. Some had quitted the city after hurriedly concealing their +valuables in their gardens, behind the chimneys, beneath the floors, +where it is to be supposed they still lie hidden. Others were among the +weekly thousand or twelve hundred who were carted out by the Oliva Gate +to be thrown into huge trenches, while the waiting Russians watched from +their lines on the heights of Langfuhr. + +It was true that news continued to filter in, and never quite ceased, +all through the terrible twelve months that were to follow. More +especially did news that was unfavourable to the French find its way +into the beleaguered city. But it was not authentic news, and Sebastian +gathered little comfort from the fact--not unknown to the whispering +citizens--that Rapp himself had heard nothing from the outer world since +the Elbing mail-cart had been turned back by the first of the Cossacks +on the night of the seventh of January. + +Perhaps Sebastian had that most fatal of maladies--to which nearly all +men come at last--weariness of life. + +“Why don't you fortify yourself, and laugh at fortune?” asked Barlasch, +twenty years his senior, as he stood sturdily on his stocking-feet at +the sick man's bedside. + +“I take what my daughter gives me,” protested Sebastian, half peevishly. + +“But that does not suffice,” answered the materialist. “It does not +suffice to swallow evil fortune--one must digest it.” + +Sebastian made no answer. He was a quiet patient, and lay all day with +wide-open, dreaming eyes. He seemed to be waiting for something. This, +indeed, was his mental attitude as presented to his neighbours, and +perhaps to the few friends he possessed in Dantzig. He had waited +through the years during which Desiree had grown to womanhood. He waited +on doggedly through the first month of the siege, without enthusiasm, +without comment--without hope, perhaps. He seemed to be waiting now to +get better. + +“He has made little or no progress,” said the doctor, who could only +give a passing glance at his patients, for he was working day and night. +He had not time to beat about the bush, as his kind heart would have +liked, for he had known Desiree all her life. + +It was Shrove Tuesday, and the streets were full of revellers. The +Neapolitans and other Southerners had made great preparations for the +carnival, and the Governor had not denied them their annual licence. +They had built a high car in one of the entrance yards to the +Marienkirche; and finding that the ancient arch would not allow the +erection to pass out into the street, they had pulled down the pious +handiwork of a bygone generation. + +The shouts of these merrymakers could be dimly heard through the double +windows, but Sebastian made no inquiry as to the meaning of the cry. +A sort of lassitude--the result of confinement within doors, of +insufficient food, of waning hope--had come over Desiree. She listened +heedlessly to the sounds in the streets through which the dead were +passing to the Oliva Gate, while the living danced by in their hideous +travesty of rejoicing. + +It was dusk when Barlasch came in. + +“The streets,” he said, “are full of fools, dressed as such.” + Receiving no answer, he crossed the room to where Desiree sat, treading +noiselessly, and stood in front of her, trying to see her averted face. +He stooped down and peered at her until she could no longer hide her +tear-stained eyes. + +He made a wry face and a little clicking noise with his tongue, such +as the women of his race make when they drop and break some household +utensil. Then he went back towards the bed. Hitherto he had always +observed a certain ceremoniousness of manner in the sick chamber. He +laid this aside this evening, and sat down on a chair that stood near. + +Thus they remained in a silence which seemed to increase with the +darkness. At length the stillness became so marked that Barlasch slowly +turned his head towards the bed. The same instinct had come to Desiree +at the same moment. + +They both rose and groped their way towards Sebastian. Desiree found the +flint and struck it. The sulphur burnt blue for interminable moments, +and then flared to meet the wick of the candle. Barlasch watched Desiree +as she held the light down to her father's face. Sebastian's waiting was +over. Barlasch had not needed a candle to recognize death. + +From Desiree his bright and restless eyes turned slowly towards the dead +man's face--and he stepped back. + +“Ah!” he said, with a hoarse cry of surprise, “now I remember. I was +always sure that I had seen his face before. And when I saw it it +was like that--like the face of a dead man. It was on the Place de la +Nation, on a tumbrel--going to the guillotine. He must have escaped, as +many did, by some accident or mistake.” + +He went slowly to the window, holding his shaggy head between his two +clenched hands as if to spur his memory to an effort. Then he turned and +pointed to the silent form on the bed. + +“That is a noble of France,” he said; “one of the greatest. And all +France thinks him dead this twenty years. And I cannot remember his +name--goodness of God--I cannot remember his name!” + + + +CHAPTER XXVIII. VILNA. + + + + It is our trust + That there is yet another world to mend + All error and mischance. + +Louis d'Arragon knew the road well enough from Konigsberg to the Niemen. +It runs across a plain, flat as a table, through which many small +streams seek their rivers in winding beds. This country was not thinly +inhabited, though the villages had been stripped, as foliage is stripped +by a cloud of locusts. Each cottage had its ring of silver birch-trees +to protect it from the winds which sweep from the Baltic and the steppe. +These had been torn and broken down by the retreating army, in a vain +hope of making fire with green wood. + +It was quite easy to keep in the steps of the retreating army, for the +road was marked by recumbent forms huddled on either side. Few vehicles +had come so far, for the broken country near to Vilna and around Kowno +had presented slopes up which the starving horses were unable to drag +their load. + +D'Arragon reached Kowno without mishap, and there found a Russian +colonel of Cossacks who proved friendly enough, and not only appreciated +the value of his passport and such letters of recommendation as he had +been able to procure at Konigsberg, but gave him others, and forwarded +him on his journey. + +He still nourished a lingering belief in De Casimir's word. Charles must +have been left behind at Vilna to recover from his exhaustion. He would, +undoubtedly, make his way westward as soon as possible. He might have +got away to the South. Any one of these huddled human landmarks might be +Charles Darragon. + +Louis was essentially a thorough man. The sea is a mistress demanding +a whole and concentrated attention--and concentration soon becomes a +habit. Louis did not travel at night, for fear of passing Charles on +the road, alive or dead. He knew his cousin better than any in the +Frauengasse had learnt to know this gay and inconsequent Frenchman. A +certain cunning lay behind the happy laugh--a great capacity was hidden +by the careless manner. If ready wit could bring man through the dangers +of the retreat, Charles had as good a chance of surviving as any. + +Nevertheless, Louis rarely passed a dead man on the road, but drew +up, and quitting his sleigh, turned over the body, which was almost +invariably huddled with its back offered to the deadly, prevailing North +wind. Against each this wind had piled a sloping bank of that fine snow +which, even in the lightest breeze, drifts over the surface of the land +like an ivory mist, waist high, and cakes the clothes. In a high wind it +will rise twenty feet in the air, and blind any who try to face it. + +As often as not a mere glance sufficed to show that this was not +Charles, for few of the bodies were clad. Many had been stripped, while +still living, by their half-frozen comrades. But sometimes Louis had to +dust the snow from strange bearded faces before he could pass on with a +quick sigh of relief. + +Beyond Kowno, the country is thinly populated, and spreading +pine-forests bound the horizon. The Cossacks--the wild men of Toula, who +reaped the laurels of the rearguard fighting--were all along the road. +D'Arragon frequently came upon a picket--as often as not the men were +placidly sitting on a frozen corpse, as on a seat--and stopped to say a +few words and gather news. + +“You will find your friend at Vilna,” said one young officer, who had +been attached to General Wilson's staff, and had many stories to tell of +the energetic and indefatigable English commissioner. “At Vilna we +took twenty thousand prisoners--poor devils who came and asked us for +food--and I don't know how many officers. And if you see Wilson there, +remember me to him. If Napoleon has need to hate one man more than +another for this business, it is that firebrand, Wilson. Yes, you will +assuredly find your cousin at Vilna among the prisoners. But you must +not linger by the road, for they are being sent back to Moscow to +rebuild that which they have caused to be destroyed.” + +He laughed and waved his gloved hand as D'Arragon drove on. + +After the broken land and low abrupt hills of Kowno, the country was +flat again until the valley of the Vilia opened out. And here, almost +within sight of Vilna, D'Arragon drove down a short hill which must ever +be historic. He drove slowly, for on either side were gun-carriages deep +sunken in the snow where the French had left them. This hill marked +the final degeneration of the Emperor's army into a shapeless rabble +hopelessly flying before an exhausted enemy. + +Half on the road and half in the ditch were hundreds of carriages which +had been hurriedly smashed up to provide firewood. Carts, still laden +with the booty of Moscow, stood among the trees. Some of them contained +small square boxes of silver coin, brought by Napoleon to pay his army +and here abandoned. Silver coin was too heavy to carry. The rate of +exchange had long been sixty francs in silver for a gold napoleon or a +louis. The cloth coverings of the cushions had been torn off to shape +into rough garments; the straw stuffing had been eaten by the horses. + +Inside the carriages were--crouching on the floor--the frozen bodies of +fugitives too badly wounded or too ill to attempt to walk. They had sat +there till death came to them. Many were women. In one carriage four +women, in silks and fine linen, were huddled together. Their furs had +been dragged from them either before or after death. + +Louis stopped at the bottom and looked back. De Casimir at all events +had succeeded in surmounting this obstacle which had proved fatal to +so many--the grave of so many hopes--God's rubbish-heap, where gold +and precious stones, silks and priceless furs, all that greedy men had +schemed and striven and fought to get, fell from their hands at last. + +Vilna lies all down a slope--a city built upon several hills--and the +Vilia runs at the bottom. That Way of Sorrow, the Smolensk Road, runs +eastward by the river bank, and here the rearguard held the Cossacks in +check while Murat hastily decamped, after dark, westwards to Kowno. The +King of Naples, to whom Napoleon gave the command of his broken army +quite gaily--“a vous, Roi de Naples,” he is reported to have said, as he +hurried to his carriage--Murat abandoned his sick and wounded; did not +even warn the stragglers. + +D'Arragon entered the city by the narrow gate known as the Town Gate, +through which, as through that greater portal of Moscow, every man must +pass bareheaded. + +“The Emperor is here,” were the first words spoken to him by the officer +on guard. + +But the streets were quiet enough, and the winner in this great game +of chance maintained the same unostentatious silence in victory as that +which, in the hour of humiliation, had baffled Napoleon. + +It was almost night, and D'Arragon had been travelling since daylight. +He found a lodging, and, having secured the comfort of the horse +provided by the lame shoemaker of Konigsberg, he went out into the +streets in search of information. + +Few cities are, to this day, so behind the times as Vilna. The streets +are still narrow, winding, ill-paved, ill-lighted. When D'Arragon +quitted his lodging, he found no lights at all, for the starving +soldiers had climbed to the lamps for the sake of the oil, which they +had greedily drunk. It was a full moon, however, and the patrols at the +street corners were willing to give such information as they could. They +were strangers to Vilna like Louis himself, and not without suspicion; +for this was a city which had bidden the French welcome. There had been +dancing and revelry on the outward march. The citizens themselves were +afraid of the strange, wild-eyed men who returned to them from Moscow. + +At last, in the Episcopal Palace, where head-quarters had been hurriedly +established, Louis found the man he sought, the officer in charge of the +arrangements for despatching prisoners into Russia and to Siberia. +He was a grizzled warrior of the old school, speaking only French and +Russian. He was tired out and hungry, but he listened to Louis' story. + +“There is the list,” he said, “it is more or less complete. Many have +called themselves officers who never held a commission from the Emperor +Napoleon. But we have done what we can to sort them out.” + +So Louis sat down in the dimly lighted room and deciphered the names of +those officers who had been left behind, detained by illness or wounds +or the lack of spirit to persevere. + +“You understand,” said the Russian, returning to his work, “I cannot +afford the time to help you. We have twenty-five thousand prisoners to +feed and keep alive.” + +“Yes--I understand,” answered Louis, who had the seaman's way of making +himself a part of his surroundings. + +The old colonel glanced at him across the table with a grim smile. + +“The Emperor,” he said, “was sitting in that chair an hour ago. He may +come back at any moment.” + +“Ah!” said Louis, following the written lines with a pencil. + +But no interruption came, and at last the list was finished. Charles was +not among the officers taken prisoner at Vilna. + +“Well?” inquired the Russian, without looking up. + +“Not there.” + +The old officer took a sheet of paper and hurriedly wrote a few words on +it. + +“Try the Basile Hospital to-morrow morning,” he said. “That will gain +you admittance. It is to be cleared out by the Emperor's orders. We have +about twenty thousand dead to dispose of as well--but they are in no +hurry.” + +He laughed grimly, and bade Louis good night. + +“Come to me again,” he called out after him, drawn by a sudden chord +of sympathy to this stranger, who had the rare capacity of confining +himself to the business in hand. + +By daybreak the next morning Louis was at the hospital of St. Basile. +It had been prepared by the Duc de Bassano under Napoleon's orders when +Vilna was selected as the base of the great army. When the Russians +entered Vilna after the retreating remnant of Murat's rabble, they found +the dead and the dying in the streets and the market-place. Some had +made fires and had lain themselves down around them--to die. Others were +without food or firing, almost without clothes. Many were barefoot. All, +officers and men alike, were in rags. It was a piteous sight; for half +of these men were no longer human. Some were gnawing at their own limbs. +Many were blind, others had lost their speech or hearing. Nearly all +were marred by some disfigurement--some terrible sore, the result of a +frozen wound, of frostbite, of scurvy, of gangrene. + +The Cossacks, half civilized as they were, wild with the excitement of +killing and the chase of a human quarry, stood aghast in the streets of +Vilna. + +When the Emperor arrived, he set to work to clear the streets first, to +get these piteous men indoors. There was no question yet of succouring +them. It was not even possible to feed them all. The only thought was to +find them some protection against the ruthless cold. + +The first thought was, of course, directed to the hospitals. They looked +in and saw a storehouse of the dead. The dead could wait; but the living +must be housed. + +So the dead waited, and it was their turn now at the St. Basile +Hospital, where Louis presented himself at dawn. + +“Looking for some one?” asked a man in uniform, who must have been +inside the hospital, for he hurried down the steps with a set mouth and +quailing eyes. + +“Yes.” + +“Then don't go in--wait here.” + +Louis looked in and took the doctor's advice. The dead were stored in +the passages, one on the top of the other, like bales of goods in a +warehouse. + +Some attempt seemed to have been made to clear the wards, but those +whose task it had been had not had time to do more than drag the dead +out into the passage. + +The soldiers were now at work in the lower passage. Carts began to +arrive. An officer told off to this dread duty came up hurriedly smoking +a cigarette, his high fur collar about his ears. He glanced at Louis, +and bowed to him. + +“Looking for some one?” he asked. + +“Yes.” + +“Then stand here beside me. It is I who have to keep count. They say +there are eight thousand in here. They will be carried past here to the +carts. Have a cigarette.” + +It is hard to talk when the thermometer registers more than twenty +degrees of frost, for the lips stiffen and contract into wrinkles like +the lips of a very old woman. Perhaps neither of the watchers was in the +humour to begin an acquaintance. + +They stood side by side, stamping their feet to keep the blood going, +without speaking. Once or twice Louis stepped forward, and at a signal +from the officer the bearers stopped. But Louis shook his head, and they +passed on. At midday the officer was relieved, his place being taken by +another, who bowed stiffly to Louis and took no more notice of him. For +war either hardens or softens. It never leaves a man as it found him. + +All day the work was carried on. Through the hours this procession of +the bearded dead went silently by. At the invitation of a sergeant, +Louis took some soup and bread from the soldiers' table. The men +laughingly apologized for the quality of both. + +Towards evening the officer who had first come on duty returned to his +work. + +“Not yet?” he asked, offering the inevitable cigarette. + +“Not yet,” answered Louis, and even as he spoke he stepped forward and +stopped the bearers. He brushed aside the matted hair and beard. + +“Is that your friend?” asked the officer. + +“Yes.” + +It was Charles at last. + +“The doctor says these have been dead two months,” volunteered the first +bearer, over his shoulder. + +“I am glad you have found him,” said the officer, signing to the men to +go on with their burden. “It is better to know--is it not?” + +“Yes,” answered Louis slowly. “It is better to know.” + +And something in his voice made the Russian officer turn and watch him +as he went away. + + + +CHAPTER XXIX. THE BARGAIN. + + + + Like plants in mines which never saw the sun, + But dream of him and guess where he may be, + And do their best to climb and get to him. + +“Oh yes,” Barlasch was saying, “it is easier to die--it is that that you +are thinking--it is easier to die.” + +Desiree did not answer. She was sitting in the little kitchen at the +back of the house in the Frauengasse. For they had no firing now, and +were burning the furniture. Her father had been buried a week. The siege +was drawn closer than ever. There was nothing to eat, nothing to do, no +one to talk to. For Sebastian's political friends did not dare to come +near his house. Desiree was alone in this hopeless world with Barlasch, +who was on duty now in one of the trenches near the river. He went out +in the morning, and only returned at night. He had just come in, and she +could see by the light of the single candle that his face was grey and +haggard, with deep lines drawn downwards from eyes to chin. Desiree's +own face had lost all its roundness and the bloom of her northern +girlhood. + +Barlasch glanced at her, and bit his lip. He had brought nothing with +him. At one time he had always managed to bring something to the house +every day--a chicken, or a turnip, or a few carrots. But to-night there +was nothing. And he was tired out. He did not sit down, however, but +stood breathing on his fingers and rubbing them together to restore +circulation. He pushed the candle farther forward on the table, so that +it cast a better light upon her face. + +“Yes,” he said, “it is often so. I, who speak to you, have seen it so a +dozen times in my life. When it is easier to sit down and die. Bah! That +is a fine thing to do--a brave thing--to sit down and die.” + +“I am not going to do it, so do not make that mistake,” said Desiree, +with a laugh that had no mirth in it. + +“But you would like to. Listen. It is not what you feel that matters; it +is what you do. Remember that.” + +There was an unusual vigour in his voice. Of late, since the death of +Sebastian, Barlasch seemed to have fallen victim to the settled apathy +which lives within a prison wall and broods over a besieged city. It is +a sort of silent mourning worn by the soul for a lost liberty. Dantzig +had soon succumbed to it, for the citizens had not even the satisfaction +of being quite sure that they were deserving of the world's sympathy. +It soon spread to the soldiers who were defending a Prussian city for a +French Emperor who seemed to have forgotten them. + +But to-night Barlasch seemed to be more energetic. Desiree looked round +over her shoulder. He had not laid on the table any contribution to +a bare larder; and yet his manner was that of one who has prepared a +surprise and is waiting to enjoy its effect. He was restless, moving +from one foot to another, rubbing together his crooked fingers and +darting sidelong glances at her face. + +“What is it?” she asked suddenly, and Barlasch gave a start as if he had +been detected in some deceit. He bustled forward to the smouldering fire +and held his hands over it. + +“It is that it is very cold to-night,” he answered, with that +exaggerated ease of manner with which the young and the simple seek to +conceal embarrassment. “Tell me, mademoiselle, what have we for supper +to-night? It is I who will cook it. To-night we will keep a fete. There +is that piece of beef for you. I know a way to make it appetizing. For +me there is my portion of horse. It is the friend of man--the horse.” + +He laughed and made an effort to be gay, which had a poignant pathos in +it that made Desiree bite her lip. + +“What fete is it that we are to keep?” she asked, with a wan smile. Her +kind blue eyes had that glitter in them which is caused by a constant +and continuous hunger. Six months ago they had only been gay and kind, +now they saw the world as it is, as it always must be so long as the +human heart is capable of happiness and the human reason recognizes the +rarity of its attainment. + +“The fete of St. Matthias--my fete, mademoiselle.” + +“But I thought your name was Jean.” + +“So it is. But I keep my fete at St. Matthias, because on that day we +won a battle in Egypt. We will have wine--a bottle of wine--eh?” + +So Barlasch prepared a great feast which was to be celebrated by Desiree +in the dining-room, where he lighted a fire, and by himself in the +kitchen. For he held strongly to a code of social laws which the great +Revolution had not succeeded in breaking. And one of these laws was that +it would be in some way degrading to Desiree to see him eat. + +He was a skilled and delicate cook, only hampered by that insatiable +passion for economy which is the dominant characteristic of the peasant +of Northern France. To-night, however, he was reckless, and Desiree +could hear him searching in his secret hiding-place beneath the floor +for concealed condiments and herbs. + +“There,” he said, when he set the dish before her, “eat it with an easy +mind. There is nothing unclean in it. It is not rat or cat or the liver +of a starved horse, such as we others eat and ask no better. It is all +clean meat.” + +He poured out wine, and stood in the darkened doorway watching her drink +it. Then he went away to his own meal in the kitchen, leaving Desiree +vaguely uneasy--for he was not himself to-night. She could hear him +muttering as he ate and moved hither and thither in the kitchen. At +short intervals he came and looked in at the door to make sure that she +was doing full honour to St. Matthias. When she had finished, he came +into the room. + +“Ah!” he said, glancing at her suspiciously and rubbing his hands +together. “That strengthens, eh?--that strengthens. We others who lead +a rough life--we know that a little food and a glass of wine fit one out +for any enterprise, for--well, any catastrophe.” + +And Desiree knew in a flash of comprehension that the food and the wine +and the forced gaiety were nothing but preliminaries to bad news. + +“What is it?” she asked a second time. “Is it... bombardment?” + +“Bombardment,” he laughed, “they cannot shoot, those Cossacks. It is +only the French who understand artillery.” + +“Then what is it?--for you have something to tell me, I know.” + +He ruffled his shock-head of white hair, with a grimace of despair. + +“Yes,” he admitted, “it is news.” + +“From outside?” cried Desiree, with a sudden break in her voice. + +“From Vilna,” answered Barlasch. He came into the room, and went past +her towards the fire, where he put the logs together carefully. + +“It is that he is alive,” said Desiree, “my husband.” + +“No, it is not that,” Barlasch corrected. He stood with his back to +her, vaguely warming his hands. He had no learning, nor manners, nor any +polish: nothing but those instincts of the heart that teach the head. +And his instinct bade him turn his back on Desiree, and wait in silence +until she had understood his meaning. + +“Dead?” she asked, in a whisper. + +And, still warming his hands, he nodded his head vigorously. He waited +a long time for her to speak, and at last broke the silence himself +without looking round. + +“Troubles,” he said, “troubles for us all. There is no avoiding them. +One can only push against them as against your cold wind of Dantzig that +comes from the sea. One can only push on. You must push, mademoiselle.” + +“When did he die?” asked Desiree; “where?” + +“At Vilna, three months ago. He has been dead three months. I knew he +was dead when you came back to the inn at Thorn, and told me that you +had seen De Casimir. De Casimir had left him dying--that liar. You +remember, I met a comrade on the road--one of my own country--he told +me that they had left ten thousand dead at Vilna, and twenty thousand +prisoners little better than dead. And I knew then that De Casimir had +left him there dying, or dead.” + +He glanced back at her over his shoulder, and at the sight of her face +made that little click in his throat which, in peasant circles, denotes +a catastrophe. Then he shook his head slowly from side to side. + +“Listen,” he said roughly, “the good God knows best. I knew when I saw +you first, that day in June, in this kitchen, that you were beginning +your troubles; for I knew the reputation of Monsieur, your husband. He +was not what you thought him. A man is never what a woman thinks him. +But he was worse than most. And this trouble that has come to you is +chosen by the good God--and he has chosen the least in his sack for you. +You will know it some day--as I know it now.” + +“You know a great deal,” said Desiree, who was quick in speech, and he +swung round on his heel to meet her spirit. + +“You are right,” he said, pointing his accusatory finger. “I know a +great deal about you--and I am a very old man.” + +“How did you learn this news from Vilna?” she asked, and his hand went +up to his mouth as if to hide his thoughts and control his lips. + +“From one who comes straight from there--who buried your husband there.” + +Desiree rose and stood with her hands resting on the table, looking at +the persistent back again turned towards her. + +“Who?” she asked, in little more than a whisper. + +“The Captain--Louis d'Arragon.” + +“And you have spoken to him to-day--here, in Dantzig?” + +Barlasch nodded his head. + +“Was he well?” asked Desiree, with a spontaneous anxiety that made +Barlasch turn slowly and look at her from beneath his great brows. + +“Oh, he was well enough,” he answered, “he is made of steel, that +gentleman. He was well enough, and he has the courage of the devil. +There are some fishermen who come from Zoppot to sell their fish. They +steal through the Russian lines--on the ice of the river at night and +come to our outposts at daylight. One of them said my name this morning. +I looked at him. He was wrapped up only to show the eyes. He drew his +scarf aside. It was the Captain d'Arragon.” + +“And he was well?” asked Desiree again, as if nothing else in the world +mattered. + +“Oh, mon Dieu, yes,” cried Barlasch, impatiently, “he was well, I tell +you. Do you know why he came?” + +Desiree had sat down at the table again, where she leant her arms and +rested her chin in the palms of her two hands; for she was weakened by +starvation, and confinement, and sorrow. + +“No,” she answered. + +“He came because he had learnt that the patron was dead. It was known +in Konigsberg a week ago. It is known all over Germany; that quiet old +gentleman who scraped a fiddle here in the Frauengasse. And it is only +I, in all the world, who know that he was a greater man in Paris than +ever he was in Germany--with his Tugendbund--and I cannot remember his +name.” + +Barlasch broke off and thumped his brow with his fists, as if to awaken +that dead memory. And all the while he was searching Desiree's face, +with eyes made brighter and sharper than ever by starvation. + +“And do you know what he came for--the Captain--for he never does +anything in idleness? He will run a great risk--but it is for a great +purpose. Do you know what he came for?” + +“No.” + +Barlasch jerked his head back and laughed. + +“For you.” + +He turned and looked at her; but she had raised her clasped hands to her +forehead, as if to shield her eyes from the light of the candle, and he +could not see her face. + +“Do you remember,” said Barlasch, “that night when the patron was so +angry--on the mat--when Mademoiselle Mathilde had to make her choice. It +is your turn to-night. You have to make your choice. Will you go?” + +“Yes,” answered Desiree, behind her fingers. + +“'If Mademoiselle will come,' he said to me, 'bring her to this place!' +'Yes, mon capitaine,' answered I. 'At any cost, Barlasch?' 'At any cost, +mon capitaine.' And we are not men to break our words. I will take you +there--at any cost, mademoiselle. And he will meet you there--at any +cost.” + +And Barlasch expectorated emphatically into the fire, after the manner +of low-born men. + +“What a pity,” he added reflectively, “that he is only an Englishman.” + +“When are we to go?” asked Desiree, still behind her barrier of clasped +fingers. + +“To-morrow night, after midnight. We have arranged it all--the Captain +and I--at the outpost nearest to the river. He has influence. He has +rendered services to the Russians, and the Russian commander will make +a night attack on the outpost. In the confusion we get through. We +arranged it together. He pays me well. It is a bargain, and I am to have +my money. We shook hands on it, and those who saw us must have thought +that I was buying fish. I, who have no money--and he, who had no fish.” + + + +CHAPTER XXX. THE FULFILMENT. + + + + And I have laboured somewhat in my time + And not been paid profusely. + +When Desiree came down the next morning, she found Barlasch talking to +himself and laughing as he prepared his breakfast. + +He met her with a gay salutation, and seemed unable to control his +hilarity. + +“It is,” he explained, “because to-night we shall be under fire. We +shall be in danger. It makes me afraid, and I laugh. I cannot help it. +When I am afraid, I laugh.” + +He bustled about the room, and Desiree saw that he had already opened +his secret store beneath the floor, to take from it such delicacies as +remained. + +“You slept?” he asked sharply. “Yes, I can see you did. That is good, +for to-night we shall be awake. And now you must eat.” + +For Barlasch was a materialist. He had fought death in one form or +another all his life, and he knew that those who eat and sleep are +better equipped for the battle than those who cherish high ideals or +think great thoughts. + +“It is a good thing,” he said, looking at her, “that you are so slim. In +a military coat--if you put on that short dress in which you skate, and +your high boots--you will look like a soldier. It is a good thing that +it is winter, for you can wear the hood of your military coat over +your head, as they all do out in the trenches to keep their ears from +falling. So you need not cut off your hair--all that golden hair. Name +of thunder, that would be a pity, would it not?” + +He turned to the fire and stirred his coffee reflectively. + +“In my own country,” he said, “a long time ago, there was a girl who had +hair like yours. That is why we are friends, perhaps.” + +He gave a queer, short laugh, and took up his sheepskin coat preparatory +to going out. + +“I have my preparations to make,” he said, with an air of importance. +“There is much to be thought of. We had not long together, for the +others were watching us. But we understand each other. I go now to give +him the signal that it is for to-night. I have borrowed one of Lisa's +dusters--a blue one that will show against the snow--with which to give +him the signal. And he is watching from Zoppot with his telescope. That +fat Lisa--if I had held up my finger, she would have fallen in love with +me. It has always been so. These women--” + +And he went away muttering. + +If he had preparations to make, Desiree had no less. She could take but +little with her, and she was quitting the house which had always been +her home so long as she could remember. Those trunks which Barlasch +had so unhesitatingly recognized as coming from France were, it seemed, +destined never to be used again. Mathilde had gone, taking with her +her few simple possessions; for they had always been poor in the +Frauengasse. Sebastian had departed on that journey which the traveller +must face alone, taking naught with him. And it was characteristic of +the man that he had left nothing behind him--no papers, no testament, +no clue to that other life so different from his life in the Frauengasse +that it must have lapsed into a fleeting, intangible memory, such as +the brain is sometimes allowed to retain of a dream dreamt in this +existence, or perhaps in another. Sebastian was gone--with his secret. + +Desiree, alone with hers, was left in this quiet house for a few hours +longer. Mechanically she set it in order. What would it matter to-morrow +whether it were set in order or not? Who would come to note the last +touches? She worked with that feverish haste which is responsible for +much unnecessary woman's work in this world--the haste that owes its +existence to the fear of having time to think. Many talk for the same +reason. What a quiet world, if those who have nothing to say said +nothing! But speech or work must fail at last, and lo! the thoughts are +lying in wait. + +Desiree's thoughts found their opportunity when she went into the +drawing-room upstairs, where her wedding-breakfast had been set before +the guests only eight months ago. The guests--De Casimir, the Grafin, +Sebastian, Mathilde, Charles! + +Desiree stood alone now in the silent room. She did not look at the +table. The guests were all gone. The dead past had buried its dead. She +went to the window and drew aside the curtain as she had drawn it aside +on her wedding-day to look down into the Frauengasse and see Louis +d'Arragon. And again her heart leapt in her breast with that throb +of fear. She turned where she stood, and looked at the door as if she +expected to see Charles come in at it, laughing and gay, explaining (he +was so good at explaining) his encounter in the street, and stepping +aside to allow Louis to come forward. Louis, who looked at no one but +her, and came into the room and into her life. + +She had been afraid of him. She was afraid of him still. And her heart +had leapt at the thought that he had been restlessly, sleeplessly +thinking of her, working for her--had been to Vilna and back for her, +and was now waiting for her beyond the barrier of Russian camp-fires. +The dangers which made Barlasch laugh--and she knew they were real +enough, for it was only a real danger that stirred something in the old +soldier's blood to make him gay--these dangers were of no account. She +knew, she had known instantly and for all time when she looked down into +the Frauengasse and saw Louis, that nothing in heaven or earth could +keep them apart. + +She stood now, looking at the empty doorway. What was the rest of her +life to be? + +Barlasch returned in the afternoon. He was leisurely and inclined to +contemplativeness. It would seem that his preparations having all been +completed, he was left with nothing to do. War is a purifier; it clears +the social atmosphere and puts womanly men and manly women into their +right places. It is also a simplifier; it teaches us to know how little +we really require in daily life, and how many of the environments with +which men and women hamper themselves are superfluous and the fruit of +idleness. + +“I have nothing to do,” said Barlasch, “I will cook a careful dinner. +All that I have saved in money I cannot carry away; all that was stored +beneath the floor must be left there. It is often so in war.” + +He had told Desiree that they would have to walk twelve miles across +the snow-clad marshes bordering the frozen Vistula, between midnight and +dawn. It needed no telling that they could carry little with them. + +“You will have to make a new beginning in life,” he said curtly, “with +the clothes upon your back. How many times have I done it--the Saints +alone know! But take money, if you have it in gold or silver. Mine is +all in copper groschen, and it is too heavy to carry. I have never yet +been anywhere that money was not useful--and name of a dog! I have never +had it.” + +So Desiree divided what money she possessed with Barlasch, who added it +carefully up and repeated several times for accuracy the tale of what he +had received. For, like many who do not hesitate to steal, he was very +particular in money matters. + +“As for me,” he said, “I shall make a new beginning, too. The Captain +will enable me to get back to France, when I shall go to the Emperor +again. It is no place for one of the Old Guard, here with Rapp. I +am getting old, but he will find something for me to do, that little +Emperor.” + +At midnight they set out, quitting the house in the Frauengasse +noiselessly. The street was quiet enough, for half the houses were empty +now. Their footsteps were inaudible on the trodden snow. It was a dark +night and not cold; for the great frosts of this terrible winter were +nearly over. + +Barlasch carried his musket and bayonet. He had instructed Desiree to +walk in front of him, should they meet a patrol. But Rapp had no men to +spare for patrolling the town. There was no spirit left in Dantzig; for +typhus and starvation patrolled the narrow streets. + +They quitted the town to the north-west, near the Oliva Gate. There was +no guard-house here because Langfuhr was held by the French, and Rapp's +outposts were three miles out on the road to Zoppot. + +“I have played this game for fifty years,” said Barlasch, with a low +laugh, when they reached the earthworks, completed, at such enormous +cost of life and strength, by Rapp; “follow me and do as I do. When I +stoop, stoop; when I crawl, crawl; when I run, run.” + +For he was a soldier now and nothing else. He stood erect, and looked +round him with the air of a young man--ready, keen, alert. Then he moved +forward with confidence towards the high land which terminates in the +Johannesberg, where the peaceful Dantzigers now repair on a Sunday +afternoon to drink thin beer and admire the view. + +Below them on the right hand lay the marshes, a white expanse of snow +with a single dark line drawn across it--the Langfuhr road with its +double border of trees. + +Barlasch turned once or twice to make sure that Desiree was following +him; but he added nothing to his brief instructions. When he gained +the summit of the tableland which runs parallel with the coast and the +Langfuhr road, he paused for breath. + +“When I crawl, crawl. When I run, run,” he whispered again; and led the +way. He went up the bed of a stream, turning his back to the coast, and +at a certain point stopped and by a gesture of the hand bade Desiree +crouch down and wait till he returned. He came back and signed to her +to quit the bed of the stream and follow him. When she came up to the +tableland, she found that they were quite close to a camp-fire. Through +the low pines she could perceive the dark outline of a house. + +“Now run,” whispered Barlasch, leading the way across an open space +which seemed to extend to the line of the horizon. Without looking back, +Desiree ran--her only thought was a sudden surprise that Barlasch could +move so quickly and silently. + +When he gained the shelter of some trees, he threw himself down on the +snow, and Desiree coming up to him found him breathlessly holding his +sides and laughing aloud. + +“We are through the lines,” he gasped, “name of a dog, I was so +frightened. There they go--pam! pam! Buz.. z.. z..” + +And he imitated the singing buzz of the bullets humming through the +trees over their heads. For half a dozen shots were fired, while he was +yet speaking, from behind the camp-fires. There were no more, however, +and presently, having recovered his breath, Barlasch rose. + +“Come,” he said, “we have a long walk. En route.” + +They made a great circuit in the pine-woods, through which Barlasch led +the way with an unerring skill, and descending towards the plain far +beyond Langfuhr they came out on to a lower tableland, below which the +great marshes of the Vistula stretched in the darkness, slowly merging +at last into the sea. + +“Those,” said Barlasch, pausing at the edge of the slope, “those are the +lights of Oliva, where the Russians are. That line of lights straight in +front is the Russian fleet lying off Zoppot, and with them are English +ships. One of them is the little ship of Captain d'Arragon. And he +will take you home with him; for the ship is ordered to England, to +Plymouth--which is across the Channel from my own country. Ah--cristi! +I sometimes want to see my own country again--and my own +people--mademoiselle.” + +He went on a few paces and then stopped again, and in the darkness held +up one hand, commanding silence. It was the churches of Dantzig striking +the hour. + +“Six o'clock,” he whispered, “it will soon be dawn. Yes--we are half an +hour too early.” + +He sat down, and, by a gesture, bade Desiree sit beside him. + +“Yes,” he said, “the Captain told me that he is bound for England to +convoy larger ships, and you will sail in one of them. He has a home in +the west of England, and he will take you there--a sister or a mother, +I forget which--some woman. You cannot get on without women--you others. +It is there that you will be happy, as the bon Dieu meant you to be. It +is only in England that no one fears Napoleon. One may have a husband +there and not fear that he will be killed. One may have children and not +tremble for them--and it is that that makes you happy--you women.” + +Presently he rose and led the way down the slope. At the foot of it, he +paused, and pointing out a long line of trees, said in a whisper-- + +“He is there--where there are three taller trees. Between us and those +trees are the French outposts. At dawn the Russians attack the outposts, +and during the attack we have simply to go through it to those trees. +There is no other way--that is the rendezvous. Those three tall trees. +When I give the word, you get up and run to those trees--run without +pausing, without looking round. I will follow. It is you he has come +for--not Barlasch. You think I know nothing. Bah! I know everything. I +have always known it--your poor little secret.” + +They lay on the snow crouching in a ditch until a grey line appeared low +down in the Eastern sky and the horizon slowly distinguished itself from +the thin thread of cloud that nearly always awaits the rising of the sun +in Northern latitudes. + +A minute later the dark group of trees broke into intermittent flame +and the sharp, short “Hurrah!” of the Cossacks, like an angry bark, came +sweeping across the plain on the morning breeze. + +“Not yet,” whispered Barlasch, with a gay chuckle of enjoyment. “Not +yet--not yet. Listen, the bullets are not coming here, but are going +past to the right of us. When you go, keep to the left. Slowly at +first--keep a little breath till the end. Now, up! Mademoiselle, run; +name of thunder, let us run!” + +Desiree did not understand which were the French lines and which the +line of Russian attack. But there was a clear way to the three trees +which stood above the rest, and she went towards them. She knew she +could not run so far, so she walked. Then the bullets, instead of +passing to the right, seemed to play round her--like bees in a garden on +a summer day--and she ran until she was tired. + +The trees were quite close now, and the sky was light behind them. Then +she saw Louis coming towards her, and she ran into his arms. The sound +of the humming bullets was still in her dazed brain, and she touched him +all over with her gloved hand as she clung to him, as a mother touches +her child when it has fallen, to see whether it be hurt. + +“How was I to know?” she whispered breathlessly. “How was I to know that +you were to come into my life?” + +The bullets did not matter, it seemed, nor the roar of the firing to the +right of them. Nothing mattered--except that Louis must know that she +had never loved Charles. + +He held her and said nothing. And she wanted him to say nothing. Then +she remembered Barlasch, and looked back over her shoulder. + +“Where is Barlasch?” she asked, with a sudden sinking at her heart. + +“He is coming slowly,” replied Louis. “He came slowly behind you all the +time, so as to draw the fire away from you.” + +They turned and waited for Barlasch, who seemed to be going in the wrong +direction with an odd vagueness in his movements. Louis ran towards him +with Desiree at his heels. + +“Ca-y-est,” said Barlasch; which cannot be translated, and yet has many +meanings. “Ca-y-est.” + +And he sat down slowly on the snow. He sat quite upright and rigid, and +in the cold light of the Baltic dawn they saw the meaning of his words. +One hand was within his fur coat. He drew it out, and concealed it from +Desiree behind his back. He did not seem to see them, but presently he +put out his hand and lightly touched Desiree. Then he turned to +Louis with that confidential drop of the voice with which he always +distinguished his friends from those who were not his friends. + +“What is she doing?” he asked. “I cannot see in the dark. Is it +not dark? I thought it was. What is she doing? Saying a prayer? +What--because I have my affair? Hey, mademoiselle. You may leave it to +me. I will get in, I tell you that.” + +He put his finger to his nose, and then shook it from side to side with +an air of deep cunning. + +“Leave it to me. I shall slip in. Who will stop an old man, who has many +wounds? Not St. Peter, assuredly. Let him try. And if the good God hears +a commotion at the gate, He will only shrug His shoulders. He will say +to St. Peter, 'Let pass; it is only Papa Barlasch!'” + +And then there was silence. For Barlasch had gone to his own people. + + + + + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Barlasch of the Guard, by H. S. 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Thus, we do not necessarily +keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper edition. + + +Most people start at our Web site which has the main PG search facility: + + http://www.gutenberg.org + +This Web site includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm, +including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary +Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to +subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks. diff --git a/8158-0.zip b/8158-0.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..352961d --- /dev/null +++ b/8158-0.zip diff --git a/8158-h.zip b/8158-h.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..bdca191 --- /dev/null +++ b/8158-h.zip diff --git a/8158-h/8158-h.htm b/8158-h/8158-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..17c7e0a --- /dev/null +++ b/8158-h/8158-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,11455 @@ +<?xml version="1.0" encoding="utf-8"?> + +<!DOCTYPE html + PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd" > + +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" lang="en"> + <head> + <title> + Barlasch of the Guard, by Henry Seton Merriman + </title> + <style type="text/css" xml:space="preserve"> + + body { margin:5%; background:#faebd0; text-align:justify} + P { text-indent: 1em; margin-top: .25em; margin-bottom: .25em; } + H1,H2,H3,H4,H5,H6 { text-align: center; margin-left: 15%; margin-right: 15%; } + hr { width: 50%; text-align: center;} + .foot { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; text-indent: -3em; font-size: 90%; } + blockquote {font-size: 97%; font-style: italic; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%;} + .mynote {background-color: #DDE; color: #000; padding: .5em; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 95%;} + .toc { margin-left: 10%; margin-bottom: .75em;} + .toc2 { margin-left: 20%;} + div.fig { display:block; margin:0 auto; text-align:center; } + div.middle { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; } + .figleft {float: left; margin-left: 0%; margin-right: 1%;} + .figright {float: right; margin-right: 0%; margin-left: 1%;} + .pagenum {display:inline; font-size: 70%; font-style:normal; + margin: 0; padding: 0; position: absolute; right: 1%; + text-align: right;} + pre { font-style: italic; font-size: 90%; margin-left: 10%;} + +</style> + </head> + <body> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Barlasch of the Guard, by H. S. Merriman + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere 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 + + +Title: Barlasch of the Guard + +Author: H. S. Merriman + +Release Date: July 30, 2009 [EBook #8158] +Last Updated: March 12, 2018 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK BARLASCH OF THE GUARD *** + + + + +Produced by Les Bowler, and David Widger + + + + + + +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <h1> + BARLASCH OF THE GUARD + </h1> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <h2> + By Henry Seton Merriman + </h2> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <h5> + “And they that have not heard shall understand” + </h5> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <blockquote> + <p class="toc"> + <big><b>CONTENTS</b></big> + </p> + <p> + <br /> <a href="#link2HCH0001"> CHAPTER I. </a> ALL ON A + SUMMER'S DAY <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0002"> CHAPTER II. </a> A + CAMPAIGNER <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0003"> CHAPTER III. </a> FATE + <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0004"> CHAPTER IV. </a> THE + CLOUDED MOON <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0005"> CHAPTER V. </a> THE + WEISSEN ROSS'L <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0006"> CHAPTER VI. </a> THE + SHOEMAKER OF KONIGSBERG <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0007"> CHAPTER VII. + </a> THE WAY OF LOVE <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0008"> + CHAPTER VIII. </a> A VISITATION <br /><br /> <a + href="#link2HCH0009"> CHAPTER IX. </a> THE GOLDEN GUESS <br /><br /> + <a href="#link2HCH0010"> CHAPTER X. </a> IN DEEP WATER <br /><br /> + <a href="#link2HCH0011"> CHAPTER XI. </a> THE WAVE MOVES ON + <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0012"> CHAPTER XII. </a> FROM + BORODINO <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0013"> CHAPTER XIII. </a> IN + THE DAY OF REJOICING <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0014"> CHAPTER XIV. + </a> MOSCOW <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0015"> CHAPTER XV. + </a> THE GOAL <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0016"> CHAPTER + XVI. </a> THE FIRST OF THE EBB <br /><br /> <a + href="#link2HCH0017"> CHAPTER XVII. </a> A FORLORN HOPE <br /><br /> + <a href="#link2HCH0018"> CHAPTER XVIII. </a> MISSING <br /><br /> + <a href="#link2HCH0019"> CHAPTER XIX. </a> KOWNO <br /><br /> + <a href="#link2HCH0020"> CHAPTER XX. </a> DESIREE'S CHOICE + <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0021"> CHAPTER XXI. </a> ON THE + WARSAW ROAD <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0022"> CHAPTER XXII. </a> THROUGH + THE SHOALS <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0023"> CHAPTER XXIII. </a> AGAINST + THE STREAM <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0024"> CHAPTER XXIV. </a> MATHILDE + CHOOSES <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0025"> CHAPTER XXV. </a> A + DESPATCH <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0026"> CHAPTER XXVI. </a> ON + THE BRIDGE <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0027"> CHAPTER XXVII. </a> A + FLASH OF MEMORY <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0028"> CHAPTER XXVIII. + </a> VILNA <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0029"> + CHAPTER XXIX. </a> THE BARGAIN <br /><br /> <a + href="#link2HCH0030"> CHAPTER XXX. </a> THE FULFILMENT <br /><br /> + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> <a name="link2HCH0001" id="link2HCH0001"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <h2> + CHAPTER I. ALL ON A SUMMER'S DAY. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Il faut devoir lever les yeux pour regarder ce qu'on aime. +</pre> + <p> + A few children had congregated on the steps of the Marienkirche at + Dantzig, because the door stood open. The verger, old Peter Koch—on + week days a locksmith—had told them that nothing was going to + happen; had been indiscreet enough to bid them go away. So they stayed, + for they were little girls. + </p> + <p> + A wedding was in point of fact in progress within the towering walls of + the Marienkirche—a cathedral built of red brick in the great days of + the Hanseatic League. + </p> + <p> + “Who is it?” asked a stout fishwife, stepping over the threshold to + whisper to Peter Koch. + </p> + <p> + “It is the younger daughter of Antoine Sebastian,” replied the verger, + indicating with a nod of his head the house on the left-hand side of the + Frauengasse where Sebastian lived. There was a wealth of meaning in the + nod. For Peter Koch lived round the corner in the Kleine Schmiedegasse, + and of course—well, it is only neighbourly to take an interest in + those who drink milk from the same cow and buy wood from the same Jew. + </p> + <p> + The fishwife looked thoughtfully down the Frauengasse where every house + has a different gable, and none of less than three floors within the pitch + of the roof. She singled out No. 36, which has a carved stone balustrade + to its broad verandah and a railing of wrought-iron on either side of the + steps descending from the verandah to the street. + </p> + <p> + “They teach dancing?” she inquired. + </p> + <p> + And Koch nodded again, taking snuff. + </p> + <p> + “And he—the father?” + </p> + <p> + “He scrapes a fiddle,” replied the verger, examining the lady's basket of + fish in a non-committing and final way. For a locksmith is almost as + confidential an adviser as a notary. The Dantzigers, moreover, are a + thrifty race and keep their money in a safe place; a habit which was to + cost many of them their lives before the coming of another June. + </p> + <p> + The marriage service was a long one and not exhilarating. Through the open + door came no sound of organ or choir, but the deep and monotonous drawl of + one voice. There had been no ringing of bells. The north countries, with + the exception of Russia, require more than the ringing of bells or the + waving of flags to warm their hearts. They celebrate their festivities + with good meat and wine consumed decently behind closed doors. + </p> + <p> + Dantzig was in fact under a cloud. No larger than a man's hand, this cloud + had risen in Corsica forty-three years earlier. It had overshadowed + France. Its gloom had spread to Italy, Austria, Spain; had penetrated so + far north as Sweden; was now hanging sullen over Dantzig, the greatest of + the Hanseatic towns, the Free City. For a Dantziger had never needed to + say that he was a Pole or a Prussian, a Swede or a subject of the Czar. He + was a Dantziger. Which is tantamount to having for a postal address a + single name that is marked on the map. + </p> + <p> + Napoleon had garrisoned the Free City with French troops some years + earlier, to the sullen astonishment of the citizens. And Prussia had not + objected for a very obvious reason. Within the last fourteen months the + garrison had been greatly augmented. The clouds seemed to be gathering + over this prosperous city of the north, where, however, men continued to + eat and drink, to marry and to be given in marriage as in another city of + the plain. + </p> + <p> + Peter Koch replaced his snuff-stained handkerchief in the pocket of his + rusty cassock and stood aside. He murmured a few conventional words of + blessing, hard on the heels of stronger exhortations to the waiting + children. And Desiree Sebastian came out into the sunlight—Desiree + Sebastian no more. + </p> + <p> + That she was destined for the sunlight was clearly written on her face and + in her gay, kind blue eyes. She was tall and straight and slim, as are + English and Polish and Danish girls, and none other in all the world. But + the colouring of her face and hair was more pronounced than in the + fairness of Anglo-Saxon youth. For her hair had a golden tinge in it, and + her skin was of that startlingly milky whiteness which is only found in + those who live round the frozen waters. Her eyes, too, were of a clearer + blue—like the blue of a summer sky over the Baltic sea. The rosy + colour was in her cheeks, her eyes were laughing. This was a bride who had + no misgivings. + </p> + <p> + On seeing such a happy face returning from the altar the observer might + have concluded that the bride had assuredly attained her desire; that she + had secured a title; that the pre-nuptial settlement had been safely + signed and sealed. + </p> + <p> + But Desiree had none of these things. It was nearly a hundred years ago. + </p> + <p> + Her husband must have whispered some laughing comment on Koch, or another + appeal to her quick sense of the humorous, for she looked into his + changing face and gave a low, girlish laugh of amusement as they descended + the steps together into the brilliant sunlight. + </p> + <p> + Charles Darragon wore one of the countless uniforms that enlivened the + outward world in the great days of the greatest captain that history has + seen. He was unmistakably French—unmistakably a French gentleman, as + rare in 1812 as he is to-day. To judge from his small head and clean-cut + features, fine and mobile; from his graceful carriage and slight limbs, + this man was one of the many bearing names that begin with the fourth + letter of the alphabet since the Terror only. + </p> + <p> + He was merely a lieutenant in a regiment of Alsatian recruits; but that + went for nothing in the days of the Empire. Three kings in Europe had + begun no farther up the ladder. + </p> + <p> + The Frauengasse is a short street, made narrow by the terrace that each + house throws outward from its face, each seeking to gain a few inches on + its neighbour. It runs from the Marienkirche to the Frauenthor, and + remains to-day as it was built three hundred years ago. + </p> + <p> + Desiree nodded and laughed to the children, who interested her. She was + quite simple and womanly, as some women, it is to be hoped, may succeed in + continuing until the end of time. She was always pleased to see children; + was glad, it seemed, that they should have congregated on the steps to + watch her pass. Charles, with a faint and unconscious reflex of that grand + manner which had brought his father to the guillotine, felt in his pocket + for money, and found none. + </p> + <p> + He jerked his hand out with widespread fingers, in a gesture indicative of + familiarity with the nakedness of the land. + </p> + <p> + “I have nothing, little citizens,” he said with a mock gravity; “nothing + but my blessing.” + </p> + <p> + And he made a gay gesture with his left hand over their heads, not the act + of benediction, but of peppering, which made them all laugh. The bride and + bridegroom passing on joined in the laughter with hearts as light and + voices scarcely less youthful. + </p> + <p> + The Frauengasse is intersected by the Pfaffengasse at right angles, + through which narrow and straight street passes much of the traffic + towards the Langenmarkt, the centre of the town. As the little bridal + procession reached the corner of this street, it halted at the approach of + some mounted troops. There was nothing unusual in this sight in the + streets of Dantzig, which were accustomed now to the clatter of the Saxon + cavalry. + </p> + <p> + But at the sight of the first troopers Charles Darragon threw up his head + with a little exclamation of surprise. + </p> + <p> + Desiree looked at him and then turned to follow the direction of his gaze. + </p> + <p> + “What are these?” she murmured. For the uniforms were new and unfamiliar. + </p> + <p> + “Cavalry of the Old Guard,” replied her husband, and as he spoke he caught + his breath. + </p> + <p> + The horsemen vanished into the continuation of the Pfaffengasse, and + immediately behind them came a travelling carriage, swung on high wheels, + three times the size of a Dantzig drosky, white with dust. It had small + square windows. As Desiree drew back in obedience to a movement of her + husband's arm, she saw a face for an instant—pale and set—with + eyes that seemed to look at everything and yet at something beyond. + </p> + <p> + “Who was it? He looked at you, Charles,” said Desiree. + </p> + <p> + “It is the Emperor,” answered Darragon. His face was white. His eyes were + dull, like the eyes of one who has seen a vision and is not yet back to + earth. + </p> + <p> + Desiree turned to those behind her. + </p> + <p> + “It is the Emperor,” she said, with an odd ring in her voice which none + had ever heard before. Then she stood looking after the carriage. + </p> + <p> + Her father, who was at her elbow—tall, white-haired, with an + aquiline, inscrutable face—stood in a like attitude, looking down + the Pfaffengasse. His hand was raised before his face with outspread + fingers which seemed rigid in that gesture, as if lifted hastily to screen + his face and hide it. + </p> + <p> + “Did he see me?” he asked in a low voice which only Desiree heard. + </p> + <p> + She glanced at him, and her eyes, which were clear as a cloudless sky, + were suddenly shadowed by a suspicion quick and poignant. + </p> + <p> + “He seemed to see everything, but he only looked at Charles,” she + answered. For a moment they all stood in the sunshine looking towards the + Langenmarkt where the tower of the Rathhaus rose above the high roofs. The + dust raised by the horses' feet and the carriage wheels slowly settled on + their bridal clothes. + </p> + <p> + It was Desiree who at length made a movement to continue their way towards + her father's house. + </p> + <p> + “Well,” she said with a slight laugh, “he was not bidden to my wedding, + but he has come all the same.” + </p> + <p> + Others laughed as they followed her. For a bride at the church-door, or a + judge on the bench, or a criminal on the scaffold-steps, need make but a + very small joke to cause merriment. Laughter is often nothing but the + froth of tears. + </p> + <p> + There were faces suddenly bleached in the little group of wedding-guests, + and none were whiter than the handsome features of Mathilde Sebastian, + Desiree's elder sister, who looked angry, had frowned at the children, and + seemed to find this simple wedding too bourgeois for her taste. She + carried her head with an air that told the world not to expect that she + should ever be content to marry in such a humble style, and walk from the + church in satin slippers like any daughter of a burgher. + </p> + <p> + This, at all events, was what old Koch the locksmith must have read in her + beautiful, discontented face. + </p> + <p> + “Ah! ah!” he muttered to the bolts as he shot them. “But it is not the + lightest hearts that quit the church in a carriage.” + </p> + <p> + So simple were the arrangements that bride and bridegroom and + wedding-guests had to wait in the street while the servant unlocked the + front door of No. 36 with a great key hurriedly extracted from her + apron-pocket. + </p> + <p> + There was no unusual stir in the street. The windows of one or two of the + houses had been decorated with flowers. These were the houses of friends. + Others were silent and still behind their lace curtains, where there + doubtless lurked peeping and criticizing eyes—the house of a + neighbour. + </p> + <p> + The wedding-guests were few in number. Only one of them had a + distinguished air, and he, like the bridegroom, wore the uniform of + France. He was a small man, somewhat brusque in attitude, as became a + soldier of Italy and Egypt. But he had a pleasant smile and that + affability of manner which many learnt in the first years of the great + Republic. He and Mathilde Sebastian never looked at each other: either an + understanding or a misunderstanding. + </p> + <p> + The host, Antoine Sebastian, played his part well enough when he + remembered that he had a part to play. He listened with a kind attention + to the story of a very old lady, who it seemed had been married herself, + but it was so long ago that the human interest of it all was lost in a + pottle of petty detail which was all she could recall. Before the story + was half finished, Sebastian's attention had strayed elsewhere, though his + spare figure remained in its attitude of attention and polite forbearance. + His mind had, it would seem, a trick of thus wandering away and leaving + his body rigid in the last attitude that it had dictated. + </p> + <p> + Sebastian did not notice that the door was open and all the guests were + waiting for him to lead the way. + </p> + <p> + “Now, old dreamer,” whispered Desiree, with a quick pinch on his arm, + “take the Grafin upstairs to the drawing-room and give her wine. You are + to drink our healths, remember.” + </p> + <p> + “Is there wine?” he asked with a vague smile. “Where has it come from?” + </p> + <p> + “Like other good things, my father-in-law,” replied Charles with his easy + laugh, “it comes from France.” + </p> + <p> + They spoke together thus in confidence, in the language of that same sunny + land. But when Sebastian turned again to the old lady, still recalling the + details of that other wedding, he addressed her in German, offering his + arm with a sudden stiffness of gesture which he seemed to put on with the + change of tongue. + </p> + <p> + They passed up the low time-worn steps arm-in-arm, and beneath the high + carved doorway, whereon some pious Hanseatic merchant had inscribed his + belief that if God be in the house there is no need of a watchman, + emphasizing his creed by bolts and locks of enormous strength, and bars to + every window. + </p> + <p> + The servant in her Samland Sunday dress, having shaken her fist at the + children, closed the door behind the last guest, and, so far as the + Frauengasse was concerned, the exciting incident was over. From the open + window came only the murmur of quiet voices, the clink of glasses at the + drinking of a toast, or a laugh in the clear voice of the bride herself. + For Desiree persisted in her optimistic view of these proceedings, though + her husband scarcely helped her now at all, and seemed a different man + since the passage through the Pfaffengasse of that dusty travelling + carriage which had played the part of the stormy petrel from end to end of + Europe. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0002" id="link2HCH0002"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER II. A CAMPAIGNER. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Not what I am, but what I Do, is my Kingdom. +</pre> + <p> + Desiree had made all her own wedding-clothes. “Her poor little + marriage-basket,” she called it. She had even made the cake which was now + cut with some ceremony by her father. + </p> + <p> + “I tremble,” she exclaimed aloud, “to think what it may be like in the + middle.” + </p> + <p> + And Mathilde was the only person there who did not smile at the + unconscious admission. The cake was still under discussion, and the Grafin + had just admitted that it was almost as good as that other cake which had + been consumed in the days of Frederick the Great, when the servant called + Desiree from the room. + </p> + <p> + “It is a soldier,” she said in a whisper at the head of the stairs. “He + has a paper in his hand. I know what that means. He is quartered on us.” + </p> + <p> + Desiree hurried downstairs. In the entrance-hall, a broad-built little man + stood awaiting her. He was stout and red, with hair all ragged at the + temples, almost white. His eyes were lost behind shaggy eyebrows. His face + was made broader by little whiskers stopping short at the level of his + ear. He had a snuff-blown complexion, and in the wrinkles of his face the + dust of a dozen campaigns seemed to have accumulated. + </p> + <p> + “Barlasch,” he said curtly, holding out a long strip of blue paper. “Of + the Guard. Once a sergeant. Italy, Egypt, the Danube.” + </p> + <p> + He frowned at Desiree while she read the paper in the dim light that + filtered through the twisted bars of the fanlight above the door. + </p> + <p> + Then he turned to the servant who stood, comely and breathless, looking + him up and down. + </p> + <p> + “Papa Barlasch,” he added for her edification, and he drew down his left + eyebrow with a jerk, so that it almost touched his cheek. His right eye, + grey and piercing, returned her astonished gaze with a fierce + steadfastness. + </p> + <p> + “Does this mean that you are quartered upon us?” asked Desiree without + seeking to hide her disgust. She spoke in her own tongue. + </p> + <p> + “French?” said the soldier, looking at her. “Good. Yes. I am quartered + here. Thirty-six, Frauengasse. Sebastian; musician. You are lucky to get + me. I always give satisfaction—ha!” + </p> + <p> + He gave a curt laugh in one syllable only. His left arm was curved round a + bundle of wood bound together by a red pocket-handkerchief not innocent of + snuff. He held out this bundle to Desiree, as Solomon may have held out + some great gift to the Queen of Sheba to smooth the first doubtful steps + of friendship. + </p> + <p> + Desiree accepted the gift and stood in her wedding-dress holding the + bundle of wood against her breast. Then a gleam of the one grey eye that + was visible conveyed to her the fact that this walnut-faced warrior was + smiling. She laughed gaily. + </p> + <p> + “It is well,” said Barlasch. “We are friends. You are lucky to get me. You + may not think so now. Would this woman like me to speak to her in Polish + or German?” + </p> + <p> + “Do you speak so many languages?” + </p> + <p> + He shrugged his shoulders and spread out his arms as far as his many + burdens allowed. For he was hung round with a hundred parcels and + packages. + </p> + <p> + “The Old Guard,” he said, “can always make itself understood.” + </p> + <p> + He rubbed his hands together with the air of a brisk man ready for any + sort of work. + </p> + <p> + “Now, where shall I sleep?” he asked. “One is not particular, you + understand. A few minutes and one is at home—perhaps peeling the + potatoes. It is only a civilian who is ashamed of using his knife on a + potato. Papa Barlasch, they call me.” + </p> + <p> + Without awaiting an invitation he went forward towards the kitchen. He + seemed to know the house by instinct. His progress was accompanied by a + clatter of utensils like that which heralds the coming of a carrier's + cart. + </p> + <p> + At the kitchen door he stopped and sniffed loudly. There certainly was a + slight odour of burning fat. Papa Barlasch turned and shook an admonitory + finger at the servant, but he said nothing. He looked round at the highly + polished utensils, at the table and floor both alike scrubbed clean by a + vigorous northern arm. And he was kind enough to nod approval. + </p> + <p> + “On a campaign,” he said to no one in particular, “a little bit of horse + thrust into the cinders on the end of a bayonet—but in times of + peace...” + </p> + <p> + He broke off and made a gesture towards the saucepans which indicated + quite clearly that he was between campaigns—inclined to good living. + </p> + <p> + “I am a rude fork,” he jerked to Desiree over his shoulder in the dialect + of the Cotes du Nord. + </p> + <p> + “How long will you be here?” asked Desiree, who was eminently practical. A + billet was a misfortune which Charles Darragon had hitherto succeeded in + warding off. He had some small influence as an officer of the + head-quarters' staff. + </p> + <p> + Barlasch held up a reproving hand. The question, he seemed to think, was + not quite delicate. + </p> + <p> + “I pay my own,” he said. “Give and take—that is my motto. When you + have nothing to give... offer a smile.” + </p> + <p> + With a gesture he indicated the bundle of firewood which Desiree still + absent-mindedly carried against her white dress. He turned and opened a + cupboard low down on the floor at the left-hand side of the fireplace. He + seemed to know by an instinct usually possessed by charwomen and other + domesticated persons of experience where the firewood was kept. Lisa gave + a little exclamation of surprise at his impertinence and his perspicacity. + He took the firewood, unknotted his handkerchief, and threw his offering + into the cupboard. Then he turned and perceived for the first time that + Desiree had a bright ribbon at her waist and on her shoulders; that a thin + chain of gold was round her throat and that there were flowers at her + breast. + </p> + <p> + “A fete?” he inquired curtly. + </p> + <p> + “My marriage fete,” she answered. “I was married half an hour ago.” + </p> + <p> + He looked at her beneath his grizzled brows. His face was only capable of + producing one expression—a shaggy weather-beaten fierceness. But, + like a dog which can express more than many human beings, by a hundred + instinctive gestures he could, it seemed, dispense with words on occasion + and get on quite as well without them. He clearly disapproved of Desiree's + marriage, and drew her attention to the fact that she was no more than a + schoolgirl with an inconsequent brain, and little limbs too slight to + fight a successful battle in a world full of cruelty and danger. + </p> + <p> + Then he made a gesture half of apology as if recognizing that it was no + business of his, and turned away thoughtfully. + </p> + <p> + “I had troubles of that sort myself,” he explained, putting together the + embers on the hearth with the point of a twisted, rusty bayonet, “but that + was long ago. Well, I can drink your health all the same, mademoiselle.” + </p> + <p> + He turned to Lisa with a friendly nod and put out his tongue, in the + manner of the people, to indicate that his lips were dry. + </p> + <p> + Desiree had always been the housekeeper. It was to her that Lisa naturally + turned in her extremity at the invasion of her kitchen by Papa Barlasch. + And when that warrior had been supplied with beer it was with Desiree, in + an agitated whisper in the great dark dining-room with its gloomy old + pictures and heavy carving, that she took counsel as to where he should be + quartered. + </p> + <p> + The object of their solicitude himself interrupted their hurried + consultation by opening the door and putting his shaggy head round the + corner of it. + </p> + <p> + “It is not worth while to consult long about it,” he said. “There is a + little room behind the kitchen, that opens into the yard. It is full of + boxes. But we can move them—a little straw—and there!” + </p> + <p> + With a gesture he described a condition of domestic peace and comfort + which far exceeded his humble requirements. + </p> + <p> + “The blackbeetles and I are old friends,” he concluded cheerfully. + </p> + <p> + “There are no blackbeetles in the house, monsieur,” said Desiree, + hesitating to accept his proposal. + </p> + <p> + “Then I shall resign myself to my solitude,” he answered. “It is quiet. I + shall not hear the patron touching on his violin. It is that which + occupies his leisure, is it not?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” answered Desiree, still considering the question. + </p> + <p> + “I too am a musician,” said Papa Barlasch, turning towards the kitchen + again. “I played a drum at Marengo.” + </p> + <p> + And as he led the way to the little room in the yard at the back of the + kitchen, he expressed by a shake of the head a fellow-feeling for the + gentleman upstairs, whose acquaintance he had not yet made, who occupied + his leisure by touching the violin. + </p> + <p> + They stood together in the small apartment which Barlasch, with the + promptitude of an experienced conqueror, had set apart for his own + accommodation. + </p> + <p> + “Those trunks,” he observed casually, “were made in France”—a mental + note which he happened to make aloud, as some do for better remembrance. + “This solid girl and I will soon move them. And you, mademoiselle, go back + to your wedding.” + </p> + <p> + “The good God be merciful to you,” he added under his breath when Desiree + had gone. + </p> + <p> + She laughed as she mounted the stairs, a slim white figure amid the heavy + woodwork long since blackened by time. The stairs made no sound beneath + her light step. How many weary feet had climbed them since they were + built! For the Dantzigers have been a people of sorrow, torn by wars, + starved by siege, tossed from one conqueror to another from the beginning + until now. + </p> + <p> + Desiree excused herself for her absence and frankly gave the cause. She + was disposed to make light of the incident. It was natural to her to be + optimistic. Both she and Mathilde made a practice of withholding from + their father's knowledge the smaller worries of daily life which sour so + many women and make them whine on platforms to be given the larger woes. + </p> + <p> + She was glad to note that her father did not attach much importance to the + arrival of Papa Barlasch; though Mathilde found opportunity to convey her + displeasure at the news by a movement of the eyebrows. + </p> + <p> + Antoine Sebastian had applied himself seriously now to his role of host, + so rarely played in the Frauengasse. He was courteous and quick to see a + want or a possible desire of any one of his guests. It was part of his + sense of hospitality to dismiss all personal matters, and especially a + personal trouble, from public attention. + </p> + <p> + “They will attend to him in the kitchen, no doubt,” he said with that + grand air which the dancing academy tried to imitate. + </p> + <p> + Charles hardly noted what Desiree said. So sunny a nature as his might + have been expected to make light of a minor trouble, more especially the + minor trouble of another. He was unusually thoughtful. Some event of the + morning had, it would appear, given him pause on his primrose path. He + glanced more than once over his shoulder towards the window, which stood + open. He seemed at times to listen. + </p> + <p> + Suddenly he rose and went to the window. His action caused a brief + silence, and all heard the clatter of a horse's feet and the quick rattle + of a sword against spur and buckle. + </p> + <p> + After a glance he came back into the room. + </p> + <p> + “Excuse me,” he said, with a bow towards Mathilde. “It is, I think, a + messenger for me.” + </p> + <p> + And he hurried downstairs. He did not return at once, and soon the + conversation became general again. + </p> + <p> + “You,” said the Grafin, touching Desiree's arm with her fan, “you, who are + now his wife, must be dying to know what has called him away. Do not + consider the 'convenances,' my child.” + </p> + <p> + Desiree, thus admonished, followed Charles. She had not been aware of this + consuming curiosity until it was suggested to her. + </p> + <p> + She found Charles standing at the open door. He thrust a letter into his + pocket as she approached him, and turned towards her the face that she had + seen for a moment when he drew her back at the corner of the Pfaffengasse + to allow the Emperor's carriage to pass on its way. It was the white, + half-stupefied face of one who has for an instant seen a vision of things + not earthly. + </p> + <p> + “I have been sent for by the... I am wanted at head-quarters,” he said + vaguely. “I shall not be long...” + </p> + <p> + He took his shako, looked at her with an odd attempt to simulate + cheerfulness, kissed her fingers and hurried out into the street. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0003" id="link2HCH0003"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER III. FATE. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + We pass; the path that each man trod + Is dim; or will be dim, with weeds. +</pre> + <p> + When Desiree turned towards the stairs, she met the guests descending. + They were taking their leave as they came down, hurriedly, like persons + conscious of having outstayed their welcome. + </p> + <p> + Mathilde listened coldly to the conventional excuses. So few people + recognize the simple fact that they need never apologize for going away. + Sebastian stood at the head of the stairs bowing in his most Germanic + manner. The urbane host, with a charm entirely French, who had dispensed a + simple hospitality so easily and gracefully a few minutes earlier, seemed + to have disappeared behind a pale and formal mask. + </p> + <p> + Desiree was glad to see them go. There was a sense of uneasiness, a vague + unrest in the air. There was something amiss. The wedding party had been a + failure. All had gone well and merrily up to a certain point—at the + corner of the Pfaffengasse, when the dusty travelling carriage passed + across their path. From that moment there had been a change. A shadow + seemed to have fallen across the sunny nature of the proceedings; for + never had bride and bridegroom set forth together with lighter hearts than + those carried by Charles and Desiree Darragon down the steps of the + Marienkirche. + </p> + <p> + During its progress across the whole width of Germany, the carriage had + left unrest behind it. Men had travelled night and day to stand sleepless + by the roadside and see it pass. Whole cities had been kept astir till + morning by the mere rumour that its flying wheels would be heard in the + streets before dawn. Hatred and adoration, fear and that dread tightening + of the heart-strings which is caused by the shadow of the superhuman, had + sprung into being at the mere sound of its approach. + </p> + <p> + When therefore it passed across the Frauengasse, throwing its dust upon + Desiree's wedding-dress, it was only fulfilling a mission. When it broke + in upon the lives of these few persons seeking dimly for their happiness—as + the heathen grope for an unknown God—and threw down carefully + constructed plans, swept aside the strongest will and crushed the stoutest + heart, it was only working out its destiny. The dust sprinkled on + Desiree's hair had fallen on the faces of thousands of dead. The unrest + that entered into the quiet little house on the left-hand side of the + Frauengasse had made its way across a thousand thresholds, of Arab tent + and imperial palace alike. The lives of millions were affected by it, the + secret hopes of thousands were undermined by it. It disturbed the sleep of + half the world, and made men old before their time. + </p> + <p> + “More troops must have arrived,” said Desiree, already busying herself to + set the house in order, “since they have been forced to billet this man + with us. And now they have sent for Charles, though he is really on leave + of absence.” + </p> + <p> + She glanced at the clock. + </p> + <p> + “I hope he will not be late. The chaise is to come at four o'clock. There + is still time for me to help you.” + </p> + <p> + Mathilde made no answer. Their father stood near the window. He was + looking out with thoughtful eyes. His face was drawn downwards by a + hundred fine wrinkles. It was the face of one brooding over a sorrow or a + vengeance. There was something in his whole being suggestive of a bygone + prosperity. This was a lean man who had once been well-seeming. + </p> + <p> + “No!” said Desiree gaily, “we were a dull company. We need not disguise + it. It all came from that man crossing our path in his dusty carriage.” + </p> + <p> + “He is on his way to Russia,” Sebastian said jerkily. “God spare me to see + him return!” + </p> + <p> + Desiree and Mathilde exchanged a glance of uneasiness. It seemed that + their father was subject to certain humours which they had reason to + dread. Desiree left her occupation and went to him, linking her arm in his + and standing beside him. + </p> + <p> + “Do not let us think of disagreeable things to-day,” she said. “God will + spare you much longer than that, you depressing old wedding-guest!” + </p> + <p> + He patted her hand which rested on his arm and looked down at her with + eyes softened by affection. But her fair hair, rather tumbled, which met + his glance must have awakened some memory that made his face a marble mask + again. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” he said grimly, “but I am an old man and he is a young one. And I + want to see him dead before I die.” + </p> + <p> + “I will not have you think such bloodthirsty thoughts on my wedding-day,” + said Desiree. “See, there is Charles returning already, and he has not + been absent ten minutes. He has some one with him—who is it? Papa... + Mathilde, look! Who is it coming back with Charles in such a hurry?” + </p> + <p> + Mathilde, who was setting the room in order, glanced through the lace + curtains. + </p> + <p> + “I do not know,” she answered indifferently. “Just an ordinary man.” + </p> + <p> + Desiree had turned away from the window as if to go downstairs and meet + her husband. She paused and looked back again over her shoulder towards + the street. + </p> + <p> + “Is it?” she said rather oddly. “I do not know—I—” + </p> + <p> + And she stood with the incompleted sentence on her lips waiting + irresolutely for Charles to come upstairs. + </p> + <p> + In a moment he burst into the room with all his usual exuberance and high + spirit. + </p> + <p> + “Picture to yourselves!” he cried, standing in the doorway with his arms + extended before him. “I was hurrying to head-quarters when I ran into the + embrace of my dear Louis—my cousin. I have told you a hundred times + that he is brother and father and everything to me. I am so glad that he + should come to-day of all days.” + </p> + <p> + He turned towards the stairs with a gesture of welcome, still with his two + arms outheld, as if inviting the man, who came rather slowly upstairs, to + come to his embrace and to the embrace of those who were now his + relations. + </p> + <p> + “There was a little suspicion of sadness—I do not know what it was—at + the table; but now it is all gone. All is well now that this unexpected + guest has come. This dear Louis.” + </p> + <p> + He went to the landing as he spoke, and returned bringing by the arm a man + taller than himself and darker, with a still brown face and steady eyes + set close together. He had a lean look of good breeding. + </p> + <p> + “This dear Louis!” repeated Charles. “My only relative in all the world. + My cousin, Louis d'Arragon. But he, par exemple, spells his name in two + words.” + </p> + <p> + The man bowed gravely—a comprehensive bow; but he looked at Desiree. + </p> + <p> + “This is my father-in-law,” continued Charles breathlessly. “Monsieur + Antoine Sebastian, and Desiree and Mathilde—my wife, my dear Louis—your + cousin, Desiree.” + </p> + <p> + He had turned again to Louis and shook him by the shoulders in the fulness + of his joy. He had not distinguished between Mathilde and Desiree, and it + was towards Mathilde that D'Arragon looked with a polite and rather formal + repetition of his bow. + </p> + <p> + “It is I... I am Desiree,” said the younger sister, coming forward with a + slow gesture of shyness. + </p> + <p> + D'Arragon took her hand. + </p> + <p> + “I have been happy,” he said, “in the moment of my arrival.” + </p> + <p> + Then he turned to Mathilde and bowed over the hand she held out to him. + Sebastian had come forward with a sudden return of his gracious and rather + old-world manner. He did not offer to shake hands, but bowed. + </p> + <p> + “A son of Louis d'Arragon who was fortunate enough to escape to England?” + he inquired with a courteous gesture. + </p> + <p> + “The only son,” replied the new-comer. + </p> + <p> + “I am honoured to make the acquaintance of Monsieur le Marquis,” said + Antoine Sebastian slowly. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, you must not call me that,” replied D'Arragon with a short laugh. “I + am an English sailor—that is all.” + </p> + <p> + “And now, my dear Louis, I leave you,” broke in Charles, who had rather + impatiently awaited the end of these formalities. “A brief half-hour and I + am with you again. You will stay here till I return.” + </p> + <p> + He turned, nodded gaily to Desiree and ran downstairs. + </p> + <p> + Through the open windows they heard his quick, light footfall as he + hurried up the Frauengasse. Something made them silent, listening to it. + </p> + <p> + It was not difficult to see that D'Arragon was a sailor. Not only had he + the brown face of those who live in the open, but he had the attentive air + of one whose waking moments are a watch. + </p> + <p> + “You look at one as if one were the horizon,” Desiree said to him long + afterwards. But it was at this moment in the drawing-room in the + Frauengasse that the comparison formed itself in her mind. + </p> + <p> + His face was rather narrow, with a square chin and straight lips. He was + not quick in speech like Charles, but seemed to think before he spoke, + with the result that he often appeared to be about to say something, and + was interrupted before the words had been uttered. + </p> + <p> + “Unless my memory is a bad one, your mother was an Englishwoman, + monsieur,” said Sebastian, “which would account for your being in the + English service.” + </p> + <p> + “Not entirely,” answered d'Arragon, “though my mother was indeed English + and died—in a French prison. But it was from a sense of gratitude + that my father placed me in the English service—and I have never + regretted it, monsieur.” + </p> + <p> + “Your father received kindnesses at English hands, after his escape, like + many others.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, and he was too old to repay them by doing the country any service + himself. He would have done it if he could—” + </p> + <p> + D'Arragon paused, looking steadily at the tall old man who listened to him + with averted eyes. + </p> + <p> + “My father was one of those,” he said at length, “who did not think that + in fighting for Bonaparte one was necessarily fighting for France.” + </p> + <p> + Sebastian held up a warning hand. + </p> + <p> + “In England—” he corrected, “in England one may think such things. + But not in France, and still less in Dantzig.” + </p> + <p> + “If one is an Englishman,” replied D'Arragon with a smile, “one may think + them where one likes, and say them when one is disposed. It is one of the + privileges of the nation, monsieur.” + </p> + <p> + He made the statement lightly, seeing the humour of it with a cosmopolitan + understanding, without any suggestion of the boastfulness of youth. + Desiree noticed that his hair was turning grey at the temples. + </p> + <p> + “I did not know,” he said, turning to her, “that Charles was in Dantzig, + much less that he was celebrating so happy an occasion. We ran against + each other by accident in the street. It was a lucky accident that allowed + me to make your acquaintance so soon after you have become his wife.” + </p> + <p> + “It scarcely seems possible that it should be an accident,” said Desiree. + “It must have been the work of fate—if fate has time to think of + such an insignificant person as myself and so small an event as my + marriage in these days.” + </p> + <p> + “Fate,” put in Mathilde in her composed voice and manner, “has come to + Dantzig to-day.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah!” + </p> + <p> + “Yes. You are the second unexpected arrival this afternoon.” + </p> + <p> + D'Arragon turned and looked at Mathilde. His manner, always grave and + attentive, was that of a reader who has found an interesting book on a + dusty shelf. + </p> + <p> + “Has the Emperor come?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + Mathilde nodded. + </p> + <p> + “I thought I saw something in Charles's face,” he said reflectively, + looking back through the open door towards the stairs where Charles had + nodded farewell to them. “So the Emperor is here, in Dantzig?” + </p> + <p> + He turned towards Sebastian, who stood with a stony face. + </p> + <p> + “Which means war,” he said. + </p> + <p> + “It always means war,” replied Sebastian in a tired voice. “Is he again + going to prove himself stronger than any?” + </p> + <p> + “Some day he will make a mistake,” said D'Arragon cheerfully. “And then + will come the day of reckoning.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah!” said Sebastian, with a shake of the head that seemed to indicate an + account so one-sided that none could ever liquidate it. “You are young, + monsieur. You are full of hope.” + </p> + <p> + “I am not young—I am thirty-one—but I am, as you say, full of + hope. I look to that day, Monsieur Sebastian.” + </p> + <p> + “And in the mean time?” suggested the man who seemed but a shadow of + someone standing apart and far away from the affairs of daily life. + </p> + <p> + “In the mean time one must play one's part,” returned D'Arragon, with his + almost inaudible laugh, “whatever it may be.” + </p> + <p> + There was no foreboding in his voice; no second meaning in the words. He + was open and simple and practical, like the life he led. + </p> + <p> + “Then you have a part to play, too,” said Desiree, thinking of Charles, + who had been called away at such an inopportune moment, and had gone + without complaint. “It is the penalty we pay for living in one of the less + dull periods of history. He touches your life too.” + </p> + <p> + “He touches every one's life, mademoiselle. That is what makes him so + great a man. Yes. I have a little part to play. I am like one of the + unseen supernumeraries who has to see that a door is open to allow the + great actors to make an effective entree. I am lent to Russia for the war + that is coming. It is a little part. I have to keep open one small portion + of the line of communication between England and St. Petersburg, so that + news may pass to and fro.” + </p> + <p> + He glanced towards Mathilde as he spoke. She was listening with an odd + eagerness which he noted, as he noted everything, methodically and surely. + He remembered it afterwards. + </p> + <p> + “That will not be easy, with Denmark friendly to France,” said Sebastian, + “and every Prussian port closed to you.” + </p> + <p> + “But Sweden will help. She is not friendly to France.” + </p> + <p> + Sebastian laughed, and made a gesture with his white and elegant hand, of + contempt and ridicule. + </p> + <p> + “And, bon Dieu! what a friendship it is,” he exclaimed, “that is based on + the fear of being taken for an enemy.” + </p> + <p> + “It is a friendship that waits its time, monsieur,” said D'Arragon taking + up his hat. + </p> + <p> + “Then you have a ship, monsieur, here in the Baltic?” asked Mathilde with + more haste than was characteristic of her usual utterance. + </p> + <p> + “A very small one, mademoiselle,” he answered. “So small that I could turn + her round here in the Frauengasse.” + </p> + <p> + “But she is fast?” + </p> + <p> + “The fastest in the Baltic, mademoiselle,” he answered. “And that is why I + must take my leave—with the news you have told me.” + </p> + <p> + He shook hands as he spoke, and bowed to Sebastian, whose generation was + content with the more formal salutation. Desiree went to the door, and led + the way downstairs. + </p> + <p> + “We have but one servant,” she said, “who is busy.” + </p> + <p> + On the doorstep he paused for a moment. And Desiree seemed to expect him + to do so. + </p> + <p> + “Charles and I have always been like brothers—you will remember that + always, will you not?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” she answered with her gay nod. “I will remember.” + </p> + <p> + “Then good-bye, mademoiselle.” + </p> + <p> + “Madame,” she corrected lightly. + </p> + <p> + “Madame, my cousin,” he said, and departed smiling. + </p> + <p> + Desiree went slowly upstairs again. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0004" id="link2HCH0004"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER IV. THE CLOUDED MOON. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Quand on se mefie on se trompe, quand on ne se mefie pas, on est +trompe. +</pre> + <p> + Charles Darragon had come to Dantzig a year earlier. He was a lieutenant + in an infantry regiment, and he was twenty-five. Many of his + contemporaries were colonels in these days of quick promotion, when men + lived at such a rate that few of them lived long. But Charles was too + easy-going to envy any man. + </p> + <p> + When he arrived he knew no one in Dantzig, had few friends in the army of + occupation. In six months he possessed acquaintances in every street, and + was on terms of easy familiarity with all his fellow-officers. + </p> + <p> + “If the army of occupation had more officers like young Darragon,” a town + councillor had grimly said to Rapp, “the Dantzigers would soon be resigned + to your presence.” + </p> + <p> + It seemed that Charles had the gift of popularity. He was open and hearty, + hail-fellow-well-met with the new-comers, who were numerous enough at this + time, quick to understand the quiet men, ready to make merry with the gay. + Regarding himself, he was quite open and frank. + </p> + <p> + “I am a poor devil of a lieutenant,” he said, “that is all.” + </p> + <p> + Reserve is fatal to popularity, yet friendship cannot exist without it. + Charles had, it seemed, nothing to hide, and was indifferent to the + secrets of others. It is such people who receive many confidences. + </p> + <p> + “But it must go no farther...” a hundred men had said to him. + </p> + <p> + “My friend, by to-morrow I shall have forgotten all about it,” he + invariably replied, which men remembered afterwards and were glad. + </p> + <p> + A certain sort of friendship seemed to exist between Charles Darragon and + Colonel de Casimir—not without patronage on one side and a slightly + constraining sense of obligation on the other. It was de Casimir who had + introduced Charles to Mathilde Sebastian at a formal reception at General + Rapp's. Charles, of course, fell in love with Mathilde, and out again + after half-an-hour's conversation. There was something cold and + calculating about Mathilde which held him at arm's length with as much + efficacy as the strictest duenna. Indeed, there are some maidens who + require no better chaperon for their hearts than their own heads. + </p> + <p> + A few days after this introduction Charles met Mathilde and Desiree in the + Langgasse, and he fell in love with Desiree. He went about for a whole + week seeking opportunity to tell her without delay what had happened to + him. The opportunity presented itself before long; for one morning he saw + her walking quickly towards the Kuh-brucke with her skates swinging from + her wrist. It was a sunny, still, winter morning, such as temperate + countries never know. Desiree's eyes were bright with youth and happiness. + The cold air had slightly emphasized the rosy colour of her cheeks. + </p> + <p> + Charles caught his breath at the sight of her, though she did not happen + to perceive him. He called a sleigh and drove to the barracks for his own + skates. Then to the Kuh-brucke, where a reach of the Mottlau was cleared + and kept in order for skating. He overpaid the sleigh-driver and laughed + aloud at the man's boorish surprise. There was no one so happy as Charles + Darragon in all the world. He was going to tell Desiree that he loved her. + </p> + <p> + At first Desiree was surprised, as was only natural. For she had not + thought again of the pleasant young officer introduced to her by Mathilde. + They had not even commented on him after he had made his gay bow and gone. + </p> + <p> + She had of course thought of these things in the abstract when her busy + mind had nothing more material and immediate to consider. She had probably + arranged how some abstract person should some day tell her of his love and + how she should make reply. But she had never imagined the incident as it + actually happened. She had never pictured a youth in a gay uniform looking + down at her with ardent eyes as he skated by her side through the crisp + still air, while the ice sang a high clear song beneath their feet in + accompaniment to his hurried laughing words of protestation. He seemed to + touch life lightly and to anticipate nothing but happiness. In truth, it + was difficult to be tragic on such a morning. + </p> + <p> + These were the heedless days of the beginning of the century, when men not + only threw away their lives, but played ducks-and-drakes with their + chances of happiness in a manner quite incomprehensible to the careful + method of human thought to-day. Charles Darragon lived only in the present + moment. He was in love with her. Desiree must marry him. + </p> + <p> + It was quite different from what she had anticipated. She had looked + forward to such a moment with a secret misgiving. The abstract person of + her thoughts had always inspired her with a painful shyness and an + indefinite, breathless fear. But the lover who was here now in the flesh + by her side inspired none of these feelings. On the contrary, she felt + easy and natural and quite at home with him. There was nothing alarming + about his flushed face and laughing eyes. She was not at all afraid of + him. She even felt in some vague way older than he, though he had just + told her that he was twenty-five, and four years her senior. + </p> + <p> + She accepted the violets which he had hurriedly bought for her as he came + through the Langenmarkt, but she would not say that she loved him, because + she did not. She was in most ways quite a matter-of-fact person, and she + was of an honest mind. She said she would think about it. She did not love + him now—she knew that. She could not say that she would not learn to + love him some day, but there seemed no likelihood of it at present. Then + he would shoot himself! He would certainly shoot himself unless she learnt + to love him! And she asked “When?” and they both laughed. They changed the + subject, but after a time they came back to it; which is the worst of love—one + always comes back to it. + </p> + <p> + Then suddenly he began to assume an air of proprietorship, and burst into + a hundred explanations of what fears he felt for her; for her happiness + and welfare. Her father was absent-minded and heedless. He was not a fit + guardian for her. Was she not the prettiest girl in all Dantzig—in + all the world? Her sister was not fond enough of her to care for her + properly. He announced his intention of seeing her father the next day. + Everything should be done in order. Not a word must be hinted by the most + watchful neighbour against the perfect propriety of their betrothal. + </p> + <p> + Desiree laughed and said that he was progressing rather rapidly. She had + only her instinct to guide her through these troubled waters; which was + much better than experience. Experience in a woman is tantamount to a + previous conviction against a prisoner. + </p> + <p> + Charles was grave, however; a rare tribute. He was in love for the first + time, which often makes men quite honest for a brief period—even + unselfish. Of course, some men are honest and unselfish all their lives; + which perhaps means that they remain in love—for the first time—all + their lives. They are rare, of course. But the sort of woman with whom it + is possible to remain in love all through a lifetime is rarer. + </p> + <p> + So Charles waylaid Antoine Sebastian the next day as he went out of the + Frauenthor for his walk in the morning sun by the side of the frozen + Mottlau. He was better received than he had any reason to expect. + </p> + <p> + “I am only a lieutenant,” he said, “but in these days, monsieur, you know—there + are possibilities.” + </p> + <p> + He laughed gaily as he waved his gloves in the direction of Russia, across + the river. But Sebastian's face clouded, and Charles, who was quick and + sympathetic, abandoned that point in his argument almost before the words + were out of his lips. + </p> + <p> + “I have a little money,” he said, “in addition to my pay. I assure you, + monsieur, I am not of mean birth.” + </p> + <p> + “You are an orphan?” said Sebastian curtly. + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “Of the... Terror?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes; I—well, one does not make much of one's parentage in these + rough times—monsieur.” + </p> + <p> + “Your father's name was Charles—like your own?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “The second son?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, monsieur. Did you know him?” + </p> + <p> + “One remembers a name here and there,” answered Sebastian, in his stiff + manner, looking straight in front of him. + </p> + <p> + “There was a tone in your voice—,” began Charles, and, again + perceiving that he was on a false scent, broke off abruptly. “If love can + make mademoiselle happy—,” he said; and a gesture of his right hand + seemed to indicate that his passion was beyond the measure of words. + </p> + <p> + So Charles Darragon was permitted to pay his addresses to Desiree in the + somewhat formal manner of a day which, upon careful consideration, will be + found to have been no more foolish than the present. He made no inquiries + respecting Desiree's parentage. It was Desiree he wanted, and that was + all. They understood the arts of love and war in the great days of the + Empire. + </p> + <p> + The rest was easy enough, and the gods were kind. Charles had even + succeeded in getting a month's leave of absence. They were to spend their + honeymoon at Zoppot, a little fishing-village hidden in the pines by the + Baltic shore, only eight miles from Dantzig, where the Vistula loses + itself at last in the salt water. + </p> + <p> + All these arrangements had been made, as Desiree had prepared her + trousseau, with a zest and gaiety which all were invited to enjoy. It is + said that love is an egoist. Charles and Desiree had no desire to keep + their happiness to themselves, but wore it, as it were, upon their + sleeves. + </p> + <p> + The attitude of the Frauengasse towards Desiree's wedding was only + characteristic of the period. Every house in Dantzig looked askance upon + its neighbour at this time. Each roof covered a number of contending + interests. + </p> + <p> + Some were for the French, and some for the conqueror's unwilling ally, + William of Prussia. The names above the shops were German and Polish. + There are to-day Scotch names also, here as elsewhere on the Baltic + shores. When the serfs were liberated it was necessary to find surnames + for these free men—these Pauls-the-son-of-Paul; and the nobles of + Esthonia and Lithuania were reading Sir Walter Scott at the time. + </p> + <p> + The burghers of Dantzig (“They must be made to pay, these rich + Dantzigers,” wrote Napoleon to Rapp) trembled for their wealth, and stood + aghast by their empty counting-houses; for their gods had been cast down; + commerce was at a standstill. There were many, therefore, who hated the + French, and cherished a secret love of those bluff British captains—so + like themselves in build, and thought, and slowness of speech—who + would thrash their wooden brigs through the shallow seas, despite decrees + and threats and sloops-of-war, so long as they could lay them alongside + the granaries of the Vistula. Lately the very tolls had been collected by + a French customs service, and the wholesale smuggling, to which even + Governor Rapp—that long-headed Alsatian—had closed his eyes, + was at an end. + </p> + <p> + Again, the Poles who looked on Dantzig as the seaport of that great + kingdom of Eastern Europe which was and is no more, had been assured that + France would set up again the throne of the Jagellons and the Sobieskis. + There was a Poniatowski high in the Emperor's service and esteem. The + Poles were for France. + </p> + <p> + The Jew, hurrying along close by the wall—always in the shadow—traded + with all and trusted none. Who could tell what thoughts were hidden + beneath the ragged fur cap—what revenge awaited its consummation in + the heart crushed by oppression and contempt? + </p> + <p> + Besides these civilians there were many who had a military air within + their civil garb. For the pendulum of war had swung right across from + Cadiz to Dantzig, and swept northwards in its wake the merchants of death, + the men who live by feeding soldiers and rifling the dead. + </p> + <p> + All these were in the streets, rubbing shoulders with the gay epaulettes + of the Saxons, the Badeners, the Wurtembergers, the Westphalians, and the + Hessians, who had been poured into Dantzig by Napoleon during the months + when he had continued to exchange courteous and affectionate letters with + Alexander of Russia. For more than a year the broad-faced Bavarians (who + have borne the brunt of every war in Central Europe) had been peaceably + quartered in the town. Half a dozen different tongues were daily heard in + this city of the plain, and no man knew who might be his friend and who + his enemy. For some who were allies to-day were commanded by their kings + to slay each other to-morrow. + </p> + <p> + In the wine-cellars and the humbler beer-shops, in the great houses of the + councillors, and behind the snowy lace curtains of the Frauengasse and the + Portchaisengasse a thousand slow Northerners spoke of these things and + kept them in their hearts. A hundred secret societies passed from mouth to + mouth instruction, warning, encouragement. Germany has always been the + home of the secret society. Northern Europe gave birth to those countless + associations which have proved stronger than kings and surer than a + throne. The Hanseatic League, the first of the commercial unions which + were destined to build up the greatest empire of the world, lived longest + in Dantzig. + </p> + <p> + The Tugendbund, men whispered, was not dead but sleeping. Napoleon, who + had crushed it once, was watching for its revival; had a whole army of his + matchless secret police ready for it. And the Tugendbund had had its + centre in Dantzig. + </p> + <p> + Perhaps, in the Rathskeller itself—one of the largest wine stores in + the world, where tables and chairs are set beneath the arches of the + Exchange, a vast cave under the streets—perhaps here the Tugendbund + still encouraged men to be virtuous and self-denying for no other or + higher purpose than the overthrow of the Scourge of Europe. Here the + richer citizens have met from time immemorial to drink with solemnity and + a decent leisure the wines sent hither in their own ships from the Rhine, + from Greece and the Crimea, from Bordeaux and Burgundy, from the Champagne + and Tokay. This is not only the Rathskeller, but the real Rathhaus, where + the Dantzigers have taken counsel over their afternoon wine from + generation to generation, whence have been issued to all the world those + decrees of probity and a commercial uprightness between buyer and seller, + debtor and creditor, master and man, which reached to every corner of the + commercial world. And now it was whispered that the latter-day Dantzigers—the + sons of those who formed the Hanseatic League: mostly fat men with large + faces and shrewd, calculating eyes; high foreheads; good solid men, who + knew the world, and how to make their way in it; withal, good judges of a + wine and great drinkers, like that William the Silent, who braved and met + and conquered the European scourge of mediaeval times—it was + whispered that these were reviving the Tugendbund. + </p> + <p> + Amid such contending interests, and in a free city so near to several + frontiers, men came and went without attracting undesired attention. Each + party suspected a new-comer of belonging to the other. + </p> + <p> + “He scrapes a fiddle,” Koch had explained to the inquiring fishwife. And + perhaps he knew no more than this of Antoine Sebastian. Sebastian was + poor. All the Frauengasse knew that. But the Frauengasse itself was poor, + and no man in Dantzig was so foolish at this time as to admit that he had + possessions. + </p> + <p> + This was, moreover, not the day of display or snobbery. The king of snobs, + Louis XVI., had died to some purpose, for a wave of manliness had swept + across human thought at the beginning of the century. The world has rarely + been the poorer for the demise of a Bourbon. + </p> + <p> + The Frauengasse knew that Antoine Sebastian played the fiddle to gain his + daily bread, while his two daughters taught dancing for that same safest + and most satisfactory of all motives. + </p> + <p> + “But he holds his head so high!” once observed the stout and + matter-of-fact daughter of a Councillor. “Why has he that grand manner?” + </p> + <p> + “Because he is a dancing-master,” replied Desiree with a grave assurance. + “He does it so that you may copy him. Chin up. Oh! how fat you are.” + </p> + <p> + Desiree herself was slim enough and as yet only half grown. She did not + dance so well as Mathilde, who moved through a quadrille with the air of a + duchess, and threw into a polonaise or mazurka a quiet grace which was the + envy and despair of her pupils. Mathilde was patient with the slow and + heavy of foot, while Desiree told them bluntly that they were fat. + Nevertheless, they were afraid of Mathilde, and only laughed at Desiree + when she rushed angrily at them, and, seizing them by the arms, danced + them round the room with the energy of despair. + </p> + <p> + Sebastian, who had an oddly judicial air, such as men acquire who are in + authority, held the balance evenly between the sisters, and smiled + apologetically over his fiddle towards the victim of Desiree's + impetuosity. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” he would reply to watching mothers, who tried to lead him to say + that their daughter was the best dancer in the school: “Yes, Mathilde puts + it into their heads, and Desiree shakes it down to their feet.” + </p> + <p> + In all matters of the household Desiree played a similar part. She was up + early and still astir after nine o'clock at night, when the other houses + in the Frauengasse were quiet, if there were work to do. + </p> + <p> + “It is because she has no method,” said Mathilde, who had herself a + well-ordered mind, and that quickness which never needs to hurry. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0005" id="link2HCH0005"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER V. THE WEISSEN ROSS'L. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + The moth will singe her wings, and singed return, + Her love of light quenching her fear of pain. +</pre> + <p> + There are quite a number of people who get through life without realizing + their own insignificance. Ninety-nine out of a hundred persons signify + nothing, and the hundredth is usually so absorbed in the message which he + has been sent into the world to deliver that he loses sight of the + messenger altogether. + </p> + <p> + By a merciful dispensation of Providence we are permitted to bustle about + in our immediate little circle like the ant, running hither and thither + with all the sublime conceit of that insect. We pick up, as he does, a + burden which on close inspection will be found to be absolutely valueless, + something that somebody else has thrown away. We hoist it over + obstructions while there is usually a short way round; we fret and sweat + and fume. Then we drop the burden and rush off at a tangent to pick up + another. We write letters to our friends explaining to them what we are + about. We even indite diaries to be read by goodness knows whom, + explaining to ourselves what we have been doing. Sometimes we find + something that really looks valuable, and rush to our particular ant-heap + with it while our neighbours pause and watch us. But they really do not + care; and if the rumour of our discovery reach so far as the next + ant-heap, the bustlers there are almost indifferent, though a few may feel + a passing pang of jealousy. They may perhaps remember our name, and will + soon forget what we discovered—which is Fame. While we are falling + over each other to attain this, and dying to tell each other what it feels + like when we have it, or think we have it, let us pause for a moment and + think of an ant—who kept a diary. + </p> + <p> + Desiree did not keep a diary. Her life was too busy for ink. She had had + to work for her daily bread, which is better than riches. Her life had + been full of occupation from morning till night, and God had given her + sleep from night till morning. It is better to work for others than to + think for them. Some day the world will learn to have a greater respect + for the workers than for the thinkers, who are idle, wordy persons, + frequently thinking wrong. + </p> + <p> + Desiree remembered the siege and the occupation of Dantzig by French + troops. She was at school in the Jopengasse when the Treaty of Tilsit—that + peace which was nothing but a pause—was concluded. She had seen + Luisa of Prussia, the good Queen who baffled Napoleon. Her childhood had + passed away in the roar of siege-guns. Her girlhood, in the Frauengasse, + had been marked by the various woes of Prussia, by each successive step in + the development of Napoleon's ambition. There were no bogey-men in the + night-nursery at the beginning of the century. One Aaron's rod of a bogey + had swallowed all the rest, and children buried their sobs in the pillow + for fear of Napoleon. There were no ghosts in the dark corners of the + stairs when Desiree, candle in hand, went to bed at eight o'clock, half an + hour before Mathilde. The shadows on the wall were the shadows of soldiers—the + wind roaring in the chimney was like the sound of distant cannon. When the + timid glanced over their shoulders, the apparition they looked for was + that of a little man in a cocked hat and a long grey coat. + </p> + <p> + This was not an age in which the individual life was highly valued. Men + were great to-day and gone to-morrow. Women were of small account. It was + the day of deeds and not of words. + </p> + <p> + Desiree had never been oppressed by a sense of her own importance, which + oppression leaves its mark on many a woman's face in these times. She had + not, it would seem, expected much from life; and when much was given to + her she received it without misgivings. She was young and light-hearted, + and she lived in a reckless age. + </p> + <p> + She was not surprised when Charles failed to return. The chaise that was + to carry them to Zoppot stood in the Frauengasse on the shady side of the + street in the heat of the afternoon for more than an hour. Then she ran + out and told the driver to go back to his stables. + </p> + <p> + “One cannot go for a honeymoon alone,” she explained airily to her father, + who was peevish and restless, standing by the window with the air of one + who expects without knowing what to expect. “It is, at all events, quite + clear that there is nothing for me to do but wait.” + </p> + <p> + She made light of it, and laughed at her father's grave face. Mathilde + said nothing, but her silence seemed to suggest that this was no more than + she had foretold, or at all events foreseen. She was too proud or too + generous to put her thoughts into words. For pride and generosity are + often confounded. There are many who give because they are too proud to + withhold. + </p> + <p> + Desiree got her needlework and sat by the open window awaiting Charles. + She could hear the continuous clatter of carts on the quay, and the voices + of the men working in the great granaries across the river. + </p> + <p> + The whole city seemed to be astir, and men hurried to and fro in even the + quiet Frauengasse, while the clatter of cavalry and the heavy rumble of + gun carriages could be heard over the roofs from the direction of the + Langenmarkt. There was a sense of hurry in the dusty air. The Emperor had + arrived, and the magic of his name lifted men out of themselves. It seemed + nothing extraordinary to Desiree that her life should be taken up by this + whirlwind, and carried on she knew not whither. + </p> + <p> + At dinner-time Charles had not returned. Antoine Sebastian dined at + half-past four, in the manner of Northern Europe; but his daughters + provided his table with the lighter meats of France, which he preferred to + the German cuisine. Sebastian's dinner was an event in the day, though he + ate sparingly enough, and found a mental rather than a physical pleasure + in the ceremonious sequence of courses. + </p> + <p> + It was now too late to think of going to Zoppot. After dinner Mathilde and + Desiree prepared the rooms which had been destined for the occupation of + the married pair after the honeymoon. + </p> + <p> + “We shall have to omit Zoppot, that is all,” said Desiree cheerfully, and + fell to unpacking the bridal clothes which had been so merrily laid in the + trunks. + </p> + <p> + At half-past six a soldier brought a hurried note from Charles. + </p> + <p> + “I cannot return to-night, as I am about to start for Konigsberg,” he + wrote. “It is a commission which I could not refuse if I wished to. You, I + know, would have me go and do my duty.” + </p> + <p> + There was more which Desiree did not read aloud. Charles had always found + it easy enough to tell Desiree how much he loved her, and was gaily + indifferent to the ears of others. But she seemed to be restrained by some + feeling which had found birth in her heart during her wedding day. She + said nothing of Charles's protestations of love. + </p> + <p> + “Decidedly,” she said, folding the letter, and placing it in her + work-basket, “Fate is interfering in our affairs to-day.” + </p> + <p> + She turned to her work again without further complaint, almost with a + sense of relief. Mathilde, whose steady grey eyes saw everything, + penetrating every thought, glanced at her with a suddenly aroused + interest. Desiree herself was half surprised at the philosophy with which + she met this fresh misfortune. + </p> + <p> + Antoine Sebastian had never acquired the habit of drinking tea in the + evening, which had found favour in these northern countries bordering on + Russia. Instead, he usually went out at this time to one of the many + wine-rooms or Bier Halles in the town to drink a slow and meditative glass + of beer with such friends as he had made in Dantzig. For he was a lonely + man, whose face was quite familiar to many who looked for a bow or a + friendly salutation in vain. + </p> + <p> + If he went to the Rathskeller it was on the invitation of a friend; for he + could not afford to pay the vintage of that cellar, though he drank the + wine with the slow mouthing of a connoisseur when he had it. + </p> + <p> + More often than not he took a walk first, passing out of the Frauenthor on + to the quay, where he turned to left or right and made his way back + through one or other of the town gates, by devious narrow streets to that + which is still called the Portchaisengasse though chairs and carriers have + long ceased to pass along it. Here, on the northern side of the street is + an old inn, “Zum weissen Ross'l,” with a broken, ill-carved head of a + white horse above the door. Across the face of the house is written, in + old German letters, an invitation: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Gruss Gott. Tritt ein! + Bring Gluck herein. +</pre> + <p> + But few seemed to accept it. Even a hundred years ago the White Horse was + behind the times, and fashion sought the wider streets. + </p> + <p> + Antoine Sebastian was perhaps ashamed of frequenting so humble a house of + entertainment, where for a groschen he could have a glass of beer. He + seemed to make his way through the narrower streets for some purpose, + changing his route from day to day, and hurrying across the wider + thoroughfares with the air of one desirous to attract but little + attention. He was not alone in the quiet streets, for there were many in + Dantzig at this time who from wealth had fallen to want. Many + counting-houses once noisy with prosperity were now closed and silent. For + five years the prosperous Dantzig had lain crushed beneath the iron heel + of the conqueror. + </p> + <p> + It would seem that Sebastian had only waited for the explanation of + Charles's most ill-timed absence to carry out his usual programme. The + clock in the tower of the Rathhaus had barely struck seven when he took + his hat and cloak from the peg near the dining-room door. He was so + absorbed that he did not perceive Papa Barlasch seated just within the + open door of the kitchen. But Barlasch saw him, and scratched his head at + the sight. + </p> + <p> + The northern evenings are chill even in June, and Sebastian fumbled with + his cloak. It would appear that he was little used to helping himself in + such matters. Barlasch came out of the kitchen when Sebastian's back was + turned and helped him to put the flowing cloak straight upon his + shoulders. + </p> + <p> + “Thank you, Lisa, thank you,” said Sebastian in German, without looking + round. By accident Barlasch had performed one of Lisa's duties, and the + master of the house was too deeply engaged in thought to notice any + difference in the handling or to perceive the smell of snuff that heralded + the approach of Papa Barlasch. Sebastian took his hat and went out closing + the door behind him, and leaving Barlasch, who had followed him to the + door, standing rather stupidly on the mat. + </p> + <p> + “Absent-minded—the citizen,” muttered Barlasch, returning to the + kitchen, where he resumed his seat on a chair by the open door. He + scratched his head and appeared to lapse into thought. But his brain was + slow as were his movements. He had been drinking to the health of the + bride. He thumped himself on the brow with his closed fist. + </p> + <p> + “Sacred-name-of-a-thunderstorm,” he said. “Where have I seen that face + before?” + </p> + <p> + Sebastian went out by the Frauenthor to the quay. Although it was dusk, + the granaries were still at work. The river was full of craft and the + roadway choked by rows and rows of carts, all of one pattern, too big and + too heavy for roads that are laid across a marsh. + </p> + <p> + He turned to the right, but found his way blocked at the corner of the + Langenmarkt, where the road narrows to pass under the Grunes Thor. Here + the idlers of the evening hour were collected in a crowd, peering over + each other's shoulders towards the roadway and the bridge. Sebastian was a + tall man, and had no need to stand on tip-toe in order to see the straight + rows of bayonets swinging past, and the line of shakos rising and falling + in unison with the beat of a thousand feet on the hollow woodwork of the + drawbridge. + </p> + <p> + The troops had been passing out of the city all the afternoon on the road + to Elbing and Konigsberg. + </p> + <p> + “It is the same,” said a man standing near to Sebastian, “at the Hohes + Thor, where they are marching out by the road leading to Konigsberg by way + of Dessau.” + </p> + <p> + “It is farther than Konigsberg that they are going,” was the significant + answer of a white-haired veteran who had probably been at Eylau, for he + had a crushed look. + </p> + <p> + “But war is not declared,” said the first speaker. + </p> + <p> + “Does that matter?” + </p> + <p> + And both turned towards Sebastian with the challenging air that invites + opinion or calls for admiration of uncommon shrewdness. He was better clad + than they. He must know more than they did. But Sebastian looked over + their heads and did not seem to have heard their conversation. + </p> + <p> + He turned back and went another way, by side streets and the little narrow + alleys that nearly always encircle a cathedral, and are still to be found + on all sides of the Marienkirche. At last he came to the Portchaisengasse, + which was quiet enough in the twilight, though he could hear the tramp of + soldiers along the Langgasse and the rumble of the guns. + </p> + <p> + There were only two lamps in the Portchaisengasse, swinging on + wrought-iron gibbets at each end of the street. These were not yet alight, + though the day was fading fast, and the western light could scarcely find + its way between the high gables which hung over the road and seemed to + lean confidentially towards each other. + </p> + <p> + Sebastian was going towards the door of the Weissen Ross'l when some one + came out of the hostelry, as if he had been awaiting him within the porch. + </p> + <p> + The new-comer, who was a fat man with baggy cheeks and odd, light blue + eyes—the eyes of an enthusiast, one would say—passed + Sebastian, making a little gesture which at once recommended silence, and + bade him turn and follow. At the entrance to a little alley leading down + towards the Marienkirche the fat man awaited Sebastian, whose pace had not + quickened, nor had his walk lost any of its dignity. + </p> + <p> + “Not there to-night,” said the man, holding up a thick forefinger and + shaking it sideways. + </p> + <p> + “Then where?” + </p> + <p> + “Nowhere to-night,” was the answer. “He has come—you know that?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” answered Sebastian slowly, “for I saw him.” + </p> + <p> + “He is at supper now with Rapp and the others. The town is full of his + people. His spies are everywhere. There are two in the Weissen Ross'l who + pretend to be Bavarians. See! There is another—just there.” + </p> + <p> + He pointed the thick forefinger down the Portchaisengasse where it widens + to meet the Langgasse, where the last remains of daylight, reflected to + and fro between the houses, found freer play than in the narrow alley + where they stood. + </p> + <p> + Sebastian looked in the direction indicated. An officer was walking away + from them. A quick observer would have noticed that his spurs made no + noise, and that he carried his sword instead of allowing it to clatter + after him. It was not clear whence he had come. It must have been from a + doorway nearly opposite to the Weissen Ross'l. + </p> + <p> + “I know that man,” said Sebastian. + </p> + <p> + “So do I,” was the reply. “It is Colonel de Casimir.” + </p> + <p> + With a little nod the fat man went out again into the Portchaisengasse in + the direction of the inn, as if he were keeping watch there. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0006" id="link2HCH0006"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER VI. THE SHOEMAKER OF KONIGSBERG. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Chacun ne comprend que ce qu'il trouve en soi. +</pre> + <p> + Nearly two years had passed since the death of Queen Luisa of Prussia. And + she from her grave yet spake to her people—as sixty years later she + was destined to speak to another King of Prussia, who said a prayer by her + tomb before departing on a journey that was to end in Fontainebleau with + an imperial crown and the reckoning for all time of the seven years of woe + that followed Tilsit and killed a queen. + </p> + <p> + Two years earlier than that, in 1808, while Luisa yet lived, a few + scientists and professors of Konigsberg had formed a sort of Union—vague + enough and visionary—to encourage virtue and discipline and + patriotism. And now, in 1812, four years later, the memory of Luisa still + lingered in those narrow streets that run by the banks of the Pregel + beneath the great castle of Konigsberg, while the Tugendbund, like a seed + that has been crushed beneath an iron heel, had spread its roots + underground. + </p> + <p> + From Dantzig, the commercial, to Konigsberg, the kingly and the learned, + the tide of war rolled steadily onwards. It is a tide that carries before + it a certain flotsam of quick and active men, keen-eyed, restless, rising—men + who speak with a sharp authority and pay from a bottomless purse. The + arrival of Napoleon in Dantzig swept the first of the tide on to + Konigsberg. + </p> + <p> + Already every house was full. The high-gabled warehouses on the riverside + could not be used for barracks, for they too had been crammed from floor + to roof with stores and arms. So the soldiers slept where they could. They + bivouacked in the timber-yards by the riverside. The country-women found + the Neuer Markt transformed into a camp when they brought their baskets in + the early morning, but they met with eager buyers, who haggled laughingly + in half a dozen different tongues. There was no lack of money, however. + </p> + <p> + Cartloads of it were on the road. + </p> + <p> + The Neuer Markt in Konigsberg is a square, of which the lower side is a + quay on the Pregel. The river is narrow here. Across it the country is + open. The houses surrounding the quadrangle are all alike—two-storied + buildings with dormer windows in the roof. There are trees in front. In + front of that which is now Number Thirteen, at the right-hand corner, + facing west, sideways to the river, the trees grow quite close to the + windows, so that an active man or a boy might without great risk leap from + the eaves below the dormer window into the topmost branches of the linden, + which here grows strong and tough, as it surely should do in the + fatherland. + </p> + <p> + A young soldier, seeking lodgings, who happened to knock at the door of + Number Thirteen less than thirty hours after the arrival of Napoleon at + Dantzig, looked upward through the shady boughs, and noted their growth + with the light of interest in his eye. It would almost seem that the house + had been described to him as that one in the Neuer Markt against which the + lindens grew. For he had walked all round the square between the trees and + houses before knocking at this door, which bore no number then, as it does + to-day. + </p> + <p> + His tired horse had followed him meditatively, and now stood with drooping + head in the shade. The man himself wore a dark uniform, white with dust. + His hair was dusty and rather lank. He was not a very tidy soldier. + </p> + <p> + He stood looking at the sign which swung from the doorpost, a relic of the + Polish days. It bore the painted semblance of a boot. For in Poland—a + frontier country, as in frontier cities where many tongues are heard—it + is the custom to paint a picture rather than write a word. So that every + house bears the sign of its inmate's craft, legible alike to Lithuanian or + Ruthenian, Swede or Cossack of the Don. + </p> + <p> + He knocked again, and at last the door was opened by a thickly-built man, + who looked, not at his face, but at his boots. As these wanted no repair + he half closed the door again and looked at the newcomer's face. + </p> + <p> + “What do you want?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + “A lodging.” + </p> + <p> + The door was almost closed, when the soldier made an odd and, as it would + seem, tentative gesture with his left hand. All the fingers were clenched, + and with his extended thumb he scratched his chin slowly from side to + side. + </p> + <p> + “I have no lodging to let,” said the bootmaker. But he did not shut the + door. + </p> + <p> + “I can pay,” said the other, with his thumb still at his chin. He had + quick, blue eyes beneath the shaggy hair that wanted cutting. “I am very + tired—it is only for one night.” + </p> + <p> + “Who are you?” asked the bootmaker. + </p> + <p> + The soldier was a dull and slow man. He leant against the doorpost with + tired gestures before replying. + </p> + <p> + “Sergeant in a Schleswig regiment, in charge of spare horses.” + </p> + <p> + “And you have come far?” + </p> + <p> + “From Dantzig without a halt.” + </p> + <p> + The shoemaker looked him up and down with a doubting eye, as if there were + something about him that was not quite clear and above-board. The dust and + fatigue were, however, unmistakable. + </p> + <p> + “Who sent you to me, anyway?” he grumbled. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I do not know,” was the half-impatient answer; “the man I lodged with + in Dantzig or another, I forget. It was Koch the locksmith in the + Schmiedegasse. See, I have money. I tell you it is for one night. Say yes + or no. I want to get to bed and to sleep.” + </p> + <p> + “How much do you pay?” + </p> + <p> + “A thaler—if you like. Among friends, one is willing to pay.” + </p> + <p> + After a short minute of hesitation the shoemaker opened the door wider and + came out. + </p> + <p> + “And there will be another thaler for the horse, which I shall have to + take to the stable of the wood-merchant at the corner. Go into the + workshop and sit down till I come.” + </p> + <p> + He stood in the doorway and watched the soldier seat himself wearily on a + bench in the workshop among the ancient boots, past repair, one would + think, and lean his head against the wall. + </p> + <p> + He was half asleep already, and the bootmaker, who was lame, shrugged his + shoulders as he led away the tired horse, with a gesture half of pity, + half of doubting suspicion. Had it suggested itself to his mind, and had + it been within the power of one so halt and heavy-footed to turn back + noiselessly, he would have found his visitor wide-awake enough, hurriedly + opening every drawer and peering under the twine and needles, lifting + every bale of leather, shaking out the very boots awaiting repair. + </p> + <p> + When the dweller in Number Thirteen returned, the soldier was asleep, and + had to be shaken before he would open his eyes. + </p> + <p> + “Will you eat before you go to bed?” asked the bootmaker not unkindly. + </p> + <p> + “I ate as I came along the street,” was the reply. “No, I will go to bed. + What time is it?” + </p> + <p> + “It is only seven o'clock—but no matter.” + </p> + <p> + “No, it is no matter. To-morrow I must be astir by five.” + </p> + <p> + “Good,” said the shoemaker. “But you will get your money's worth. The bed + is a good one. It is my son's. He is away, and I am alone in the house.” + </p> + <p> + He led the way upstairs as he spoke, going heavily one step at a time, so + that the whole house seemed to shake beneath his tread. The room was that + attic in the roof which has a dormer window overhanging the linden tree. + It was small and not too clean; for Konigsberg was once a Polish city, and + is not far from the Russian frontier. + </p> + <p> + The soldier hardly noticed his surroundings, but sat down instantly, with + the abandonment of a shepherd's dog at the day's end. + </p> + <p> + “I will put a stitch in your boots for you while you sleep,” said the host + casually. “The thread is rotten, I can see. Look here—and here!” + </p> + <p> + He stooped, and with a quick turn of the awl which he carried in his belt + he snapped the sewing at the join of the leg and the upper leather, + bringing the frayed ends of the thread out to view. + </p> + <p> + Without answering, the soldier looked round for the boot-jack, lacking + which, no German or Polish bedroom is complete. + </p> + <p> + When the bootmaker had gone, carrying the boots under his arm, the + soldier, left to himself, made a grimace at the closed door. Without boots + he was a prisoner in the house. He could hear his host at work already, + downstairs in the shop, of which the door opened to the stairs and allowed + passage to that smell of leather which breeds Radical convictions. + </p> + <p> + The regular “tap-tap” of the cobbler's hammer continued for an hour until + dusk, and all the while the soldier lay dressed on his bed. Soon after, a + creaking of the stairs told of the surreptitious approach of the unwilling + host. He listened outside, and even tried the door, but found it bolted. + The soldier, open-eyed on the bed, snored aloud. At the sound of the key + on the outside of the door he made a grimace again. His features were very + mobile, for Schleswig. + </p> + <p> + He heard the bootmaker descend the stairs again almost noiselessly, and, + rising from the bed, he took his station at the window. All the Langgasse + would seem to be eating-houses. The basement, which has a separate door, + gives forth odours of simple Pomeranian meats, and every other house bears + to this day the curt but comforting inscription, “Here one eats.” It was + only to be supposed that the bootmaker at the end of his day would repair + for supper to some special haunt near by. + </p> + <p> + But the smell of cooking mingling with that of leather told that he was + preparing his own evening meal. He was, it seemed, an unsociable man, who + had but a son beneath his roof, and mostly lived alone. + </p> + <p> + Seated near the window, where the sunset light yet lingered, the + Schleswiger opened his haversack, which was well supplied, and finding + paper, pens and ink, fell to writing with one eye watchful of the window + and both ears listening for any movement in the room below. + </p> + <p> + He wrote easily with a running pen, and sometimes he smiled as he wrote. + More than once he paused and looked across the Neuer Markt above the trees + and the roofs, towards the western sky, with a sudden grave wistfulness. + He was thinking of some one in the west. It was assuredly not of war that + this soldier wrote. Then, again, his attention would be attracted to some + passer in the street below. He only gave half of his attention to his + letter. He was, it seemed, a man who as yet touched life lightly; for he + was quite young. But, nevertheless, his pen, urged by only half a mind + that had all the energy of spring, flew over the paper. Sowing is so much + easier than reaping. + </p> + <p> + Suddenly he threw his pen aside and moved quickly to the window which + stood open. The shoemaker had gone out, closing the door softly behind + him. + </p> + <p> + It was to be expected that he would turn to the left, upwards towards the + town and the Langgasse, but it was in the direction of the river that his + footsteps died away. There was no outlet on that side except by boat. + </p> + <p> + It was almost dark now, and the trees growing close to the window obscured + the view. So eager was the lodger to follow the movements of his landlord + that he crept in stocking-feet out on to the roof. By lying on his face + below the window he could just distinguish the shadowy form of a lame man + by the river edge. He was moving to and fro, unchaining a boat moored to + the steps, which are more used in winter when the Pregel is a frozen + roadway than in summer. There was no one else in the Neuer Markt, for it + was the supper hour. + </p> + <p> + Out in the middle of the river a few ships were moored: high-prowed, + square-sterned vessels of a Dutch build trading in the Frische Haaf and in + the Baltic. + </p> + <p> + The soldier saw the boat steal out towards them. There was no other boat + at the steps or in sight. He stood up on the edge of the roof, and after + carefully measuring his distance, with quick eyes aglow with excitement, + he leapt lightly across the leafy space into the topmost boughs, where he + alighted in a forked branch almost without sound. + </p> + <p> + At dawn the next morning, while the shoemaker still slept, the soldier was + astir again. He shivered as he rose, and went to the window, where his + clothes were hanging from a rafter. The water was still dripping from + them. Wrapt in a blanket he sat down by the open window to write while the + morning air should dry his clothes. + </p> + <p> + That which he wrote was a long report—sheet after sheet closely + written. And in the middle of his work he broke off to read again the + letter that he had written the night before. With a quick, impulsive + gesture he kissed the name it bore. Then he turned to his work again. + </p> + <p> + The sun was up before he folded the papers together. By way of a + postscript he wrote a brief letter. + </p> + <p> + “DEAR C.—I have been fortunate, as you will see from the enclosed + report. His Majesty cannot again say that I have been neglectful. I was + quite right. It is Sebastian and only Sebastian that we need fear. Here + they are clumsy conspirators compared to him. I have been in the river + half the night listening at the open stern-window of a Reval pink to every + word they said. His Majesty can safely come to Konigsberg. Indeed, he is + better out of Dantzig. For the whole country is riddled with that which + they call patriotism, and we treason. But I can only repeat what his + Majesty disbelieved the day before yesterday—that the heart of the + ill is Dantzig, and the venom of it Sebastian. Who he really is and what + he is about you must find out how you can. I go forward to-day to + Gumbinnen. The enclosed letter to its address, I beg of you, if only in + acknowledgment of all that I have sacrificed.” + </p> + <p> + The letter was unsigned, and bore the date, “Dawn, June 10.” This and the + report, and that other letter (carefully sealed with a wafer) which did + not deal with war or its alarms, were all placed in one large envelope. He + did not seal it, however, but sat thinking while the sun began to shine on + the opposite houses. Then he withdrew the open letter, and added a + postscript to it: + </p> + <p> + “If an attempt were made on N.'s life—I should say Sebastian. If + Prussia were to play us false suddenly, and cut us off from France—I + should say nothing else than Sebastian. He is more dangerous than a + fanatic; for he is too clever to be one.” + </p> + <p> + The writer shivered and laughed in sheer amusement at his own misery as he + drew on his wet clothes. The shoemaker was already astir, and presently + knocked at his door. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, yes,” the soldier cried, “I am astir.” + </p> + <p> + And as his host rattled the door he opened it. He had unrolled his long + cavalry cloak, and wore it over his wet clothes. + </p> + <p> + “You never told me your name,” said the shoemaker. A suspicious man is + always more suspicious at the beginning of the day. + </p> + <p> + “My name,” answered the other carelessly. “Oh! my name is Max Brunner.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0007" id="link2HCH0007"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER VII. THE WAY OF LOVE. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Celui qui souffle le feu s'expose a etre brule par les +etincelles. +</pre> + <p> + It was said that Colonel de Casimir—that guest whose presence and + uniform lent an air of distinction to the quiet wedding in the Frauengasse—was + a Pole from Cracow. Men also whispered that he was in the confidence of + the Emperor. But this must only have been a manner of speaking. For no man + was ever admitted fully into the thoughts of that superhuman mind. + </p> + <p> + De Casimir was left behind in Dantzig when the army moved forward. + </p> + <p> + “There will be a great battle,” he said, “somewhere near Vilna—and I + shall miss it.” + </p> + <p> + Indeed, every man was striving to get to the front. He who, himself, had + given a new meaning to human ambition seemed able to inspire not only + Frenchmen but soldiers of every nationality with fire from his own + consuming flame. + </p> + <p> + “Yes! madame,” said de Casimir; for it was to Desiree that he spoke, “and + your husband is more fortunate than I. He is sure of a staff appointment. + He will be among the first. It will soon be over. To-morrow war is to be + declared.” + </p> + <p> + They were in the street—not far from the Frauengasse, whence + Desiree, always practical, was hurrying towards the market-place. De + Casimir had seemed idle until he perceived her. + </p> + <p> + Desiree made a little movement of horror at the announcement. She did not + know that the fighting had already begun. + </p> + <p> + “Ah!” cried de Casimir with a reassuring smile. “You must be of good + cheer. There will be no war at all. I tell you that in confidence. Russia + will be paralyzed. I was going towards the Frauengasse when I perceived + you; to pay my respects to your father, to say a word to you. Come—you + are smiling again. That is right. You were so grave, madame, as you + hurried along with your eyes looking far away. You must not think of + Charles, if the thoughts make you look as you looked then.” + </p> + <p> + His manner was kind and confidential and easy—inviting in response + that which the confidential always expect, a return in kind. It is either + hit or miss with such people; and de Casimir missed. He saw Desiree draw + back. She was young, and of that clear fairness of skin which seems to let + the thoughts out through the face so that any can read them. That which + her face expressed at that moment was a clear and definite refusal to + confide anything whatsoever in this little dark man who stood in front of + her, looking into her eyes with a deferential and sympathetic glance. + </p> + <p> + “I know for certain,” he said, “that Charles was well two days ago, and + that he is highly thought of in high quarters. I can tell you that, at all + events.” + </p> + <p> + “Thank you,” said Desiree. She had nothing against de Casimir. She had + only seen him once or twice, and she knew him to be Charles's friend, and + in some sense his patron. For de Casimir held a high position in Dantzig. + She was quite ready to like him since Charles liked him; but she intended + to do so at her own range. It is always the woman who measures the + distance. + </p> + <p> + Desiree made a little movement as if to continue on her way; and de + Casimir instantly stood aside, with a bow. + </p> + <p> + “Shall I find your father at home?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + “I think so. He was at home when I left,” she answered, responding to his + salute with a friendly nod. + </p> + <p> + De Casimir watched her go and stood for a moment in reflection, as if + going over in his mind that which had passed between them. + </p> + <p> + “I must try the other one,” he said to himself as he turned down the + Pfaffengasse. He continued his way at a leisurely pace. At the corner of + the Frauengasse he lingered in the shadow of the linden trees, and while + so doing saw Antoine Sebastian quit the door of No. 36, going in the + opposite direction towards the river, and pass out through the Frauenthor + on to the quay. + </p> + <p> + He made a little gesture of annoyance on being told by the servant that + Sebastian was out. After a moment's reflection, he seemed to make up his + mind to ignore the conventionalities. + </p> + <p> + “It is merely,” he said in his friendly and confidential manner to the + servant, in perfect German, “that I have news from Monsieur Darragon, the + husband of Mademoiselle Desiree. Madame is out—you say. Well, then, + what is to be done?” + </p> + <p> + He had a most charming, grave manner of asking advice which few could + resist. + </p> + <p> + The servant nodded at him with a twinkle of understanding in her eye. + </p> + <p> + “There is Fraulein Mathilde.” + </p> + <p> + “But... well, ask her if she will do me the honour of speaking to me for + an instant. I leave it to you....” + </p> + <p> + “But come in,” protested the servant. “Come upstairs. She will see you; + why not?” + </p> + <p> + And she led the way upstairs. Papa Barlasch, sitting just within the + kitchen door, where he sat all day doing nothing, glanced upwards through + his overhanging eyebrows at the clink of spurs and the clatter of de + Casimir's sword against the banisters. He had the air of a watchdog. + </p> + <p> + Mathilde was not in the drawing-room, and the servant left the visitor + there alone, saying that she would seek her mistress. There were one or + two books on the tables. One table was rather untidy; it was Desiree's. A + writing-desk stood in the corner of the room. It was locked—and the + lock was a good one. De Casimir was an observant man. He had time to make + this observation, and to see that there were no letters in Desiree's + work-basket; to note the titles of the books and the absence of name on + the flyleaf, and was looking out of the window when the door opened and + Mathilde came in. + </p> + <p> + This was a day when women were treated with a great show of deference, + while in reality they had but little voice in the world's affairs. De + Casimir's bow was deeper and more elaborate than would be considered + polite to-day. On standing erect he quickly suppressed a glance of + surprise. + </p> + <p> + Mathilde must have expected him. She was dressed in white, and her hair + was tied with a bright ribbon. In her cheeks, usually so pale, was a + little touch of colour. It may have been because Desiree was not near, but + de Casimir had never known until this moment how pretty Mathilde really + was. There was something in her eyes, too, which gripped his attention. He + remembered that at the wedding he had never seen her eyes. They had always + been averted. But now they met his with a troubling directness. + </p> + <p> + De Casimir had a gallant manner. All women commanded his eager respect, + which they could assess at such value as their fancy painted, remembering + that it is for the woman to measure the distance. On the few occasions of + previous encounters, de Casimir had been empresse in his manner towards + Mathilde. As he looked at her, his quick mind ran back to former meetings. + He had no recollection of having actually made love to her. + </p> + <p> + “Mademoiselle,” he said, “for a soldier—in time of war—the + conventions may, perhaps, be slightly relaxed. I was told that you were + alone—that your father is out, and yet I persisted—” + </p> + <p> + He spread out his hands and laughed appealingly, begging her, it would + seem, to help him out of the social difficulty in which he found himself. + </p> + <p> + “My father will be sorry—” she began. + </p> + <p> + “That is hardly the question,” he interrupted; “I was thinking of your + displeasure. But I have an excuse, I assure you. I only ask a moment to + tell you that I have heard from Konigsberg that Charles Darragon is in + good health there, and is moving forward with the advance-guard to the + frontier.” + </p> + <p> + “You are kind to come so soon,” answered Mathilde, and there was an odd + note of disappointment in her voice. De Casimir must have heard it, for he + glanced at her again with a gleam of surprise in his eyes. + </p> + <p> + “That is my excuse, Mademoiselle,” he said with a tentative emphasis, as + if he were feeling his way. He was an opportunist with all the quickness + of one who must live by his wits among others existing on the same + uncertain fare. He saw her flush, and again he hesitated as a wayfarer may + hesitate when he finds an easy road where he had expected to climb a hill. + What was the meaning of it? he seemed to ask himself. + </p> + <p> + “Charles does not interest you so much as he interests your sister?” he + suggested. + </p> + <p> + “He has never interested me much,” she replied indifferently. She did not + ask him to sit down. It would not have been etiquette in an age when women + were by some odd misjudgment considered incapable of managing their own + hearts. + </p> + <p> + “Is that because he is in love, Mademoiselle?” inquired de Casimir with a + guarded laugh. + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps so.” + </p> + <p> + She did not look at him. De Casimir had not missed this time. His air of + candid confidence had met with a quick response. He laughed again and + moved towards the door. Mathilde stood motionless, and although she said + no word, nor by any gesture bade him stay, he stopped on the threshold and + turned again towards her. + </p> + <p> + “It was my conscience,” he said, looking at her over his shoulder, “that + bade me go.” + </p> + <p> + Her face and her averted eyes asked why, but her straight lips were + silent. + </p> + <p> + “Because I cannot claim to be more interesting than Charles Darragon,” he + hazarded. “And you, Mademoiselle, confess that you have no tolerance for a + man who is in love.” + </p> + <p> + “I have no tolerance for a man who is weakened by love. He should be + strengthened and hardened by it.” + </p> + <p> + “To—?” + </p> + <p> + “To do a man's work in the world,” said Mathilde coldly. + </p> + <p> + De Casimir was standing by the open door. He closed it with his foot. He + was professedly a man alert for the chance of a moment, which he was + content to grasp without pausing to look ahead. Should there be + difficulties yet unperceived, these in turn might present an opportunity + to be seized by the quick-witted. + </p> + <p> + “Then you would admit, Mademoiselle,” he said gravely, “that there may be + good in a love that fights continually against ambition, and—does + not prevail.” + </p> + <p> + Mathilde did not answer at once. There was an odd suggestion of antagonism + in their attitude towards each other—not irreconcilable, the poets + tell us, with love—but this is assuredly not the Love that comes + from Heaven and will go back there to live through eternity. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said she at length. + </p> + <p> + “Such is my love for you,” he said, his quick instinct telling him that + with Mathilde few words were best. + </p> + <p> + He only spoke the thoughts of his age; for ambition was the ruling passion + in men's hearts at this time. All who served the Great Adventurer gave it + the first place in their consideration, and de Casimir only aped his + betters. Though oddly enough the only two of all the great leaders who + were to emerge still greater from the coming war—Ney and Eugene—thought + otherwise on these matters. + </p> + <p> + “I mean to be great and rich, Mademoiselle,” he added after a pause. “I + have risked my life for that purpose half a dozen times.” + </p> + <p> + Mathilde stood looking across the room towards the window. He could only + see her profile and the straight line of her lips. She too was the product + of a generation in which men rose to dazzling heights without the aid of + women. + </p> + <p> + “I should not have troubled you with these details, Mademoiselle,” he + said, watching her. His instinct was very keen, for not one woman in a + thousand, even in those days, would have admitted that love was a detail. + “I should not have mentioned it—had you not given me your views—so + strangely in harmony with my own.” + </p> + <p> + Whatever his nationality, his voice was that of a Pole—rich, + musical, and expressive. He could have made, one would have thought, a + very different sort of love had he wished, or had he been sincere. But he + was an opportunist. This was the sort of love that Mathilde wanted. + </p> + <p> + He came a step nearer to her and stood resting on his sword—a lean + hard man who had seen much war. + </p> + <p> + “Until you opened my eyes,” he said, “I did not know, or did not care to + know, that love, far from being a drag on ambition, may be a help.” + </p> + <p> + Mathilde made a little movement towards him which she instantly repressed. + The heart is quicker, but the head nearly always has the last word. + </p> + <p> + “Mademoiselle,” he said—and no doubt he saw the movement and the + restraint—“will you help me now at the beginning of the war, and + listen to me again at the end of it—if I succeed?” + </p> + <p> + After all, he was modest in his demands. + </p> + <p> + “Will you help me? Together, Mademoiselle—to what height may we not + rise in these days?” + </p> + <p> + There was a ring of sincerity in his voice, and her eyes answered it. + </p> + <p> + “How can I help you?” she asked in a doubting voice. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, it is a small matter,” was the reply. “But it is one in which the + Emperor is personally interested. Such things have a special attraction + for him. The human interest never fails to hold his attention. If I do + well, he will know it and remember me. It is a question, Mademoiselle, of + secret societies. You know that Prussia is riddled with them.” + </p> + <p> + Mathilde did not answer. He studied her face, which was clean cut and hard + like a marble bust—a good face to hide a secret. + </p> + <p> + “It is my duty to watch here in Dantzig and to report to the Emperor. In + serving myself I could also perhaps serve a friend, one who might + otherwise run into danger—who may be in danger while you and I stand + here. For the Emperor strikes hard and quickly. I speak of your father, + Mademoiselle—and of the Tugendbund.” + </p> + <p> + Still he could not see from the pale profile whether Mathilde knew + anything at all. + </p> + <p> + “And if I procure information for you?” asked she at length, in a quiet + and collected voice. + </p> + <p> + “You will help me to attain a position such as I could ask—even you—to + share with me. And you would do your father no harm. You would even render + him a service. For all the secret societies in Germany will not stop + Napoleon. It is only God who can stop him now, Mademoiselle. All men who + attempt it will only be crushed beneath the wheels. I might save your + father.” + </p> + <p> + But Mathilde did not seem to be thinking of her father. + </p> + <p> + “I am hampered by poverty,” de Casimir said, changing his ground. “In the + old days it did not matter. But now, in the Empire, one must be rich. I + shall be rich—at the end of this campaign.” + </p> + <p> + Again his voice was sincere, and again her eyes responded. He made a step + forward, and gently taking her hand, he raised it to his lips. + </p> + <p> + “You will help me!” he said, and, turning abruptly on his heel, he left + her. + </p> + <p> + De Casimir's quarters were in the Langenmarkt. On returning to them, he + took from his despatch-case a letter which he turned over thoughtfully in + his hand. It was addressed to Desiree, and sealed carefully with a wafer. + </p> + <p> + “She may as well have it,” he said. “It will be as well that she should be + occupied with her own affairs.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0008" id="link2HCH0008"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER VIII. A VISITATION. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Be wiser than other people if you can, but do not tell them so. +</pre> + <p> + Whenever Papa Barlasch caught sight of his unwilling host's face, he + turned his own aside with a despairing upward nod. Once or twice, during + the early days of his occupation of the room behind the kitchen in the + Frauengasse, he smote himself sharply on the brow, as if calling upon his + brain to make an effort. But afterwards he seemed to resign himself to + this lapse of memory, and the upward despairing nod gradually lost + intensity until at last he brought himself to pass Antoine Sebastian in + the narrow passage with no more emphatic notice than a scowl. + </p> + <p> + “You and I,” he said to Desiree, “are the friends. The others—” + </p> + <p> + And his gesture seemed to permit the others to go hang if they so desired. + The army had gone forward, leaving Dantzig in that idle restlessness which + holds those who, finding themselves in a house of sickness, are not + permitted entry to the darkened chamber, but must await the crisis + elsewhere. + </p> + <p> + There were some busy enough in the commerce that must exist between a huge + army and its base, in the forwarding of war material and stores, in + accommodating the sick and sending out in return those who were to fill + the gaps. But the Dantzigers themselves had nothing to do. Their + prosperous trade was paralyzed. Those who had aught to sell had sold it. + The high-seas and the high-roads were alike blocked by the French. And + rumour, ever busy among those that wait, ran to and fro in the town. + </p> + <p> + The Emperor of Russia had been taken prisoner. Napoleon had been checked + at the passage of the Niemen. There had been a great battle at Gumbinnen, + and the French were in full retreat. Vilna had capitulated to Murat, and + the war was at an end. A hundred authentic despatches of the morning were + the subject of contemptuous laughter at the supper-table. + </p> + <p> + Lisa heard these tales in the market-place, and told Desiree, who, as + often as not, translated them to Barlasch. But he only held up his + wrinkled forefinger and shook it slowly from side to side. + </p> + <p> + “Woman's chatter!” he said. “What is the German for 'magpie'?” + </p> + <p> + And on being told the word, he repeated it gravely to Lisa. For he had not + only fulfilled his promise of settling down in the house, but had assumed + therein a distinct and clearly defined position. He was the counsellor, + and from his chair just within the kitchen he gave forth judgment. + </p> + <p> + “And you,” he said to Desiree one morning, when household affairs had + taken her to the kitchen, “you are troubled this morning. You have had a + letter from your husband?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes—and he is in good health.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah!” + </p> + <p> + Barlasch glared at her beneath his brows, looking her up and down, noting + her quick movements, which had the uncertainty of youth. + </p> + <p> + “And now that he is gone,” he said, “and that there is war, you are going + to employ yourself by falling in love with him, when you had all the time + before, and did not take advantage of it.” + </p> + <p> + Desiree laughed at him and made no other answer. While she spoke to Lisa + he sat and watched them. + </p> + <p> + “It would be like a woman to do such a thing,” he pursued. “They are so + inconvenient—women. They get married for fun, and then one fine + Thursday they find they have missed all the fun, like one who comes late + to the theatre—when the music is over.” + </p> + <p> + He went to the table and examined the morning marketing, which Lisa had + laid out in preparation for dinner. Of some of her purchases he approved, + but he laughed aloud at a lettuce which had no heart, and at such a buyer. + </p> + <p> + Then Desiree attracted his scrutiny again. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” he said, half to himself, “I see it. You are in love. Just Heaven, + I know! I have had them in love with me.... Barlasch.” + </p> + <p> + “That must have been a long time ago,” answered Desiree with her gay + laugh, only giving him half her attention. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, it was a century ago. But they were the same then as they are now, + as they always will be—inconvenient. They waited, however, till they + were grown up!” + </p> + <p> + And with his ever-ready accusing finger he drew Desiree's attention to her + own slimness. They were left alone for a minute while Lisa answered a + knock at the door, during which time Barlasch sat in grim silence. + </p> + <p> + “It is a letter,” said Lisa, returning. “A sailor brought it.” + </p> + <p> + “Another?” said Barlasch, with a gesture of despair. + </p> + <p> + “Can you give me news of Charles?” Desiree read, in a writing that was + unknown to her. “I shall wait a reply until midnight on board the Elsa, + lying off the Krahn-Thor.” The letter bore the signature, “Louis + d'Arragon.” Desiree turned slowly and went upstairs, carrying it folded + small in her closed hand. + </p> + <p> + She was alone in the house, for Mathilde was out and her father had not + yet returned from his evening walk. She stood at the head of the stairs, + where the last of the daylight filtered through the barred window, and + read the letter again. Then she turned and gave a slight start to see + Barlasch at the foot of the stairs beckoning to her. He made no attempt to + come up, but stood on the mat like a dog that has been forbidden the upper + rooms. + </p> + <p> + “Is it about your father?” he asked, in a hoarse whisper. + </p> + <p> + “No!” + </p> + <p> + He made a gesture commanding secrecy and silence. Then he went to close + the kitchen door and returned on tip-toe. + </p> + <p> + “It is,” he explained, “that they are talking of him in the cafes. There + are many to be arrested to-morrow. They say the patron is one of them, and + employs himself in plotting. That his name is not Sebastian at all. That + he is a Frenchman who escaped the guillotine. What do I know? It is the + gossip of the cafes. But I tell it you because we are friends, you and I. + And some day I may want you to do something for me. One thinks of one's + self, eh? It is good to make friends. For some day one may want them. That + is why I do it. I think of myself. An old soldier. Of the Guard.” + </p> + <p> + With many gestures of tremendous import, and a face all wrinkled and + twisted with mystery, he returned to the kitchen. + </p> + <p> + Mathilde was not to return until late. She had gone to the house of the + old Grafin whose reminiscences had been a fruitful topic at Desiree's + wedding. After dining there she and the Grafin were to go together to a + farewell reception given by the Governor. For Rapp was bound for the + frontier with the rest, and was to go to the war as first aide-de-camp to + the Emperor. + </p> + <p> + Mathilde could not be back until ten o'clock. She, who was so quick and + quiet, had been much occupied in social observances lately, and had made + fast friends with the Grafin during the last few days, constantly going to + see her. + </p> + <p> + Desiree knew that what Barlasch had repeated as the gossip of the cafes + was in part, if not wholly, true. She and Mathilde had long known that any + mention of France had the instant effect of turning their father into a + man of stone. It was the skeleton in this quiet house that sat at table + with its inmates, a shadowy fourth tying their tongues. The rattle of its + bones seemed to paralyze Sebastian's mind, and at any moment he would fall + into a dumb and stricken apathy which terrified those about him. At such + times it seemed that one thought in his mind had swallowed all the rest, + so that he heard without understanding and saw without perceiving. + </p> + <p> + He was in such a humour when he came back to dinner. He passed Desiree on + the stairs without speaking and went to his room to change his clothes, + for he never relaxed his formal habits. At the dinner-table he glanced at + her as a dog, knowing that he is ill, may be seen to glance with a secret + air at his master, wondering whether he is detected. + </p> + <p> + Desiree had always hoped that her father would speak to her when this + humour was upon him and tell her the meaning of it. Perhaps it would come + to-night, when they were alone. There was an unspoken sympathy existing + between them in which Mathilde took no share, which had even shut out + Charles as out of a room where there was no light, into which Desiree and + her father went at times and stood hand-in-hand without speaking. + </p> + <p> + They dined in silence, while Lisa hurried about her duties, oppressed by a + sense of unknown fear. After dinner they went to the drawing-room as + usual. It had been a dull day, with great clouds creeping up from the + West. The evening fell early, and the lamps were already alight. Desiree + looked to the wicks with the eye of experience when she entered the room. + Then she went to the window. Lisa did not always draw the curtains + effectually. She glanced down into the street, and turned suddenly on her + heel, facing her father. + </p> + <p> + “They are there,” she said. For she had seen shadowy forms lurking beneath + the trees of the Frauengasse. The street was ill-lighted, but she knew the + shadows of the trees. + </p> + <p> + “How many?” asked Sebastian, in a dull voice. + </p> + <p> + She glanced at him quickly—at his still, frozen face and quiescent + hands. He was not going to rise to the occasion, as he sometimes did even + from his deepest apathy. She must do alone anything that was to be + accomplished to-night. + </p> + <p> + The house, like many in the Frauengasse, had been built by a careful + Hanseatic merchant, whose warehouse was his own cellar half sunk beneath + the level of the street. The door of the warehouse was immediately under + the front door, down a few steps below the street, while a few more steps, + broad and footworn, led up to the stone veranda and the level of the lower + dwelling-rooms. A guard placed in the street could thus watch both doors + without moving. + </p> + <p> + There was a third door, giving exit from the little room where Barlasch + slept to the small yard where he had placed those trunks which were made + in France. + </p> + <p> + Desiree had no time to think. She came of a race of women of a brighter + intelligence than any women in the world. She took her father by the arm + and hastened downstairs. Barlasch was at his post within the kitchen door. + His eyes shone suddenly as he saw her face. It was said of Papa Barlasch + that he was a gay man in battle, laughing and making a hundred jests, but + at other times lugubrious. Desiree saw him smile for the first time, in + the dim light of the passage. + </p> + <p> + “They are there in the street,” he said; “I have seen them. I thought you + would come to Barlasch. They all do—the women. In here. Leave him to + me. When they ring the bell, receive them yourself—with smiles. They + are only men. Let them search the house if they want to. Tell them he has + gone to the reception with Mademoiselle.” + </p> + <p> + As he spoke the bell rang just above his head. He looked up at it and + laughed. + </p> + <p> + “Ah, ah!” he said, “the fanfare begins.” + </p> + <p> + He drew Sebastian within and closed the door of his little room. Lisa had + already gone to answer the bell. When she opened the door three men + stepped quickly over the threshold, and one of them, thrusting her aside, + closed the door and turned the key. Desiree, in her white evening dress, + on the bottom step, just beneath the lamp that hung from the ceiling, made + them pause and look at each other. Then one of the three came towards her, + hat in hand. + </p> + <p> + “Our duty, Fraulein,” he said awkwardly. “We are but obeying orders. A + mere formality. It will all be explained, no doubt, if the householder, + Antoine Sebastian, will put on his hat and come with us.” + </p> + <p> + “His hat is not there, as you see,” answered Desiree. “You must seek him + elsewhere.” + </p> + <p> + The man shook his head with a knowing smile. “We must seek him in this + house,” he said. “We will make it as easy for you as we can, Fraulein—if + you make it easy for us.” + </p> + <p> + As he spoke he produced a candle from his pocket, and encouraged the + broken wick with his finger-nail. + </p> + <p> + “It will make it pleasanter for all,” said Desiree cheerfully, “if you + will accept a candlestick.” + </p> + <p> + The man glanced at her. He was a heavy man, with little suspicious eyes + set close together. He seemed to be concluding that she had outwitted him—that + Sebastian was not in the house. + </p> + <p> + “Where are the cellar-stairs?” he asked. “I warn you, Fraulein, it is + useless to conceal your father. We shall, of course, find him.” + </p> + <p> + Desiree pointed to the door next to that giving entry to the kitchen. It + was bolted and locked. Desiree found the key for them. She not only gave + them every facility, but was anxious that they should be as quick as + possible. They did not linger in the cellar, which, though vast, was + empty; and when they returned, Desiree, who was waiting for them, led the + way upstairs. + </p> + <p> + They were rather abashed by her silence. They would have preferred + protestations and argument. Discussion always belittles. The smile + recommended by Papa Barlasch, lurking at the corner of her lips, made them + feel foolish. She was so slight and young and helpless, that a sort of + shame rendered them clumsy. + </p> + <p> + They felt more at home in the kitchen when they arrived there, and the + sight of Lisa, sturdy and defiant, reminded them of the authority upon + which Desiree had somehow cast a mystic contempt. + </p> + <p> + “There is a door there,” said the heavy official, with a brusque return of + his early manner. “Come, what is that door?” + </p> + <p> + “That is a little room.” + </p> + <p> + “Then open it.” + </p> + <p> + “I cannot,” returned Lisa. “It is locked.” + </p> + <p> + “Aha!” said the man, with a laugh of much meaning. “On the inside, eh?” + </p> + <p> + He went to it, and banged on it with his fist. + </p> + <p> + “Come,” he shouted, “open it and be done.” + </p> + <p> + There was a short silence, during which those in the kitchen listened + breathlessly. A shuffling sound inside the door made the officer of the + law turn and beckon to his two men to come closer. + </p> + <p> + Then, after some fumbling, as of one in the dark, the door was unlocked + and slowly opened. + </p> + <p> + Papa Barlasch stood in a very primitive night-apparel within the door. He + had not done things by halves, for he was an old campaigner, and knew that + a thing half done is better left undone in times of war. He noted the + presence of Desiree and Lisa, but was not ashamed. The reason of it was + soon apparent. For Papa Barlasch was drunk, and the smell of drink came + out of his apartment in a warm wave. + </p> + <p> + “It is the soldier billeted in the house,” explained Lisa, with a + half-hysterical laugh. + </p> + <p> + Then Barlasch harangued them in the language of intoxication. If he had + not spared Desiree's feelings, he spared her ears less now; for he was an + ignorant man, who had lived through a brutal period in the world's history + the roughest life a man can lead. Two of the men held him with difficulty + against the wall, while the third hastily searched the room—where, + indeed, no one could well be concealed. + </p> + <p> + Then they quitted the house, followed by the polyglot curses of Barlasch, + who was now endeavouring to find his bayonet amidst his chaotic + possessions. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0009" id="link2HCH0009"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER IX. THE GOLDEN GUESS. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + The golden guess + Is morning star to the full round of truth. +</pre> + <p> + Barlasch was never more sober in his life than when he emerged a minute + later from his room, while Lisa was still feverishly bolting the door. He + had not wasted much time at his toilet. In his flannel shirt, his arms + bare to the elbow, knotted and muscular, he looked like some rude son of + toil. + </p> + <p> + “One thinks of one's self,” he hastened to explain to Desiree, fearing + that she might ascribe some other motive to his action. “Some day the + patron may be in power again, and then he will remember a poor soldier. It + is good to think of the future.” + </p> + <p> + He shook his head pessimistically at Lisa as belonging to a sex liable to + error: instanced in this case by bolting the door too eagerly. + </p> + <p> + “Now,” he said, turning to Desiree again, “have you any in Dantzig to help + you?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” she answered rather slowly. + </p> + <p> + “Then send for him.” + </p> + <p> + “I cannot do that.” + </p> + <p> + “Then go for him yourself,” snapped Barlasch impatiently. + </p> + <p> + He looked at her fiercely beneath his shaggy eyebrows. + </p> + <p> + “It is no use to be afraid,” he said; “you are afraid—I see it in + your face. And it is never any use. Before they hammered on that door + there, my legs shook. For I am easily afraid—I. But it is never any + use. And when one opens the door, it goes.” + </p> + <p> + He looked at her with a puzzled frown, seeking in vain, it may have been, + the ordinary symptoms of fear. She was hesitating but not afraid. There + ran blood in her veins which will for all time be associated by history + with a gay and indomitable courage. + </p> + <p> + “Come,” he said sharply; “there is nothing else to do.” + </p> + <p> + “I will go,” said Desiree, at length, deciding suddenly to do the one + thing that is left to a woman once or twice in her life—to go to the + one man and trust him. + </p> + <p> + “By the back way,” said Barlasch, helping her with the cloak that Lisa had + brought, and pulling the hood forward over her face with a jerk. “Ah, I + know that way. The patron is hiding in the yard. An old soldier looks to + the retreat—though the Emperor has saved us that, so far. Come, I + will help you over the wall, for the door is rusted.” + </p> + <p> + The way, which Barlasch had perceived, led through the room at the back of + the kitchen to a yard, and thence through a door not opened by the present + occupiers of the old house, into a very labyrinth of narrow alleys running + downward to the river and round the tall houses that stand against the + cathedral walls. + </p> + <p> + The wall was taller than Barlasch, but he ran at it like a cat, and + Desiree standing below could see the black outline of his limbs crouching + on the top. He stooped down, and grasping her hands, lifted her by the + sheer strength of one arm, balanced her for an instant on the wall, and + then lowered her on the outer side. + </p> + <p> + “Run,” he whispered. + </p> + <p> + She knew the way, and although the night was dark, and these narrow alleys + between high walls had no lamps, Desiree lost no time. The Krahn-Thor is + quite near to the Frauengasse. Indeed, the whole of Dantzig occupied but a + small space between the rivers in those straitened days. The town was + quieter than it had been for months, and Desiree passed unmolested through + the narrow streets. She made her way to the quay, passing through the low + gateway known as the door of the Holy Ghost, and here found people still + astir. For the commerce that thrives on a northern river is paralyzed all + the winter, and feverishly active when the ice has gone. + </p> + <p> + “The Elsa,” replied a woman, who had been selling bread all day on the + quay, and was now packing up her stall, “you ask for the Elsa. There is + such a ship, I know. But how can I say which she is? See, they lie right + across the river like a bridge. Besides, it is late, and sailors are rough + men.” + </p> + <p> + Desiree hurried on. Louis d'Arragon had said that the ship was lying near + to the Krahn-Thor, of which the great hooded roof loomed darkly against + the stars above her. She was looking about her when a man came forward + with the hesitating step of one who has been told to wait the arrival of + some one unknown to him. + </p> + <p> + “The Elsa,” she said to him; “which ship is it?” + </p> + <p> + “Come along with me, Mademoiselle,” the man replied; “though I was not + told to look for a woman.” + </p> + <p> + He spoke in English, which Desiree hardly understood; for she had never + heard it from English lips, and looked for the first time on one of that + race upon which all the world waited now for salvation. For the English, + of all the nations, were the only men who from the first had consistently + defied Napoleon. + </p> + <p> + The sailor led the way towards the river. As he passed the lamp burning + dimly above some steps, Desiree saw that he was little more than a boy. He + turned and offered her his hand with a shy laugh, and together they stood + at the bottom of the steps with the water lapping at their feet. + </p> + <p> + “Have you a letter,” he said, “or will you come on board?” + </p> + <p> + Then perceiving that she did not understand, he repeated the question in + German. + </p> + <p> + “I will come on board,” she answered. + </p> + <p> + The Elsa was lying in the middle of the river, and the boat into which + Desiree stepped shot across the water without sound of oars. The sailor + was paddling it noiselessly at the stern. Desiree was not unused to boats, + and when they came alongside the Elsa she climbed on board without help. + </p> + <p> + “This way,” said the sailor, leading her towards the deckhouse where a + light burned dimly behind red curtains. He knocked at the door and opened + it without awaiting a reply. In the little cabin two men sat at a table, + and one of them was Louis d'Arragon dressed in the rough clothes of a + merchant seaman. He seemed to recognize Desiree at once, though she still + stood without the door, in the darkness. + </p> + <p> + “You?” he said in surprise. “I did not expect you, madame. You want me?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” answered Desiree, stepping over the combing. Louis's companion, who + was also a sailor, coarsely clad, rose and, awkwardly taking off his cap, + hurried to the door, murmuring some vague apology. It is not always the + roughest men who have the worst manners towards women. + </p> + <p> + He closed the door behind him, leaving Desiree and Louis looking at each + other by the light of an oil lamp that flickered and gave forth a greasy + smell. The little cabin was smoke-ridden, and smelt of ancient tar. It was + no bigger than the table in the drawing-room in the Frauengasse, across + which he had bowed to her in farewell a few days earlier, little knowing + when and where they were to meet again. For fate can always turn a + surprise better than the human fancy. + </p> + <p> + Behind the curtain, the window stood open, and the high, clear song of the + wind through the rigging filled the little cabin with a continuous minor + note of warning which must have been part of his life; for he must have + heard it, as all sailors do, sleeping or waking, night and day. + </p> + <p> + He was probably so accustomed to it that he never heeded it. But it filled + Desiree's ears, and whenever she heard it in after-life, in memory this + moment came again to her, and she looked back to it, as a traveller may + look back to a milestone at a cross-road, and wonder where his journey + might have ended had he taken another turning. + </p> + <p> + “My father,” she said quickly, “is in danger. There is no one else in + Dantzig to whom we can turn, and—” + </p> + <p> + She paused. What was she going to add? She hesitated, and then was silent. + There was no reason why she should have elected to come to him. At all + events she gave none. + </p> + <p> + “I am glad I was in Dantzig when it happened,” he said, turning to take up + his cap, which was of rough dark fur, such as seamen wear even in summer + at night in the Northern seas. + </p> + <p> + “Come,” he added, “you can tell me as we go ashore.” + </p> + <p> + But they did not speak while the sailor sculled the boat to the steps. On + the quay they would probably pass unnoticed, for there were many strange + sailors at this time in Dantzig, and Louis d'Arragon might easily be + mistaken for one of the French seamen who had brought stores by sea from + Bordeaux and Brest and Cherbourg. + </p> + <p> + “Now tell me,” he said, as they walked side by side; and in voluble + French, Desiree launched into her story. It was rather incoherent, by + reason, perhaps, of its frankness. + </p> + <p> + “Stop—stop,” he interrupted gravely, “who is Barlasch?” + </p> + <p> + Louis walked rather slowly in his stiff sea-boots at her side, and she + instinctively spoke less rapidly as she explained the part that Barlasch + had played. + </p> + <p> + “And you trust him?” + </p> + <p> + “Of course,” she answered. + </p> + <p> + “But why?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, you are so matter-of-fact,” she exclaimed; “I do not know. Because he + is trustworthy, I suppose.” + </p> + <p> + She continued the story, but suddenly stopped and looked up at him under + the shadow of her hood. + </p> + <p> + “You are silent,” she said. “Do you know something about my father of + which I am ignorant? Is that it?” + </p> + <p> + “No,” he answered, “I am trying to follow—that is all. You leave so + much to my imagination.” + </p> + <p> + “But I have no time to explain things,” she protested. “Every moment is of + value. I will explain all those things some other time. At this moment all + I can think of is my father and the danger he is in. If it had not been + for Barlasch, he would have been in prison by now. And as it is, the + danger is only half averted. For he, himself, is so little help. All must + be done for him. He will do nothing for himself while this humour is upon + him; you understand?” + </p> + <p> + “Partly,” he answered slowly. + </p> + <p> + “Oh!” she exclaimed half-impatiently, “one sees that you are an + Englishman.” + </p> + <p> + And she found time, even in her hurry, to laugh. For she was young enough + to float buoyant upon that sea of hope which ebbs in the course of years + and leaves men stranded on the hard facts of life. + </p> + <p> + “You forget,” he said in self-defence. + </p> + <p> + “I forget what?” + </p> + <p> + “That a week ago I had never seen Dantzig, or your father, or your sister, + or the Frauengasse. A week ago I did not know that there was anybody + called Sebastian in the world—and did not care.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” she admitted thoughtfully, “I had forgotten that.” + </p> + <p> + And they walked on in silence, a long way, till they came to the Gate of + the Holy Ghost. + </p> + <p> + “But you can help him to escape?” she said at length, as if following the + course of her own thoughts. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” he answered, and that was all. + </p> + <p> + They passed through the smaller streets in silence, and Desiree led the + way into a narrow alley running between the street of the Holy Ghost and + the Frauengasse. + </p> + <p> + “There is the wall to be climbed,” she said; but, as she spoke, the door + giving exit to the alley was cautiously opened by Barlasch. + </p> + <p> + “A little oil,” he whispered, “and it was soon done.” + </p> + <p> + The yard was dark within, for there might be watchers at any of the + windows above them in the pointed gables that made patterns against the + star-lit sky. + </p> + <p> + “All is well,” said Barlasch; “those sons of dogs have not returned, and + the patron is waiting in the kitchen, cloaked and ready for a journey. He + has collected himself—the patron.” + </p> + <p> + He led the way through his own room, which was dark, save for a shaft of + lamp-light coming from the kitchen. He looked back keenly at Louis + d'Arragon. + </p> + <p> + “Salut!” he growled, scowling at his boots. “A sailor,” he muttered after + a pause. “Good. She has her wits at the top of the basket—that + child.” + </p> + <p> + Desiree was throwing back her hood and looking at her father with a + reassuring smile. + </p> + <p> + “I have brought Monsieur d'Arragon,” she said, “to help us.” + </p> + <p> + For Sebastian has not recognized the new-comer. He now bowed in his stiff + way, and began a formal apology, which D'Arragon cut short with a quick + gesture. + </p> + <p> + “It is the least I could do,” he said, “in the absence of Charles. Have + you money?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes—a little.” + </p> + <p> + “You will require money and a few clothes. I can get you a passage to Riga + or to Helsingborg to-night. From there you can communicate with your + daughter. Events will follow each other rapidly. One never knows what a + week may bring forth in time of war. It may be safe for you to return + soon. Come, monsieur, we must go.” + </p> + <p> + Sebastian made a gesture with his outspread arms, half of protestation, + half of acquiescence. It was plain that he had no sympathy with these + modern, hurried methods of meeting the emergencies of daily life. A + valise, packed and strapped, lay on the table. D'Arragon weighed it in his + hand, and then lifted it to his shoulder. + </p> + <p> + “Come, monsieur,” he repeated leading the way through Barlasch's room to + the yard. “And you,” he added, addressing himself to that soldier, “shut + the door behind us.” + </p> + <p> + With another gesture of protest Sebastian gathered his cloak round him and + followed. D'Arragon had taken Desiree so literally at her word that he + allowed her father no time for hesitation, nor a moment to say farewell. + </p> + <p> + She was alone in the kitchen before she had realized that they were going. + In a minute Barlasch returned. She could hear him setting in order the + room which had been hurriedly disorganized in order to open the door + leading to the yard, where her father had concealed himself. He was + muttering to himself as he lifted the furniture. + </p> + <p> + Coming back into the kitchen, he found Desiree standing where he had left + her. Glancing at her, he scratched his grey head in a plebeian way, and + gave a little laugh. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” he said, pointing to the spot where D'Arragon had stood. “That was + a man, that you fetched to help us—a man. It makes a difference when + such as that goes out of the room—eh?” + </p> + <p> + He busied himself in the kitchen, setting in order that which remained of + the mise en scene of his violent reception of the secret police. Suddenly + he turned in his emphatic manner, and threw out his rugged forefinger to + hold her attention. + </p> + <p> + “If there had been some like that in Paris, there would have been no + Revolution. Za-za, za-za!” he concluded, imitating effectively the buzz of + many voices in an assembly. “Words and not deeds,” Barlasch protested. + Whereas to-night, he clearly showed by two gestures, they had met a man of + deeds. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0010" id="link2HCH0010"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER X. IN DEEP WATER. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Le coeur humain est un abime qui trompe tous les calculs. +</pre> + <p> + It is to be presumed that Colonel de Casimir met friends at the reception + given by Governor Rapp in the great rooms of the Rathhaus. For there were + many Poles present, and not a few officers of other nationalities. + </p> + <p> + The army indeed that set forth to conquer Russia was not a French-speaking + army. Less than half of the regiments were of that nationality, while + Italians, Bavarians, Saxons, Wurtembergers, Westphalians, Prussians, + Swiss, and Portuguese went gaily forward on the great venture. There were + soldiers from the numerous petty states of the German Confederation which + acknowledged Napoleon as their protector, for the good reason that they + could not protect themselves against him. Finally, there were those Poles + who had fought in Spain for Napoleon, hoping that in return he would some + day set the ancient kingdom upon its feet among the nations. Already the + whisperers pointed to Davoust as the future king of the new Poland. + </p> + <p> + Many present at the farewell reception of the Governor carried a sword, + though they were the merest civilians, plotting, counter-plotting, and + whispering a hundred rumours. Perhaps Rapp himself, speaking bluff French + with a German accent, was as honest as any man in the room, though he + lacked the polish of the Parisian and had not the subtlety of the Pole. + Rapp was not a shining light in these brilliant circles. He was a Governor + not for peace, but for war. His day was yet to come. + </p> + <p> + Such men as de Casimir shrugged their supple shoulders at his simple talk. + They spoke of him half-contemptuously as of one who had had a thousand + chances and had never taken them. He was not even rich, and he had handled + great sums of money. He was only a General, and he had slept in the + Emperor's tent—had had access to him in every humour. He might do + the same again in the coming campaign. He was worth cultivating. De + Casimir and his like were full of smiles which in no wise deceived the + shrewd Alsatian. + </p> + <p> + Mathilde Sebastian was among the ladies to whom these brilliant warriors + paid their uncouth compliments. Perhaps de Casimir was aware that her + measuring eyes followed him wherever he went. He knew, at all events, that + he could hold his own amid these adventurers, many of whom had risen from + the ranks; while others, from remote northern States, had birth but no + manners at all. He was easy and gay, carrying lightly that subtle air of + distinction which is vouchsafed to many Poles. + </p> + <p> + “Here to-day, Mademoiselle, and gone to-morrow,” he said. “All these eager + soldiers. And who can tell which of us may return?” + </p> + <p> + If he had expected Mathilde to flinch at this reminder of his calling, he + was disappointed. Her eyes were hard and bright. She had had so few + chances of moving amidst this splendour, of seeing close at hand the + greatness which Napoleon shed around him as the sun its rays. She was + carried away by the spirit of the age. Anything was better, she felt, than + obscurity. + </p> + <p> + “And who can tell,” whispered de Casimir with a careless and confident + laugh, “which of us shall come back rich and great?” + </p> + <p> + This brought the glance from her dark eyes for which his own lay waiting. + She was certainly beautiful, and wore the difficult dress of that day with + assurance and grace. She possessed something which the German ladies about + her lacked; something which many suddenly lack when a Frenchwoman is near. + </p> + <p> + His manner, half respectful, half triumphant, betrayed an understanding to + which he did not refer in words. She had bestowed some favour upon him—had + acceded to some request. He hoped for more. He had overstepped some + barrier. She, who should have measured the distance, had allowed him to + come too close. The barriers of love are one-sided; there is no climbing + back. + </p> + <p> + “A hundred envious eyes are watching me,” he said in an undertone as he + passed on; “I dare not stay longer. I am on duty to-night.” + </p> + <p> + She bowed and watched him go. She was, it would seem, aware of that fallen + barrier. She had done nothing, had permitted nothing from weakness. There + was no weakness at all perhaps in Mathilde Sebastian. She had the quiet + manner of a skilled card-player with folded cards laid face down upon the + table, who knows what is in her hand and is waiting for the foe to lead. + </p> + <p> + De Casimir did not see her again. In such a throng it would have been + difficult to find her had he so desired. But, as he had told her, he was + on duty to-night. There were to be a hundred arrests before dawn. Many who + were laughing and talking with the French officers to-night were already + in the grasp of Napoleon's secret police, and would drive straight from + the door of the Rathhaus to the town prison or to the old Watch-house in + the Portchaisengasse. Others, moving through the great rooms with a high + head, were already condemned out of their own bureaux and escritoires now + being rifled by the Emperor's spies. + </p> + <p> + The Emperor himself had given the order, before quitting Dantzig to take + command of the maddest and greatest enterprise conceived by the mind of + man. There was nothing above the reach of his mind, it seemed, and nothing + too low for him to bend down and touch. Every detail had been considered + by himself. He was like a man who, having an open wound on his back, + attends to it hurriedly before showing an undaunted face to the enemy. + </p> + <p> + His inexorable finger had come down on the name of Antoine Sebastian, + figuring on all the secret reports—first in many. + </p> + <p> + “Who is this man?” he asked, and none could answer. + </p> + <p> + He had gone to the frontier without awaiting the solution to the question. + Such was his method now. He had so much to do that he could but skim the + surface of his task. For the human mind, though it be colossal, can only + work within certain limits. The greatest orator in the world can only move + his immediate hearers. Those beyond the inner circle catch a word here and + there, and imagination supplies the rest or improves upon it. But those in + the farthest gallery hear nothing and see a little man gesticulating. + </p> + <p> + De Casimir was not entrusted with the execution of the Emperor's orders. + As a member of General Rapp's staff, resident in Dantzig since the city's + occupation by the French, he had been called upon to make exhaustive + reports upon the feeling of the burghers. There were many doubtful cases. + De Casimir did not pretend to be better than his fellows. To some he had + sold the benefit of the doubt. Some had paid willingly enough for their + warning. Others had put off the payment; for there were many Jews, then as + now, in Dantzig; slow payers requiring something stronger than a threat to + make them disburse. + </p> + <p> + De Casimir therefore quitted the Rathhaus among the first to go, and + walked through the busy streets to his rooms in the Langenmarkt, where he + not only lived but had a small office to which orderlies and aides-de-camp + came by day or night. Two sentries kept guard on the pavement. Since the + spring, this office had been one of the busiest military posts in Dantzig. + Its doors were open at all hours, and in truth many of de Casimir's + assistants preferred to transact their business in the dark. + </p> + <p> + There might be some recalcitrant debtor driven by stress of circumstance + to clear his conscience to-night. It would be as well, de Casimir thought, + to be at one's post. Nor was he mistaken. Though it was only ten o'clock, + two men were awaiting his return, and, their business despatched, de + Casimir deemed it wise to send away his assistants. Immediately after they + had gone a woman came. She was half distracted with fear, and the tears + ran down her pallid cheeks. But she dried them at the mention of de + Casimir's price, and fell to abusing him. + </p> + <p> + “If your husband is innocent, there is all the more reason why he should + be grateful to me for warning him,” he said, with a smile. And at last the + lady paid and went away. + </p> + <p> + The town clocks had struck eleven before another footstep on the pavement + made de Casimir raise his head. He did not actually expect any one, but a + certain surreptitiousness in the approach of this visitor, and the low + knock on the door, made him suspect that this was grist for his mill. + </p> + <p> + He opened the door and, seeing that it was a woman, stepped back. When she + had entered, he closed the door while she stood watching him in the dark + passage, beneath the shadow of her hood. Knowing the value of such small + details, he locked the door rather ostentatiously and dropped the key into + his pocket. + </p> + <p> + “And now, madame,” he said reassuringly, as he followed his visitor into + the room where a shaded lamp lighted his writing-table. She threw back her + hood, and it was Mathilde! The surprise on de Casimir's face was genuine + enough. Romance could not have brought about this visit, nor love be its + motive. + </p> + <p> + “Something has happened,” he said, looking at her doubtfully. + </p> + <p> + “Where is my father?” was the reply. + </p> + <p> + “Unless there has been some mistake,” he answered glibly, “he is at home + in bed.” + </p> + <p> + She smiled contemptuously into his innocent face. + </p> + <p> + “There has been a mistake,” she said; “they came to arrest him to-night.” + </p> + <p> + De Casimir made a gesture of anger and seemed to be mentally assigning a + punishment to some blunderer. + </p> + <p> + “And?” he asked, without looking at her. + </p> + <p> + “And he escaped.” + </p> + <p> + “For the moment?” + </p> + <p> + “No; he has left Dantzig.” + </p> + <p> + Something in her voice—the cold note of warning—made him + glance uneasily at her. This was not a woman to be deceived, and yet she + was womanly enough to fear deception and to resent her own fears, visiting + her anger on any who aroused them. In the flash of an eye he understood + her, and forestalled the words that were upon her lips. + </p> + <p> + “And I promised that he should come to no harm—I know that,” he said + quickly. “At first I thought that it must have been a blunder, but on + reflection I am sure that it is not. It is the Emperor. He must have given + the order for the arrest himself, behind my back. That is his way. He + trusts no one. He deceives those nearest to him. I made out the list of + those to be arrested to-night, and your father's name was not on it. Do + you believe me? Mademoiselle, do you believe me?” + </p> + <p> + It was only natural in such a man to look for disbelief. The air he + breathed was infected by suspicion. No deception was too small for the + great man whom he served. Mathilde made no answer. + </p> + <p> + “You came here to accuse me of having deceived you,” he said rather + anxiously. “Is that it?” + </p> + <p> + She nodded without meeting his eyes. It was not the truth. She had come to + hear his defence, hoping against hope that she might be able to believe + him. + </p> + <p> + “Mathilde,” he asked slowly, “do you believe me?” + </p> + <p> + He came a step nearer, looking down at her averted face, which was oddly + white. Then suddenly she turned, without a sound, without lifting her eyes—and + was in his arms. It seemed that she had done it against her will, and it + took him by surprise. He had thought that she was trying to attract his + love because she believed in his capability to make his fortune like so + many soldiers of France; that she was only playing a woman's subtle game. + And, after all, she was like the rest—a little cleverer, a little + colder—but, like the rest. + </p> + <p> + While his arms were still round her, his quick mind leapt forward to the + future, wondering already to what end this would lead them. For a moment + he was taken aback. He was over the last of those barriers which are so + easy from the outside and unclimbable from within. She had thrust into his + hands a power greater than, for the moment, he knew how to wield. It was + characteristic of him to think first whither it would lead him, and next + how he could turn it to good account. + </p> + <p> + Some instinct told him that this was a different love from any that he had + met before. The same instinct made him understand that it was crying aloud + to be convinced; and, oddly enough, he had told her the truth. + </p> + <p> + “See,” he said, “here is a copy of the list, and your father's name is not + on it. See, here is Napoleon's letter, expressing satisfaction with my + work here and in Konigsberg, where I have been served by an agent of my + own choosing. Many have climbed to a throne with less than that letter for + their first step. See...!” he opened another drawer. It was full of money. + </p> + <p> + “See, again!” he said with a low laugh, and from an iron chest he took two + or three bags which fell upon the table with the discreet unmistakable + chink of gold. “That is the Emperor's. He trusts me, you see. These bags + are mine. They are to be sent back to France before I follow the army to + Russia. What I have told you is true, you see.” + </p> + <p> + It was an odd way of wooing, but this man rarely made a mistake. There are + many women who, like Mathilde Sebastian, are readier to love success than + console failure. + </p> + <p> + “See,” he said, after a moment's hesitation, opening another drawer in his + writing-table, “before I went away I had intended to ask you to remember + me.” + </p> + <p> + As he spoke he drew a jewel-case from under some papers, and slowly opened + it. He had others like it in the drawer; for emergencies. + </p> + <p> + “But I never hoped,” he went on, “to have an opportunity of seeing you + thus alone—to ask you never to forget me. You permit me?” + </p> + <p> + He clasped the diamonds round her throat, and they glittered on the poor, + cheap dress, which was the best she had. She looked down at them with a + catching breath, and for an instant the glitter was reflected in her eyes. + </p> + <p> + She had come asking for reassurance, and he gave her diamonds; which is an + old tale told over and over again. For in human love we have to accept not + what we want, but what is given to us. + </p> + <p> + “No one in Dantzig,” he said, “is so glad to hear that your father has + escaped as I am.” + </p> + <p> + And, with the glitter still lurking in her dark-grey eyes, she believed + him. He drew her cloak round her, and gently brought her hood over her + hair. + </p> + <p> + “I must take you home,” he said tenderly, “without delay. And as we go + through the streets you must tell me how it happened, and how you were + able to come to me.” + </p> + <p> + “Desiree was not asleep,” she answered; “she was waiting for me to return, + and told me at once. Then she went to bed, and I waited until she was + asleep. It was she who managed the escape.” + </p> + <p> + De Casimir, who was locking the drawers of his writing-table, glanced up + sharply. + </p> + <p> + “Ah! but not alone?” + </p> + <p> + “No—not alone. I will tell you as we go through the streets.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0011" id="link2HCH0011"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XI. THE WAVE MOVES ON. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + La meme fermete qui sert a resister a l'amour sert aussi a le +rendre violent et durable. +</pre> + <p> + It is only in war that the unexpected admittedly happens. In love and + other domestic calamities there is always a relative who knew it all the + time. + </p> + <p> + The news that Napoleon was in Vilna, hastily evacuated by the Russians in + full retreat, came as a surprise and not to all as a pleasant one, in + Dantzig. + </p> + <p> + It was Papa Barlasch who brought the tidings to the Frauengasse, one hot + afternoon in July. He returned before his usual hour, and sent Lisa + upstairs, with a message given in dumb show and interpreted by her into + matter-of-fact German, that he must see the young ladies without delay. + Far back in the great days of the monarchy, Papa Barlasch must have been a + little child in a peasant's hut on those Cotes du Nord where they breed a + race of Frenchmen startlingly similar to the hereditary foe across the + Channel, where to this day the men kick off their sabots at the door and + hold that an honest labourer has no business under a roof except in + stocking-feet and shirt-sleeves. + </p> + <p> + Barlasch had never yet been upstairs in the Sebastians' house, and deemed + it only respectful to the ladies to take off his boots on the mat, and + prowl to the kitchen in coarse blue woollen stockings, carefully darned by + himself, under the scornful immediate eye of Lisa. + </p> + <p> + He was in the kitchen when Mathilde and Desiree, in obedience to his + command, came downstairs. The floor in one corner of the room was littered + with his belongings; for he never used the table. “He takes up no more + room than a cat,” Lisa once said of him. “I never fall over him.” + </p> + <p> + “She leaves her greasy plates here and there,” explained Barlasch in + return. “One must think of one's self and one's uniform.” + </p> + <p> + He was in his stocking-feet with unbuttoned tunic when the two girls came + to him. + </p> + <p> + “Ai, ai, ai,” he said, imitating with his two hands the galloping of a + horse. “The Russians,” he explained confidentially. + </p> + <p> + “Has there been a battle?” asked Desiree. + </p> + <p> + And Barlasch answered “Pooh!” not without contempt for the female + understanding. + </p> + <p> + “Then what is it?” she inquired. “You must remember we are not soldiers—we + do not understand those manoeuvres—ai, ai, like that.” + </p> + <p> + And she copied his gesture beneath his scowling contempt. + </p> + <p> + “It is Vilna,” he said. “That is what it is. Then it will be Smolensk, and + then Moscow. Ah, ah! That little man!” + </p> + <p> + He turned and took up his haversack. + </p> + <p> + “And I—I have my route. It is good-bye to the Frauengasse. We have + been friends. I told you we should be. It is good-bye to these ladies—and + to that Lisa. Look at her!” + </p> + <p> + He pointed with his curved and derisive finger into Lisa's eyes. And in + truth the tears were there. Lisa was in heart and person that which is + comprehensively called motherly. She saw perhaps some pathos in the sight + of this rugged man—worn by travel, bent with hardship and many + wounds, past his work—shouldering his haversack and trudging off to + the war. + </p> + <p> + “The wave moves on,” he said, making a gesture, and a sound illustrating + that watery progress. “And Dantzig will soon be forgotten. You will be + left in peace—but we go on to—” He paused and shrugged his + shoulders while attending to a strap. “India or the devil,” he concluded. + </p> + <p> + “Colonel Casimir has gone,” he added in what he took to be an aside to + Mathilde. Which made her wonder for a moment. “I saw him depart with his + staff soon after daybreak. And the Emperor has forgotten Dantzig. It is + safe enough for the patron now. You can write him a letter to tell him so. + Tell him that I said it was safe for him to return quietly here, and live + in the Frauengasse—I, Barlasch.” + </p> + <p> + He was ready now, and, buttoning his tunic, he fixed the straps across his + chest, looking from one to the other of the three women watching him, not + without some appreciation of an audience. Then he turned to Desiree, who + had always been his friend, with whom he now considered that he had the + soldier's bond of a peril passed through together. + </p> + <p> + “The Emperor has forgotten Dantzig,” he repeated, “and those against whom + he had a grudge. But he has also forgotten those who are in prison. It is + not good to be forgotten in prison. Tell the patron that—to put it + in his pipe and smoke it. Some day he may remember an old soldier. Ah, one + thinks of one's self.” + </p> + <p> + And beneath his bushy brows he looked at her with a gleam of cunning. He + went to the door and, turning there, pointed the finger of scorn at Lisa, + stout and tearful. He gave a short laugh of a low-born contempt, and + departed without further parley. + </p> + <p> + On the doorstep he paused to put on his boots and button his gaiters, + stooping clumsily with a groan beneath his burden of haversack and kit. + Desiree, who had had time to go upstairs to her bedroom, ran after him as + he descended the steps. She had her purse in her hand, and she thrust it + into his, quickly and breathlessly. + </p> + <p> + “If you take it,” she said, “I shall know that we are friends.” + </p> + <p> + He took it ungraciously enough. It was a silken thing with two small rings + to keep the money in place, and he looked at it with a grimace, weighing + it in his hand. It was very light. + </p> + <p> + “Money,” he said. “No, thank you. To get drink with, and be degraded and + sent to prison. Not for me, madame. No, thank you. One thinks of one's + career.” + </p> + <p> + And with a gruff laugh of worldly wisdom he continued his way down the + worn steps, never looking back at her as she stood in the sunlight + watching him, with the purse in her hand. + </p> + <p> + So in his old age Papa Barlasch was borne forward to the war on that human + tide which flooded all Lithuania, and never ebbed again, but sank into the + barren ground, and was no more seen. + </p> + <p> + As the slow autumn approached, it became apparent that Dantzig no longer + interested the watchers. Vilna became the base of operations. Smolensk + fell, and, most wonderful of all, the Russians were retiring on Moscow. + Dantzig was no longer on the route. For a time it was of the world + forgotten, while, as Barlasch had predicted, free men continued at + liberty, though their names had an evil savour, while innocent persons in + prison were left to rot there. + </p> + <p> + Desiree continued to receive letters from her husband, full of love and + war. For a long time he lingered at Konigsberg, hoping every day to be + sent forward. Then he followed Murat across the Niemen, and wrote of weary + journeys over the rolling plains of Lithuania. + </p> + <p> + Towards the end of July he mentioned curtly the arrival of de Casimir at + head-quarters. + </p> + <p> + “With him came a courier,” wrote Charles, “bringing your dead letter. I + don't believe you love me as I love you. At all events, you do not seem to + tell me that you do so often as I want to tell you. Tell me what you do + and think every moment of the day....” And so on. Charles seemed to write + as easily as he talked, and had no difficulty in setting forth his + feelings. “The courier is in the saddle,” he concluded. “De Casimir tells + me that I must finish. Write and tell me everything. How is Mathilde? And + your father? Is he in good health? How does he pass his day? Does he still + go out in the evening to his cafe?” + </p> + <p> + This seemed to be an afterthought, suggested perhaps by conversation + passing in the room in which he sat. + </p> + <p> + The other exile, writing from Stockholm, was briefer in his + communications. + </p> + <p> + “I am well,” wrote Antoine Sebastian, “and hope to arrive soon after you + receive this. Felix Meyer, the notary, has instructions to furnish you + with money for household expenses.” + </p> + <p> + It would appear that Sebastian possessed other friends in Dantzig, who had + kept him advised of all that passed in the city. + </p> + <p> + For neither Mathilde nor Desiree had obeyed Barlasch's blunt order to + write to their father. They did not know whither he had fled, neither had + they received any communication giving an address or a hint as to his + future movements. It would appear that the same direct and laconic mind + which had carried out his escape deemed it wiser that those left behind + should be in no position to furnish information. + </p> + <p> + In fairness to Barlasch, Desiree had made little of that soldier's part in + Sebastian's evasion, and Mathilde displayed small interest in such + details. She rather fastened, however, upon the assistance rendered by + Louis d'Arragon. + </p> + <p> + “Why did he do it?” she asked. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, because I asked him,” was the reply. + </p> + <p> + “And why did you ask him?” + </p> + <p> + “Who else was there to ask?” returned Desiree, which was indeed + unanswerable. + </p> + <p> + Perhaps the question had been suggested to her by de Casimir, who, on + learning that Louis d'Arragon had helped her father to slip through the + Emperor's fingers, had asked the same in his own characteristic way. + </p> + <p> + “What could he hope to gain by doing it?” he had inquired as he walked by + Mathilde's side, along the Pfaffengasse. And he made other interrogations + respecting D'Arragon which Mathilde was no more able to satisfy, as he + accompanied her to the Frauengasse. + </p> + <p> + Since that time the dancing-lessons had been resumed to the music of a + hired fiddler, and Desiree had once more taken up her household task of + making both ends meet. She approached the difficulties as impetuously as + ever, and danced the stout pupils round the room with undiminished energy. + </p> + <p> + “It seems no good at all, your being married,” said one of these + breathlessly, while Desiree laughingly attended to her dishevelled hair. + </p> + <p> + “Why not?” + </p> + <p> + “Because you still make your own dresses and teach dancing,” replied the + pupil, with a quick sigh at the thought of some smart bursch in the + Prussian contingent. + </p> + <p> + “Ah, but Charles will return a colonel, and I shall bow to you in a silk + dress from a chaise and pair—come, left foot first. You are not so + tired as you think you are.” + </p> + <p> + For those that are busy, time flies quickly enough. And there is nothing + more absorbing than keeping the wolf from the door, else assuredly the + hungry thousands would find time to arise and rend the overfed few. + </p> + <p> + August succeeded a hot July and brought with it Sebastian's curt letter. + Sebastian himself—that shadowy father—returned to his home a + few hours later. He was not alone, for a heavier step followed his into + the passage, and Desiree, always quick to hear and see and act, coming to + the head of the stairs, perceived her father looking upwards towards her, + while his companion in rough sailor's clothes turned to lay aside the + valise he had carried on his shoulder. + </p> + <p> + Mathilde was close behind Desiree, and Sebastian kissed his daughters with + that cold repression of manner which always suggested a strenuous past in + which the emotions had been relinquished for ever as an indulgence unfit + for a stern and hard-bitten age. + </p> + <p> + “I took him away and now return him,” said the sailor coming forward. + Desiree had always known that it was Louis, but Mathilde gave a little + start at the sound of the neat clipping French in the mouth of an educated + Frenchman so rarely heard in Dantzig—so rarely heard in all broad + France to-day. + </p> + <p> + “Yes—that is true,” answered Sebastian, turning to him with a sudden + change of manner. There was that in voice and attitude which his hearers + had never noted before, although Charles had often evoked something + approaching it. It seemed to indicate that, of all the people with whom + they had seen their father hold intercourse, Louis d'Arragon was the only + man who stood upon equality with him. + </p> + <p> + “That is true—and at great risk to yourself,” he said, not + assigning, however, so great an importance to personal danger as men do in + these careful days. As he spoke, he took Louis by the arm and by a gesture + invited him to precede him upstairs with a suggestion of camaraderie + somewhat startling in one usually so cold and formal as Antoine Sebastian, + the dancing-master of the Frauengasse. + </p> + <p> + “I was writing to Charles,” said Desiree to D'Arragon, when they reached + the drawing-room, and, crossing to her own table, she set the papers in + order there. These consisted of a number of letters from her husband, read + and re-read, it would appear. And the answer to them, a clean sheet of + paper bearing only the date and address, lay beneath her hand. + </p> + <p> + “The courier leaves this evening,” she said, with a queer ring of anxiety + in her voice, as if she feared that for some reason or another she ran the + risk of failing to despatch her letter. She glanced at the clock, and + stood, pen in hand, thinking of what she should write. + </p> + <p> + “May I enclose a line?” asked Louis. “It is not wise, perhaps, for me to + address to him a letter—since I am on the other side. It is a small + matter of a heritage which he and I divide. I have placed some money in a + Dantzig bank for him. He may require it when he returns.” + </p> + <p> + “Then you do not correspond with Charles?” said Mathilde, clearing a space + for him on the larger table, and setting before him ink and pens and + paper. + </p> + <p> + “Thank you, Mademoiselle,” he said, glancing at her with that light of + interest in his dark eyes which she had ignited once before by a question + on the only occasion that they had met. He seemed to detect that she was + more interested in him than her indifferent manner would appear to + indicate. “No, I am a bad correspondent. If Charles and I, in our present + circumstances, were to write to each other it could only lead to intrigue, + for which I have no taste and Charles no capacity.” + </p> + <p> + “You seem to hint that Charles might have such a taste then,” she said, + with her quiet smile, as she moved away leaving him to write. + </p> + <p> + “Charles has probably found out by this time,” he answered with the + bluntness which he claimed as a prerogative of his calling and nation, + “that a soldier of Napoleon's who intrigues will make a better career than + one who merely fights.” + </p> + <p> + He took up his pen and wrote with the absorption of one who has but little + time and knows exactly what to say. By chance he glanced towards Desiree, + who sat at her own table near the window. She was stroking her cheek with + the feather of her pen, looking with puzzled eyes at the blank paper + before her. Each time D'Arragon dipped his pen he glanced at her, watching + her. And Mathilde, with her needlework, watched them both. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0012" id="link2HCH0012"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XII. FROM BORODINO. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + However we brave it out, we men are a little breed. +</pre> + <p> + War is the gambling of kings. Napoleon, the arch-gambler, from that + Southern sea where men, lacking cards or dice and the money to buy either, + will yet play a game of chance with the ten fingers that God gave them for + another purpose—Napoleon had dealt a hand with every monarch in + Europe before he met for the second time that Northern adversary of cool + blood who knew the waiting game. + </p> + <p> + It is only where the stakes are small that the leisurely players, idly + fingering the fallen cards, return in fancy to certain points—to + this trick trumped or that chance missed, playing the game over again. But + when the result is great it overshadows the game, and all men's thoughts + fly to speculation on the future. How will the loser meet his loss? What + use will the winner make of his gain? + </p> + <p> + The results of the Russian campaign were so stupendous to history that the + historians of the day, in their bewilderment, sought rather to preserve + these than the details of the war. Thus the student of to-day, in piecing + together an impression of bygone times, will inevitably find portions of + his picture missing. As a matter of fact, no one can say for certain + whether Alexander gently led Napoleon onward to Moscow or was himself + driven thither in confusion by the conqueror. + </p> + <p> + Perhaps each merely pushed on from day to day, as men who are not Emperors + must needs do in the stress of life. It is only in calm weather that the + eye is able to discern things afar off and make ready; but in a storm the + horizon is dimmed by cloud and spray. All Europe was so obscured at this + time. And even Emperors, being only men, could look no farther than the + immediate and urgent danger of the moment. + </p> + <p> + Napoleon's generals were scarcely social lights. Ney, the hero of the + retreat, the bravest of the brave, was a rough man who ate horseflesh + without troubling to cook it. Rapp, whose dogged defence of an abandoned + city is without compare in the story of war, had the manners and the mind + of a peasant. These gentlemen dealt more in deeds than in words. They had + not much to say for themselves. + </p> + <p> + As for the Russians, Russia remains at this time the one European country + unhampered and unharassed by a cheap press—the one country where + prominent men have a quiet tongue. A hundred years ago Russians did great + deeds, and the rest was silence. Neither Kutusoff nor Alexander ever + stated clearly whether the retreat to Moscow was intentional or + unavoidable; and these are the only men who knew. Perhaps Napoleon knew; + at all events, he thought he did, or pretended to think it long afterwards + at St. Helena, for Napoleon the Great was a consummate liar. + </p> + <p> + Be that as it may, the Russians retreated, and the French advanced farther + and farther from their base. It was a great army—the greatest ever + seen. For Napoleon had eight monarchs serving with the eagles; generals + innumerable, many of them immortal—Davoust, the greatest strategist; + Prince Eugene, the incomparable lieutenant; Ney, the fearless; four + hundred thousand men. And they carried with them only twenty days' + provision. + </p> + <p> + They had marched from the Vistula, full of shipping, across the Pregel, + loaded with stores, to the Niemen, where there was no navigation. Dantzig, + behind them—that Gibraltar of the North—was stored with + provision enough for the whole army. But there was no transport; for the + roads of Lithuania were unsuitable for the heavy carts provided. + </p> + <p> + The country across the Niemen could scarce sustain its own sparse + population, and had nothing to spare for an invading army. This had once + been Poland, and was now inimical to Russia; but Russia did not care, and + the friendship of Lithuania was like many human friendships which we make + sacrifices to preserve—not worth having. + </p> + <p> + All the while the Russians retreated, and, stranger still, the French + followed them, eking out their twenty days' provision. + </p> + <p> + “I will make them fight a big battle, and beat them,” said Napoleon; “and + then the Emperor will sue for peace.” + </p> + <p> + But Barclay de Tolly continued to run away from that great battle. Then + came the news that Barclay had been deposed; that Kutusoff was coming from + the South to take command. It was true enough; and Barclay cheerfully + served in a subordinate position to the new chief. September brought great + hopes of a battle, for Kutusoff seemed to retreat with less despatch, like + a man choosing his ground—Kutusoff, that master of the waiting game. + </p> + <p> + Early in September Murat, the impetuous leader of the pursuit, complained + to Nansouty that a cavalry charge had not been pushed home. + </p> + <p> + “The horses have no patriotism,” replied Nansouty. “The men will fight on + empty stomachs, but not the horses.” + </p> + <p> + An ominous reply at the beginning of a campaign, while communications were + still open. + </p> + <p> + At last, within a few days' march of Moscow, Kutusoff made a stand. At + last the great battle was imminent, after a hundred false alarms, after + many disappointed hopes. The country had been flat hitherto. The Borodino, + running in a wider valley than many of these rivers, which are merely + great ditches, seemed to offer possibilities of defence. It was the only + hope for Moscow. + </p> + <p> + “At last,” wrote Charles to Desiree on September 6, “we are to have a + great battle. There has been much fighting the last few days, but I have + seen none of it. We are only eighty miles from Moscow. If there is a great + battle to-morrow we shall see Moscow in less than a week. For we shall + win. I have now found out from one who is near him that the Emperor saw + and remembered me the day he passed us in the Frauengasse—our + wedding-day, dearest. Nobody is too insignificant for him to know. He + thought that my marriage to you (for he knows that you are French) would + militate against the work I had been given to do in Dantzig, so he gave + orders for me to be sent at once to Konigsberg and to continue the work + there. De Casimir tells me that the Emperor is pleased with me. De Casimir + is the best friend I have; I am sure of that. It is said that under the + walls of Moscow the Emperor will dictate his terms to Alexander. Every one + wonders that Alexander of Russia did not make proposals of peace when + Vilna and Smolensk fell. In a week we may be at Moscow. In a month I may + be back at Dantzig, Desiree....” + </p> + <p> + And the rest would have been for Desiree's eyes alone, had it ever been + penned. For next in sacredness to heaven-inspired words are mere human + love letters; and those who read the love-letters of another commit a + sacrilege. But Charles never finished the letter, for the dawn surprised + him where he wrote in a shed by the miserable Kalugha, a streamlet running + to the Moskwa. And it was the dawn of September 7, 1812. + </p> + <p> + “There is the sun of Austerlitz,” said Napoleon to those who were near him + when it arose. But it was not. It was the sun of Borodino. And before it + set the great battle desired by the French had been fought, and eight + French generals lay dead, while thirty more were wounded. Murat, Davoust, + Ney, Junot, Prince Eugene, Napoleon himself—all were there; and all + fought to finish a war which from the first had been disliked. The French + claimed it as a victory; but they gained nothing by it, and they lost + forty thousand killed and wounded. + </p> + <p> + During the night the Russians evacuated the position which they had held, + and lost, and retaken. They retreated towards Moscow, but Napoleon was + hardly ready to pursue. + </p> + <p> + These things, however, are history, and those who wish to know of them may + read them in another volume. While to the many orderly persons who would + wish to see everything in its place and the history-books on the top shelf + to be taken down and read on a future day (which will never come), to such + the explanation is due that this battle of Borodino is here touched upon + because it changed the current of some lives with which we have to deal. + </p> + <p> + For battles and revolutions and historical events of any sort are the + jagged instruments with which Fate rough-hews our lives, leaving us to + shape them as we will. In other days, no doubt, men rough-hewed, while + Fate shaped. But as civilization advances men will wax so tender, so + careful of the individual, that they will never cut and slash, but move + softly, very tolerant, very easy-going, seeking the compromise that brings + peace and breeds a small and timid race of men. + </p> + <p> + Into such lives Fate comes crashing like a woodman with his axe, leaving + us to smooth the edges of the gaping wound and smile, and say that we are + not hurt; to pare away the knots and broken stumps; and hope that our + neighbour, concealing such himself, will have the decency to pretend not + to see. + </p> + <p> + Thus the battle of Borodino crashed into the lives of Desiree and + Mathilde, and their father, living quietly on the sunny side of the + Frauengasse in Dantzig. Antoine Sebastian was the first to hear the news. + He had, it seemed, special facilities for learning news at the Weissen + Ross'l, whither he went again now in the evening. + </p> + <p> + “There has been a great battle,” he said, with so much more than his usual + self-restraint that Desiree and Mathilde exchanged a glance of anxiety. “A + man coming this evening from Dirschau saw and spoke with the Imperial + couriers on their way to Berlin and Paris. It was a great victory, quite + near to Moscow. But the loss on both sides has been terrible.” + </p> + <p> + He paused and glanced at Desiree. It was his creed that good blood should + show an example of self-restraint and a certain steadfast, indifferent + courage. + </p> + <p> + “Not so much among the French,” he said, “as among the Bavarians and + Italians. It is an odd way of showing patriotism, to gain victories for + the conqueror. One hoped—” he paused and made a gesture with his + right hand, scarcely indicative of a staunch hope, “that the man's star + might be setting, but it would appear to be still in the ascendant. + Charles,” he added, as an afterthought, “would be on the staff. No doubt + he only saw the fighting from a distance.” + </p> + <p> + Desiree, from whose face the colour had faded, nodded cheerfully enough. + </p> + <p> + “Oh yes,” she answered, “I have no doubt he is safe. He has good fortune.” + </p> + <p> + For she was an apt pupil, and had already learnt that the world only + wishes to leave us in undisputed possession of our anxieties or sorrows, + however ready it may be to come forward and take a hand in good fortune. + </p> + <p> + “But there is no definite news,” said Mathilde, hardly looking up from the + needlework at which her fingers were so deft and industrious. + </p> + <p> + “No.” + </p> + <p> + “No news of Charles, I mean,” she continued, “or of any of our friends. Of + Monsieur de Casimir, for instance?” + </p> + <p> + “No. As for Colonel de Casimir,” returned Sebastian thoughtfully, “he, + like Charles, holds some staff appointment of which one does not + understand the scope. He is without doubt uninjured.” + </p> + <p> + Mathilde glanced at her father not without suspicion. His grand manner + might easily be at times a screen. One never knows how much is perceived + by those who look down from a high place. + </p> + <p> + The town was quiet enough all that night. Sebastian must have heard the + news from some unofficial source, for none other seemed to know it. But at + daybreak the church bells, so rarely used in Dantzig for rejoicing, awoke + the burghers to the fact that the Emperor bade them make merry. Napoleon + gave great heed to such matters. In the churches of Lithuania and farther + on in Russia he had commanded the popes to pray for him at their altars + instead of for the Czar. + </p> + <p> + When Desiree came downstairs, she found a packet awaiting her. The courier + had come in during the night. This was more than a letter. A number of + papers had been folded in a handkerchief and bound with string. The + address was written on a piece of white leather cut from the uniform of + one who had fallen at Borodino, and had no more need of sabretasche or + trapping. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “Madame Desiree Darragon—nee Sebastian, + Frauengasse 36, + Dantzig.” + </pre> + <p> + Desiree's heart stood still; for the writing was unknown to her. As she + cut the network of string, she thought that Charles was dead. When the + enclosed papers fell upon the table, she was sure of it; for they were all + in his writing. She did not pick and choose as one would who has leisure + and no very strong excitement, but took up the first paper and read: + </p> + <p> + “Dear C.—I have been fortunate, as you will see from the enclosed + report. His Majesty cannot again say that I have been neglectful. I was + quite right. It is Sebastian and only Sebastian that we need fear. Here, + they are clumsy conspirators compared to him. I have been in the river + half the night, listening at the open stern window of a Reval pink to + every word they said. His Majesty can safely come to Konigsberg. Indeed, + he is better out of Dantzig. For the whole country is riddled with that + which they call patriotism, and we, treason. But I can only repeat what + His Majesty disbelieved the day before yesterday—that the heart of + the ill is Dantzig, and the venom of it Sebastian. Who he really is and + what he is about, you must find out how you can. I go forward to-day to + Gumbinnen. The enclosed letter to its address—I beg of you—if + only in acknowledgment of all that I have sacrificed.” + </p> + <p> + The letter was unsigned, but the writing was the writing of Charles + Darragon, and Desiree knew what he had sacrificed—what he could + never recover. + </p> + <p> + There were two or three more letters addressed to “Dear C.,” bearing no + signature, and yet written by Charles. Desiree read them carefully with a + sort of numb attention which photographed them permanently on her memory + like writing that is carved in stone upon a wall. There must be some + explanation in one of them. Who had sent them to her? Was Charles dead? + </p> + <p> + At last she came to a sealed envelope addressed to herself by Charles. + Some other hand had copied the address from it in identical terms on the + piece of white leather. She opened and read it. It was the letter written + to her by Charles on the bank of the Kalugha river on the eve of Borodino, + and left unfinished by him. He must be dead. She prayed that he might be. + </p> + <p> + She was alone in the room, having come down early, as was her wont, to + prepare breakfast. She heard Lisa talking with some one at the door—a + messenger, no doubt, to say that Charles was dead. + </p> + <p> + One letter still remained unread. It was in a different writing—the + writing on the white leather. + </p> + <p> + “Madame,” it read, “The enclosed papers were found on the field by one of + my orderlies. One of them being addressed to you, furnishes a clue to + their owner, who must have dropped them in the hurry of the advance. + Should Captain Charles Darragon be your husband, I have the pleasure to + inform you that he was seen alive and well at the end of the day.” The + writer assured Desiree of his respectful consideration, and wrote + “Surgeon” after his name. + </p> + <p> + Desiree had read the explanation too late. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0013" id="link2HCH0013"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XIII. IN THE DAY OF REJOICING. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Truth, though it crush me. +</pre> + <p> + The door of the room stood open, and the sound of a step in the passage + made Desiree glance up, as she hastily put together the papers found on + the battlefield of Borodino. + </p> + <p> + Louis d'Arragon was coming into the room, and for an instant, before his + expression changed, she saw all the fatigue that he must have endured + during the night; all that he must have risked. His face was usually still + and quiet; a combination of that contemplative calm which characterises + seafaring faces, and the clean-cut immobility of a racial type developed + by hereditary duties of self-restraint and command. + </p> + <p> + He knew that there had been a battle, and, seeing the papers on the table, + his eyes asked her the inevitable question which his lips were slow to put + into words. + </p> + <p> + In reply Desiree shook her head. She looked at the papers in quick + thought. Then she withdrew from them the letter written to her by Charles—and + put the others together. + </p> + <p> + “You told me to send for you,” she said in a quiet, tired voice, “if I + wanted you. You have saved me the trouble.” + </p> + <p> + His eyes were hard with anxiety as he looked at her. She held the letters + towards him. + </p> + <p> + “By coming,” she added, with a glance at him which took in the dust, and + the stains of salt-water on his clothes, the fatigue he sought to conceal + by a rigid stillness, and the tension that was left by the dangers he had + passed through—daring all—to come. + </p> + <p> + Seeing that he looked doubtfully at the papers, she spoke again. + </p> + <p> + “One,” she said, “that one on the stained paper, is addressed to me. You + can read it—since I ask you.” + </p> + <p> + The letter told him, at all events, that Charles was not killed, and, + seeing his face clear as he read, she gave an odd, curt laugh. + </p> + <p> + “Read the others,” she said. “Oh! you need not hesitate. You need not be + so particular. Read one, the top one. One is enough.” + </p> + <p> + The windows stood open, and the morning breeze fluttering the curtains + brought in the gay sound of bells, the high clear bells of Hanseatic days, + rejoicing at Napoleon's new success—by order of Napoleon. A bee + sailed harmoniously into the room, made the circuit of it, and sought the + open again with a hum that faded drowsily into silence. + </p> + <p> + D'Arragon read the letter slowly from beginning to the unsigned end, while + Desiree, sitting at the table, upon which she leant one elbow, resting her + small square chin in the palm of her hand, watched him. + </p> + <p> + “Ah?” she exclaimed at length, with a ring of contempt in her voice, as if + at the thought of something unclean. “A spy! It is so easy for you to keep + still, and to hide all you feel.” + </p> + <p> + D'Arragon folded the letter slowly. It was the fatal letter written in the + upper room in the shoemaker's house in Konigsberg in the Neuer Markt, + where the linden trees grow close to the window. In it Charles spoke + lightly of the sacrifice he had made in leaving Desiree on his + wedding-day, to do the Emperor's bidding. It was indeed the greatest + sacrifice that man can make; for he had thrown away his honour. + </p> + <p> + “It may not be so easy as you think,” returned D'Arragon, looking towards + the door. + </p> + <p> + He had no time to say more; for Mathilde and her father were talking + together on the stairs as they came down. D'Arragon thrust the letters + into his pocket, the only indication he had time to give to Desiree of the + policy they must pursue. He stood facing the door, alert and quiet, with + only a moment in which to shape the course of more than one life. + </p> + <p> + “There is good news, Monsieur,” he said to Sebastian. “Though I did not + come to bring it.” + </p> + <p> + Sebastian pointed interrogatively to the open window, where the sound of + the bells seemed to emphasize the sunlight and the freshness of the + morning. + </p> + <p> + “No—not that,” returned D'Arragon. “It is a great victory, they tell + me; but it is hard to say whether such news would be good or bad. It was + of Charles that I spoke. He is safe—Madame has heard.” + </p> + <p> + He spoke rather slowly, and turned towards Desiree with a measured + gesture, not unlike Sebastian's habitual manner, and a quick glance to + satisfy himself that she had understood and was ready. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said Desiree, “he was safe and well after the battle, but he gives + no details; for the letter was actually written the day before.” + </p> + <p> + “With a mere word, added in postscriptum, to say that he was unhurt at the + end of the day,” suggested Sebastian, already drawing forward a chair with + a gesture full of hospitality, inviting D'Arragon to be seated at the + simple breakfast-table. But D'Arragon was looking at Mathilde, who had + gone rather hurriedly to the window, as if to breathe the air. He had + caught a glimpse of her face as she passed. It was hard and set, quite + colourless, with bright, sleepless eyes. D'Arragon was a sailor. He had + seen that look in rougher faces and sterner eyes, and knew what it meant. + </p> + <p> + “No details?” asked Mathilde in a muffled voice, without looking round. + </p> + <p> + “No,” answered Desiree, who had noticed nothing. How much more clearly we + should understand what is going on around us if we had no secrets of our + own to defend! + </p> + <p> + In obedience to Sebastian's gesture, D'Arragon took a chair, and even as + he did so Mathilde came to the table, calm and mistress of herself again, + to pour out the coffee, and do the honours of the simple meal. D'Arragon, + besides having acquired the seamen's habit of adapting himself + unconsciously and unobtrusively to his surroundings, was of a direct mind, + lacking self-consciousness, and simplified by the pressure of a strong and + steady purpose. For men's minds are like the atmosphere, which is always + cleared by a steady breeze, while a changing wind generates vapours, mist, + uncertainty. + </p> + <p> + “And what news do you bring from the sea?” asked Sebastian. “Is your sky + there as overcast as ours in Dantzig?” + </p> + <p> + “No, Monsieur, our sky is clearing,” answered D'Arragon, eating with a + hearty appetite the fresh bread and butter set before him. “Since I saw + you, the treaties have been signed, as you doubtless know, between Sweden + and Russia and England.” + </p> + <p> + Nodding his head with silent emphasis, Sebastian gave it to be understood + that he knew that and more. + </p> + <p> + “It makes a great difference to us at sea in the Baltic,” said D'Arragon. + “We are no longer harassed night and day, like a dog, hounded from end to + end of a hostile street, not daring to look into any doorway. The Russian + ports and Swedish ports are open to us now.” + </p> + <p> + “One is glad to hear that your life is one of less hardship,” said + Sebastian gravely. “I.... who have tasted it.” + </p> + <p> + Desiree glanced at his lean, hard face. She rose, went out of the room, + and returned in a few minutes carrying a new loaf which she set on the + table before him with a short laugh, and something glistening in her eyes + that was not mirth. + </p> + <p> + But neither Desiree nor Mathilde joined in the conversation. They were + glad for their father to have a companion so sympathetic as to produce a + marked difference in his manner. For Sebastian was more at ease with Louis + d'Arragon than he was with Charles, though the latter had the tie of a + common fatherland, and spoke the same French that Sebastian spoke. + D'Arragon's French had the roundness always imparted to that language by + an English voice. It was perfect enough, but of an educated perfection. + </p> + <p> + The talk was of such matters as concerned men more than women; of armies + and war and treaties of peace. For all the world thought that Alexander of + Russia would be brought to his knees by the battle of Borodino. None knew + better how to turn a victory to account than he who claimed to be victor + now. “It does not suffice,” Napoleon wrote to his brother at this time, + “to gain a victory. You must learn to turn it to advantage.” + </p> + <p> + Save for the one reference to his life in the Baltic during the past two + months, D'Arragon said nothing of himself, of his patient, dogged work + carried on by day and by night in all weathers. Content to have escaped + with his life, he neither referred to, nor thought of, his part in the + negotiations which had resulted in the treaty just signed. For he had been + the link between Russia and England; the never-failing messenger passing + from one to the other with question and answer which were destined to bear + fruit at last in an understanding brought to perfection in Paris, + culminating at Elba. + </p> + <p> + Both were guarded in what they said of passing events, and both seemed to + doubt the truth of the reports now flying through the streets of Dantzig. + Even in the quiet Frauengasse all the citizens were out on their terraces + calling questions to those that passed by beneath the trees. The itinerant + tradesman, the milkman going his round, the vendors of fruit from Langfuhr + and the distant villages of the plain, lingered at the doors to tell the + servants the latest gossip of the market-place. Even in this frontier + city, full of spies, strangers spoke together in the streets, and the + sound of their voices, raised above the clang of carillons, came in at the + open window. + </p> + <p> + “At first a victory is always a great one,” said D'Arragon, looking + towards the window. + </p> + <p> + “It is so easy to ring a bell,” added Sebastian, with his rare smile. + </p> + <p> + He was quite himself this morning, and only once did the dull look arrest + his features into the stony stillness which his daughters knew. + </p> + <p> + “You are the only one of your name in Dantzig,” said D'Arragon, in the + course of question and answer as to the safe delivery of letters in time + of war. + </p> + <p> + “So far as I know, there is no other Sebastian,” replied he; and Desiree, + who had guessed the motive of the question, which must have been in + D'Arragon's mind from the beginning, was startled by the fulness of the + answer. It seemed to make reply to more than D'Arragon had asked. It + shattered the last faint hope that there might have been another Sebastian + of whom Charles had written. + </p> + <p> + “For myself,” said D'Arragon, changing the subject quickly, “I can now + make sure of receiving letters addressed to me in the care of the English + Consul at Riga, or the Consul at Stockholm, should you wish to communicate + with me, or should Madame find leisure to give me news of her husband.” + </p> + <p> + “Desiree will no doubt take pleasure in keeping you advised of Charles's + progress. As for myself, I fear I am a bad correspondent. Perhaps not a + desirable one in these days,” said Sebastian, his face slowly clearing. He + waved the point aside with a gesture that looked out of place on a hand + lean and spare, emerging from a shabby brown sleeve without cuff or + ruffle. + </p> + <p> + “For I feel assured,” he went on, “that we shall continue to hear good + news of your cousin; not only that he is safe and well, but that he makes + progress in his profession. He will go far, I am sure.” + </p> + <p> + D'Arragon bowed his acknowledgment of this kind thought, and rose rather + hastily. + </p> + <p> + “My best chance of quitting the city unseen,” he said, “is to pass through + the gates with the market-people returning to the villages. To do that, I + must not delay.” + </p> + <p> + “The streets are so full,” replied Sebastian, glancing out of the window, + “that you will pass through them unnoticed. I see beneath the trees, a + neighbour, Koch the locksmith, who is perhaps waiting to give me news. + While you are saying farewell, I will go out and speak to him. What he has + to tell may interest you and your comrades at sea—may help your + escape from the city this morning.” + </p> + <p> + He took his hat as he spoke and went to the door. Mathilde, thirsting for + the news that seemed to hum in the streets like the sound of bees, rose + and followed him. Desiree and D'Arragon were left alone. She had gone to + the window, and, turning there, she looked back at him over her shoulder, + where he stood by the door watching her. + </p> + <p> + “So, you see,” she said, “there is no other Sebastian.” + </p> + <p> + D'Arragon made no reply. She came nearer to him, her blue eyes sombre with + contempt for the man she had married. Suddenly she pointed to the chair + which D'Arragon had just vacated. + </p> + <p> + “That is where he sat. He has eaten my father's salt a hundred times,” she + said, with a short laugh. For whithersoever civilization may take us, we + must still go back to certain primaeval laws of justice between man and + man. + </p> + <p> + “You judge too hastily,” said D'Arragon; but she interrupted him with a + gesture of warning. + </p> + <p> + “I have not judged hastily,” she said. “You do not understand. You think I + judge from that letter. That is only a confirmation of something that has + been in my mind for a long time—ever since my wedding-day. I knew + when you came into the room upstairs on that day that you did not trust + Charles.” + </p> + <p> + “I—?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” she answered, standing squarely in front of him and looking him in + the eyes. “You did not trust him. You were not glad that I had married + him. I could see it in your face. I have never forgotten.” + </p> + <p> + D'Arragon turned away towards the window. Sebastian and Mathilde were in + the street below, in the shade of the trees, talking with the eager + neighbours. + </p> + <p> + “You would have stopped it if you could,” said Desiree; and he did not + deny it. + </p> + <p> + “It was some instinct,” he said at length. “Some passing misgiving.” + </p> + <p> + “For Charles?” she asked sharply. + </p> + <p> + And D'Arragon, looking out of the window, would not answer. She gave a + sudden laugh. + </p> + <p> + “One cannot compliment you on your politeness,” she said. “Was it for + Charles that you had misgivings?” + </p> + <p> + At last D'Arragon turned on his heel. + </p> + <p> + “Does it matter?” he asked. “Since I came too late.” + </p> + <p> + “That is true,” she said, after a pause. “You came too late; so it doesn't + matter. And the thing is done now, and I..., well, I suppose I must do + what others have done before me—I must make the best of it.” + </p> + <p> + “I will help you,” said D'Arragon slowly, almost carefully, “if I can.” + </p> + <p> + He was still avoiding her eyes, still looking out of the window. Sebastian + was coming up the steps. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0014" id="link2HCH0014"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XIV. MOSCOW. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Nothing is so disappointing as failure—except success. +</pre> + <p> + While the Dantzigers with grave faces discussed the news of Borodino + beneath the trees in the Frauengasse, Charles Darragon, white with dust, + rose in his stirrups to catch the first sight of the domes and cupolas of + Moscow. + </p> + <p> + It was a sunny morning, and the gold on the churches gleamed and glittered + in the shimmering heat like fairyland. Charles had ridden to the summit of + a hill and sat for a moment, as others had done, in silent contemplation. + Moscow at last! All around him men were shouting: “Moscow! Moscow!” Grave, + white-haired generals waved their shakos in the air. Those at the summit + of the hill called the others to come. Far down in the valley, where the + dust raised by thousands of feet hung in the air like a mist, a faint + sound like the roar of falling water could be heard. It was the word + “Moscow!” sweeping back to the rearmost ranks of these starving men who + had marched for two months beneath the glaring sun, parched with dust, + through a country that seemed to them a Sahara. Every house they + approached, they had found deserted. Every barn was empty. The very crops + ripening to harvest had been gathered in and burnt. Near to the miserable + farmhouses, a pile of ashes hardly cold marked where the poor furniture + had been tossed upon the fire kindled with the year's harvest. + </p> + <p> + Everywhere it was the same. There are, as God created it, few countries of + a sadder aspect than that which spreads between the Moskwa and the + Vistula. But it has been decreed by the dim laws of Race that the ugly + countries shall be blessed with the greater love of their children, while + men born in a beautiful land seem readiest to emigrate from it and make + the best settlers in a new home. There is only one country in the world + with a ring-fence round it. If a Russian is driven from his home, he will + go to another part of Russia: there is always room. + </p> + <p> + Before the advance of the spoilers, chartered by their leader to unlimited + and open rapine—indeed, he had led them hither with that + understanding—the Prussians, peasant and noble alike, fled to the + East. A hundred times the advance guard, fully alive to the advantages of + their position, had raced to the gates of a chateau only to find, on + breaking open the doors, that it was empty—the furniture destroyed, + the stores burnt, the wine poured out. + </p> + <p> + So also in the peasants' huts. Some, more careful than the rest, had + pulled the thatch from the roof to burn it. There was no corn in this the + Egypt of their greedy hopes. And, lest they should bring the corn with + them, the spoilers found the mills everywhere wrecked. + </p> + <p> + It was something new to them. It was new to Napoleon, who had so + frequently been met halfway, who knew that men for greed will part + smilingly with half in order to save the residue. He knew that many, + rather than help a neighbour who is in danger by a robber, will join the + robber and share the spoil, crying out that force majeure was used to + them. + </p> + <p> + But, as every man must judge according to his lights, so must even the + greatest find himself in the dark at last. No man of the Latin race will + ever understand the Slav. And because the beginning is easy—because + in certain superficial tricks of speech and thought Paris and Petersburg + are not unlike—so much the more is the breach widened when necessity + digs deeper than the surface. For, to make the acquaintance of a stranger + who seems to be a counterpart of one's self in thought and taste, is like + the first hearing of a kindred language such as Dutch to the English ear. + At first it sounds like one's own tongue with a hundred identical words, + but on closer listening it will be found that the words mean something + else, and that the whole is incomprehensible and the more difficult to + acquire by the very reason of its resemblance. + </p> + <p> + Napoleon thought that the Russians would act as his enemies of the Latin + race had acted. He thought that like his own people they would be + over-confident, urging each other on to great deeds by loud words and a + hundred boasts. But the Russians lack self-confidence, are timid rather + than over-bold, dreamy rather than fiery. Only their women are glib of + speech. He thought that they would begin very brilliantly and end with a + compromise, heart-breaking at first and soon lived down. + </p> + <p> + “They are savages out here in the plains,” he said. “It is a barbaric and + stupid instinct that makes them destroy their own property for the sake of + hampering us. As we approach Moscow we shall find that the more civilized + inhabitants of the villages, enervated by an easy life, rendered selfish + by possession of wealth, will not abandon their property, but will barter + and sell to us and find themselves the victims of our might.” + </p> + <p> + And the army believed him. For they always believed him. Faith can, + indeed, move mountains. It carried four hundred thousand men, without + provisions, through a barren land. + </p> + <p> + And now, in sight of the golden city, the army was still hungry. Nay! it + was ragged already. In three columns it converged on the doomed capital, + driving before it like a swarm of flies the Cossacks who harassed the + advance. + </p> + <p> + Here again, on the hill looking down into the smiling valley of the + Moskwa, the unexpected awaited the invaders. The city, shimmering in the + sunlight like the realization of some Arab's dream, was silent. The + Cossacks had disappeared. Except those around the Kremlin, towering above + the river, the city had no walls. + </p> + <p> + The army halted while aides-de-camp flew hither and thither on their weary + horses. Charles Darragon, sunburnt, dusty, hoarse with cheering, was among + the first. He looked right and left for de Casimir, but could not see him. + He had not seen his chief since Borodino, for he was temporarily attached + to the staff of Prince Eugene, who had lost heavily at the Kalugha river. + </p> + <p> + It was usual for the army to halt before a beleaguered city and await the + advent in all humility of the vanquished. Commonly it was the mayor of a + town who came, followed by his councillors in their robes, to explain that + the army had abandoned the city, which now begged to throw itself upon the + mercy of the conqueror. + </p> + <p> + For this the army waited on that sunny September morning. + </p> + <p> + “He is putting on his robes,” they said gaily. “He is new to this work.” + </p> + <p> + But the mayor of Moscow disappointed them. At last the troops moved on and + camped for the night in a village under the Kremlin walls. It was here + that Charles received a note from de Casimir. + </p> + <p> + “I am slightly wounded,” wrote that officer, “but am following the army. + At Borodino my horse was killed under me, and I was thrown. While I was + insensible, I was robbed and lost what money I had, as well as my + despatch-case. In the latter was the letter you wrote to your wife. It is + lost, my friend; you must write another.” + </p> + <p> + Charles was tired. He would put off till to-morrow, he thought, and write + to Desiree from Moscow. As he lay, all dressed on the hard ground, he fell + to thinking of what he should write to Desiree to-morrow from Moscow. The + mere date and address of such a letter would make her love him the more, + he thought; for, like his leaders, he was dazed by a surfeit of glory. + </p> + <p> + As he fell asleep smiling at these happy reflections, Desiree, far away in + Dantzig, was locking in her bureau the letter which had been lost and + found again; while, on the deck of his ship, lifting gently to the tideway + where the Vistula sweeps out into the Dantziger Bucht, Louis d'Arragon + stood fingering reflectively in his jacket-pocket the unread papers which + had fallen from the same despatch-case. For it is a very small world in + which to do wrong, though if a man do a little good in his lifetime it is—heaven + knows—soon mislaid and trodden under the feet of the new-comers. + </p> + <p> + The next day it was definitely ascertained that the citizens of Moscow had + no communication to make to the conquering leaders. Soon after daylight + the army moved towards the city. The suburbs were deserted. The houses + stood with closed shutters and locked doors. Not so much as a dog awaited + the triumphant entry through the city gates. + </p> + <p> + Long streets without a living being from end to end met the eyes of those + daring organizers of triumphal entries who had been sent forward to clear + a path and range the respectful citizens on either hand. But there were no + citizens. There was not a single witness to this triumph of the greatest + army the world had seen, led across Europe by the first captain in all + history to conquer a virgin capital. + </p> + <p> + The various corps marched to their quarters in silence, with nervous + glances at the shuttered windows. Some, breaking rank, ventured into the + churches which stood open. The candles were lighted on the altars, they + reported to their comrades in a hushed voice when they returned, but there + was no one there. + </p> + <p> + Certain palaces were selected as head-quarters for the general officers + and the chiefs of various departments. As often as not a summons would be + answered and the door opened by an obsequious porter, who handed the keys + to the first-comer. But he spoke no French, and only cringed in silence + when addressed. Other doors were broken in. + </p> + <p> + It was like a play acted in dumb show on an immense stage. It was + disquieting and incomprehensible even to the oldest campaigner, while the + young fire-eaters, fresh from St. Cyr, were strangely depressed by it. + There was a smell of sour smoke in the air, a suggestion of inevitable + tragedy. + </p> + <p> + On the Krasnaya Ploschad—the great Red Square, which is the central + point of the old town—the soldiers were already buying and selling + the spoil wrested from the burning Exchange. It seemed that the citizens + before leaving had collected their merchandise in this building to burn + it. To the rank-and-file this meant nothing but an incomprehensible + stupidity. To the educated and the thoughtful it was another evidence of + that dumb and sullen capacity for infinite self-sacrifice which makes + Russians different from any other race, and which has yet to be reckoned + with in the history of the world. For it will tend to the greatest good of + the greatest number, and is a power for national aggrandisement quite + unattainable by any Latin people. + </p> + <p> + Charles, with the other officers of Prince Eugene's staff, was quartered + in a palace on the Petrovka—that wide street running from the + Kremlin northward to the boulevards and the parks. Going towards it he + passed through the bazaars and the merchants' quarters, where, like an + army of rag-pickers, the eager looters were silently hurrying from heap to + heap. Every warehouse had, it seemed, been ransacked and its contents + thrown out into the streets. The first-comers had hurried on, seeking + something more valuable, more portable, leaving the later arrivals to turn + over their garbage like dogs upon a dust-heap. + </p> + <p> + The Petrovka is a long street of great houses, and was now deserted. The + pillagers were nervous and ill at ease, as men must always be in the + presence of something they do not understand. The most experienced of them—and + there were some famous robbers in Murat's vanguard—had never seen an + empty city abandoned all standing, as the Russians had abandoned Moscow. + They felt apprehensive of the unknown. Even the least imaginative of them + looked askance at the tall houses, at the open doors of the empty + churches, and they kept together for company's sake. + </p> + <p> + Charles's rooms were in the Momonoff Palace, where even the youngest + lieutenant had vast apartments assigned to him. It was in one of these—a + lady's boudoir, where his dust-covered baggage had been thrown down + carelessly by his orderly on a blue satin sofa—that he sat down to + write to Desiree. + </p> + <p> + His emotions had been stirred by all that he had passed through—by + the first sight of Moscow, by the passage beneath the Gate of the + Redeemer, where every man must uncover and only Napoleon dared to wear a + hat; by the bewildering sense of triumph and the knowledge that he was + taking part in one of the epochs of man's history on this earth. The + emotions lie very near together, so that laughter being aroused must also + touch on tears, and hatred being kindled warms the heart to love. + </p> + <p> + And, here in this unknown woman's room, with the very pen that she had + thrown aside, Charles, who wrote and spoke his love with such facility, + wrote to Desiree a love-letter such as he had never written before. + </p> + <p> + When it was sealed and addressed he called his orderly to take it to the + officer to whose duty it fell to make up the courier for Germany. But he + received no reply. The man had joined his comrades in the busier quarters + of the city. Charles went to the head of the stairs and called again, with + no better success. The house was comparatively modern, built on the + familiar lines of a Parisian hotel, with a wide stair descending to an + entrance archway where carriages passed through into a courtyard. + </p> + <p> + Descending the stairs, Charles found that even the sentry had absented + himself from his duty. His musket, leant against the post of the stone + doorway, indicated that he was not far. Listening in the silence of that + great house, Charles heard some one at work with hammer and chisel in the + courtyard. He went there, and found the sentry kneeling at a low door, + endeavouring to break it open. The man had not been idle; from a piece of + rope slung across his back half a dozen clocks were suspended. They + rattled together like the wares of a travelling tinsmith at every movement + of his arms. + </p> + <p> + “What are you doing there, my friend?” asked Charles. + </p> + <p> + The man held up one finger over his shoulder without looking round, and + shook it from side to side, as not desiring to be interrupted. + </p> + <p> + “The cellar,” he answered, “always the cellar. It is human nature. We get + it from the animals.” + </p> + <p> + He glanced round as he worked, and, perceiving that he had been addressing + an officer, he scrambled to his feet with a grumbled curse. He was an old + man, baked by the sun. The wrinkles in his face were filled with dust. + Since quitting the banks of the Vistula no opportunity for ablution seemed + to have presented itself to him. He stood at attention, his lips working + over sunken gums. + </p> + <p> + “I want you to take this letter,” said Charles, “to the officer on service + at head-quarters, and ask him to include it in his courier. It is, as you + see, a private letter—to my wife at Dantzig.” + </p> + <p> + The man looked at it, and grumbled something inaudible. He took it in his + hand and turned it over with the slow manner of the illiterate. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0015" id="link2HCH0015"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XV. THE GOAL. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + God writes straight on crooked lines. +</pre> + <p> + Charles, having given his letter to the sentry with the order to take it + to its immediate destination, turned towards the stairs again. In those + days an order was given in a different tone to that which servitude + demands in later times. + </p> + <p> + He returned to his room on the first floor without even waiting to make + sure that he would be obeyed. He had scarcely seated himself when, after a + fumbling knock, the sentry opened the door and followed him into the room, + still holding the letter in his hand. + </p> + <p> + “Mon capitaine,” he said with a certain calmness of manner as from an old + soldier to a young one, “a word—that is all. This letter,” he turned + it in his hand as he spoke, and looking at Charles beneath scowling brows, + awaited an explanation. “Did you pick it up?” + </p> + <p> + “No—I wrote it.” + </p> + <p> + “Good. I...” he paused, and tapped himself on the chest so that there + could be no mistake; there was a rattling sound behind him suggestive of + ironware. Indeed, he was hung about with other things than clocks, and + seemed to be of opinion that if a soldier sets value upon any object he + must attach it to his person. “I, Barlasch of the Guard—Marengo, the + Danube, Egypt—picked up after Borodino a letter like it. I cannot + read very quickly—indeed—Bah! the old Guard needs no pens and + paper—but that letter I picked up was just like this.” + </p> + <p> + “Was it addressed like that to Madame Desiree Darragon?” + </p> + <p> + “So a comrade told me. It is you, her husband?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” answered Charles, “since you ask; I am her husband.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah!” replied Barlasch darkly, and his limbs and features settled + themselves into a patient waiting. + </p> + <p> + “Well,” asked Charles, “what are you waiting for?” + </p> + <p> + “Whatever you may think proper, mon capitaine, for I gave the letter to + the surgeon who promised that it should be forwarded to its address.” + </p> + <p> + Charles laughingly sought his purse. But there was nothing in it, so he + looked round the room. + </p> + <p> + “Here, add this to your collection,” and he took a small French clock from + the writing-table, a pretty, gilded toy from Paris. + </p> + <p> + “Thank you, mon capitaine.” + </p> + <p> + Barlasch, with shaking fingers, unknotted the rope around his shoulders. + As he was doing so one of the clocks on his back began to strike. He + paused, and stood looking gravely at his superior officer. Another clock + took up the tale and a third, while Barlasch sternly stood at attention. + </p> + <p> + “Four o'clock,” he said to himself, “and I, who have not yet breakfasted—” + </p> + <p> + With a grunt and a salute he turned towards the door which stood open. + Some one was coming up the stairs rather slowly, his spurs clinking, his + scabbard clashing against the gilded banisters. Papa Barlasch stood aside + at attention, and Colonel de Casimir came into the room with a gay word of + greeting. Barlasch went out, but he did not close the door. It is to be + presumed that he stood without, where he might have overheard all that + they said to each other for quite a long time, until it was almost the + half-hour when the clocks would strike again. But de Casimir, perceiving + that the door was open, closed it quietly from within, and Barlasch, shut + out on the wide landing, made a grimace at the massive woodwork before + turning to descend the stairs. + </p> + <p> + It was the middle of September, and the days were shortening. The dusk of + evening had already closed over the city when de Casimir and Charles at + length came downstairs. No one had troubled to open the shutters of such + rooms as were not required; and these were many. For Moscow was even at + that day a great city, though less spacious and more fantastic than it is + to-day. There was plenty of room for the whole army in the houses left + empty by their owners, so that many lodged as they had never lodged before + and would never lodge again. + </p> + <p> + The stairs were almost dark when Charles and his companion descended them. + The rusted musket poised against the doorpost still indicated the supposed + presence of a sentry. + </p> + <p> + “Listen,” said Charles, “I found him burrowing like a rat at a cellar-door + in the courtyard. Perhaps he has got in.” + </p> + <p> + They listened, but could hear nothing. Charles led the way towards the + courtyard. A glimmer of light guided him to the door he sought. It stood + open. Barlasch had succeeded in effecting an entry to the cellar, where + his experience taught him to seek the best that an abandoned house + contains. + </p> + <p> + Charles and de Casimir peered down the narrow stairs. By the light of a + candle Barlasch was working vigorously amid a confused pile of cases, and + furniture, and roughly tied bundles of clothing. He had laid aside + nothing, and his movements were attended by the usual rattle of + hollow-ware. They could see the perspiration gleaming on his face. Even in + this cellar there lingered the faint smell of sour smoke that filled the + air of Moscow. + </p> + <p> + De Casimir caught the gleam of jewellery, and went hurriedly downstairs. + </p> + <p> + “What are you doing there, my friend?” he asked, and the words were + scarcely out of his mouth, when Barlasch extinguished his candle. There + followed a dead silence, such as comes when a rodent is disturbed at his + work. The two men on the cellar-stairs were conscious of the gaze of the + bright, rat-like eyes below. + </p> + <p> + De Casimir turned and followed Charles upstairs again. + </p> + <p> + “Come up,” he said, “and go to your post.” + </p> + <p> + There was no movement in response. + </p> + <p> + “Name of a dog,” cried de Casimir, “is all discipline relaxed? Come up, I + tell you, and obey my orders.” + </p> + <p> + He emphasized his command with the cocking of a pistol, and a slight + disturbance in the darkness of the cellar heralded the unwilling approach + of Barlasch, who climbed the stairs step by step like a schoolboy coming + to punishment. + </p> + <p> + “It is I who found the door, mon colonel, behind that pile of firewood. It + is I who opened it. What is down there is mine,” he said, sullenly. But + the only reply that de Casimir made was to seize him by the arm and jerk + him away from the stairs. + </p> + <p> + “To your post,” he said, “take your arm, and out into the street, in front + of the house. That is your place.” + </p> + <p> + But while he was still speaking, they were all startled by a sudden + disturbance in the cellar, and in the gloom a man stumbled up the stairs + and ran past them. Barlasch had taken the precaution of bolting the huge + front door, which was large enough to give passage to a carriage. The man, + who exhaled an atmosphere of dust mingled with the disquieting and + all-pervading odour of smoke, rushed at the huge door and tugged furiously + at its handles. + </p> + <p> + Charles, who was on his heels, grasped his arm, but the man swung round + and threw him off as if he were a child. He had a hatchet in his hand with + which he aimed a blow at Charles, but missed him. Barlasch was already + going towards his musket, which stood in the corner against the door-post, + but the Russian saw his movement, and forestalled him. Seizing the gun, he + presented the bayonet to them, and stood with his back to the door, facing + the three men in a breathless silence. He was a large man, dishevelled, + with long hair tumbled about his head, and light-coloured eyes, glaring + like the eyes of a beast at bay. + </p> + <p> + In the background de Casimir, quick and calm, had already covered him with + the pistol produced as a persuasive to Barlasch. For a second there was + silence, during which they all could hear the call to arms in the street + outside. The patrol was hurrying down the Petrovka, calling the assembly. + </p> + <p> + The report of the pistol rang through the house, shaking the doors and + windows. The man threw up his arms and stood for a moment looking at de + Casimir with an expression of blank amazement. Then his legs seemed to + slip away from beneath him, and he collapsed to the floor. He turned over + with movements singularly suggestive of a child seeking a comfortable + position in bed, and lay quite still, his cheek on the pavement and his + staring eyes turned towards the cellar-door from which he had emerged. + </p> + <p> + “He has his affair—that parishioner,” muttered Barlasch, looking at + him with a smile that twisted his mouth to one side. And, as he spoke, the + man's throat rattled. De Casimir was reloading his pistol. So persistent + was the gaze of the dead man's eyes that de Casimir turned on his heel to + look in the same direction. + </p> + <p> + “Quick!” he exclaimed, pointing to the doorway, from which a lazy white + smoke emerged in thin puffs. “Quick, he has set fire to the house!” + </p> + <p> + “Quick—with what, mon colonel?” asked Barlasch. + </p> + <p> + “Why, go and fetch some men with a fire-engine.” + </p> + <p> + “There are no fire-engines left in Moscow, mon colonel!” + </p> + <p> + “Then find buckets, and tell me where the well is.” + </p> + <p> + “There are no buckets left in Moscow, mon colonel. We found that out last + night, when we wanted to water the horses. The citizens have removed them. + And there is not a well of which the rope has not been cut. They are droll + companions, these Russians, I can tell you.” + </p> + <p> + “Do as I tell you,” repeated de Casimir, angrily, “or I shall put you + under arrest. Go and fetch men to help me to extinguish this fire.” + </p> + <p> + By way of reply, Barlasch held up one finger in a childlike gesture of + attention to some distant sound. + </p> + <p> + “No, thank you,” he said, coolly, “not for me. Discipline, mon colonel, + discipline. Listen, you can hear the 'assembly' as well as I. It is the + Emperor that one obeys. One thinks of one's military career.” + </p> + <p> + With knotted and shaking fingers he drew back the bolts and opened the + door. On the threshold he saluted. + </p> + <p> + “It is the call to arms, mes officiers,” he said. Then, shouldering his + musket, he turned away, and all his clocks struck six. The bells of the + city churches seemed to greet him as he stepped into the street, for in + Moscow each hour is proclaimed with deafening iteration from a thousand + towers. + </p> + <p> + He looked down the Petrovka; from half the houses which bordered the wide + roadway—a street of palaces—the smoke was pouring forth in + puffs. He went uphill towards the Red Square and the Kremlin, where the + Emperor had his head-quarters. It was to this centre that the patrols had + converged. Looking back, Barlasch saw, not one house on fire, but a + hundred. The smoke arose from every quarter of the city at once. He + hurried on, but was stopped by a crowd of soldiers, all laden with booty, + gesticulating, shouting, abusing one another. It was Babel over again. The + riff-raff of sixteen nations had followed Napoleon to Moscow—to rob. + Half a dozen different tongues were spoken in one army corps. There + remained no national pride to act as a deterrent. No man cared what he + did. The blame would be laid upon France. + </p> + <p> + The crowd was collected in front of a high, many-windowed building in + flames. + </p> + <p> + “What is it?” Barlasch asked first one and then another. But no one spoke + his tongue. At last he found a Frenchman. + </p> + <p> + “It is the hospital.” + </p> + <p> + “And what is that smell? What is burning there?” + </p> + <p> + “Twelve thousand wounded,” answered the man, with a sickening laugh. And + even as he spoke one or two of the wounded dragged themselves, half burnt, + down the wide steps. No one dared to approach them, for the walls of the + building were already bulging outwards. One man was half covered with a + sheet which was black, and his bare limbs were black with smoke. All the + hair was burnt from his head and face. He stood for a moment in the + doorway—a sight never to be forgotten—and then fell headlong + down the steps, where he lay motionless. Some one in the crowd laughed—a + high cackle which was heard above the roar of the fire and the deafening + chorus of burning timbers. + </p> + <p> + Barlasch passed on, following some officers who were leading their horses + towards the Kremlin. The streets were full of soldiers carrying burdens, + and staggering beneath the weight of their spoil. Many were wearing + priceless fur cloaks, and others walked in women's wraps of sable and + ermine. Some wore jewellery, such as necklaces, on their rough uniforms, + and bracelets round their sunburnt wrists. No one laughed at them, but + only glanced enviously at the pillage. All were in deadly earnest, and + none graver than those who had found drink and now regretted that they had + given way to the temptation; for their sober comrades had outwitted them + in finding treasure. + </p> + <p> + One man gravely wore a gilt coronet crammed over the crown of his shako. + He joined Barlasch, staggering along beside him. + </p> + <p> + “I come from the Cathedral,” he explained, confidentially. “St. Michael + they call it. They said there was great treasure there hidden in the + cellars, but I only found a company of old kings in their coffins. We + stirred them up. They were quiet enough when we found them, under their + counterpanes of red velvet. We stirred them up with the bayonet, and the + dust got into our throats and choked us. Name of God, I am thirsty. You + have nothing in your bottle, comrade?” + </p> + <p> + “No.” + </p> + <p> + Barlasch trudged on, all his possessions swinging and clanking together. + The confidential man turned towards him and lifted his water-bottle, + weighed it, and found it wanting. + </p> + <p> + “Name of a name, of a name, of a name,” he muttered, walking on. “Yes, + there was nothing there. Even the silver plates on the coffins with the + names of those gentlemen were no thicker than a sword. But I found a crown + in the church itself. I borrowed it from St. Michael. He had a sword in + his hand, but he did not strike. No. And there was only tinsel on the + hilt. No jewels.” + </p> + <p> + He walked on in silence for a few minutes, coughing out the smoke and dust + from his lungs. It was almost dark, but the whole city was blazing now, + and the sky glowed with a red light that mingled with the remnants of a + lurid sunset. A strong wind blew the smoke and the flying sparks across + the roofs. + </p> + <p> + “Then I went into the sacristy,” continued the man, stumbling over the + dead body of a young girl and turning to curse her. Barlasch looked at him + sideways and cursed him for doing it, with a sudden fierce eloquence. For + Papa Barlasch was a man of unclean lips. + </p> + <p> + “There was an old man in there, a sacristan. I asked him where he kept the + dishes, and he said he could not speak French. I jerked my bayonet into + him—name of a name! he soon spoke French.” + </p> + <p> + Barlasch broke off these delicate confidences by a quick word of command, + and himself stood rigid in the roadway before the Imperial Palace of the + Kremlin, presenting arms. A man passed close by them on his way towards a + waiting carriage. He was stout and heavy-shouldered, peculiarly square, + with a thick neck and head set low in the shoulders. On the step of the + carriage he turned and surveyed the lurid sky and the burning city to the + east with an indifferent air. Into his deep bloodshot eyes there flashed a + sudden gleam of life and power, as he glanced along the row of watching + faces to read what was written there. + </p> + <p> + It was Napoleon, at the summit of his dream, hurriedly quitting the + Kremlin, the boasted goal of his ambition, after having passed but one + night under that proud roof. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0016" id="link2HCH0016"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XVI. THE FIRST OF THE EBB. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Tho' he trip and fall + He shall not blind his soul with clay. +</pre> + <p> + The days were short, and November was drawing to its end when Barlasch + returned to Dantzig. Already the frost, holding its own against a sun that + seemed to linger in the North that year, exercised its sway almost to + midday, and drew a mist from the level plains. + </p> + <p> + The autumn had been one of unprecedented splendour, making the imaginative + whisper that Napoleon, like a second Joshua, could exact obedience even + from the sun. A month earlier, soon after the retreat was ordered, the + nights had begun to be cold, but the days remained brilliant. Now the + rivers were shrouded in white mist, and still water was frozen. + </p> + <p> + Barlasch seemed to take it for understood that a billet holds good + throughout a whole campaign. But the door of No. 36 Frauengasse was locked + when he turned its iron handle. He knocked, and waited on the step. + </p> + <p> + It was Desiree who opened the door at length—Desiree, grown older, + with something new in her eyes. Barlasch, sure of his entree, had already + removed his boots, which he carried in his hand; this added to a certain + surreptitiousness in his attitude. A handkerchief was bound over his left + eye. He wore his shako still, but the rest of his uniform verged on the + fantastic. Under a light-blue Bavarian cavalry cape he wore a peasant's + homespun shirt, and he carried no arms. + </p> + <p> + He pushed past Desiree rather unceremoniously, glad to get within doors. + He was very lame, and of his blue knitted stockings only the legs + remained; he was barefoot. + </p> + <p> + He limped towards the kitchen, glancing over his shoulder to make sure + that Desiree shut the door. The chair he had made his own stood just + within the open door of the kitchen. It was nine o'clock in the morning, + and Lisa had gone to market. Barlasch sat down. + </p> + <p> + “Voila,” he said, and that was all. But by a gesture he described the end + of the world. Then he scowled at her with his available eye with + suspicion, and she turned away suddenly, as one may who has not a clear + conscience. + </p> + <p> + “What is the matter with your eye?” she asked, in order to break the + silence. He laid aside his hat, and his ragged hair, quite white, fell to + his shoulders. By way of answer, he unknotted the bloodstained dusky + handkerchief, and looked up at her. The hidden eye was uninjured and as + bright as the other. + </p> + <p> + “Nothing,” he answered, and he confirmed the statement by a low-born wink. + More than once he glanced, with a glaring light in his eye, towards the + cupboard where Lisa kept the bread, and quite suddenly Desiree knew that + he was starving. She ran to the cupboard, and hurriedly set down on the + table before him what was there. It was not much—a piece of cold + meat and a whole loaf. + </p> + <p> + He had taken off his haversack, and was fumbling in it with unsteady + hands. At last he found that which he sought. It was wrapped in a silk + scarf that must have come from Cashmere to Moscow, and from Moscow in his + haversack with pieces of horseflesh and muddy roots to Dantzig. With that + awkwardness in giving and taking which belongs to his class, he held out + to Desiree a little square “ikon” no bigger than a playing-card. It was of + gold, set with diamonds, and the faces of the Virgin and Child were + painted with exquisite delicacy. + </p> + <p> + “It is a thing to say your prayers to,” he said gruffly. + </p> + <p> + By an effort he kept his eyes averted from the food on the table. + </p> + <p> + “I met a baker on the bridge,” he said, “and offered it to him for a loaf, + but he refused.” + </p> + <p> + And there was a whole history of human suffering and temptation—of + the human fall—in his curt laugh. While Desiree was looking at the + treasure in speechless admiration, he turned suddenly and took the bread + and meat in his grimy hands. His crooked fingers closed over the loaf, + making the crust crack, and for a second the expression of his face was + not human. Then he hurried to the room that had been his, like a dog that + seeks to hide its greed in its kennel. + </p> + <p> + In a surprisingly short time he came back, the greyness all gone from his + face, though his eyes still glittered with the dry, hard light of + starvation. He went back to the chair near the door, and sat down. + </p> + <p> + “Seven hundred miles,” he said, looking down at his feet with a shake of + the head, “seven hundred miles in six weeks.” + </p> + <p> + Then he glanced at her and out through the open door, to make sure none + could overhear. + </p> + <p> + “Because I was afraid,” he added in a whisper. “I am easily frightened. I + am not brave.” + </p> + <p> + Desiree shook her head and laughed. Women have from all time accepted the + theory that a uniform makes a man courageous. + </p> + <p> + “They had to abandon the guns,” he went on, “soon after quitting Moscow. + The horses were starving. There was a steep hill, and the guns were left + at the bottom. Then I began to be afraid. There were some marching with + candelabras on their backs and nothing in their carnassieres. They carried + a million francs on their shoulders and death in their faces. I was + afraid. I carried salt—salt—and nothing else. Then one day I + saw the Emperor's face. That was enough. The same night I crept away while + the others slept round the fire. They looked like a masquerade. Some of + them wore ermine. Oh! I was afraid, I tell you. I only had the salt and + some horse. There was plenty of that on the road. And that toy. I found it + in Moscow. I stood in a cellar, as big as this room, full of such things. + But one thinks of one's life. I only carried salt, and that picture for + you... to say your prayers to. The good God will hear you, perhaps; He has + no time to listen to us others.” + </p> + <p> + And he used the last words as a French peasant, which is a survival of + serfdom that has come down through the furnace of the Revolution. + </p> + <p> + “But I cannot take it,” said Desiree. “It is worth a million francs.” + </p> + <p> + He looked at her fiercely. + </p> + <p> + “You think that I look for something in return?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh no!” she answered, “I have nothing to give you in return. I am as poor + as you.” + </p> + <p> + “Then we can be friends,” he said. He was eyeing surreptitiously a mug of + beer which Desiree had set before him on the table. Some instinct, or the + teaching of the last two months, made it repugnant to him to eat or drink + beneath his neighbour's eye. He was a sorry-looking figure, not far + removed from the animals, and in his downward journey he had picked up, + perhaps, the instinct which none can explain, telling an animal to take + its food in secret. + </p> + <p> + Desiree went to the window, turning her back to him, and looked out into + the yard. She heard him drink, and set the mug down again with a gulp. + </p> + <p> + “You were in Moscow?” she said at length, half turning towards him so that + he could see her profile and her short upper lip, which was parted as if + to ask a question which she did not put into words. He looked her slowly + up and down beneath his heavy eyebrows, his little cunning eyes alight + with suspicion. He watched her parted lips, which were tilted at the + corners, showing humour and a nature quick to laugh or suffer. Then he + jerked his head upwards as if he saw the unasked question quivering there, + and bore her some malice for her silence. + </p> + <p> + “Yes! I was in Moscow,” he said, watching the colour fade from her face. + “And I saw him—your husband—there. I was on guard outside his + door the night we entered the city. It was I who carried to the post the + letter he wrote you. He was very anxious that it should reach you. You + received it—that love-letter?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” answered Desiree gravely, in no wise responding to a sudden forced + gaiety in Papa Barlasch, which was only an evidence of the shyness with + which rough men all the world over approach the subject of love. The + gaiety lapsed into a sudden silence. He waited for her to ask a question, + but in vain. + </p> + <p> + “I never saw him again,” went on Barlasch, “for the 'general' sounded, and + I went out into the streets to find the city on fire. In a great army, as + in a large country, one may easily lose one's own brother. But he will + return—have no fear. He has good fortune—the fine gentleman.” + </p> + <p> + He stopped and scratched his head, looked at her sideways with a grimace + of bewilderment. + </p> + <p> + “It is good news I bring you,” he muttered. “He was alive and well when we + began the retreat. He was on the staff, and the staff had horses and + carriages. They had bread to eat, I am told.” + </p> + <p> + “And you—what had you?” asked Desiree, over her shoulder. + </p> + <p> + “No matter,” he answered gruffly, “since I am here.” + </p> + <p> + “And yet you believe in that man still,” flashed out Desiree, turning to + face him. + </p> + <p> + Barlasch held up a warning finger, as if bidding her to be silent on a + subject on which she was not capable of forming a judgment. He wagged his + head from side to side and heaved a sigh. + </p> + <p> + “I tell you,” he said, “I saw his face after Malo-Jaroslavetz; we lost ten + thousand that day. And I was afraid. For I saw in it that he was going to + leave us as he did in Egypt. I am not afraid when he is there—not + afraid of the Devil—or the bon Dieu, but when Napoleon is not there—” + He broke off with a gesture describing abject terror. + </p> + <p> + “They say in Dantzig,” said Desiree, “that he will never get back across + the Beresina, for the Russians are bringing two armies to stop him there. + They say that the Prussians will turn against him.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah—they say that already?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + He looked at her with a sudden light of anger in his eyes. + </p> + <p> + “Who has taught you to hate Napoleon?” he asked bluntly. + </p> + <p> + And again Desiree turned away from his glance as if she could not meet it. + </p> + <p> + “No one,” she answered. + </p> + <p> + “It is not the patron,” said Barlasch, muttering his thoughts as he + hobbled to the door of his little room, and began unloading his belongings + with a view to ablution; for he was a self-contained traveller, carrying + with him all he required. “It is not the patron. Because such a hatred as + his cannot be spoken of. It is not your husband, because Napoleon is his + god.” + </p> + <p> + He broke off with one of his violent jerks of the head, almost threatening + to dislocate his neck, and looked at her fixedly. + </p> + <p> + “It is because you have grown into a woman since I went away.” + </p> + <p> + And out came his accusing finger, though Desiree had her back turned + towards him, and there was none other to see. + </p> + <p> + “Ah!” he said, with deadly contempt, “I see, I see!” + </p> + <p> + “Did you expect me to grow up into a man?” asked Desiree, over her + shoulder. + </p> + <p> + Barlasch stood in the doorway, his lips and jaw moving as if he were + masticating winged words. At length, having failed to find a tremendous + answer, he softly closed the door. + </p> + <p> + This was not the only wise old veteran of the Grand Army to see which way + the wind blew; for many another after the battle of Malo-Jaroslavetz + packed upon his back such spoil as he could carry, and set off on foot for + France. For the cold had come at length, and not a horse in the French + army was roughed for the snowy roads, nor, indeed, had provision been made + to rough them. This was a sign not lost upon those who had horses to care + for. The Emperor, who forgot nothing, had forgotten this. He who foresaw + everything, had omitted to foresee the winter. He had ordered a retreat + from Moscow, in the middle of October, of an army in summer clothing, + without provision for the road. The only hope was to retreat through a new + line of country not despoiled by the enormous army in its advance of every + grain of corn, every blade of grass. But this hope was frustrated by the + Russians who, hemming them in, forced them to keep the road along which + they had made so triumphant a march on Moscow. + </p> + <p> + Already, in the ranks, it was whispered that by the light of the burning + city some had perceived dark forms moving on the distant plains—a + Russian army passing westward in front of them to await and cut them off + at the passage of some river. The Russians had fought well at Borodino: + they fought desperately at Malo-Jaroslavetz, which town was taken and + retaken eleven times and left in cinders. + </p> + <p> + The Grand Army was no longer in a position to choose its way. It was + forced to cross again the battlefield of Borodino, where thirty thousand + dead lay yet unburied. But Napoleon was still with them, his genius + flashing out at times with something of the fire which had taken men's + breath away and burnt his name indelibly into the pages of the world's + history. Even when hard pressed, he never missed a chance of attacking. + The enemy never made a mistake that he did not give them reason to rue it. + </p> + <p> + To the waiting world came at length the news that the winter, so long + retarded, had closed down over Russia. In Dantzig, so near the frontier, a + hundred rumours chased each other through the streets; and day by day + Antoine Sebastian grew younger and gayer. It seemed as if a weight long + laid upon his heart had been lifted at last. He made a journey to + Konigsberg soon after Barlasch's return, and came back with eager eyes. + His correspondence was enormous. He had, it seemed, a hundred friends who + gave him news and asked something in exchange—advice, encouragement, + warning. And all the while men whispered that Prussia would ally herself + to Russia, Sweden, and England. + </p> + <p> + From Paris came news of a growing discontent. For France, among a + multitude of virtues, has one vice unpardonable to Northern men: she turns + from a fallen friend. + </p> + <p> + Soon followed the news of Beresina—a poor little river of Lithuania—where + the history of the world hung for a day as on a thread. But a flash of the + dying genius surmounted superhuman difficulties, and the catastrophe was + turned into a disaster. The divisions of Victor and Oudinot—the last + to preserve any semblance of military discipline—were almost + annihilated. The French lost twelve thousand killed or drowned in the + river, sixteen thousand prisoners, twelve of the remaining guns. But they + were across the Beresina. There was no longer a Grand Army, however. There + was no army at all—only a starving, struggling trail of men + stumbling through the snow, without organization or discipline or hope. + </p> + <p> + It was a disaster on the same gigantic scale as the past victories—a + disaster worthy of such a conqueror. Even his enemies forgot to rejoice. + They caught their breath and waited. + </p> + <p> + And suddenly came the news that Napoleon was in Paris. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0017" id="link2HCH0017"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XVII. A FORLORN HOPE. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + The fire i' the flint + Shows not, till it be struck. +</pre> + <p> + “It is time to do something,” said Papa Barlasch on the December morning + when the news reached Dantzig that Napoleon was no longer with the army—that + he had made over the parody of command of the phantom army to Murat, King + of Naples—that he had passed like an evil spirit unknown through + Poland, Prussia, Germany, travelling twelve hundred miles night and day at + breakneck speed, alone, racing to Paris to save his throne. + </p> + <p> + “It is time to do something,” said all Europe, when it was too late. For + Napoleon was himself again—alert, indomitable, raising a new army, + calling on France to rise to such heights of energy and vitality as only + France can compass; for the colder nations of the North lack the + imagination that enables men to pit themselves against the gods at the + bidding of some stupendous will, only second to the will of God Himself. + </p> + <p> + “Go to Dantzig, and hold it till I come,” Napoleon had said to Rapp. + “Retreat to Poland, and hold on to anything you can till I come back with + a new army,” he had commanded Murat and Prince Eugene. + </p> + <p> + “It is time to do something,” said all the conquered nations, looking at + each other for initiation. And lo! the Master of Surprises struck them + dumb by his sudden apparition in his own capital, with all the strings of + the European net gathered as if by magic into his own hands again. + </p> + <p> + While everybody told his neighbour that it was time to do something, no + one knew what to do. For it has pleased the Creator to put a great many + talkers into this world and only a few men of action to make its history. + </p> + <p> + Papa Barlasch knew what to do, however. + </p> + <p> + “Where is that sailor?” he asked Desiree, when she had told him the news + which Mathilde brought in from the streets. “He who took the patron's + valise that night—the cousin of your husband.” + </p> + <p> + “There is a man at Zoppot who will tell you,” she answered. + </p> + <p> + “Then I go to Zoppot.” + </p> + <p> + Barlasch had lived unmolested in the Frauengasse since his return. He was + an old man, ill-clad, with a bloody handkerchief bound over one eye. No + one asked him any questions, except Sebastian, who heard again and again + the tale of Moscow—how the army which had crossed into Russia four + hundred thousand strong was reduced to a hundred thousand when the retreat + began; how handmills were issued to the troops to grind corn which did not + exist; how the horses died in thousands and the men in hundreds from + starvation; how God at last had turned his face from Napoleon. + </p> + <p> + “Something must be done. The patron will do nothing; he is in the clouds, + he is dreaming dreams of a new France, that bourgeois. I am an old man. + Yes, I will go to Zoppot.” + </p> + <p> + “You mean that we should have heard from Charles before now,” said + Desiree. + </p> + <p> + “Name of thunder! he may be in Paris!” exclaimed Barlasch, with the sudden + anger that anxiety commands. “He is on the staff, I tell you.” + </p> + <p> + For suspense is one of the most contagious of human emotions, and makes a + quicker call upon our sympathy than any other. Do we not feel such a + desire that our neighbour may know the worst without delay, that we race + to impart it to him? + </p> + <p> + Nor was Desiree alone in the trial which had drawn certain lines about her + gay lips; for Mathilde had told her father and sister that should Colonel + de Casimir return from the war he would ask her hand in marriage. + </p> + <p> + “And that other—the Colonel,” added Barlasch, glancing at Mathilde, + “he is on the staff too. They are safe enough, I tell you that. They are + doubtless together. They were together at Moscow. I saw them, and took an + order from them. They were... at their work.” + </p> + <p> + Mathilde did not like Papa Barlasch. She would, it seemed, rather have no + news at all of de Casimir than learn it from the old soldier, for she + quitted the room without even troubling to throw him a glance of disdain. + </p> + <p> + Barlasch waited with working lips until the sound of her footsteps ceased + on the stairs. Then he pushed across the kitchen table a piece of + writing-paper, rather yellow and woolly. It had been to Moscow and back. + </p> + <p> + “Write a word to him,” he said. “I will take it to Zoppot.” + </p> + <p> + “But you can send a message by the fisherman whose name I have given you,” + answered Desiree. + </p> + <p> + “And will he heed the message? Will he come ashore at a word from me—only + Barlasch? Remember it is his life that he carries in his hand. An English + sailor with a French name! Thunder of thunder! They would shoot him like a + rat!” + </p> + <p> + Desiree shook her head; but Barlasch was not to be denied. He brought pen + and ink from the dresser, and pushed them across the table. + </p> + <p> + “I would not ask it,” he said, “if it was not necessary. Do you think he + will mind the danger? He will like it. He will say to me, 'Barlasch, I + thank you.' Ah? I know him. Write. He will come.” + </p> + <p> + “Why?” asked Desiree. + </p> + <p> + “Why? How should I know that? He came before when you asked him.” + </p> + <p> + Desiree leant over the table and wrote six words: + </p> + <p> + “Come, if you can come safely.” + </p> + <p> + Barlasch took up the paper, and, pushing up the bandage which had served + to bring him unharmed through Russia, he frowned at it without + understanding. + </p> + <p> + “It is not all writings that I can read,” he admitted. “Have you signed + it?” + </p> + <p> + “No.” + </p> + <p> + “Then sign something that he will know, and no other—they might + shoot me. Your baptismal name.” + </p> + <p> + And she wrote “Desiree” after the six words. + </p> + <p> + Barlasch folded the paper carefully and placed it in the lining of an old + felt hat of Sebastian's which he now wore. He bound a scarf over his ears, + after the manner of those who live on the Baltic shores in winter. + </p> + <p> + “You can leave the rest to me,” he said; and, with a nod and a grimace + expressive of cunning, he left her. + </p> + <p> + He did not return that night. The days were short now, for the winter was + well set in. It was nearly dark the next afternoon and very cold when he + came back. He sent Lisa upstairs for Desiree. + </p> + <p> + “First,” he said, “there is a question for the patron. Will he quit + Dantzig?—that is the question.” + </p> + <p> + “No,” answered Desiree. + </p> + <p> + “Rapp is coming,” said Barlasch, emphasizing each point with one finger + against the side of his nose. “He will hold Dantzig. There will be a + siege. Let the patron make no mistake. It will not be like the last one. + Rapp was outside then; he will be inside this time. He will hold Dantzig + till the bottom falls out of the world.” + </p> + <p> + “My father will not leave,” said Desiree. “He has said so. He knows that + Rapp is coming, with the Russians behind him.” + </p> + <p> + “But,” interrupted Barlasch, “he thinks that Prussia will turn and declare + war against Napoleon. That may be. Who knows? The question is, Can the + patron be induced to quit Dantzig?” + </p> + <p> + Desiree shook her head. + </p> + <p> + “It is not I,” said Barlasch, “who ask the question. You understand?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I understand. My father will not quit Dantzig.” + </p> + <p> + Whereupon Barlasch made a gesture conveying a desire to think as kindly of + Antoine Sebastian as he could. + </p> + <p> + “In half an hour,” he said, “when it is dark, will you come for a walk + with me along the Langfuhr road—where the unfinished ramparts are?” + </p> + <p> + Desiree looked at him and hesitated. + </p> + <p> + “Oh—good—if you are afraid—” said Barlasch. + </p> + <p> + “I am not afraid—I will come,” she answered quickly. + </p> + <p> + The snow was hard when they set out, and squeaked under their feet, as it + does with a low thermometer. + </p> + <p> + “We shall leave no tracks,” said Barlasch, as he led the way off the + Langfuhr road towards the river. There was broken ground here, where + earthworks had been begun and never completed. The trees had been partly + cut, and beneath the snow were square mounds showing where the timber had + been piled up. But since the departure of Rapp, all had been left + incomplete. + </p> + <p> + Barlasch turned towards Desiree and pointed out a rising knoll of land + with fir-trees on it—an outline against the sky where a faint aurora + borealis lit the north. She understood that Louis was waiting there, and + must necessarily see them approaching across the untrodden snow. For an + instant she lingered, and Barlasch turning, glanced at her sharply over + his shoulder. She had come against her will, and her companion knew it. + Her feet were heavy with misgiving, like the feet of one who treads an + uncertain road into a strange country. She had been afraid of Louis + d'Arragon when she first caught sight of him in the Frauengasse. The fear + of him was with her now, and would not depart until he himself swept it + away by the first word he spoke. + </p> + <p> + He came out from beneath the trees, made a few steps forward, and then + stopped. Again Desiree lingered, and Barlasch, who was naturally + impatient, turned and took her by the arm. + </p> + <p> + “Is it the snow—that you find slippery?” he asked, not requiring an + answer. A moment later Louis came forward. + </p> + <p> + “There is nothing but bad news,” he said laconically. “Barlasch will have + told you; but there is no need to give up hope. The army has reached the + Niemen; the rearguard has quitted Vilna. There is nothing for it but to go + and look for him.” + </p> + <p> + “Who will go?” she asked quietly. + </p> + <p> + “I.” + </p> + <p> + He was looking at her with grave eyes trained to darkness. But she looked + past him towards the sky, which was faintly lighted by the aurora. Her + averted eyes and rigid attitude were not without some suggestion of guilt. + </p> + <p> + “My ship is ice-bound at Reval,” said D'Arragon, in a matter-of-fact way. + “They have no use for me until the winter is over, and they have given me + three months' leave.” + </p> + <p> + “To go to England?” she asked. + </p> + <p> + “To go anywhere I like,” he said, with a short laugh. “So I am going to + look for Charles, and Barlasch will come with me.” + </p> + <p> + “At a price,” put in that soldier, in a shrewd undertone. “At a price.” + </p> + <p> + “A small one,” corrected Louis, turning to look at him with the close + attention of one exploring a new country. + </p> + <p> + “Bah! You give what you can. One does not go back across the Niemen for + pleasure. We bargained, and we came to terms. I got as much as I could.” + </p> + <p> + Louis laughed, as if this were the blunt truth. + </p> + <p> + “If I had more, I would give you more. It is the money I placed in a + Dantzig bank for my cousin. I must take it out again, that is all.” + </p> + <p> + The last words were addressed to Desiree, as if he had acted in assurance + of her approval. + </p> + <p> + “But I have more,” she said; “a little—not very much. We must not + think of money. We must do everything to find him—to give him help, + if he needs it.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” answered Louis, as if she had asked him a question. “We must do + everything; but I have no more money.” + </p> + <p> + “And I have none with me. I have nothing that I can sell.” + </p> + <p> + She withdrew her fur mitten and held out her hand, as if to show that she + had no rings, except the plain gold one on her third finger. + </p> + <p> + “You have the ikon I brought you from Moscow,” said Barlasch gruffly. + “Sell that.” + </p> + <p> + “No,” answered Desiree; “I will not sell that.” + </p> + <p> + Barlasch laughed cynically. + </p> + <p> + “There you have a woman,” he said, turning to Louis. “First she will not + have a thing, then she will not part with it.” + </p> + <p> + “Well,” said Desiree, with some spirit, “a woman may know her own mind.” + </p> + <p> + “Some do,” admitted Barlasch carelessly; “the happy ones. And since you + will not sell your ikon, I must go for what Monsieur le capitaine offers + me. + </p> + <p> + “Five hundred francs,” said Louis. “A thousand francs, if we succeed in + bringing my cousin safely back to Dantzig.” + </p> + <p> + “It is agreed,” said Barlasch, and Desiree looked from one to the other + with an odd smile of amusement. For women do not understand that spirit of + adventure which makes the mercenary soldier, and urges the sailor to join + an exploring expedition without hope of any reward beyond his daily pay, + for which he is content to work and die loyally. + </p> + <p> + “And I,” she asked, “what am I to do?” + </p> + <p> + “We must know where to find you,” replied D'Arragon. + </p> + <p> + There was so much in the simple answer that Desiree fell into a train of + thought. It did not seem much for her to do, and yet it was all. For it + summed up in six words a woman's life: to wait till she is found. + </p> + <p> + “I shall wait in Dantzig,” she said at length. + </p> + <p> + Barlasch held up his finger close to her face so that she could not fail + to see it, and shook it slowly from side to side commanding her careful + and entire attention. + </p> + <p> + “And buy salt,” he said. “Fill a cupboard full of salt. It is cheap enough + in Dantzig now. The patron will not think of it. He is a dreamer. But a + dreamer awakes at length, and is hungry. It is I who tell you—Barlasch.” + </p> + <p> + He emphasized himself with a touch of his curved fingers on either + shoulder. + </p> + <p> + “Buy salt,” he said, and walked away to a rising knoll to make sure that + no one was approaching. The moon was just below the horizon, and a yellow + glow was already in the sky. + </p> + <p> + Desiree and Louis were left alone. He was looking at her, but she was + watching Barlasch with a still persistency. + </p> + <p> + “He said that it is the happy women who know their own minds,” she said + slowly. + </p> + <p> + “I suppose he meant—Duty,” she added at length, when Louis made no + sign of answering. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” he said. + </p> + <p> + Barlasch was beckoning to her. She moved away, but stopped a few yards + off, and looked at Louis again. + </p> + <p> + “Do you think it is any good trying?” she asked, with a short laugh. + </p> + <p> + “It is no good trying unless you mean to succeed,” he answered lightly. + She laughed a second time and lingered, though Barlasch was calling her to + come. + </p> + <p> + “Oh,” she said, “I am not afraid of you when you say things like that. It + is what you leave unsaid. I am afraid of you, I think, because you expect + so much.” + </p> + <p> + She tried to see his face. + </p> + <p> + “I am only an ordinary human being, you know,” she said warningly. + </p> + <p> + Then she followed Barlasch. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0018" id="link2HCH0018"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XVIII. MISSING. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + I should fear those that dance before me now + Would one day stamp upon me; it has been done: + Men shut their doors against a setting sun. +</pre> + <p> + During the first weeks of December the biting wind abated for a time, and + immediately the snow came. It fell for days, until at length the grey sky + seemed exhausted; for the flakes sailed downwards in twos and threes like + the stragglers of an army bringing up the rear. Then the sun broke through + again, and all the world was a dazzling white. + </p> + <p> + There had been a cessation in that stream of pitiable men who staggered + across the bridge from the Konigsberg road. Some instinct had turned it + southwards. Now it began again, and the rumour spread throughout the city + that Rapp was coming. At length, in the middle of December, an officer + brought word that Rapp with his staff would arrive next day. + </p> + <p> + Desiree heard the news without comment. + </p> + <p> + “You do not believe it?” asked Mathilde, who had come in with shining eyes + and a pale face. + </p> + <p> + “Oh yes, I believe it.” + </p> + <p> + “Then you forget,” persisted Mathilde, “that Charles is on the staff. They + may arrive to-night.” + </p> + <p> + While they were speaking Sebastian came in. He looked quickly from one to + the other. + </p> + <p> + “You have heard the news?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + “That the General is coming back?” said Mathilde. + </p> + <p> + “No; not that. Though it is true. Macdonald is in full retreat on Dantzig. + The Prussians have abandoned him—at last.” + </p> + <p> + He gave a queer laugh and stood looking towards the window with restless + eyes that flitted from one object to another, as if he were endeavouring + to follow in mind the quick course of events. Then he remembered Desiree + and turned towards her. + </p> + <p> + “Rapp returns to-morrow,” he said. “We may presume that Charles is with + him.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said Desiree, in a lifeless voice. + </p> + <p> + Sebastian wrinkled his eyes and gave an apologetic laugh. + </p> + <p> + “We cannot offer him a fitting welcome,” he said, with a gesture of + frustrated hospitality. “We must do what we can. You and he may, of + course, consider this your home as long as it pleases you to remain with + us. Mathilde, you will see that we have such delicacies in the house as + Dantzig can now afford—and you, Desiree, will of course make such + preparations as are necessary. It is well to remember, he may return... + to-night.” + </p> + <p> + Desiree went towards the door while Mathilde laid aside the delicate + needlework which seemed to absorb her mind and employ her fingers from + morning till night. She made a movement as if to accompany her sister, but + Desiree shook her head sharply and Mathilde remained where she was, + leaving Desiree to go upstairs alone. + </p> + <p> + The day was already drawing to its long twilight, and at four o'clock the + night came. Sebastian went out as usual, though he had caught cold. But + Mathilde stayed at home. Desiree sent Lisa to the shops in the + Langenmarkt, which is the centre of business and gossip in Dantzig. Lisa + always brought home the latest news. Mathilde came to the kitchen to seek + something when the messenger returned. She heard Lisa tell Desiree that a + few more stragglers had come in, but they brought no news of the General. + The house seemed lonely now that Barlasch was gone. + </p> + <p> + Throughout the night the sound of sleigh-bells could be faintly heard + through the double windows, though no sleigh passed through the + Frauengasse. A hundred times the bells seemed to come closer, and always + Desiree was ready behind the curtains to see the light flash past into the + Pfaffengasse. With a shiver of suspense she crept back to bed to await the + next alarm. In the early morning, long before it was light, the dull thud + of steps on the trodden snow called her to the window again. She caught + her breath as she drew back the curtain; for through the long watches of + the night she had imagined every possible form of return. + </p> + <p> + This must be Barlasch. Louis and Barlasch must, of course, have met Rapp + on his homeward journey. On finding Charles, they had sent Barlasch back + in advance to announce the safety of Desiree's husband. Louis would, of + course, not come to Dantzig. He would go north to Russia, to Reval, and + perhaps home to England—never to return. + </p> + <p> + But it was not Barlasch. It was a woman who staggered past under a burden + of firewood which she had collected in the woods of Schottland, and did + not dare to carry through the streets by day. + </p> + <p> + At last the clocks struck six, and, soon after, Lisa's heavy footstep made + the stairs creak and crack. + </p> + <p> + Desiree went downstairs before daylight. She could hear Mathilde astir in + her room, and the light of candles was visible under her door. Desiree + busied herself with household affairs. + </p> + <p> + “I have not slept,” said Lisa bluntly, “for thinking that your husband + might return, and fearing that we should make him wait in the street. But + without doubt you would have heard him.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I should have heard him.” + </p> + <p> + “If it had been my husband, I should have been at the window all night,” + said Lisa, with a gay laugh—and Desiree laughed too. + </p> + <p> + Mathilde seemed a long time in coming, and when at length she appeared + Desiree could scarcely repress a movement of surprise. Mathilde was + dressed, all in her best, as for a fete. + </p> + <p> + At breakfast Lisa brought the news told to her at the door that the + Governor would re-enter the city in state with his staff at midday. The + citizens were invited to decorate their streets, and to gather there to + welcome the returning garrison. + </p> + <p> + “And the citizens will accept the invitation,” commented Sebastian, with a + curt laugh. “All the world has sneered at Russia since the Empire existed—and + yet it has to learn from Moscow what part a citizen may play in war. These + good Dantzigers will accept the invitation.” + </p> + <p> + And he was right. For one reason or another the city did honour to Rapp. + Even the Poles must have known by now that France had made tools of them. + But as yet they could not realize that Napoleon had fallen. There were + doubtless many spies in the streets that cold December day—one who + listened for Napoleon; and another, peeping to this side and that, for the + King of Prussia. Sweden also would need to know what Dantzig thought, and + Russia must not be ignorant of the gossip in a great Baltic port. + </p> + <p> + Enveloped in their stiff sheepskins, concealed by the high collars which + reached to the brim of their hats—showing nothing but eyes where the + rime made old faces and young all alike, it was difficult for any to judge + of his neighbour—whether he were Pole or Prussian, Dantziger or + Swede. The women in thick shawls, with hoods or scarves concealing their + faces, stood silently beside their husbands. It was only the children who + asked a thousand questions, and got never an answer from the cautious + descendants of a Hanseatic people. + </p> + <p> + “Is it the French or the Russians that are coming?” asked a child near to + Desiree. + </p> + <p> + “Both,” was the answer. + </p> + <p> + “But which will come first?” + </p> + <p> + “Wait and see—silentium,” replied the careful Dantziger, looking + over his shoulder. + </p> + <p> + Desiree had changed her clothes, and wore beneath her furs the dress that + had been prepared for the journey to Zoppot so long ago. Mathilde had + noticed the dress, which had not been seen for six months. Lisa, more + loquacious, nodded to it as to a friend when helping Desiree with her + furs. + </p> + <p> + “You have changed,” she said, “since you last wore it.” + </p> + <p> + “I have grown older—and fatter,” answered Desiree cheerfully. + </p> + <p> + And Lisa, who had no imagination, seemed satisfied with the explanation. + But the change was in Desiree's eyes. + </p> + <p> + With Sebastian's permission—almost at his suggestion—they had + selected the Grune Brucke as the point from which to see the sight. This + bridge spans the Mottlau at the entrance to the Langenmarkt, and the + roadway widens before it narrows again to pass beneath the Grunes Thor. + There is rising ground where the road spreads like a fan, and here they + could see and be seen. + </p> + <p> + “Let us hope,” said Sebastian, “that two of these gentlemen may perceive + you as they pass.” + </p> + <p> + But he did not offer to accompany them. + </p> + <p> + By half-past eleven the streets were full. The citizens knew their + governor, it seemed. He would not keep them waiting. Although Rapp lacked + that power of appealing to the imagination which has survived Napoleon's + death with such astounding vitality that it moves men's minds to-day as + surely as it did a hundred years ago, he was shrewd enough to make use of + his master's methods when such would seem to serve his purpose. He was not + going to creep into Dantzig like a whipped dog into his kennel. + </p> + <p> + He had procured a horse at Elbing. Between that town and the Mottlau he + had halted to form his army into something like order, to get together a + staff with which to surround himself. + </p> + <p> + But the Dantzigers did not cheer. They stood and watched him in a sullen + silence as he rode across the bridge now known as the “Milk-Can.” His + bridle was twisted round his arm, for all his fingers were frostbitten. + His nose and his ears were in the same plight, and had been treated by a + Polish barber who, indeed, effected a cure. One eye was almost closed. His + face was astonishingly red. But he carried himself like a soldier, and + faced the world with the audacity that Napoleon taught to all his + disciples. + </p> + <p> + Behind him rode a few staff officers, but the majority were on foot. Some + effort had been made to revive the faded uniforms. One or two heroic souls + had cast aside the fur cloaks to which they owed their life, but the + majority were broken men without spirit, without pride—appealing + only to pity. They hugged themselves closely in their ragged cloaks and + stumbled as they walked. It was impossible to distinguish between the + officers and the men. The biggest and the strongest were the best clad—the + bullies were the best fed. All were black and smoke-grimed—with eyes + reddened and inflamed by the dazzling snow through which they stumbled by + day, as much as by the smoke into which they crouched at night. Every + garment was riddled by the holes burnt by flying sparks—every face + was smeared with blood that ran from the horseflesh they had torn asunder + with their teeth while it yet smoked. + </p> + <p> + Some laughed and waved their hands to the crowd. Others, who had known the + tragedy of Vilna and Kowno, stumbled on in stubborn silence still doubting + that Dantzig stood—that they were at last in sight of food and + warmth and rest. + </p> + <p> + “Is that all?” men asked each other in astonishment. For the last + stragglers had crossed the new Mottlau before the head of the procession + had reached the Grune Brucke. + </p> + <p> + “If I had such an army as that,” said a stout Dantziger, “I should bring + it into the city quietly, after dusk.” + </p> + <p> + But the majority were silent, remembering the departure of these men—the + triumph, the glory, and the hope. For a great catastrophe is a curtain + that for a moment shuts out all history and makes the human family little + children again who can but cower and hold each other's hands in the dark. + </p> + <p> + “Where are the guns?” asked one. + </p> + <p> + “And the baggage?” suggested another. + </p> + <p> + “And the treasure of Moscow?” whispered a Jew with cunning eyes, who had + hidden behind his neighbour when Rapp glanced in his direction. + </p> + <p> + Emerging on the bridge, the General glanced at the old Mottlau. A crowd + was collected on it. The citizens no longer used the bridges but crossed + without fear where they pleased, and heavy sleighs passed up and down as + on a high-road. Rapp saw it, made a grimace, and, turning in his saddle, + spoke to his neighbour, an engineer officer, who was to make an immortal + name and die in Dantzig. + </p> + <p> + The Mottlau was one of the chief defences of the city, but instead of a + river the Governor found a high-road! + </p> + <p> + Rapp alone seemed to look about him with the air of one who knew his + whereabouts. In the straggling trail of men behind him, not one in a + hundred looked for a friendly face. Some stared in front of them with + lifeless eyes, while others, with a little spirit plucked up at the end of + a weary march, glanced up at the gabled houses with the interest called + forth by the first sight of a new city. + </p> + <p> + It was not until long afterwards that the world, piecing together + information purposely delayed and details carefully falsified, knew that + of the four hundred thousand men who marched triumphantly to the Niemen, + only twenty thousand recrossed that river six months later, and of these + two-thirds had never seen Moscow. + </p> + <p> + Rapp, whose bloodshot eyes searched the crowd of faces turned towards him, + recognized a number of people. To Mathilde he bowed gravely, and with a + kindlier glance turned in his saddle to bow again to Desiree. They hardly + heeded him, but with colourless faces turned towards the staff riding + behind him. + </p> + <p> + Most of the faces were strange: others were so altered that the features + had to be sought for as in the face of a mummy. Neither Charles nor de + Casimir was among the horsemen. One or two of them bowed, as their leader + had done, to the two girls. + </p> + <p> + “That is Captain de Villars,” said Mathilde, “and the other I do not know. + Nor that tall man who is bowing now. Who are they?” + </p> + <p> + Desiree did not answer. None of these men was Charles. Unconsciously + holding her two mittened hands at her throat, she searched each face. + </p> + <p> + They were well placed to see even those who followed on foot. Many of them + were not French. It would have been easy to distinguish Charles or de + Casimir among the dark-visaged southerners. Desiree was not conscious of + the crowd around her. She heard none of the muttered remarks. All her soul + was in her eyes. + </p> + <p> + “Is that all?” she said at length—as the others had said at the + entrance to the town. + </p> + <p> + She found she was standing hand-in-hand with Mathilde, whose face was like + marble. + </p> + <p> + At last, when even the crowd had passed away beneath the Grunes Thor, they + turned and walked home in silence. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0019" id="link2HCH0019"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XIX. KOWNO. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Distinct with footprints yet + Of many a mighty marcher gone that way. +</pre> + <p> + There are many who overlook the fact that in Northern lands, more + especially in such plains as Lithuania, Courland, and Poland, travel in + winter is easier than at any other time of year. The rivers, which run + sluggishly in their ditch-like beds, are frozen so completely that the + bridges are no longer required. The roads, in summer almost impassable—mere + ruts across the plain—are for the time ignored, and the traveller + strikes a bee-line from place to place across a level of frozen snow. + </p> + <p> + Louis d'Arragon had worked out a route across the plain, as he had been + taught to shape a course across a chart. + </p> + <p> + “How did you return from Kowno?” he asked Barlasch. + </p> + <p> + “Name of my own nose,” replied that traveller. “I followed the line of + dead horses.” + </p> + <p> + “Then I will take you by another route,” replied the sailor. + </p> + <p> + And three days later—before General Rapp had made his entry into + Dantzig—Barlasch sold two skeletons of horses and a sleigh at an + enormous profit to a staff officer of Murat's at Gumbinnen. + </p> + <p> + They had passed through Rapp's army. They had halted at Konigsberg to make + inquiry, and now, almost in sight of the Niemen, where the land begins to + heave in great waves, like those that roll round Cape Horn, they were + asking still if any man had seen Charles Darragon. + </p> + <p> + “Where are you going, comrades?” a hundred men had paused to ask them. + </p> + <p> + “To seek a brother,” answered Barlasch, who, like many unprincipled + persons, had soon found that a lie is much simpler than an explanation. + </p> + <p> + But the majority glanced at them stupidly without comment, or with only a + shrug of their bowed shoulders. They were going the wrong way. They must + be mad. Between Dantzig and Konigsberg they had indeed found a few + travellers going eastward—despatch-bearers seeking Murat—spies + going northwards to Tilsit, and General Yorck still in treaty with his own + conscience—a prominent member of the Tugendbund, wondering, like + many others, if there were any virtue left in the world. Others, again, + told them that they were officers ordered to take up some new command in + the retreating army. + </p> + <p> + Beyond Konigsberg, however, D'Arragon and Barlasch found themselves alone + on their eastward route. Every man's face was set towards the west. This + was not an army at all, but an endless procession of tramps. Without food + or shelter, with no baggage but what they could carry on their backs, they + journeyed as each of us must journey out of this world into that which + lies beyond—alone, with no comrade to help them over the rough + places or lift them when they fell. For there was only one man of all this + rabble who rose to the height of self-sacrifice, and a persistent devotion + to duty. And he was coming last of all. + </p> + <p> + Many had started off in couples—with a faithful friend—only to + quarrel at last. For it is a peculiarity of the French that they can only + have one friend at a time. Long ago—back beyond the Niemen—all + friendships had been dissolved, and discipline had vanished before that. + For when Discipline and a Republic are wedded we shall have the + millennium. Liberty, they cry: meaning, I may do as I like. Equality: I am + better than you. Fraternity: what is yours is mine, if I want it. + </p> + <p> + So they quarrelled over everything, and fought for a place round the fire + that another had lighted. They burnt the houses in which they had passed a + night, though they knew that thousands trudging behind them must die for + lack of this poor shelter. + </p> + <p> + At the Beresina they had fought on the bridge like wild animals, and those + who had horses trod their comrades underfoot, or pushed them over the + parapet. Twelve thousand perished on the banks or in the river; and + sixteen thousand were left behind to the mercy of the Cossacks. + </p> + <p> + At Vilna the people were terrified at the sight of this inhuman rabble, + which had commanded their admiration on the outward march. And the + commander, with his staff, crept out of the city at night, abandoning + sick, wounded, and fighting men. + </p> + <p> + At Kowno they crowded numbly across the bridge, fighting for precedence, + when they might have walked at leisure across the ice. They were no longer + men at all, but dumb and driven animals, who fell by the roadside, and + were stripped by their comrades before the warmth of life had left their + limbs. + </p> + <p> + “Excuse me, comrade? I thought you were dead,” said one, on being + remonstrated with by a dying man. And he went on his way reluctantly, for + he knew that in a few minutes another would snatch the booty. But for the + most part they were not so scrupulous. + </p> + <p> + At first D'Arragon, to whom these horrors were new, attempted to help such + as appealed to him, but Barlasch laughed at him. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” he said. “Take the medallion, and promise to send it to his mother. + Holy Heaven—they all have medallions, and they all have mothers. + Every Frenchman remembers his mother—when it is too late. I will get + a cart. By to-morrow we shall fill it with keepsakes. And here is another. + He is hungry. So am I, comrade. I come from Moscow—bah!” + </p> + <p> + And so they fought their way through the stream. They could have journeyed + by a quicker route—D'Arragon could have steered a course across the + frozen plain as over a sea—but Charles must necessarily be in this + stream. He might be by the wayside. Any one of these pitiable objects, + half blind, frost-bitten, with one limb or another swinging useless, like + a snapped branch, wrapped to the eyes in filthy furs—inhuman, + horrible—any one of these might be Desiree's husband. + </p> + <p> + They never missed a chance of hearing news. Barlasch interrupted the last + message of a dying man to inquire whether he had ever heard of Prince + Eugene. It was startling to learn how little they knew. The majority of + them were quite ignorant of French, and had scarcely heard the name of the + commander of their division. Many spoke in a language which even Barlasch + could not identify. + </p> + <p> + “His talk is like a coffee-mill,” he explained to D'Arragon, “and I do not + know to what regiment he belonged. He asked me if I was Russki—I! + Then he wanted to hold my hand. And he went to sleep. He will wake among + the angels—that parishioner.” + </p> + <p> + Not only had no one heard of Charles Darragon, but few knew the name of + the commander to whose staff he had been attached in Moscow. There was + nothing for it but to go on towards Kowno, where it was understood + temporary head-quarters had been established. + </p> + <p> + Rapp himself had told D'Arragon that officers had been despatched to Kowno + to form a base—a sort of rock in the midst of a torrent to divert + the currents. There had then been a talk of Tilsit, and diverting the + stream, or part of it towards Macdonald in the north. But D'Arragon knew + that Macdonald was likely to be in no better plight than Murat; for it was + an open secret in Dantzig that Yorck, with four-fifths of Macdonald's + army, was about to abandon him. + </p> + <p> + The road to Kowno was not to be mistaken. On either side of it, like + fallen landmarks, the dead lay huddled on the snow. Sometimes D'Arragon + and Barlasch found the remains of a fire, where, amid the ashes, the + chains and rings showed that a gun-carriage had been burnt. The trees were + cut and scored where, as a forlorn hope, some poor imbecile had stripped + the bark with the thought that it might burn. Nearly every fire had its + grim guardian; for the wounds of the injured nearly always mortified when + the flesh was melted by the warmth. Once or twice, with their ragged feet + in the ashes, a whole company had never awakened from their sleep. + </p> + <p> + Barlasch pessimistically went the round of these bivouacs, but rarely + found anything worth carrying away. If he recognized a veteran by the + grizzled hair straggling out of the rags in which all faces were + enveloped, or perceived some remnant of a Garde uniform, he searched more + carefully. + </p> + <p> + “There may be salt,” he said. And sometimes he found a little. They had + been on foot since Gumbinnen, because no horse would be allowed by + starving men to live a day. They existed from day to day on what they + found, which was, at the best, frozen horse. But Barlasch ate singularly + little. + </p> + <p> + “One thinks of one's digestion,” he said vaguely, and persuaded D'Arragon + to eat his portion because it would be a sin to throw it away. + </p> + <p> + At length D'Arragon, who was quick enough in understanding rough men, said— + </p> + <p> + “No, I don't want any more. I will throw it away.” + </p> + <p> + And an hour later, while pretending to be asleep, he saw Barlasch get up, + and crawl cautiously into the trees where the unsavoury food had been + thrown. + </p> + <p> + “Provided,” muttered Barlasch one day, “that you keep your health. I am an + old man. I could not do this alone.” + </p> + <p> + Which was true, for D'Arragon was carrying all the baggage now. + </p> + <p> + “We must both keep our health,” answered Louis. “I have eaten worse things + than horse.” + </p> + <p> + “I saw one yesterday,” said Barlasch, with a gesture of disgust; “he had + three stripes on his arm, too; he was crouching in a ditch eating + something much worse than horse, mon capitaine. Bah! It made me sick. For + three sous I would have put my heel on his face. And later on at the + roadside I saw where he or another had played the butcher. But you saw + none of these things, mon capitaine?” + </p> + <p> + “It was by that winding stream where a farm had been burnt,” said Louis. + </p> + <p> + Barlasch glanced at him sideways. + </p> + <p> + “If we should come to that, mon capitaine....” + </p> + <p> + “We won't.” + </p> + <p> + They trudged on in silence for some time. They were off the road now, and + D'Arragon was steering by dead-reckoning. Even amid the pine-woods, which + seemed interminable, they frequently found remains of an encampment. As + often as not they found the campers huddled over their last bivouac. + </p> + <p> + “But these,” said Barlasch, pointing to what looked like a few bundles of + old clothes, continuing the conversation where he had left it after a long + silence, as men learn to do who are together day and night in some hard + enterprise, “even these have a woman dinning the ears of the good God for + them, just as we have.” + </p> + <p> + For Barlasch's conception of a Deity could not get further than the + picture of a great Commander who in times of stress had no leisure to see + that non-commissioned officers did their best for the rank and file. + Indeed, the poor in all lands rather naturally conclude that God will + think of carriage-people first. + </p> + <p> + They came within sight of Kowno one evening, after a tiring day over snow + that glittered in a cloudless sun. Barlasch sat down wearily against a + pine tree, when they first caught sight of a distant church-tower. The + country is much broken up into little valleys here, through which streams + find their way to the Niemen. Each river necessitated a rapid descent and + an arduous climb over slippery snow. + </p> + <p> + “Voila,” said Barlasch. “That is Kowno. I am done. Go on, mon capitaine. I + will lie here, and if I am not dead to-morrow morning, I will join you.” + </p> + <p> + Louis looked at him with a slow smile. + </p> + <p> + “I am tired as you,” he said. “We will rest here until the moon rises.” + </p> + <p> + Already the bare larches threw shadows three times their own length on the + snow. Near at hand it glittered like a carpet of diamonds, while the + distance was of a pale blue, merging to grey on the horizon. A far-off + belt of pines against a sky absolutely cloudless suggested infinite space—immeasurable + distance. Nothing was sharp and clearly outlined, but hazy, silvery, as + seen through a thin veil. The sea would seem to be our earthly picture of + infinite space, but no sea speaks of distance so clearly as the plain of + Lithuania—absolutely flat, quite lonely. The far-off belt of pines + only leads the eye to a shadow beyond, which is another pine-wood; and the + traveller walking all day towards it knows that when at length he gets + there he will see just such another on the far horizon. + </p> + <p> + Louis sat down wearily beside Barlasch. As far as eye could see, they were + alone in this grim white world. They had nothing to say to each other. + They sat and watched the sun go down with drawn eyes and a queer stolidity + which comes to men in great cold, as if their souls were numb. + </p> + <p> + As the sun sank, the shadows turned bluer, and all the snow gleamed like a + lake. The silver tints slowly turned to gold; the greys grew darker. The + distant lines of pines were almost black now, a silhouette against the + golden sky. Near at hand the little inequalities in the snow loomed blue, + like deeper pools in shallow water. + </p> + <p> + The sun sank very slowly, moving along the horizon almost parallel with it + towards two bars of golden cloud awaiting it, the bars of the West forming + a prison to this poor pale captive of the snows. The stems of a few + silver-birch near at hand were rosy now, and suddenly the snow took a + similar tint. At the same moment, a wave of cold seemed to sweep across + the world. + </p> + <p> + The sun went down at length, leaving a brownish-red sky. This, too, faded + to grey in a few minutes, and a steely cold gripped the world as in a + vice. + </p> + <p> + Louis d'Arragon made a sudden effort and rose to his feet, beneath which + the snow squeaked. + </p> + <p> + “Come,” he said. “If we stay, we shall fall asleep, and then—” + </p> + <p> + Barlasch roused himself and looked sleepily at his companion. He had a + patch of blue on either cheek. + </p> + <p> + “Come!” shouted Louis, as if to a deaf man. “Let us go on to Kowno, and + find out whether he is alive or dead.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0020" id="link2HCH0020"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XX. DESIREE'S CHOICE. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Our wills and fates do so contrary run, + That our devices still are overthrown. + Our thoughts are ours, their ends none of our own. +</pre> + <p> + Rapp found himself in a stronghold which was strong in theory only. For + the frozen river formed the easiest possible approach, instead of an + insuperable barrier to the enemy. He had an army which was a paper army + only. + </p> + <p> + He had, according to official returns, thirty-five thousand men. In + reality a bare eight thousand could be collected to show a face to the + enemy. The rest were sick and wounded. There was no national spirit among + these men; they hardly had a language in common. For they were men from + Africa and Italy, from France, Germany, Poland, Spain, and Holland. The + majority of them were recruits, raw and of poor physique. All were + fugitives, flying before those dread Cossacks whose “hurrah! hurrah!”—the + Arabic “kill! kill!”—haunted their fitful sleep at night. They came + to Dantzig not to fight, but to lie down and rest. They were the last of + the great army—the reinforcements dragged to the frontier which many + of them had never crossed. For those who had been to Moscow were few and + far between. The army of Moscow had perished at Malo-Jaroslavetz, at the + Beresina, in Smolensk and Vilna. + </p> + <p> + These fugitives had fled to Dantzig for safety; and Rapp in crossing the + bridge had made a grimace, for he saw that there was no safety here. + </p> + <p> + The fortifications had been merely sketched out. The ditches were full of + snow, the rivers were frozen. All work was at a standstill. Dantzig lay at + the mercy of the first-comer. + </p> + <p> + In twenty-four hours every available smith was at work, forging ice-axes + and picks. Rapp was going to cut the frozen Vistula and set the river + free. The Dantzigers laughed aloud. + </p> + <p> + “It will freeze again in a night,” they said. And it did. So Rapp set the + ice-cutters to work again next day. He kept boats moving day and night in + the water, which ran sluggish and thick, like porridge, with the desire to + freeze and be still. + </p> + <p> + He ordered the engineers to set to work on the abandoned fortifications. + But the ground was hard like granite, and the picks sprang back in the + worker's grip, jarring his bones, and making not so much as a mark on the + surface of the earth. + </p> + <p> + Again the Dantzigers laughed. + </p> + <p> + “It is frozen three feet down,” they said. + </p> + <p> + The thermometer marked between twenty and thirty degrees of frost every + night now. And it was only December—only the beginning of the + winter. The Russians were at the Niemen, daily coming nearer. Dantzig was + full of sick and wounded. The available troops were worn out, + frost-bitten, desperate. There were only a few doctors, who were without + medical stores; no meat, no vegetables, no spirits, no forage. + </p> + <p> + No wonder the Dantzigers laughed. Rapp, who had to rely on Southerners to + obey his orders—Italians, Africans, a few Frenchmen, men little used + to cold and the hardships of a Northern winter—Rapp let them laugh. + He was a medium-sized man, with a bullet-head and a round chubby face, a + small nose, round eyes, and, if you please, side-whiskers. + </p> + <p> + Never for a moment did he admit that things looked black. He lit enormous + bonfires, melted the frozen earth, and built the fortifications that had + been planned. + </p> + <p> + “I took counsel,” he said, long afterwards, “with two engineer officers + whose devotion equalled their brilliancy—Colonel Richemont and + General Campredon.” + </p> + <p> + Soldiers might for all time study with advantage the acts of such obscure + and almost forgotten men as these. For, through them, Napoleon was now + teaching the world that a fortified place might be made stronger than any + had hitherto suspected. That he should turn round and teach, on the other + hand, that a city usually considered impregnable could be taken without + great loss of life, was only characteristic of his splendid genius, which, + like a towering tree, grew and grew until it fell. + </p> + <p> + The days were very short now, and it was dark when the sappers—whose + business it was to keep the ice moving in the river at that spot where the + Government building-yard abuts the river front to-day—were roused + from their meditations by a shout on the farther bank. + </p> + <p> + They pushed their clumsy boat through the ice, and soon perceived against + the snowy distance the outline of a man wrapped, swaddled, disguised in + the heaped-up clothing so familiar to Eastern Europe at this time. The + joke of seeing a grave artilleryman clad in a lady's ermine cloak had long + since lost its savour for those who dwelt near the Moscow road. + </p> + <p> + “Ah! comrade,” said one of the boatmen, an Italian who spoke French and + had learnt his seamanship on the Mediterranean, by whose waters he would + never idle again. “Ah! you are from Moscow?” + </p> + <p> + “And you, countryman?” replied the new-comer, with a non-committing + readiness, as he stumbled over the gunwale. + </p> + <p> + “And you—an old man?” remarked the Italian, with the easy frankness + of Piedmont. + </p> + <p> + By way of reply, the new-comer held out one hand roughly swathed in cloth, + and shook it from side to side slowly, taking exception to such personal + matters on a short acquaintance. + </p> + <p> + “A week ago, when I quitted Dantzig on a mission to Kowno,” he said, with + a careless air, “one could cross the Vistula anywhere. I have been walking + on the bank for half a league looking for a way across. One would think + there is a General in Dantzig now.” + </p> + <p> + “There is Rapp,” replied the Italian, poling his boat through the floating + ice. + </p> + <p> + “He will be glad to see me.” + </p> + <p> + The Italian turned and looked over his shoulder. Then he gave a curt, + derisive laugh. + </p> + <p> + “Barlasch—of the Old Guard!” explained the new-comer, with a + careless air. + </p> + <p> + “Never heard of him.” + </p> + <p> + Barlasch pushed up the bandage which he still wore over his left eye, in + order to get a better sight of this phenomenal ignoramus, but he made no + comment. + </p> + <p> + On landing he nodded curtly, at which the boatman made a quick gesture and + spat. + </p> + <p> + “You have not the price of a glass in your purse, perhaps,” he suggested. + </p> + <p> + Barlasch disappeared in the darkness without deigning a reply. Half an + hour later he was on the steps of Sebastian's house in the Frauengasse. On + his way through the streets a hundred evidences of energy had caught his + attention, for many of the houses were barricaded, and palisades were + built at the end of the streets running down towards the river. The town + was busy, and everywhere soldiers passed to and fro. Like Samuel, Barlasch + heard the bleating of sheep and the lowing of oxen in his ears. + </p> + <p> + The houses in the Frauengasse were barricaded like others—many of + the lower windows were built up. The door of No. 36 was bolted, and + through the shutters of the upper windows no glimmer of light penetrated + to the outer darkness of the street. Barlasch knocked and waited. He + thought he could hear surreptitious movements within the house. Again he + knocked. + </p> + <p> + “Who is that?” asked Lisa just within, on the mat. She must have been + there all the time. + </p> + <p> + “Barlasch,” he replied. And the bolts which he, in his knowledge of such + matters, himself had oiled, were quickly drawn. + </p> + <p> + Inside he found Lisa, and behind her Mathilde and Desiree. + </p> + <p> + “Where is the patron?” he asked, turning to bolt the door again. + </p> + <p> + “He is out, in the town,” answered Desiree, in a strained voice. “Where + are you from?” + </p> + <p> + “From Kowno.” + </p> + <p> + Barlasch looked from one face to the other. His own was burnt red, and the + light of the lamp hanging over his head gleamed on the icicles suspended + to his eyebrows and ragged whiskers. In the warmth of the house his frozen + garments began to melt, and from his limbs the water dripped to the floor + with a sound like rain. Then he caught sight of Desiree's face. + </p> + <p> + “He is alive, I tell you that,” he said abruptly. “And well, so far as we + know. It was at Kowno that we got news of him. I have a letter.” + </p> + <p> + He opened his cloak, which was stiff like cardboard and creaked when he + bent the rough cloth. Under his cloak he wore a Russian peasant's + sheepskin coat, and beneath that the remains of his uniform. + </p> + <p> + “A dog's country,” he muttered, as he breathed on his fingers. + </p> + <p> + At last he found the letter, and gave it to Desiree. + </p> + <p> + “You will have to make your choice,” he commented, with a grimace + indicative of a serious situation, “like any other woman. No doubt you + will choose wrong.” + </p> + <p> + Desiree went up two steps in order to be nearer the lamp, and they all + watched her as she opened the letter. + </p> + <p> + “Is it from Charles?” asked Mathilde, speaking for the first time. + </p> + <p> + “No,” answered Desiree, rather breathlessly. + </p> + <p> + Barlasch nudged Lisa, indicated his own mouth, and pushed her towards the + kitchen. He nodded cunningly to Mathilde, as if to say that they were now + free to discuss family affairs; and added, with a gesture towards his + inner man— + </p> + <p> + “Since last night—nothing.” + </p> + <p> + In a few minutes Desiree, having read the letter twice, handed it to her + sister. It was characteristically short. + </p> + <p> + “We have found a man here,” wrote Louis d'Arragon, “who travelled as far + as Vilna with Charles. There they parted. Charles, who was ordered to + Warsaw on staff work, told his friend that you were in Dantzig, and that, + foreseeing a siege of the city, he had written to you to join him at + Warsaw. This letter has doubtless been lost. I am following Charles to + Warsaw, tracing him step by step, and if he has fallen ill by the way, as + so many have done, shall certainly find him. Barlasch returns to bring you + to Thorn, if you elect to join Charles. I will await you at Thorn, and if + Charles has proceeded, we will follow him to Warsaw.” + </p> + <p> + Barlasch, who had watched Desiree, now followed Mathilde's eyes as they + passed to and fro over the closely written lines. As she neared the end, + and her face, upon which deep shadows had been graven by sorrow and + suspense, grew drawn and hopeless, he gave a curt laugh. + </p> + <p> + “There were two,” he said, “travelling together—the Colonel de + Casimir and the husband of—of la petite. They had facilities—name + of God!—two carriages and an escort. In the carriages they had some + of the Emperor's playthings—holy pictures, the imperial loot—I + know not what. Besides that, they had some of their own—not furs and + candlesticks such as we others carried on our backs, but gold and + jewellery enough to make a man rich all his life.” + </p> + <p> + “How do you know that?” asked Mathilde, a dull light in her eyes. + </p> + <p> + “I—I know where it came from,” replied Barlasch, with an odd smile. + “Allez! you may take it from me.” And he muttered to himself in the patois + of the Cotes du Nord. + </p> + <p> + “And they were safe and well at Vilna?” asked Mathilde. + </p> + <p> + “Yes—and they had their treasure. They had good fortune, or else + they were more clever than other men; for they had the Imperial treasure + to escort, and could take any man's horse for the carriages in which also + they had placed their own treasure. It was Captain Darragon who held the + appointment, and the other—the Colonel—had attached himself to + him as volunteer. For it was at Vilna that the last thread of discipline + was broken, and every man did as he wished.” + </p> + <p> + “They did not come to Kowno?” asked Mathilde, who had a clear mind, and + that grasp of a situation which more often falls to the lot of the duller + sex. + </p> + <p> + “They did not come to Kowno. They would turn south at Vilna. It was as + well. At Kowno the soldiers had broken into the magazines—the brandy + was poured out in the streets. The men were lying there, the drunken and + the dead all confused together on the snow. But there would be no + confusion the next morning; for all would be dead.” + </p> + <p> + “Was it at Kowno that you left Monsieur d'Arragon?” asked Desiree, in a + sharp voice. + </p> + <p> + “No—no. We quitted Kowno together, and parted on the heights above + the town. He would not trust me—monsieur le marquis—he was + afraid that I should get at the brandy. And he was right. I only wanted + the opportunity. He is a strong one—that!” And Barlasch held up a + warning hand, as if to make known to all and sundry that it would be + inadvisable to trifle with Louis d'Arragon. + </p> + <p> + He drew the icicles one by one from his whiskers with a wry face + indicative of great agony, and threw them down on the mat. + </p> + <p> + “Well,” he said, after a pause, to Desiree, “have you made your choice?” + </p> + <p> + Desiree was reading the letter again, and before she could answer, a quick + knock on the front door startled them all. Barlasch's face broke into that + broad smile which was only called forth by the presence of danger. + </p> + <p> + “Is it the patron?” he asked in a whisper, with his hand on the heavy + bolts affixed by that pious Hanseatic merchant who held that if God be in + the house there is no need of watchmen. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” answered Mathilde. “Open quickly.” + </p> + <p> + Sebastian came in with a light step. He was like a man long saddled with a + burden of which he had at length been relieved. + </p> + <p> + “Ah! What news?” he asked, when he recognised Barlasch. + </p> + <p> + “Nothing that you do not know already, monsieur,” replied Barlasch, + “except that the husband of Mademoiselle is well and on the road to + Warsaw. Here—read that.” + </p> + <p> + And he took the letter from Desiree's hand. + </p> + <p> + “I knew he would come back safely,” said Desiree; and that was all. + </p> + <p> + Sebastian read the letter in one quick glance—and then fell to + thinking. + </p> + <p> + “It is time to quit Dantzig,” said Barlasch quietly, as if he had divined + the old man's thoughts. “I know Rapp. There will be trouble—here, on + the Vistula.” + </p> + <p> + But Sebastian dismissed the suggestion with a curt shake of the head. + </p> + <p> + Barlasch's attention had been somewhat withdrawn by a smell of cooking + meat, to which he opened his nostrils frankly and noisily after the manner + of a dog. + </p> + <p> + “Then it remains,” he said, looking towards the kitchen, “for Mademoiselle + to make her choice.” + </p> + <p> + “There is no choice,” replied Desiree, “I shall be ready to go with you—when + you have eaten.” + </p> + <p> + “Good,” said Barlasch, and the word applied as well to Lisa, who was + beckoning to him. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0021" id="link2HCH0021"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXI. ON THE WARSAW ROAD. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Oft expectation fails, and most oft there + Where it most promises; and oft it hits + Where hope is coldest and despair most sits. +</pre> + <p> + Love, it is said, is blind. But hatred is as bad. In Antoine Sebastian + hatred of Napoleon had not only blinded eyes far-seeing enough in earlier + days, but it had killed many natural affections. Love, too, may easily die—from + a surfeit or a famine. Hatred never dies; it only sleeps. + </p> + <p> + Sebastian's hatred was all awake now. It was aroused by the disasters that + had befallen Napoleon; of which disasters the Russian campaign was only + one small part. For he who stands above all his compeers must expect them + to fall upon him should he stumble. Napoleon had fallen, and a hundred + foes who had hitherto nursed their hatred in a hopeless silence were alert + to strike a blow should he descend within their reach. + </p> + <p> + When whole empires had striven in vain to strike, how could a mere + association of obscure men hope to record its blow? The Tugendbund had + begun humbly enough; and Napoleon, with that unerring foresight which + raised him above all other men, had struck at its base. For an association + in which kings and cobblers stand side by side on an equal footing must + necessarily be dangerous to its foes. + </p> + <p> + Sebastian was not carried off his feet by the great events of the last six + months. They only rendered him steadier. For he had waited a lifetime. It + is only a sudden success that dazzles. Long waiting nearly always ensures + a wise possession. + </p> + <p> + Sebastian, like all men absorbed in a great thought, was neglectful of his + social and domestic obligations. Has it not been shown that he allowed + Mathilde and Desiree to support him by giving dancing lessons? But he was + not the ordinary domestic tyrant who is familiar to all—the + dignified father of a family who must have the best of everything, whose + teaching to his offspring takes the form of an unconscious and solemn + warning. He did not ask the best; he hardly noticed what was offered to + him; and it was not owing to his demand, but to that feminine spirit of + self-sacrifice which has ruined so many men, that he fared better than his + daughters. + </p> + <p> + If he thought about it at all, he probably concluded that Mathilde and + Desiree were quite content to give their time and thought to the support + of himself—not as their father, but as the motive power of the + Tugendbund in Prussia. Many greater men have made the same mistake, and + quite small men with a great name make it every day, thinking complacently + that it is a privilege to some woman to minister to their wants while they + produce their immortal pictures or deathless books; whereas, the woman + would tend him as carefully were he a crossing-sweeper, and is only + following the dictates of an instinct which is loftier than his highest + thought and more admirable than his most astounding work of art. + </p> + <p> + Barlasch had not lived so long in the Frauengasse without learning the + domestic economy of Sebastian's household. He knew that Desiree, like many + persons with kind blue eyes, shaped her own course through life, and + abided by the result with a steadfastness not usually attributed to the + light-hearted. He concluded that he must make ready to take the road again + before midnight. He therefore gave a careful and businesslike attention to + the simple meal set before him by Lisa; and, looking up over his plate, he + saw for the second time in his life Sebastian hurrying into his own + kitchen. + </p> + <p> + Barlasch half rose, and then, in obedience to a gesture from Sebastian, or + remembering perhaps the sturdy Republicanism which he had not learnt until + middle-age, he sat down again, fork in hand. + </p> + <p> + “You are prepared to accompany Madame Darragon to Thorn?” inquired + Sebastian, inviting his guest by a gesture to make himself at home—scarcely + a necessary thought in the present instance. + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “And how do you propose to make the journey?” + </p> + <p> + This was so unlike Sebastian's usual method, so far from his lax + comprehension of a father's duty, that Barlasch paused and looked at him + with suspicion. With the back of his hand he pushed up the unkempt hair + which obscured his eyes. This unusual display of parental anxiety required + looking into. + </p> + <p> + “From what I could see in the streets,” he answered, “the General will not + stand in the way of women and useless mouths who wish to quit Dantzig.” + </p> + <p> + “That is possible; but he will not go so far as to provide horses.” + </p> + <p> + Barlasch gave his companion a quick glance, and returned to his supper, + eating with an exaggerated nonchalance, as if he were alone. + </p> + <p> + “Will you provide them?” he asked abruptly, at length, without looking up. + </p> + <p> + “I can get them for you, and can ensure you relays by the way.” + </p> + <p> + Barlasch cut a piece of meat very carefully, and, opening his mouth wide, + looked at Sebastian over the orifice. + </p> + <p> + “On one condition,” pursued Sebastian quietly; “that you deliver a letter + for me in Thorn. I make no pretence; if it is found on you, you will be + shot.” + </p> + <p> + Barlasch smiled pleasantly. + </p> + <p> + “The risks are very great,” said Sebastian, tapping his snuff-box + reflectively. + </p> + <p> + “I am not an officer to talk of my honour,” answered Barlasch, with a + laugh. “And as for risk”—he paused and put half a potato into his + mouth—“it is Mademoiselle I serve,” concluded this uncouth knight + with a curt simplicity. + </p> + <p> + So they set out at ten o'clock that night in a light sleigh on high + runners, such as may be seen on any winter day in Poland down to the + present time. The horses were as good as any in Dantzig at this date, when + a horse was more costly than his master. The moon, sailing high overhead + through fleecy clouds, found it no hard task to light a world all snow and + ice. The streets of Dantzig were astir with life and the rumble of + waggons. At first there were difficulties, and Barlasch explained airily + that he was not so accomplished a whip in the streets as in the open + country. + </p> + <p> + “But never fear,” he added. “We shall get there, soon enough.” + </p> + <p> + At the city gates there was, as Barlasch had predicted, no objection made + to the departure of a young girl and an old man. Others were quitting + Dantzig by the same gate, on foot, in sleighs and carts; but all turned + westward at the cross-roads and joined the stream of refugees hurrying + forward to Germany. Barlasch and Desiree were alone on the wide road that + runs southward across the plain towards Dirschau. The air was very cold + and still. On the snow, hard and dry like white dust, the runners of the + sleigh sang a song on one note, only varied from time to time by a drop of + several octaves as they passed over a culvert or some hollow in the road, + after which the high note, like the sound of escaping steam, again held + sway. The horses fell into a long steady trot, their feet beating the + ground with a regular, sleep-inducing thud. They were harnessed well + forward to a very long pole, and covered the ground with free strides, + unhampered by any thought of their heels. The snow pattered against the + cloth stretched like a wind-sail from their flanks to the rising front of + the sleigh. + </p> + <p> + Barlasch sat upright, a thick motionless figure, four-square to the + cutting wind. He drove with one hand at a time, sitting on the other to + restore circulation between whiles. It was impossible to distinguish the + form of his garments, for he was wrapped round in a woollen shawl like a + mummy, showing only his eyes beneath the ragged fur of a sheepskin cap + upon which the rime caused by the warmth of the horses and his own breath + had frozen like a coating of frosted silver. + </p> + <p> + Desiree was huddled down beside him, with her head bent forward so as to + protect her face from the wind, which seared like a hot iron. She wore a + hood of white fur lined with a darker fur, and when she lifted her face + only her eyes, bright and wakeful, were visible. + </p> + <p> + “If you are warm, you may go to sleep,” said Barlasch in a mumbling voice, + for his face was drawn tight and his lips stiffened by the cold. “But if + you shiver, you must stay awake.” + </p> + <p> + But Desiree seemed to have no wish for sleep. Whenever Barlasch leant + forward to peer beneath her hood she looked round at him with wakeful + eyes. Whenever, to see if she were still awake, he gave her an + unceremonious nudge, she nudged back again instantly. As the night wore + on, she grew more wakeful. When they halted at a wayside inn, which must + have been minutely described to Barlasch by Sebastian, and Desiree + accepted the innkeeper's offer of a cup of coffee by the fire while fresh + horses were being put into harness, she was wide awake and looked at + Barlasch with a reckless laugh as he shook the rime from his eyebrows. In + response he frowningly scrutinized as much of her face as he could see, + and shook his head disapprovingly. + </p> + <p> + “You laugh when there is nothing to laugh at,” he said grimly. “Foolish. + It makes people wonder what is in your mind.” + </p> + <p> + “There is nothing in my mind,” she answered gaily. + </p> + <p> + “Then there is something in your heart, and that is worse!” said Barlasch, + which made Desiree look at him doubtfully. + </p> + <p> + They had done forty miles with the same horses, and were nearly halfway. + For some hours the road had followed the course of the Vistula on the high + tableland above the river, and would so continue until they reached Thorn. + </p> + <p> + “You must sleep,” said Barlasch curtly, when they were once more on the + road. She sat silent beside him for an hour. The horses were fresh, and + covered the ground at a great pace. Barlasch was no driver, but he was + skilful with the horses, and husbanded their strength at every hill. + </p> + <p> + “If we go on like this, when shall we arrive?” asked Desiree suddenly. + </p> + <p> + “By eight o'clock, if all goes well.” + </p> + <p> + “And we shall find Monsieur Louis d'Arragon awaiting us at Thorn?” + </p> + <p> + Barlasch shrugged his shoulders doubtfully. + </p> + <p> + “He said he would be there,” he muttered, and, turning in his seat, he + looked down at her with some contempt. + </p> + <p> + “That is like a woman,” he said. “They think all men are fools except one, + and that one is only to be compared with the bon Dieu.” + </p> + <p> + Desiree could not have heard the remark, for she made no answer and sat + silent, leaning more and more heavily against her companion. He changed + the reins to his other hand, and drove with it for an hour after all + feeling had left it. Desiree was asleep. She was still sleeping when, in + the dim light of a late dawn, Barlasch saw the distant tower of Thorn + Cathedral. + </p> + <p> + They were no longer alone on the road now, but passed a number of heavy + market-sleighs bringing produce and wood to the town. Barlasch had been in + Thorn before. Desiree was still sleeping when he turned the horses into + the crowded yard of the “Drei Kronen.” The sleighs and carriages were + packed side by side as in a warehouse, but the stables were empty. No + eager host came out to meet the travellers. The innkeepers of Thorn had + long ceased to give themselves that trouble. For the city was on the + direct route of the retreat, and few who got so far had any money left. + </p> + <p> + Slowly and painfully Barlasch unwound himself and disentangled his legs. + He tried first one and then the other, as if uncertain whether he could + walk. Then he staggered numbly across the yard to the door of the inn. + </p> + <p> + A few minutes later Desiree woke up. She was in a room warmed by a great + white stove and dimly lighted by candles. Some one was pulling off her + gloves and feeling her hands to make sure that they were not frost-bitten. + She looked sleepily at a white coffee-pot standing on the table near the + candles; then her eyes, still uncomprehending, rested on the face of the + man who was loosening her hood, which was hard with rime and ice. He had + his back to the candles, and was half-hidden by the collar of his fur + coat, which met the cap pressed down over his ears. + </p> + <p> + He turned towards the table to lay aside her gloves, and the light fell on + his face. Desiree was wideawake in an instant, and Louis d'Arragon, + hearing her move, turned anxiously to look at her again. Neither spoke for + a minute. Barlasch was holding his numbed hand against the stove, and was + grinding his teeth and muttering at the pain of the restored circulation. + </p> + <p> + Desiree shook the icicles from her hood, and they rattled like hail on the + bare floor. Her hair, all tumbled round her face, caught the light of the + candles. Her eyes were bright and the colour was in her cheeks. D'Arragon + glanced at her with a sudden look of relief, and then turned to Barlasch. + He took the numbed hand and felt it; then he held a candle close to it. + Two of the fingers were quite white, and Barlasch made a grimace when he + saw them. D'Arragon began rubbing at once, taking no notice of his + companion's moans and complaints. + </p> + <p> + Without desisting, he looked over his shoulder towards Desiree, but not + actually at her face. + </p> + <p> + “I heard last night,” he said, “that the two carriages are standing in an + inn-yard three leagues beyond this on the Warsaw road. I have traced them + step by step from Kowno. My informant tells me that the escort has + deserted, and that the officer in charge, Colonel Darragon, was going on + alone, with the two drivers, when he was taken ill. He is nearly well + again, and hopes to continue his journey to-morrow or the next day.” + </p> + <p> + Desiree nodded her head to signify that she had heard and understood. + Barlasch gave a cry of pain, and withdrew his hand with a jerk. + </p> + <p> + “Enough, enough!” he said. “You hurt me. The life is returning now; a drop + of brandy perhaps—” + </p> + <p> + “There is no brandy in Thorn,” said D'Arragon, turning towards the table. + “There is only coffee.” + </p> + <p> + He busied himself with the cups, and did not look at Desiree when he spoke + again. + </p> + <p> + “I have secured two horses,” he said, “to enable you to proceed at once, + if you are able to. But if you would rather rest here to-day—” + </p> + <p> + “Let us go on at once,” interrupted Desiree hastily. + </p> + <p> + Barlasch, crouching against the stove, glanced from one to the other + beneath his heavy brows, wondering, perhaps, why they avoided looking at + each other. + </p> + <p> + “You will wait here,” said D'Arragon, turning towards him, “until—until + I return.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” was the answer. “I will lie on the floor here and sleep. I have had + enough. I—” + </p> + <p> + Louis left the room to give the necessary orders. When he returned in a + few minutes, Barlasch was asleep on the floor, and Desiree had tied on her + hood again, which concealed her face. He drank a cup of coffee and ate + some dry bread absent-mindedly, in silence. + </p> + <p> + The sound of bells, feebly heard through the double windows, told them + that the horses were being harnessed. + </p> + <p> + “Are you ready?” asked D'Arragon, who had not sat down; and in response, + Desiree, standing near the stove, went towards the door, which he held + open for her to pass out. As she passed him, she glanced at his face, and + winced. + </p> + <p> + In the sleigh she looked up at him as if expecting him to speak. He was + looking straight in front of him. There was, after all, nothing to be + said. She could see his steady eyes between his high collar and the fur + cap. They were hard and unflinching. The road was level now, and the snow + beaten to a gleaming track like ice. D'Arragon put the horses to a gallop + at the town gate, and kept them at it. + </p> + <p> + In half an hour he turned towards her and pointed with his whip to a roof + half hidden by some thin pines. + </p> + <p> + “That is the inn,” he said. + </p> + <p> + In the inn yard he indicated with his whip two travelling-carriages + standing side by side. + </p> + <p> + “Colonel Darragon is here?” he said to the cringing Jew who came to meet + them; and the innkeeper led the way upstairs. The house was a miserable + one, evil-smelling, sordid. The Jew pointed to a door, and, cringing + again, left them. + </p> + <p> + Desiree made a gesture telling Louis to go in first, which he did at once. + The room was littered with trunks and cases. All the treasure had been + brought into the sick man's chamber for greater safety. + </p> + <p> + On a narrow bed near the window a man lay huddled on his side. He turned + and looked over his shoulder, showing a haggard face with a ten-days' + beard on it. He looked from one to the other in silence. + </p> + <p> + It was Colonel de Casimir. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0022" id="link2HCH0022"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXII. THROUGH THE SHOALS. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + I see my way, as birds their trackless way. +</pre> + <p> + De Casimir had never seen Louis d'Arragon, and yet some dim resemblance to + his cousin must have introduced the new-comer to a conscience not quite + easy. + </p> + <p> + “You seek me, Monsieur,” he asked, not having recognized Desiree, who + stood behind her companion, in her furs. + </p> + <p> + “I seek Colonel Darragon, and was told that we should find him in this + room.” + </p> + <p> + “May I ask why you seek him in this rather unceremonious manner?” asked De + Casimir, with the ready insolence of his calling and his age. + </p> + <p> + “Because I am his cousin,” replied Louis quietly, “and Madame is his + wife.” + </p> + <p> + Desiree came forward, her face colourless. She caught her breath, but made + no attempt to speak. + </p> + <p> + De Casimir tried to lift himself on his elbows. + </p> + <p> + “Ah! madame,” he said. “You see me in a sorry state. I have been very + ill.” And he made a gesture with one hand, begging her to overlook his + unkempt appearance and the disorder of his room. + </p> + <p> + “Where is Charles?” asked Desiree curtly. She had suddenly realized how + intensely she had always disliked De Casimir, and distrusted him. + </p> + <p> + “Has he not returned to Dantzig?” was the ready answer. “He should have + been there a week ago. We parted at Vilna. He was exhausted—a mere + question of over-fatigue—and at his request I left him there to + recover and to pursue his way to Dantzig, where he knew you would be + awaiting him.” + </p> + <p> + He paused and looked from one to the other with quick and furtive eyes. He + felt himself easily a match for them in quickness of perception, in rapid + thought, in glib speech. Both were dumb—he could not guess why. But + there was a steadiness in D'Arragon's eyes which rarely goes with dulness + of wit. This was a man who could be quick at will—a man to be + reckoned with. + </p> + <p> + “You are wondering why I travel under your cousin's name, Monsieur,” said + De Casimir, with a friendly smile. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” returned Louis, without returning the smile. + </p> + <p> + “It is simple enough,” explained the sick man. “At Vilna we found all + discipline relaxed. There were no longer any regiments. There was no + longer staff. There was no longer an army. Every man did as he thought + best. Many, as you know, elected to await the Russians at Vilna, rather + than attempt to journey farther. Your cousin had been given the command of + the escort which has now filtered away, like every other corps. He was to + conduct back to Paris two carriages laden with imperial treasure and + certain papers of value. Charles did not want to go back to Paris. He + wished most naturally to return to Dantzig. I, on the other hand, desired + to go to France; and there place my sword once more at the Emperor's + service. What more simple than to change places?” + </p> + <p> + “And names,” suggested D'Arragon, without falling into De Casimir's easy + and friendly manner. + </p> + <p> + “For greater security in passing through Poland and across the frontier,” + explained De Casimir readily. “Once in France—and I hope to be there + in a week—I shall report the matter to the Emperor as it really + happened: namely, that, owing to Colonel Darragon's illness, he + transferred his task to me at Vilna. The Emperor will be indifferent, so + long as the order has been carried out.” + </p> + <p> + De Casimir turned to Desiree as likely to be more responsive than this + dark-eyed stranger, who listened with so disconcerting a lack of comment + or sympathy. + </p> + <p> + “So you see, madame,” he said, “Charles will still get the credit for + having carried out his most difficult task, and no harm is done.” + </p> + <p> + “When did you leave Charles at Vilna?” asked she. + </p> + <p> + De Casimir lay back on the pillow in an attitude which betrayed his + weakness and exhaustion. He looked at the ceiling with lustreless eyes. + </p> + <p> + “It must have been a fortnight ago,” he said at length. “I was trying to + count the days. We have lost all account of dates since quitting Moscow. + One day has been like another—and all, terrible. Believe me, madame, + it has always been in my mind that you were awaiting the return of your + husband at Dantzig. I spared him all I could. A dozen times we saved each + other's lives.” + </p> + <p> + In six words Desiree could have told him all she knew: that he was a spy + who had betrayed to death and exile many Dantzigers whose hospitality had + been extended to him as a Polish officer; that Charles was a traitor who + had gained access to her father's house in order to watch him—though + he had honestly fallen in love with her. He was in love with her still, + and he was her husband. It was this thought that broke into her sleep at + night, that haunted her waking hours. + </p> + <p> + She glanced at Louis d'Arragon, and held her peace. + </p> + <p> + “Then, Monsieur,” he said, “you have every reason to suppose that if + Madame returns to Dantzig now, she will find her husband there?” + </p> + <p> + De Casimir looked at D'Arragon, and hesitated for an instant. They both + remembered afterwards that moment of uncertainty. + </p> + <p> + “I have every reason to suppose it,” replied De Casimir at length, + speaking in a low voice, as if fearful of being overheard. + </p> + <p> + Louis waited a moment, and glanced at Desiree, who, however, had evidently + nothing more to say. + </p> + <p> + “Then we will not trouble you farther,” he said, going towards the door, + which he held open for Desiree to pass out. He was following her when De + Casimir called him back. + </p> + <p> + “Monsieur,” cried the sick man, “Monsieur, one moment, if you can spare + it.” + </p> + <p> + Louis came back. They looked at each other in silence while they heard + Desiree descend the stairs and speak in German to the innkeeper who had + been waiting there. + </p> + <p> + “I will be quite frank with you,” said De Casimir, in that voice of + confidential friendliness which so rarely failed in its effect. “You know + that Madame Darragon has an elder sister, Mademoiselle Mathilde + Sebastian?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + De Casimir raised himself on his elbows again, with an effort, and gave a + short, half shamefaced laugh which was quite genuine. It was odd that + Mathilde and he, who had walked most circumspectly, should both have been + tripped up, as it were, by love. + </p> + <p> + “Bah!” he said, with a gesture dismissing the subject, “I cannot tell you + more. It is a woman's secret, Monsieur, not mine. Will you deliver a + letter for me in Dantzig, that is all I ask?” + </p> + <p> + “I will give it to Madame Darragon to give to Mademoiselle Mathilde, if + you like; I am not returning to Dantzig,” replied Louis. But de Casimir + shook his head. + </p> + <p> + “I am afraid that will not do,” he said doubtfully. “Between sisters, you + understand—” + </p> + <p> + And he was no doubt right; this man of quick perception. Is it not from + our nearest relative that our dearest secret is usually withheld? + </p> + <p> + “You cannot find another messenger?” asked De Casimir, and the anxiety in + his face was genuine enough. + </p> + <p> + “I can—if you wish it.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, Monsieur, I shall not forget it! I shall never forget it,” said the + sick man quickly and eagerly. “The letter is there, beneath that + sabretasche. It is sealed and addressed.” + </p> + <p> + Louis found the letter, and went towards the door, as he placed it in his + pocket. + </p> + <p> + “Monsieur,” said De Casimir, stopping him again. “Your name, if I may ask + it, so that I may remember a countryman who has done me so great a + service.” + </p> + <p> + “I am not a countryman; I am an Englishman,” replied Louis. “My name is + Louis d'Arragon.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah! I know. Charles has told me, Monsieur le—” + </p> + <p> + But D'Arragon heard no more, for he closed the door behind him. + </p> + <p> + He found Desiree awaiting him in the entrance hall of the inn, where a + fire of pine-logs burnt in an open chimney. The walls and low ceiling were + black with smoke, the little windows were covered with ice an inch thick. + It was twilight in this quiet room, and would have been dark but for the + leaping flames of the fire. + </p> + <p> + “You will go back to Dantzig,” he asked, “at once?” + </p> + <p> + He carefully avoided looking at her, though he need not have feared that + she would have allowed her eyes to meet his. And thus they stood, looking + downward to the fire—alone in a world that heeded them not, and + would forget them in a week—and made their choice of a life. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” she answered. + </p> + <p> + He stood thinking for a moment. He was quite practical and matter-of-fact; + and had the air of a man of action rather than of one who deals in + thoughts, and twists them hither and thither so that good is made to look + ridiculous, and bad is tricked out with a fine new name. He frowned as he + looked at the fire with eyes that flitted from one object to another, as + men's eyes do who think of action and not of thought. This was the sailor—second + to none in the shallow northern sea, where all marks had been removed, and + every light extinguished—accustomed to facing danger and avoiding + it, to foresee remote contingencies and provide against them, day and + night, week in, week out; a sailor, careful and intrepid. He had the air + of being capable of that concentration without which no man can hope to + steer a clear course at all. + </p> + <p> + “The horses that brought you from Marienwerder will not be fit for the + road till to-morrow morning,” he said. “I will take you back to Thorn at + once, and—leave you there with Barlasch.” + </p> + <p> + He glanced towards her, and she nodded, as if acknowledging the sureness + and steadiness of the hand at the helm. + </p> + <p> + “You can start early to-morrow morning, and be in Dantzig to-morrow + night.” + </p> + <p> + They stood side by side in silence for some minutes. He was still thinking + of her journey—of the dangers and the difficulties of that longer + journey through life without landmark or light to guide her. + </p> + <p> + “And you?” she asked curtly. + </p> + <p> + He did not reply at once but busied himself with his ponderous fur coat, + which he buttoned, as if bracing himself for the start. Beneath her lashes + she looked sideways at the deliberate hands and the lean strong face, + burnt to a red-brown by sun and snow, half hidden in the fur collar of his + worn and weather-beaten coat. + </p> + <p> + “Konigsberg,” he answered, “and Riga.” + </p> + <p> + A light passed through her watching eyes, usually so kind and gay; like + the gleam of jealousy. + </p> + <p> + “Your ship?” she asked sharply. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” he answered, as the innkeeper came to tell them that their sleigh + awaited them. + </p> + <p> + It was snowing now, and a whistling, fitful wind swept down the valley of + the Vistula from Poland and the far Carpathians which made the travellers + crouch low in the sleigh and rendered talk impossible, had there been + anything to say. But there was nothing. + </p> + <p> + They found Barlasch asleep where they had left him in the inn at Thorn, on + the floor against the stove. He roused himself with the quickness and + completeness of one accustomed to brief and broken rest, and stood up + shaking himself in his clothes, like a dog with a heavy coat. He took no + notice of D'Arragon, but looked at Desiree with questioning eyes. + </p> + <p> + “It was not the Captain?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + And Desiree shook her head. Louis was standing near the door giving orders + to the landlady of the inn—a kindly Pomeranian, clean and slow—for + Desiree's comfort till the next morning. + </p> + <p> + Barlasch went close to Desiree, and, nudging her arm with exaggerated + cunning, whispered— + </p> + <p> + “Who was it?” + </p> + <p> + “Colonel de Casimir.” + </p> + <p> + “With the two carriages and the treasure from Moscow?” asked Barlasch, + watching Louis out of the corner of one eye, to make sure that he did not + hear. It did not matter whether he heard or not, but Barlasch came of a + peasant stock that always speaks of money in a whisper. And when Desiree + nodded, he cut short the conversation. + </p> + <p> + The hostess came forward to tell Desiree that her room was ready, kindly + suggesting that the “gnadiges Fraulein” must need sleep and rest. Desiree + knew that Louis would go on to Konigsberg at once. She wondered whether + she should ever see him again—long afterwards, perhaps, when all + this would seem like a dream. Barlasch, breathing noisily on his + frost-bitten fingers, was watching them. Desiree shook hands with Louis in + an odd silence, and, turning on her heel, followed the woman out of the + room without looking back. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0023" id="link2HCH0023"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXIII. AGAINST THE STREAM. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Wo viel Licht ist, ist starker Schatten. +</pre> + <p> + In the mean time the last of the Great Army had reached the Niemen, that + narrow winding river in its ditch-like bed sunk below the level of the + tableland, to which six months earlier the greatest captain this world has + ever seen rode alone, and, coming back to his officers, said— + </p> + <p> + “Here we cross.” + </p> + <p> + Four hundred thousand men had crossed—a bare eighty thousand lived + to pass the bridge again. Twelve hundred cannons had been left behind, + nearly a thousand in the hands of the enemy, and the remainder buried or + thrown into those dull rivers whose slow waters flow over them to this + day. One hundred and twenty-five thousand officers and men had been killed + in battle, another hundred thousand had perished by cold and disaster at + the Beresina or other rivers where panic seized the fugitives. + </p> + <p> + Forty-eight generals had been captured by the Russians, three thousand + officers, one hundred and ninety thousand men, swallowed by the silent + white Empire of the North and no more seen. + </p> + <p> + As the retreat neared Vilna the cold had increased, killing men as the + first cold of an English winter kills flies. And when the French quitted + Vilna, the Russians were glad enough to seek its shelter, Kutusoff + creeping in with forty thousand men, all that remained to him of two + hundred thousand. He could not carry on the pursuit, but sent forward a + handful of Cossacks to harry the hare-brained few who called themselves + the rearguard. He was an old man, nearly worn out, with only three months + more to live—but he had done his work. + </p> + <p> + Ney—the bravest of the brave—left alone in Russia at the last + with seven hundred foreign recruits, men picked from here and there, + called in from the highways and hedges to share the glory of the only + Marshal who came back from Moscow with a name untarnished—Ney and + Girard, musket in hand, were the last to cross the bridge, shouting + defiance at their Cossack foes, who, when they had hounded the last of the + French across the frontier, flung themselves down on the bloodstained snow + to rest. + </p> + <p> + All along the banks of the Vistula, from Konigsberg and Dantzig up to + Warsaw—that slow river which at the last call shall assuredly give + up more dead than any other—the fugitives straggled homewards. For + the Russians paused at their own frontier, and Prussia was still nominally + the friend of France. She had still to wear the mask for three long months + when she should at last openly side with Russia, only to be beaten again + by Napoleon. + </p> + <p> + Murat was at Konigsberg with the Imperial staff, left in supreme command + by the Emperor, and already thinking of his own sunny kingdom of the + Mediterranean, and the ease and the glory of it. In a few weeks he, too, + must tarnish his name. + </p> + <p> + “I make over the command to you,” he said to Prince Eugene; and Napoleon's + step-son made an answer which shows, as Eugene showed again and again, + that contact with a great man makes for greatness. + </p> + <p> + “You cannot make it over to me,” he replied. “Only the Emperor can do + that. You can run away in the night, and the supreme command will devolve + on me the next morning.” + </p> + <p> + And what Murat did is no doubt known to the learned reader. + </p> + <p> + Macdonald, abandoned by Yorck with the Prussian contingent, in great + peril, alone in the north, was retreating with the remains of the Tenth + Army Corps, wondering whether Konigsberg or Dantzig would still be French + when he reached them. On his heels was Wittgenstein, in touch with St. + Petersburg and the Emperor Alexander, communicating with Kutusoff at + Vilna. And Macdonald, like the Scotchman and the Frenchman that he was, + turned at a critical moment and rent Wittgenstein. Here was another + bulldog in that panic-stricken pack, who turned and snarled and fought + while his companions slunk homewards with their tails between their legs. + There were three of such breed—Ney and Macdonald, and Prince Eugene + de Beauharnais. + </p> + <p> + Napoleon was in Paris, getting together in wild haste the new army with + which he was yet to frighten Europe into fits. And Rapp, doggedly + fortifying his frozen city, knew that he was to hold Dantzig at any cost—a + remote, far-thrown outpost on the Northern sea, cut off from all help, + hundreds of miles from the French frontier, nearly a thousand miles from + Paris. + </p> + <p> + At Marienwerder, Barlasch and Desiree found themselves in the midst of + that bustle and confusion which attends the arrival or departure of an + army corps. The majority of the men were young and of a dark skin. They + seemed gay, and called out salutations to which Barlasch replied curtly + enough. + </p> + <p> + “They are Italians,” said he to his companion; “I know their talk and + their manners. To you and me, who come from the North, they are like + children. See that one who is dancing. It is some fete. What is to-day?” + </p> + <p> + “It is New Year's Day,” replied Desiree. + </p> + <p> + “New Year's Day,” echoed Barlasch. “Good. And we have been on the road + since six o'clock; and I, who have forgotten to wish you—” He paused + and called cheerily to the horses, which had covered more than forty miles + since leaving their stable at Thorn. “Bon Dieu!” he said in a lower tone, + glancing at her beneath the ice-bound rim of his fur cap, “Bon Dieu—what + am I to wish you, I wonder?” + </p> + <p> + Desiree did not answer, but smiled a little and looked straight in front + of her. + </p> + <p> + Barlasch made a movement of the shoulders and eyebrows indicative of a + hidden anger. + </p> + <p> + “We are friends,” he asked suddenly, “you and I?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “We have been friends since—that day—when you were married?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” answered Desiree. + </p> + <p> + “Then between friends,” said Barlasch, gruffly; “it is not necessary to + smile—like that—when it is tears that are there.” + </p> + <p> + Desiree laughed. + </p> + <p> + “Would you have me weep?” she asked. + </p> + <p> + “It would hurt one less,” said Barlasch, attending to his horses. They + were in the town now, and the narrow streets were crowded. Many sick and + wounded were dragging themselves wearily along. A few carts, drawn by + starving horses, went slowly down the hill. But there was some semblance + of order, and thus men had the air and carriage of soldiers under + discipline. Barlasch was quick to see it. + </p> + <p> + “It is the Fourth Corps. The Viceroy's army. They have done well. He is a + soldier, who commands them. Ah! There is one I know.” + </p> + <p> + He threw the reins to Desiree, and in a moment he was out on the snow. A + man, as old, it would seem, as himself, in uniform and carrying a musket, + was marching past with a few men who seemed to be under his orders, though + his uniform was long past recognition. He did not perceive, for some + minutes, that Barlasch was coming towards him, and then the process of + recognition was slow. Finally, he laid aside his musket, and the two old + men gravely kissed each other. + </p> + <p> + Quite forgetful of Desiree, they stood talking together for twenty + minutes. Then they gravely embraced once more, and Barlasch returned to + the sleigh. He took the reins, and urged the horses up the hill without + commenting on his encounter, but Desiree could see that he had heard news. + </p> + <p> + The inn was outside the town, on the road that follows the Vistula + northwards to Dirschau and Dantzig. The horses were tired, and stumbled on + the powdery snow which was heavy, like sand, and of a sandy colour. Here + and there, by the side of the road, were great stains of blood and the + remains of a horse that had been killed, and eaten raw. The faces of many + of the men were smeared with blood, which had dried on their cheeks and + caked there. Nearly all were smoke-grimed and had sore eyes. + </p> + <p> + At last Barlasch spoke, with the decisive air of one who has finally drawn + up a course of action in a difficult position. + </p> + <p> + “He comes from my own country, that man. You heard us? We spoke together + in our patois. I shall not see him again. He has a catarrh. When he coughs + there is blood. Alas!” + </p> + <p> + Desiree glanced at the rugged face half turned away from her. She was not + naturally heartless; but she quite forgot to sympathize with the elderly + soldier who had caught a cold on the retreat from Moscow; for his friend's + grief lacked conviction. Barlasch had heard news which he had decided to + keep to himself. + </p> + <p> + “Has he come from Vilna?” asked Desiree. + </p> + <p> + “From Vilna—oh yes. They are all from Vilna.” + </p> + <p> + “And he had no news”—persisted she, “of—Captain Darragon?” + </p> + <p> + “News—oh no! He is a common soldier, and knows nothing of the + officers on the staff. We are the same—he and I—poor animals + in the ranks. A little gentleman rides up, all sabretasche and gold lace. + It is an officer of the staff. 'Go down into the valley and get shot,' he + says. And—bon jour! we go. No—no. He has no news, my poor + comrade.” + </p> + <p> + They were at the inn now, and found the huge yard still packed with + sleighs and disabled carriages, and the stables ostentatiously empty. + </p> + <p> + “Go in,” said Barlasch; “and tell them who your father is—say + Antoine Sebastian and nothing else. I would do it myself, but when it is + so cold as that, the lips are stiff, and I cannot speak German properly. + They would find out that I am French, and it is no good being French now. + My comrade told me that in Konigsberg, Murat himself was ill-received by + the burgomaster and such city stuff as that.” + </p> + <p> + It was as Barlasch foretold. For at the name of Antoine Sebastian the + innkeeper found horses—in another stable. + </p> + <p> + It would take a few minutes, he said, to fetch them, and in the meantime + there were coffee and some roast meat—his own dinner. Indeed, he + could not do enough to testify his respect for Desiree, and his + commiseration for her, being forced to travel in such weather through a + country infested by starving brigands. + </p> + <p> + Barlasch consented to come just within the inner door, but refused to sit + at the table with Desiree. He took a piece of bread, and ate it standing. + </p> + <p> + “See you,” he said to her when they were left alone, “the good God has + made very few mistakes, but there is one thing I would have altered. If He + intended us for such a rough life, He should have made the human frame + capable of going longer without food. To a poor soldier marching from + Moscow to have to stop every three hours and gnaw a piece of horse that + has died—and raw—it is not amusing.” + </p> + <p> + He watched Desiree with a grudging eye. For she was young, and had eaten + nothing for six freezing hours. + </p> + <p> + “And for us,” he added; “what a waste of time!” + </p> + <p> + Desiree rose at once with a laugh. + </p> + <p> + “You want to go,” she said. “Come, I am ready.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” he admitted, “I want to go. I am afraid—name of a dog! I am + afraid, I tell you. For I have heard the Cossacks cry, 'Hurrah! Hurrah!' + And they are coming.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah!” said Desiree, “that is what your friend told you.” + </p> + <p> + “That, and other things.” + </p> + <p> + He was pulling on his gloves as he spoke, and turned quickly on his heel + when the innkeeper entered the room, as if he had expected one of those + dread Cossacks of Toula who were half savage. But the innkeeper carried + nothing more lethal in his hand than a yellow mug of beer, which he + offered to Barlasch. And the old soldier only shook his head. + </p> + <p> + “There is poison in it,” he muttered. “He knows I am a Frenchman.” + </p> + <p> + “Come,” said Desiree, with her gay laugh, “I will show you that there is + no poison in it.” + </p> + <p> + She took the mug and drank, and handed the measure to Barlasch. It was a + poor thin beer, and Barlasch was not one to hide his opinion from the + host, to whom he made a reproving grimace when he returned the empty mug. + But the effect upon him was nevertheless good, for he took the reins again + with a renewed energy, and called to the horses gaily enough. + </p> + <p> + “Allons,” he said; “we shall reach Dantzig safely by nightfall, and there + we shall find your husband awaiting us, and laughing at us for our foolish + journey.” + </p> + <p> + But being an old man, the beer could not warm his heart for long, and he + soon lapsed again into melancholy and silence. Nevertheless, they reached + Dantzig by nightfall, and although it was a bitter twilight—colder + than the night itself—the streets were full. Men stood in groups and + talked. In the brief time required to journey to Thorn something had + happened. Something happened every day in Dantzig; for when history wakes + from her slumber and moves, it is with a heavy and restless tread. + </p> + <p> + “What is it?” asked Barlasch of the sentry at the town gate, while they + waited for their passports to be returned to them. + </p> + <p> + “It is a proclamation from the Emperor of Russia—no one knows how it + has got here.” + </p> + <p> + “And what does he proclaim—that citizen?” + </p> + <p> + “He bids the Dantzigers rise and turn us out,” answered the soldier, with + a grim laugh. + </p> + <p> + “Is that all?” + </p> + <p> + “No, comrade, that is not all,” was the answer in a graver voice. + </p> + <p> + “He proclaims that every Pole who submits now will be forgiven and set at + liberty; the past, he says, will be committed to an eternal oblivion and a + profound silence—those are his words.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah!” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, and half the defenders of Dantzig are Poles—there are your + passports—pass on.” + </p> + <p> + They drove through the dark streets where men like shadows hurried + silently about their business. + </p> + <p> + The Frauengasse seemed to be deserted when they reached it. It was + Mathilde who opened the door. She must have been at the darkened window, + behind the curtain. Lisa had gone home to her native village in Sammland + in obedience to the Governor's orders. Sebastian had not been home all + day. Charles had not returned, and there was no news of him. + </p> + <p> + Barlasch, wiping the snow from his face, watched Desiree, and made no + comment. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0024" id="link2HCH0024"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXIV. MATHILDE CHOOSES. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + But strong is fate, O Love, + Who makes, who mars, who ends. +</pre> + <p> + Desiree was telling Mathilde the brief news of her futile journey, when a + knock at the front door made them turn from the stairs where they were + standing. It was Sebastian's knock. His hours had been less regular of + late. He came and went without explanation. + </p> + <p> + When he had freed his throat from his furs, and laid aside his gloves, he + glanced hastily at Desiree, who had kissed him without speaking. + </p> + <p> + “And your husband?” he asked curtly. + </p> + <p> + “It was not he whom we found at Thorn,” she answered. There was something + in her father's voice—in his quick, sidelong glance at her—that + caught her attention. He had changed lately. From a man of dreams he had + been transformed into a man of action. It is customary to designate a man + of action as a hard man. Custom is the brick wall against which feeble + minds come to a standstill and hinder the progress of the world. Sebastian + had been softened by action, through which his mental energy had found an + outlet. But to-night he was his old self again—hard, scornful, + incomprehensible. + </p> + <p> + “I have heard nothing of him,” said Desiree. + </p> + <p> + Sebastian was stamping the snow from his boots. + </p> + <p> + “But I have,” he said, without looking up. + </p> + <p> + Desiree said nothing. She knew that the secret she had guarded so + carefully—the secret kept by herself and Louis—was hers no + longer. In the silence of the next moments she could hear Barlasch + breathing on his fingers, within the kitchen doorway just behind her. + Mathilde made a little movement. She was on the stairs, and she moved + nearer to the balustrade and held to it breathlessly. For Charles + Darragon's secret was De Casimir's too. + </p> + <p> + “These two gentlemen,” said Sebastian slowly, “were in the secret service + of Napoleon. They are hardly likely to return to Dantzig.” + </p> + <p> + “Why not?” asked Mathilde. + </p> + <p> + “They dare not.” + </p> + <p> + “I think the Emperor will be able to protect his officers,” said Mathilde. + </p> + <p> + “But not his spies,” replied Sebastian coldly. + </p> + <p> + “Since they wore his uniform, they cannot be blamed for doing their duty. + They are brave enough. They would hardly avoid returning to Dantzig + because—because they have outwitted the Tugendbund.” + </p> + <p> + Mathilde's face was colourless with anger, and her quiet eyes flashed. She + had been surprised into this sudden advocacy, and an advocate who displays + temper is always a dangerous ally. Sebastian glanced at her sharply. She + was usually so self-controlled that her flashing eyes and quick breath + betrayed her. + </p> + <p> + “What do you know of the Tugendbund?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + But she would not answer, merely shrugging her shoulders and closing her + thin lips with a snap. + </p> + <p> + “It is not only in Dantzig,” said Sebastian, “that they are unsafe. It is + anywhere where the Tugendbund can reach them.” + </p> + <p> + He turned sharply to Desiree. His wits, cleared by action, told him that + her silence meant that she, at all events, had not been surprised. She + had, therefore, known already the part played by De Casimir and Charles, + in Dantzig, before the war. + </p> + <p> + “And you,” he said, “you have nothing to say for your husband.” + </p> + <p> + “He may have been misled,” she said mechanically, in the manner of one + making a prepared speech or meeting a foreseen emergency. It had been + foreseen by Louis d'Arragon. The speech had been, unconsciously, prepared + by him. + </p> + <p> + “You mean, by Colonel de Casimir,” suggested Mathilde, who had recovered + her usual quiet. And Desiree did not deny her meaning. Sebastian looked + from one to the other. It was the irony of Fate that had married one of + his daughters to Charles Darragon, and affianced the other to De Casimir. + His own secret, so well kept, had turned in his hand like a concealed + weapon. + </p> + <p> + They were all startled by Barlasch, who spoke from the kitchen door, where + he had been standing unobserved or forgotten. He came forward to the light + of the lamp hanging overhead. + </p> + <p> + “That reminds me...” he said a second time, and having secured their + attention, he instituted a search in the many pockets of his nondescript + clothing. He still wore a dirty handkerchief bound over one eye. It served + to release him from duty in the trenches or work on the frozen + fortifications. By this simple device, coupled with half a dozen bandages + in various parts of his person, where a frost-bite or a wound gave excuse, + he passed as one of the twenty-five thousand sick and wounded who + encumbered Dantzig at this time, and were already dying at the rate of + fifty a day. + </p> + <p> + “A letter...” he said, still searching with his maimed hand. “You + mentioned the name of the Colonel de Casimir. It was that which recalled + to my mind...” He paused, and produced a letter carefully sealed. He + turned it over, glancing at the seals with a reproving jerk of the head, + which conveyed as clearly as words a shameless confession that he had been + frustrated by them... “this letter. I was told to give it you, without + fail, at the right moment.” + </p> + <p> + It could hardly be the case that he honestly thought this moment might be + so described. But he gave the letter to Mathilde with a gesture of grim + triumph. Perhaps he was thinking of the cellar in the Palace on the + Petrovka at Moscow, and the treasure which he had found there. + </p> + <p> + “It is from the Colonel de Casimir,” he said, “a clever man,” he added, + turning confidentially to Sebastian, and holding his attention by an + upraised hand. “Oh!... a clever man.” + </p> + <p> + Mathilde, her face all flushed, tore open the envelope, while Barlasch, + breathing on his fingers, watched with twinkling eye and busy lips. + </p> + <p> + The letter was a long one. Colonel de Casimir was an adept at explanation. + There was, no doubt, much to explain. Mathilde read the letter carefully. + It was the first she had ever had—a love-letter in its guise—with + explanations in it. Love and explanation in the same breath. Assuredly De + Casimir was a daring lover. + </p> + <p> + “He says that Dantzig will be taken by storm,” she said at length, “and + that the Cossacks will spare no one.” + </p> + <p> + “Does it signify,” inquired Sebastian in his smoothest voice, “what + Colonel de Casimir may say?” + </p> + <p> + His grand manner had come back to him. He made a gesture with his hand + almost suggestive of a ruffle at the wrist, and clearly insulting to + Colonel de Casimir. + </p> + <p> + “He urges us to quit the city before it is too late,” continued Mathilde, + in her measured voice, and awaited her father's reply. He took snuff with + a cold smile. + </p> + <p> + “You will not do so?” she asked. And by way of reply, Sebastian laughed as + he dusted the snuff from his coat with his pocket-handkerchief. + </p> + <p> + “He asks me to go to Cracow with the Grafin, and marry him,” said Mathilde + finally. And Sebastian only shrugged his shoulders. The suggestion was + beneath contempt. + </p> + <p> + “And...?” he inquired with raised eyebrows. + </p> + <p> + “I shall do it,” replied Mathilde, defiance shining in her eyes. + </p> + <p> + “At all events,” commented Sebastian, who knew Mathilde's mind, and met + her coldness with indifference, “you will do it with your eyes open, and + not leap in the dark, as Desiree did. I was to blame there; a man is + always to blame if he is deceived. With you... Bah! you know what the man + is. But you do not know, unless he tells you in that letter, that he is + even a traitor in his treachery. He has accepted the amnesty offered by + the Czar; he has abandoned Napoleon's cause; he has petitioned the Czar to + allow him to retire to Cracow, and there live on his estates.” + </p> + <p> + “He has no doubt good reasons for his action,” said Mathilde. + </p> + <p> + “Two carriages full,” muttered Barlasch, who had withdrawn to the dark + corner near the kitchen door. But no one heeded him. + </p> + <p> + “You must make your choice,” said Sebastian, with the coldness of a judge. + “You are of age. Choose.” + </p> + <p> + “I have already chosen,” answered Mathilde. “The Grafin leaves to-morrow. + I will go with her.” + </p> + <p> + She had, at all events, the courage of her own opinions—a courage + not rare in women, however valueless may be the judgment upon which it is + based. And in fairness it must be admitted that women usually have the + courage not only of the opinion, but of the consequence, and meet it with + a better grace than men can summon in misfortune. + </p> + <p> + Sebastian dined alone and hastily. Mathilde was locked in her room, and + refused to open the door. Desiree cooked her father's dinner while + Barlasch made ready to depart on some vague errand in the town. + </p> + <p> + “There may be news,” he said. “Who knows? And afterwards the patron will + go out, and it would not be wise for you to remain alone in the house.” + </p> + <p> + “Why not?” + </p> + <p> + Barlasch turned and looked at her thoughtfully over his shoulder. + </p> + <p> + “In some of the big houses down in the Niederstadt there are forty and + fifty soldiers quartered—diseased, wounded, without discipline. + There are others coming. I have told them we have fever in the house. It + is the only way. We may keep them out; for the Frauengasse is in the + centre of the town, and the soldiers are not needed in this quarter. But + you—you cannot lie as I can. You laugh—ah! A woman tells more + lies; but a man tells them better. Push the bolts, when I am gone.” + </p> + <p> + After his dinner, Sebastian went out, as Barlasch had predicted. He said + nothing to Desiree of Charles or of the future. There was nothing to be + said, perhaps. He did not ask why Mathilde was absent. In the stillness of + the house, he could probably hear her moving in her rooms upstairs. + </p> + <p> + He had not been long gone when Mathilde came down, dressed to go out. She + came into the kitchen where Desiree was doing the work of the absent Lisa, + who had reluctantly gone to her home on the Baltic coast. Mathilde stood + by the kitchen table and ate some bread. + </p> + <p> + “The Grafin has arranged to quit Dantzig to-morrow,” she said. “I am going + to ask her to take me with her.” + </p> + <p> + Desiree nodded and made no comment. Mathilde went to the door, but paused + there. Without looking round, she stood thinking deeply. They had grown + from childhood together—motherless—with a father whom neither + understood. Together they had faced the difficulties of life; the hundred + petty difficulties attending a woman's life in a strange land, among + neighbours who bear the sleepless grudge of unsatisfied curiosity. They + had worked together for their daily bread. And now the full stream of life + had swept them together from the safe moorings of childhood. + </p> + <p> + “Will you come too?” asked Mathilde. “All that he says about Dantzig is + true.” + </p> + <p> + “No, thank you,” answered Desiree, gently enough. “I will wait here. I + must wait in Dantzig.” + </p> + <p> + “I cannot,” said Mathilde, half excusing herself. “I must go. I cannot + help it. You understand?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said Desiree, and nothing more. + </p> + <p> + Had Mathilde asked her the question six months ago, she would have said + “No.” But she understood now, not that Mathilde could love De Casimir; + that was beyond her individual comprehension, but that there was no + alternative now. + </p> + <p> + Soon after Mathilde had gone, Barlasch returned. + </p> + <p> + “If Mademoiselle Mathilde is going, she will have to go to-morrow,” he + said. “Those that are coming in at the gates now are the rearguard of the + Heudelet Division which was driven out of Elbing by the Cossacks three + days ago.” + </p> + <p> + He sat mumbling to himself by the fire, and only turned to the supper + which Desiree had placed in readiness for him when she quitted the room + and went upstairs. It was he who opened the door for Mathilde, who + returned in half an hour. She thanked him absent-mindedly and went + upstairs. He could hear the sisters talking together in a low voice in the + drawing-room, which he had never seen, at the top of the stairs. + </p> + <p> + Then Desiree came down, and he helped her to find in a shed in the yard + one of those travelling-trunks which he had recognized as being of French + manufacture. He took off his boots, and carried it upstairs for her. + </p> + <p> + It was ten o'clock before Sebastian came in. He nodded his thanks to + Barlasch, and watched him bolt the door. He made no inquiry as to + Mathilde, but extinguished the lamp, and went to his room. He never + mentioned her name again. + </p> + <p> + Early the next morning, the girls were astir. But Barlasch was before + them, and when Desiree came down, she found the kitchen fire alight. + Barlasch was cleaning a knife, and nodded a silent good morning. Desiree's + eyes were red, and Barlasch must have noted this sign of grief, for he + gave a contemptuous laugh, and continued his occupation. + </p> + <p> + It was barely daylight when the Grafin's heavy, old-fashioned carriage + drew up in front of the house. Mathilde came down, thickly veiled and in + her travelling furs. She did not seem to see Barlasch, and omitted to + thank him for carrying her travelling-trunk to the carriage. + </p> + <p> + He stood on the terrace beside Desiree until the carriage had turned the + corner into the Pfaffengasse. + </p> + <p> + “Bah!” he said, “let her go. There is no stopping them, when they are like + that. It is the curse—of the Garden of Eden.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0025" id="link2HCH0025"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXV. A DESPATCH. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + In counsel it is good to see dangers; and in execution not to +see them unless they be very great. +</pre> + <p> + Mathilde had told Desiree that Colonel de Casimir made no mention of + Charles in his letter to her. Barlasch was able to supply but little + further information on the matter. + </p> + <p> + “It was given to me by the Captain Louis d'Arragon at Thorn,” he said. “He + handled it as if it were not too clean. And he had nothing to say about + it. You know his way, for the rest. He says little; but he knows the look + of things. It seemed that he had promised to deliver the letter—for + some reason, who knows what? and he kept his promise. The man was not + dying by any chance—that De Casimir?” + </p> + <p> + And his little sharp eyes, reddened by the smoke of camp-fires, inflamed + by the glare of sun on snow, searched her face. He was thinking of the + treasure. + </p> + <p> + “Oh no!” + </p> + <p> + “Was he ill at all?” + </p> + <p> + “He was in bed,” answered Desiree, doubtfully. + </p> + <p> + Barlasch scratched his head without ceremony, and fell into a long train + of thought. + </p> + <p> + “Do you know what I think?” he said at length. “I think that De Casimir + was not ill at all—any more than I am; I, Barlasch. Not so ill, + perhaps, as I am, for I have an indigestion. It is always there at the + summit of the stomach. It is horse without salt.” + </p> + <p> + He paused and rubbed his chest tenderly. + </p> + <p> + “Never eat horse without salt,” he put in parenthetically. + </p> + <p> + “I hope never to eat it at all,” answered Desiree. “What about Colonel de + Casimir?” + </p> + <p> + He waved her aside as a babbler who broke in upon his thoughts. These + seemed to be lodged in his mouth, for, when reflecting, he chewed and + mumbled with his lips. + </p> + <p> + “Listen,” he said at length. “This is De Casimir. He goes to bed and lets + his beard grow—half an inch of beard will keep any man in the + hospital. You nod your head. Yes; I thought so. He knows that the viceroy, + with the last of the army, is at Thorn. He keeps quiet. He waits in his + roadside inn until the last of the army has gone. He waits until the + Russians come, and to them he hands over the Emperor's possessions—all + the papers, the maps, the despatches. For that he will be rewarded by the + Emperor Alexander, who has already promised pardon to all Poles who have + taken arms against Russia and now submit. De Casimir will be allowed to + retain his own baggage. He has no loot taken at Moscow—oh no! Only + his own baggage. Ah—that man! See, I spit him out.” + </p> + <p> + And it is painful to record that he here resorted to graphic illustration. + </p> + <p> + “Ah!” he went on triumphantly, “I know. I can see right into the mind of + such a man. I will tell you why. It is because I am that sort of man + myself.” + </p> + <p> + “You do not seem to have been so successful—since you are poor,” + said Desiree, with a laugh. + </p> + <p> + He frowned at her apparently in speechless anger, seeking an answer. But + for the moment he could think of none, so he turned to the knives again, + which he was cleaning on a board on the kitchen-table. At length he paused + and glanced at Desiree. + </p> + <p> + “And your husband,” he said slowly. “Remember that he is a partner with + this De Casimir. They hunt together. I know it; for I was in Moscow. Ah! + that makes you stand stiffly, and push your chin out.” + </p> + <p> + He went on cleaning the knives, and, without looking at her, seemed to be + speaking his own thoughts aloud. + </p> + <p> + “Yes! He is a traitor. And he is worse than the other; for he is no Pole, + but a Frenchman. And if he returns to France, the Emperor will say: 'Where + are my despatches, my maps, my papers, which were given into your care?'” + </p> + <p> + He finished the thought with three gestures, which seemed to illustrate + the placing of a man against a wall and shooting him. His meaning could + not be mistaken. + </p> + <p> + “And that is what the patron means when he says that Monsieur Charles + Darragon will not return to Dantzig. I knew that he meant that last night, + when he was so angry—on the mat.” + </p> + <p> + “And why did you not tell me?” + </p> + <p> + Barlasch looked at her thoughtfully for a moment, before replying slowly + and impressively. + </p> + <p> + “Because, if I had told you, you might have decided to quit Dantzig with + Mademoiselle Mathilde, and go hunting your husband in a country overrun by + desperate fugitives and untamed Cossacks. And I did not want that. I want + you here—in Dantzig; in the Frauengasse; in this kitchen; under my + hand—so that I can take care of you till the war is over. I—who + speak to you—Papa Barlasch, at your service. And there is not + another man in the world who will do it so well. No; not one.” + </p> + <p> + And his eyes flashed as he threw the knives into a drawer. + </p> + <p> + “But why should you do all this for me?” asked Desiree. “You could have + gone home to France—quite easily—and have left us to our fate + here in Dantzig. Why did you not go home?” + </p> + <p> + Barlasch looked at her with surprise, not unmixed with a sudden dumb + disappointment. He was preparing to go out according to his wont + immediately after breakfast; for Lisa had unconsciously hit the mark when + she compared him to a cat. He had the regular and self-contained habits of + that unobtrusive friend. He buttoned his rough coat slowly, and looked + round the kitchen with eyes dimly wistful. He was very old and ragged and + homeless. + </p> + <p> + “Is it not enough,” he said, “that we are friends?” + </p> + <p> + He went towards the door, but came back and warned her by the familiar + upheld finger not to let her attention wander from his words. + </p> + <p> + “You will be glad yet that I have stayed. It is because I speak a little + plainly of your husband that you wish me gone. Bah! What does it matter? + All men are alike. We are only men—not angels. And you can go on + loving him all the same. You are not particular, you women. You can love + anything—even a man like that.” + </p> + <p> + And he went out muttering anathemas on the hearts of all women. + </p> + <p> + “It seems,” he said, “that a woman can love anything.” + </p> + <p> + Which is true; and a very good thing for some of us. For without that + Heaven-sent capacity the world could not go on at all. + </p> + <p> + It was later in the day when Barlasch made his way into the low and + smoke-grimed Bier Halle of the Weissen Ross'l. He must have known + Sebastian's habits, for he went straight to that corner of the great room + where the violin-player usually sat. The stout waitress—a country + girl of no intelligence, smiled broadly at the sight of such a ragged + customer as she followed him down the length of the sawdust-strewn floor. + </p> + <p> + Sebastian's face showed no surprise when he looked up and recognized the + new-comer. The surrounding tables were empty. It was too early in the + evening for the regular customers, whose numbers, moreover, had been sadly + thinned during the last few months. For the peaceful Dantzigers, + remembering the siege of seven years ago, had mostly fled at the first + mention of the word. + </p> + <p> + Sebastian nodded in answer to Barlasch's somewhat ceremonious bow, and by + a gesture invited him to be seated on the chair upon which he had already + laid his hand. The atmosphere of the room was warm, and Barlasch laid + aside his sheepskin coat, as he had seen the great and the rich divest + themselves of their sables. He turned sharply and caught the waitress with + an amused smile still on her face. He drew her attention to a little pool + of beer on the table, and stood until she had made good this lapse in her + duty. Then he pointed to Sebastian's mug of beer and dismissed her + giggling, to get one for him of the same size and contents. + </p> + <p> + Making sure that there was no one within earshot, he waited until + Sebastian's dreamy eye met his, and then said— + </p> + <p> + “It is time we understood each other.” + </p> + <p> + A light of surprise—passing and half-indifferent—flashed into + Sebastian's eyes and vanished again at once when he saw Barlasch had meant + nothing: made no sign or countersign with his hand. + </p> + <p> + “By all means, my friend,” he answered. + </p> + <p> + “I delivered your letters,” said Barlasch, “at Thorn and at the other + places.” + </p> + <p> + “I know; I have already had answers. You would be wise to forget the + incident.” + </p> + <p> + Barlasch shrugged his shoulders. + </p> + <p> + “You were paid,” said Sebastian, jumping to a natural conclusion. + </p> + <p> + “A little,” admitted Barlasch, “a small little—but it was not that. + I always get paid in advance, when I can. Except by the Emperor. He owes + me some—that citizen. It was another question. In the house I am + friends with all—with Lisa who has gone—with Mademoiselle + Mathilde who has gone—with Mademoiselle Desiree, so-called Madame + Darragon, who remains. With all except you. Why should we not be friends?” + </p> + <p> + “But we are friends—” protested Sebastian, with a bow. As if in + confirmation of the statement, he held out his beer-mug, and Barlasch + touched it with the rim of his own before drinking. Sebastian's attitude, + his bow, his manner of drinking, were those of the Court; Barlasch was + distinctly of the camp. But these were strange days, and all society had + been turned topsy-turvy by one man. + </p> + <p> + “Then,” said Barlasch, licking his lips, “let us understand one another. + You say there will be no siege. I say you are wrong. You think that the + Dantzigers will rise in answer to the Emperor Alexander's proclamations, + and turn the French out. I say the Dantzigers' stomachs are too big. I say + that Rapp will hold Dantzig, and that the Russians will not take it by + storm, because they are too weak. There will be a siege, and a long one. + Are you and Mademoiselle and I going to sit it out in the Frauengasse + together?” + </p> + <p> + “We shall be honoured to have you as our guest,” answered Sebastian, with + that levity which went before the Revolution, and was never understood of + the people. + </p> + <p> + Barlasch did not understand it. He glanced doubtfully at his companion, + and sipped his beer. + </p> + <p> + “Then I will begin to-night.” + </p> + <p> + “Begin what, my friend?” + </p> + <p> + Barlasch waved aside all petty detail. + </p> + <p> + “My preparations. I go out about ten o'clock—after you are in. I + will take the key of the front door, and let myself in when I come back. I + shall make two journeys. Under the kitchen floor is a large hollow space. + I fill that with bags of corn.” + </p> + <p> + “But where will you get the corn, my friend?” + </p> + <p> + “I know where to get it—corn and other things. Salt I have already—enough + for a year. Other things I can get for three months.” + </p> + <p> + “But we have no money to pay for them.” + </p> + <p> + “Bah!” + </p> + <p> + “You mean you will steal them,” suggested Sebastian, not without a ring of + contempt in his mincing voice. + </p> + <p> + “A soldier never steals,” answered Barlasch, carelessly announcing a great + truth. + </p> + <p> + Sebastian laughed. It was obvious that his mind, absorbed in great + thought, heeded small things not at all. His companion pushed his fur cap + to the back of his head, and ruffled his hair forward. + </p> + <p> + “That is not all,” he said at length. He looked round the vast room, which + was almost deserted. The stout waitress was polishing pewter mugs at the + bar. “You say you have already had answers to those letters. It is a great + organization—your secret society—whatever it is called. It + delivers letters all over Prussia—eh? and Poland perhaps—or + farther still.” + </p> + <p> + Sebastian shrugged one shoulder, and made no answer for some time. + </p> + <p> + “I have already told you,” he said impatiently, at length, “to forget the + incident; you were paid.” + </p> + <p> + By way of reply, the old soldier laboriously emptied his pockets, + searching the most remote of them for small copper coins. He counted + slowly and carefully until he had made up a thaler. + </p> + <p> + “But it is not my turn to be paid this time. It is I who pay.” + </p> + <p> + He held out his hand with a pound weight of base metal in it, but + Sebastian refused the money with a sudden assumption of his cold and + scornful manner, oddly out of keeping with his humble surroundings. + </p> + <p> + “As between friends—” suggested Barlasch, and, on receiving a more + decided negative, returned the coins to his pocket, not without + satisfaction. + </p> + <p> + “I want your friends to pass on a letter for me—I am willing to + pay,” he said in a whisper. “A letter to Captain Louis d'Arragon—it + concerns the happiness of Mademoiselle Desiree. Do not shake your head. + Think before you refuse. The letter will be an open one—six words or + so—telling the Captain that his cousin, Mademoiselle's husband, is + not in Dantzig, and cannot now return here since the last of the rearguard + entered the city this morning.” + </p> + <p> + Sebastian seemed to be considering the matter, and Barlasch was quick to + combat possible objections. + </p> + <p> + “The Captain went to Konigsberg. He is there now. Your friends can easily + find him, and give him the letter. It is of great importance to + Mademoiselle. The Captain is not looking for Monsieur Charles Darragon, + because he thinks that he is here in Dantzig. Colonel de Casimir assured + him that Mademoiselle would find him here. Where is he—that Monsieur + Charles—I wonder? It is of great importance to Mademoiselle. The + Captain would perhaps continue his search.” + </p> + <p> + “Where is your letter?” asked Sebastian. + </p> + <p> + By way of reply, Barlasch laid on the table a sheet of paper. + </p> + <p> + “You must write it,” he said. “My hand is injured. I write not badly, you + understand. But this evening I do not feel that my hand is well enough.” + </p> + <p> + So, with the sticky, thick ink of the Weissen Ross'l, Sebastian wrote the + letter, and Barlasch, forgetting his scholarly acquirements, took the pen + and made a mark beneath his own name written at the foot of it. + </p> + <p> + Then he went out, and left Sebastian to pay for the beer. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0026" id="link2HCH0026"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXVI. ON THE BRIDGE. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + They that are above + Have ends in everything. +</pre> + <p> + A lame man was standing on the bridge that crosses the Neuer Pregel from + the Kant Strasse—which is the centre of the city of Konigsberg—to + the island known as the Kneiphof. This bridge is called the Kramer Brucke, + and may be described as the heart of the town. From it on either hand + diverge the narrow streets that run along the river bank, busy with + commerce, crowded with the narrow sleighs that carry wood from the Pregel + up into the town. + </p> + <p> + The wider streets—such as the Kant Strasse, running downhill from + the royal castle to the river, and the Kneiphof'sche Langgasse, leading + southward to the Brandenburg gate and the great world—must needs + make use of the Kramer Brucke. Here, it may be said, every man in the town + must sooner or later pass in the execution of his daily business, whether + he go about it on foot or in a sleigh with a pair of horses. Here the + idler and those grave professors from the University, which was still + mourning the death of the aged Kant, nearly always passed in their + thoughtful and conscientious promenades. + </p> + <p> + Here this lame man, a cobbler by trade, plying his quiet calling in a + house in the Neuer Markt, where the lime-trees grow close to the upper + windows, had patiently kept watch for three days. He was, like many lame + men, of an abnormal width and weight. He had a large, square, dogged face, + which seemed to promise that he would wait there till the crack of doom + rather than abandon a quest. + </p> + <p> + It was very cold—mid-winter within a few miles of the frozen Baltic + on the very verge of Russia, at that point where old Europe stretches a + long arm out into the unknown. The cobbler was wrapped in a sheepskin + coat, which stood out all round him with the stiffness of wood, so that he + seemed to be living inside a box. To keep himself warm he occasionally + limped across from end to end of the bridge, but never went farther. At + times he leant his arms on the stone wall at the Kant Strasse end of the + bridge, and looked down into the Lower Fish Market, where women from + Pillau and the Baltic shores—mere bundles of clothes—stood + over their baskets of fish frozen hard like sticks. It was a silent + market. One cannot haggle long when a minute's exposure to the air will + give a frost-bite to the end of the nose. The would-be purchaser can + scarcely make an effective bargain through a fringe of icicles that rattle + against his lips if he open them. + </p> + <p> + The Pregel had been frozen for three months, with only the one temporary + thaw in November which cost Napoleon so many thousands at his broken + bridge across the Beresina. Though no water had flowed beneath this + bridge, many strange feet had passed across it. + </p> + <p> + It had vibrated beneath Napoleon's heavy carriage, under the lumbering + guns that Macdonald took northward to blockade Riga. Within the last few + weeks it had given passage to the last of the retreating army, a mere + handful of heartsick fugitives. Macdonald with his staff had been + ignominiously driven across it by the Cossacks who followed hard after + them, the great marshal still wild with rage at the defection of Yorck and + the Prussian contingent. + </p> + <p> + And now the Cossacks on their spare and ill-tempered horses passed to and + fro, wild men under an untamed leader whose heart was hardened to stone by + bereavement. The cobbler looked at them with a countenance of wood. It was + hard to say whether he preferred them to the French, or was indifferent to + one as to the other. He looked at their boots with professional disdain. + For all men must look at the world from their own standpoint and consider + mankind in the light of their own interests. Thus those who live on the + greed or the vanity, or batten on the charity of their neighbour, learn to + watch the lips. + </p> + <p> + The cobbler, by reason of looking at the lower end of men, attracted + little attention from the passer-by. He who has his eyes on the ground + passes unheeded. For the surest way of awakening interest is to appear + interested. It would seem that this cobbler was waiting for a pair of + boots not made in Konigsberg. And on the third day his expressionless + black eyes lighted on feet not shod in Poland, or France, or Germany, nor + yet in square-toed Russia. + </p> + <p> + The owner of these far-travelled boots was a lightly-built dark-faced man, + with eyes quietly ubiquitous. He caught the interested glance of the + cobbler, and turned to look at him again with the uneasiness that is bred + of war. The cobbler instantly hobbled towards him. + </p> + <p> + “Will you help a poor man?” he said. + </p> + <p> + “Why should I?” was the answer, with one hand already half out of its + thick glove. “You are not hungry; you have never been starved in your + life.” + </p> + <p> + The German was quick enough, but it was not quite the Prussian German. + </p> + <p> + The cobbler looked at the speaker slowly. + </p> + <p> + “An Englishman?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + And the other nodded. + </p> + <p> + “Come this way.” + </p> + <p> + The cobbler hobbled towards the Kneiphof, where the streets are quiet, and + the Englishman followed him. At the corner of the Kohl Markt he turned and + looked, not at the man, but at his boots. + </p> + <p> + “You are a sailor?” he said. + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “I was told to look for an English sailor—Louis d'Arragon.” + </p> + <p> + “Then you have found me,” was the reply. + </p> + <p> + Still the cobbler hesitated. + </p> + <p> + “How am I to know it?” he asked suspiciously. + </p> + <p> + “Can you read?” asked D'Arragon. “I can prove who I am—if I want to. + But I am not sure that I want to.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh! it is only a letter—of no importance. Some private business of + your own. It comes from Dantzig—written by one whose name begins + with 'B.'” + </p> + <p> + “Barlasch,” suggested D'Arragon quietly, as he took from his pocket a + paper which he unfolded and held beneath the eyes of the cobbler. It was a + passport written in three languages. If the man could read, he was not + anxious to boast of an accomplishment so far above his station; but he + glanced at the paper, not without a practised skill, to seize the + essential parts of it. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, that is the name,” he said, searching in his pockets. “The letter is + an open one. Here it is.” + </p> + <p> + In passing the letter, the man made a scarcely perceptible movement of the + hand which might have been a signal. + </p> + <p> + “No,” said D'Arragon, “I do not belong to the Tugendbund or to any other + secret society. We have need of no such associations in my country.” + </p> + <p> + The cobbler laughed, not without embarrassment. + </p> + <p> + “You have a quick eye,” he said. “It is a great country, England. I have + seen the river full of English ships before Napoleon chased you off the + seas.” + </p> + <p> + D'Arragon smiled as he unfolded the letter. + </p> + <p> + “He has not done it yet,” he said, with that spirit which enables mariners + of the Anglo-Saxon race to be amused when there is a talk of supremacy on + the high seas. He read the letter carefully, and his face hardened. + </p> + <p> + “I was instructed,” said the cobbler, “to give you the letter, and at the + same time to inform you that any assistance or facilities you may require + will be forth-coming; besides...” he broke off and pointed with his thick, + leather-stained finger, “that writing is not the writing of him who + signs.” + </p> + <p> + “He who signs cannot write at all.” + </p> + <p> + “That writing,” went on the cobbler, “is a passport in any German state. + He who carries a letter written in that hand can live and travel free + anywhere from here to the Rhine or the Danube.” + </p> + <p> + “Then I am lucky in possessing a powerful friend,” said D'Arragon, “for I + know who wrote this letter. I think I may say he is a friend of mine.” + </p> + <p> + “I am sure of it. I have already been told so,” said the cobbler. “Have + you a lodging in Konigsberg? No? Then you can lodge in my house.” + </p> + <p> + Without awaiting a reply, which he seemed to consider a foregone + conclusion, he limped down the Kohl Markt towards the steps leading to the + river, which in winter is a thoroughfare. + </p> + <p> + “I live in the Neuer Markt,” he said breathlessly, as he laboured onwards. + “I have waited for you three days on that bridge. Where have you been all + this time?” + </p> + <p> + “Avoiding the French,” replied D'Arragon curtly. Respecting his own + affairs he was reticent, as commanders and other lonely men must always + be. They walked side by side on the dusty and trodden ice without further + speech. At the steps from the river to Neuer Markt, D'Arragon gave the + lame man his hand, and glanced a second time at the fingers which clasped + his own. They had not been born to toil, but had had it thrust upon them. + </p> + <p> + They crossed the Neuer Markt together, and went into that house where the + linden grows so close as to obscure the windows. And the lodging offered + to Louis was the room in which Charles Darragon had slept in his wet + clothes six months earlier. So small is the world in which we live, and so + narrow are the circles drawn by Fate around human existence and endeavour. + </p> + <p> + The cobbler having shown his visitor the room, and pointed out its + advantages, was turning to go when D'Arragon, who was laying aside his fur + coat, seemed to catch his attention, and he paused on the threshold. + </p> + <p> + “There is French blood in your veins,” he said abruptly. + </p> + <p> + “Yes—a little.” + </p> + <p> + “So. I thought there must be. You reminded me—it was odd, the way + you laid aside your coat—reminded me of a Frenchman who lodged here + for one night. He was like you, too, in build and face. He was a spy, if + you please—one of the French Emperor's secret police. I was new at + the work then, but still I suspected there was something wrong about him. + I took his boots—a pretext of mending them. I locked him in. He got + out of that window, if you please, without his boots. He followed me, and + learnt much that he was not meant to know. I have since heard it from + others. He did the Emperor a great service—that man. He saved his + life, I think, from assassination in Dantzig. And he did me an ill turn—but + it was my own carelessness. I thought to make a thaler by lodging him, and + he was tricking me all the while.” + </p> + <p> + “What was his name?” asked D'Arragon. + </p> + <p> + “Oh—I forgot the name he gave. It was a false one. He was disguised + as a common soldier—and he was in reality an officer of the staff. + But I know the name of the officer to whom he wrote his report of his + night's lodging here—his colleague in the secret police, it would + seem.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah!” said D'Arragon, busying himself with his haversack. + </p> + <p> + “It was De Casimir—a Polish name. And in the last two days I have + heard of him. He has accepted the Emperor's amnesty. He has married a + beautiful woman, and is living like a prince at Cracow. All this since the + siege of Dantzig began. In time of war there is no moment to lose, eh?” + </p> + <p> + “And the other? He who slept in this room. Has he passed through + Konigsberg again?” + </p> + <p> + “No, that he has not. If he had, I should have seen him. You can believe + me, I wanted to see him. I was at my place on the bridge all the time—while + the French occupied Konigsberg—when the last of them hurried away a + month ago with the Cossacks close behind. No. I should have seen him, and + known him. He is not on this side of the Niemen, that fine young + gentleman. Now, what can I do to help you to-morrow?” + </p> + <p> + “You can help me on the way to Vilna,” answered D'Arragon. + </p> + <p> + “You will never get there.” + </p> + <p> + “I will try,” said the sailor. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0027" id="link2HCH0027"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXVII. A FLASH OF MEMORY. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Nothing can cover his high fame but Heaven, + No pyramids set off his memories, + But the eternal substance of his greatness + To which I leave him. +</pre> + <p> + “Why I will not let you go out into the streets?” said Barlasch one + February morning, stamping the snow from his boots. “Why I will not let + you go out into the streets?” + </p> + <p> + He turned and followed Desiree towards the kitchen, after having carefully + bolted the heavy oaken door which had been strengthened as if to resist a + siege. Desiree's face had that clear pallor which marks an indoor life; + but Barlasch, weather-beaten, scorched and wrinkled, showed no sign of + having endured a month's siege in an overcrowded city. + </p> + <p> + “I will tell you why I will not let you go into the streets. Because they + are not fit for any woman to go into—because if you walked from here + to the Rathhaus you would see sights that would come back to you in your + sleep, and wake you from it, when you are an old woman. Do you know what + they do with their dead? They throw them outside their doors—with + nothing to cover their starved nakedness—as Lisa put her ashes in + the street every morning. And the cart goes round, as the dustman's cart + used to go in times of peace, and, like the dustman's cart, it drops part + of its load, and the dust that blows round it is the infection of typhus. + That is why you cannot go into the streets.” + </p> + <p> + He unbuttoned his fur coat and displayed a smart new uniform; for Rapp had + put his miserable army into new clothes, with which many of the Dantzig + warehouses had been filled by Napoleon's order at the beginning of the + war. + </p> + <p> + “There,” he said, laying a small parcel on the table, “there is my daily + ration. Two ounces of horse, one ounce of salt beef, the same as + yesterday. One does not know how long we shall be treated so generously. + Let us keep the beef—we may come to want some day.” + </p> + <p> + And giving a hoarse laugh, he lifted a board in the floor, beneath which + he hoarded his stores. + </p> + <p> + “Will you cook your dejeuner yourself,” asked Desiree. “I have something + else for my father.” + </p> + <p> + “And what have you?” asked Barlasch curtly; “you are not keeping anything + hidden from me?” + </p> + <p> + “No,” answered Desiree, with a laugh at the sternness of his face, “I will + give him a piece of the ham which was left over from last night.” + </p> + <p> + “Left over?” echoed Barlasch, going close to her and looking up into her + face, for she was two inches taller than he. “Left over? Then you did not + eat your supper last night?” + </p> + <p> + “Neither did you eat yours, for it is there under the floor.” + </p> + <p> + Barlasch turned away with a gesture of despair. He sat down in the high + armchair that stood on the hearth, and tapped on the floor with one foot + in pessimistic thought. + </p> + <p> + “Ah! the women, the women,” he muttered, looking into the smouldering + fire. “Lies—all lies. You said that your supper was very nice,” he + shouted at her over his shoulder. + </p> + <p> + “So it was,” answered she gaily, “so it is still.” + </p> + <p> + Barlasch did not rise to her lighter humour. He sat in reflection for some + minutes. Then his thoughts took their usual form of a muttered aside. + </p> + <p> + “It is a case of compromise. Always like that. The good God had to + compromise with the first woman he created almost at once. And men have + done it ever since—and have never had the best of it. See here,” he + said aloud, turning to Desiree, “I will make a bargain with you. I will + eat my last night's supper here at this table, now, if you will eat + yours.” + </p> + <p> + “Agreed.” + </p> + <p> + “Are you hungry?” asked Barlasch, when the scanty meal was set out before + him. + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “So am I.” + </p> + <p> + He laughed quite gaily now, and the meal was not without a certain air of + festivity, though it consisted of nothing better than two ounces of horse + and half an ounce of ham eaten in company of that rye-bread made with + one-third part of straw which Rapp allowed the citizens to buy. + </p> + <p> + For Rapp had first tamed his army, and was now taming the Dantzigers. He + had effected discipline in his own camp by getting his regiments into + shape, by establishing hospitals (which were immediately filled), and by + protecting the citizens from the depredations of the starving fugitives + who had been poured pell-mell into the town. + </p> + <p> + Then he turned his attention to the Dantzigers, who were openly or + secretly opposed to him. He seized their churches and turned them into + stores; their schools he used for hospitals, their monasteries for + barracks. He broke into their cellars, and took the wine for the sick. + Their storehouses he placed under the strictest guard, and no man could + claim possession of his own goods. + </p> + <p> + “We are,” he said in effect, with that grim Alsatian humour which the + Prussians were slow to understand; “we are one united family in a narrow + house, and it is I who keep the storeroom key.” + </p> + <p> + Barlasch had proved to be no false prophet. His secret store escaped the + vigilance of the picket, whom he himself conducted to the cellars in the + Frauengasse. Although he was sparing enough, he could always provide + Desiree with anything for which she expressed a wish, and even forestalled + those which she left unspoken. In return he looked for absolute obedience, + and after their frugal breakfast he took her to task for depriving herself + of such food as they could afford. + </p> + <p> + “See you,” he said, “a siege is a question of the stomach. It is not the + Russians we have to fight; for they will not fight. They sit outside and + wait for us to die of cold, of starvation, of typhus. And we are obliging + them at the rate of two hundred a day. Yes, each day Rapp is relieved of + the responsibility of two hundred mouths that drop open and require + nothing more. Be greedy—eat all you have, and hope for release + to-morrow, and you die. Be sparing—starve yourself from parsimony or + for the love of some one who will eat your share and forget to thank you, + and you will die of typhus. Be careful, and patient, and selfish—eat + a little, take what exercise you can, cook your food carefully with salt, + and you will live. I was in a siege thirty years before you were born, and + I am alive yet, after many others. Obey me and we will get through the + siege of Dantzig, which is only just beginning.” + </p> + <p> + Then suddenly he gave way to anger, and banged his hand down on the table. + </p> + <p> + “But, sacred name of thunder, do not make me believe you have eaten when + you have not,” he shouted. “Never do that.” + </p> + <p> + Carried away by the importance of this question, he said many things which + cannot be set before the eyes of a generation sensitive to plainness of + speech, and only tolerant of it in suggestions of impropriety. + </p> + <p> + “And the patron,” he ended abruptly, “how is he?” + </p> + <p> + “He is not very well,” answered Desiree. Which answer did not satisfy + Barlasch, who insisted on taking off his boots, and going upstairs to see + Sebastian. + </p> + <p> + It was a mere nothing, the invalid said. Such food did not suit him. + </p> + <p> + “You have been accustomed to live well all your life,” answered Barlasch, + looking at him with the puzzled light of a baffled memory in his eye which + always came when he looked at Desiree's father. “One must see what can be + done.” + </p> + <p> + And he went out forthwith to return after an hour and more with a chicken + freshly killed. Desiree did not ask him where he had procured it. She had + given up such inquiries, for Barlasch always confessed quite bluntly to + theft, and she did not know whether to believe him or not. + </p> + <p> + But the change of diet had no beneficial effect, and the next day Desiree + sent Barlasch to the house of the doctor whose practice lay in the + Frauengasse. He came and shook his head bluntly. For even an old doctor + may be hardened at the end of his life by an orgy, as it were, of death. + </p> + <p> + “I could cure him,” he said, “if there were no Russians outside the walls; + if I could give him fresh milk and good brandy and strong soup.” + </p> + <p> + But even Barlasch could not find milk in Dantzig. The brandy was + forthcoming, and the fresh meat; the soup Desiree made with her own hands. + Sebastian had not been the same man since the closing of the roads and the + gradual death of his hopes that the Dantzigers would rise against the + soldiers that thronged their streets. At one time it would have been easy + to carry out such a movement, and to throw themselves and their city upon + the mercy of the Russians. But Dantzig awoke to this possibility too late, + when Rapp's iron hand had closed in upon it. He knew his own strength so + well that he treated with a contemptuous leniency such citizens as were + convicted of communicating with the enemy. + </p> + <p> + Sebastian's friends seemed to have deserted him. Perhaps it was not + discreet to be seen in the company of one who had come under Napoleon's + displeasure. Some had quitted the city after hurriedly concealing their + valuables in their gardens, behind the chimneys, beneath the floors, where + it is to be supposed they still lie hidden. Others were among the weekly + thousand or twelve hundred who were carted out by the Oliva Gate to be + thrown into huge trenches, while the waiting Russians watched from their + lines on the heights of Langfuhr. + </p> + <p> + It was true that news continued to filter in, and never quite ceased, all + through the terrible twelve months that were to follow. More especially + did news that was unfavourable to the French find its way into the + beleaguered city. But it was not authentic news, and Sebastian gathered + little comfort from the fact—not unknown to the whispering citizens—that + Rapp himself had heard nothing from the outer world since the Elbing + mail-cart had been turned back by the first of the Cossacks on the night + of the seventh of January. + </p> + <p> + Perhaps Sebastian had that most fatal of maladies—to which nearly + all men come at last—weariness of life. + </p> + <p> + “Why don't you fortify yourself, and laugh at fortune?” asked Barlasch, + twenty years his senior, as he stood sturdily on his stocking-feet at the + sick man's bedside. + </p> + <p> + “I take what my daughter gives me,” protested Sebastian, half peevishly. + </p> + <p> + “But that does not suffice,” answered the materialist. “It does not + suffice to swallow evil fortune—one must digest it.” + </p> + <p> + Sebastian made no answer. He was a quiet patient, and lay all day with + wide-open, dreaming eyes. He seemed to be waiting for something. This, + indeed, was his mental attitude as presented to his neighbours, and + perhaps to the few friends he possessed in Dantzig. He had waited through + the years during which Desiree had grown to womanhood. He waited on + doggedly through the first month of the siege, without enthusiasm, without + comment—without hope, perhaps. He seemed to be waiting now to get + better. + </p> + <p> + “He has made little or no progress,” said the doctor, who could only give + a passing glance at his patients, for he was working day and night. He had + not time to beat about the bush, as his kind heart would have liked, for + he had known Desiree all her life. + </p> + <p> + It was Shrove Tuesday, and the streets were full of revellers. The + Neapolitans and other Southerners had made great preparations for the + carnival, and the Governor had not denied them their annual licence. They + had built a high car in one of the entrance yards to the Marienkirche; and + finding that the ancient arch would not allow the erection to pass out + into the street, they had pulled down the pious handiwork of a bygone + generation. + </p> + <p> + The shouts of these merrymakers could be dimly heard through the double + windows, but Sebastian made no inquiry as to the meaning of the cry. A + sort of lassitude—the result of confinement within doors, of + insufficient food, of waning hope—had come over Desiree. She + listened heedlessly to the sounds in the streets through which the dead + were passing to the Oliva Gate, while the living danced by in their + hideous travesty of rejoicing. + </p> + <p> + It was dusk when Barlasch came in. + </p> + <p> + “The streets,” he said, “are full of fools, dressed as such.” Receiving no + answer, he crossed the room to where Desiree sat, treading noiselessly, + and stood in front of her, trying to see her averted face. He stooped down + and peered at her until she could no longer hide her tear-stained eyes. + </p> + <p> + He made a wry face and a little clicking noise with his tongue, such as + the women of his race make when they drop and break some household + utensil. Then he went back towards the bed. Hitherto he had always + observed a certain ceremoniousness of manner in the sick chamber. He laid + this aside this evening, and sat down on a chair that stood near. + </p> + <p> + Thus they remained in a silence which seemed to increase with the + darkness. At length the stillness became so marked that Barlasch slowly + turned his head towards the bed. The same instinct had come to Desiree at + the same moment. + </p> + <p> + They both rose and groped their way towards Sebastian. Desiree found the + flint and struck it. The sulphur burnt blue for interminable moments, and + then flared to meet the wick of the candle. Barlasch watched Desiree as + she held the light down to her father's face. Sebastian's waiting was + over. Barlasch had not needed a candle to recognize death. + </p> + <p> + From Desiree his bright and restless eyes turned slowly towards the dead + man's face—and he stepped back. + </p> + <p> + “Ah!” he said, with a hoarse cry of surprise, “now I remember. I was + always sure that I had seen his face before. And when I saw it it was like + that—like the face of a dead man. It was on the Place de la Nation, + on a tumbrel—going to the guillotine. He must have escaped, as many + did, by some accident or mistake.” + </p> + <p> + He went slowly to the window, holding his shaggy head between his two + clenched hands as if to spur his memory to an effort. Then he turned and + pointed to the silent form on the bed. + </p> + <p> + “That is a noble of France,” he said; “one of the greatest. And all France + thinks him dead this twenty years. And I cannot remember his name—goodness + of God—I cannot remember his name!” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0028" id="link2HCH0028"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXVIII. VILNA. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + It is our trust + That there is yet another world to mend + All error and mischance. +</pre> + <p> + Louis d'Arragon knew the road well enough from Konigsberg to the Niemen. + It runs across a plain, flat as a table, through which many small streams + seek their rivers in winding beds. This country was not thinly inhabited, + though the villages had been stripped, as foliage is stripped by a cloud + of locusts. Each cottage had its ring of silver birch-trees to protect it + from the winds which sweep from the Baltic and the steppe. These had been + torn and broken down by the retreating army, in a vain hope of making fire + with green wood. + </p> + <p> + It was quite easy to keep in the steps of the retreating army, for the + road was marked by recumbent forms huddled on either side. Few vehicles + had come so far, for the broken country near to Vilna and around Kowno had + presented slopes up which the starving horses were unable to drag their + load. + </p> + <p> + D'Arragon reached Kowno without mishap, and there found a Russian colonel + of Cossacks who proved friendly enough, and not only appreciated the value + of his passport and such letters of recommendation as he had been able to + procure at Konigsberg, but gave him others, and forwarded him on his + journey. + </p> + <p> + He still nourished a lingering belief in De Casimir's word. Charles must + have been left behind at Vilna to recover from his exhaustion. He would, + undoubtedly, make his way westward as soon as possible. He might have got + away to the South. Any one of these huddled human landmarks might be + Charles Darragon. + </p> + <p> + Louis was essentially a thorough man. The sea is a mistress demanding a + whole and concentrated attention—and concentration soon becomes a + habit. Louis did not travel at night, for fear of passing Charles on the + road, alive or dead. He knew his cousin better than any in the Frauengasse + had learnt to know this gay and inconsequent Frenchman. A certain cunning + lay behind the happy laugh—a great capacity was hidden by the + careless manner. If ready wit could bring man through the dangers of the + retreat, Charles had as good a chance of surviving as any. + </p> + <p> + Nevertheless, Louis rarely passed a dead man on the road, but drew up, and + quitting his sleigh, turned over the body, which was almost invariably + huddled with its back offered to the deadly, prevailing North wind. + Against each this wind had piled a sloping bank of that fine snow which, + even in the lightest breeze, drifts over the surface of the land like an + ivory mist, waist high, and cakes the clothes. In a high wind it will rise + twenty feet in the air, and blind any who try to face it. + </p> + <p> + As often as not a mere glance sufficed to show that this was not Charles, + for few of the bodies were clad. Many had been stripped, while still + living, by their half-frozen comrades. But sometimes Louis had to dust the + snow from strange bearded faces before he could pass on with a quick sigh + of relief. + </p> + <p> + Beyond Kowno, the country is thinly populated, and spreading pine-forests + bound the horizon. The Cossacks—the wild men of Toula, who reaped + the laurels of the rearguard fighting—were all along the road. + D'Arragon frequently came upon a picket—as often as not the men were + placidly sitting on a frozen corpse, as on a seat—and stopped to say + a few words and gather news. + </p> + <p> + “You will find your friend at Vilna,” said one young officer, who had been + attached to General Wilson's staff, and had many stories to tell of the + energetic and indefatigable English commissioner. “At Vilna we took twenty + thousand prisoners—poor devils who came and asked us for food—and + I don't know how many officers. And if you see Wilson there, remember me + to him. If Napoleon has need to hate one man more than another for this + business, it is that firebrand, Wilson. Yes, you will assuredly find your + cousin at Vilna among the prisoners. But you must not linger by the road, + for they are being sent back to Moscow to rebuild that which they have + caused to be destroyed.” + </p> + <p> + He laughed and waved his gloved hand as D'Arragon drove on. + </p> + <p> + After the broken land and low abrupt hills of Kowno, the country was flat + again until the valley of the Vilia opened out. And here, almost within + sight of Vilna, D'Arragon drove down a short hill which must ever be + historic. He drove slowly, for on either side were gun-carriages deep + sunken in the snow where the French had left them. This hill marked the + final degeneration of the Emperor's army into a shapeless rabble + hopelessly flying before an exhausted enemy. + </p> + <p> + Half on the road and half in the ditch were hundreds of carriages which + had been hurriedly smashed up to provide firewood. Carts, still laden with + the booty of Moscow, stood among the trees. Some of them contained small + square boxes of silver coin, brought by Napoleon to pay his army and here + abandoned. Silver coin was too heavy to carry. The rate of exchange had + long been sixty francs in silver for a gold napoleon or a louis. The cloth + coverings of the cushions had been torn off to shape into rough garments; + the straw stuffing had been eaten by the horses. + </p> + <p> + Inside the carriages were—crouching on the floor—the frozen + bodies of fugitives too badly wounded or too ill to attempt to walk. They + had sat there till death came to them. Many were women. In one carriage + four women, in silks and fine linen, were huddled together. Their furs had + been dragged from them either before or after death. + </p> + <p> + Louis stopped at the bottom and looked back. De Casimir at all events had + succeeded in surmounting this obstacle which had proved fatal to so many—the + grave of so many hopes—God's rubbish-heap, where gold and precious + stones, silks and priceless furs, all that greedy men had schemed and + striven and fought to get, fell from their hands at last. + </p> + <p> + Vilna lies all down a slope—a city built upon several hills—and + the Vilia runs at the bottom. That Way of Sorrow, the Smolensk Road, runs + eastward by the river bank, and here the rearguard held the Cossacks in + check while Murat hastily decamped, after dark, westwards to Kowno. The + King of Naples, to whom Napoleon gave the command of his broken army quite + gaily—“a vous, Roi de Naples,” he is reported to have said, as he + hurried to his carriage—Murat abandoned his sick and wounded; did + not even warn the stragglers. + </p> + <p> + D'Arragon entered the city by the narrow gate known as the Town Gate, + through which, as through that greater portal of Moscow, every man must + pass bareheaded. + </p> + <p> + “The Emperor is here,” were the first words spoken to him by the officer + on guard. + </p> + <p> + But the streets were quiet enough, and the winner in this great game of + chance maintained the same unostentatious silence in victory as that + which, in the hour of humiliation, had baffled Napoleon. + </p> + <p> + It was almost night, and D'Arragon had been travelling since daylight. He + found a lodging, and, having secured the comfort of the horse provided by + the lame shoemaker of Konigsberg, he went out into the streets in search + of information. + </p> + <p> + Few cities are, to this day, so behind the times as Vilna. The streets are + still narrow, winding, ill-paved, ill-lighted. When D'Arragon quitted his + lodging, he found no lights at all, for the starving soldiers had climbed + to the lamps for the sake of the oil, which they had greedily drunk. It + was a full moon, however, and the patrols at the street corners were + willing to give such information as they could. They were strangers to + Vilna like Louis himself, and not without suspicion; for this was a city + which had bidden the French welcome. There had been dancing and revelry on + the outward march. The citizens themselves were afraid of the strange, + wild-eyed men who returned to them from Moscow. + </p> + <p> + At last, in the Episcopal Palace, where head-quarters had been hurriedly + established, Louis found the man he sought, the officer in charge of the + arrangements for despatching prisoners into Russia and to Siberia. He was + a grizzled warrior of the old school, speaking only French and Russian. He + was tired out and hungry, but he listened to Louis' story. + </p> + <p> + “There is the list,” he said, “it is more or less complete. Many have + called themselves officers who never held a commission from the Emperor + Napoleon. But we have done what we can to sort them out.” + </p> + <p> + So Louis sat down in the dimly lighted room and deciphered the names of + those officers who had been left behind, detained by illness or wounds or + the lack of spirit to persevere. + </p> + <p> + “You understand,” said the Russian, returning to his work, “I cannot + afford the time to help you. We have twenty-five thousand prisoners to + feed and keep alive.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes—I understand,” answered Louis, who had the seaman's way of + making himself a part of his surroundings. + </p> + <p> + The old colonel glanced at him across the table with a grim smile. + </p> + <p> + “The Emperor,” he said, “was sitting in that chair an hour ago. He may + come back at any moment.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah!” said Louis, following the written lines with a pencil. + </p> + <p> + But no interruption came, and at last the list was finished. Charles was + not among the officers taken prisoner at Vilna. + </p> + <p> + “Well?” inquired the Russian, without looking up. + </p> + <p> + “Not there.” + </p> + <p> + The old officer took a sheet of paper and hurriedly wrote a few words on + it. + </p> + <p> + “Try the Basile Hospital to-morrow morning,” he said. “That will gain you + admittance. It is to be cleared out by the Emperor's orders. We have about + twenty thousand dead to dispose of as well—but they are in no + hurry.” + </p> + <p> + He laughed grimly, and bade Louis good night. + </p> + <p> + “Come to me again,” he called out after him, drawn by a sudden chord of + sympathy to this stranger, who had the rare capacity of confining himself + to the business in hand. + </p> + <p> + By daybreak the next morning Louis was at the hospital of St. Basile. It + had been prepared by the Duc de Bassano under Napoleon's orders when Vilna + was selected as the base of the great army. When the Russians entered + Vilna after the retreating remnant of Murat's rabble, they found the dead + and the dying in the streets and the market-place. Some had made fires and + had lain themselves down around them—to die. Others were without + food or firing, almost without clothes. Many were barefoot. All, officers + and men alike, were in rags. It was a piteous sight; for half of these men + were no longer human. Some were gnawing at their own limbs. Many were + blind, others had lost their speech or hearing. Nearly all were marred by + some disfigurement—some terrible sore, the result of a frozen wound, + of frostbite, of scurvy, of gangrene. + </p> + <p> + The Cossacks, half civilized as they were, wild with the excitement of + killing and the chase of a human quarry, stood aghast in the streets of + Vilna. + </p> + <p> + When the Emperor arrived, he set to work to clear the streets first, to + get these piteous men indoors. There was no question yet of succouring + them. It was not even possible to feed them all. The only thought was to + find them some protection against the ruthless cold. + </p> + <p> + The first thought was, of course, directed to the hospitals. They looked + in and saw a storehouse of the dead. The dead could wait; but the living + must be housed. + </p> + <p> + So the dead waited, and it was their turn now at the St. Basile Hospital, + where Louis presented himself at dawn. + </p> + <p> + “Looking for some one?” asked a man in uniform, who must have been inside + the hospital, for he hurried down the steps with a set mouth and quailing + eyes. + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “Then don't go in—wait here.” + </p> + <p> + Louis looked in and took the doctor's advice. The dead were stored in the + passages, one on the top of the other, like bales of goods in a warehouse. + </p> + <p> + Some attempt seemed to have been made to clear the wards, but those whose + task it had been had not had time to do more than drag the dead out into + the passage. + </p> + <p> + The soldiers were now at work in the lower passage. Carts began to arrive. + An officer told off to this dread duty came up hurriedly smoking a + cigarette, his high fur collar about his ears. He glanced at Louis, and + bowed to him. + </p> + <p> + “Looking for some one?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “Then stand here beside me. It is I who have to keep count. They say there + are eight thousand in here. They will be carried past here to the carts. + Have a cigarette.” + </p> + <p> + It is hard to talk when the thermometer registers more than twenty degrees + of frost, for the lips stiffen and contract into wrinkles like the lips of + a very old woman. Perhaps neither of the watchers was in the humour to + begin an acquaintance. + </p> + <p> + They stood side by side, stamping their feet to keep the blood going, + without speaking. Once or twice Louis stepped forward, and at a signal + from the officer the bearers stopped. But Louis shook his head, and they + passed on. At midday the officer was relieved, his place being taken by + another, who bowed stiffly to Louis and took no more notice of him. For + war either hardens or softens. It never leaves a man as it found him. + </p> + <p> + All day the work was carried on. Through the hours this procession of the + bearded dead went silently by. At the invitation of a sergeant, Louis took + some soup and bread from the soldiers' table. The men laughingly + apologized for the quality of both. + </p> + <p> + Towards evening the officer who had first come on duty returned to his + work. + </p> + <p> + “Not yet?” he asked, offering the inevitable cigarette. + </p> + <p> + “Not yet,” answered Louis, and even as he spoke he stepped forward and + stopped the bearers. He brushed aside the matted hair and beard. + </p> + <p> + “Is that your friend?” asked the officer. + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + It was Charles at last. + </p> + <p> + “The doctor says these have been dead two months,” volunteered the first + bearer, over his shoulder. + </p> + <p> + “I am glad you have found him,” said the officer, signing to the men to go + on with their burden. “It is better to know—is it not?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” answered Louis slowly. “It is better to know.” + </p> + <p> + And something in his voice made the Russian officer turn and watch him as + he went away. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0029" id="link2HCH0029"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXIX. THE BARGAIN. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Like plants in mines which never saw the sun, + But dream of him and guess where he may be, + And do their best to climb and get to him. +</pre> + <p> + “Oh yes,” Barlasch was saying, “it is easier to die—it is that that + you are thinking—it is easier to die.” + </p> + <p> + Desiree did not answer. She was sitting in the little kitchen at the back + of the house in the Frauengasse. For they had no firing now, and were + burning the furniture. Her father had been buried a week. The siege was + drawn closer than ever. There was nothing to eat, nothing to do, no one to + talk to. For Sebastian's political friends did not dare to come near his + house. Desiree was alone in this hopeless world with Barlasch, who was on + duty now in one of the trenches near the river. He went out in the + morning, and only returned at night. He had just come in, and she could + see by the light of the single candle that his face was grey and haggard, + with deep lines drawn downwards from eyes to chin. Desiree's own face had + lost all its roundness and the bloom of her northern girlhood. + </p> + <p> + Barlasch glanced at her, and bit his lip. He had brought nothing with him. + At one time he had always managed to bring something to the house every + day—a chicken, or a turnip, or a few carrots. But to-night there was + nothing. And he was tired out. He did not sit down, however, but stood + breathing on his fingers and rubbing them together to restore circulation. + He pushed the candle farther forward on the table, so that it cast a + better light upon her face. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” he said, “it is often so. I, who speak to you, have seen it so a + dozen times in my life. When it is easier to sit down and die. Bah! That + is a fine thing to do—a brave thing—to sit down and die.” + </p> + <p> + “I am not going to do it, so do not make that mistake,” said Desiree, with + a laugh that had no mirth in it. + </p> + <p> + “But you would like to. Listen. It is not what you feel that matters; it + is what you do. Remember that.” + </p> + <p> + There was an unusual vigour in his voice. Of late, since the death of + Sebastian, Barlasch seemed to have fallen victim to the settled apathy + which lives within a prison wall and broods over a besieged city. It is a + sort of silent mourning worn by the soul for a lost liberty. Dantzig had + soon succumbed to it, for the citizens had not even the satisfaction of + being quite sure that they were deserving of the world's sympathy. It soon + spread to the soldiers who were defending a Prussian city for a French + Emperor who seemed to have forgotten them. + </p> + <p> + But to-night Barlasch seemed to be more energetic. Desiree looked round + over her shoulder. He had not laid on the table any contribution to a bare + larder; and yet his manner was that of one who has prepared a surprise and + is waiting to enjoy its effect. He was restless, moving from one foot to + another, rubbing together his crooked fingers and darting sidelong glances + at her face. + </p> + <p> + “What is it?” she asked suddenly, and Barlasch gave a start as if he had + been detected in some deceit. He bustled forward to the smouldering fire + and held his hands over it. + </p> + <p> + “It is that it is very cold to-night,” he answered, with that exaggerated + ease of manner with which the young and the simple seek to conceal + embarrassment. “Tell me, mademoiselle, what have we for supper to-night? + It is I who will cook it. To-night we will keep a fete. There is that + piece of beef for you. I know a way to make it appetizing. For me there is + my portion of horse. It is the friend of man—the horse.” + </p> + <p> + He laughed and made an effort to be gay, which had a poignant pathos in it + that made Desiree bite her lip. + </p> + <p> + “What fete is it that we are to keep?” she asked, with a wan smile. Her + kind blue eyes had that glitter in them which is caused by a constant and + continuous hunger. Six months ago they had only been gay and kind, now + they saw the world as it is, as it always must be so long as the human + heart is capable of happiness and the human reason recognizes the rarity + of its attainment. + </p> + <p> + “The fete of St. Matthias—my fete, mademoiselle.” + </p> + <p> + “But I thought your name was Jean.” + </p> + <p> + “So it is. But I keep my fete at St. Matthias, because on that day we won + a battle in Egypt. We will have wine—a bottle of wine—eh?” + </p> + <p> + So Barlasch prepared a great feast which was to be celebrated by Desiree + in the dining-room, where he lighted a fire, and by himself in the + kitchen. For he held strongly to a code of social laws which the great + Revolution had not succeeded in breaking. And one of these laws was that + it would be in some way degrading to Desiree to see him eat. + </p> + <p> + He was a skilled and delicate cook, only hampered by that insatiable + passion for economy which is the dominant characteristic of the peasant of + Northern France. To-night, however, he was reckless, and Desiree could + hear him searching in his secret hiding-place beneath the floor for + concealed condiments and herbs. + </p> + <p> + “There,” he said, when he set the dish before her, “eat it with an easy + mind. There is nothing unclean in it. It is not rat or cat or the liver of + a starved horse, such as we others eat and ask no better. It is all clean + meat.” + </p> + <p> + He poured out wine, and stood in the darkened doorway watching her drink + it. Then he went away to his own meal in the kitchen, leaving Desiree + vaguely uneasy—for he was not himself to-night. She could hear him + muttering as he ate and moved hither and thither in the kitchen. At short + intervals he came and looked in at the door to make sure that she was + doing full honour to St. Matthias. When she had finished, he came into the + room. + </p> + <p> + “Ah!” he said, glancing at her suspiciously and rubbing his hands + together. “That strengthens, eh?—that strengthens. We others who + lead a rough life—we know that a little food and a glass of wine fit + one out for any enterprise, for—well, any catastrophe.” + </p> + <p> + And Desiree knew in a flash of comprehension that the food and the wine + and the forced gaiety were nothing but preliminaries to bad news. + </p> + <p> + “What is it?” she asked a second time. “Is it... bombardment?” + </p> + <p> + “Bombardment,” he laughed, “they cannot shoot, those Cossacks. It is only + the French who understand artillery.” + </p> + <p> + “Then what is it?—for you have something to tell me, I know.” + </p> + <p> + He ruffled his shock-head of white hair, with a grimace of despair. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” he admitted, “it is news.” + </p> + <p> + “From outside?” cried Desiree, with a sudden break in her voice. + </p> + <p> + “From Vilna,” answered Barlasch. He came into the room, and went past her + towards the fire, where he put the logs together carefully. + </p> + <p> + “It is that he is alive,” said Desiree, “my husband.” + </p> + <p> + “No, it is not that,” Barlasch corrected. He stood with his back to her, + vaguely warming his hands. He had no learning, nor manners, nor any + polish: nothing but those instincts of the heart that teach the head. And + his instinct bade him turn his back on Desiree, and wait in silence until + she had understood his meaning. + </p> + <p> + “Dead?” she asked, in a whisper. + </p> + <p> + And, still warming his hands, he nodded his head vigorously. He waited a + long time for her to speak, and at last broke the silence himself without + looking round. + </p> + <p> + “Troubles,” he said, “troubles for us all. There is no avoiding them. One + can only push against them as against your cold wind of Dantzig that comes + from the sea. One can only push on. You must push, mademoiselle.” + </p> + <p> + “When did he die?” asked Desiree; “where?” + </p> + <p> + “At Vilna, three months ago. He has been dead three months. I knew he was + dead when you came back to the inn at Thorn, and told me that you had seen + De Casimir. De Casimir had left him dying—that liar. You remember, I + met a comrade on the road—one of my own country—he told me + that they had left ten thousand dead at Vilna, and twenty thousand + prisoners little better than dead. And I knew then that De Casimir had + left him there dying, or dead.” + </p> + <p> + He glanced back at her over his shoulder, and at the sight of her face + made that little click in his throat which, in peasant circles, denotes a + catastrophe. Then he shook his head slowly from side to side. + </p> + <p> + “Listen,” he said roughly, “the good God knows best. I knew when I saw you + first, that day in June, in this kitchen, that you were beginning your + troubles; for I knew the reputation of Monsieur, your husband. He was not + what you thought him. A man is never what a woman thinks him. But he was + worse than most. And this trouble that has come to you is chosen by the + good God—and he has chosen the least in his sack for you. You will + know it some day—as I know it now.” + </p> + <p> + “You know a great deal,” said Desiree, who was quick in speech, and he + swung round on his heel to meet her spirit. + </p> + <p> + “You are right,” he said, pointing his accusatory finger. “I know a great + deal about you—and I am a very old man.” + </p> + <p> + “How did you learn this news from Vilna?” she asked, and his hand went up + to his mouth as if to hide his thoughts and control his lips. + </p> + <p> + “From one who comes straight from there—who buried your husband + there.” + </p> + <p> + Desiree rose and stood with her hands resting on the table, looking at the + persistent back again turned towards her. + </p> + <p> + “Who?” she asked, in little more than a whisper. + </p> + <p> + “The Captain—Louis d'Arragon.” + </p> + <p> + “And you have spoken to him to-day—here, in Dantzig?” + </p> + <p> + Barlasch nodded his head. + </p> + <p> + “Was he well?” asked Desiree, with a spontaneous anxiety that made + Barlasch turn slowly and look at her from beneath his great brows. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, he was well enough,” he answered, “he is made of steel, that + gentleman. He was well enough, and he has the courage of the devil. There + are some fishermen who come from Zoppot to sell their fish. They steal + through the Russian lines—on the ice of the river at night and come + to our outposts at daylight. One of them said my name this morning. I + looked at him. He was wrapped up only to show the eyes. He drew his scarf + aside. It was the Captain d'Arragon.” + </p> + <p> + “And he was well?” asked Desiree again, as if nothing else in the world + mattered. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, mon Dieu, yes,” cried Barlasch, impatiently, “he was well, I tell + you. Do you know why he came?” + </p> + <p> + Desiree had sat down at the table again, where she leant her arms and + rested her chin in the palms of her two hands; for she was weakened by + starvation, and confinement, and sorrow. + </p> + <p> + “No,” she answered. + </p> + <p> + “He came because he had learnt that the patron was dead. It was known in + Konigsberg a week ago. It is known all over Germany; that quiet old + gentleman who scraped a fiddle here in the Frauengasse. And it is only I, + in all the world, who know that he was a greater man in Paris than ever he + was in Germany—with his Tugendbund—and I cannot remember his + name.” + </p> + <p> + Barlasch broke off and thumped his brow with his fists, as if to awaken + that dead memory. And all the while he was searching Desiree's face, with + eyes made brighter and sharper than ever by starvation. + </p> + <p> + “And do you know what he came for—the Captain—for he never + does anything in idleness? He will run a great risk—but it is for a + great purpose. Do you know what he came for?” + </p> + <p> + “No.” + </p> + <p> + Barlasch jerked his head back and laughed. + </p> + <p> + “For you.” + </p> + <p> + He turned and looked at her; but she had raised her clasped hands to her + forehead, as if to shield her eyes from the light of the candle, and he + could not see her face. + </p> + <p> + “Do you remember,” said Barlasch, “that night when the patron was so angry—on + the mat—when Mademoiselle Mathilde had to make her choice. It is + your turn to-night. You have to make your choice. Will you go?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” answered Desiree, behind her fingers. + </p> + <p> + “'If Mademoiselle will come,' he said to me, 'bring her to this place!' + 'Yes, mon capitaine,' answered I. 'At any cost, Barlasch?' 'At any cost, + mon capitaine.' And we are not men to break our words. I will take you + there—at any cost, mademoiselle. And he will meet you there—at + any cost.” + </p> + <p> + And Barlasch expectorated emphatically into the fire, after the manner of + low-born men. + </p> + <p> + “What a pity,” he added reflectively, “that he is only an Englishman.” + </p> + <p> + “When are we to go?” asked Desiree, still behind her barrier of clasped + fingers. + </p> + <p> + “To-morrow night, after midnight. We have arranged it all—the + Captain and I—at the outpost nearest to the river. He has influence. + He has rendered services to the Russians, and the Russian commander will + make a night attack on the outpost. In the confusion we get through. We + arranged it together. He pays me well. It is a bargain, and I am to have + my money. We shook hands on it, and those who saw us must have thought + that I was buying fish. I, who have no money—and he, who had no + fish.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0030" id="link2HCH0030"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXX. THE FULFILMENT. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + And I have laboured somewhat in my time + And not been paid profusely. +</pre> + <p> + When Desiree came down the next morning, she found Barlasch talking to + himself and laughing as he prepared his breakfast. + </p> + <p> + He met her with a gay salutation, and seemed unable to control his + hilarity. + </p> + <p> + “It is,” he explained, “because to-night we shall be under fire. We shall + be in danger. It makes me afraid, and I laugh. I cannot help it. When I am + afraid, I laugh.” + </p> + <p> + He bustled about the room, and Desiree saw that he had already opened his + secret store beneath the floor, to take from it such delicacies as + remained. + </p> + <p> + “You slept?” he asked sharply. “Yes, I can see you did. That is good, for + to-night we shall be awake. And now you must eat.” + </p> + <p> + For Barlasch was a materialist. He had fought death in one form or another + all his life, and he knew that those who eat and sleep are better equipped + for the battle than those who cherish high ideals or think great thoughts. + </p> + <p> + “It is a good thing,” he said, looking at her, “that you are so slim. In a + military coat—if you put on that short dress in which you skate, and + your high boots—you will look like a soldier. It is a good thing + that it is winter, for you can wear the hood of your military coat over + your head, as they all do out in the trenches to keep their ears from + falling. So you need not cut off your hair—all that golden hair. + Name of thunder, that would be a pity, would it not?” + </p> + <p> + He turned to the fire and stirred his coffee reflectively. + </p> + <p> + “In my own country,” he said, “a long time ago, there was a girl who had + hair like yours. That is why we are friends, perhaps.” + </p> + <p> + He gave a queer, short laugh, and took up his sheepskin coat preparatory + to going out. + </p> + <p> + “I have my preparations to make,” he said, with an air of importance. + “There is much to be thought of. We had not long together, for the others + were watching us. But we understand each other. I go now to give him the + signal that it is for to-night. I have borrowed one of Lisa's dusters—a + blue one that will show against the snow—with which to give him the + signal. And he is watching from Zoppot with his telescope. That fat Lisa—if + I had held up my finger, she would have fallen in love with me. It has + always been so. These women—” + </p> + <p> + And he went away muttering. + </p> + <p> + If he had preparations to make, Desiree had no less. She could take but + little with her, and she was quitting the house which had always been her + home so long as she could remember. Those trunks which Barlasch had so + unhesitatingly recognized as coming from France were, it seemed, destined + never to be used again. Mathilde had gone, taking with her her few simple + possessions; for they had always been poor in the Frauengasse. Sebastian + had departed on that journey which the traveller must face alone, taking + naught with him. And it was characteristic of the man that he had left + nothing behind him—no papers, no testament, no clue to that other + life so different from his life in the Frauengasse that it must have + lapsed into a fleeting, intangible memory, such as the brain is sometimes + allowed to retain of a dream dreamt in this existence, or perhaps in + another. Sebastian was gone—with his secret. + </p> + <p> + Desiree, alone with hers, was left in this quiet house for a few hours + longer. Mechanically she set it in order. What would it matter to-morrow + whether it were set in order or not? Who would come to note the last + touches? She worked with that feverish haste which is responsible for much + unnecessary woman's work in this world—the haste that owes its + existence to the fear of having time to think. Many talk for the same + reason. What a quiet world, if those who have nothing to say said nothing! + But speech or work must fail at last, and lo! the thoughts are lying in + wait. + </p> + <p> + Desiree's thoughts found their opportunity when she went into the + drawing-room upstairs, where her wedding-breakfast had been set before the + guests only eight months ago. The guests—De Casimir, the Grafin, + Sebastian, Mathilde, Charles! + </p> + <p> + Desiree stood alone now in the silent room. She did not look at the table. + The guests were all gone. The dead past had buried its dead. She went to + the window and drew aside the curtain as she had drawn it aside on her + wedding-day to look down into the Frauengasse and see Louis d'Arragon. And + again her heart leapt in her breast with that throb of fear. She turned + where she stood, and looked at the door as if she expected to see Charles + come in at it, laughing and gay, explaining (he was so good at explaining) + his encounter in the street, and stepping aside to allow Louis to come + forward. Louis, who looked at no one but her, and came into the room and + into her life. + </p> + <p> + She had been afraid of him. She was afraid of him still. And her heart had + leapt at the thought that he had been restlessly, sleeplessly thinking of + her, working for her—had been to Vilna and back for her, and was now + waiting for her beyond the barrier of Russian camp-fires. The dangers + which made Barlasch laugh—and she knew they were real enough, for it + was only a real danger that stirred something in the old soldier's blood + to make him gay—these dangers were of no account. She knew, she had + known instantly and for all time when she looked down into the Frauengasse + and saw Louis, that nothing in heaven or earth could keep them apart. + </p> + <p> + She stood now, looking at the empty doorway. What was the rest of her life + to be? + </p> + <p> + Barlasch returned in the afternoon. He was leisurely and inclined to + contemplativeness. It would seem that his preparations having all been + completed, he was left with nothing to do. War is a purifier; it clears + the social atmosphere and puts womanly men and manly women into their + right places. It is also a simplifier; it teaches us to know how little we + really require in daily life, and how many of the environments with which + men and women hamper themselves are superfluous and the fruit of idleness. + </p> + <p> + “I have nothing to do,” said Barlasch, “I will cook a careful dinner. All + that I have saved in money I cannot carry away; all that was stored + beneath the floor must be left there. It is often so in war.” + </p> + <p> + He had told Desiree that they would have to walk twelve miles across the + snow-clad marshes bordering the frozen Vistula, between midnight and dawn. + It needed no telling that they could carry little with them. + </p> + <p> + “You will have to make a new beginning in life,” he said curtly, “with the + clothes upon your back. How many times have I done it—the Saints + alone know! But take money, if you have it in gold or silver. Mine is all + in copper groschen, and it is too heavy to carry. I have never yet been + anywhere that money was not useful—and name of a dog! I have never + had it.” + </p> + <p> + So Desiree divided what money she possessed with Barlasch, who added it + carefully up and repeated several times for accuracy the tale of what he + had received. For, like many who do not hesitate to steal, he was very + particular in money matters. + </p> + <p> + “As for me,” he said, “I shall make a new beginning, too. The Captain will + enable me to get back to France, when I shall go to the Emperor again. It + is no place for one of the Old Guard, here with Rapp. I am getting old, + but he will find something for me to do, that little Emperor.” + </p> + <p> + At midnight they set out, quitting the house in the Frauengasse + noiselessly. The street was quiet enough, for half the houses were empty + now. Their footsteps were inaudible on the trodden snow. It was a dark + night and not cold; for the great frosts of this terrible winter were + nearly over. + </p> + <p> + Barlasch carried his musket and bayonet. He had instructed Desiree to walk + in front of him, should they meet a patrol. But Rapp had no men to spare + for patrolling the town. There was no spirit left in Dantzig; for typhus + and starvation patrolled the narrow streets. + </p> + <p> + They quitted the town to the north-west, near the Oliva Gate. There was no + guard-house here because Langfuhr was held by the French, and Rapp's + outposts were three miles out on the road to Zoppot. + </p> + <p> + “I have played this game for fifty years,” said Barlasch, with a low + laugh, when they reached the earthworks, completed, at such enormous cost + of life and strength, by Rapp; “follow me and do as I do. When I stoop, + stoop; when I crawl, crawl; when I run, run.” + </p> + <p> + For he was a soldier now and nothing else. He stood erect, and looked + round him with the air of a young man—ready, keen, alert. Then he + moved forward with confidence towards the high land which terminates in + the Johannesberg, where the peaceful Dantzigers now repair on a Sunday + afternoon to drink thin beer and admire the view. + </p> + <p> + Below them on the right hand lay the marshes, a white expanse of snow with + a single dark line drawn across it—the Langfuhr road with its double + border of trees. + </p> + <p> + Barlasch turned once or twice to make sure that Desiree was following him; + but he added nothing to his brief instructions. When he gained the summit + of the tableland which runs parallel with the coast and the Langfuhr road, + he paused for breath. + </p> + <p> + “When I crawl, crawl. When I run, run,” he whispered again; and led the + way. He went up the bed of a stream, turning his back to the coast, and at + a certain point stopped and by a gesture of the hand bade Desiree crouch + down and wait till he returned. He came back and signed to her to quit the + bed of the stream and follow him. When she came up to the tableland, she + found that they were quite close to a camp-fire. Through the low pines she + could perceive the dark outline of a house. + </p> + <p> + “Now run,” whispered Barlasch, leading the way across an open space which + seemed to extend to the line of the horizon. Without looking back, Desiree + ran—her only thought was a sudden surprise that Barlasch could move + so quickly and silently. + </p> + <p> + When he gained the shelter of some trees, he threw himself down on the + snow, and Desiree coming up to him found him breathlessly holding his + sides and laughing aloud. + </p> + <p> + “We are through the lines,” he gasped, “name of a dog, I was so + frightened. There they go—pam! pam! Buz.. z.. z..” + </p> + <p> + And he imitated the singing buzz of the bullets humming through the trees + over their heads. For half a dozen shots were fired, while he was yet + speaking, from behind the camp-fires. There were no more, however, and + presently, having recovered his breath, Barlasch rose. + </p> + <p> + “Come,” he said, “we have a long walk. En route.” + </p> + <p> + They made a great circuit in the pine-woods, through which Barlasch led + the way with an unerring skill, and descending towards the plain far + beyond Langfuhr they came out on to a lower tableland, below which the + great marshes of the Vistula stretched in the darkness, slowly merging at + last into the sea. + </p> + <p> + “Those,” said Barlasch, pausing at the edge of the slope, “those are the + lights of Oliva, where the Russians are. That line of lights straight in + front is the Russian fleet lying off Zoppot, and with them are English + ships. One of them is the little ship of Captain d'Arragon. And he will + take you home with him; for the ship is ordered to England, to Plymouth—which + is across the Channel from my own country. Ah—cristi! I sometimes + want to see my own country again—and my own people—mademoiselle.” + </p> + <p> + He went on a few paces and then stopped again, and in the darkness held up + one hand, commanding silence. It was the churches of Dantzig striking the + hour. + </p> + <p> + “Six o'clock,” he whispered, “it will soon be dawn. Yes—we are half + an hour too early.” + </p> + <p> + He sat down, and, by a gesture, bade Desiree sit beside him. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” he said, “the Captain told me that he is bound for England to + convoy larger ships, and you will sail in one of them. He has a home in + the west of England, and he will take you there—a sister or a + mother, I forget which—some woman. You cannot get on without women—you + others. It is there that you will be happy, as the bon Dieu meant you to + be. It is only in England that no one fears Napoleon. One may have a + husband there and not fear that he will be killed. One may have children + and not tremble for them—and it is that that makes you happy—you + women.” + </p> + <p> + Presently he rose and led the way down the slope. At the foot of it, he + paused, and pointing out a long line of trees, said in a whisper— + </p> + <p> + “He is there—where there are three taller trees. Between us and + those trees are the French outposts. At dawn the Russians attack the + outposts, and during the attack we have simply to go through it to those + trees. There is no other way—that is the rendezvous. Those three + tall trees. When I give the word, you get up and run to those trees—run + without pausing, without looking round. I will follow. It is you he has + come for—not Barlasch. You think I know nothing. Bah! I know + everything. I have always known it—your poor little secret.” + </p> + <p> + They lay on the snow crouching in a ditch until a grey line appeared low + down in the Eastern sky and the horizon slowly distinguished itself from + the thin thread of cloud that nearly always awaits the rising of the sun + in Northern latitudes. + </p> + <p> + A minute later the dark group of trees broke into intermittent flame and + the sharp, short “Hurrah!” of the Cossacks, like an angry bark, came + sweeping across the plain on the morning breeze. + </p> + <p> + “Not yet,” whispered Barlasch, with a gay chuckle of enjoyment. “Not yet—not + yet. Listen, the bullets are not coming here, but are going past to the + right of us. When you go, keep to the left. Slowly at first—keep a + little breath till the end. Now, up! Mademoiselle, run; name of thunder, + let us run!” + </p> + <p> + Desiree did not understand which were the French lines and which the line + of Russian attack. But there was a clear way to the three trees which + stood above the rest, and she went towards them. She knew she could not + run so far, so she walked. Then the bullets, instead of passing to the + right, seemed to play round her—like bees in a garden on a summer + day—and she ran until she was tired. + </p> + <p> + The trees were quite close now, and the sky was light behind them. Then + she saw Louis coming towards her, and she ran into his arms. The sound of + the humming bullets was still in her dazed brain, and she touched him all + over with her gloved hand as she clung to him, as a mother touches her + child when it has fallen, to see whether it be hurt. + </p> + <p> + “How was I to know?” she whispered breathlessly. “How was I to know that + you were to come into my life?” + </p> + <p> + The bullets did not matter, it seemed, nor the roar of the firing to the + right of them. Nothing mattered—except that Louis must know that she + had never loved Charles. + </p> + <p> + He held her and said nothing. And she wanted him to say nothing. Then she + remembered Barlasch, and looked back over her shoulder. + </p> + <p> + “Where is Barlasch?” she asked, with a sudden sinking at her heart. + </p> + <p> + “He is coming slowly,” replied Louis. “He came slowly behind you all the + time, so as to draw the fire away from you.” + </p> + <p> + They turned and waited for Barlasch, who seemed to be going in the wrong + direction with an odd vagueness in his movements. Louis ran towards him + with Desiree at his heels. + </p> + <p> + “Ca-y-est,” said Barlasch; which cannot be translated, and yet has many + meanings. “Ca-y-est.” + </p> + <p> + And he sat down slowly on the snow. He sat quite upright and rigid, and in + the cold light of the Baltic dawn they saw the meaning of his words. One + hand was within his fur coat. He drew it out, and concealed it from + Desiree behind his back. He did not seem to see them, but presently he put + out his hand and lightly touched Desiree. Then he turned to Louis with + that confidential drop of the voice with which he always distinguished his + friends from those who were not his friends. + </p> + <p> + “What is she doing?” he asked. “I cannot see in the dark. Is it not dark? + I thought it was. What is she doing? Saying a prayer? What—because I + have my affair? Hey, mademoiselle. You may leave it to me. I will get in, + I tell you that.” + </p> + <p> + He put his finger to his nose, and then shook it from side to side with an + air of deep cunning. + </p> + <p> + “Leave it to me. I shall slip in. Who will stop an old man, who has many + wounds? Not St. Peter, assuredly. Let him try. And if the good God hears a + commotion at the gate, He will only shrug His shoulders. He will say to + St. Peter, 'Let pass; it is only Papa Barlasch!'” + </p> + <p> + And then there was silence. For Barlasch had gone to his own people. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Barlasch of the Guard, by H. S. Merriman + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK BARLASCH OF THE GUARD *** + +***** This file should be named 8158-h.htm or 8158-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/8/1/5/8158/ + +Produced by Les Bowler, and David Widger + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions 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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Merriman + +Release Date: May, 2005 [EBook #8158] +Posting Date: July 30, 2009 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK BARLASCH OF THE GUARD *** + + + + +Produced by Les Bowler + + + + + + + + +BARLASCH OF THE GUARD + + +By Henry Seton Merriman + + + + + "And they that have not heard shall understand" + + + + +CONTENTS + +CHAPTER + + I. ALL ON A SUMMER'S DAY + II. A CAMPAIGNER + III. FATE + IV. THE CLOUDED MOON + V. THE WEISSEN ROSS'L + VI. THE SHOEMAKER OF KONIGSBERG + VII. THE WAY OF LOVE + VIII. A VISITATION + IX. THE GOLDEN GUESS + X. IN DEEP WATER + XI. THE WAVE MOVES ON + XII. FROM BORODINO + XIII. IN THE DAY OF REJOICING + XIV. MOSCOW + XV. THE GOAL + XVI. THE FIRST OF THE EBB + XVII. A FORLORN HOPE + XVIII. MISSING + XIX. KOWNO + XX. DESIREE'S CHOICE + XXI. ON THE WARSAW ROAD + XXII. THROUGH THE SHOALS + XXIII. AGAINST THE STREAM + XXIV. MATHILDE CHOOSES + XXV. A DESPATCH + XXVI. ON THE BRIDGE + XXVII. A FLASH OF MEMORY + XXVIII. VILNA + XXIX. THE BARGAIN + XXX. THE FULFILMENT + + + + +CHAPTER I. ALL ON A SUMMER'S DAY. + + + + Il faut devoir lever les yeux pour regarder ce qu'on aime. + +A few children had congregated on the steps of the Marienkirche at +Dantzig, because the door stood open. The verger, old Peter Koch--on +week days a locksmith--had told them that nothing was going to happen; +had been indiscreet enough to bid them go away. So they stayed, for they +were little girls. + +A wedding was in point of fact in progress within the towering walls of +the Marienkirche--a cathedral built of red brick in the great days of +the Hanseatic League. + +"Who is it?" asked a stout fishwife, stepping over the threshold to +whisper to Peter Koch. + +"It is the younger daughter of Antoine Sebastian," replied the verger, +indicating with a nod of his head the house on the left-hand side of the +Frauengasse where Sebastian lived. There was a wealth of meaning in the +nod. For Peter Koch lived round the corner in the Kleine Schmiedegasse, +and of course--well, it is only neighbourly to take an interest in those +who drink milk from the same cow and buy wood from the same Jew. + +The fishwife looked thoughtfully down the Frauengasse where every house +has a different gable, and none of less than three floors within the +pitch of the roof. She singled out No. 36, which has a carved stone +balustrade to its broad verandah and a railing of wrought-iron on either +side of the steps descending from the verandah to the street. + +"They teach dancing?" she inquired. + +And Koch nodded again, taking snuff. + +"And he--the father?" + +"He scrapes a fiddle," replied the verger, examining the lady's basket +of fish in a non-committing and final way. For a locksmith is almost +as confidential an adviser as a notary. The Dantzigers, moreover, are a +thrifty race and keep their money in a safe place; a habit which was to +cost many of them their lives before the coming of another June. + +The marriage service was a long one and not exhilarating. Through the +open door came no sound of organ or choir, but the deep and monotonous +drawl of one voice. There had been no ringing of bells. The north +countries, with the exception of Russia, require more than the ringing +of bells or the waving of flags to warm their hearts. They celebrate +their festivities with good meat and wine consumed decently behind +closed doors. + +Dantzig was in fact under a cloud. No larger than a man's hand, +this cloud had risen in Corsica forty-three years earlier. It had +overshadowed France. Its gloom had spread to Italy, Austria, Spain; had +penetrated so far north as Sweden; was now hanging sullen over Dantzig, +the greatest of the Hanseatic towns, the Free City. For a Dantziger +had never needed to say that he was a Pole or a Prussian, a Swede or a +subject of the Czar. He was a Dantziger. Which is tantamount to having +for a postal address a single name that is marked on the map. + +Napoleon had garrisoned the Free City with French troops some years +earlier, to the sullen astonishment of the citizens. And Prussia had not +objected for a very obvious reason. Within the last fourteen months the +garrison had been greatly augmented. The clouds seemed to be gathering +over this prosperous city of the north, where, however, men continued to +eat and drink, to marry and to be given in marriage as in another city +of the plain. + +Peter Koch replaced his snuff-stained handkerchief in the pocket of his +rusty cassock and stood aside. He murmured a few conventional words +of blessing, hard on the heels of stronger exhortations to the waiting +children. And Desiree Sebastian came out into the sunlight--Desiree +Sebastian no more. + +That she was destined for the sunlight was clearly written on her face +and in her gay, kind blue eyes. She was tall and straight and slim, +as are English and Polish and Danish girls, and none other in all the +world. But the colouring of her face and hair was more pronounced than +in the fairness of Anglo-Saxon youth. For her hair had a golden tinge in +it, and her skin was of that startlingly milky whiteness which is only +found in those who live round the frozen waters. Her eyes, too, were of +a clearer blue--like the blue of a summer sky over the Baltic sea. The +rosy colour was in her cheeks, her eyes were laughing. This was a bride +who had no misgivings. + +On seeing such a happy face returning from the altar the observer might +have concluded that the bride had assuredly attained her desire; that +she had secured a title; that the pre-nuptial settlement had been safely +signed and sealed. + +But Desiree had none of these things. It was nearly a hundred years ago. + +Her husband must have whispered some laughing comment on Koch, or +another appeal to her quick sense of the humorous, for she looked into +his changing face and gave a low, girlish laugh of amusement as they +descended the steps together into the brilliant sunlight. + +Charles Darragon wore one of the countless uniforms that enlivened the +outward world in the great days of the greatest captain that history has +seen. He was unmistakably French--unmistakably a French gentleman, as +rare in 1812 as he is to-day. To judge from his small head and clean-cut +features, fine and mobile; from his graceful carriage and slight limbs, +this man was one of the many bearing names that begin with the fourth +letter of the alphabet since the Terror only. + +He was merely a lieutenant in a regiment of Alsatian recruits; but that +went for nothing in the days of the Empire. Three kings in Europe had +begun no farther up the ladder. + +The Frauengasse is a short street, made narrow by the terrace that each +house throws outward from its face, each seeking to gain a few inches +on its neighbour. It runs from the Marienkirche to the Frauenthor, and +remains to-day as it was built three hundred years ago. + +Desiree nodded and laughed to the children, who interested her. She was +quite simple and womanly, as some women, it is to be hoped, may succeed +in continuing until the end of time. She was always pleased to see +children; was glad, it seemed, that they should have congregated on the +steps to watch her pass. Charles, with a faint and unconscious reflex of +that grand manner which had brought his father to the guillotine, felt +in his pocket for money, and found none. + +He jerked his hand out with widespread fingers, in a gesture indicative +of familiarity with the nakedness of the land. + +"I have nothing, little citizens," he said with a mock gravity; "nothing +but my blessing." + +And he made a gay gesture with his left hand over their heads, not the +act of benediction, but of peppering, which made them all laugh. The +bride and bridegroom passing on joined in the laughter with hearts as +light and voices scarcely less youthful. + +The Frauengasse is intersected by the Pfaffengasse at right angles, +through which narrow and straight street passes much of the traffic +towards the Langenmarkt, the centre of the town. As the little bridal +procession reached the corner of this street, it halted at the approach +of some mounted troops. There was nothing unusual in this sight in the +streets of Dantzig, which were accustomed now to the clatter of the +Saxon cavalry. + +But at the sight of the first troopers Charles Darragon threw up his +head with a little exclamation of surprise. + +Desiree looked at him and then turned to follow the direction of his +gaze. + +"What are these?" she murmured. For the uniforms were new and +unfamiliar. + +"Cavalry of the Old Guard," replied her husband, and as he spoke he +caught his breath. + +The horsemen vanished into the continuation of the Pfaffengasse, and +immediately behind them came a travelling carriage, swung on high +wheels, three times the size of a Dantzig drosky, white with dust. +It had small square windows. As Desiree drew back in obedience to a +movement of her husband's arm, she saw a face for an instant--pale and +set--with eyes that seemed to look at everything and yet at something +beyond. + +"Who was it? He looked at you, Charles," said Desiree. + +"It is the Emperor," answered Darragon. His face was white. His eyes +were dull, like the eyes of one who has seen a vision and is not yet +back to earth. + +Desiree turned to those behind her. + +"It is the Emperor," she said, with an odd ring in her voice which none +had ever heard before. Then she stood looking after the carriage. + +Her father, who was at her elbow--tall, white-haired, with an +aquiline, inscrutable face--stood in a like attitude, looking down the +Pfaffengasse. His hand was raised before his face with outspread fingers +which seemed rigid in that gesture, as if lifted hastily to screen his +face and hide it. + +"Did he see me?" he asked in a low voice which only Desiree heard. + +She glanced at him, and her eyes, which were clear as a cloudless sky, +were suddenly shadowed by a suspicion quick and poignant. + +"He seemed to see everything, but he only looked at Charles," she +answered. For a moment they all stood in the sunshine looking towards +the Langenmarkt where the tower of the Rathhaus rose above the high +roofs. The dust raised by the horses' feet and the carriage wheels +slowly settled on their bridal clothes. + +It was Desiree who at length made a movement to continue their way +towards her father's house. + +"Well," she said with a slight laugh, "he was not bidden to my wedding, +but he has come all the same." + +Others laughed as they followed her. For a bride at the church-door, or +a judge on the bench, or a criminal on the scaffold-steps, need make but +a very small joke to cause merriment. Laughter is often nothing but the +froth of tears. + +There were faces suddenly bleached in the little group of +wedding-guests, and none were whiter than the handsome features of +Mathilde Sebastian, Desiree's elder sister, who looked angry, had +frowned at the children, and seemed to find this simple wedding too +bourgeois for her taste. She carried her head with an air that told the +world not to expect that she should ever be content to marry in such +a humble style, and walk from the church in satin slippers like any +daughter of a burgher. + +This, at all events, was what old Koch the locksmith must have read in +her beautiful, discontented face. + +"Ah! ah!" he muttered to the bolts as he shot them. "But it is not the +lightest hearts that quit the church in a carriage." + +So simple were the arrangements that bride and bridegroom and +wedding-guests had to wait in the street while the servant unlocked +the front door of No. 36 with a great key hurriedly extracted from her +apron-pocket. + +There was no unusual stir in the street. The windows of one or two of +the houses had been decorated with flowers. These were the houses of +friends. Others were silent and still behind their lace curtains, where +there doubtless lurked peeping and criticizing eyes--the house of a +neighbour. + +The wedding-guests were few in number. Only one of them had a +distinguished air, and he, like the bridegroom, wore the uniform of +France. He was a small man, somewhat brusque in attitude, as became +a soldier of Italy and Egypt. But he had a pleasant smile and that +affability of manner which many learnt in the first years of the great +Republic. He and Mathilde Sebastian never looked at each other: either +an understanding or a misunderstanding. + +The host, Antoine Sebastian, played his part well enough when he +remembered that he had a part to play. He listened with a kind attention +to the story of a very old lady, who it seemed had been married herself, +but it was so long ago that the human interest of it all was lost in a +pottle of petty detail which was all she could recall. Before the story +was half finished, Sebastian's attention had strayed elsewhere, though +his spare figure remained in its attitude of attention and polite +forbearance. His mind had, it would seem, a trick of thus wandering away +and leaving his body rigid in the last attitude that it had dictated. + +Sebastian did not notice that the door was open and all the guests were +waiting for him to lead the way. + +"Now, old dreamer," whispered Desiree, with a quick pinch on his arm, +"take the Grafin upstairs to the drawing-room and give her wine. You are +to drink our healths, remember." + +"Is there wine?" he asked with a vague smile. "Where has it come from?" + +"Like other good things, my father-in-law," replied Charles with his +easy laugh, "it comes from France." + +They spoke together thus in confidence, in the language of that same +sunny land. But when Sebastian turned again to the old lady, still +recalling the details of that other wedding, he addressed her in German, +offering his arm with a sudden stiffness of gesture which he seemed to +put on with the change of tongue. + +They passed up the low time-worn steps arm-in-arm, and beneath the high +carved doorway, whereon some pious Hanseatic merchant had inscribed +his belief that if God be in the house there is no need of a watchman, +emphasizing his creed by bolts and locks of enormous strength, and bars +to every window. + +The servant in her Samland Sunday dress, having shaken her fist at the +children, closed the door behind the last guest, and, so far as the +Frauengasse was concerned, the exciting incident was over. From the open +window came only the murmur of quiet voices, the clink of glasses at the +drinking of a toast, or a laugh in the clear voice of the bride herself. +For Desiree persisted in her optimistic view of these proceedings, +though her husband scarcely helped her now at all, and seemed a +different man since the passage through the Pfaffengasse of that dusty +travelling carriage which had played the part of the stormy petrel from +end to end of Europe. + + + +CHAPTER II. A CAMPAIGNER. + + + + Not what I am, but what I Do, is my Kingdom. + +Desiree had made all her own wedding-clothes. "Her poor little +marriage-basket," she called it. She had even made the cake which was +now cut with some ceremony by her father. + +"I tremble," she exclaimed aloud, "to think what it may be like in the +middle." + +And Mathilde was the only person there who did not smile at the +unconscious admission. The cake was still under discussion, and the +Grafin had just admitted that it was almost as good as that other cake +which had been consumed in the days of Frederick the Great, when the +servant called Desiree from the room. + +"It is a soldier," she said in a whisper at the head of the stairs. "He +has a paper in his hand. I know what that means. He is quartered on us." + +Desiree hurried downstairs. In the entrance-hall, a broad-built little +man stood awaiting her. He was stout and red, with hair all ragged at +the temples, almost white. His eyes were lost behind shaggy eyebrows. +His face was made broader by little whiskers stopping short at the level +of his ear. He had a snuff-blown complexion, and in the wrinkles of his +face the dust of a dozen campaigns seemed to have accumulated. + +"Barlasch," he said curtly, holding out a long strip of blue paper. "Of +the Guard. Once a sergeant. Italy, Egypt, the Danube." + +He frowned at Desiree while she read the paper in the dim light that +filtered through the twisted bars of the fanlight above the door. + +Then he turned to the servant who stood, comely and breathless, looking +him up and down. + +"Papa Barlasch," he added for her edification, and he drew down his left +eyebrow with a jerk, so that it almost touched his cheek. His right +eye, grey and piercing, returned her astonished gaze with a fierce +steadfastness. + +"Does this mean that you are quartered upon us?" asked Desiree without +seeking to hide her disgust. She spoke in her own tongue. + +"French?" said the soldier, looking at her. "Good. Yes. I am quartered +here. Thirty-six, Frauengasse. Sebastian; musician. You are lucky to get +me. I always give satisfaction--ha!" + +He gave a curt laugh in one syllable only. His left arm was curved +round a bundle of wood bound together by a red pocket-handkerchief not +innocent of snuff. He held out this bundle to Desiree, as Solomon may +have held out some great gift to the Queen of Sheba to smooth the first +doubtful steps of friendship. + +Desiree accepted the gift and stood in her wedding-dress holding the +bundle of wood against her breast. Then a gleam of the one grey eye that +was visible conveyed to her the fact that this walnut-faced warrior was +smiling. She laughed gaily. + +"It is well," said Barlasch. "We are friends. You are lucky to get me. +You may not think so now. Would this woman like me to speak to her in +Polish or German?" + +"Do you speak so many languages?" + +He shrugged his shoulders and spread out his arms as far as his many +burdens allowed. For he was hung round with a hundred parcels and +packages. + +"The Old Guard," he said, "can always make itself understood." + +He rubbed his hands together with the air of a brisk man ready for any +sort of work. + +"Now, where shall I sleep?" he asked. "One is not particular, you +understand. A few minutes and one is at home--perhaps peeling the +potatoes. It is only a civilian who is ashamed of using his knife on a +potato. Papa Barlasch, they call me." + +Without awaiting an invitation he went forward towards the kitchen. He +seemed to know the house by instinct. His progress was accompanied by +a clatter of utensils like that which heralds the coming of a carrier's +cart. + +At the kitchen door he stopped and sniffed loudly. There certainly was +a slight odour of burning fat. Papa Barlasch turned and shook an +admonitory finger at the servant, but he said nothing. He looked round +at the highly polished utensils, at the table and floor both alike +scrubbed clean by a vigorous northern arm. And he was kind enough to nod +approval. + +"On a campaign," he said to no one in particular, "a little bit of +horse thrust into the cinders on the end of a bayonet--but in times of +peace..." + +He broke off and made a gesture towards the saucepans which indicated +quite clearly that he was between campaigns--inclined to good living. + +"I am a rude fork," he jerked to Desiree over his shoulder in the +dialect of the Cotes du Nord. + +"How long will you be here?" asked Desiree, who was eminently practical. +A billet was a misfortune which Charles Darragon had hitherto succeeded +in warding off. He had some small influence as an officer of the +head-quarters' staff. + +Barlasch held up a reproving hand. The question, he seemed to think, was +not quite delicate. + +"I pay my own," he said. "Give and take--that is my motto. When you have +nothing to give... offer a smile." + +With a gesture he indicated the bundle of firewood which Desiree still +absent-mindedly carried against her white dress. He turned and opened a +cupboard low down on the floor at the left-hand side of the fireplace. +He seemed to know by an instinct usually possessed by charwomen and +other domesticated persons of experience where the firewood was kept. +Lisa gave a little exclamation of surprise at his impertinence and his +perspicacity. He took the firewood, unknotted his handkerchief, and +threw his offering into the cupboard. Then he turned and perceived for +the first time that Desiree had a bright ribbon at her waist and on her +shoulders; that a thin chain of gold was round her throat and that there +were flowers at her breast. + +"A fete?" he inquired curtly. + +"My marriage fete," she answered. "I was married half an hour ago." + +He looked at her beneath his grizzled brows. His face was only capable +of producing one expression--a shaggy weather-beaten fierceness. But, +like a dog which can express more than many human beings, by a hundred +instinctive gestures he could, it seemed, dispense with words on +occasion and get on quite as well without them. He clearly disapproved +of Desiree's marriage, and drew her attention to the fact that she was +no more than a schoolgirl with an inconsequent brain, and little limbs +too slight to fight a successful battle in a world full of cruelty and +danger. + +Then he made a gesture half of apology as if recognizing that it was no +business of his, and turned away thoughtfully. + +"I had troubles of that sort myself," he explained, putting together the +embers on the hearth with the point of a twisted, rusty bayonet, +"but that was long ago. Well, I can drink your health all the same, +mademoiselle." + +He turned to Lisa with a friendly nod and put out his tongue, in the +manner of the people, to indicate that his lips were dry. + +Desiree had always been the housekeeper. It was to her that Lisa +naturally turned in her extremity at the invasion of her kitchen by Papa +Barlasch. And when that warrior had been supplied with beer it was with +Desiree, in an agitated whisper in the great dark dining-room with its +gloomy old pictures and heavy carving, that she took counsel as to where +he should be quartered. + +The object of their solicitude himself interrupted their hurried +consultation by opening the door and putting his shaggy head round the +corner of it. + +"It is not worth while to consult long about it," he said. "There is a +little room behind the kitchen, that opens into the yard. It is full of +boxes. But we can move them--a little straw--and there!" + +With a gesture he described a condition of domestic peace and comfort +which far exceeded his humble requirements. + +"The blackbeetles and I are old friends," he concluded cheerfully. + +"There are no blackbeetles in the house, monsieur," said Desiree, +hesitating to accept his proposal. + +"Then I shall resign myself to my solitude," he answered. "It is quiet. +I shall not hear the patron touching on his violin. It is that which +occupies his leisure, is it not?" + +"Yes," answered Desiree, still considering the question. + +"I too am a musician," said Papa Barlasch, turning towards the kitchen +again. "I played a drum at Marengo." + +And as he led the way to the little room in the yard at the back of the +kitchen, he expressed by a shake of the head a fellow-feeling for the +gentleman upstairs, whose acquaintance he had not yet made, who occupied +his leisure by touching the violin. + +They stood together in the small apartment which Barlasch, with the +promptitude of an experienced conqueror, had set apart for his own +accommodation. + +"Those trunks," he observed casually, "were made in France"--a mental +note which he happened to make aloud, as some do for better remembrance. +"This solid girl and I will soon move them. And you, mademoiselle, go +back to your wedding." + +"The good God be merciful to you," he added under his breath when +Desiree had gone. + +She laughed as she mounted the stairs, a slim white figure amid the +heavy woodwork long since blackened by time. The stairs made no sound +beneath her light step. How many weary feet had climbed them since they +were built! For the Dantzigers have been a people of sorrow, torn by +wars, starved by siege, tossed from one conqueror to another from the +beginning until now. + +Desiree excused herself for her absence and frankly gave the cause. She +was disposed to make light of the incident. It was natural to her to be +optimistic. Both she and Mathilde made a practice of withholding from +their father's knowledge the smaller worries of daily life which sour so +many women and make them whine on platforms to be given the larger woes. + +She was glad to note that her father did not attach much importance +to the arrival of Papa Barlasch; though Mathilde found opportunity to +convey her displeasure at the news by a movement of the eyebrows. + +Antoine Sebastian had applied himself seriously now to his role of host, +so rarely played in the Frauengasse. He was courteous and quick to see +a want or a possible desire of any one of his guests. It was part of his +sense of hospitality to dismiss all personal matters, and especially a +personal trouble, from public attention. + +"They will attend to him in the kitchen, no doubt," he said with that +grand air which the dancing academy tried to imitate. + +Charles hardly noted what Desiree said. So sunny a nature as his might +have been expected to make light of a minor trouble, more especially the +minor trouble of another. He was unusually thoughtful. Some event of the +morning had, it would appear, given him pause on his primrose path. He +glanced more than once over his shoulder towards the window, which stood +open. He seemed at times to listen. + +Suddenly he rose and went to the window. His action caused a brief +silence, and all heard the clatter of a horse's feet and the quick +rattle of a sword against spur and buckle. + +After a glance he came back into the room. + +"Excuse me," he said, with a bow towards Mathilde. "It is, I think, a +messenger for me." + +And he hurried downstairs. He did not return at once, and soon the +conversation became general again. + +"You," said the Grafin, touching Desiree's arm with her fan, "you, who +are now his wife, must be dying to know what has called him away. Do not +consider the 'convenances,' my child." + +Desiree, thus admonished, followed Charles. She had not been aware of +this consuming curiosity until it was suggested to her. + +She found Charles standing at the open door. He thrust a letter into his +pocket as she approached him, and turned towards her the face that +she had seen for a moment when he drew her back at the corner of the +Pfaffengasse to allow the Emperor's carriage to pass on its way. It +was the white, half-stupefied face of one who has for an instant seen a +vision of things not earthly. + +"I have been sent for by the... I am wanted at head-quarters," he said +vaguely. "I shall not be long..." + +He took his shako, looked at her with an odd attempt to simulate +cheerfulness, kissed her fingers and hurried out into the street. + + + +CHAPTER III. FATE. + + + We pass; the path that each man trod + Is dim; or will be dim, with weeds. + +When Desiree turned towards the stairs, she met the guests descending. +They were taking their leave as they came down, hurriedly, like persons +conscious of having outstayed their welcome. + +Mathilde listened coldly to the conventional excuses. So few people +recognize the simple fact that they need never apologize for going away. +Sebastian stood at the head of the stairs bowing in his most Germanic +manner. The urbane host, with a charm entirely French, who had dispensed +a simple hospitality so easily and gracefully a few minutes earlier, +seemed to have disappeared behind a pale and formal mask. + +Desiree was glad to see them go. There was a sense of uneasiness, a +vague unrest in the air. There was something amiss. The wedding party +had been a failure. All had gone well and merrily up to a certain +point--at the corner of the Pfaffengasse, when the dusty travelling +carriage passed across their path. From that moment there had been a +change. A shadow seemed to have fallen across the sunny nature of the +proceedings; for never had bride and bridegroom set forth together with +lighter hearts than those carried by Charles and Desiree Darragon down +the steps of the Marienkirche. + +During its progress across the whole width of Germany, the carriage +had left unrest behind it. Men had travelled night and day to stand +sleepless by the roadside and see it pass. Whole cities had been kept +astir till morning by the mere rumour that its flying wheels would be +heard in the streets before dawn. Hatred and adoration, fear and that +dread tightening of the heart-strings which is caused by the shadow of +the superhuman, had sprung into being at the mere sound of its approach. + +When therefore it passed across the Frauengasse, throwing its dust upon +Desiree's wedding-dress, it was only fulfilling a mission. When it +broke in upon the lives of these few persons seeking dimly for their +happiness--as the heathen grope for an unknown God--and threw down +carefully constructed plans, swept aside the strongest will and crushed +the stoutest heart, it was only working out its destiny. The dust +sprinkled on Desiree's hair had fallen on the faces of thousands +of dead. The unrest that entered into the quiet little house on the +left-hand side of the Frauengasse had made its way across a thousand +thresholds, of Arab tent and imperial palace alike. The lives of +millions were affected by it, the secret hopes of thousands were +undermined by it. It disturbed the sleep of half the world, and made men +old before their time. + +"More troops must have arrived," said Desiree, already busying herself +to set the house in order, "since they have been forced to billet this +man with us. And now they have sent for Charles, though he is really on +leave of absence." + +She glanced at the clock. + +"I hope he will not be late. The chaise is to come at four o'clock. +There is still time for me to help you." + +Mathilde made no answer. Their father stood near the window. He was +looking out with thoughtful eyes. His face was drawn downwards by a +hundred fine wrinkles. It was the face of one brooding over a sorrow +or a vengeance. There was something in his whole being suggestive of a +bygone prosperity. This was a lean man who had once been well-seeming. + +"No!" said Desiree gaily, "we were a dull company. We need not disguise +it. It all came from that man crossing our path in his dusty carriage." + +"He is on his way to Russia," Sebastian said jerkily. "God spare me to +see him return!" + +Desiree and Mathilde exchanged a glance of uneasiness. It seemed that +their father was subject to certain humours which they had reason to +dread. Desiree left her occupation and went to him, linking her arm in +his and standing beside him. + +"Do not let us think of disagreeable things to-day," she said. "God will +spare you much longer than that, you depressing old wedding-guest!" + +He patted her hand which rested on his arm and looked down at her with +eyes softened by affection. But her fair hair, rather tumbled, which met +his glance must have awakened some memory that made his face a marble +mask again. + +"Yes," he said grimly, "but I am an old man and he is a young one. And I +want to see him dead before I die." + +"I will not have you think such bloodthirsty thoughts on my +wedding-day," said Desiree. "See, there is Charles returning already, +and he has not been absent ten minutes. He has some one with him--who is +it? Papa... Mathilde, look! Who is it coming back with Charles in such a +hurry?" + +Mathilde, who was setting the room in order, glanced through the lace +curtains. + +"I do not know," she answered indifferently. "Just an ordinary man." + +Desiree had turned away from the window as if to go downstairs and meet +her husband. She paused and looked back again over her shoulder towards +the street. + +"Is it?" she said rather oddly. "I do not know--I--" + +And she stood with the incompleted sentence on her lips waiting +irresolutely for Charles to come upstairs. + +In a moment he burst into the room with all his usual exuberance and +high spirit. + +"Picture to yourselves!" he cried, standing in the doorway with his arms +extended before him. "I was hurrying to head-quarters when I ran into +the embrace of my dear Louis--my cousin. I have told you a hundred times +that he is brother and father and everything to me. I am so glad that he +should come to-day of all days." + +He turned towards the stairs with a gesture of welcome, still with +his two arms outheld, as if inviting the man, who came rather slowly +upstairs, to come to his embrace and to the embrace of those who were +now his relations. + +"There was a little suspicion of sadness--I do not know what it was--at +the table; but now it is all gone. All is well now that this unexpected +guest has come. This dear Louis." + +He went to the landing as he spoke, and returned bringing by the arm a +man taller than himself and darker, with a still brown face and steady +eyes set close together. He had a lean look of good breeding. + +"This dear Louis!" repeated Charles. "My only relative in all the world. +My cousin, Louis d'Arragon. But he, par exemple, spells his name in two +words." + +The man bowed gravely--a comprehensive bow; but he looked at Desiree. + +"This is my father-in-law," continued Charles breathlessly. "Monsieur +Antoine Sebastian, and Desiree and Mathilde--my wife, my dear +Louis--your cousin, Desiree." + +He had turned again to Louis and shook him by the shoulders in the +fulness of his joy. He had not distinguished between Mathilde and +Desiree, and it was towards Mathilde that D'Arragon looked with a polite +and rather formal repetition of his bow. + +"It is I... I am Desiree," said the younger sister, coming forward with +a slow gesture of shyness. + +D'Arragon took her hand. + +"I have been happy," he said, "in the moment of my arrival." + +Then he turned to Mathilde and bowed over the hand she held out to him. +Sebastian had come forward with a sudden return of his gracious and +rather old-world manner. He did not offer to shake hands, but bowed. + +"A son of Louis d'Arragon who was fortunate enough to escape to +England?" he inquired with a courteous gesture. + +"The only son," replied the new-comer. + +"I am honoured to make the acquaintance of Monsieur le Marquis," said +Antoine Sebastian slowly. + +"Oh, you must not call me that," replied D'Arragon with a short laugh. +"I am an English sailor--that is all." + +"And now, my dear Louis, I leave you," broke in Charles, who had rather +impatiently awaited the end of these formalities. "A brief half-hour and +I am with you again. You will stay here till I return." + +He turned, nodded gaily to Desiree and ran downstairs. + +Through the open windows they heard his quick, light footfall as he +hurried up the Frauengasse. Something made them silent, listening to it. + +It was not difficult to see that D'Arragon was a sailor. Not only had he +the brown face of those who live in the open, but he had the attentive +air of one whose waking moments are a watch. + +"You look at one as if one were the horizon," Desiree said to him +long afterwards. But it was at this moment in the drawing-room in the +Frauengasse that the comparison formed itself in her mind. + +His face was rather narrow, with a square chin and straight lips. He was +not quick in speech like Charles, but seemed to think before he spoke, +with the result that he often appeared to be about to say something, and +was interrupted before the words had been uttered. + +"Unless my memory is a bad one, your mother was an Englishwoman, +monsieur," said Sebastian, "which would account for your being in the +English service." + +"Not entirely," answered d'Arragon, "though my mother was indeed English +and died--in a French prison. But it was from a sense of gratitude that +my father placed me in the English service--and I have never regretted +it, monsieur." + +"Your father received kindnesses at English hands, after his escape, +like many others." + +"Yes, and he was too old to repay them by doing the country any service +himself. He would have done it if he could--" + +D'Arragon paused, looking steadily at the tall old man who listened to +him with averted eyes. + +"My father was one of those," he said at length, "who did not think that +in fighting for Bonaparte one was necessarily fighting for France." + +Sebastian held up a warning hand. + +"In England--" he corrected, "in England one may think such things. But +not in France, and still less in Dantzig." + +"If one is an Englishman," replied D'Arragon with a smile, "one may +think them where one likes, and say them when one is disposed. It is one +of the privileges of the nation, monsieur." + +He made the statement lightly, seeing the humour of it with a +cosmopolitan understanding, without any suggestion of the boastfulness +of youth. Desiree noticed that his hair was turning grey at the temples. + +"I did not know," he said, turning to her, "that Charles was in Dantzig, +much less that he was celebrating so happy an occasion. We ran against +each other by accident in the street. It was a lucky accident that +allowed me to make your acquaintance so soon after you have become his +wife." + +"It scarcely seems possible that it should be an accident," said +Desiree. "It must have been the work of fate--if fate has time to think +of such an insignificant person as myself and so small an event as my +marriage in these days." + +"Fate," put in Mathilde in her composed voice and manner, "has come to +Dantzig to-day." + +"Ah!" + +"Yes. You are the second unexpected arrival this afternoon." + +D'Arragon turned and looked at Mathilde. His manner, always grave and +attentive, was that of a reader who has found an interesting book on a +dusty shelf. + +"Has the Emperor come?" he asked. + +Mathilde nodded. + +"I thought I saw something in Charles's face," he said reflectively, +looking back through the open door towards the stairs where Charles had +nodded farewell to them. "So the Emperor is here, in Dantzig?" + +He turned towards Sebastian, who stood with a stony face. + +"Which means war," he said. + +"It always means war," replied Sebastian in a tired voice. "Is he again +going to prove himself stronger than any?" + +"Some day he will make a mistake," said D'Arragon cheerfully. "And then +will come the day of reckoning." + +"Ah!" said Sebastian, with a shake of the head that seemed to indicate +an account so one-sided that none could ever liquidate it. "You are +young, monsieur. You are full of hope." + +"I am not young--I am thirty-one--but I am, as you say, full of hope. I +look to that day, Monsieur Sebastian." + +"And in the mean time?" suggested the man who seemed but a shadow of +someone standing apart and far away from the affairs of daily life. + +"In the mean time one must play one's part," returned D'Arragon, with +his almost inaudible laugh, "whatever it may be." + +There was no foreboding in his voice; no second meaning in the words. He +was open and simple and practical, like the life he led. + +"Then you have a part to play, too," said Desiree, thinking of Charles, +who had been called away at such an inopportune moment, and had gone +without complaint. "It is the penalty we pay for living in one of the +less dull periods of history. He touches your life too." + +"He touches every one's life, mademoiselle. That is what makes him so +great a man. Yes. I have a little part to play. I am like one of the +unseen supernumeraries who has to see that a door is open to allow the +great actors to make an effective entree. I am lent to Russia for the +war that is coming. It is a little part. I have to keep open one small +portion of the line of communication between England and St. Petersburg, +so that news may pass to and fro." + +He glanced towards Mathilde as he spoke. She was listening with an +odd eagerness which he noted, as he noted everything, methodically and +surely. He remembered it afterwards. + +"That will not be easy, with Denmark friendly to France," said +Sebastian, "and every Prussian port closed to you." + +"But Sweden will help. She is not friendly to France." + +Sebastian laughed, and made a gesture with his white and elegant hand, +of contempt and ridicule. + +"And, bon Dieu! what a friendship it is," he exclaimed, "that is based +on the fear of being taken for an enemy." + +"It is a friendship that waits its time, monsieur," said D'Arragon +taking up his hat. + +"Then you have a ship, monsieur, here in the Baltic?" asked Mathilde +with more haste than was characteristic of her usual utterance. + +"A very small one, mademoiselle," he answered. "So small that I could +turn her round here in the Frauengasse." + +"But she is fast?" + +"The fastest in the Baltic, mademoiselle," he answered. "And that is why +I must take my leave--with the news you have told me." + +He shook hands as he spoke, and bowed to Sebastian, whose generation was +content with the more formal salutation. Desiree went to the door, and +led the way downstairs. + +"We have but one servant," she said, "who is busy." + +On the doorstep he paused for a moment. And Desiree seemed to expect him +to do so. + +"Charles and I have always been like brothers--you will remember that +always, will you not?" + +"Yes," she answered with her gay nod. "I will remember." + +"Then good-bye, mademoiselle." + +"Madame," she corrected lightly. + +"Madame, my cousin," he said, and departed smiling. + +Desiree went slowly upstairs again. + + + +CHAPTER IV. THE CLOUDED MOON. + + + + Quand on se mefie on se trompe, quand on ne se mefie pas, on est +trompe. + +Charles Darragon had come to Dantzig a year earlier. He was a +lieutenant in an infantry regiment, and he was twenty-five. Many of his +contemporaries were colonels in these days of quick promotion, when men +lived at such a rate that few of them lived long. But Charles was too +easy-going to envy any man. + +When he arrived he knew no one in Dantzig, had few friends in the army +of occupation. In six months he possessed acquaintances in every street, +and was on terms of easy familiarity with all his fellow-officers. + +"If the army of occupation had more officers like young Darragon," a +town councillor had grimly said to Rapp, "the Dantzigers would soon be +resigned to your presence." + +It seemed that Charles had the gift of popularity. He was open and +hearty, hail-fellow-well-met with the new-comers, who were numerous +enough at this time, quick to understand the quiet men, ready to make +merry with the gay. Regarding himself, he was quite open and frank. + +"I am a poor devil of a lieutenant," he said, "that is all." + +Reserve is fatal to popularity, yet friendship cannot exist without +it. Charles had, it seemed, nothing to hide, and was indifferent to the +secrets of others. It is such people who receive many confidences. + +"But it must go no farther..." a hundred men had said to him. + +"My friend, by to-morrow I shall have forgotten all about it," he +invariably replied, which men remembered afterwards and were glad. + +A certain sort of friendship seemed to exist between Charles Darragon +and Colonel de Casimir--not without patronage on one side and a slightly +constraining sense of obligation on the other. It was de Casimir who +had introduced Charles to Mathilde Sebastian at a formal reception at +General Rapp's. Charles, of course, fell in love with Mathilde, and out +again after half-an-hour's conversation. There was something cold and +calculating about Mathilde which held him at arm's length with as much +efficacy as the strictest duenna. Indeed, there are some maidens who +require no better chaperon for their hearts than their own heads. + +A few days after this introduction Charles met Mathilde and Desiree in +the Langgasse, and he fell in love with Desiree. He went about for +a whole week seeking opportunity to tell her without delay what had +happened to him. The opportunity presented itself before long; for +one morning he saw her walking quickly towards the Kuh-brucke with her +skates swinging from her wrist. It was a sunny, still, winter morning, +such as temperate countries never know. Desiree's eyes were bright +with youth and happiness. The cold air had slightly emphasized the rosy +colour of her cheeks. + +Charles caught his breath at the sight of her, though she did not happen +to perceive him. He called a sleigh and drove to the barracks for his +own skates. Then to the Kuh-brucke, where a reach of the Mottlau was +cleared and kept in order for skating. He overpaid the sleigh-driver and +laughed aloud at the man's boorish surprise. There was no one so happy +as Charles Darragon in all the world. He was going to tell Desiree that +he loved her. + +At first Desiree was surprised, as was only natural. For she had +not thought again of the pleasant young officer introduced to her by +Mathilde. They had not even commented on him after he had made his gay +bow and gone. + +She had of course thought of these things in the abstract when her +busy mind had nothing more material and immediate to consider. She had +probably arranged how some abstract person should some day tell her of +his love and how she should make reply. But she had never imagined the +incident as it actually happened. She had never pictured a youth in a +gay uniform looking down at her with ardent eyes as he skated by her +side through the crisp still air, while the ice sang a high clear song +beneath their feet in accompaniment to his hurried laughing words of +protestation. He seemed to touch life lightly and to anticipate nothing +but happiness. In truth, it was difficult to be tragic on such a +morning. + +These were the heedless days of the beginning of the century, when men +not only threw away their lives, but played ducks-and-drakes with their +chances of happiness in a manner quite incomprehensible to the careful +method of human thought to-day. Charles Darragon lived only in the +present moment. He was in love with her. Desiree must marry him. + +It was quite different from what she had anticipated. She had looked +forward to such a moment with a secret misgiving. The abstract person +of her thoughts had always inspired her with a painful shyness and an +indefinite, breathless fear. But the lover who was here now in the flesh +by her side inspired none of these feelings. On the contrary, she felt +easy and natural and quite at home with him. There was nothing alarming +about his flushed face and laughing eyes. She was not at all afraid of +him. She even felt in some vague way older than he, though he had just +told her that he was twenty-five, and four years her senior. + +She accepted the violets which he had hurriedly bought for her as he +came through the Langenmarkt, but she would not say that she loved him, +because she did not. She was in most ways quite a matter-of-fact person, +and she was of an honest mind. She said she would think about it. She +did not love him now--she knew that. She could not say that she would +not learn to love him some day, but there seemed no likelihood of it at +present. Then he would shoot himself! He would certainly shoot himself +unless she learnt to love him! And she asked "When?" and they both +laughed. They changed the subject, but after a time they came back to +it; which is the worst of love--one always comes back to it. + +Then suddenly he began to assume an air of proprietorship, and burst +into a hundred explanations of what fears he felt for her; for her +happiness and welfare. Her father was absent-minded and heedless. He +was not a fit guardian for her. Was she not the prettiest girl in all +Dantzig--in all the world? Her sister was not fond enough of her to care +for her properly. He announced his intention of seeing her father the +next day. Everything should be done in order. Not a word must be hinted +by the most watchful neighbour against the perfect propriety of their +betrothal. + +Desiree laughed and said that he was progressing rather rapidly. She had +only her instinct to guide her through these troubled waters; which was +much better than experience. Experience in a woman is tantamount to a +previous conviction against a prisoner. + +Charles was grave, however; a rare tribute. He was in love for the +first time, which often makes men quite honest for a brief period--even +unselfish. Of course, some men are honest and unselfish all their lives; +which perhaps means that they remain in love--for the first time--all +their lives. They are rare, of course. But the sort of woman with whom +it is possible to remain in love all through a lifetime is rarer. + +So Charles waylaid Antoine Sebastian the next day as he went out of the +Frauenthor for his walk in the morning sun by the side of the frozen +Mottlau. He was better received than he had any reason to expect. + +"I am only a lieutenant," he said, "but in these days, monsieur, you +know--there are possibilities." + +He laughed gaily as he waved his gloves in the direction of Russia, +across the river. But Sebastian's face clouded, and Charles, who was +quick and sympathetic, abandoned that point in his argument almost +before the words were out of his lips. + +"I have a little money," he said, "in addition to my pay. I assure you, +monsieur, I am not of mean birth." + +"You are an orphan?" said Sebastian curtly. + +"Yes." + +"Of the... Terror?" + +"Yes; I--well, one does not make much of one's parentage in these rough +times--monsieur." + +"Your father's name was Charles--like your own?" + +"Yes." + +"The second son?" + +"Yes, monsieur. Did you know him?" + +"One remembers a name here and there," answered Sebastian, in his stiff +manner, looking straight in front of him. + +"There was a tone in your voice--," began Charles, and, again perceiving +that he was on a false scent, broke off abruptly. "If love can make +mademoiselle happy--," he said; and a gesture of his right hand seemed +to indicate that his passion was beyond the measure of words. + +So Charles Darragon was permitted to pay his addresses to Desiree in the +somewhat formal manner of a day which, upon careful consideration, +will be found to have been no more foolish than the present. He made no +inquiries respecting Desiree's parentage. It was Desiree he wanted, and +that was all. They understood the arts of love and war in the great days +of the Empire. + +The rest was easy enough, and the gods were kind. Charles had even +succeeded in getting a month's leave of absence. They were to spend +their honeymoon at Zoppot, a little fishing-village hidden in the pines +by the Baltic shore, only eight miles from Dantzig, where the Vistula +loses itself at last in the salt water. + +All these arrangements had been made, as Desiree had prepared her +trousseau, with a zest and gaiety which all were invited to enjoy. It is +said that love is an egoist. Charles and Desiree had no desire to keep +their happiness to themselves, but wore it, as it were, upon their +sleeves. + +The attitude of the Frauengasse towards Desiree's wedding was only +characteristic of the period. Every house in Dantzig looked askance upon +its neighbour at this time. Each roof covered a number of contending +interests. + +Some were for the French, and some for the conqueror's unwilling ally, +William of Prussia. The names above the shops were German and Polish. +There are to-day Scotch names also, here as elsewhere on the Baltic +shores. When the serfs were liberated it was necessary to find surnames +for these free men--these Pauls-the-son-of-Paul; and the nobles of +Esthonia and Lithuania were reading Sir Walter Scott at the time. + +The burghers of Dantzig ("They must be made to pay, these rich +Dantzigers," wrote Napoleon to Rapp) trembled for their wealth, and +stood aghast by their empty counting-houses; for their gods had been +cast down; commerce was at a standstill. There were many, therefore, +who hated the French, and cherished a secret love of those bluff British +captains--so like themselves in build, and thought, and slowness of +speech--who would thrash their wooden brigs through the shallow seas, +despite decrees and threats and sloops-of-war, so long as they could lay +them alongside the granaries of the Vistula. Lately the very tolls had +been collected by a French customs service, and the wholesale smuggling, +to which even Governor Rapp--that long-headed Alsatian--had closed his +eyes, was at an end. + +Again, the Poles who looked on Dantzig as the seaport of that great +kingdom of Eastern Europe which was and is no more, had been assured +that France would set up again the throne of the Jagellons and the +Sobieskis. There was a Poniatowski high in the Emperor's service and +esteem. The Poles were for France. + +The Jew, hurrying along close by the wall--always in the shadow--traded +with all and trusted none. Who could tell what thoughts were hidden +beneath the ragged fur cap--what revenge awaited its consummation in the +heart crushed by oppression and contempt? + +Besides these civilians there were many who had a military air within +their civil garb. For the pendulum of war had swung right across from +Cadiz to Dantzig, and swept northwards in its wake the merchants of +death, the men who live by feeding soldiers and rifling the dead. + +All these were in the streets, rubbing shoulders with the gay epaulettes +of the Saxons, the Badeners, the Wurtembergers, the Westphalians, and +the Hessians, who had been poured into Dantzig by Napoleon during the +months when he had continued to exchange courteous and affectionate +letters with Alexander of Russia. For more than a year the broad-faced +Bavarians (who have borne the brunt of every war in Central Europe) had +been peaceably quartered in the town. Half a dozen different tongues +were daily heard in this city of the plain, and no man knew who might +be his friend and who his enemy. For some who were allies to-day were +commanded by their kings to slay each other to-morrow. + +In the wine-cellars and the humbler beer-shops, in the great houses of +the councillors, and behind the snowy lace curtains of the Frauengasse +and the Portchaisengasse a thousand slow Northerners spoke of these +things and kept them in their hearts. A hundred secret societies passed +from mouth to mouth instruction, warning, encouragement. Germany has +always been the home of the secret society. Northern Europe gave birth +to those countless associations which have proved stronger than +kings and surer than a throne. The Hanseatic League, the first of the +commercial unions which were destined to build up the greatest empire of +the world, lived longest in Dantzig. + +The Tugendbund, men whispered, was not dead but sleeping. Napoleon, who +had crushed it once, was watching for its revival; had a whole army of +his matchless secret police ready for it. And the Tugendbund had had its +centre in Dantzig. + +Perhaps, in the Rathskeller itself--one of the largest wine stores in +the world, where tables and chairs are set beneath the arches of the +Exchange, a vast cave under the streets--perhaps here the Tugendbund +still encouraged men to be virtuous and self-denying for no other or +higher purpose than the overthrow of the Scourge of Europe. Here the +richer citizens have met from time immemorial to drink with solemnity +and a decent leisure the wines sent hither in their own ships from the +Rhine, from Greece and the Crimea, from Bordeaux and Burgundy, from +the Champagne and Tokay. This is not only the Rathskeller, but the real +Rathhaus, where the Dantzigers have taken counsel over their afternoon +wine from generation to generation, whence have been issued to all the +world those decrees of probity and a commercial uprightness between +buyer and seller, debtor and creditor, master and man, which reached to +every corner of the commercial world. And now it was whispered that +the latter-day Dantzigers--the sons of those who formed the Hanseatic +League: mostly fat men with large faces and shrewd, calculating eyes; +high foreheads; good solid men, who knew the world, and how to make +their way in it; withal, good judges of a wine and great drinkers, like +that William the Silent, who braved and met and conquered the European +scourge of mediaeval times--it was whispered that these were reviving +the Tugendbund. + +Amid such contending interests, and in a free city so near to several +frontiers, men came and went without attracting undesired attention. +Each party suspected a new-comer of belonging to the other. + +"He scrapes a fiddle," Koch had explained to the inquiring fishwife. And +perhaps he knew no more than this of Antoine Sebastian. Sebastian was +poor. All the Frauengasse knew that. But the Frauengasse itself was +poor, and no man in Dantzig was so foolish at this time as to admit that +he had possessions. + +This was, moreover, not the day of display or snobbery. The king of +snobs, Louis XVI., had died to some purpose, for a wave of manliness had +swept across human thought at the beginning of the century. The world +has rarely been the poorer for the demise of a Bourbon. + +The Frauengasse knew that Antoine Sebastian played the fiddle to gain +his daily bread, while his two daughters taught dancing for that same +safest and most satisfactory of all motives. + +"But he holds his head so high!" once observed the stout and +matter-of-fact daughter of a Councillor. "Why has he that grand manner?" + +"Because he is a dancing-master," replied Desiree with a grave +assurance. "He does it so that you may copy him. Chin up. Oh! how fat +you are." + +Desiree herself was slim enough and as yet only half grown. She did not +dance so well as Mathilde, who moved through a quadrille with the air of +a duchess, and threw into a polonaise or mazurka a quiet grace which was +the envy and despair of her pupils. Mathilde was patient with the slow +and heavy of foot, while Desiree told them bluntly that they were fat. +Nevertheless, they were afraid of Mathilde, and only laughed at Desiree +when she rushed angrily at them, and, seizing them by the arms, danced +them round the room with the energy of despair. + +Sebastian, who had an oddly judicial air, such as men acquire who are +in authority, held the balance evenly between the sisters, and +smiled apologetically over his fiddle towards the victim of Desiree's +impetuosity. + +"Yes," he would reply to watching mothers, who tried to lead him to say +that their daughter was the best dancer in the school: "Yes, Mathilde +puts it into their heads, and Desiree shakes it down to their feet." + +In all matters of the household Desiree played a similar part. She was +up early and still astir after nine o'clock at night, when the other +houses in the Frauengasse were quiet, if there were work to do. + +"It is because she has no method," said Mathilde, who had herself a +well-ordered mind, and that quickness which never needs to hurry. + + + +CHAPTER V. THE WEISSEN ROSS'L. + + + + The moth will singe her wings, and singed return, + Her love of light quenching her fear of pain. + +There are quite a number of people who get through life without +realizing their own insignificance. Ninety-nine out of a hundred persons +signify nothing, and the hundredth is usually so absorbed in the message +which he has been sent into the world to deliver that he loses sight of +the messenger altogether. + +By a merciful dispensation of Providence we are permitted to bustle +about in our immediate little circle like the ant, running hither and +thither with all the sublime conceit of that insect. We pick up, as he +does, a burden which on close inspection will be found to be absolutely +valueless, something that somebody else has thrown away. We hoist it +over obstructions while there is usually a short way round; we fret and +sweat and fume. Then we drop the burden and rush off at a tangent to +pick up another. We write letters to our friends explaining to them what +we are about. We even indite diaries to be read by goodness knows whom, +explaining to ourselves what we have been doing. Sometimes we find +something that really looks valuable, and rush to our particular +ant-heap with it while our neighbours pause and watch us. But they +really do not care; and if the rumour of our discovery reach so far as +the next ant-heap, the bustlers there are almost indifferent, though a +few may feel a passing pang of jealousy. They may perhaps remember our +name, and will soon forget what we discovered--which is Fame. While we +are falling over each other to attain this, and dying to tell each other +what it feels like when we have it, or think we have it, let us pause +for a moment and think of an ant--who kept a diary. + +Desiree did not keep a diary. Her life was too busy for ink. She had had +to work for her daily bread, which is better than riches. Her life had +been full of occupation from morning till night, and God had given her +sleep from night till morning. It is better to work for others than to +think for them. Some day the world will learn to have a greater respect +for the workers than for the thinkers, who are idle, wordy persons, +frequently thinking wrong. + +Desiree remembered the siege and the occupation of Dantzig by French +troops. She was at school in the Jopengasse when the Treaty of +Tilsit--that peace which was nothing but a pause--was concluded. She +had seen Luisa of Prussia, the good Queen who baffled Napoleon. Her +childhood had passed away in the roar of siege-guns. Her girlhood, in +the Frauengasse, had been marked by the various woes of Prussia, by each +successive step in the development of Napoleon's ambition. There were +no bogey-men in the night-nursery at the beginning of the century. One +Aaron's rod of a bogey had swallowed all the rest, and children buried +their sobs in the pillow for fear of Napoleon. There were no ghosts in +the dark corners of the stairs when Desiree, candle in hand, went to bed +at eight o'clock, half an hour before Mathilde. The shadows on the wall +were the shadows of soldiers--the wind roaring in the chimney was +like the sound of distant cannon. When the timid glanced over their +shoulders, the apparition they looked for was that of a little man in a +cocked hat and a long grey coat. + +This was not an age in which the individual life was highly valued. Men +were great to-day and gone to-morrow. Women were of small account. It +was the day of deeds and not of words. + +Desiree had never been oppressed by a sense of her own importance, which +oppression leaves its mark on many a woman's face in these times. She +had not, it would seem, expected much from life; and when much was +given to her she received it without misgivings. She was young and +light-hearted, and she lived in a reckless age. + +She was not surprised when Charles failed to return. The chaise that was +to carry them to Zoppot stood in the Frauengasse on the shady side of +the street in the heat of the afternoon for more than an hour. Then she +ran out and told the driver to go back to his stables. + +"One cannot go for a honeymoon alone," she explained airily to her +father, who was peevish and restless, standing by the window with the +air of one who expects without knowing what to expect. "It is, at all +events, quite clear that there is nothing for me to do but wait." + +She made light of it, and laughed at her father's grave face. Mathilde +said nothing, but her silence seemed to suggest that this was no more +than she had foretold, or at all events foreseen. She was too proud or +too generous to put her thoughts into words. For pride and generosity +are often confounded. There are many who give because they are too proud +to withhold. + +Desiree got her needlework and sat by the open window awaiting Charles. +She could hear the continuous clatter of carts on the quay, and the +voices of the men working in the great granaries across the river. + +The whole city seemed to be astir, and men hurried to and fro in even +the quiet Frauengasse, while the clatter of cavalry and the heavy rumble +of gun carriages could be heard over the roofs from the direction of the +Langenmarkt. There was a sense of hurry in the dusty air. The Emperor +had arrived, and the magic of his name lifted men out of themselves. It +seemed nothing extraordinary to Desiree that her life should be taken up +by this whirlwind, and carried on she knew not whither. + +At dinner-time Charles had not returned. Antoine Sebastian dined at +half-past four, in the manner of Northern Europe; but his daughters +provided his table with the lighter meats of France, which he preferred +to the German cuisine. Sebastian's dinner was an event in the day, +though he ate sparingly enough, and found a mental rather than a +physical pleasure in the ceremonious sequence of courses. + +It was now too late to think of going to Zoppot. After dinner Mathilde +and Desiree prepared the rooms which had been destined for the +occupation of the married pair after the honeymoon. + +"We shall have to omit Zoppot, that is all," said Desiree cheerfully, +and fell to unpacking the bridal clothes which had been so merrily laid +in the trunks. + +At half-past six a soldier brought a hurried note from Charles. + +"I cannot return to-night, as I am about to start for Konigsberg," he +wrote. "It is a commission which I could not refuse if I wished to. You, +I know, would have me go and do my duty." + +There was more which Desiree did not read aloud. Charles had always +found it easy enough to tell Desiree how much he loved her, and was +gaily indifferent to the ears of others. But she seemed to be restrained +by some feeling which had found birth in her heart during her wedding +day. She said nothing of Charles's protestations of love. + +"Decidedly," she said, folding the letter, and placing it in her +work-basket, "Fate is interfering in our affairs to-day." + +She turned to her work again without further complaint, almost with +a sense of relief. Mathilde, whose steady grey eyes saw everything, +penetrating every thought, glanced at her with a suddenly aroused +interest. Desiree herself was half surprised at the philosophy with +which she met this fresh misfortune. + +Antoine Sebastian had never acquired the habit of drinking tea in the +evening, which had found favour in these northern countries bordering +on Russia. Instead, he usually went out at this time to one of the many +wine-rooms or Bier Halles in the town to drink a slow and meditative +glass of beer with such friends as he had made in Dantzig. For he was a +lonely man, whose face was quite familiar to many who looked for a bow +or a friendly salutation in vain. + +If he went to the Rathskeller it was on the invitation of a friend; for +he could not afford to pay the vintage of that cellar, though he drank +the wine with the slow mouthing of a connoisseur when he had it. + +More often than not he took a walk first, passing out of the Frauenthor +on to the quay, where he turned to left or right and made his way back +through one or other of the town gates, by devious narrow streets +to that which is still called the Portchaisengasse though chairs and +carriers have long ceased to pass along it. Here, on the northern +side of the street is an old inn, "Zum weissen Ross'l," with a broken, +ill-carved head of a white horse above the door. Across the face of the +house is written, in old German letters, an invitation: + + Gruss Gott. Tritt ein! + Bring Gluck herein. + +But few seemed to accept it. Even a hundred years ago the White Horse +was behind the times, and fashion sought the wider streets. + +Antoine Sebastian was perhaps ashamed of frequenting so humble a house +of entertainment, where for a groschen he could have a glass of beer. +He seemed to make his way through the narrower streets for some purpose, +changing his route from day to day, and hurrying across the wider +thoroughfares with the air of one desirous to attract but little +attention. He was not alone in the quiet streets, for there were many +in Dantzig at this time who from wealth had fallen to want. Many +counting-houses once noisy with prosperity were now closed and silent. +For five years the prosperous Dantzig had lain crushed beneath the iron +heel of the conqueror. + +It would seem that Sebastian had only waited for the explanation of +Charles's most ill-timed absence to carry out his usual programme. The +clock in the tower of the Rathhaus had barely struck seven when he took +his hat and cloak from the peg near the dining-room door. He was so +absorbed that he did not perceive Papa Barlasch seated just within the +open door of the kitchen. But Barlasch saw him, and scratched his head +at the sight. + +The northern evenings are chill even in June, and Sebastian fumbled with +his cloak. It would appear that he was little used to helping himself in +such matters. Barlasch came out of the kitchen when Sebastian's back +was turned and helped him to put the flowing cloak straight upon his +shoulders. + +"Thank you, Lisa, thank you," said Sebastian in German, without looking +round. By accident Barlasch had performed one of Lisa's duties, and +the master of the house was too deeply engaged in thought to notice +any difference in the handling or to perceive the smell of snuff that +heralded the approach of Papa Barlasch. Sebastian took his hat and went +out closing the door behind him, and leaving Barlasch, who had followed +him to the door, standing rather stupidly on the mat. + +"Absent-minded--the citizen," muttered Barlasch, returning to the +kitchen, where he resumed his seat on a chair by the open door. He +scratched his head and appeared to lapse into thought. But his brain was +slow as were his movements. He had been drinking to the health of the +bride. He thumped himself on the brow with his closed fist. + +"Sacred-name-of-a-thunderstorm," he said. "Where have I seen that face +before?" + +Sebastian went out by the Frauenthor to the quay. Although it was dusk, +the granaries were still at work. The river was full of craft and the +roadway choked by rows and rows of carts, all of one pattern, too big +and too heavy for roads that are laid across a marsh. + +He turned to the right, but found his way blocked at the corner of the +Langenmarkt, where the road narrows to pass under the Grunes Thor. Here +the idlers of the evening hour were collected in a crowd, peering over +each other's shoulders towards the roadway and the bridge. Sebastian +was a tall man, and had no need to stand on tip-toe in order to see the +straight rows of bayonets swinging past, and the line of shakos rising +and falling in unison with the beat of a thousand feet on the hollow +woodwork of the drawbridge. + +The troops had been passing out of the city all the afternoon on the +road to Elbing and Konigsberg. + +"It is the same," said a man standing near to Sebastian, "at the Hohes +Thor, where they are marching out by the road leading to Konigsberg by +way of Dessau." + +"It is farther than Konigsberg that they are going," was the significant +answer of a white-haired veteran who had probably been at Eylau, for he +had a crushed look. + +"But war is not declared," said the first speaker. + +"Does that matter?" + +And both turned towards Sebastian with the challenging air that invites +opinion or calls for admiration of uncommon shrewdness. He was better +clad than they. He must know more than they did. But Sebastian looked +over their heads and did not seem to have heard their conversation. + +He turned back and went another way, by side streets and the little +narrow alleys that nearly always encircle a cathedral, and are still +to be found on all sides of the Marienkirche. At last he came to the +Portchaisengasse, which was quiet enough in the twilight, though he +could hear the tramp of soldiers along the Langgasse and the rumble of +the guns. + +There were only two lamps in the Portchaisengasse, swinging on +wrought-iron gibbets at each end of the street. These were not yet +alight, though the day was fading fast, and the western light could +scarcely find its way between the high gables which hung over the road +and seemed to lean confidentially towards each other. + +Sebastian was going towards the door of the Weissen Ross'l when some +one came out of the hostelry, as if he had been awaiting him within the +porch. + +The new-comer, who was a fat man with baggy cheeks and odd, light blue +eyes--the eyes of an enthusiast, one would say--passed Sebastian, making +a little gesture which at once recommended silence, and bade him turn +and follow. At the entrance to a little alley leading down towards +the Marienkirche the fat man awaited Sebastian, whose pace had not +quickened, nor had his walk lost any of its dignity. + +"Not there to-night," said the man, holding up a thick forefinger and +shaking it sideways. + +"Then where?" + +"Nowhere to-night," was the answer. "He has come--you know that?" + +"Yes," answered Sebastian slowly, "for I saw him." + +"He is at supper now with Rapp and the others. The town is full of his +people. His spies are everywhere. There are two in the Weissen Ross'l +who pretend to be Bavarians. See! There is another--just there." + +He pointed the thick forefinger down the Portchaisengasse where it +widens to meet the Langgasse, where the last remains of daylight, +reflected to and fro between the houses, found freer play than in the +narrow alley where they stood. + +Sebastian looked in the direction indicated. An officer was walking away +from them. A quick observer would have noticed that his spurs made no +noise, and that he carried his sword instead of allowing it to clatter +after him. It was not clear whence he had come. It must have been from a +doorway nearly opposite to the Weissen Ross'l. + +"I know that man," said Sebastian. + +"So do I," was the reply. "It is Colonel de Casimir." + +With a little nod the fat man went out again into the Portchaisengasse +in the direction of the inn, as if he were keeping watch there. + + + +CHAPTER VI. THE SHOEMAKER OF KONIGSBERG. + + + + Chacun ne comprend que ce qu'il trouve en soi. + +Nearly two years had passed since the death of Queen Luisa of Prussia. +And she from her grave yet spake to her people--as sixty years later she +was destined to speak to another King of Prussia, who said a prayer by +her tomb before departing on a journey that was to end in Fontainebleau +with an imperial crown and the reckoning for all time of the seven years +of woe that followed Tilsit and killed a queen. + +Two years earlier than that, in 1808, while Luisa yet lived, a +few scientists and professors of Konigsberg had formed a sort of +Union--vague enough and visionary--to encourage virtue and discipline +and patriotism. And now, in 1812, four years later, the memory of Luisa +still lingered in those narrow streets that run by the banks of the +Pregel beneath the great castle of Konigsberg, while the Tugendbund, +like a seed that has been crushed beneath an iron heel, had spread its +roots underground. + +From Dantzig, the commercial, to Konigsberg, the kingly and the learned, +the tide of war rolled steadily onwards. It is a tide that carries +before it a certain flotsam of quick and active men, keen-eyed, +restless, rising--men who speak with a sharp authority and pay from a +bottomless purse. The arrival of Napoleon in Dantzig swept the first of +the tide on to Konigsberg. + +Already every house was full. The high-gabled warehouses on the +riverside could not be used for barracks, for they too had been crammed +from floor to roof with stores and arms. So the soldiers slept where +they could. They bivouacked in the timber-yards by the riverside. The +country-women found the Neuer Markt transformed into a camp when they +brought their baskets in the early morning, but they met with eager +buyers, who haggled laughingly in half a dozen different tongues. There +was no lack of money, however. + +Cartloads of it were on the road. + +The Neuer Markt in Konigsberg is a square, of which the lower side is a +quay on the Pregel. The river is narrow here. Across it the country is +open. The houses surrounding the quadrangle are all alike--two-storied +buildings with dormer windows in the roof. There are trees in front. In +front of that which is now Number Thirteen, at the right-hand corner, +facing west, sideways to the river, the trees grow quite close to the +windows, so that an active man or a boy might without great risk leap +from the eaves below the dormer window into the topmost branches of the +linden, which here grows strong and tough, as it surely should do in the +fatherland. + +A young soldier, seeking lodgings, who happened to knock at the door of +Number Thirteen less than thirty hours after the arrival of Napoleon at +Dantzig, looked upward through the shady boughs, and noted their growth +with the light of interest in his eye. It would almost seem that the +house had been described to him as that one in the Neuer Markt against +which the lindens grew. For he had walked all round the square between +the trees and houses before knocking at this door, which bore no number +then, as it does to-day. + +His tired horse had followed him meditatively, and now stood with +drooping head in the shade. The man himself wore a dark uniform, white +with dust. His hair was dusty and rather lank. He was not a very tidy +soldier. + +He stood looking at the sign which swung from the doorpost, a relic +of the Polish days. It bore the painted semblance of a boot. For in +Poland--a frontier country, as in frontier cities where many tongues are +heard--it is the custom to paint a picture rather than write a word. So +that every house bears the sign of its inmate's craft, legible alike to +Lithuanian or Ruthenian, Swede or Cossack of the Don. + +He knocked again, and at last the door was opened by a thickly-built +man, who looked, not at his face, but at his boots. As these wanted no +repair he half closed the door again and looked at the newcomer's face. + +"What do you want?" he asked. + +"A lodging." + +The door was almost closed, when the soldier made an odd and, as it +would seem, tentative gesture with his left hand. All the fingers were +clenched, and with his extended thumb he scratched his chin slowly from +side to side. + +"I have no lodging to let," said the bootmaker. But he did not shut the +door. + +"I can pay," said the other, with his thumb still at his chin. He had +quick, blue eyes beneath the shaggy hair that wanted cutting. "I am very +tired--it is only for one night." + +"Who are you?" asked the bootmaker. + +The soldier was a dull and slow man. He leant against the doorpost with +tired gestures before replying. + +"Sergeant in a Schleswig regiment, in charge of spare horses." + +"And you have come far?" + +"From Dantzig without a halt." + +The shoemaker looked him up and down with a doubting eye, as if there +were something about him that was not quite clear and above-board. The +dust and fatigue were, however, unmistakable. + +"Who sent you to me, anyway?" he grumbled. + +"Oh, I do not know," was the half-impatient answer; "the man I lodged +with in Dantzig or another, I forget. It was Koch the locksmith in the +Schmiedegasse. See, I have money. I tell you it is for one night. Say +yes or no. I want to get to bed and to sleep." + +"How much do you pay?" + +"A thaler--if you like. Among friends, one is willing to pay." + +After a short minute of hesitation the shoemaker opened the door wider +and came out. + +"And there will be another thaler for the horse, which I shall have +to take to the stable of the wood-merchant at the corner. Go into the +workshop and sit down till I come." + +He stood in the doorway and watched the soldier seat himself wearily on +a bench in the workshop among the ancient boots, past repair, one would +think, and lean his head against the wall. + +He was half asleep already, and the bootmaker, who was lame, shrugged +his shoulders as he led away the tired horse, with a gesture half of +pity, half of doubting suspicion. Had it suggested itself to his mind, +and had it been within the power of one so halt and heavy-footed to turn +back noiselessly, he would have found his visitor wide-awake enough, +hurriedly opening every drawer and peering under the twine and needles, +lifting every bale of leather, shaking out the very boots awaiting +repair. + +When the dweller in Number Thirteen returned, the soldier was asleep, +and had to be shaken before he would open his eyes. + +"Will you eat before you go to bed?" asked the bootmaker not unkindly. + +"I ate as I came along the street," was the reply. "No, I will go to +bed. What time is it?" + +"It is only seven o'clock--but no matter." + +"No, it is no matter. To-morrow I must be astir by five." + +"Good," said the shoemaker. "But you will get your money's worth. The +bed is a good one. It is my son's. He is away, and I am alone in the +house." + +He led the way upstairs as he spoke, going heavily one step at a time, +so that the whole house seemed to shake beneath his tread. The room was +that attic in the roof which has a dormer window overhanging the linden +tree. It was small and not too clean; for Konigsberg was once a Polish +city, and is not far from the Russian frontier. + +The soldier hardly noticed his surroundings, but sat down instantly, +with the abandonment of a shepherd's dog at the day's end. + +"I will put a stitch in your boots for you while you sleep," said the +host casually. "The thread is rotten, I can see. Look here--and here!" + +He stooped, and with a quick turn of the awl which he carried in his +belt he snapped the sewing at the join of the leg and the upper leather, +bringing the frayed ends of the thread out to view. + +Without answering, the soldier looked round for the boot-jack, lacking +which, no German or Polish bedroom is complete. + +When the bootmaker had gone, carrying the boots under his arm, the +soldier, left to himself, made a grimace at the closed door. Without +boots he was a prisoner in the house. He could hear his host at work +already, downstairs in the shop, of which the door opened to the stairs +and allowed passage to that smell of leather which breeds Radical +convictions. + +The regular "tap-tap" of the cobbler's hammer continued for an hour +until dusk, and all the while the soldier lay dressed on his bed. Soon +after, a creaking of the stairs told of the surreptitious approach of +the unwilling host. He listened outside, and even tried the door, but +found it bolted. The soldier, open-eyed on the bed, snored aloud. At the +sound of the key on the outside of the door he made a grimace again. His +features were very mobile, for Schleswig. + +He heard the bootmaker descend the stairs again almost noiselessly, +and, rising from the bed, he took his station at the window. All the +Langgasse would seem to be eating-houses. The basement, which has a +separate door, gives forth odours of simple Pomeranian meats, and every +other house bears to this day the curt but comforting inscription, "Here +one eats." It was only to be supposed that the bootmaker at the end of +his day would repair for supper to some special haunt near by. + +But the smell of cooking mingling with that of leather told that he was +preparing his own evening meal. He was, it seemed, an unsociable man, +who had but a son beneath his roof, and mostly lived alone. + +Seated near the window, where the sunset light yet lingered, the +Schleswiger opened his haversack, which was well supplied, and finding +paper, pens and ink, fell to writing with one eye watchful of the window +and both ears listening for any movement in the room below. + +He wrote easily with a running pen, and sometimes he smiled as he wrote. +More than once he paused and looked across the Neuer Markt above the +trees and the roofs, towards the western sky, with a sudden grave +wistfulness. He was thinking of some one in the west. It was assuredly +not of war that this soldier wrote. Then, again, his attention would be +attracted to some passer in the street below. He only gave half of his +attention to his letter. He was, it seemed, a man who as yet touched +life lightly; for he was quite young. But, nevertheless, his pen, urged +by only half a mind that had all the energy of spring, flew over the +paper. Sowing is so much easier than reaping. + +Suddenly he threw his pen aside and moved quickly to the window which +stood open. The shoemaker had gone out, closing the door softly behind +him. + +It was to be expected that he would turn to the left, upwards towards +the town and the Langgasse, but it was in the direction of the river +that his footsteps died away. There was no outlet on that side except by +boat. + +It was almost dark now, and the trees growing close to the window +obscured the view. So eager was the lodger to follow the movements of +his landlord that he crept in stocking-feet out on to the roof. By lying +on his face below the window he could just distinguish the shadowy form +of a lame man by the river edge. He was moving to and fro, unchaining a +boat moored to the steps, which are more used in winter when the Pregel +is a frozen roadway than in summer. There was no one else in the Neuer +Markt, for it was the supper hour. + +Out in the middle of the river a few ships were moored: high-prowed, +square-sterned vessels of a Dutch build trading in the Frische Haaf and +in the Baltic. + +The soldier saw the boat steal out towards them. There was no other boat +at the steps or in sight. He stood up on the edge of the roof, and after +carefully measuring his distance, with quick eyes aglow with excitement, +he leapt lightly across the leafy space into the topmost boughs, where +he alighted in a forked branch almost without sound. + +At dawn the next morning, while the shoemaker still slept, the soldier +was astir again. He shivered as he rose, and went to the window, where +his clothes were hanging from a rafter. The water was still dripping +from them. Wrapt in a blanket he sat down by the open window to write +while the morning air should dry his clothes. + +That which he wrote was a long report--sheet after sheet closely +written. And in the middle of his work he broke off to read again the +letter that he had written the night before. With a quick, impulsive +gesture he kissed the name it bore. Then he turned to his work again. + +The sun was up before he folded the papers together. By way of a +postscript he wrote a brief letter. + +"DEAR C.--I have been fortunate, as you will see from the enclosed +report. His Majesty cannot again say that I have been neglectful. I was +quite right. It is Sebastian and only Sebastian that we need fear. Here +they are clumsy conspirators compared to him. I have been in the river +half the night listening at the open stern-window of a Reval pink to +every word they said. His Majesty can safely come to Konigsberg. Indeed, +he is better out of Dantzig. For the whole country is riddled with that +which they call patriotism, and we treason. But I can only repeat what +his Majesty disbelieved the day before yesterday--that the heart of the +ill is Dantzig, and the venom of it Sebastian. Who he really is and +what he is about you must find out how you can. I go forward to-day to +Gumbinnen. The enclosed letter to its address, I beg of you, if only in +acknowledgment of all that I have sacrificed." + +The letter was unsigned, and bore the date, "Dawn, June 10." This and +the report, and that other letter (carefully sealed with a wafer) +which did not deal with war or its alarms, were all placed in one large +envelope. He did not seal it, however, but sat thinking while the sun +began to shine on the opposite houses. Then he withdrew the open letter, +and added a postscript to it: + +"If an attempt were made on N.'s life--I should say Sebastian. If +Prussia were to play us false suddenly, and cut us off from France--I +should say nothing else than Sebastian. He is more dangerous than a +fanatic; for he is too clever to be one." + +The writer shivered and laughed in sheer amusement at his own misery +as he drew on his wet clothes. The shoemaker was already astir, and +presently knocked at his door. + +"Yes, yes," the soldier cried, "I am astir." + +And as his host rattled the door he opened it. He had unrolled his long +cavalry cloak, and wore it over his wet clothes. + +"You never told me your name," said the shoemaker. A suspicious man is +always more suspicious at the beginning of the day. + +"My name," answered the other carelessly. "Oh! my name is Max Brunner." + + + +CHAPTER VII. THE WAY OF LOVE. + + + + Celui qui souffle le feu s'expose a etre brule par les +etincelles. + +It was said that Colonel de Casimir--that guest whose presence +and uniform lent an air of distinction to the quiet wedding in the +Frauengasse--was a Pole from Cracow. Men also whispered that he was in +the confidence of the Emperor. But this must only have been a manner of +speaking. For no man was ever admitted fully into the thoughts of that +superhuman mind. + +De Casimir was left behind in Dantzig when the army moved forward. + +"There will be a great battle," he said, "somewhere near Vilna--and I +shall miss it." + +Indeed, every man was striving to get to the front. He who, himself, had +given a new meaning to human ambition seemed able to inspire not only +Frenchmen but soldiers of every nationality with fire from his own +consuming flame. + +"Yes! madame," said de Casimir; for it was to Desiree that he spoke, +"and your husband is more fortunate than I. He is sure of a staff +appointment. He will be among the first. It will soon be over. To-morrow +war is to be declared." + +They were in the street--not far from the Frauengasse, whence Desiree, +always practical, was hurrying towards the market-place. De Casimir had +seemed idle until he perceived her. + +Desiree made a little movement of horror at the announcement. She did +not know that the fighting had already begun. + +"Ah!" cried de Casimir with a reassuring smile. "You must be of good +cheer. There will be no war at all. I tell you that in confidence. +Russia will be paralyzed. I was going towards the Frauengasse when I +perceived you; to pay my respects to your father, to say a word to you. +Come--you are smiling again. That is right. You were so grave, madame, +as you hurried along with your eyes looking far away. You must not think +of Charles, if the thoughts make you look as you looked then." + +His manner was kind and confidential and easy--inviting in response that +which the confidential always expect, a return in kind. It is either +hit or miss with such people; and de Casimir missed. He saw Desiree draw +back. She was young, and of that clear fairness of skin which seems to +let the thoughts out through the face so that any can read them. That +which her face expressed at that moment was a clear and definite refusal +to confide anything whatsoever in this little dark man who stood in +front of her, looking into her eyes with a deferential and sympathetic +glance. + +"I know for certain," he said, "that Charles was well two days ago, and +that he is highly thought of in high quarters. I can tell you that, at +all events." + +"Thank you," said Desiree. She had nothing against de Casimir. She had +only seen him once or twice, and she knew him to be Charles's friend, +and in some sense his patron. For de Casimir held a high position in +Dantzig. She was quite ready to like him since Charles liked him; but +she intended to do so at her own range. It is always the woman who +measures the distance. + +Desiree made a little movement as if to continue on her way; and de +Casimir instantly stood aside, with a bow. + +"Shall I find your father at home?" he asked. + +"I think so. He was at home when I left," she answered, responding to +his salute with a friendly nod. + +De Casimir watched her go and stood for a moment in reflection, as if +going over in his mind that which had passed between them. + +"I must try the other one," he said to himself as he turned down the +Pfaffengasse. He continued his way at a leisurely pace. At the corner of +the Frauengasse he lingered in the shadow of the linden trees, and while +so doing saw Antoine Sebastian quit the door of No. 36, going in +the opposite direction towards the river, and pass out through the +Frauenthor on to the quay. + +He made a little gesture of annoyance on being told by the servant that +Sebastian was out. After a moment's reflection, he seemed to make up his +mind to ignore the conventionalities. + +"It is merely," he said in his friendly and confidential manner to the +servant, in perfect German, "that I have news from Monsieur Darragon, +the husband of Mademoiselle Desiree. Madame is out--you say. Well, then, +what is to be done?" + +He had a most charming, grave manner of asking advice which few could +resist. + +The servant nodded at him with a twinkle of understanding in her eye. + +"There is Fraulein Mathilde." + +"But... well, ask her if she will do me the honour of speaking to me for +an instant. I leave it to you...." + +"But come in," protested the servant. "Come upstairs. She will see you; +why not?" + +And she led the way upstairs. Papa Barlasch, sitting just within the +kitchen door, where he sat all day doing nothing, glanced upwards +through his overhanging eyebrows at the clink of spurs and the clatter +of de Casimir's sword against the banisters. He had the air of a +watchdog. + +Mathilde was not in the drawing-room, and the servant left the visitor +there alone, saying that she would seek her mistress. There were one or +two books on the tables. One table was rather untidy; it was Desiree's. +A writing-desk stood in the corner of the room. It was locked--and the +lock was a good one. De Casimir was an observant man. He had time +to make this observation, and to see that there were no letters in +Desiree's work-basket; to note the titles of the books and the absence +of name on the flyleaf, and was looking out of the window when the door +opened and Mathilde came in. + +This was a day when women were treated with a great show of deference, +while in reality they had but little voice in the world's affairs. De +Casimir's bow was deeper and more elaborate than would be considered +polite to-day. On standing erect he quickly suppressed a glance of +surprise. + +Mathilde must have expected him. She was dressed in white, and her hair +was tied with a bright ribbon. In her cheeks, usually so pale, was a +little touch of colour. It may have been because Desiree was not near, +but de Casimir had never known until this moment how pretty Mathilde +really was. There was something in her eyes, too, which gripped his +attention. He remembered that at the wedding he had never seen her eyes. +They had always been averted. But now they met his with a troubling +directness. + +De Casimir had a gallant manner. All women commanded his eager +respect, which they could assess at such value as their fancy painted, +remembering that it is for the woman to measure the distance. On the few +occasions of previous encounters, de Casimir had been empresse in his +manner towards Mathilde. As he looked at her, his quick mind ran back to +former meetings. He had no recollection of having actually made love to +her. + +"Mademoiselle," he said, "for a soldier--in time of war--the conventions +may, perhaps, be slightly relaxed. I was told that you were alone--that +your father is out, and yet I persisted--" + +He spread out his hands and laughed appealingly, begging her, it +would seem, to help him out of the social difficulty in which he found +himself. + +"My father will be sorry--" she began. + +"That is hardly the question," he interrupted; "I was thinking of your +displeasure. But I have an excuse, I assure you. I only ask a moment to +tell you that I have heard from Konigsberg that Charles Darragon is in +good health there, and is moving forward with the advance-guard to the +frontier." + +"You are kind to come so soon," answered Mathilde, and there was an odd +note of disappointment in her voice. De Casimir must have heard it, for +he glanced at her again with a gleam of surprise in his eyes. + +"That is my excuse, Mademoiselle," he said with a tentative emphasis, as +if he were feeling his way. He was an opportunist with all the quickness +of one who must live by his wits among others existing on the same +uncertain fare. He saw her flush, and again he hesitated as a wayfarer +may hesitate when he finds an easy road where he had expected to climb a +hill. What was the meaning of it? he seemed to ask himself. + +"Charles does not interest you so much as he interests your sister?" he +suggested. + +"He has never interested me much," she replied indifferently. She did +not ask him to sit down. It would not have been etiquette in an age +when women were by some odd misjudgment considered incapable of managing +their own hearts. + +"Is that because he is in love, Mademoiselle?" inquired de Casimir with +a guarded laugh. + +"Perhaps so." + +She did not look at him. De Casimir had not missed this time. His air +of candid confidence had met with a quick response. He laughed again and +moved towards the door. Mathilde stood motionless, and although she said +no word, nor by any gesture bade him stay, he stopped on the threshold +and turned again towards her. + +"It was my conscience," he said, looking at her over his shoulder, "that +bade me go." + +Her face and her averted eyes asked why, but her straight lips were +silent. + +"Because I cannot claim to be more interesting than Charles Darragon," +he hazarded. "And you, Mademoiselle, confess that you have no tolerance +for a man who is in love." + +"I have no tolerance for a man who is weakened by love. He should be +strengthened and hardened by it." + +"To--?" + +"To do a man's work in the world," said Mathilde coldly. + +De Casimir was standing by the open door. He closed it with his foot. +He was professedly a man alert for the chance of a moment, which he +was content to grasp without pausing to look ahead. Should there be +difficulties yet unperceived, these in turn might present an opportunity +to be seized by the quick-witted. + +"Then you would admit, Mademoiselle," he said gravely, "that there may +be good in a love that fights continually against ambition, and--does +not prevail." + +Mathilde did not answer at once. There was an odd suggestion of +antagonism in their attitude towards each other--not irreconcilable, the +poets tell us, with love--but this is assuredly not the Love that comes +from Heaven and will go back there to live through eternity. + +"Yes," said she at length. + +"Such is my love for you," he said, his quick instinct telling him that +with Mathilde few words were best. + +He only spoke the thoughts of his age; for ambition was the ruling +passion in men's hearts at this time. All who served the Great +Adventurer gave it the first place in their consideration, and de +Casimir only aped his betters. Though oddly enough the only two of +all the great leaders who were to emerge still greater from the coming +war--Ney and Eugene--thought otherwise on these matters. + +"I mean to be great and rich, Mademoiselle," he added after a pause. "I +have risked my life for that purpose half a dozen times." + +Mathilde stood looking across the room towards the window. He could +only see her profile and the straight line of her lips. She too was the +product of a generation in which men rose to dazzling heights without +the aid of women. + +"I should not have troubled you with these details, Mademoiselle," he +said, watching her. His instinct was very keen, for not one woman in +a thousand, even in those days, would have admitted that love was a +detail. "I should not have mentioned it--had you not given me your +views--so strangely in harmony with my own." + +Whatever his nationality, his voice was that of a Pole--rich, musical, +and expressive. He could have made, one would have thought, a very +different sort of love had he wished, or had he been sincere. But he was +an opportunist. This was the sort of love that Mathilde wanted. + +He came a step nearer to her and stood resting on his sword--a lean hard +man who had seen much war. + +"Until you opened my eyes," he said, "I did not know, or did not care to +know, that love, far from being a drag on ambition, may be a help." + +Mathilde made a little movement towards him which she instantly +repressed. The heart is quicker, but the head nearly always has the last +word. + +"Mademoiselle," he said--and no doubt he saw the movement and the +restraint--"will you help me now at the beginning of the war, and listen +to me again at the end of it--if I succeed?" + +After all, he was modest in his demands. + +"Will you help me? Together, Mademoiselle--to what height may we not +rise in these days?" + +There was a ring of sincerity in his voice, and her eyes answered it. + +"How can I help you?" she asked in a doubting voice. + +"Oh, it is a small matter," was the reply. "But it is one in which the +Emperor is personally interested. Such things have a special attraction +for him. The human interest never fails to hold his attention. If I do +well, he will know it and remember me. It is a question, Mademoiselle, +of secret societies. You know that Prussia is riddled with them." + +Mathilde did not answer. He studied her face, which was clean cut and +hard like a marble bust--a good face to hide a secret. + +"It is my duty to watch here in Dantzig and to report to the Emperor. +In serving myself I could also perhaps serve a friend, one who might +otherwise run into danger--who may be in danger while you and I stand +here. For the Emperor strikes hard and quickly. I speak of your father, +Mademoiselle--and of the Tugendbund." + +Still he could not see from the pale profile whether Mathilde knew +anything at all. + +"And if I procure information for you?" asked she at length, in a quiet +and collected voice. + +"You will help me to attain a position such as I could ask--even you--to +share with me. And you would do your father no harm. You would even +render him a service. For all the secret societies in Germany will not +stop Napoleon. It is only God who can stop him now, Mademoiselle. All +men who attempt it will only be crushed beneath the wheels. I might save +your father." + +But Mathilde did not seem to be thinking of her father. + +"I am hampered by poverty," de Casimir said, changing his ground. "In +the old days it did not matter. But now, in the Empire, one must be +rich. I shall be rich--at the end of this campaign." + +Again his voice was sincere, and again her eyes responded. He made a +step forward, and gently taking her hand, he raised it to his lips. + +"You will help me!" he said, and, turning abruptly on his heel, he left +her. + +De Casimir's quarters were in the Langenmarkt. On returning to them, he +took from his despatch-case a letter which he turned over thoughtfully +in his hand. It was addressed to Desiree, and sealed carefully with a +wafer. + +"She may as well have it," he said. "It will be as well that she should +be occupied with her own affairs." + + + +CHAPTER VIII. A VISITATION. + + + + Be wiser than other people if you can, but do not tell them so. + +Whenever Papa Barlasch caught sight of his unwilling host's face, he +turned his own aside with a despairing upward nod. Once or twice, during +the early days of his occupation of the room behind the kitchen in the +Frauengasse, he smote himself sharply on the brow, as if calling upon +his brain to make an effort. But afterwards he seemed to resign himself +to this lapse of memory, and the upward despairing nod gradually lost +intensity until at last he brought himself to pass Antoine Sebastian in +the narrow passage with no more emphatic notice than a scowl. + +"You and I," he said to Desiree, "are the friends. The others--" + +And his gesture seemed to permit the others to go hang if they so +desired. The army had gone forward, leaving Dantzig in that idle +restlessness which holds those who, finding themselves in a house of +sickness, are not permitted entry to the darkened chamber, but must +await the crisis elsewhere. + +There were some busy enough in the commerce that must exist between a +huge army and its base, in the forwarding of war material and stores, in +accommodating the sick and sending out in return those who were to +fill the gaps. But the Dantzigers themselves had nothing to do. Their +prosperous trade was paralyzed. Those who had aught to sell had sold it. +The high-seas and the high-roads were alike blocked by the French. And +rumour, ever busy among those that wait, ran to and fro in the town. + +The Emperor of Russia had been taken prisoner. Napoleon had been +checked at the passage of the Niemen. There had been a great battle at +Gumbinnen, and the French were in full retreat. Vilna had capitulated to +Murat, and the war was at an end. A hundred authentic despatches of the +morning were the subject of contemptuous laughter at the supper-table. + +Lisa heard these tales in the market-place, and told Desiree, who, +as often as not, translated them to Barlasch. But he only held up his +wrinkled forefinger and shook it slowly from side to side. + +"Woman's chatter!" he said. "What is the German for 'magpie'?" + +And on being told the word, he repeated it gravely to Lisa. For he had +not only fulfilled his promise of settling down in the house, but had +assumed therein a distinct and clearly defined position. He was the +counsellor, and from his chair just within the kitchen he gave forth +judgment. + +"And you," he said to Desiree one morning, when household affairs had +taken her to the kitchen, "you are troubled this morning. You have had a +letter from your husband?" + +"Yes--and he is in good health." + +"Ah!" + +Barlasch glared at her beneath his brows, looking her up and down, +noting her quick movements, which had the uncertainty of youth. + +"And now that he is gone," he said, "and that there is war, you are +going to employ yourself by falling in love with him, when you had all +the time before, and did not take advantage of it." + +Desiree laughed at him and made no other answer. While she spoke to Lisa +he sat and watched them. + +"It would be like a woman to do such a thing," he pursued. "They are +so inconvenient--women. They get married for fun, and then one fine +Thursday they find they have missed all the fun, like one who comes late +to the theatre--when the music is over." + +He went to the table and examined the morning marketing, which Lisa +had laid out in preparation for dinner. Of some of her purchases he +approved, but he laughed aloud at a lettuce which had no heart, and at +such a buyer. + +Then Desiree attracted his scrutiny again. + +"Yes," he said, half to himself, "I see it. You are in love. Just +Heaven, I know! I have had them in love with me.... Barlasch." + +"That must have been a long time ago," answered Desiree with her gay +laugh, only giving him half her attention. + +"Yes, it was a century ago. But they were the same then as they are now, +as they always will be--inconvenient. They waited, however, till they +were grown up!" + +And with his ever-ready accusing finger he drew Desiree's attention to +her own slimness. They were left alone for a minute while Lisa answered +a knock at the door, during which time Barlasch sat in grim silence. + +"It is a letter," said Lisa, returning. "A sailor brought it." + +"Another?" said Barlasch, with a gesture of despair. + +"Can you give me news of Charles?" Desiree read, in a writing that was +unknown to her. "I shall wait a reply until midnight on board the +Elsa, lying off the Krahn-Thor." The letter bore the signature, "Louis +d'Arragon." Desiree turned slowly and went upstairs, carrying it folded +small in her closed hand. + +She was alone in the house, for Mathilde was out and her father had not +yet returned from his evening walk. She stood at the head of the stairs, +where the last of the daylight filtered through the barred window, and +read the letter again. Then she turned and gave a slight start to see +Barlasch at the foot of the stairs beckoning to her. He made no attempt +to come up, but stood on the mat like a dog that has been forbidden the +upper rooms. + +"Is it about your father?" he asked, in a hoarse whisper. + +"No!" + +He made a gesture commanding secrecy and silence. Then he went to close +the kitchen door and returned on tip-toe. + +"It is," he explained, "that they are talking of him in the cafes. There +are many to be arrested to-morrow. They say the patron is one of them, +and employs himself in plotting. That his name is not Sebastian at all. +That he is a Frenchman who escaped the guillotine. What do I know? It is +the gossip of the cafes. But I tell it you because we are friends, you +and I. And some day I may want you to do something for me. One thinks +of one's self, eh? It is good to make friends. For some day one may want +them. That is why I do it. I think of myself. An old soldier. Of the +Guard." + +With many gestures of tremendous import, and a face all wrinkled and +twisted with mystery, he returned to the kitchen. + +Mathilde was not to return until late. She had gone to the house of the +old Grafin whose reminiscences had been a fruitful topic at Desiree's +wedding. After dining there she and the Grafin were to go together to +a farewell reception given by the Governor. For Rapp was bound for the +frontier with the rest, and was to go to the war as first aide-de-camp +to the Emperor. + +Mathilde could not be back until ten o'clock. She, who was so quick and +quiet, had been much occupied in social observances lately, and had made +fast friends with the Grafin during the last few days, constantly going +to see her. + +Desiree knew that what Barlasch had repeated as the gossip of the cafes +was in part, if not wholly, true. She and Mathilde had long known that +any mention of France had the instant effect of turning their father +into a man of stone. It was the skeleton in this quiet house that sat at +table with its inmates, a shadowy fourth tying their tongues. The rattle +of its bones seemed to paralyze Sebastian's mind, and at any moment he +would fall into a dumb and stricken apathy which terrified those about +him. At such times it seemed that one thought in his mind had swallowed +all the rest, so that he heard without understanding and saw without +perceiving. + +He was in such a humour when he came back to dinner. He passed Desiree +on the stairs without speaking and went to his room to change his +clothes, for he never relaxed his formal habits. At the dinner-table he +glanced at her as a dog, knowing that he is ill, may be seen to glance +with a secret air at his master, wondering whether he is detected. + +Desiree had always hoped that her father would speak to her when this +humour was upon him and tell her the meaning of it. Perhaps it would +come to-night, when they were alone. There was an unspoken sympathy +existing between them in which Mathilde took no share, which had even +shut out Charles as out of a room where there was no light, into which +Desiree and her father went at times and stood hand-in-hand without +speaking. + +They dined in silence, while Lisa hurried about her duties, oppressed by +a sense of unknown fear. After dinner they went to the drawing-room as +usual. It had been a dull day, with great clouds creeping up from the +West. The evening fell early, and the lamps were already alight. Desiree +looked to the wicks with the eye of experience when she entered the +room. Then she went to the window. Lisa did not always draw the curtains +effectually. She glanced down into the street, and turned suddenly on +her heel, facing her father. + +"They are there," she said. For she had seen shadowy forms lurking +beneath the trees of the Frauengasse. The street was ill-lighted, but +she knew the shadows of the trees. + +"How many?" asked Sebastian, in a dull voice. + +She glanced at him quickly--at his still, frozen face and quiescent +hands. He was not going to rise to the occasion, as he sometimes did +even from his deepest apathy. She must do alone anything that was to be +accomplished to-night. + +The house, like many in the Frauengasse, had been built by a careful +Hanseatic merchant, whose warehouse was his own cellar half sunk beneath +the level of the street. The door of the warehouse was immediately under +the front door, down a few steps below the street, while a few more +steps, broad and footworn, led up to the stone veranda and the level of +the lower dwelling-rooms. A guard placed in the street could thus watch +both doors without moving. + +There was a third door, giving exit from the little room where Barlasch +slept to the small yard where he had placed those trunks which were made +in France. + +Desiree had no time to think. She came of a race of women of a brighter +intelligence than any women in the world. She took her father by the +arm and hastened downstairs. Barlasch was at his post within the kitchen +door. His eyes shone suddenly as he saw her face. It was said of Papa +Barlasch that he was a gay man in battle, laughing and making a hundred +jests, but at other times lugubrious. Desiree saw him smile for the +first time, in the dim light of the passage. + +"They are there in the street," he said; "I have seen them. I thought +you would come to Barlasch. They all do--the women. In here. Leave him +to me. When they ring the bell, receive them yourself--with smiles. They +are only men. Let them search the house if they want to. Tell them he +has gone to the reception with Mademoiselle." + +As he spoke the bell rang just above his head. He looked up at it and +laughed. + +"Ah, ah!" he said, "the fanfare begins." + +He drew Sebastian within and closed the door of his little room. Lisa +had already gone to answer the bell. When she opened the door three +men stepped quickly over the threshold, and one of them, thrusting her +aside, closed the door and turned the key. Desiree, in her white evening +dress, on the bottom step, just beneath the lamp that hung from the +ceiling, made them pause and look at each other. Then one of the three +came towards her, hat in hand. + +"Our duty, Fraulein," he said awkwardly. "We are but obeying orders. A +mere formality. It will all be explained, no doubt, if the householder, +Antoine Sebastian, will put on his hat and come with us." + +"His hat is not there, as you see," answered Desiree. "You must seek him +elsewhere." + +The man shook his head with a knowing smile. "We must seek him in +this house," he said. "We will make it as easy for you as we can, +Fraulein--if you make it easy for us." + +As he spoke he produced a candle from his pocket, and encouraged the +broken wick with his finger-nail. + +"It will make it pleasanter for all," said Desiree cheerfully, "if you +will accept a candlestick." + +The man glanced at her. He was a heavy man, with little suspicious eyes +set close together. He seemed to be concluding that she had outwitted +him--that Sebastian was not in the house. + +"Where are the cellar-stairs?" he asked. "I warn you, Fraulein, it is +useless to conceal your father. We shall, of course, find him." + +Desiree pointed to the door next to that giving entry to the kitchen. It +was bolted and locked. Desiree found the key for them. She not only gave +them every facility, but was anxious that they should be as quick as +possible. They did not linger in the cellar, which, though vast, was +empty; and when they returned, Desiree, who was waiting for them, led +the way upstairs. + +They were rather abashed by her silence. They would have preferred +protestations and argument. Discussion always belittles. The smile +recommended by Papa Barlasch, lurking at the corner of her lips, made +them feel foolish. She was so slight and young and helpless, that a sort +of shame rendered them clumsy. + +They felt more at home in the kitchen when they arrived there, and the +sight of Lisa, sturdy and defiant, reminded them of the authority upon +which Desiree had somehow cast a mystic contempt. + +"There is a door there," said the heavy official, with a brusque return +of his early manner. "Come, what is that door?" + +"That is a little room." + +"Then open it." + +"I cannot," returned Lisa. "It is locked." + +"Aha!" said the man, with a laugh of much meaning. "On the inside, eh?" + +He went to it, and banged on it with his fist. + +"Come," he shouted, "open it and be done." + +There was a short silence, during which those in the kitchen listened +breathlessly. A shuffling sound inside the door made the officer of the +law turn and beckon to his two men to come closer. + +Then, after some fumbling, as of one in the dark, the door was unlocked +and slowly opened. + +Papa Barlasch stood in a very primitive night-apparel within the door. +He had not done things by halves, for he was an old campaigner, and knew +that a thing half done is better left undone in times of war. He noted +the presence of Desiree and Lisa, but was not ashamed. The reason of it +was soon apparent. For Papa Barlasch was drunk, and the smell of drink +came out of his apartment in a warm wave. + +"It is the soldier billeted in the house," explained Lisa, with a +half-hysterical laugh. + +Then Barlasch harangued them in the language of intoxication. If he had +not spared Desiree's feelings, he spared her ears less now; for he was +an ignorant man, who had lived through a brutal period in the world's +history the roughest life a man can lead. Two of the men held him +with difficulty against the wall, while the third hastily searched the +room--where, indeed, no one could well be concealed. + +Then they quitted the house, followed by the polyglot curses of +Barlasch, who was now endeavouring to find his bayonet amidst his +chaotic possessions. + + + +CHAPTER IX. THE GOLDEN GUESS. + + + + The golden guess + Is morning star to the full round of truth. + +Barlasch was never more sober in his life than when he emerged a minute +later from his room, while Lisa was still feverishly bolting the door. +He had not wasted much time at his toilet. In his flannel shirt, his +arms bare to the elbow, knotted and muscular, he looked like some rude +son of toil. + +"One thinks of one's self," he hastened to explain to Desiree, fearing +that she might ascribe some other motive to his action. "Some day the +patron may be in power again, and then he will remember a poor soldier. +It is good to think of the future." + +He shook his head pessimistically at Lisa as belonging to a sex liable +to error: instanced in this case by bolting the door too eagerly. + +"Now," he said, turning to Desiree again, "have you any in Dantzig to +help you?" + +"Yes," she answered rather slowly. + +"Then send for him." + +"I cannot do that." + +"Then go for him yourself," snapped Barlasch impatiently. + +He looked at her fiercely beneath his shaggy eyebrows. + +"It is no use to be afraid," he said; "you are afraid--I see it in your +face. And it is never any use. Before they hammered on that door there, +my legs shook. For I am easily afraid--I. But it is never any use. And +when one opens the door, it goes." + +He looked at her with a puzzled frown, seeking in vain, it may have +been, the ordinary symptoms of fear. She was hesitating but not afraid. +There ran blood in her veins which will for all time be associated by +history with a gay and indomitable courage. + +"Come," he said sharply; "there is nothing else to do." + +"I will go," said Desiree, at length, deciding suddenly to do the one +thing that is left to a woman once or twice in her life--to go to the +one man and trust him. + +"By the back way," said Barlasch, helping her with the cloak that Lisa +had brought, and pulling the hood forward over her face with a jerk. +"Ah, I know that way. The patron is hiding in the yard. An old soldier +looks to the retreat--though the Emperor has saved us that, so far. +Come, I will help you over the wall, for the door is rusted." + +The way, which Barlasch had perceived, led through the room at the back +of the kitchen to a yard, and thence through a door not opened by the +present occupiers of the old house, into a very labyrinth of narrow +alleys running downward to the river and round the tall houses that +stand against the cathedral walls. + +The wall was taller than Barlasch, but he ran at it like a cat, +and Desiree standing below could see the black outline of his limbs +crouching on the top. He stooped down, and grasping her hands, lifted +her by the sheer strength of one arm, balanced her for an instant on the +wall, and then lowered her on the outer side. + +"Run," he whispered. + +She knew the way, and although the night was dark, and these narrow +alleys between high walls had no lamps, Desiree lost no time. The +Krahn-Thor is quite near to the Frauengasse. Indeed, the whole +of Dantzig occupied but a small space between the rivers in those +straitened days. The town was quieter than it had been for months, and +Desiree passed unmolested through the narrow streets. She made her way +to the quay, passing through the low gateway known as the door of the +Holy Ghost, and here found people still astir. For the commerce that +thrives on a northern river is paralyzed all the winter, and feverishly +active when the ice has gone. + +"The Elsa," replied a woman, who had been selling bread all day on the +quay, and was now packing up her stall, "you ask for the Elsa. There is +such a ship, I know. But how can I say which she is? See, they lie right +across the river like a bridge. Besides, it is late, and sailors are +rough men." + +Desiree hurried on. Louis d'Arragon had said that the ship was lying +near to the Krahn-Thor, of which the great hooded roof loomed darkly +against the stars above her. She was looking about her when a man came +forward with the hesitating step of one who has been told to wait the +arrival of some one unknown to him. + +"The Elsa," she said to him; "which ship is it?" + +"Come along with me, Mademoiselle," the man replied; "though I was not +told to look for a woman." + +He spoke in English, which Desiree hardly understood; for she had never +heard it from English lips, and looked for the first time on one of that +race upon which all the world waited now for salvation. For the +English, of all the nations, were the only men who from the first had +consistently defied Napoleon. + +The sailor led the way towards the river. As he passed the lamp burning +dimly above some steps, Desiree saw that he was little more than a boy. +He turned and offered her his hand with a shy laugh, and together they +stood at the bottom of the steps with the water lapping at their feet. + +"Have you a letter," he said, "or will you come on board?" + +Then perceiving that she did not understand, he repeated the question in +German. + +"I will come on board," she answered. + +The Elsa was lying in the middle of the river, and the boat into which +Desiree stepped shot across the water without sound of oars. The sailor +was paddling it noiselessly at the stern. Desiree was not unused to +boats, and when they came alongside the Elsa she climbed on board +without help. + +"This way," said the sailor, leading her towards the deckhouse where +a light burned dimly behind red curtains. He knocked at the door and +opened it without awaiting a reply. In the little cabin two men sat at a +table, and one of them was Louis d'Arragon dressed in the rough clothes +of a merchant seaman. He seemed to recognize Desiree at once, though she +still stood without the door, in the darkness. + +"You?" he said in surprise. "I did not expect you, madame. You want me?" + +"Yes," answered Desiree, stepping over the combing. Louis's companion, +who was also a sailor, coarsely clad, rose and, awkwardly taking off his +cap, hurried to the door, murmuring some vague apology. It is not always +the roughest men who have the worst manners towards women. + +He closed the door behind him, leaving Desiree and Louis looking at each +other by the light of an oil lamp that flickered and gave forth a greasy +smell. The little cabin was smoke-ridden, and smelt of ancient tar. It +was no bigger than the table in the drawing-room in the Frauengasse, +across which he had bowed to her in farewell a few days earlier, little +knowing when and where they were to meet again. For fate can always turn +a surprise better than the human fancy. + +Behind the curtain, the window stood open, and the high, clear song of +the wind through the rigging filled the little cabin with a continuous +minor note of warning which must have been part of his life; for he must +have heard it, as all sailors do, sleeping or waking, night and day. + +He was probably so accustomed to it that he never heeded it. But it +filled Desiree's ears, and whenever she heard it in after-life, in +memory this moment came again to her, and she looked back to it, as a +traveller may look back to a milestone at a cross-road, and wonder where +his journey might have ended had he taken another turning. + +"My father," she said quickly, "is in danger. There is no one else in +Dantzig to whom we can turn, and--" + +She paused. What was she going to add? She hesitated, and then was +silent. There was no reason why she should have elected to come to him. +At all events she gave none. + +"I am glad I was in Dantzig when it happened," he said, turning to take +up his cap, which was of rough dark fur, such as seamen wear even in +summer at night in the Northern seas. + +"Come," he added, "you can tell me as we go ashore." + +But they did not speak while the sailor sculled the boat to the steps. +On the quay they would probably pass unnoticed, for there were many +strange sailors at this time in Dantzig, and Louis d'Arragon might +easily be mistaken for one of the French seamen who had brought stores +by sea from Bordeaux and Brest and Cherbourg. + +"Now tell me," he said, as they walked side by side; and in voluble +French, Desiree launched into her story. It was rather incoherent, by +reason, perhaps, of its frankness. + +"Stop--stop," he interrupted gravely, "who is Barlasch?" + +Louis walked rather slowly in his stiff sea-boots at her side, and she +instinctively spoke less rapidly as she explained the part that Barlasch +had played. + +"And you trust him?" + +"Of course," she answered. + +"But why?" + +"Oh, you are so matter-of-fact," she exclaimed; "I do not know. Because +he is trustworthy, I suppose." + +She continued the story, but suddenly stopped and looked up at him under +the shadow of her hood. + +"You are silent," she said. "Do you know something about my father of +which I am ignorant? Is that it?" + +"No," he answered, "I am trying to follow--that is all. You leave so +much to my imagination." + +"But I have no time to explain things," she protested. "Every moment +is of value. I will explain all those things some other time. At this +moment all I can think of is my father and the danger he is in. If it +had not been for Barlasch, he would have been in prison by now. And as +it is, the danger is only half averted. For he, himself, is so little +help. All must be done for him. He will do nothing for himself while +this humour is upon him; you understand?" + +"Partly," he answered slowly. + +"Oh!" she exclaimed half-impatiently, "one sees that you are an +Englishman." + +And she found time, even in her hurry, to laugh. For she was young +enough to float buoyant upon that sea of hope which ebbs in the course +of years and leaves men stranded on the hard facts of life. + +"You forget," he said in self-defence. + +"I forget what?" + +"That a week ago I had never seen Dantzig, or your father, or your +sister, or the Frauengasse. A week ago I did not know that there was +anybody called Sebastian in the world--and did not care." + +"Yes," she admitted thoughtfully, "I had forgotten that." + +And they walked on in silence, a long way, till they came to the Gate of +the Holy Ghost. + +"But you can help him to escape?" she said at length, as if following +the course of her own thoughts. + +"Yes," he answered, and that was all. + +They passed through the smaller streets in silence, and Desiree led the +way into a narrow alley running between the street of the Holy Ghost and +the Frauengasse. + +"There is the wall to be climbed," she said; but, as she spoke, the door +giving exit to the alley was cautiously opened by Barlasch. + +"A little oil," he whispered, "and it was soon done." + +The yard was dark within, for there might be watchers at any of the +windows above them in the pointed gables that made patterns against the +star-lit sky. + +"All is well," said Barlasch; "those sons of dogs have not returned, and +the patron is waiting in the kitchen, cloaked and ready for a journey. +He has collected himself--the patron." + +He led the way through his own room, which was dark, save for a shaft +of lamp-light coming from the kitchen. He looked back keenly at Louis +d'Arragon. + +"Salut!" he growled, scowling at his boots. "A sailor," he muttered +after a pause. "Good. She has her wits at the top of the basket--that +child." + +Desiree was throwing back her hood and looking at her father with a +reassuring smile. + +"I have brought Monsieur d'Arragon," she said, "to help us." + +For Sebastian has not recognized the new-comer. He now bowed in his +stiff way, and began a formal apology, which D'Arragon cut short with a +quick gesture. + +"It is the least I could do," he said, "in the absence of Charles. Have +you money?" + +"Yes--a little." + +"You will require money and a few clothes. I can get you a passage to +Riga or to Helsingborg to-night. From there you can communicate with +your daughter. Events will follow each other rapidly. One never knows +what a week may bring forth in time of war. It may be safe for you to +return soon. Come, monsieur, we must go." + +Sebastian made a gesture with his outspread arms, half of protestation, +half of acquiescence. It was plain that he had no sympathy with these +modern, hurried methods of meeting the emergencies of daily life. A +valise, packed and strapped, lay on the table. D'Arragon weighed it in +his hand, and then lifted it to his shoulder. + +"Come, monsieur," he repeated leading the way through Barlasch's room to +the yard. "And you," he added, addressing himself to that soldier, "shut +the door behind us." + +With another gesture of protest Sebastian gathered his cloak round him +and followed. D'Arragon had taken Desiree so literally at her word +that he allowed her father no time for hesitation, nor a moment to say +farewell. + +She was alone in the kitchen before she had realized that they were +going. In a minute Barlasch returned. She could hear him setting in +order the room which had been hurriedly disorganized in order to open +the door leading to the yard, where her father had concealed himself. He +was muttering to himself as he lifted the furniture. + +Coming back into the kitchen, he found Desiree standing where he had +left her. Glancing at her, he scratched his grey head in a plebeian way, +and gave a little laugh. + +"Yes," he said, pointing to the spot where D'Arragon had stood. "That +was a man, that you fetched to help us--a man. It makes a difference +when such as that goes out of the room--eh?" + +He busied himself in the kitchen, setting in order that which remained +of the mise en scene of his violent reception of the secret police. +Suddenly he turned in his emphatic manner, and threw out his rugged +forefinger to hold her attention. + +"If there had been some like that in Paris, there would have been no +Revolution. Za-za, za-za!" he concluded, imitating effectively the +buzz of many voices in an assembly. "Words and not deeds," Barlasch +protested. Whereas to-night, he clearly showed by two gestures, they had +met a man of deeds. + + + +CHAPTER X. IN DEEP WATER. + + + + Le coeur humain est un abime qui trompe tous les calculs. + +It is to be presumed that Colonel de Casimir met friends at the +reception given by Governor Rapp in the great rooms of the Rathhaus. +For there were many Poles present, and not a few officers of other +nationalities. + +The army indeed that set forth to conquer Russia was not a +French-speaking army. Less than half of the regiments were of that +nationality, while Italians, Bavarians, Saxons, Wurtembergers, +Westphalians, Prussians, Swiss, and Portuguese went gaily forward on the +great venture. There were soldiers from the numerous petty states of the +German Confederation which acknowledged Napoleon as their protector, +for the good reason that they could not protect themselves against him. +Finally, there were those Poles who had fought in Spain for Napoleon, +hoping that in return he would some day set the ancient kingdom upon its +feet among the nations. Already the whisperers pointed to Davoust as the +future king of the new Poland. + +Many present at the farewell reception of the Governor carried a sword, +though they were the merest civilians, plotting, counter-plotting, +and whispering a hundred rumours. Perhaps Rapp himself, speaking bluff +French with a German accent, was as honest as any man in the room, +though he lacked the polish of the Parisian and had not the subtlety of +the Pole. Rapp was not a shining light in these brilliant circles. He +was a Governor not for peace, but for war. His day was yet to come. + +Such men as de Casimir shrugged their supple shoulders at his simple +talk. They spoke of him half-contemptuously as of one who had had a +thousand chances and had never taken them. He was not even rich, and he +had handled great sums of money. He was only a General, and he had slept +in the Emperor's tent--had had access to him in every humour. He might +do the same again in the coming campaign. He was worth cultivating. De +Casimir and his like were full of smiles which in no wise deceived the +shrewd Alsatian. + +Mathilde Sebastian was among the ladies to whom these brilliant warriors +paid their uncouth compliments. Perhaps de Casimir was aware that her +measuring eyes followed him wherever he went. He knew, at all events, +that he could hold his own amid these adventurers, many of whom had +risen from the ranks; while others, from remote northern States, had +birth but no manners at all. He was easy and gay, carrying lightly that +subtle air of distinction which is vouchsafed to many Poles. + +"Here to-day, Mademoiselle, and gone to-morrow," he said. "All these +eager soldiers. And who can tell which of us may return?" + +If he had expected Mathilde to flinch at this reminder of his calling, +he was disappointed. Her eyes were hard and bright. She had had so few +chances of moving amidst this splendour, of seeing close at hand the +greatness which Napoleon shed around him as the sun its rays. She was +carried away by the spirit of the age. Anything was better, she felt, +than obscurity. + +"And who can tell," whispered de Casimir with a careless and confident +laugh, "which of us shall come back rich and great?" + +This brought the glance from her dark eyes for which his own lay +waiting. She was certainly beautiful, and wore the difficult dress of +that day with assurance and grace. She possessed something which the +German ladies about her lacked; something which many suddenly lack when +a Frenchwoman is near. + +His manner, half respectful, half triumphant, betrayed an understanding +to which he did not refer in words. She had bestowed some favour upon +him--had acceded to some request. He hoped for more. He had overstepped +some barrier. She, who should have measured the distance, had allowed +him to come too close. The barriers of love are one-sided; there is no +climbing back. + +"A hundred envious eyes are watching me," he said in an undertone as he +passed on; "I dare not stay longer. I am on duty to-night." + +She bowed and watched him go. She was, it would seem, aware of that +fallen barrier. She had done nothing, had permitted nothing from +weakness. There was no weakness at all perhaps in Mathilde Sebastian. +She had the quiet manner of a skilled card-player with folded cards laid +face down upon the table, who knows what is in her hand and is waiting +for the foe to lead. + +De Casimir did not see her again. In such a throng it would have been +difficult to find her had he so desired. But, as he had told her, he was +on duty to-night. There were to be a hundred arrests before dawn. Many +who were laughing and talking with the French officers to-night were +already in the grasp of Napoleon's secret police, and would drive +straight from the door of the Rathhaus to the town prison or to the old +Watch-house in the Portchaisengasse. Others, moving through the great +rooms with a high head, were already condemned out of their own bureaux +and escritoires now being rifled by the Emperor's spies. + +The Emperor himself had given the order, before quitting Dantzig to take +command of the maddest and greatest enterprise conceived by the mind +of man. There was nothing above the reach of his mind, it seemed, and +nothing too low for him to bend down and touch. Every detail had been +considered by himself. He was like a man who, having an open wound on +his back, attends to it hurriedly before showing an undaunted face to +the enemy. + +His inexorable finger had come down on the name of Antoine Sebastian, +figuring on all the secret reports--first in many. + +"Who is this man?" he asked, and none could answer. + +He had gone to the frontier without awaiting the solution to the +question. Such was his method now. He had so much to do that he could +but skim the surface of his task. For the human mind, though it be +colossal, can only work within certain limits. The greatest orator in +the world can only move his immediate hearers. Those beyond the inner +circle catch a word here and there, and imagination supplies the rest or +improves upon it. But those in the farthest gallery hear nothing and see +a little man gesticulating. + +De Casimir was not entrusted with the execution of the Emperor's orders. +As a member of General Rapp's staff, resident in Dantzig since the +city's occupation by the French, he had been called upon to make +exhaustive reports upon the feeling of the burghers. There were many +doubtful cases. De Casimir did not pretend to be better than his +fellows. To some he had sold the benefit of the doubt. Some had paid +willingly enough for their warning. Others had put off the payment; for +there were many Jews, then as now, in Dantzig; slow payers requiring +something stronger than a threat to make them disburse. + +De Casimir therefore quitted the Rathhaus among the first to go, and +walked through the busy streets to his rooms in the Langenmarkt, +where he not only lived but had a small office to which orderlies and +aides-de-camp came by day or night. Two sentries kept guard on the +pavement. Since the spring, this office had been one of the busiest +military posts in Dantzig. Its doors were open at all hours, and in +truth many of de Casimir's assistants preferred to transact their +business in the dark. + +There might be some recalcitrant debtor driven by stress of circumstance +to clear his conscience to-night. It would be as well, de Casimir +thought, to be at one's post. Nor was he mistaken. Though it was only +ten o'clock, two men were awaiting his return, and, their business +despatched, de Casimir deemed it wise to send away his assistants. +Immediately after they had gone a woman came. She was half distracted +with fear, and the tears ran down her pallid cheeks. But she dried them +at the mention of de Casimir's price, and fell to abusing him. + +"If your husband is innocent, there is all the more reason why he should +be grateful to me for warning him," he said, with a smile. And at last +the lady paid and went away. + +The town clocks had struck eleven before another footstep on the +pavement made de Casimir raise his head. He did not actually expect any +one, but a certain surreptitiousness in the approach of this visitor, +and the low knock on the door, made him suspect that this was grist for +his mill. + +He opened the door and, seeing that it was a woman, stepped back. When +she had entered, he closed the door while she stood watching him in the +dark passage, beneath the shadow of her hood. Knowing the value of such +small details, he locked the door rather ostentatiously and dropped the +key into his pocket. + +"And now, madame," he said reassuringly, as he followed his visitor into +the room where a shaded lamp lighted his writing-table. She threw back +her hood, and it was Mathilde! The surprise on de Casimir's face was +genuine enough. Romance could not have brought about this visit, nor +love be its motive. + +"Something has happened," he said, looking at her doubtfully. + +"Where is my father?" was the reply. + +"Unless there has been some mistake," he answered glibly, "he is at home +in bed." + +She smiled contemptuously into his innocent face. + +"There has been a mistake," she said; "they came to arrest him +to-night." + +De Casimir made a gesture of anger and seemed to be mentally assigning a +punishment to some blunderer. + +"And?" he asked, without looking at her. + +"And he escaped." + +"For the moment?" + +"No; he has left Dantzig." + +Something in her voice--the cold note of warning--made him glance +uneasily at her. This was not a woman to be deceived, and yet she was +womanly enough to fear deception and to resent her own fears, visiting +her anger on any who aroused them. In the flash of an eye he understood +her, and forestalled the words that were upon her lips. + +"And I promised that he should come to no harm--I know that," he said +quickly. "At first I thought that it must have been a blunder, but on +reflection I am sure that it is not. It is the Emperor. He must have +given the order for the arrest himself, behind my back. That is his way. +He trusts no one. He deceives those nearest to him. I made out the list +of those to be arrested to-night, and your father's name was not on it. +Do you believe me? Mademoiselle, do you believe me?" + +It was only natural in such a man to look for disbelief. The air he +breathed was infected by suspicion. No deception was too small for the +great man whom he served. Mathilde made no answer. + +"You came here to accuse me of having deceived you," he said rather +anxiously. "Is that it?" + +She nodded without meeting his eyes. It was not the truth. She had +come to hear his defence, hoping against hope that she might be able to +believe him. + +"Mathilde," he asked slowly, "do you believe me?" + +He came a step nearer, looking down at her averted face, which was oddly +white. Then suddenly she turned, without a sound, without lifting her +eyes--and was in his arms. It seemed that she had done it against her +will, and it took him by surprise. He had thought that she was trying +to attract his love because she believed in his capability to make his +fortune like so many soldiers of France; that she was only playing a +woman's subtle game. And, after all, she was like the rest--a little +cleverer, a little colder--but, like the rest. + +While his arms were still round her, his quick mind leapt forward to the +future, wondering already to what end this would lead them. For a moment +he was taken aback. He was over the last of those barriers which are so +easy from the outside and unclimbable from within. She had thrust into +his hands a power greater than, for the moment, he knew how to wield. It +was characteristic of him to think first whither it would lead him, and +next how he could turn it to good account. + +Some instinct told him that this was a different love from any that he +had met before. The same instinct made him understand that it was crying +aloud to be convinced; and, oddly enough, he had told her the truth. + +"See," he said, "here is a copy of the list, and your father's name is +not on it. See, here is Napoleon's letter, expressing satisfaction with +my work here and in Konigsberg, where I have been served by an agent +of my own choosing. Many have climbed to a throne with less than that +letter for their first step. See...!" he opened another drawer. It was +full of money. + +"See, again!" he said with a low laugh, and from an iron chest he +took two or three bags which fell upon the table with the discreet +unmistakable chink of gold. "That is the Emperor's. He trusts me, you +see. These bags are mine. They are to be sent back to France before I +follow the army to Russia. What I have told you is true, you see." + +It was an odd way of wooing, but this man rarely made a mistake. There +are many women who, like Mathilde Sebastian, are readier to love success +than console failure. + +"See," he said, after a moment's hesitation, opening another drawer +in his writing-table, "before I went away I had intended to ask you to +remember me." + +As he spoke he drew a jewel-case from under some papers, and slowly +opened it. He had others like it in the drawer; for emergencies. + +"But I never hoped," he went on, "to have an opportunity of seeing you +thus alone--to ask you never to forget me. You permit me?" + +He clasped the diamonds round her throat, and they glittered on the +poor, cheap dress, which was the best she had. She looked down at them +with a catching breath, and for an instant the glitter was reflected in +her eyes. + +She had come asking for reassurance, and he gave her diamonds; which +is an old tale told over and over again. For in human love we have to +accept not what we want, but what is given to us. + +"No one in Dantzig," he said, "is so glad to hear that your father has +escaped as I am." + +And, with the glitter still lurking in her dark-grey eyes, she believed +him. He drew her cloak round her, and gently brought her hood over her +hair. + +"I must take you home," he said tenderly, "without delay. And as we go +through the streets you must tell me how it happened, and how you were +able to come to me." + +"Desiree was not asleep," she answered; "she was waiting for me to +return, and told me at once. Then she went to bed, and I waited until +she was asleep. It was she who managed the escape." + +De Casimir, who was locking the drawers of his writing-table, glanced up +sharply. + +"Ah! but not alone?" + +"No--not alone. I will tell you as we go through the streets." + + + +CHAPTER XI. THE WAVE MOVES ON. + + + + La meme fermete qui sert a resister a l'amour sert aussi a le +rendre violent et durable. + +It is only in war that the unexpected admittedly happens. In love and +other domestic calamities there is always a relative who knew it all the +time. + +The news that Napoleon was in Vilna, hastily evacuated by the Russians +in full retreat, came as a surprise and not to all as a pleasant one, in +Dantzig. + +It was Papa Barlasch who brought the tidings to the Frauengasse, one +hot afternoon in July. He returned before his usual hour, and sent Lisa +upstairs, with a message given in dumb show and interpreted by her into +matter-of-fact German, that he must see the young ladies without delay. +Far back in the great days of the monarchy, Papa Barlasch must have +been a little child in a peasant's hut on those Cotes du Nord where +they breed a race of Frenchmen startlingly similar to the hereditary foe +across the Channel, where to this day the men kick off their sabots at +the door and hold that an honest labourer has no business under a roof +except in stocking-feet and shirt-sleeves. + +Barlasch had never yet been upstairs in the Sebastians' house, and +deemed it only respectful to the ladies to take off his boots on +the mat, and prowl to the kitchen in coarse blue woollen stockings, +carefully darned by himself, under the scornful immediate eye of Lisa. + +He was in the kitchen when Mathilde and Desiree, in obedience to his +command, came downstairs. The floor in one corner of the room was +littered with his belongings; for he never used the table. "He takes +up no more room than a cat," Lisa once said of him. "I never fall over +him." + +"She leaves her greasy plates here and there," explained Barlasch in +return. "One must think of one's self and one's uniform." + +He was in his stocking-feet with unbuttoned tunic when the two girls +came to him. + +"Ai, ai, ai," he said, imitating with his two hands the galloping of a +horse. "The Russians," he explained confidentially. + +"Has there been a battle?" asked Desiree. + +And Barlasch answered "Pooh!" not without contempt for the female +understanding. + +"Then what is it?" she inquired. "You must remember we are not +soldiers--we do not understand those manoeuvres--ai, ai, like that." + +And she copied his gesture beneath his scowling contempt. + +"It is Vilna," he said. "That is what it is. Then it will be Smolensk, +and then Moscow. Ah, ah! That little man!" + +He turned and took up his haversack. + +"And I--I have my route. It is good-bye to the Frauengasse. We have been +friends. I told you we should be. It is good-bye to these ladies--and to +that Lisa. Look at her!" + +He pointed with his curved and derisive finger into Lisa's eyes. And in +truth the tears were there. Lisa was in heart and person that which +is comprehensively called motherly. She saw perhaps some pathos in the +sight of this rugged man--worn by travel, bent with hardship and many +wounds, past his work--shouldering his haversack and trudging off to the +war. + +"The wave moves on," he said, making a gesture, and a sound illustrating +that watery progress. "And Dantzig will soon be forgotten. You will be +left in peace--but we go on to--" He paused and shrugged his shoulders +while attending to a strap. "India or the devil," he concluded. + +"Colonel Casimir has gone," he added in what he took to be an aside to +Mathilde. Which made her wonder for a moment. "I saw him depart with his +staff soon after daybreak. And the Emperor has forgotten Dantzig. It is +safe enough for the patron now. You can write him a letter to tell him +so. Tell him that I said it was safe for him to return quietly here, and +live in the Frauengasse--I, Barlasch." + +He was ready now, and, buttoning his tunic, he fixed the straps across +his chest, looking from one to the other of the three women watching +him, not without some appreciation of an audience. Then he turned to +Desiree, who had always been his friend, with whom he now considered +that he had the soldier's bond of a peril passed through together. + +"The Emperor has forgotten Dantzig," he repeated, "and those against +whom he had a grudge. But he has also forgotten those who are in prison. +It is not good to be forgotten in prison. Tell the patron that--to put +it in his pipe and smoke it. Some day he may remember an old soldier. +Ah, one thinks of one's self." + +And beneath his bushy brows he looked at her with a gleam of cunning. +He went to the door and, turning there, pointed the finger of scorn at +Lisa, stout and tearful. He gave a short laugh of a low-born contempt, +and departed without further parley. + +On the doorstep he paused to put on his boots and button his gaiters, +stooping clumsily with a groan beneath his burden of haversack and kit. +Desiree, who had had time to go upstairs to her bedroom, ran after him +as he descended the steps. She had her purse in her hand, and she thrust +it into his, quickly and breathlessly. + +"If you take it," she said, "I shall know that we are friends." + +He took it ungraciously enough. It was a silken thing with two small +rings to keep the money in place, and he looked at it with a grimace, +weighing it in his hand. It was very light. + +"Money," he said. "No, thank you. To get drink with, and be degraded and +sent to prison. Not for me, madame. No, thank you. One thinks of one's +career." + +And with a gruff laugh of worldly wisdom he continued his way down +the worn steps, never looking back at her as she stood in the sunlight +watching him, with the purse in her hand. + +So in his old age Papa Barlasch was borne forward to the war on that +human tide which flooded all Lithuania, and never ebbed again, but sank +into the barren ground, and was no more seen. + +As the slow autumn approached, it became apparent that Dantzig no longer +interested the watchers. Vilna became the base of operations. Smolensk +fell, and, most wonderful of all, the Russians were retiring on Moscow. +Dantzig was no longer on the route. For a time it was of the world +forgotten, while, as Barlasch had predicted, free men continued at +liberty, though their names had an evil savour, while innocent persons +in prison were left to rot there. + +Desiree continued to receive letters from her husband, full of love and +war. For a long time he lingered at Konigsberg, hoping every day to be +sent forward. Then he followed Murat across the Niemen, and wrote of +weary journeys over the rolling plains of Lithuania. + +Towards the end of July he mentioned curtly the arrival of de Casimir at +head-quarters. + +"With him came a courier," wrote Charles, "bringing your dead letter. I +don't believe you love me as I love you. At all events, you do not seem +to tell me that you do so often as I want to tell you. Tell me what you +do and think every moment of the day...." And so on. Charles seemed +to write as easily as he talked, and had no difficulty in setting forth +his feelings. "The courier is in the saddle," he concluded. "De Casimir +tells me that I must finish. Write and tell me everything. How is +Mathilde? And your father? Is he in good health? How does he pass his +day? Does he still go out in the evening to his cafe?" + +This seemed to be an afterthought, suggested perhaps by conversation +passing in the room in which he sat. + +The other exile, writing from Stockholm, was briefer in his +communications. + +"I am well," wrote Antoine Sebastian, "and hope to arrive soon after you +receive this. Felix Meyer, the notary, has instructions to furnish you +with money for household expenses." + +It would appear that Sebastian possessed other friends in Dantzig, who +had kept him advised of all that passed in the city. + +For neither Mathilde nor Desiree had obeyed Barlasch's blunt order to +write to their father. They did not know whither he had fled, neither +had they received any communication giving an address or a hint as to +his future movements. It would appear that the same direct and laconic +mind which had carried out his escape deemed it wiser that those left +behind should be in no position to furnish information. + +In fairness to Barlasch, Desiree had made little of that soldier's part +in Sebastian's evasion, and Mathilde displayed small interest in such +details. She rather fastened, however, upon the assistance rendered by +Louis d'Arragon. + +"Why did he do it?" she asked. + +"Oh, because I asked him," was the reply. + +"And why did you ask him?" + +"Who else was there to ask?" returned Desiree, which was indeed +unanswerable. + +Perhaps the question had been suggested to her by de Casimir, who, on +learning that Louis d'Arragon had helped her father to slip through the +Emperor's fingers, had asked the same in his own characteristic way. + +"What could he hope to gain by doing it?" he had inquired as he +walked by Mathilde's side, along the Pfaffengasse. And he made other +interrogations respecting D'Arragon which Mathilde was no more able to +satisfy, as he accompanied her to the Frauengasse. + +Since that time the dancing-lessons had been resumed to the music of a +hired fiddler, and Desiree had once more taken up her household task of +making both ends meet. She approached the difficulties as impetuously +as ever, and danced the stout pupils round the room with undiminished +energy. + +"It seems no good at all, your being married," said one of these +breathlessly, while Desiree laughingly attended to her dishevelled hair. + +"Why not?" + +"Because you still make your own dresses and teach dancing," replied +the pupil, with a quick sigh at the thought of some smart bursch in the +Prussian contingent. + +"Ah, but Charles will return a colonel, and I shall bow to you in a +silk dress from a chaise and pair--come, left foot first. You are not so +tired as you think you are." + +For those that are busy, time flies quickly enough. And there is nothing +more absorbing than keeping the wolf from the door, else assuredly the +hungry thousands would find time to arise and rend the overfed few. + +August succeeded a hot July and brought with it Sebastian's curt letter. +Sebastian himself--that shadowy father--returned to his home a few +hours later. He was not alone, for a heavier step followed his into the +passage, and Desiree, always quick to hear and see and act, coming to +the head of the stairs, perceived her father looking upwards towards +her, while his companion in rough sailor's clothes turned to lay aside +the valise he had carried on his shoulder. + +Mathilde was close behind Desiree, and Sebastian kissed his daughters +with that cold repression of manner which always suggested a strenuous +past in which the emotions had been relinquished for ever as an +indulgence unfit for a stern and hard-bitten age. + +"I took him away and now return him," said the sailor coming forward. +Desiree had always known that it was Louis, but Mathilde gave a little +start at the sound of the neat clipping French in the mouth of an +educated Frenchman so rarely heard in Dantzig--so rarely heard in all +broad France to-day. + +"Yes--that is true," answered Sebastian, turning to him with a sudden +change of manner. There was that in voice and attitude which his hearers +had never noted before, although Charles had often evoked something +approaching it. It seemed to indicate that, of all the people with whom +they had seen their father hold intercourse, Louis d'Arragon was the +only man who stood upon equality with him. + +"That is true--and at great risk to yourself," he said, not assigning, +however, so great an importance to personal danger as men do in these +careful days. As he spoke, he took Louis by the arm and by a gesture +invited him to precede him upstairs with a suggestion of camaraderie +somewhat startling in one usually so cold and formal as Antoine +Sebastian, the dancing-master of the Frauengasse. + +"I was writing to Charles," said Desiree to D'Arragon, when they reached +the drawing-room, and, crossing to her own table, she set the papers in +order there. These consisted of a number of letters from her husband, +read and re-read, it would appear. And the answer to them, a clean sheet +of paper bearing only the date and address, lay beneath her hand. + +"The courier leaves this evening," she said, with a queer ring of +anxiety in her voice, as if she feared that for some reason or another +she ran the risk of failing to despatch her letter. She glanced at the +clock, and stood, pen in hand, thinking of what she should write. + +"May I enclose a line?" asked Louis. "It is not wise, perhaps, for me +to address to him a letter--since I am on the other side. It is a small +matter of a heritage which he and I divide. I have placed some money in +a Dantzig bank for him. He may require it when he returns." + +"Then you do not correspond with Charles?" said Mathilde, clearing a +space for him on the larger table, and setting before him ink and pens +and paper. + +"Thank you, Mademoiselle," he said, glancing at her with that light +of interest in his dark eyes which she had ignited once before by a +question on the only occasion that they had met. He seemed to detect +that she was more interested in him than her indifferent manner would +appear to indicate. "No, I am a bad correspondent. If Charles and I, +in our present circumstances, were to write to each other it could only +lead to intrigue, for which I have no taste and Charles no capacity." + +"You seem to hint that Charles might have such a taste then," she said, +with her quiet smile, as she moved away leaving him to write. + +"Charles has probably found out by this time," he answered with the +bluntness which he claimed as a prerogative of his calling and nation, +"that a soldier of Napoleon's who intrigues will make a better career +than one who merely fights." + +He took up his pen and wrote with the absorption of one who has but +little time and knows exactly what to say. By chance he glanced towards +Desiree, who sat at her own table near the window. She was stroking +her cheek with the feather of her pen, looking with puzzled eyes at the +blank paper before her. Each time D'Arragon dipped his pen he glanced at +her, watching her. And Mathilde, with her needlework, watched them both. + + + +CHAPTER XII. FROM BORODINO. + + + + However we brave it out, we men are a little breed. + +War is the gambling of kings. Napoleon, the arch-gambler, from that +Southern sea where men, lacking cards or dice and the money to buy +either, will yet play a game of chance with the ten fingers that God +gave them for another purpose--Napoleon had dealt a hand with every +monarch in Europe before he met for the second time that Northern +adversary of cool blood who knew the waiting game. + +It is only where the stakes are small that the leisurely players, idly +fingering the fallen cards, return in fancy to certain points--to this +trick trumped or that chance missed, playing the game over again. But +when the result is great it overshadows the game, and all men's thoughts +fly to speculation on the future. How will the loser meet his loss? What +use will the winner make of his gain? + +The results of the Russian campaign were so stupendous to history that +the historians of the day, in their bewilderment, sought rather to +preserve these than the details of the war. Thus the student of to-day, +in piecing together an impression of bygone times, will inevitably find +portions of his picture missing. As a matter of fact, no one can say for +certain whether Alexander gently led Napoleon onward to Moscow or was +himself driven thither in confusion by the conqueror. + +Perhaps each merely pushed on from day to day, as men who are not +Emperors must needs do in the stress of life. It is only in calm weather +that the eye is able to discern things afar off and make ready; but in +a storm the horizon is dimmed by cloud and spray. All Europe was so +obscured at this time. And even Emperors, being only men, could look no +farther than the immediate and urgent danger of the moment. + +Napoleon's generals were scarcely social lights. Ney, the hero of the +retreat, the bravest of the brave, was a rough man who ate horseflesh +without troubling to cook it. Rapp, whose dogged defence of an abandoned +city is without compare in the story of war, had the manners and the +mind of a peasant. These gentlemen dealt more in deeds than in words. +They had not much to say for themselves. + +As for the Russians, Russia remains at this time the one European +country unhampered and unharassed by a cheap press--the one country +where prominent men have a quiet tongue. A hundred years ago Russians +did great deeds, and the rest was silence. Neither Kutusoff nor +Alexander ever stated clearly whether the retreat to Moscow was +intentional or unavoidable; and these are the only men who knew. Perhaps +Napoleon knew; at all events, he thought he did, or pretended to +think it long afterwards at St. Helena, for Napoleon the Great was a +consummate liar. + +Be that as it may, the Russians retreated, and the French advanced +farther and farther from their base. It was a great army--the greatest +ever seen. For Napoleon had eight monarchs serving with the eagles; +generals innumerable, many of them immortal--Davoust, the greatest +strategist; Prince Eugene, the incomparable lieutenant; Ney, the +fearless; four hundred thousand men. And they carried with them only +twenty days' provision. + +They had marched from the Vistula, full of shipping, across the Pregel, +loaded with stores, to the Niemen, where there was no navigation. +Dantzig, behind them--that Gibraltar of the North--was stored with +provision enough for the whole army. But there was no transport; for the +roads of Lithuania were unsuitable for the heavy carts provided. + +The country across the Niemen could scarce sustain its own sparse +population, and had nothing to spare for an invading army. This had once +been Poland, and was now inimical to Russia; but Russia did not care, +and the friendship of Lithuania was like many human friendships which we +make sacrifices to preserve--not worth having. + +All the while the Russians retreated, and, stranger still, the French +followed them, eking out their twenty days' provision. + +"I will make them fight a big battle, and beat them," said Napoleon; +"and then the Emperor will sue for peace." + +But Barclay de Tolly continued to run away from that great battle. Then +came the news that Barclay had been deposed; that Kutusoff was coming +from the South to take command. It was true enough; and Barclay +cheerfully served in a subordinate position to the new chief. September +brought great hopes of a battle, for Kutusoff seemed to retreat with +less despatch, like a man choosing his ground--Kutusoff, that master of +the waiting game. + +Early in September Murat, the impetuous leader of the pursuit, +complained to Nansouty that a cavalry charge had not been pushed home. + +"The horses have no patriotism," replied Nansouty. "The men will fight +on empty stomachs, but not the horses." + +An ominous reply at the beginning of a campaign, while communications +were still open. + +At last, within a few days' march of Moscow, Kutusoff made a stand. At +last the great battle was imminent, after a hundred false alarms, +after many disappointed hopes. The country had been flat hitherto. The +Borodino, running in a wider valley than many of these rivers, which are +merely great ditches, seemed to offer possibilities of defence. It was +the only hope for Moscow. + +"At last," wrote Charles to Desiree on September 6, "we are to have a +great battle. There has been much fighting the last few days, but I have +seen none of it. We are only eighty miles from Moscow. If there is a +great battle to-morrow we shall see Moscow in less than a week. For +we shall win. I have now found out from one who is near him that +the Emperor saw and remembered me the day he passed us in the +Frauengasse--our wedding-day, dearest. Nobody is too insignificant for +him to know. He thought that my marriage to you (for he knows that you +are French) would militate against the work I had been given to do in +Dantzig, so he gave orders for me to be sent at once to Konigsberg and +to continue the work there. De Casimir tells me that the Emperor is +pleased with me. De Casimir is the best friend I have; I am sure of +that. It is said that under the walls of Moscow the Emperor will dictate +his terms to Alexander. Every one wonders that Alexander of Russia did +not make proposals of peace when Vilna and Smolensk fell. In a week we +may be at Moscow. In a month I may be back at Dantzig, Desiree...." + +And the rest would have been for Desiree's eyes alone, had it ever been +penned. For next in sacredness to heaven-inspired words are mere human +love letters; and those who read the love-letters of another commit a +sacrilege. But Charles never finished the letter, for the dawn surprised +him where he wrote in a shed by the miserable Kalugha, a streamlet +running to the Moskwa. And it was the dawn of September 7, 1812. + +"There is the sun of Austerlitz," said Napoleon to those who were near +him when it arose. But it was not. It was the sun of Borodino. And +before it set the great battle desired by the French had been fought, +and eight French generals lay dead, while thirty more were wounded. +Murat, Davoust, Ney, Junot, Prince Eugene, Napoleon himself--all were +there; and all fought to finish a war which from the first had been +disliked. The French claimed it as a victory; but they gained nothing by +it, and they lost forty thousand killed and wounded. + +During the night the Russians evacuated the position which they had +held, and lost, and retaken. They retreated towards Moscow, but Napoleon +was hardly ready to pursue. + +These things, however, are history, and those who wish to know of them +may read them in another volume. While to the many orderly persons who +would wish to see everything in its place and the history-books on the +top shelf to be taken down and read on a future day (which will never +come), to such the explanation is due that this battle of Borodino is +here touched upon because it changed the current of some lives with +which we have to deal. + +For battles and revolutions and historical events of any sort are the +jagged instruments with which Fate rough-hews our lives, leaving us to +shape them as we will. In other days, no doubt, men rough-hewed, while +Fate shaped. But as civilization advances men will wax so tender, so +careful of the individual, that they will never cut and slash, but move +softly, very tolerant, very easy-going, seeking the compromise that +brings peace and breeds a small and timid race of men. + +Into such lives Fate comes crashing like a woodman with his axe, leaving +us to smooth the edges of the gaping wound and smile, and say that we +are not hurt; to pare away the knots and broken stumps; and hope that +our neighbour, concealing such himself, will have the decency to pretend +not to see. + +Thus the battle of Borodino crashed into the lives of Desiree and +Mathilde, and their father, living quietly on the sunny side of the +Frauengasse in Dantzig. Antoine Sebastian was the first to hear the +news. He had, it seemed, special facilities for learning news at the +Weissen Ross'l, whither he went again now in the evening. + +"There has been a great battle," he said, with so much more than his +usual self-restraint that Desiree and Mathilde exchanged a glance of +anxiety. "A man coming this evening from Dirschau saw and spoke with +the Imperial couriers on their way to Berlin and Paris. It was a great +victory, quite near to Moscow. But the loss on both sides has been +terrible." + +He paused and glanced at Desiree. It was his creed that good blood +should show an example of self-restraint and a certain steadfast, +indifferent courage. + +"Not so much among the French," he said, "as among the Bavarians and +Italians. It is an odd way of showing patriotism, to gain victories for +the conqueror. One hoped--" he paused and made a gesture with his right +hand, scarcely indicative of a staunch hope, "that the man's star might +be setting, but it would appear to be still in the ascendant. Charles," +he added, as an afterthought, "would be on the staff. No doubt he only +saw the fighting from a distance." + +Desiree, from whose face the colour had faded, nodded cheerfully enough. + +"Oh yes," she answered, "I have no doubt he is safe. He has good +fortune." + +For she was an apt pupil, and had already learnt that the world only +wishes to leave us in undisputed possession of our anxieties or sorrows, +however ready it may be to come forward and take a hand in good fortune. + +"But there is no definite news," said Mathilde, hardly looking up from +the needlework at which her fingers were so deft and industrious. + +"No." + +"No news of Charles, I mean," she continued, "or of any of our friends. +Of Monsieur de Casimir, for instance?" + +"No. As for Colonel de Casimir," returned Sebastian thoughtfully, +"he, like Charles, holds some staff appointment of which one does not +understand the scope. He is without doubt uninjured." + +Mathilde glanced at her father not without suspicion. His grand manner +might easily be at times a screen. One never knows how much is perceived +by those who look down from a high place. + +The town was quiet enough all that night. Sebastian must have heard the +news from some unofficial source, for none other seemed to know it. But +at daybreak the church bells, so rarely used in Dantzig for rejoicing, +awoke the burghers to the fact that the Emperor bade them make merry. +Napoleon gave great heed to such matters. In the churches of Lithuania +and farther on in Russia he had commanded the popes to pray for him at +their altars instead of for the Czar. + +When Desiree came downstairs, she found a packet awaiting her. The +courier had come in during the night. This was more than a letter. +A number of papers had been folded in a handkerchief and bound with +string. The address was written on a piece of white leather cut from +the uniform of one who had fallen at Borodino, and had no more need of +sabretasche or trapping. + + "Madame Desiree Darragon--nee Sebastian, + Frauengasse 36, + Dantzig." + +Desiree's heart stood still; for the writing was unknown to her. As she +cut the network of string, she thought that Charles was dead. When the +enclosed papers fell upon the table, she was sure of it; for they were +all in his writing. She did not pick and choose as one would who has +leisure and no very strong excitement, but took up the first paper and +read: + +"Dear C.--I have been fortunate, as you will see from the enclosed +report. His Majesty cannot again say that I have been neglectful. I was +quite right. It is Sebastian and only Sebastian that we need fear. Here, +they are clumsy conspirators compared to him. I have been in the river +half the night, listening at the open stern window of a Reval pink to +every word they said. His Majesty can safely come to Konigsberg. Indeed, +he is better out of Dantzig. For the whole country is riddled with that +which they call patriotism, and we, treason. But I can only repeat what +His Majesty disbelieved the day before yesterday--that the heart of the +ill is Dantzig, and the venom of it Sebastian. Who he really is and +what he is about, you must find out how you can. I go forward to-day to +Gumbinnen. The enclosed letter to its address--I beg of you--if only in +acknowledgment of all that I have sacrificed." + +The letter was unsigned, but the writing was the writing of Charles +Darragon, and Desiree knew what he had sacrificed--what he could never +recover. + +There were two or three more letters addressed to "Dear C.," bearing no +signature, and yet written by Charles. Desiree read them carefully with +a sort of numb attention which photographed them permanently on her +memory like writing that is carved in stone upon a wall. There must be +some explanation in one of them. Who had sent them to her? Was Charles +dead? + +At last she came to a sealed envelope addressed to herself by Charles. +Some other hand had copied the address from it in identical terms on +the piece of white leather. She opened and read it. It was the letter +written to her by Charles on the bank of the Kalugha river on the eve of +Borodino, and left unfinished by him. He must be dead. She prayed that +he might be. + +She was alone in the room, having come down early, as was her wont, to +prepare breakfast. She heard Lisa talking with some one at the door--a +messenger, no doubt, to say that Charles was dead. + +One letter still remained unread. It was in a different writing--the +writing on the white leather. + +"Madame," it read, "The enclosed papers were found on the field by one +of my orderlies. One of them being addressed to you, furnishes a clue +to their owner, who must have dropped them in the hurry of the advance. +Should Captain Charles Darragon be your husband, I have the pleasure to +inform you that he was seen alive and well at the end of the day." +The writer assured Desiree of his respectful consideration, and wrote +"Surgeon" after his name. + +Desiree had read the explanation too late. + + + +CHAPTER XIII. IN THE DAY OF REJOICING. + + + + Truth, though it crush me. + +The door of the room stood open, and the sound of a step in the passage +made Desiree glance up, as she hastily put together the papers found on +the battlefield of Borodino. + +Louis d'Arragon was coming into the room, and for an instant, before his +expression changed, she saw all the fatigue that he must have endured +during the night; all that he must have risked. His face was usually +still and quiet; a combination of that contemplative calm which +characterises seafaring faces, and the clean-cut immobility of a racial +type developed by hereditary duties of self-restraint and command. + +He knew that there had been a battle, and, seeing the papers on the +table, his eyes asked her the inevitable question which his lips were +slow to put into words. + +In reply Desiree shook her head. She looked at the papers in quick +thought. Then she withdrew from them the letter written to her by +Charles--and put the others together. + +"You told me to send for you," she said in a quiet, tired voice, "if I +wanted you. You have saved me the trouble." + +His eyes were hard with anxiety as he looked at her. She held the +letters towards him. + +"By coming," she added, with a glance at him which took in the dust, +and the stains of salt-water on his clothes, the fatigue he sought +to conceal by a rigid stillness, and the tension that was left by the +dangers he had passed through--daring all--to come. + +Seeing that he looked doubtfully at the papers, she spoke again. + +"One," she said, "that one on the stained paper, is addressed to me. You +can read it--since I ask you." + +The letter told him, at all events, that Charles was not killed, and, +seeing his face clear as he read, she gave an odd, curt laugh. + +"Read the others," she said. "Oh! you need not hesitate. You need not be +so particular. Read one, the top one. One is enough." + +The windows stood open, and the morning breeze fluttering the curtains +brought in the gay sound of bells, the high clear bells of Hanseatic +days, rejoicing at Napoleon's new success--by order of Napoleon. A bee +sailed harmoniously into the room, made the circuit of it, and sought +the open again with a hum that faded drowsily into silence. + +D'Arragon read the letter slowly from beginning to the unsigned end, +while Desiree, sitting at the table, upon which she leant one elbow, +resting her small square chin in the palm of her hand, watched him. + +"Ah?" she exclaimed at length, with a ring of contempt in her voice, as +if at the thought of something unclean. "A spy! It is so easy for you to +keep still, and to hide all you feel." + +D'Arragon folded the letter slowly. It was the fatal letter written +in the upper room in the shoemaker's house in Konigsberg in the Neuer +Markt, where the linden trees grow close to the window. In it Charles +spoke lightly of the sacrifice he had made in leaving Desiree on his +wedding-day, to do the Emperor's bidding. It was indeed the greatest +sacrifice that man can make; for he had thrown away his honour. + +"It may not be so easy as you think," returned D'Arragon, looking +towards the door. + +He had no time to say more; for Mathilde and her father were talking +together on the stairs as they came down. D'Arragon thrust the letters +into his pocket, the only indication he had time to give to Desiree of +the policy they must pursue. He stood facing the door, alert and quiet, +with only a moment in which to shape the course of more than one life. + +"There is good news, Monsieur," he said to Sebastian. "Though I did not +come to bring it." + +Sebastian pointed interrogatively to the open window, where the sound +of the bells seemed to emphasize the sunlight and the freshness of the +morning. + +"No--not that," returned D'Arragon. "It is a great victory, they tell +me; but it is hard to say whether such news would be good or bad. It was +of Charles that I spoke. He is safe--Madame has heard." + +He spoke rather slowly, and turned towards Desiree with a measured +gesture, not unlike Sebastian's habitual manner, and a quick glance to +satisfy himself that she had understood and was ready. + +"Yes," said Desiree, "he was safe and well after the battle, but he +gives no details; for the letter was actually written the day before." + +"With a mere word, added in postscriptum, to say that he was unhurt +at the end of the day," suggested Sebastian, already drawing forward +a chair with a gesture full of hospitality, inviting D'Arragon to be +seated at the simple breakfast-table. But D'Arragon was looking at +Mathilde, who had gone rather hurriedly to the window, as if to breathe +the air. He had caught a glimpse of her face as she passed. It was hard +and set, quite colourless, with bright, sleepless eyes. D'Arragon was +a sailor. He had seen that look in rougher faces and sterner eyes, and +knew what it meant. + +"No details?" asked Mathilde in a muffled voice, without looking round. + +"No," answered Desiree, who had noticed nothing. How much more clearly +we should understand what is going on around us if we had no secrets of +our own to defend! + +In obedience to Sebastian's gesture, D'Arragon took a chair, and even +as he did so Mathilde came to the table, calm and mistress of herself +again, to pour out the coffee, and do the honours of the simple meal. +D'Arragon, besides having acquired the seamen's habit of adapting +himself unconsciously and unobtrusively to his surroundings, was of a +direct mind, lacking self-consciousness, and simplified by the pressure +of a strong and steady purpose. For men's minds are like the atmosphere, +which is always cleared by a steady breeze, while a changing wind +generates vapours, mist, uncertainty. + +"And what news do you bring from the sea?" asked Sebastian. "Is your sky +there as overcast as ours in Dantzig?" + +"No, Monsieur, our sky is clearing," answered D'Arragon, eating with a +hearty appetite the fresh bread and butter set before him. "Since I +saw you, the treaties have been signed, as you doubtless know, between +Sweden and Russia and England." + +Nodding his head with silent emphasis, Sebastian gave it to be +understood that he knew that and more. + +"It makes a great difference to us at sea in the Baltic," said +D'Arragon. "We are no longer harassed night and day, like a dog, +hounded from end to end of a hostile street, not daring to look into any +doorway. The Russian ports and Swedish ports are open to us now." + +"One is glad to hear that your life is one of less hardship," said +Sebastian gravely. "I.... who have tasted it." + +Desiree glanced at his lean, hard face. She rose, went out of the room, +and returned in a few minutes carrying a new loaf which she set on the +table before him with a short laugh, and something glistening in her +eyes that was not mirth. + +But neither Desiree nor Mathilde joined in the conversation. They were +glad for their father to have a companion so sympathetic as to produce +a marked difference in his manner. For Sebastian was more at ease with +Louis d'Arragon than he was with Charles, though the latter had the tie +of a common fatherland, and spoke the same French that Sebastian spoke. +D'Arragon's French had the roundness always imparted to that language by +an English voice. It was perfect enough, but of an educated perfection. + +The talk was of such matters as concerned men more than women; of armies +and war and treaties of peace. For all the world thought that Alexander +of Russia would be brought to his knees by the battle of Borodino. None +knew better how to turn a victory to account than he who claimed to be +victor now. "It does not suffice," Napoleon wrote to his brother at this +time, "to gain a victory. You must learn to turn it to advantage." + +Save for the one reference to his life in the Baltic during the past two +months, D'Arragon said nothing of himself, of his patient, dogged work +carried on by day and by night in all weathers. Content to have escaped +with his life, he neither referred to, nor thought of, his part in the +negotiations which had resulted in the treaty just signed. For he had +been the link between Russia and England; the never-failing messenger +passing from one to the other with question and answer which were +destined to bear fruit at last in an understanding brought to perfection +in Paris, culminating at Elba. + +Both were guarded in what they said of passing events, and both seemed +to doubt the truth of the reports now flying through the streets of +Dantzig. Even in the quiet Frauengasse all the citizens were out on +their terraces calling questions to those that passed by beneath the +trees. The itinerant tradesman, the milkman going his round, the vendors +of fruit from Langfuhr and the distant villages of the plain, lingered +at the doors to tell the servants the latest gossip of the market-place. +Even in this frontier city, full of spies, strangers spoke together in +the streets, and the sound of their voices, raised above the clang of +carillons, came in at the open window. + +"At first a victory is always a great one," said D'Arragon, looking +towards the window. + +"It is so easy to ring a bell," added Sebastian, with his rare smile. + +He was quite himself this morning, and only once did the dull look +arrest his features into the stony stillness which his daughters knew. + +"You are the only one of your name in Dantzig," said D'Arragon, in the +course of question and answer as to the safe delivery of letters in time +of war. + +"So far as I know, there is no other Sebastian," replied he; and +Desiree, who had guessed the motive of the question, which must have +been in D'Arragon's mind from the beginning, was startled by the fulness +of the answer. It seemed to make reply to more than D'Arragon had asked. +It shattered the last faint hope that there might have been another +Sebastian of whom Charles had written. + +"For myself," said D'Arragon, changing the subject quickly, "I can +now make sure of receiving letters addressed to me in the care of the +English Consul at Riga, or the Consul at Stockholm, should you wish to +communicate with me, or should Madame find leisure to give me news of +her husband." + +"Desiree will no doubt take pleasure in keeping you advised of Charles's +progress. As for myself, I fear I am a bad correspondent. Perhaps not a +desirable one in these days," said Sebastian, his face slowly clearing. +He waved the point aside with a gesture that looked out of place on a +hand lean and spare, emerging from a shabby brown sleeve without cuff or +ruffle. + +"For I feel assured," he went on, "that we shall continue to hear good +news of your cousin; not only that he is safe and well, but that he +makes progress in his profession. He will go far, I am sure." + +D'Arragon bowed his acknowledgment of this kind thought, and rose rather +hastily. + +"My best chance of quitting the city unseen," he said, "is to pass +through the gates with the market-people returning to the villages. To +do that, I must not delay." + +"The streets are so full," replied Sebastian, glancing out of the +window, "that you will pass through them unnoticed. I see beneath the +trees, a neighbour, Koch the locksmith, who is perhaps waiting to give +me news. While you are saying farewell, I will go out and speak to him. +What he has to tell may interest you and your comrades at sea--may help +your escape from the city this morning." + +He took his hat as he spoke and went to the door. Mathilde, thirsting +for the news that seemed to hum in the streets like the sound of bees, +rose and followed him. Desiree and D'Arragon were left alone. She had +gone to the window, and, turning there, she looked back at him over her +shoulder, where he stood by the door watching her. + +"So, you see," she said, "there is no other Sebastian." + +D'Arragon made no reply. She came nearer to him, her blue eyes sombre +with contempt for the man she had married. Suddenly she pointed to the +chair which D'Arragon had just vacated. + +"That is where he sat. He has eaten my father's salt a hundred times," +she said, with a short laugh. For whithersoever civilization may take +us, we must still go back to certain primaeval laws of justice between +man and man. + +"You judge too hastily," said D'Arragon; but she interrupted him with a +gesture of warning. + +"I have not judged hastily," she said. "You do not understand. You think +I judge from that letter. That is only a confirmation of something that +has been in my mind for a long time--ever since my wedding-day. I knew +when you came into the room upstairs on that day that you did not trust +Charles." + +"I--?" he asked. + +"Yes," she answered, standing squarely in front of him and looking +him in the eyes. "You did not trust him. You were not glad that I had +married him. I could see it in your face. I have never forgotten." + +D'Arragon turned away towards the window. Sebastian and Mathilde were +in the street below, in the shade of the trees, talking with the eager +neighbours. + +"You would have stopped it if you could," said Desiree; and he did not +deny it. + +"It was some instinct," he said at length. "Some passing misgiving." + +"For Charles?" she asked sharply. + +And D'Arragon, looking out of the window, would not answer. She gave a +sudden laugh. + +"One cannot compliment you on your politeness," she said. "Was it for +Charles that you had misgivings?" + +At last D'Arragon turned on his heel. + +"Does it matter?" he asked. "Since I came too late." + +"That is true," she said, after a pause. "You came too late; so it +doesn't matter. And the thing is done now, and I..., well, I suppose I +must do what others have done before me--I must make the best of it." + +"I will help you," said D'Arragon slowly, almost carefully, "if I can." + +He was still avoiding her eyes, still looking out of the window. +Sebastian was coming up the steps. + + + +CHAPTER XIV. MOSCOW. + + + + Nothing is so disappointing as failure--except success. + +While the Dantzigers with grave faces discussed the news of Borodino +beneath the trees in the Frauengasse, Charles Darragon, white with dust, +rose in his stirrups to catch the first sight of the domes and cupolas +of Moscow. + +It was a sunny morning, and the gold on the churches gleamed and +glittered in the shimmering heat like fairyland. Charles had ridden to +the summit of a hill and sat for a moment, as others had done, in +silent contemplation. Moscow at last! All around him men were shouting: +"Moscow! Moscow!" Grave, white-haired generals waved their shakos in the +air. Those at the summit of the hill called the others to come. Far down +in the valley, where the dust raised by thousands of feet hung in the +air like a mist, a faint sound like the roar of falling water could be +heard. It was the word "Moscow!" sweeping back to the rearmost ranks of +these starving men who had marched for two months beneath the glaring +sun, parched with dust, through a country that seemed to them a Sahara. +Every house they approached, they had found deserted. Every barn was +empty. The very crops ripening to harvest had been gathered in and +burnt. Near to the miserable farmhouses, a pile of ashes hardly cold +marked where the poor furniture had been tossed upon the fire kindled +with the year's harvest. + +Everywhere it was the same. There are, as God created it, few countries +of a sadder aspect than that which spreads between the Moskwa and the +Vistula. But it has been decreed by the dim laws of Race that the ugly +countries shall be blessed with the greater love of their children, +while men born in a beautiful land seem readiest to emigrate from it and +make the best settlers in a new home. There is only one country in the +world with a ring-fence round it. If a Russian is driven from his home, +he will go to another part of Russia: there is always room. + +Before the advance of the spoilers, chartered by their leader to +unlimited and open rapine--indeed, he had led them hither with that +understanding--the Prussians, peasant and noble alike, fled to the East. +A hundred times the advance guard, fully alive to the advantages of +their position, had raced to the gates of a chateau only to find, on +breaking open the doors, that it was empty--the furniture destroyed, the +stores burnt, the wine poured out. + +So also in the peasants' huts. Some, more careful than the rest, had +pulled the thatch from the roof to burn it. There was no corn in this +the Egypt of their greedy hopes. And, lest they should bring the corn +with them, the spoilers found the mills everywhere wrecked. + +It was something new to them. It was new to Napoleon, who had so +frequently been met halfway, who knew that men for greed will part +smilingly with half in order to save the residue. He knew that many, +rather than help a neighbour who is in danger by a robber, will join the +robber and share the spoil, crying out that force majeure was used to +them. + +But, as every man must judge according to his lights, so must even the +greatest find himself in the dark at last. No man of the Latin race will +ever understand the Slav. And because the beginning is easy--because in +certain superficial tricks of speech and thought Paris and Petersburg +are not unlike--so much the more is the breach widened when necessity +digs deeper than the surface. For, to make the acquaintance of a +stranger who seems to be a counterpart of one's self in thought and +taste, is like the first hearing of a kindred language such as Dutch to +the English ear. At first it sounds like one's own tongue with a hundred +identical words, but on closer listening it will be found that the words +mean something else, and that the whole is incomprehensible and the more +difficult to acquire by the very reason of its resemblance. + +Napoleon thought that the Russians would act as his enemies of the +Latin race had acted. He thought that like his own people they would be +over-confident, urging each other on to great deeds by loud words and a +hundred boasts. But the Russians lack self-confidence, are timid rather +than over-bold, dreamy rather than fiery. Only their women are glib of +speech. He thought that they would begin very brilliantly and end with a +compromise, heart-breaking at first and soon lived down. + +"They are savages out here in the plains," he said. "It is a barbaric +and stupid instinct that makes them destroy their own property for the +sake of hampering us. As we approach Moscow we shall find that the +more civilized inhabitants of the villages, enervated by an easy +life, rendered selfish by possession of wealth, will not abandon their +property, but will barter and sell to us and find themselves the victims +of our might." + +And the army believed him. For they always believed him. Faith can, +indeed, move mountains. It carried four hundred thousand men, without +provisions, through a barren land. + +And now, in sight of the golden city, the army was still hungry. Nay! it +was ragged already. In three columns it converged on the doomed capital, +driving before it like a swarm of flies the Cossacks who harassed the +advance. + +Here again, on the hill looking down into the smiling valley of the +Moskwa, the unexpected awaited the invaders. The city, shimmering in +the sunlight like the realization of some Arab's dream, was silent. +The Cossacks had disappeared. Except those around the Kremlin, towering +above the river, the city had no walls. + +The army halted while aides-de-camp flew hither and thither on their +weary horses. Charles Darragon, sunburnt, dusty, hoarse with cheering, +was among the first. He looked right and left for de Casimir, but +could not see him. He had not seen his chief since Borodino, for he was +temporarily attached to the staff of Prince Eugene, who had lost heavily +at the Kalugha river. + +It was usual for the army to halt before a beleaguered city and await +the advent in all humility of the vanquished. Commonly it was the mayor +of a town who came, followed by his councillors in their robes, to +explain that the army had abandoned the city, which now begged to throw +itself upon the mercy of the conqueror. + +For this the army waited on that sunny September morning. + +"He is putting on his robes," they said gaily. "He is new to this work." + +But the mayor of Moscow disappointed them. At last the troops moved on +and camped for the night in a village under the Kremlin walls. It was +here that Charles received a note from de Casimir. + +"I am slightly wounded," wrote that officer, "but am following the army. +At Borodino my horse was killed under me, and I was thrown. While I +was insensible, I was robbed and lost what money I had, as well as my +despatch-case. In the latter was the letter you wrote to your wife. It +is lost, my friend; you must write another." + +Charles was tired. He would put off till to-morrow, he thought, and +write to Desiree from Moscow. As he lay, all dressed on the hard ground, +he fell to thinking of what he should write to Desiree to-morrow from +Moscow. The mere date and address of such a letter would make her love +him the more, he thought; for, like his leaders, he was dazed by a +surfeit of glory. + +As he fell asleep smiling at these happy reflections, Desiree, far away +in Dantzig, was locking in her bureau the letter which had been lost +and found again; while, on the deck of his ship, lifting gently to the +tideway where the Vistula sweeps out into the Dantziger Bucht, Louis +d'Arragon stood fingering reflectively in his jacket-pocket the unread +papers which had fallen from the same despatch-case. For it is a very +small world in which to do wrong, though if a man do a little good in +his lifetime it is--heaven knows--soon mislaid and trodden under the +feet of the new-comers. + +The next day it was definitely ascertained that the citizens of Moscow +had no communication to make to the conquering leaders. Soon after +daylight the army moved towards the city. The suburbs were deserted. The +houses stood with closed shutters and locked doors. Not so much as a dog +awaited the triumphant entry through the city gates. + +Long streets without a living being from end to end met the eyes of +those daring organizers of triumphal entries who had been sent forward +to clear a path and range the respectful citizens on either hand. But +there were no citizens. There was not a single witness to this triumph +of the greatest army the world had seen, led across Europe by the first +captain in all history to conquer a virgin capital. + +The various corps marched to their quarters in silence, with nervous +glances at the shuttered windows. Some, breaking rank, ventured into the +churches which stood open. The candles were lighted on the altars, they +reported to their comrades in a hushed voice when they returned, but +there was no one there. + +Certain palaces were selected as head-quarters for the general officers +and the chiefs of various departments. As often as not a summons would +be answered and the door opened by an obsequious porter, who handed the +keys to the first-comer. But he spoke no French, and only cringed in +silence when addressed. Other doors were broken in. + +It was like a play acted in dumb show on an immense stage. It was +disquieting and incomprehensible even to the oldest campaigner, while +the young fire-eaters, fresh from St. Cyr, were strangely depressed +by it. There was a smell of sour smoke in the air, a suggestion of +inevitable tragedy. + +On the Krasnaya Ploschad--the great Red Square, which is the central +point of the old town--the soldiers were already buying and selling the +spoil wrested from the burning Exchange. It seemed that the citizens +before leaving had collected their merchandise in this building to burn +it. To the rank-and-file this meant nothing but an incomprehensible +stupidity. To the educated and the thoughtful it was another evidence +of that dumb and sullen capacity for infinite self-sacrifice which makes +Russians different from any other race, and which has yet to be reckoned +with in the history of the world. For it will tend to the greatest good +of the greatest number, and is a power for national aggrandisement quite +unattainable by any Latin people. + +Charles, with the other officers of Prince Eugene's staff, was quartered +in a palace on the Petrovka--that wide street running from the Kremlin +northward to the boulevards and the parks. Going towards it he passed +through the bazaars and the merchants' quarters, where, like an army of +rag-pickers, the eager looters were silently hurrying from heap to heap. +Every warehouse had, it seemed, been ransacked and its contents thrown +out into the streets. The first-comers had hurried on, seeking something +more valuable, more portable, leaving the later arrivals to turn over +their garbage like dogs upon a dust-heap. + +The Petrovka is a long street of great houses, and was now deserted. +The pillagers were nervous and ill at ease, as men must always be in the +presence of something they do not understand. The most experienced of +them--and there were some famous robbers in Murat's vanguard--had never +seen an empty city abandoned all standing, as the Russians had +abandoned Moscow. They felt apprehensive of the unknown. Even the least +imaginative of them looked askance at the tall houses, at the open doors +of the empty churches, and they kept together for company's sake. + +Charles's rooms were in the Momonoff Palace, where even the youngest +lieutenant had vast apartments assigned to him. It was in one of +these--a lady's boudoir, where his dust-covered baggage had been thrown +down carelessly by his orderly on a blue satin sofa--that he sat down to +write to Desiree. + +His emotions had been stirred by all that he had passed through--by the +first sight of Moscow, by the passage beneath the Gate of the Redeemer, +where every man must uncover and only Napoleon dared to wear a hat; by +the bewildering sense of triumph and the knowledge that he was taking +part in one of the epochs of man's history on this earth. The emotions +lie very near together, so that laughter being aroused must also touch +on tears, and hatred being kindled warms the heart to love. + +And, here in this unknown woman's room, with the very pen that she had +thrown aside, Charles, who wrote and spoke his love with such facility, +wrote to Desiree a love-letter such as he had never written before. + +When it was sealed and addressed he called his orderly to take it to the +officer to whose duty it fell to make up the courier for Germany. But +he received no reply. The man had joined his comrades in the busier +quarters of the city. Charles went to the head of the stairs and called +again, with no better success. The house was comparatively modern, built +on the familiar lines of a Parisian hotel, with a wide stair descending +to an entrance archway where carriages passed through into a courtyard. + +Descending the stairs, Charles found that even the sentry had absented +himself from his duty. His musket, leant against the post of the stone +doorway, indicated that he was not far. Listening in the silence of that +great house, Charles heard some one at work with hammer and chisel in +the courtyard. He went there, and found the sentry kneeling at a low +door, endeavouring to break it open. The man had not been idle; from a +piece of rope slung across his back half a dozen clocks were suspended. +They rattled together like the wares of a travelling tinsmith at every +movement of his arms. + +"What are you doing there, my friend?" asked Charles. + +The man held up one finger over his shoulder without looking round, and +shook it from side to side, as not desiring to be interrupted. + +"The cellar," he answered, "always the cellar. It is human nature. We +get it from the animals." + +He glanced round as he worked, and, perceiving that he had been +addressing an officer, he scrambled to his feet with a grumbled curse. +He was an old man, baked by the sun. The wrinkles in his face were +filled with dust. Since quitting the banks of the Vistula no opportunity +for ablution seemed to have presented itself to him. He stood at +attention, his lips working over sunken gums. + +"I want you to take this letter," said Charles, "to the officer on +service at head-quarters, and ask him to include it in his courier. It +is, as you see, a private letter--to my wife at Dantzig." + +The man looked at it, and grumbled something inaudible. He took it in +his hand and turned it over with the slow manner of the illiterate. + + + +CHAPTER XV. THE GOAL. + + + + God writes straight on crooked lines. + +Charles, having given his letter to the sentry with the order to take it +to its immediate destination, turned towards the stairs again. In those +days an order was given in a different tone to that which servitude +demands in later times. + +He returned to his room on the first floor without even waiting to make +sure that he would be obeyed. He had scarcely seated himself when, after +a fumbling knock, the sentry opened the door and followed him into the +room, still holding the letter in his hand. + +"Mon capitaine," he said with a certain calmness of manner as from +an old soldier to a young one, "a word--that is all. This letter," +he turned it in his hand as he spoke, and looking at Charles beneath +scowling brows, awaited an explanation. "Did you pick it up?" + +"No--I wrote it." + +"Good. I..." he paused, and tapped himself on the chest so that there +could be no mistake; there was a rattling sound behind him suggestive of +ironware. Indeed, he was hung about with other things than clocks, and +seemed to be of opinion that if a soldier sets value upon any object he +must attach it to his person. "I, Barlasch of the Guard--Marengo, the +Danube, Egypt--picked up after Borodino a letter like it. I cannot read +very quickly--indeed--Bah! the old Guard needs no pens and paper--but +that letter I picked up was just like this." + +"Was it addressed like that to Madame Desiree Darragon?" + +"So a comrade told me. It is you, her husband?" + +"Yes," answered Charles, "since you ask; I am her husband." + +"Ah!" replied Barlasch darkly, and his limbs and features settled +themselves into a patient waiting. + +"Well," asked Charles, "what are you waiting for?" + +"Whatever you may think proper, mon capitaine, for I gave the letter to +the surgeon who promised that it should be forwarded to its address." + +Charles laughingly sought his purse. But there was nothing in it, so he +looked round the room. + +"Here, add this to your collection," and he took a small French clock +from the writing-table, a pretty, gilded toy from Paris. + +"Thank you, mon capitaine." + +Barlasch, with shaking fingers, unknotted the rope around his shoulders. +As he was doing so one of the clocks on his back began to strike. He +paused, and stood looking gravely at his superior officer. Another clock +took up the tale and a third, while Barlasch sternly stood at attention. + +"Four o'clock," he said to himself, "and I, who have not yet +breakfasted--" + +With a grunt and a salute he turned towards the door which stood open. +Some one was coming up the stairs rather slowly, his spurs clinking, +his scabbard clashing against the gilded banisters. Papa Barlasch stood +aside at attention, and Colonel de Casimir came into the room with a gay +word of greeting. Barlasch went out, but he did not close the door. It +is to be presumed that he stood without, where he might have overheard +all that they said to each other for quite a long time, until it was +almost the half-hour when the clocks would strike again. But de Casimir, +perceiving that the door was open, closed it quietly from within, and +Barlasch, shut out on the wide landing, made a grimace at the massive +woodwork before turning to descend the stairs. + +It was the middle of September, and the days were shortening. The dusk +of evening had already closed over the city when de Casimir and Charles +at length came downstairs. No one had troubled to open the shutters of +such rooms as were not required; and these were many. For Moscow was +even at that day a great city, though less spacious and more fantastic +than it is to-day. There was plenty of room for the whole army in the +houses left empty by their owners, so that many lodged as they had never +lodged before and would never lodge again. + +The stairs were almost dark when Charles and his companion descended +them. The rusted musket poised against the doorpost still indicated the +supposed presence of a sentry. + +"Listen," said Charles, "I found him burrowing like a rat at a +cellar-door in the courtyard. Perhaps he has got in." + +They listened, but could hear nothing. Charles led the way towards the +courtyard. A glimmer of light guided him to the door he sought. It stood +open. Barlasch had succeeded in effecting an entry to the cellar, where +his experience taught him to seek the best that an abandoned house +contains. + +Charles and de Casimir peered down the narrow stairs. By the light of +a candle Barlasch was working vigorously amid a confused pile of cases, +and furniture, and roughly tied bundles of clothing. He had laid +aside nothing, and his movements were attended by the usual rattle of +hollow-ware. They could see the perspiration gleaming on his face. Even +in this cellar there lingered the faint smell of sour smoke that filled +the air of Moscow. + +De Casimir caught the gleam of jewellery, and went hurriedly downstairs. + +"What are you doing there, my friend?" he asked, and the words were +scarcely out of his mouth, when Barlasch extinguished his candle. There +followed a dead silence, such as comes when a rodent is disturbed at his +work. The two men on the cellar-stairs were conscious of the gaze of the +bright, rat-like eyes below. + +De Casimir turned and followed Charles upstairs again. + +"Come up," he said, "and go to your post." + +There was no movement in response. + +"Name of a dog," cried de Casimir, "is all discipline relaxed? Come up, +I tell you, and obey my orders." + +He emphasized his command with the cocking of a pistol, and a slight +disturbance in the darkness of the cellar heralded the unwilling +approach of Barlasch, who climbed the stairs step by step like a +schoolboy coming to punishment. + +"It is I who found the door, mon colonel, behind that pile of firewood. +It is I who opened it. What is down there is mine," he said, sullenly. +But the only reply that de Casimir made was to seize him by the arm and +jerk him away from the stairs. + +"To your post," he said, "take your arm, and out into the street, in +front of the house. That is your place." + +But while he was still speaking, they were all startled by a sudden +disturbance in the cellar, and in the gloom a man stumbled up the stairs +and ran past them. Barlasch had taken the precaution of bolting the huge +front door, which was large enough to give passage to a carriage. The +man, who exhaled an atmosphere of dust mingled with the disquieting +and all-pervading odour of smoke, rushed at the huge door and tugged +furiously at its handles. + +Charles, who was on his heels, grasped his arm, but the man swung round +and threw him off as if he were a child. He had a hatchet in his hand +with which he aimed a blow at Charles, but missed him. Barlasch was +already going towards his musket, which stood in the corner against +the door-post, but the Russian saw his movement, and forestalled him. +Seizing the gun, he presented the bayonet to them, and stood with his +back to the door, facing the three men in a breathless silence. He was +a large man, dishevelled, with long hair tumbled about his head, and +light-coloured eyes, glaring like the eyes of a beast at bay. + +In the background de Casimir, quick and calm, had already covered him +with the pistol produced as a persuasive to Barlasch. For a second there +was silence, during which they all could hear the call to arms in the +street outside. The patrol was hurrying down the Petrovka, calling the +assembly. + +The report of the pistol rang through the house, shaking the doors and +windows. The man threw up his arms and stood for a moment looking at de +Casimir with an expression of blank amazement. Then his legs seemed to +slip away from beneath him, and he collapsed to the floor. He turned +over with movements singularly suggestive of a child seeking a +comfortable position in bed, and lay quite still, his cheek on the +pavement and his staring eyes turned towards the cellar-door from which +he had emerged. + +"He has his affair--that parishioner," muttered Barlasch, looking at him +with a smile that twisted his mouth to one side. And, as he spoke, the +man's throat rattled. De Casimir was reloading his pistol. So persistent +was the gaze of the dead man's eyes that de Casimir turned on his heel +to look in the same direction. + +"Quick!" he exclaimed, pointing to the doorway, from which a lazy white +smoke emerged in thin puffs. "Quick, he has set fire to the house!" + +"Quick--with what, mon colonel?" asked Barlasch. + +"Why, go and fetch some men with a fire-engine." + +"There are no fire-engines left in Moscow, mon colonel!" + +"Then find buckets, and tell me where the well is." + +"There are no buckets left in Moscow, mon colonel. We found that out +last night, when we wanted to water the horses. The citizens have +removed them. And there is not a well of which the rope has not been +cut. They are droll companions, these Russians, I can tell you." + +"Do as I tell you," repeated de Casimir, angrily, "or I shall put you +under arrest. Go and fetch men to help me to extinguish this fire." + +By way of reply, Barlasch held up one finger in a childlike gesture of +attention to some distant sound. + +"No, thank you," he said, coolly, "not for me. Discipline, mon colonel, +discipline. Listen, you can hear the 'assembly' as well as I. It is the +Emperor that one obeys. One thinks of one's military career." + +With knotted and shaking fingers he drew back the bolts and opened the +door. On the threshold he saluted. + +"It is the call to arms, mes officiers," he said. Then, shouldering his +musket, he turned away, and all his clocks struck six. The bells of the +city churches seemed to greet him as he stepped into the street, for in +Moscow each hour is proclaimed with deafening iteration from a thousand +towers. + +He looked down the Petrovka; from half the houses which bordered the +wide roadway--a street of palaces--the smoke was pouring forth in puffs. +He went uphill towards the Red Square and the Kremlin, where the Emperor +had his head-quarters. It was to this centre that the patrols had +converged. Looking back, Barlasch saw, not one house on fire, but a +hundred. The smoke arose from every quarter of the city at once. He +hurried on, but was stopped by a crowd of soldiers, all laden with +booty, gesticulating, shouting, abusing one another. It was Babel +over again. The riff-raff of sixteen nations had followed Napoleon to +Moscow--to rob. Half a dozen different tongues were spoken in one army +corps. There remained no national pride to act as a deterrent. No man +cared what he did. The blame would be laid upon France. + +The crowd was collected in front of a high, many-windowed building in +flames. + +"What is it?" Barlasch asked first one and then another. But no one +spoke his tongue. At last he found a Frenchman. + +"It is the hospital." + +"And what is that smell? What is burning there?" + +"Twelve thousand wounded," answered the man, with a sickening laugh. +And even as he spoke one or two of the wounded dragged themselves, half +burnt, down the wide steps. No one dared to approach them, for the walls +of the building were already bulging outwards. One man was half covered +with a sheet which was black, and his bare limbs were black with smoke. +All the hair was burnt from his head and face. He stood for a moment in +the doorway--a sight never to be forgotten--and then fell headlong down +the steps, where he lay motionless. Some one in the crowd laughed--a +high cackle which was heard above the roar of the fire and the deafening +chorus of burning timbers. + +Barlasch passed on, following some officers who were leading their +horses towards the Kremlin. The streets were full of soldiers carrying +burdens, and staggering beneath the weight of their spoil. Many were +wearing priceless fur cloaks, and others walked in women's wraps of +sable and ermine. Some wore jewellery, such as necklaces, on their rough +uniforms, and bracelets round their sunburnt wrists. No one laughed +at them, but only glanced enviously at the pillage. All were in +deadly earnest, and none graver than those who had found drink and now +regretted that they had given way to the temptation; for their sober +comrades had outwitted them in finding treasure. + +One man gravely wore a gilt coronet crammed over the crown of his shako. +He joined Barlasch, staggering along beside him. + +"I come from the Cathedral," he explained, confidentially. "St. Michael +they call it. They said there was great treasure there hidden in the +cellars, but I only found a company of old kings in their coffins. We +stirred them up. They were quiet enough when we found them, under their +counterpanes of red velvet. We stirred them up with the bayonet, and the +dust got into our throats and choked us. Name of God, I am thirsty. You +have nothing in your bottle, comrade?" + +"No." + +Barlasch trudged on, all his possessions swinging and clanking together. +The confidential man turned towards him and lifted his water-bottle, +weighed it, and found it wanting. + +"Name of a name, of a name, of a name," he muttered, walking on. "Yes, +there was nothing there. Even the silver plates on the coffins with the +names of those gentlemen were no thicker than a sword. But I found a +crown in the church itself. I borrowed it from St. Michael. He had a +sword in his hand, but he did not strike. No. And there was only tinsel +on the hilt. No jewels." + +He walked on in silence for a few minutes, coughing out the smoke and +dust from his lungs. It was almost dark, but the whole city was blazing +now, and the sky glowed with a red light that mingled with the remnants +of a lurid sunset. A strong wind blew the smoke and the flying sparks +across the roofs. + +"Then I went into the sacristy," continued the man, stumbling over the +dead body of a young girl and turning to curse her. Barlasch looked +at him sideways and cursed him for doing it, with a sudden fierce +eloquence. For Papa Barlasch was a man of unclean lips. + +"There was an old man in there, a sacristan. I asked him where he kept +the dishes, and he said he could not speak French. I jerked my bayonet +into him--name of a name! he soon spoke French." + +Barlasch broke off these delicate confidences by a quick word of +command, and himself stood rigid in the roadway before the Imperial +Palace of the Kremlin, presenting arms. A man passed close by them on +his way towards a waiting carriage. He was stout and heavy-shouldered, +peculiarly square, with a thick neck and head set low in the shoulders. +On the step of the carriage he turned and surveyed the lurid sky and +the burning city to the east with an indifferent air. Into his deep +bloodshot eyes there flashed a sudden gleam of life and power, as he +glanced along the row of watching faces to read what was written there. + +It was Napoleon, at the summit of his dream, hurriedly quitting the +Kremlin, the boasted goal of his ambition, after having passed but one +night under that proud roof. + + + +CHAPTER XVI. THE FIRST OF THE EBB. + + + + Tho' he trip and fall + He shall not blind his soul with clay. + +The days were short, and November was drawing to its end when Barlasch +returned to Dantzig. Already the frost, holding its own against a sun +that seemed to linger in the North that year, exercised its sway almost +to midday, and drew a mist from the level plains. + +The autumn had been one of unprecedented splendour, making the +imaginative whisper that Napoleon, like a second Joshua, could exact +obedience even from the sun. A month earlier, soon after the retreat +was ordered, the nights had begun to be cold, but the days remained +brilliant. Now the rivers were shrouded in white mist, and still water +was frozen. + +Barlasch seemed to take it for understood that a billet holds good +throughout a whole campaign. But the door of No. 36 Frauengasse was +locked when he turned its iron handle. He knocked, and waited on the +step. + +It was Desiree who opened the door at length--Desiree, grown older, with +something new in her eyes. Barlasch, sure of his entree, had already +removed his boots, which he carried in his hand; this added to a certain +surreptitiousness in his attitude. A handkerchief was bound over his +left eye. He wore his shako still, but the rest of his uniform verged +on the fantastic. Under a light-blue Bavarian cavalry cape he wore a +peasant's homespun shirt, and he carried no arms. + +He pushed past Desiree rather unceremoniously, glad to get within +doors. He was very lame, and of his blue knitted stockings only the legs +remained; he was barefoot. + +He limped towards the kitchen, glancing over his shoulder to make sure +that Desiree shut the door. The chair he had made his own stood just +within the open door of the kitchen. It was nine o'clock in the morning, +and Lisa had gone to market. Barlasch sat down. + +"Voila," he said, and that was all. But by a gesture he described the +end of the world. Then he scowled at her with his available eye with +suspicion, and she turned away suddenly, as one may who has not a clear +conscience. + +"What is the matter with your eye?" she asked, in order to break the +silence. He laid aside his hat, and his ragged hair, quite white, fell +to his shoulders. By way of answer, he unknotted the bloodstained dusky +handkerchief, and looked up at her. The hidden eye was uninjured and as +bright as the other. + +"Nothing," he answered, and he confirmed the statement by a low-born +wink. More than once he glanced, with a glaring light in his eye, +towards the cupboard where Lisa kept the bread, and quite suddenly +Desiree knew that he was starving. She ran to the cupboard, and +hurriedly set down on the table before him what was there. It was not +much--a piece of cold meat and a whole loaf. + +He had taken off his haversack, and was fumbling in it with unsteady +hands. At last he found that which he sought. It was wrapped in a silk +scarf that must have come from Cashmere to Moscow, and from Moscow in +his haversack with pieces of horseflesh and muddy roots to Dantzig. With +that awkwardness in giving and taking which belongs to his class, +he held out to Desiree a little square "ikon" no bigger than a +playing-card. It was of gold, set with diamonds, and the faces of the +Virgin and Child were painted with exquisite delicacy. + +"It is a thing to say your prayers to," he said gruffly. + +By an effort he kept his eyes averted from the food on the table. + +"I met a baker on the bridge," he said, "and offered it to him for a +loaf, but he refused." + +And there was a whole history of human suffering and temptation--of the +human fall--in his curt laugh. While Desiree was looking at the treasure +in speechless admiration, he turned suddenly and took the bread and meat +in his grimy hands. His crooked fingers closed over the loaf, making the +crust crack, and for a second the expression of his face was not human. +Then he hurried to the room that had been his, like a dog that seeks to +hide its greed in its kennel. + +In a surprisingly short time he came back, the greyness all gone from +his face, though his eyes still glittered with the dry, hard light of +starvation. He went back to the chair near the door, and sat down. + +"Seven hundred miles," he said, looking down at his feet with a shake of +the head, "seven hundred miles in six weeks." + +Then he glanced at her and out through the open door, to make sure none +could overhear. + +"Because I was afraid," he added in a whisper. "I am easily frightened. +I am not brave." + +Desiree shook her head and laughed. Women have from all time accepted +the theory that a uniform makes a man courageous. + +"They had to abandon the guns," he went on, "soon after quitting Moscow. +The horses were starving. There was a steep hill, and the guns were left +at the bottom. Then I began to be afraid. There were some marching +with candelabras on their backs and nothing in their carnassieres. They +carried a million francs on their shoulders and death in their faces. I +was afraid. I carried salt--salt--and nothing else. Then one day I saw +the Emperor's face. That was enough. The same night I crept away while +the others slept round the fire. They looked like a masquerade. Some of +them wore ermine. Oh! I was afraid, I tell you. I only had the salt and +some horse. There was plenty of that on the road. And that toy. I found +it in Moscow. I stood in a cellar, as big as this room, full of such +things. But one thinks of one's life. I only carried salt, and that +picture for you... to say your prayers to. The good God will hear you, +perhaps; He has no time to listen to us others." + +And he used the last words as a French peasant, which is a survival of +serfdom that has come down through the furnace of the Revolution. + +"But I cannot take it," said Desiree. "It is worth a million francs." + +He looked at her fiercely. + +"You think that I look for something in return?" + +"Oh no!" she answered, "I have nothing to give you in return. I am as +poor as you." + +"Then we can be friends," he said. He was eyeing surreptitiously a mug +of beer which Desiree had set before him on the table. Some instinct, or +the teaching of the last two months, made it repugnant to him to eat or +drink beneath his neighbour's eye. He was a sorry-looking figure, not +far removed from the animals, and in his downward journey he had picked +up, perhaps, the instinct which none can explain, telling an animal to +take its food in secret. + +Desiree went to the window, turning her back to him, and looked out into +the yard. She heard him drink, and set the mug down again with a gulp. + +"You were in Moscow?" she said at length, half turning towards him so +that he could see her profile and her short upper lip, which was parted +as if to ask a question which she did not put into words. He looked her +slowly up and down beneath his heavy eyebrows, his little cunning eyes +alight with suspicion. He watched her parted lips, which were tilted at +the corners, showing humour and a nature quick to laugh or suffer. Then +he jerked his head upwards as if he saw the unasked question quivering +there, and bore her some malice for her silence. + +"Yes! I was in Moscow," he said, watching the colour fade from her face. +"And I saw him--your husband--there. I was on guard outside his door the +night we entered the city. It was I who carried to the post the letter +he wrote you. He was very anxious that it should reach you. You received +it--that love-letter?" + +"Yes," answered Desiree gravely, in no wise responding to a sudden +forced gaiety in Papa Barlasch, which was only an evidence of the +shyness with which rough men all the world over approach the subject of +love. The gaiety lapsed into a sudden silence. He waited for her to ask +a question, but in vain. + +"I never saw him again," went on Barlasch, "for the 'general' sounded, +and I went out into the streets to find the city on fire. In a great +army, as in a large country, one may easily lose one's own brother. But +he will return--have no fear. He has good fortune--the fine gentleman." + +He stopped and scratched his head, looked at her sideways with a grimace +of bewilderment. + +"It is good news I bring you," he muttered. "He was alive and well when +we began the retreat. He was on the staff, and the staff had horses and +carriages. They had bread to eat, I am told." + +"And you--what had you?" asked Desiree, over her shoulder. + +"No matter," he answered gruffly, "since I am here." + +"And yet you believe in that man still," flashed out Desiree, turning to +face him. + +Barlasch held up a warning finger, as if bidding her to be silent on a +subject on which she was not capable of forming a judgment. He wagged +his head from side to side and heaved a sigh. + +"I tell you," he said, "I saw his face after Malo-Jaroslavetz; we lost +ten thousand that day. And I was afraid. For I saw in it that he +was going to leave us as he did in Egypt. I am not afraid when he is +there--not afraid of the Devil--or the bon Dieu, but when Napoleon is +not there--" He broke off with a gesture describing abject terror. + +"They say in Dantzig," said Desiree, "that he will never get back across +the Beresina, for the Russians are bringing two armies to stop him +there. They say that the Prussians will turn against him." + +"Ah--they say that already?" + +"Yes." + +He looked at her with a sudden light of anger in his eyes. + +"Who has taught you to hate Napoleon?" he asked bluntly. + +And again Desiree turned away from his glance as if she could not meet +it. + +"No one," she answered. + +"It is not the patron," said Barlasch, muttering his thoughts as +he hobbled to the door of his little room, and began unloading his +belongings with a view to ablution; for he was a self-contained +traveller, carrying with him all he required. "It is not the patron. +Because such a hatred as his cannot be spoken of. It is not your +husband, because Napoleon is his god." + +He broke off with one of his violent jerks of the head, almost +threatening to dislocate his neck, and looked at her fixedly. + +"It is because you have grown into a woman since I went away." + +And out came his accusing finger, though Desiree had her back turned +towards him, and there was none other to see. + +"Ah!" he said, with deadly contempt, "I see, I see!" + +"Did you expect me to grow up into a man?" asked Desiree, over her +shoulder. + +Barlasch stood in the doorway, his lips and jaw moving as if he were +masticating winged words. At length, having failed to find a tremendous +answer, he softly closed the door. + +This was not the only wise old veteran of the Grand Army to see which +way the wind blew; for many another after the battle of Malo-Jaroslavetz +packed upon his back such spoil as he could carry, and set off on foot +for France. For the cold had come at length, and not a horse in the +French army was roughed for the snowy roads, nor, indeed, had provision +been made to rough them. This was a sign not lost upon those who had +horses to care for. The Emperor, who forgot nothing, had forgotten this. +He who foresaw everything, had omitted to foresee the winter. He had +ordered a retreat from Moscow, in the middle of October, of an army in +summer clothing, without provision for the road. The only hope was to +retreat through a new line of country not despoiled by the enormous army +in its advance of every grain of corn, every blade of grass. But this +hope was frustrated by the Russians who, hemming them in, forced them to +keep the road along which they had made so triumphant a march on Moscow. + +Already, in the ranks, it was whispered that by the light of the burning +city some had perceived dark forms moving on the distant plains--a +Russian army passing westward in front of them to await and cut them off +at the passage of some river. The Russians had fought well at Borodino: +they fought desperately at Malo-Jaroslavetz, which town was taken and +retaken eleven times and left in cinders. + +The Grand Army was no longer in a position to choose its way. It was +forced to cross again the battlefield of Borodino, where thirty thousand +dead lay yet unburied. But Napoleon was still with them, his genius +flashing out at times with something of the fire which had taken men's +breath away and burnt his name indelibly into the pages of the world's +history. Even when hard pressed, he never missed a chance of attacking. +The enemy never made a mistake that he did not give them reason to rue +it. + +To the waiting world came at length the news that the winter, so long +retarded, had closed down over Russia. In Dantzig, so near the frontier, +a hundred rumours chased each other through the streets; and day by day +Antoine Sebastian grew younger and gayer. It seemed as if a weight +long laid upon his heart had been lifted at last. He made a journey to +Konigsberg soon after Barlasch's return, and came back with eager eyes. +His correspondence was enormous. He had, it seemed, a hundred +friends who gave him news and asked something in exchange--advice, +encouragement, warning. And all the while men whispered that Prussia +would ally herself to Russia, Sweden, and England. + +From Paris came news of a growing discontent. For France, among a +multitude of virtues, has one vice unpardonable to Northern men: she +turns from a fallen friend. + +Soon followed the news of Beresina--a poor little river of +Lithuania--where the history of the world hung for a day as on a thread. +But a flash of the dying genius surmounted superhuman difficulties, and +the catastrophe was turned into a disaster. The divisions of Victor and +Oudinot--the last to preserve any semblance of military discipline--were +almost annihilated. The French lost twelve thousand killed or drowned in +the river, sixteen thousand prisoners, twelve of the remaining guns. +But they were across the Beresina. There was no longer a Grand Army, +however. There was no army at all--only a starving, struggling trail of +men stumbling through the snow, without organization or discipline or +hope. + +It was a disaster on the same gigantic scale as the past victories--a +disaster worthy of such a conqueror. Even his enemies forgot to rejoice. +They caught their breath and waited. + +And suddenly came the news that Napoleon was in Paris. + + + +CHAPTER XVII. A FORLORN HOPE. + + + + The fire i' the flint + Shows not, till it be struck. + +"It is time to do something," said Papa Barlasch on the December morning +when the news reached Dantzig that Napoleon was no longer with the +army--that he had made over the parody of command of the phantom army +to Murat, King of Naples--that he had passed like an evil spirit unknown +through Poland, Prussia, Germany, travelling twelve hundred miles night +and day at breakneck speed, alone, racing to Paris to save his throne. + +"It is time to do something," said all Europe, when it was too late. +For Napoleon was himself again--alert, indomitable, raising a new army, +calling on France to rise to such heights of energy and vitality as +only France can compass; for the colder nations of the North lack the +imagination that enables men to pit themselves against the gods at the +bidding of some stupendous will, only second to the will of God Himself. + +"Go to Dantzig, and hold it till I come," Napoleon had said to Rapp. +"Retreat to Poland, and hold on to anything you can till I come back +with a new army," he had commanded Murat and Prince Eugene. + +"It is time to do something," said all the conquered nations, looking at +each other for initiation. And lo! the Master of Surprises struck them +dumb by his sudden apparition in his own capital, with all the strings +of the European net gathered as if by magic into his own hands again. + +While everybody told his neighbour that it was time to do something, no +one knew what to do. For it has pleased the Creator to put a great +many talkers into this world and only a few men of action to make its +history. + +Papa Barlasch knew what to do, however. + +"Where is that sailor?" he asked Desiree, when she had told him the news +which Mathilde brought in from the streets. "He who took the patron's +valise that night--the cousin of your husband." + +"There is a man at Zoppot who will tell you," she answered. + +"Then I go to Zoppot." + +Barlasch had lived unmolested in the Frauengasse since his return. He +was an old man, ill-clad, with a bloody handkerchief bound over one eye. +No one asked him any questions, except Sebastian, who heard again and +again the tale of Moscow--how the army which had crossed into Russia +four hundred thousand strong was reduced to a hundred thousand when the +retreat began; how handmills were issued to the troops to grind corn +which did not exist; how the horses died in thousands and the men in +hundreds from starvation; how God at last had turned his face from +Napoleon. + +"Something must be done. The patron will do nothing; he is in the +clouds, he is dreaming dreams of a new France, that bourgeois. I am an +old man. Yes, I will go to Zoppot." + +"You mean that we should have heard from Charles before now," said +Desiree. + +"Name of thunder! he may be in Paris!" exclaimed Barlasch, with the +sudden anger that anxiety commands. "He is on the staff, I tell you." + +For suspense is one of the most contagious of human emotions, and makes +a quicker call upon our sympathy than any other. Do we not feel such a +desire that our neighbour may know the worst without delay, that we race +to impart it to him? + +Nor was Desiree alone in the trial which had drawn certain lines about +her gay lips; for Mathilde had told her father and sister that should +Colonel de Casimir return from the war he would ask her hand in +marriage. + +"And that other--the Colonel," added Barlasch, glancing at Mathilde, +"he is on the staff too. They are safe enough, I tell you that. They are +doubtless together. They were together at Moscow. I saw them, and took +an order from them. They were... at their work." + +Mathilde did not like Papa Barlasch. She would, it seemed, rather have +no news at all of de Casimir than learn it from the old soldier, for +she quitted the room without even troubling to throw him a glance of +disdain. + +Barlasch waited with working lips until the sound of her footsteps +ceased on the stairs. Then he pushed across the kitchen table a piece of +writing-paper, rather yellow and woolly. It had been to Moscow and back. + +"Write a word to him," he said. "I will take it to Zoppot." + +"But you can send a message by the fisherman whose name I have given +you," answered Desiree. + +"And will he heed the message? Will he come ashore at a word from +me--only Barlasch? Remember it is his life that he carries in his hand. +An English sailor with a French name! Thunder of thunder! They would +shoot him like a rat!" + +Desiree shook her head; but Barlasch was not to be denied. He brought +pen and ink from the dresser, and pushed them across the table. + +"I would not ask it," he said, "if it was not necessary. Do you think he +will mind the danger? He will like it. He will say to me, 'Barlasch, I +thank you.' Ah? I know him. Write. He will come." + +"Why?" asked Desiree. + +"Why? How should I know that? He came before when you asked him." + +Desiree leant over the table and wrote six words: + +"Come, if you can come safely." + +Barlasch took up the paper, and, pushing up the bandage which had +served to bring him unharmed through Russia, he frowned at it without +understanding. + +"It is not all writings that I can read," he admitted. "Have you signed +it?" + +"No." + +"Then sign something that he will know, and no other--they might shoot +me. Your baptismal name." + +And she wrote "Desiree" after the six words. + +Barlasch folded the paper carefully and placed it in the lining of an +old felt hat of Sebastian's which he now wore. He bound a scarf over his +ears, after the manner of those who live on the Baltic shores in winter. + +"You can leave the rest to me," he said; and, with a nod and a grimace +expressive of cunning, he left her. + +He did not return that night. The days were short now, for the winter +was well set in. It was nearly dark the next afternoon and very cold +when he came back. He sent Lisa upstairs for Desiree. + +"First," he said, "there is a question for the patron. Will he quit +Dantzig?--that is the question." + +"No," answered Desiree. + +"Rapp is coming," said Barlasch, emphasizing each point with one finger +against the side of his nose. "He will hold Dantzig. There will be a +siege. Let the patron make no mistake. It will not be like the last one. +Rapp was outside then; he will be inside this time. He will hold Dantzig +till the bottom falls out of the world." + +"My father will not leave," said Desiree. "He has said so. He knows that +Rapp is coming, with the Russians behind him." + +"But," interrupted Barlasch, "he thinks that Prussia will turn and +declare war against Napoleon. That may be. Who knows? The question is, +Can the patron be induced to quit Dantzig?" + +Desiree shook her head. + +"It is not I," said Barlasch, "who ask the question. You understand?" + +"Yes, I understand. My father will not quit Dantzig." + +Whereupon Barlasch made a gesture conveying a desire to think as kindly +of Antoine Sebastian as he could. + +"In half an hour," he said, "when it is dark, will you come for a walk +with me along the Langfuhr road--where the unfinished ramparts are?" + +Desiree looked at him and hesitated. + +"Oh--good--if you are afraid--" said Barlasch. + +"I am not afraid--I will come," she answered quickly. + +The snow was hard when they set out, and squeaked under their feet, as +it does with a low thermometer. + +"We shall leave no tracks," said Barlasch, as he led the way off the +Langfuhr road towards the river. There was broken ground here, where +earthworks had been begun and never completed. The trees had been partly +cut, and beneath the snow were square mounds showing where the timber +had been piled up. But since the departure of Rapp, all had been left +incomplete. + +Barlasch turned towards Desiree and pointed out a rising knoll of land +with fir-trees on it--an outline against the sky where a faint aurora +borealis lit the north. She understood that Louis was waiting there, and +must necessarily see them approaching across the untrodden snow. For an +instant she lingered, and Barlasch turning, glanced at her sharply over +his shoulder. She had come against her will, and her companion knew it. +Her feet were heavy with misgiving, like the feet of one who treads +an uncertain road into a strange country. She had been afraid of Louis +d'Arragon when she first caught sight of him in the Frauengasse. The +fear of him was with her now, and would not depart until he himself +swept it away by the first word he spoke. + +He came out from beneath the trees, made a few steps forward, and +then stopped. Again Desiree lingered, and Barlasch, who was naturally +impatient, turned and took her by the arm. + +"Is it the snow--that you find slippery?" he asked, not requiring an +answer. A moment later Louis came forward. + +"There is nothing but bad news," he said laconically. "Barlasch will +have told you; but there is no need to give up hope. The army has +reached the Niemen; the rearguard has quitted Vilna. There is nothing +for it but to go and look for him." + +"Who will go?" she asked quietly. + +"I." + +He was looking at her with grave eyes trained to darkness. But she +looked past him towards the sky, which was faintly lighted by the +aurora. Her averted eyes and rigid attitude were not without some +suggestion of guilt. + +"My ship is ice-bound at Reval," said D'Arragon, in a matter-of-fact +way. "They have no use for me until the winter is over, and they have +given me three months' leave." + +"To go to England?" she asked. + +"To go anywhere I like," he said, with a short laugh. "So I am going to +look for Charles, and Barlasch will come with me." + +"At a price," put in that soldier, in a shrewd undertone. "At a price." + +"A small one," corrected Louis, turning to look at him with the close +attention of one exploring a new country. + +"Bah! You give what you can. One does not go back across the Niemen for +pleasure. We bargained, and we came to terms. I got as much as I could." + +Louis laughed, as if this were the blunt truth. + +"If I had more, I would give you more. It is the money I placed in a +Dantzig bank for my cousin. I must take it out again, that is all." + +The last words were addressed to Desiree, as if he had acted in +assurance of her approval. + +"But I have more," she said; "a little--not very much. We must not think +of money. We must do everything to find him--to give him help, if he +needs it." + +"Yes," answered Louis, as if she had asked him a question. "We must do +everything; but I have no more money." + +"And I have none with me. I have nothing that I can sell." + +She withdrew her fur mitten and held out her hand, as if to show that +she had no rings, except the plain gold one on her third finger. + +"You have the ikon I brought you from Moscow," said Barlasch gruffly. +"Sell that." + +"No," answered Desiree; "I will not sell that." + +Barlasch laughed cynically. + +"There you have a woman," he said, turning to Louis. "First she will not +have a thing, then she will not part with it." + +"Well," said Desiree, with some spirit, "a woman may know her own mind." + +"Some do," admitted Barlasch carelessly; "the happy ones. And since you +will not sell your ikon, I must go for what Monsieur le capitaine offers +me. + +"Five hundred francs," said Louis. "A thousand francs, if we succeed in +bringing my cousin safely back to Dantzig." + +"It is agreed," said Barlasch, and Desiree looked from one to the other +with an odd smile of amusement. For women do not understand that spirit +of adventure which makes the mercenary soldier, and urges the sailor to +join an exploring expedition without hope of any reward beyond his daily +pay, for which he is content to work and die loyally. + +"And I," she asked, "what am I to do?" + +"We must know where to find you," replied D'Arragon. + +There was so much in the simple answer that Desiree fell into a train of +thought. It did not seem much for her to do, and yet it was all. For it +summed up in six words a woman's life: to wait till she is found. + +"I shall wait in Dantzig," she said at length. + +Barlasch held up his finger close to her face so that she could not fail +to see it, and shook it slowly from side to side commanding her careful +and entire attention. + +"And buy salt," he said. "Fill a cupboard full of salt. It is cheap +enough in Dantzig now. The patron will not think of it. He is a +dreamer. But a dreamer awakes at length, and is hungry. It is I who tell +you--Barlasch." + +He emphasized himself with a touch of his curved fingers on either +shoulder. + +"Buy salt," he said, and walked away to a rising knoll to make sure +that no one was approaching. The moon was just below the horizon, and a +yellow glow was already in the sky. + +Desiree and Louis were left alone. He was looking at her, but she was +watching Barlasch with a still persistency. + +"He said that it is the happy women who know their own minds," she said +slowly. + +"I suppose he meant--Duty," she added at length, when Louis made no sign +of answering. + +"Yes," he said. + +Barlasch was beckoning to her. She moved away, but stopped a few yards +off, and looked at Louis again. + +"Do you think it is any good trying?" she asked, with a short laugh. + +"It is no good trying unless you mean to succeed," he answered lightly. +She laughed a second time and lingered, though Barlasch was calling her +to come. + +"Oh," she said, "I am not afraid of you when you say things like that. +It is what you leave unsaid. I am afraid of you, I think, because you +expect so much." + +She tried to see his face. + +"I am only an ordinary human being, you know," she said warningly. + +Then she followed Barlasch. + + + +CHAPTER XVIII. MISSING. + + + + I should fear those that dance before me now + Would one day stamp upon me; it has been done: + Men shut their doors against a setting sun. + +During the first weeks of December the biting wind abated for a time, +and immediately the snow came. It fell for days, until at length the +grey sky seemed exhausted; for the flakes sailed downwards in twos and +threes like the stragglers of an army bringing up the rear. Then the sun +broke through again, and all the world was a dazzling white. + +There had been a cessation in that stream of pitiable men who staggered +across the bridge from the Konigsberg road. Some instinct had turned +it southwards. Now it began again, and the rumour spread throughout +the city that Rapp was coming. At length, in the middle of December, an +officer brought word that Rapp with his staff would arrive next day. + +Desiree heard the news without comment. + +"You do not believe it?" asked Mathilde, who had come in with shining +eyes and a pale face. + +"Oh yes, I believe it." + +"Then you forget," persisted Mathilde, "that Charles is on the staff. +They may arrive to-night." + +While they were speaking Sebastian came in. He looked quickly from one +to the other. + +"You have heard the news?" he asked. + +"That the General is coming back?" said Mathilde. + +"No; not that. Though it is true. Macdonald is in full retreat on +Dantzig. The Prussians have abandoned him--at last." + +He gave a queer laugh and stood looking towards the window with restless +eyes that flitted from one object to another, as if he were endeavouring +to follow in mind the quick course of events. Then he remembered Desiree +and turned towards her. + +"Rapp returns to-morrow," he said. "We may presume that Charles is with +him." + +"Yes," said Desiree, in a lifeless voice. + +Sebastian wrinkled his eyes and gave an apologetic laugh. + +"We cannot offer him a fitting welcome," he said, with a gesture of +frustrated hospitality. "We must do what we can. You and he may, of +course, consider this your home as long as it pleases you to remain with +us. Mathilde, you will see that we have such delicacies in the house +as Dantzig can now afford--and you, Desiree, will of course make such +preparations as are necessary. It is well to remember, he may return... +to-night." + +Desiree went towards the door while Mathilde laid aside the delicate +needlework which seemed to absorb her mind and employ her fingers from +morning till night. She made a movement as if to accompany her sister, +but Desiree shook her head sharply and Mathilde remained where she was, +leaving Desiree to go upstairs alone. + +The day was already drawing to its long twilight, and at four o'clock +the night came. Sebastian went out as usual, though he had caught cold. +But Mathilde stayed at home. Desiree sent Lisa to the shops in the +Langenmarkt, which is the centre of business and gossip in Dantzig. Lisa +always brought home the latest news. Mathilde came to the kitchen to +seek something when the messenger returned. She heard Lisa tell Desiree +that a few more stragglers had come in, but they brought no news of the +General. The house seemed lonely now that Barlasch was gone. + +Throughout the night the sound of sleigh-bells could be faintly +heard through the double windows, though no sleigh passed through the +Frauengasse. A hundred times the bells seemed to come closer, and always +Desiree was ready behind the curtains to see the light flash past into +the Pfaffengasse. With a shiver of suspense she crept back to bed to +await the next alarm. In the early morning, long before it was light, +the dull thud of steps on the trodden snow called her to the window +again. She caught her breath as she drew back the curtain; for through +the long watches of the night she had imagined every possible form of +return. + +This must be Barlasch. Louis and Barlasch must, of course, have met Rapp +on his homeward journey. On finding Charles, they had sent Barlasch back +in advance to announce the safety of Desiree's husband. Louis would, of +course, not come to Dantzig. He would go north to Russia, to Reval, and +perhaps home to England--never to return. + +But it was not Barlasch. It was a woman who staggered past under a +burden of firewood which she had collected in the woods of Schottland, +and did not dare to carry through the streets by day. + +At last the clocks struck six, and, soon after, Lisa's heavy footstep +made the stairs creak and crack. + +Desiree went downstairs before daylight. She could hear Mathilde astir +in her room, and the light of candles was visible under her door. +Desiree busied herself with household affairs. + +"I have not slept," said Lisa bluntly, "for thinking that your husband +might return, and fearing that we should make him wait in the street. +But without doubt you would have heard him." + +"Yes, I should have heard him." + +"If it had been my husband, I should have been at the window all night," +said Lisa, with a gay laugh--and Desiree laughed too. + +Mathilde seemed a long time in coming, and when at length she appeared +Desiree could scarcely repress a movement of surprise. Mathilde was +dressed, all in her best, as for a fete. + +At breakfast Lisa brought the news told to her at the door that the +Governor would re-enter the city in state with his staff at midday. The +citizens were invited to decorate their streets, and to gather there to +welcome the returning garrison. + +"And the citizens will accept the invitation," commented Sebastian, +with a curt laugh. "All the world has sneered at Russia since the Empire +existed--and yet it has to learn from Moscow what part a citizen may +play in war. These good Dantzigers will accept the invitation." + +And he was right. For one reason or another the city did honour to Rapp. +Even the Poles must have known by now that France had made tools of +them. But as yet they could not realize that Napoleon had fallen. There +were doubtless many spies in the streets that cold December day--one who +listened for Napoleon; and another, peeping to this side and that, +for the King of Prussia. Sweden also would need to know what Dantzig +thought, and Russia must not be ignorant of the gossip in a great Baltic +port. + +Enveloped in their stiff sheepskins, concealed by the high collars which +reached to the brim of their hats--showing nothing but eyes where the +rime made old faces and young all alike, it was difficult for any to +judge of his neighbour--whether he were Pole or Prussian, Dantziger or +Swede. The women in thick shawls, with hoods or scarves concealing their +faces, stood silently beside their husbands. It was only the children +who asked a thousand questions, and got never an answer from the +cautious descendants of a Hanseatic people. + +"Is it the French or the Russians that are coming?" asked a child near +to Desiree. + +"Both," was the answer. + +"But which will come first?" + +"Wait and see--silentium," replied the careful Dantziger, looking over +his shoulder. + +Desiree had changed her clothes, and wore beneath her furs the dress +that had been prepared for the journey to Zoppot so long ago. Mathilde +had noticed the dress, which had not been seen for six months. Lisa, +more loquacious, nodded to it as to a friend when helping Desiree with +her furs. + +"You have changed," she said, "since you last wore it." + +"I have grown older--and fatter," answered Desiree cheerfully. + +And Lisa, who had no imagination, seemed satisfied with the explanation. +But the change was in Desiree's eyes. + +With Sebastian's permission--almost at his suggestion--they had selected +the Grune Brucke as the point from which to see the sight. This bridge +spans the Mottlau at the entrance to the Langenmarkt, and the roadway +widens before it narrows again to pass beneath the Grunes Thor. There is +rising ground where the road spreads like a fan, and here they could see +and be seen. + +"Let us hope," said Sebastian, "that two of these gentlemen may perceive +you as they pass." + +But he did not offer to accompany them. + +By half-past eleven the streets were full. The citizens knew their +governor, it seemed. He would not keep them waiting. Although Rapp +lacked that power of appealing to the imagination which has survived +Napoleon's death with such astounding vitality that it moves men's minds +to-day as surely as it did a hundred years ago, he was shrewd enough +to make use of his master's methods when such would seem to serve his +purpose. He was not going to creep into Dantzig like a whipped dog into +his kennel. + +He had procured a horse at Elbing. Between that town and the Mottlau he +had halted to form his army into something like order, to get together a +staff with which to surround himself. + +But the Dantzigers did not cheer. They stood and watched him in a sullen +silence as he rode across the bridge now known as the "Milk-Can." His +bridle was twisted round his arm, for all his fingers were frostbitten. +His nose and his ears were in the same plight, and had been treated by +a Polish barber who, indeed, effected a cure. One eye was almost closed. +His face was astonishingly red. But he carried himself like a soldier, +and faced the world with the audacity that Napoleon taught to all his +disciples. + +Behind him rode a few staff officers, but the majority were on foot. +Some effort had been made to revive the faded uniforms. One or two +heroic souls had cast aside the fur cloaks to which they owed their +life, but the majority were broken men without spirit, without +pride--appealing only to pity. They hugged themselves closely in +their ragged cloaks and stumbled as they walked. It was impossible +to distinguish between the officers and the men. The biggest and the +strongest were the best clad--the bullies were the best fed. All were +black and smoke-grimed--with eyes reddened and inflamed by the dazzling +snow through which they stumbled by day, as much as by the smoke into +which they crouched at night. Every garment was riddled by the holes +burnt by flying sparks--every face was smeared with blood that ran +from the horseflesh they had torn asunder with their teeth while it yet +smoked. + +Some laughed and waved their hands to the crowd. Others, who had known +the tragedy of Vilna and Kowno, stumbled on in stubborn silence still +doubting that Dantzig stood--that they were at last in sight of food and +warmth and rest. + +"Is that all?" men asked each other in astonishment. For the last +stragglers had crossed the new Mottlau before the head of the procession +had reached the Grune Brucke. + +"If I had such an army as that," said a stout Dantziger, "I should bring +it into the city quietly, after dusk." + +But the majority were silent, remembering the departure of these +men--the triumph, the glory, and the hope. For a great catastrophe is +a curtain that for a moment shuts out all history and makes the human +family little children again who can but cower and hold each other's +hands in the dark. + +"Where are the guns?" asked one. + +"And the baggage?" suggested another. + +"And the treasure of Moscow?" whispered a Jew with cunning eyes, who had +hidden behind his neighbour when Rapp glanced in his direction. + +Emerging on the bridge, the General glanced at the old Mottlau. A crowd +was collected on it. The citizens no longer used the bridges but crossed +without fear where they pleased, and heavy sleighs passed up and down as +on a high-road. Rapp saw it, made a grimace, and, turning in his saddle, +spoke to his neighbour, an engineer officer, who was to make an immortal +name and die in Dantzig. + +The Mottlau was one of the chief defences of the city, but instead of a +river the Governor found a high-road! + +Rapp alone seemed to look about him with the air of one who knew his +whereabouts. In the straggling trail of men behind him, not one in a +hundred looked for a friendly face. Some stared in front of them with +lifeless eyes, while others, with a little spirit plucked up at the +end of a weary march, glanced up at the gabled houses with the interest +called forth by the first sight of a new city. + +It was not until long afterwards that the world, piecing together +information purposely delayed and details carefully falsified, knew that +of the four hundred thousand men who marched triumphantly to the Niemen, +only twenty thousand recrossed that river six months later, and of these +two-thirds had never seen Moscow. + +Rapp, whose bloodshot eyes searched the crowd of faces turned towards +him, recognized a number of people. To Mathilde he bowed gravely, and +with a kindlier glance turned in his saddle to bow again to Desiree. +They hardly heeded him, but with colourless faces turned towards the +staff riding behind him. + +Most of the faces were strange: others were so altered that the features +had to be sought for as in the face of a mummy. Neither Charles nor +de Casimir was among the horsemen. One or two of them bowed, as their +leader had done, to the two girls. + +"That is Captain de Villars," said Mathilde, "and the other I do not +know. Nor that tall man who is bowing now. Who are they?" + +Desiree did not answer. None of these men was Charles. Unconsciously +holding her two mittened hands at her throat, she searched each face. + +They were well placed to see even those who followed on foot. Many of +them were not French. It would have been easy to distinguish Charles or +de Casimir among the dark-visaged southerners. Desiree was not conscious +of the crowd around her. She heard none of the muttered remarks. All her +soul was in her eyes. + +"Is that all?" she said at length--as the others had said at the +entrance to the town. + +She found she was standing hand-in-hand with Mathilde, whose face was +like marble. + +At last, when even the crowd had passed away beneath the Grunes Thor, +they turned and walked home in silence. + + + +CHAPTER XIX. KOWNO. + + + + Distinct with footprints yet + Of many a mighty marcher gone that way. + +There are many who overlook the fact that in Northern lands, more +especially in such plains as Lithuania, Courland, and Poland, travel in +winter is easier than at any other time of year. The rivers, which run +sluggishly in their ditch-like beds, are frozen so completely that +the bridges are no longer required. The roads, in summer almost +impassable--mere ruts across the plain--are for the time ignored, and +the traveller strikes a bee-line from place to place across a level of +frozen snow. + +Louis d'Arragon had worked out a route across the plain, as he had been +taught to shape a course across a chart. + +"How did you return from Kowno?" he asked Barlasch. + +"Name of my own nose," replied that traveller. "I followed the line of +dead horses." + +"Then I will take you by another route," replied the sailor. + +And three days later--before General Rapp had made his entry into +Dantzig--Barlasch sold two skeletons of horses and a sleigh at an +enormous profit to a staff officer of Murat's at Gumbinnen. + +They had passed through Rapp's army. They had halted at Konigsberg to +make inquiry, and now, almost in sight of the Niemen, where the land +begins to heave in great waves, like those that roll round Cape Horn, +they were asking still if any man had seen Charles Darragon. + +"Where are you going, comrades?" a hundred men had paused to ask them. + +"To seek a brother," answered Barlasch, who, like many unprincipled +persons, had soon found that a lie is much simpler than an explanation. + +But the majority glanced at them stupidly without comment, or with only +a shrug of their bowed shoulders. They were going the wrong way. They +must be mad. Between Dantzig and Konigsberg they had indeed found a few +travellers going eastward--despatch-bearers seeking Murat--spies going +northwards to Tilsit, and General Yorck still in treaty with his own +conscience--a prominent member of the Tugendbund, wondering, like many +others, if there were any virtue left in the world. Others, again, told +them that they were officers ordered to take up some new command in the +retreating army. + +Beyond Konigsberg, however, D'Arragon and Barlasch found themselves +alone on their eastward route. Every man's face was set towards the +west. This was not an army at all, but an endless procession of tramps. +Without food or shelter, with no baggage but what they could carry on +their backs, they journeyed as each of us must journey out of this world +into that which lies beyond--alone, with no comrade to help them over +the rough places or lift them when they fell. For there was only one +man of all this rabble who rose to the height of self-sacrifice, and a +persistent devotion to duty. And he was coming last of all. + +Many had started off in couples--with a faithful friend--only to quarrel +at last. For it is a peculiarity of the French that they can only have +one friend at a time. Long ago--back beyond the Niemen--all friendships +had been dissolved, and discipline had vanished before that. For when +Discipline and a Republic are wedded we shall have the millennium. +Liberty, they cry: meaning, I may do as I like. Equality: I am better +than you. Fraternity: what is yours is mine, if I want it. + +So they quarrelled over everything, and fought for a place round the +fire that another had lighted. They burnt the houses in which they had +passed a night, though they knew that thousands trudging behind them +must die for lack of this poor shelter. + +At the Beresina they had fought on the bridge like wild animals, and +those who had horses trod their comrades underfoot, or pushed them over +the parapet. Twelve thousand perished on the banks or in the river; and +sixteen thousand were left behind to the mercy of the Cossacks. + +At Vilna the people were terrified at the sight of this inhuman rabble, +which had commanded their admiration on the outward march. And the +commander, with his staff, crept out of the city at night, abandoning +sick, wounded, and fighting men. + +At Kowno they crowded numbly across the bridge, fighting for precedence, +when they might have walked at leisure across the ice. They were +no longer men at all, but dumb and driven animals, who fell by the +roadside, and were stripped by their comrades before the warmth of life +had left their limbs. + +"Excuse me, comrade? I thought you were dead," said one, on being +remonstrated with by a dying man. And he went on his way reluctantly, +for he knew that in a few minutes another would snatch the booty. But +for the most part they were not so scrupulous. + +At first D'Arragon, to whom these horrors were new, attempted to help +such as appealed to him, but Barlasch laughed at him. + +"Yes," he said. "Take the medallion, and promise to send it to his +mother. Holy Heaven--they all have medallions, and they all have +mothers. Every Frenchman remembers his mother--when it is too late. I +will get a cart. By to-morrow we shall fill it with keepsakes. And here +is another. He is hungry. So am I, comrade. I come from Moscow--bah!" + +And so they fought their way through the stream. They could have +journeyed by a quicker route--D'Arragon could have steered a course +across the frozen plain as over a sea--but Charles must necessarily be +in this stream. He might be by the wayside. Any one of these pitiable +objects, half blind, frost-bitten, with one limb or another swinging +useless, like a snapped branch, wrapped to the eyes in filthy +furs--inhuman, horrible--any one of these might be Desiree's husband. + +They never missed a chance of hearing news. Barlasch interrupted the +last message of a dying man to inquire whether he had ever heard of +Prince Eugene. It was startling to learn how little they knew. The +majority of them were quite ignorant of French, and had scarcely heard +the name of the commander of their division. Many spoke in a language +which even Barlasch could not identify. + +"His talk is like a coffee-mill," he explained to D'Arragon, "and I do +not know to what regiment he belonged. He asked me if I was Russki--I! +Then he wanted to hold my hand. And he went to sleep. He will wake among +the angels--that parishioner." + +Not only had no one heard of Charles Darragon, but few knew the name of +the commander to whose staff he had been attached in Moscow. There +was nothing for it but to go on towards Kowno, where it was understood +temporary head-quarters had been established. + +Rapp himself had told D'Arragon that officers had been despatched to +Kowno to form a base--a sort of rock in the midst of a torrent to divert +the currents. There had then been a talk of Tilsit, and diverting the +stream, or part of it towards Macdonald in the north. But D'Arragon knew +that Macdonald was likely to be in no better plight than Murat; for +it was an open secret in Dantzig that Yorck, with four-fifths of +Macdonald's army, was about to abandon him. + +The road to Kowno was not to be mistaken. On either side of it, like +fallen landmarks, the dead lay huddled on the snow. Sometimes D'Arragon +and Barlasch found the remains of a fire, where, amid the ashes, the +chains and rings showed that a gun-carriage had been burnt. The trees +were cut and scored where, as a forlorn hope, some poor imbecile had +stripped the bark with the thought that it might burn. Nearly every +fire had its grim guardian; for the wounds of the injured nearly always +mortified when the flesh was melted by the warmth. Once or twice, with +their ragged feet in the ashes, a whole company had never awakened from +their sleep. + +Barlasch pessimistically went the round of these bivouacs, but rarely +found anything worth carrying away. If he recognized a veteran by +the grizzled hair straggling out of the rags in which all faces were +enveloped, or perceived some remnant of a Garde uniform, he searched +more carefully. + +"There may be salt," he said. And sometimes he found a little. They +had been on foot since Gumbinnen, because no horse would be allowed by +starving men to live a day. They existed from day to day on what they +found, which was, at the best, frozen horse. But Barlasch ate singularly +little. + +"One thinks of one's digestion," he said vaguely, and persuaded +D'Arragon to eat his portion because it would be a sin to throw it away. + +At length D'Arragon, who was quick enough in understanding rough men, +said-- + +"No, I don't want any more. I will throw it away." + +And an hour later, while pretending to be asleep, he saw Barlasch get +up, and crawl cautiously into the trees where the unsavoury food had +been thrown. + +"Provided," muttered Barlasch one day, "that you keep your health. I am +an old man. I could not do this alone." + +Which was true, for D'Arragon was carrying all the baggage now. + +"We must both keep our health," answered Louis. "I have eaten worse +things than horse." + +"I saw one yesterday," said Barlasch, with a gesture of disgust; "he +had three stripes on his arm, too; he was crouching in a ditch eating +something much worse than horse, mon capitaine. Bah! It made me sick. +For three sous I would have put my heel on his face. And later on at the +roadside I saw where he or another had played the butcher. But you saw +none of these things, mon capitaine?" + +"It was by that winding stream where a farm had been burnt," said Louis. + +Barlasch glanced at him sideways. + +"If we should come to that, mon capitaine...." + +"We won't." + +They trudged on in silence for some time. They were off the road now, +and D'Arragon was steering by dead-reckoning. Even amid the pine-woods, +which seemed interminable, they frequently found remains of an +encampment. As often as not they found the campers huddled over their +last bivouac. + +"But these," said Barlasch, pointing to what looked like a few bundles +of old clothes, continuing the conversation where he had left it after a +long silence, as men learn to do who are together day and night in some +hard enterprise, "even these have a woman dinning the ears of the good +God for them, just as we have." + +For Barlasch's conception of a Deity could not get further than the +picture of a great Commander who in times of stress had no leisure to +see that non-commissioned officers did their best for the rank and file. +Indeed, the poor in all lands rather naturally conclude that God will +think of carriage-people first. + +They came within sight of Kowno one evening, after a tiring day over +snow that glittered in a cloudless sun. Barlasch sat down wearily +against a pine tree, when they first caught sight of a distant +church-tower. The country is much broken up into little valleys +here, through which streams find their way to the Niemen. Each river +necessitated a rapid descent and an arduous climb over slippery snow. + +"Voila," said Barlasch. "That is Kowno. I am done. Go on, mon capitaine. +I will lie here, and if I am not dead to-morrow morning, I will join +you." + +Louis looked at him with a slow smile. + +"I am tired as you," he said. "We will rest here until the moon rises." + +Already the bare larches threw shadows three times their own length on +the snow. Near at hand it glittered like a carpet of diamonds, while the +distance was of a pale blue, merging to grey on the horizon. A far-off +belt of pines against a sky absolutely cloudless suggested infinite +space--immeasurable distance. Nothing was sharp and clearly outlined, +but hazy, silvery, as seen through a thin veil. The sea would seem to be +our earthly picture of infinite space, but no sea speaks of distance so +clearly as the plain of Lithuania--absolutely flat, quite lonely. The +far-off belt of pines only leads the eye to a shadow beyond, which is +another pine-wood; and the traveller walking all day towards it knows +that when at length he gets there he will see just such another on the +far horizon. + +Louis sat down wearily beside Barlasch. As far as eye could see, they +were alone in this grim white world. They had nothing to say to each +other. They sat and watched the sun go down with drawn eyes and a queer +stolidity which comes to men in great cold, as if their souls were numb. + +As the sun sank, the shadows turned bluer, and all the snow gleamed like +a lake. The silver tints slowly turned to gold; the greys grew darker. +The distant lines of pines were almost black now, a silhouette against +the golden sky. Near at hand the little inequalities in the snow loomed +blue, like deeper pools in shallow water. + +The sun sank very slowly, moving along the horizon almost parallel with +it towards two bars of golden cloud awaiting it, the bars of the West +forming a prison to this poor pale captive of the snows. The stems of a +few silver-birch near at hand were rosy now, and suddenly the snow +took a similar tint. At the same moment, a wave of cold seemed to sweep +across the world. + +The sun went down at length, leaving a brownish-red sky. This, too, +faded to grey in a few minutes, and a steely cold gripped the world as +in a vice. + +Louis d'Arragon made a sudden effort and rose to his feet, beneath which +the snow squeaked. + +"Come," he said. "If we stay, we shall fall asleep, and then--" + +Barlasch roused himself and looked sleepily at his companion. He had a +patch of blue on either cheek. + +"Come!" shouted Louis, as if to a deaf man. "Let us go on to Kowno, and +find out whether he is alive or dead." + + + +CHAPTER XX. DESIREE'S CHOICE. + + + + Our wills and fates do so contrary run, + That our devices still are overthrown. + Our thoughts are ours, their ends none of our own. + +Rapp found himself in a stronghold which was strong in theory only. For +the frozen river formed the easiest possible approach, instead of an +insuperable barrier to the enemy. He had an army which was a paper army +only. + +He had, according to official returns, thirty-five thousand men. In +reality a bare eight thousand could be collected to show a face to the +enemy. The rest were sick and wounded. There was no national spirit +among these men; they hardly had a language in common. For they were men +from Africa and Italy, from France, Germany, Poland, Spain, and Holland. +The majority of them were recruits, raw and of poor physique. All +were fugitives, flying before those dread Cossacks whose "hurrah! +hurrah!"--the Arabic "kill! kill!"--haunted their fitful sleep at night. +They came to Dantzig not to fight, but to lie down and rest. They were +the last of the great army--the reinforcements dragged to the frontier +which many of them had never crossed. For those who had been to +Moscow were few and far between. The army of Moscow had perished at +Malo-Jaroslavetz, at the Beresina, in Smolensk and Vilna. + +These fugitives had fled to Dantzig for safety; and Rapp in crossing the +bridge had made a grimace, for he saw that there was no safety here. + +The fortifications had been merely sketched out. The ditches were full +of snow, the rivers were frozen. All work was at a standstill. Dantzig +lay at the mercy of the first-comer. + +In twenty-four hours every available smith was at work, forging ice-axes +and picks. Rapp was going to cut the frozen Vistula and set the river +free. The Dantzigers laughed aloud. + +"It will freeze again in a night," they said. And it did. So Rapp set +the ice-cutters to work again next day. He kept boats moving day and +night in the water, which ran sluggish and thick, like porridge, with +the desire to freeze and be still. + +He ordered the engineers to set to work on the abandoned fortifications. +But the ground was hard like granite, and the picks sprang back in the +worker's grip, jarring his bones, and making not so much as a mark on +the surface of the earth. + +Again the Dantzigers laughed. + +"It is frozen three feet down," they said. + +The thermometer marked between twenty and thirty degrees of frost every +night now. And it was only December--only the beginning of the winter. +The Russians were at the Niemen, daily coming nearer. Dantzig was full +of sick and wounded. The available troops were worn out, frost-bitten, +desperate. There were only a few doctors, who were without medical +stores; no meat, no vegetables, no spirits, no forage. + +No wonder the Dantzigers laughed. Rapp, who had to rely on Southerners +to obey his orders--Italians, Africans, a few Frenchmen, men little used +to cold and the hardships of a Northern winter--Rapp let them laugh. He +was a medium-sized man, with a bullet-head and a round chubby face, a +small nose, round eyes, and, if you please, side-whiskers. + +Never for a moment did he admit that things looked black. He lit +enormous bonfires, melted the frozen earth, and built the fortifications +that had been planned. + +"I took counsel," he said, long afterwards, "with two engineer officers +whose devotion equalled their brilliancy--Colonel Richemont and General +Campredon." + +Soldiers might for all time study with advantage the acts of such +obscure and almost forgotten men as these. For, through them, Napoleon +was now teaching the world that a fortified place might be made stronger +than any had hitherto suspected. That he should turn round and teach, +on the other hand, that a city usually considered impregnable could +be taken without great loss of life, was only characteristic of his +splendid genius, which, like a towering tree, grew and grew until it +fell. + +The days were very short now, and it was dark when the sappers--whose +business it was to keep the ice moving in the river at that spot where +the Government building-yard abuts the river front to-day--were roused +from their meditations by a shout on the farther bank. + +They pushed their clumsy boat through the ice, and soon perceived +against the snowy distance the outline of a man wrapped, swaddled, +disguised in the heaped-up clothing so familiar to Eastern Europe at +this time. The joke of seeing a grave artilleryman clad in a lady's +ermine cloak had long since lost its savour for those who dwelt near the +Moscow road. + +"Ah! comrade," said one of the boatmen, an Italian who spoke French and +had learnt his seamanship on the Mediterranean, by whose waters he would +never idle again. "Ah! you are from Moscow?" + +"And you, countryman?" replied the new-comer, with a non-committing +readiness, as he stumbled over the gunwale. + +"And you--an old man?" remarked the Italian, with the easy frankness of +Piedmont. + +By way of reply, the new-comer held out one hand roughly swathed in +cloth, and shook it from side to side slowly, taking exception to such +personal matters on a short acquaintance. + +"A week ago, when I quitted Dantzig on a mission to Kowno," he said, +with a careless air, "one could cross the Vistula anywhere. I have been +walking on the bank for half a league looking for a way across. One +would think there is a General in Dantzig now." + +"There is Rapp," replied the Italian, poling his boat through the +floating ice. + +"He will be glad to see me." + +The Italian turned and looked over his shoulder. Then he gave a curt, +derisive laugh. + +"Barlasch--of the Old Guard!" explained the new-comer, with a careless +air. + +"Never heard of him." + +Barlasch pushed up the bandage which he still wore over his left eye, in +order to get a better sight of this phenomenal ignoramus, but he made no +comment. + +On landing he nodded curtly, at which the boatman made a quick gesture +and spat. + +"You have not the price of a glass in your purse, perhaps," he +suggested. + +Barlasch disappeared in the darkness without deigning a reply. Half an +hour later he was on the steps of Sebastian's house in the Frauengasse. +On his way through the streets a hundred evidences of energy had caught +his attention, for many of the houses were barricaded, and palisades +were built at the end of the streets running down towards the river. The +town was busy, and everywhere soldiers passed to and fro. Like Samuel, +Barlasch heard the bleating of sheep and the lowing of oxen in his ears. + +The houses in the Frauengasse were barricaded like others--many of the +lower windows were built up. The door of No. 36 was bolted, and through +the shutters of the upper windows no glimmer of light penetrated to the +outer darkness of the street. Barlasch knocked and waited. He thought he +could hear surreptitious movements within the house. Again he knocked. + +"Who is that?" asked Lisa just within, on the mat. She must have been +there all the time. + +"Barlasch," he replied. And the bolts which he, in his knowledge of such +matters, himself had oiled, were quickly drawn. + +Inside he found Lisa, and behind her Mathilde and Desiree. + +"Where is the patron?" he asked, turning to bolt the door again. + +"He is out, in the town," answered Desiree, in a strained voice. "Where +are you from?" + +"From Kowno." + +Barlasch looked from one face to the other. His own was burnt red, +and the light of the lamp hanging over his head gleamed on the icicles +suspended to his eyebrows and ragged whiskers. In the warmth of the +house his frozen garments began to melt, and from his limbs the water +dripped to the floor with a sound like rain. Then he caught sight of +Desiree's face. + +"He is alive, I tell you that," he said abruptly. "And well, so far as +we know. It was at Kowno that we got news of him. I have a letter." + +He opened his cloak, which was stiff like cardboard and creaked when +he bent the rough cloth. Under his cloak he wore a Russian peasant's +sheepskin coat, and beneath that the remains of his uniform. + +"A dog's country," he muttered, as he breathed on his fingers. + +At last he found the letter, and gave it to Desiree. + +"You will have to make your choice," he commented, with a grimace +indicative of a serious situation, "like any other woman. No doubt you +will choose wrong." + +Desiree went up two steps in order to be nearer the lamp, and they all +watched her as she opened the letter. + +"Is it from Charles?" asked Mathilde, speaking for the first time. + +"No," answered Desiree, rather breathlessly. + +Barlasch nudged Lisa, indicated his own mouth, and pushed her towards +the kitchen. He nodded cunningly to Mathilde, as if to say that they +were now free to discuss family affairs; and added, with a gesture +towards his inner man-- + +"Since last night--nothing." + +In a few minutes Desiree, having read the letter twice, handed it to her +sister. It was characteristically short. + +"We have found a man here," wrote Louis d'Arragon, "who travelled as far +as Vilna with Charles. There they parted. Charles, who was ordered to +Warsaw on staff work, told his friend that you were in Dantzig, and +that, foreseeing a siege of the city, he had written to you to join him +at Warsaw. This letter has doubtless been lost. I am following Charles +to Warsaw, tracing him step by step, and if he has fallen ill by the +way, as so many have done, shall certainly find him. Barlasch returns +to bring you to Thorn, if you elect to join Charles. I will await you at +Thorn, and if Charles has proceeded, we will follow him to Warsaw." + +Barlasch, who had watched Desiree, now followed Mathilde's eyes as they +passed to and fro over the closely written lines. As she neared the +end, and her face, upon which deep shadows had been graven by sorrow and +suspense, grew drawn and hopeless, he gave a curt laugh. + +"There were two," he said, "travelling together--the Colonel de Casimir +and the husband of--of la petite. They had facilities--name of God!--two +carriages and an escort. In the carriages they had some of the Emperor's +playthings--holy pictures, the imperial loot--I know not what. Besides +that, they had some of their own--not furs and candlesticks such as we +others carried on our backs, but gold and jewellery enough to make a man +rich all his life." + +"How do you know that?" asked Mathilde, a dull light in her eyes. + +"I--I know where it came from," replied Barlasch, with an odd smile. +"Allez! you may take it from me." And he muttered to himself in the +patois of the Cotes du Nord. + +"And they were safe and well at Vilna?" asked Mathilde. + +"Yes--and they had their treasure. They had good fortune, or else they +were more clever than other men; for they had the Imperial treasure to +escort, and could take any man's horse for the carriages in which also +they had placed their own treasure. It was Captain Darragon who held the +appointment, and the other--the Colonel--had attached himself to him as +volunteer. For it was at Vilna that the last thread of discipline was +broken, and every man did as he wished." + +"They did not come to Kowno?" asked Mathilde, who had a clear mind, +and that grasp of a situation which more often falls to the lot of the +duller sex. + +"They did not come to Kowno. They would turn south at Vilna. It was as +well. At Kowno the soldiers had broken into the magazines--the brandy +was poured out in the streets. The men were lying there, the drunken +and the dead all confused together on the snow. But there would be no +confusion the next morning; for all would be dead." + +"Was it at Kowno that you left Monsieur d'Arragon?" asked Desiree, in a +sharp voice. + +"No--no. We quitted Kowno together, and parted on the heights above the +town. He would not trust me--monsieur le marquis--he was afraid that +I should get at the brandy. And he was right. I only wanted the +opportunity. He is a strong one--that!" And Barlasch held up a warning +hand, as if to make known to all and sundry that it would be inadvisable +to trifle with Louis d'Arragon. + +He drew the icicles one by one from his whiskers with a wry face +indicative of great agony, and threw them down on the mat. + +"Well," he said, after a pause, to Desiree, "have you made your choice?" + +Desiree was reading the letter again, and before she could answer, a +quick knock on the front door startled them all. Barlasch's face broke +into that broad smile which was only called forth by the presence of +danger. + +"Is it the patron?" he asked in a whisper, with his hand on the heavy +bolts affixed by that pious Hanseatic merchant who held that if God be +in the house there is no need of watchmen. + +"Yes," answered Mathilde. "Open quickly." + +Sebastian came in with a light step. He was like a man long saddled with +a burden of which he had at length been relieved. + +"Ah! What news?" he asked, when he recognised Barlasch. + +"Nothing that you do not know already, monsieur," replied Barlasch, +"except that the husband of Mademoiselle is well and on the road to +Warsaw. Here--read that." + +And he took the letter from Desiree's hand. + +"I knew he would come back safely," said Desiree; and that was all. + +Sebastian read the letter in one quick glance--and then fell to +thinking. + +"It is time to quit Dantzig," said Barlasch quietly, as if he +had divined the old man's thoughts. "I know Rapp. There will be +trouble--here, on the Vistula." + +But Sebastian dismissed the suggestion with a curt shake of the head. + +Barlasch's attention had been somewhat withdrawn by a smell of cooking +meat, to which he opened his nostrils frankly and noisily after the +manner of a dog. + +"Then it remains," he said, looking towards the kitchen, "for +Mademoiselle to make her choice." + +"There is no choice," replied Desiree, "I shall be ready to go with +you--when you have eaten." + +"Good," said Barlasch, and the word applied as well to Lisa, who was +beckoning to him. + + + +CHAPTER XXI. ON THE WARSAW ROAD. + + + + Oft expectation fails, and most oft there + Where it most promises; and oft it hits + Where hope is coldest and despair most sits. + +Love, it is said, is blind. But hatred is as bad. In Antoine Sebastian +hatred of Napoleon had not only blinded eyes far-seeing enough in +earlier days, but it had killed many natural affections. Love, too, +may easily die--from a surfeit or a famine. Hatred never dies; it only +sleeps. + +Sebastian's hatred was all awake now. It was aroused by the disasters +that had befallen Napoleon; of which disasters the Russian campaign +was only one small part. For he who stands above all his compeers must +expect them to fall upon him should he stumble. Napoleon had fallen, +and a hundred foes who had hitherto nursed their hatred in a hopeless +silence were alert to strike a blow should he descend within their +reach. + +When whole empires had striven in vain to strike, how could a mere +association of obscure men hope to record its blow? The Tugendbund had +begun humbly enough; and Napoleon, with that unerring foresight +which raised him above all other men, had struck at its base. For an +association in which kings and cobblers stand side by side on an equal +footing must necessarily be dangerous to its foes. + +Sebastian was not carried off his feet by the great events of the +last six months. They only rendered him steadier. For he had waited a +lifetime. It is only a sudden success that dazzles. Long waiting nearly +always ensures a wise possession. + +Sebastian, like all men absorbed in a great thought, was neglectful +of his social and domestic obligations. Has it not been shown that he +allowed Mathilde and Desiree to support him by giving dancing lessons? +But he was not the ordinary domestic tyrant who is familiar to all--the +dignified father of a family who must have the best of everything, whose +teaching to his offspring takes the form of an unconscious and solemn +warning. He did not ask the best; he hardly noticed what was offered to +him; and it was not owing to his demand, but to that feminine spirit of +self-sacrifice which has ruined so many men, that he fared better than +his daughters. + +If he thought about it at all, he probably concluded that Mathilde and +Desiree were quite content to give their time and thought to the +support of himself--not as their father, but as the motive power of the +Tugendbund in Prussia. Many greater men have made the same mistake, +and quite small men with a great name make it every day, thinking +complacently that it is a privilege to some woman to minister to their +wants while they produce their immortal pictures or deathless +books; whereas, the woman would tend him as carefully were he a +crossing-sweeper, and is only following the dictates of an instinct +which is loftier than his highest thought and more admirable than his +most astounding work of art. + +Barlasch had not lived so long in the Frauengasse without learning the +domestic economy of Sebastian's household. He knew that Desiree, like +many persons with kind blue eyes, shaped her own course through life, +and abided by the result with a steadfastness not usually attributed to +the light-hearted. He concluded that he must make ready to take the +road again before midnight. He therefore gave a careful and businesslike +attention to the simple meal set before him by Lisa; and, looking +up over his plate, he saw for the second time in his life Sebastian +hurrying into his own kitchen. + +Barlasch half rose, and then, in obedience to a gesture from Sebastian, +or remembering perhaps the sturdy Republicanism which he had not learnt +until middle-age, he sat down again, fork in hand. + +"You are prepared to accompany Madame Darragon to Thorn?" inquired +Sebastian, inviting his guest by a gesture to make himself at +home--scarcely a necessary thought in the present instance. + +"Yes." + +"And how do you propose to make the journey?" + +This was so unlike Sebastian's usual method, so far from his lax +comprehension of a father's duty, that Barlasch paused and looked at him +with suspicion. With the back of his hand he pushed up the unkempt +hair which obscured his eyes. This unusual display of parental anxiety +required looking into. + +"From what I could see in the streets," he answered, "the General +will not stand in the way of women and useless mouths who wish to quit +Dantzig." + +"That is possible; but he will not go so far as to provide horses." + +Barlasch gave his companion a quick glance, and returned to his supper, +eating with an exaggerated nonchalance, as if he were alone. + +"Will you provide them?" he asked abruptly, at length, without looking +up. + +"I can get them for you, and can ensure you relays by the way." + +Barlasch cut a piece of meat very carefully, and, opening his mouth +wide, looked at Sebastian over the orifice. + +"On one condition," pursued Sebastian quietly; "that you deliver a +letter for me in Thorn. I make no pretence; if it is found on you, you +will be shot." + +Barlasch smiled pleasantly. + +"The risks are very great," said Sebastian, tapping his snuff-box +reflectively. + +"I am not an officer to talk of my honour," answered Barlasch, with +a laugh. "And as for risk"--he paused and put half a potato into his +mouth--"it is Mademoiselle I serve," concluded this uncouth knight with +a curt simplicity. + +So they set out at ten o'clock that night in a light sleigh on high +runners, such as may be seen on any winter day in Poland down to the +present time. The horses were as good as any in Dantzig at this date, +when a horse was more costly than his master. The moon, sailing high +overhead through fleecy clouds, found it no hard task to light a world +all snow and ice. The streets of Dantzig were astir with life and +the rumble of waggons. At first there were difficulties, and Barlasch +explained airily that he was not so accomplished a whip in the streets +as in the open country. + +"But never fear," he added. "We shall get there, soon enough." + +At the city gates there was, as Barlasch had predicted, no objection +made to the departure of a young girl and an old man. Others were +quitting Dantzig by the same gate, on foot, in sleighs and carts; but +all turned westward at the cross-roads and joined the stream of refugees +hurrying forward to Germany. Barlasch and Desiree were alone on the wide +road that runs southward across the plain towards Dirschau. The air +was very cold and still. On the snow, hard and dry like white dust, the +runners of the sleigh sang a song on one note, only varied from time to +time by a drop of several octaves as they passed over a culvert or +some hollow in the road, after which the high note, like the sound of +escaping steam, again held sway. The horses fell into a long steady +trot, their feet beating the ground with a regular, sleep-inducing thud. +They were harnessed well forward to a very long pole, and covered the +ground with free strides, unhampered by any thought of their heels. The +snow pattered against the cloth stretched like a wind-sail from their +flanks to the rising front of the sleigh. + +Barlasch sat upright, a thick motionless figure, four-square to the +cutting wind. He drove with one hand at a time, sitting on the other to +restore circulation between whiles. It was impossible to distinguish the +form of his garments, for he was wrapped round in a woollen shawl like +a mummy, showing only his eyes beneath the ragged fur of a sheepskin +cap upon which the rime caused by the warmth of the horses and his own +breath had frozen like a coating of frosted silver. + +Desiree was huddled down beside him, with her head bent forward so as to +protect her face from the wind, which seared like a hot iron. She wore a +hood of white fur lined with a darker fur, and when she lifted her face +only her eyes, bright and wakeful, were visible. + +"If you are warm, you may go to sleep," said Barlasch in a mumbling +voice, for his face was drawn tight and his lips stiffened by the cold. +"But if you shiver, you must stay awake." + +But Desiree seemed to have no wish for sleep. Whenever Barlasch leant +forward to peer beneath her hood she looked round at him with wakeful +eyes. Whenever, to see if she were still awake, he gave her an +unceremonious nudge, she nudged back again instantly. As the night wore +on, she grew more wakeful. When they halted at a wayside inn, which +must have been minutely described to Barlasch by Sebastian, and Desiree +accepted the innkeeper's offer of a cup of coffee by the fire while +fresh horses were being put into harness, she was wide awake and +looked at Barlasch with a reckless laugh as he shook the rime from his +eyebrows. In response he frowningly scrutinized as much of her face as +he could see, and shook his head disapprovingly. + +"You laugh when there is nothing to laugh at," he said grimly. "Foolish. +It makes people wonder what is in your mind." + +"There is nothing in my mind," she answered gaily. + +"Then there is something in your heart, and that is worse!" said +Barlasch, which made Desiree look at him doubtfully. + +They had done forty miles with the same horses, and were nearly halfway. +For some hours the road had followed the course of the Vistula on the +high tableland above the river, and would so continue until they reached +Thorn. + +"You must sleep," said Barlasch curtly, when they were once more on the +road. She sat silent beside him for an hour. The horses were fresh, and +covered the ground at a great pace. Barlasch was no driver, but he was +skilful with the horses, and husbanded their strength at every hill. + +"If we go on like this, when shall we arrive?" asked Desiree suddenly. + +"By eight o'clock, if all goes well." + +"And we shall find Monsieur Louis d'Arragon awaiting us at Thorn?" + +Barlasch shrugged his shoulders doubtfully. + +"He said he would be there," he muttered, and, turning in his seat, he +looked down at her with some contempt. + +"That is like a woman," he said. "They think all men are fools except +one, and that one is only to be compared with the bon Dieu." + +Desiree could not have heard the remark, for she made no answer and sat +silent, leaning more and more heavily against her companion. He changed +the reins to his other hand, and drove with it for an hour after all +feeling had left it. Desiree was asleep. She was still sleeping when, +in the dim light of a late dawn, Barlasch saw the distant tower of Thorn +Cathedral. + +They were no longer alone on the road now, but passed a number of heavy +market-sleighs bringing produce and wood to the town. Barlasch had been +in Thorn before. Desiree was still sleeping when he turned the horses +into the crowded yard of the "Drei Kronen." The sleighs and carriages +were packed side by side as in a warehouse, but the stables were empty. +No eager host came out to meet the travellers. The innkeepers of Thorn +had long ceased to give themselves that trouble. For the city was on the +direct route of the retreat, and few who got so far had any money left. + +Slowly and painfully Barlasch unwound himself and disentangled his legs. +He tried first one and then the other, as if uncertain whether he could +walk. Then he staggered numbly across the yard to the door of the inn. + +A few minutes later Desiree woke up. She was in a room warmed by a great +white stove and dimly lighted by candles. Some one was pulling off +her gloves and feeling her hands to make sure that they were not +frost-bitten. She looked sleepily at a white coffee-pot standing on the +table near the candles; then her eyes, still uncomprehending, rested on +the face of the man who was loosening her hood, which was hard with +rime and ice. He had his back to the candles, and was half-hidden by the +collar of his fur coat, which met the cap pressed down over his ears. + +He turned towards the table to lay aside her gloves, and the light fell +on his face. Desiree was wideawake in an instant, and Louis d'Arragon, +hearing her move, turned anxiously to look at her again. Neither spoke +for a minute. Barlasch was holding his numbed hand against the stove, +and was grinding his teeth and muttering at the pain of the restored +circulation. + +Desiree shook the icicles from her hood, and they rattled like hail on +the bare floor. Her hair, all tumbled round her face, caught the light +of the candles. Her eyes were bright and the colour was in her cheeks. +D'Arragon glanced at her with a sudden look of relief, and then turned +to Barlasch. He took the numbed hand and felt it; then he held a candle +close to it. Two of the fingers were quite white, and Barlasch made a +grimace when he saw them. D'Arragon began rubbing at once, taking no +notice of his companion's moans and complaints. + +Without desisting, he looked over his shoulder towards Desiree, but not +actually at her face. + +"I heard last night," he said, "that the two carriages are standing in +an inn-yard three leagues beyond this on the Warsaw road. I have traced +them step by step from Kowno. My informant tells me that the escort has +deserted, and that the officer in charge, Colonel Darragon, was going +on alone, with the two drivers, when he was taken ill. He is nearly well +again, and hopes to continue his journey to-morrow or the next day." + +Desiree nodded her head to signify that she had heard and understood. +Barlasch gave a cry of pain, and withdrew his hand with a jerk. + +"Enough, enough!" he said. "You hurt me. The life is returning now; a +drop of brandy perhaps--" + +"There is no brandy in Thorn," said D'Arragon, turning towards the +table. "There is only coffee." + +He busied himself with the cups, and did not look at Desiree when he +spoke again. + +"I have secured two horses," he said, "to enable you to proceed at once, +if you are able to. But if you would rather rest here to-day--" + +"Let us go on at once," interrupted Desiree hastily. + +Barlasch, crouching against the stove, glanced from one to the other +beneath his heavy brows, wondering, perhaps, why they avoided looking at +each other. + +"You will wait here," said D'Arragon, turning towards him, "until--until +I return." + +"Yes," was the answer. "I will lie on the floor here and sleep. I have +had enough. I--" + +Louis left the room to give the necessary orders. When he returned in a +few minutes, Barlasch was asleep on the floor, and Desiree had tied on +her hood again, which concealed her face. He drank a cup of coffee and +ate some dry bread absent-mindedly, in silence. + +The sound of bells, feebly heard through the double windows, told them +that the horses were being harnessed. + +"Are you ready?" asked D'Arragon, who had not sat down; and in response, +Desiree, standing near the stove, went towards the door, which he held +open for her to pass out. As she passed him, she glanced at his face, +and winced. + +In the sleigh she looked up at him as if expecting him to speak. He was +looking straight in front of him. There was, after all, nothing to be +said. She could see his steady eyes between his high collar and the fur +cap. They were hard and unflinching. The road was level now, and the +snow beaten to a gleaming track like ice. D'Arragon put the horses to a +gallop at the town gate, and kept them at it. + +In half an hour he turned towards her and pointed with his whip to a +roof half hidden by some thin pines. + +"That is the inn," he said. + +In the inn yard he indicated with his whip two travelling-carriages +standing side by side. + +"Colonel Darragon is here?" he said to the cringing Jew who came to meet +them; and the innkeeper led the way upstairs. The house was a miserable +one, evil-smelling, sordid. The Jew pointed to a door, and, cringing +again, left them. + +Desiree made a gesture telling Louis to go in first, which he did at +once. The room was littered with trunks and cases. All the treasure had +been brought into the sick man's chamber for greater safety. + +On a narrow bed near the window a man lay huddled on his side. He turned +and looked over his shoulder, showing a haggard face with a ten-days' +beard on it. He looked from one to the other in silence. + +It was Colonel de Casimir. + + + +CHAPTER XXII. THROUGH THE SHOALS. + + + + I see my way, as birds their trackless way. + +De Casimir had never seen Louis d'Arragon, and yet some dim resemblance +to his cousin must have introduced the new-comer to a conscience not +quite easy. + +"You seek me, Monsieur," he asked, not having recognized Desiree, who +stood behind her companion, in her furs. + +"I seek Colonel Darragon, and was told that we should find him in this +room." + +"May I ask why you seek him in this rather unceremonious manner?" asked +De Casimir, with the ready insolence of his calling and his age. + +"Because I am his cousin," replied Louis quietly, "and Madame is his +wife." + +Desiree came forward, her face colourless. She caught her breath, but +made no attempt to speak. + +De Casimir tried to lift himself on his elbows. + +"Ah! madame," he said. "You see me in a sorry state. I have been very +ill." And he made a gesture with one hand, begging her to overlook his +unkempt appearance and the disorder of his room. + +"Where is Charles?" asked Desiree curtly. She had suddenly realized how +intensely she had always disliked De Casimir, and distrusted him. + +"Has he not returned to Dantzig?" was the ready answer. "He should have +been there a week ago. We parted at Vilna. He was exhausted--a mere +question of over-fatigue--and at his request I left him there to recover +and to pursue his way to Dantzig, where he knew you would be awaiting +him." + +He paused and looked from one to the other with quick and furtive eyes. +He felt himself easily a match for them in quickness of perception, in +rapid thought, in glib speech. Both were dumb--he could not guess why. +But there was a steadiness in D'Arragon's eyes which rarely goes with +dulness of wit. This was a man who could be quick at will--a man to be +reckoned with. + +"You are wondering why I travel under your cousin's name, Monsieur," +said De Casimir, with a friendly smile. + +"Yes," returned Louis, without returning the smile. + +"It is simple enough," explained the sick man. "At Vilna we found all +discipline relaxed. There were no longer any regiments. There was no +longer staff. There was no longer an army. Every man did as he thought +best. Many, as you know, elected to await the Russians at Vilna, rather +than attempt to journey farther. Your cousin had been given the command +of the escort which has now filtered away, like every other corps. He +was to conduct back to Paris two carriages laden with imperial treasure +and certain papers of value. Charles did not want to go back to Paris. +He wished most naturally to return to Dantzig. I, on the other hand, +desired to go to France; and there place my sword once more at the +Emperor's service. What more simple than to change places?" + +"And names," suggested D'Arragon, without falling into De Casimir's easy +and friendly manner. + +"For greater security in passing through Poland and across the +frontier," explained De Casimir readily. "Once in France--and I hope +to be there in a week--I shall report the matter to the Emperor as it +really happened: namely, that, owing to Colonel Darragon's illness, he +transferred his task to me at Vilna. The Emperor will be indifferent, so +long as the order has been carried out." + +De Casimir turned to Desiree as likely to be more responsive than this +dark-eyed stranger, who listened with so disconcerting a lack of comment +or sympathy. + +"So you see, madame," he said, "Charles will still get the credit for +having carried out his most difficult task, and no harm is done." + +"When did you leave Charles at Vilna?" asked she. + +De Casimir lay back on the pillow in an attitude which betrayed his +weakness and exhaustion. He looked at the ceiling with lustreless eyes. + +"It must have been a fortnight ago," he said at length. "I was trying to +count the days. We have lost all account of dates since quitting Moscow. +One day has been like another--and all, terrible. Believe me, madame, +it has always been in my mind that you were awaiting the return of your +husband at Dantzig. I spared him all I could. A dozen times we saved +each other's lives." + +In six words Desiree could have told him all she knew: that he was a spy +who had betrayed to death and exile many Dantzigers whose hospitality +had been extended to him as a Polish officer; that Charles was a +traitor who had gained access to her father's house in order to watch +him--though he had honestly fallen in love with her. He was in love with +her still, and he was her husband. It was this thought that broke into +her sleep at night, that haunted her waking hours. + +She glanced at Louis d'Arragon, and held her peace. + +"Then, Monsieur," he said, "you have every reason to suppose that if +Madame returns to Dantzig now, she will find her husband there?" + +De Casimir looked at D'Arragon, and hesitated for an instant. They both +remembered afterwards that moment of uncertainty. + +"I have every reason to suppose it," replied De Casimir at length, +speaking in a low voice, as if fearful of being overheard. + +Louis waited a moment, and glanced at Desiree, who, however, had +evidently nothing more to say. + +"Then we will not trouble you farther," he said, going towards the door, +which he held open for Desiree to pass out. He was following her when De +Casimir called him back. + +"Monsieur," cried the sick man, "Monsieur, one moment, if you can spare +it." + +Louis came back. They looked at each other in silence while they heard +Desiree descend the stairs and speak in German to the innkeeper who had +been waiting there. + +"I will be quite frank with you," said De Casimir, in that voice of +confidential friendliness which so rarely failed in its effect. "You +know that Madame Darragon has an elder sister, Mademoiselle Mathilde +Sebastian?" + +"Yes." + +De Casimir raised himself on his elbows again, with an effort, and gave +a short, half shamefaced laugh which was quite genuine. It was odd that +Mathilde and he, who had walked most circumspectly, should both have +been tripped up, as it were, by love. + +"Bah!" he said, with a gesture dismissing the subject, "I cannot tell +you more. It is a woman's secret, Monsieur, not mine. Will you deliver a +letter for me in Dantzig, that is all I ask?" + +"I will give it to Madame Darragon to give to Mademoiselle Mathilde, if +you like; I am not returning to Dantzig," replied Louis. But de Casimir +shook his head. + +"I am afraid that will not do," he said doubtfully. "Between sisters, +you understand--" + +And he was no doubt right; this man of quick perception. Is it not from +our nearest relative that our dearest secret is usually withheld? + +"You cannot find another messenger?" asked De Casimir, and the anxiety +in his face was genuine enough. + +"I can--if you wish it." + +"Ah, Monsieur, I shall not forget it! I shall never forget it," said +the sick man quickly and eagerly. "The letter is there, beneath that +sabretasche. It is sealed and addressed." + +Louis found the letter, and went towards the door, as he placed it in +his pocket. + +"Monsieur," said De Casimir, stopping him again. "Your name, if I may +ask it, so that I may remember a countryman who has done me so great a +service." + +"I am not a countryman; I am an Englishman," replied Louis. "My name is +Louis d'Arragon." + +"Ah! I know. Charles has told me, Monsieur le--" + +But D'Arragon heard no more, for he closed the door behind him. + +He found Desiree awaiting him in the entrance hall of the inn, where a +fire of pine-logs burnt in an open chimney. The walls and low ceiling +were black with smoke, the little windows were covered with ice an inch +thick. It was twilight in this quiet room, and would have been dark but +for the leaping flames of the fire. + +"You will go back to Dantzig," he asked, "at once?" + +He carefully avoided looking at her, though he need not have feared +that she would have allowed her eyes to meet his. And thus they stood, +looking downward to the fire--alone in a world that heeded them not, and +would forget them in a week--and made their choice of a life. + +"Yes," she answered. + +He stood thinking for a moment. He was quite practical and +matter-of-fact; and had the air of a man of action rather than of one +who deals in thoughts, and twists them hither and thither so that good +is made to look ridiculous, and bad is tricked out with a fine new name. +He frowned as he looked at the fire with eyes that flitted from one +object to another, as men's eyes do who think of action and not of +thought. This was the sailor--second to none in the shallow +northern sea, where all marks had been removed, and every light +extinguished--accustomed to facing danger and avoiding it, to foresee +remote contingencies and provide against them, day and night, week +in, week out; a sailor, careful and intrepid. He had the air of being +capable of that concentration without which no man can hope to steer a +clear course at all. + +"The horses that brought you from Marienwerder will not be fit for the +road till to-morrow morning," he said. "I will take you back to Thorn at +once, and--leave you there with Barlasch." + +He glanced towards her, and she nodded, as if acknowledging the sureness +and steadiness of the hand at the helm. + +"You can start early to-morrow morning, and be in Dantzig to-morrow +night." + +They stood side by side in silence for some minutes. He was still +thinking of her journey--of the dangers and the difficulties of that +longer journey through life without landmark or light to guide her. + +"And you?" she asked curtly. + +He did not reply at once but busied himself with his ponderous fur coat, +which he buttoned, as if bracing himself for the start. Beneath her +lashes she looked sideways at the deliberate hands and the lean strong +face, burnt to a red-brown by sun and snow, half hidden in the fur +collar of his worn and weather-beaten coat. + +"Konigsberg," he answered, "and Riga." + +A light passed through her watching eyes, usually so kind and gay; like +the gleam of jealousy. + +"Your ship?" she asked sharply. + +"Yes," he answered, as the innkeeper came to tell them that their sleigh +awaited them. + +It was snowing now, and a whistling, fitful wind swept down the valley +of the Vistula from Poland and the far Carpathians which made the +travellers crouch low in the sleigh and rendered talk impossible, had +there been anything to say. But there was nothing. + +They found Barlasch asleep where they had left him in the inn at Thorn, +on the floor against the stove. He roused himself with the quickness and +completeness of one accustomed to brief and broken rest, and stood up +shaking himself in his clothes, like a dog with a heavy coat. He took no +notice of D'Arragon, but looked at Desiree with questioning eyes. + +"It was not the Captain?" he asked. + +And Desiree shook her head. Louis was standing near the door giving +orders to the landlady of the inn--a kindly Pomeranian, clean and +slow--for Desiree's comfort till the next morning. + +Barlasch went close to Desiree, and, nudging her arm with exaggerated +cunning, whispered-- + +"Who was it?" + +"Colonel de Casimir." + +"With the two carriages and the treasure from Moscow?" asked Barlasch, +watching Louis out of the corner of one eye, to make sure that he did +not hear. It did not matter whether he heard or not, but Barlasch came +of a peasant stock that always speaks of money in a whisper. And when +Desiree nodded, he cut short the conversation. + +The hostess came forward to tell Desiree that her room was ready, +kindly suggesting that the "gnadiges Fraulein" must need sleep and rest. +Desiree knew that Louis would go on to Konigsberg at once. She wondered +whether she should ever see him again--long afterwards, perhaps, when +all this would seem like a dream. Barlasch, breathing noisily on his +frost-bitten fingers, was watching them. Desiree shook hands with Louis +in an odd silence, and, turning on her heel, followed the woman out of +the room without looking back. + + + +CHAPTER XXIII. AGAINST THE STREAM. + + + + Wo viel Licht ist, ist starker Schatten. + +In the mean time the last of the Great Army had reached the Niemen, that +narrow winding river in its ditch-like bed sunk below the level of the +tableland, to which six months earlier the greatest captain this world +has ever seen rode alone, and, coming back to his officers, said-- + +"Here we cross." + +Four hundred thousand men had crossed--a bare eighty thousand lived +to pass the bridge again. Twelve hundred cannons had been left behind, +nearly a thousand in the hands of the enemy, and the remainder buried or +thrown into those dull rivers whose slow waters flow over them to this +day. One hundred and twenty-five thousand officers and men had been +killed in battle, another hundred thousand had perished by cold +and disaster at the Beresina or other rivers where panic seized the +fugitives. + +Forty-eight generals had been captured by the Russians, three thousand +officers, one hundred and ninety thousand men, swallowed by the silent +white Empire of the North and no more seen. + +As the retreat neared Vilna the cold had increased, killing men as the +first cold of an English winter kills flies. And when the French quitted +Vilna, the Russians were glad enough to seek its shelter, Kutusoff +creeping in with forty thousand men, all that remained to him of two +hundred thousand. He could not carry on the pursuit, but sent forward a +handful of Cossacks to harry the hare-brained few who called themselves +the rearguard. He was an old man, nearly worn out, with only three +months more to live--but he had done his work. + +Ney--the bravest of the brave--left alone in Russia at the last with +seven hundred foreign recruits, men picked from here and there, called +in from the highways and hedges to share the glory of the only Marshal +who came back from Moscow with a name untarnished--Ney and Girard, +musket in hand, were the last to cross the bridge, shouting defiance at +their Cossack foes, who, when they had hounded the last of the French +across the frontier, flung themselves down on the bloodstained snow to +rest. + +All along the banks of the Vistula, from Konigsberg and Dantzig up to +Warsaw--that slow river which at the last call shall assuredly give up +more dead than any other--the fugitives straggled homewards. For the +Russians paused at their own frontier, and Prussia was still nominally +the friend of France. She had still to wear the mask for three long +months when she should at last openly side with Russia, only to be +beaten again by Napoleon. + +Murat was at Konigsberg with the Imperial staff, left in supreme command +by the Emperor, and already thinking of his own sunny kingdom of the +Mediterranean, and the ease and the glory of it. In a few weeks he, too, +must tarnish his name. + +"I make over the command to you," he said to Prince Eugene; and +Napoleon's step-son made an answer which shows, as Eugene showed again +and again, that contact with a great man makes for greatness. + +"You cannot make it over to me," he replied. "Only the Emperor can +do that. You can run away in the night, and the supreme command will +devolve on me the next morning." + +And what Murat did is no doubt known to the learned reader. + +Macdonald, abandoned by Yorck with the Prussian contingent, in great +peril, alone in the north, was retreating with the remains of the Tenth +Army Corps, wondering whether Konigsberg or Dantzig would still be +French when he reached them. On his heels was Wittgenstein, in touch +with St. Petersburg and the Emperor Alexander, communicating with +Kutusoff at Vilna. And Macdonald, like the Scotchman and the Frenchman +that he was, turned at a critical moment and rent Wittgenstein. Here was +another bulldog in that panic-stricken pack, who turned and snarled and +fought while his companions slunk homewards with their tails between +their legs. There were three of such breed--Ney and Macdonald, and +Prince Eugene de Beauharnais. + +Napoleon was in Paris, getting together in wild haste the new army +with which he was yet to frighten Europe into fits. And Rapp, doggedly +fortifying his frozen city, knew that he was to hold Dantzig at any +cost--a remote, far-thrown outpost on the Northern sea, cut off from +all help, hundreds of miles from the French frontier, nearly a thousand +miles from Paris. + +At Marienwerder, Barlasch and Desiree found themselves in the midst of +that bustle and confusion which attends the arrival or departure of an +army corps. The majority of the men were young and of a dark skin. They +seemed gay, and called out salutations to which Barlasch replied curtly +enough. + +"They are Italians," said he to his companion; "I know their talk and +their manners. To you and me, who come from the North, they are like +children. See that one who is dancing. It is some fete. What is to-day?" + +"It is New Year's Day," replied Desiree. + +"New Year's Day," echoed Barlasch. "Good. And we have been on the road +since six o'clock; and I, who have forgotten to wish you--" He paused +and called cheerily to the horses, which had covered more than forty +miles since leaving their stable at Thorn. "Bon Dieu!" he said in a +lower tone, glancing at her beneath the ice-bound rim of his fur cap, +"Bon Dieu--what am I to wish you, I wonder?" + +Desiree did not answer, but smiled a little and looked straight in front +of her. + +Barlasch made a movement of the shoulders and eyebrows indicative of a +hidden anger. + +"We are friends," he asked suddenly, "you and I?" + +"Yes." + +"We have been friends since--that day--when you were married?" + +"Yes," answered Desiree. + +"Then between friends," said Barlasch, gruffly; "it is not necessary to +smile--like that--when it is tears that are there." + +Desiree laughed. + +"Would you have me weep?" she asked. + +"It would hurt one less," said Barlasch, attending to his horses. They +were in the town now, and the narrow streets were crowded. Many sick and +wounded were dragging themselves wearily along. A few carts, drawn by +starving horses, went slowly down the hill. But there was some semblance +of order, and thus men had the air and carriage of soldiers under +discipline. Barlasch was quick to see it. + +"It is the Fourth Corps. The Viceroy's army. They have done well. He is +a soldier, who commands them. Ah! There is one I know." + +He threw the reins to Desiree, and in a moment he was out on the snow. +A man, as old, it would seem, as himself, in uniform and carrying a +musket, was marching past with a few men who seemed to be under his +orders, though his uniform was long past recognition. He did not +perceive, for some minutes, that Barlasch was coming towards him, and +then the process of recognition was slow. Finally, he laid aside his +musket, and the two old men gravely kissed each other. + +Quite forgetful of Desiree, they stood talking together for twenty +minutes. Then they gravely embraced once more, and Barlasch returned to +the sleigh. He took the reins, and urged the horses up the hill without +commenting on his encounter, but Desiree could see that he had heard +news. + +The inn was outside the town, on the road that follows the Vistula +northwards to Dirschau and Dantzig. The horses were tired, and stumbled +on the powdery snow which was heavy, like sand, and of a sandy colour. +Here and there, by the side of the road, were great stains of blood and +the remains of a horse that had been killed, and eaten raw. The faces of +many of the men were smeared with blood, which had dried on their cheeks +and caked there. Nearly all were smoke-grimed and had sore eyes. + +At last Barlasch spoke, with the decisive air of one who has finally +drawn up a course of action in a difficult position. + +"He comes from my own country, that man. You heard us? We spoke together +in our patois. I shall not see him again. He has a catarrh. When he +coughs there is blood. Alas!" + +Desiree glanced at the rugged face half turned away from her. She was +not naturally heartless; but she quite forgot to sympathize with the +elderly soldier who had caught a cold on the retreat from Moscow; for +his friend's grief lacked conviction. Barlasch had heard news which he +had decided to keep to himself. + +"Has he come from Vilna?" asked Desiree. + +"From Vilna--oh yes. They are all from Vilna." + +"And he had no news"--persisted she, "of--Captain Darragon?" + +"News--oh no! He is a common soldier, and knows nothing of the officers +on the staff. We are the same--he and I--poor animals in the ranks. +A little gentleman rides up, all sabretasche and gold lace. It is an +officer of the staff. 'Go down into the valley and get shot,' he says. +And--bon jour! we go. No--no. He has no news, my poor comrade." + +They were at the inn now, and found the huge yard still packed with +sleighs and disabled carriages, and the stables ostentatiously empty. + +"Go in," said Barlasch; "and tell them who your father is--say Antoine +Sebastian and nothing else. I would do it myself, but when it is so cold +as that, the lips are stiff, and I cannot speak German properly. They +would find out that I am French, and it is no good being French now. My +comrade told me that in Konigsberg, Murat himself was ill-received by +the burgomaster and such city stuff as that." + +It was as Barlasch foretold. For at the name of Antoine Sebastian the +innkeeper found horses--in another stable. + +It would take a few minutes, he said, to fetch them, and in the meantime +there were coffee and some roast meat--his own dinner. Indeed, he could +not do enough to testify his respect for Desiree, and his commiseration +for her, being forced to travel in such weather through a country +infested by starving brigands. + +Barlasch consented to come just within the inner door, but refused to +sit at the table with Desiree. He took a piece of bread, and ate it +standing. + +"See you," he said to her when they were left alone, "the good God has +made very few mistakes, but there is one thing I would have altered. +If He intended us for such a rough life, He should have made the human +frame capable of going longer without food. To a poor soldier marching +from Moscow to have to stop every three hours and gnaw a piece of horse +that has died--and raw--it is not amusing." + +He watched Desiree with a grudging eye. For she was young, and had eaten +nothing for six freezing hours. + +"And for us," he added; "what a waste of time!" + +Desiree rose at once with a laugh. + +"You want to go," she said. "Come, I am ready." + +"Yes," he admitted, "I want to go. I am afraid--name of a dog! I am +afraid, I tell you. For I have heard the Cossacks cry, 'Hurrah! Hurrah!' +And they are coming." + +"Ah!" said Desiree, "that is what your friend told you." + +"That, and other things." + +He was pulling on his gloves as he spoke, and turned quickly on his heel +when the innkeeper entered the room, as if he had expected one of those +dread Cossacks of Toula who were half savage. But the innkeeper carried +nothing more lethal in his hand than a yellow mug of beer, which he +offered to Barlasch. And the old soldier only shook his head. + +"There is poison in it," he muttered. "He knows I am a Frenchman." + +"Come," said Desiree, with her gay laugh, "I will show you that there is +no poison in it." + +She took the mug and drank, and handed the measure to Barlasch. It was +a poor thin beer, and Barlasch was not one to hide his opinion from the +host, to whom he made a reproving grimace when he returned the empty +mug. But the effect upon him was nevertheless good, for he took the +reins again with a renewed energy, and called to the horses gaily +enough. + +"Allons," he said; "we shall reach Dantzig safely by nightfall, and +there we shall find your husband awaiting us, and laughing at us for our +foolish journey." + +But being an old man, the beer could not warm his heart for long, and +he soon lapsed again into melancholy and silence. Nevertheless, +they reached Dantzig by nightfall, and although it was a bitter +twilight--colder than the night itself--the streets were full. Men stood +in groups and talked. In the brief time required to journey to Thorn +something had happened. Something happened every day in Dantzig; for +when history wakes from her slumber and moves, it is with a heavy and +restless tread. + +"What is it?" asked Barlasch of the sentry at the town gate, while they +waited for their passports to be returned to them. + +"It is a proclamation from the Emperor of Russia--no one knows how it +has got here." + +"And what does he proclaim--that citizen?" + +"He bids the Dantzigers rise and turn us out," answered the soldier, +with a grim laugh. + +"Is that all?" + +"No, comrade, that is not all," was the answer in a graver voice. + +"He proclaims that every Pole who submits now will be forgiven and set +at liberty; the past, he says, will be committed to an eternal oblivion +and a profound silence--those are his words." + +"Ah!" + +"Yes, and half the defenders of Dantzig are Poles--there are your +passports--pass on." + +They drove through the dark streets where men like shadows hurried +silently about their business. + +The Frauengasse seemed to be deserted when they reached it. It was +Mathilde who opened the door. She must have been at the darkened window, +behind the curtain. Lisa had gone home to her native village in Sammland +in obedience to the Governor's orders. Sebastian had not been home all +day. Charles had not returned, and there was no news of him. + +Barlasch, wiping the snow from his face, watched Desiree, and made no +comment. + + + +CHAPTER XXIV. MATHILDE CHOOSES. + + + + But strong is fate, O Love, + Who makes, who mars, who ends. + +Desiree was telling Mathilde the brief news of her futile journey, when +a knock at the front door made them turn from the stairs where they were +standing. It was Sebastian's knock. His hours had been less regular of +late. He came and went without explanation. + +When he had freed his throat from his furs, and laid aside his gloves, +he glanced hastily at Desiree, who had kissed him without speaking. + +"And your husband?" he asked curtly. + +"It was not he whom we found at Thorn," she answered. There was +something in her father's voice--in his quick, sidelong glance at +her--that caught her attention. He had changed lately. From a man of +dreams he had been transformed into a man of action. It is customary +to designate a man of action as a hard man. Custom is the brick wall +against which feeble minds come to a standstill and hinder the progress +of the world. Sebastian had been softened by action, through which his +mental energy had found an outlet. But to-night he was his old self +again--hard, scornful, incomprehensible. + +"I have heard nothing of him," said Desiree. + +Sebastian was stamping the snow from his boots. + +"But I have," he said, without looking up. + +Desiree said nothing. She knew that the secret she had guarded so +carefully--the secret kept by herself and Louis--was hers no longer. In +the silence of the next moments she could hear Barlasch breathing on +his fingers, within the kitchen doorway just behind her. Mathilde made +a little movement. She was on the stairs, and she moved nearer to the +balustrade and held to it breathlessly. For Charles Darragon's secret +was De Casimir's too. + +"These two gentlemen," said Sebastian slowly, "were in the secret +service of Napoleon. They are hardly likely to return to Dantzig." + +"Why not?" asked Mathilde. + +"They dare not." + +"I think the Emperor will be able to protect his officers," said +Mathilde. + +"But not his spies," replied Sebastian coldly. + +"Since they wore his uniform, they cannot be blamed for doing their +duty. They are brave enough. They would hardly avoid returning to +Dantzig because--because they have outwitted the Tugendbund." + +Mathilde's face was colourless with anger, and her quiet eyes flashed. +She had been surprised into this sudden advocacy, and an advocate who +displays temper is always a dangerous ally. Sebastian glanced at her +sharply. She was usually so self-controlled that her flashing eyes and +quick breath betrayed her. + +"What do you know of the Tugendbund?" he asked. + +But she would not answer, merely shrugging her shoulders and closing her +thin lips with a snap. + +"It is not only in Dantzig," said Sebastian, "that they are unsafe. It +is anywhere where the Tugendbund can reach them." + +He turned sharply to Desiree. His wits, cleared by action, told him that +her silence meant that she, at all events, had not been surprised. She +had, therefore, known already the part played by De Casimir and Charles, +in Dantzig, before the war. + +"And you," he said, "you have nothing to say for your husband." + +"He may have been misled," she said mechanically, in the manner of one +making a prepared speech or meeting a foreseen emergency. It had +been foreseen by Louis d'Arragon. The speech had been, unconsciously, +prepared by him. + +"You mean, by Colonel de Casimir," suggested Mathilde, who had recovered +her usual quiet. And Desiree did not deny her meaning. Sebastian looked +from one to the other. It was the irony of Fate that had married one +of his daughters to Charles Darragon, and affianced the other to De +Casimir. His own secret, so well kept, had turned in his hand like a +concealed weapon. + +They were all startled by Barlasch, who spoke from the kitchen door, +where he had been standing unobserved or forgotten. He came forward to +the light of the lamp hanging overhead. + +"That reminds me..." he said a second time, and having secured their +attention, he instituted a search in the many pockets of his nondescript +clothing. He still wore a dirty handkerchief bound over one eye. It +served to release him from duty in the trenches or work on the frozen +fortifications. By this simple device, coupled with half a dozen +bandages in various parts of his person, where a frost-bite or a wound +gave excuse, he passed as one of the twenty-five thousand sick and +wounded who encumbered Dantzig at this time, and were already dying at +the rate of fifty a day. + +"A letter..." he said, still searching with his maimed hand. "You +mentioned the name of the Colonel de Casimir. It was that which recalled +to my mind..." He paused, and produced a letter carefully sealed. He +turned it over, glancing at the seals with a reproving jerk of the head, +which conveyed as clearly as words a shameless confession that he had +been frustrated by them... "this letter. I was told to give it you, +without fail, at the right moment." + +It could hardly be the case that he honestly thought this moment might +be so described. But he gave the letter to Mathilde with a gesture of +grim triumph. Perhaps he was thinking of the cellar in the Palace on the +Petrovka at Moscow, and the treasure which he had found there. + +"It is from the Colonel de Casimir," he said, "a clever man," he added, +turning confidentially to Sebastian, and holding his attention by an +upraised hand. "Oh!... a clever man." + +Mathilde, her face all flushed, tore open the envelope, while Barlasch, +breathing on his fingers, watched with twinkling eye and busy lips. + +The letter was a long one. Colonel de Casimir was an adept at +explanation. There was, no doubt, much to explain. Mathilde read the +letter carefully. It was the first she had ever had--a love-letter in +its guise--with explanations in it. Love and explanation in the same +breath. Assuredly De Casimir was a daring lover. + +"He says that Dantzig will be taken by storm," she said at length, "and +that the Cossacks will spare no one." + +"Does it signify," inquired Sebastian in his smoothest voice, "what +Colonel de Casimir may say?" + +His grand manner had come back to him. He made a gesture with his hand +almost suggestive of a ruffle at the wrist, and clearly insulting to +Colonel de Casimir. + +"He urges us to quit the city before it is too late," continued +Mathilde, in her measured voice, and awaited her father's reply. He took +snuff with a cold smile. + +"You will not do so?" she asked. And by way of reply, Sebastian laughed +as he dusted the snuff from his coat with his pocket-handkerchief. + +"He asks me to go to Cracow with the Grafin, and marry him," said +Mathilde finally. And Sebastian only shrugged his shoulders. The +suggestion was beneath contempt. + +"And...?" he inquired with raised eyebrows. + +"I shall do it," replied Mathilde, defiance shining in her eyes. + +"At all events," commented Sebastian, who knew Mathilde's mind, and met +her coldness with indifference, "you will do it with your eyes open, +and not leap in the dark, as Desiree did. I was to blame there; a man +is always to blame if he is deceived. With you... Bah! you know what the +man is. But you do not know, unless he tells you in that letter, that he +is even a traitor in his treachery. He has accepted the amnesty offered +by the Czar; he has abandoned Napoleon's cause; he has petitioned the +Czar to allow him to retire to Cracow, and there live on his estates." + +"He has no doubt good reasons for his action," said Mathilde. + +"Two carriages full," muttered Barlasch, who had withdrawn to the dark +corner near the kitchen door. But no one heeded him. + +"You must make your choice," said Sebastian, with the coldness of a +judge. "You are of age. Choose." + +"I have already chosen," answered Mathilde. "The Grafin leaves +to-morrow. I will go with her." + +She had, at all events, the courage of her own opinions--a courage not +rare in women, however valueless may be the judgment upon which it is +based. And in fairness it must be admitted that women usually have the +courage not only of the opinion, but of the consequence, and meet it +with a better grace than men can summon in misfortune. + +Sebastian dined alone and hastily. Mathilde was locked in her room, +and refused to open the door. Desiree cooked her father's dinner while +Barlasch made ready to depart on some vague errand in the town. + +"There may be news," he said. "Who knows? And afterwards the patron will +go out, and it would not be wise for you to remain alone in the house." + +"Why not?" + +Barlasch turned and looked at her thoughtfully over his shoulder. + +"In some of the big houses down in the Niederstadt there are forty and +fifty soldiers quartered--diseased, wounded, without discipline. There +are others coming. I have told them we have fever in the house. It is +the only way. We may keep them out; for the Frauengasse is in the +centre of the town, and the soldiers are not needed in this quarter. But +you--you cannot lie as I can. You laugh--ah! A woman tells more lies; +but a man tells them better. Push the bolts, when I am gone." + +After his dinner, Sebastian went out, as Barlasch had predicted. He said +nothing to Desiree of Charles or of the future. There was nothing to be +said, perhaps. He did not ask why Mathilde was absent. In the stillness +of the house, he could probably hear her moving in her rooms upstairs. + +He had not been long gone when Mathilde came down, dressed to go out. +She came into the kitchen where Desiree was doing the work of the absent +Lisa, who had reluctantly gone to her home on the Baltic coast. Mathilde +stood by the kitchen table and ate some bread. + +"The Grafin has arranged to quit Dantzig to-morrow," she said. "I am +going to ask her to take me with her." + +Desiree nodded and made no comment. Mathilde went to the door, but +paused there. Without looking round, she stood thinking deeply. They had +grown from childhood together--motherless--with a father whom neither +understood. Together they had faced the difficulties of life; the +hundred petty difficulties attending a woman's life in a strange land, +among neighbours who bear the sleepless grudge of unsatisfied curiosity. +They had worked together for their daily bread. And now the full stream +of life had swept them together from the safe moorings of childhood. + +"Will you come too?" asked Mathilde. "All that he says about Dantzig is +true." + +"No, thank you," answered Desiree, gently enough. "I will wait here. I +must wait in Dantzig." + +"I cannot," said Mathilde, half excusing herself. "I must go. I cannot +help it. You understand?" + +"Yes," said Desiree, and nothing more. + +Had Mathilde asked her the question six months ago, she would have said +"No." But she understood now, not that Mathilde could love De Casimir; +that was beyond her individual comprehension, but that there was no +alternative now. + +Soon after Mathilde had gone, Barlasch returned. + +"If Mademoiselle Mathilde is going, she will have to go to-morrow," he +said. "Those that are coming in at the gates now are the rearguard of +the Heudelet Division which was driven out of Elbing by the Cossacks +three days ago." + +He sat mumbling to himself by the fire, and only turned to the supper +which Desiree had placed in readiness for him when she quitted the +room and went upstairs. It was he who opened the door for Mathilde, +who returned in half an hour. She thanked him absent-mindedly and went +upstairs. He could hear the sisters talking together in a low voice in +the drawing-room, which he had never seen, at the top of the stairs. + +Then Desiree came down, and he helped her to find in a shed in the +yard one of those travelling-trunks which he had recognized as being of +French manufacture. He took off his boots, and carried it upstairs for +her. + +It was ten o'clock before Sebastian came in. He nodded his thanks +to Barlasch, and watched him bolt the door. He made no inquiry as to +Mathilde, but extinguished the lamp, and went to his room. He never +mentioned her name again. + +Early the next morning, the girls were astir. But Barlasch was before +them, and when Desiree came down, she found the kitchen fire alight. +Barlasch was cleaning a knife, and nodded a silent good morning. +Desiree's eyes were red, and Barlasch must have noted this sign of +grief, for he gave a contemptuous laugh, and continued his occupation. + +It was barely daylight when the Grafin's heavy, old-fashioned carriage +drew up in front of the house. Mathilde came down, thickly veiled and +in her travelling furs. She did not seem to see Barlasch, and omitted to +thank him for carrying her travelling-trunk to the carriage. + +He stood on the terrace beside Desiree until the carriage had turned the +corner into the Pfaffengasse. + +"Bah!" he said, "let her go. There is no stopping them, when they are +like that. It is the curse--of the Garden of Eden." + + + +CHAPTER XXV. A DESPATCH. + + + + In counsel it is good to see dangers; and in execution not to +see them unless they be very great. + +Mathilde had told Desiree that Colonel de Casimir made no mention of +Charles in his letter to her. Barlasch was able to supply but little +further information on the matter. + +"It was given to me by the Captain Louis d'Arragon at Thorn," he said. +"He handled it as if it were not too clean. And he had nothing to say +about it. You know his way, for the rest. He says little; but he knows +the look of things. It seemed that he had promised to deliver the +letter--for some reason, who knows what? and he kept his promise. The +man was not dying by any chance--that De Casimir?" + +And his little sharp eyes, reddened by the smoke of camp-fires, inflamed +by the glare of sun on snow, searched her face. He was thinking of the +treasure. + +"Oh no!" + +"Was he ill at all?" + +"He was in bed," answered Desiree, doubtfully. + +Barlasch scratched his head without ceremony, and fell into a long train +of thought. + +"Do you know what I think?" he said at length. "I think that De Casimir +was not ill at all--any more than I am; I, Barlasch. Not so ill, +perhaps, as I am, for I have an indigestion. It is always there at the +summit of the stomach. It is horse without salt." + +He paused and rubbed his chest tenderly. + +"Never eat horse without salt," he put in parenthetically. + +"I hope never to eat it at all," answered Desiree. "What about Colonel +de Casimir?" + +He waved her aside as a babbler who broke in upon his thoughts. These +seemed to be lodged in his mouth, for, when reflecting, he chewed and +mumbled with his lips. + +"Listen," he said at length. "This is De Casimir. He goes to bed and +lets his beard grow--half an inch of beard will keep any man in the +hospital. You nod your head. Yes; I thought so. He knows that the +viceroy, with the last of the army, is at Thorn. He keeps quiet. He +waits in his roadside inn until the last of the army has gone. He +waits until the Russians come, and to them he hands over the Emperor's +possessions--all the papers, the maps, the despatches. For that he will +be rewarded by the Emperor Alexander, who has already promised pardon to +all Poles who have taken arms against Russia and now submit. De Casimir +will be allowed to retain his own baggage. He has no loot taken at +Moscow--oh no! Only his own baggage. Ah--that man! See, I spit him out." + +And it is painful to record that he here resorted to graphic +illustration. + +"Ah!" he went on triumphantly, "I know. I can see right into the mind +of such a man. I will tell you why. It is because I am that sort of man +myself." + +"You do not seem to have been so successful--since you are poor," said +Desiree, with a laugh. + +He frowned at her apparently in speechless anger, seeking an answer. But +for the moment he could think of none, so he turned to the knives again, +which he was cleaning on a board on the kitchen-table. At length he +paused and glanced at Desiree. + +"And your husband," he said slowly. "Remember that he is a partner with +this De Casimir. They hunt together. I know it; for I was in Moscow. Ah! +that makes you stand stiffly, and push your chin out." + +He went on cleaning the knives, and, without looking at her, seemed to +be speaking his own thoughts aloud. + +"Yes! He is a traitor. And he is worse than the other; for he is no +Pole, but a Frenchman. And if he returns to France, the Emperor will +say: 'Where are my despatches, my maps, my papers, which were given into +your care?'" + +He finished the thought with three gestures, which seemed to illustrate +the placing of a man against a wall and shooting him. His meaning could +not be mistaken. + +"And that is what the patron means when he says that Monsieur Charles +Darragon will not return to Dantzig. I knew that he meant that last +night, when he was so angry--on the mat." + +"And why did you not tell me?" + +Barlasch looked at her thoughtfully for a moment, before replying slowly +and impressively. + +"Because, if I had told you, you might have decided to quit Dantzig with +Mademoiselle Mathilde, and go hunting your husband in a country overrun +by desperate fugitives and untamed Cossacks. And I did not want that. I +want you here--in Dantzig; in the Frauengasse; in this kitchen; under my +hand--so that I can take care of you till the war is over. I--who speak +to you--Papa Barlasch, at your service. And there is not another man in +the world who will do it so well. No; not one." + +And his eyes flashed as he threw the knives into a drawer. + +"But why should you do all this for me?" asked Desiree. "You could have +gone home to France--quite easily--and have left us to our fate here in +Dantzig. Why did you not go home?" + +Barlasch looked at her with surprise, not unmixed with a sudden dumb +disappointment. He was preparing to go out according to his wont +immediately after breakfast; for Lisa had unconsciously hit the mark +when she compared him to a cat. He had the regular and self-contained +habits of that unobtrusive friend. He buttoned his rough coat slowly, +and looked round the kitchen with eyes dimly wistful. He was very old +and ragged and homeless. + +"Is it not enough," he said, "that we are friends?" + +He went towards the door, but came back and warned her by the familiar +upheld finger not to let her attention wander from his words. + +"You will be glad yet that I have stayed. It is because I speak a little +plainly of your husband that you wish me gone. Bah! What does it matter? +All men are alike. We are only men--not angels. And you can go on +loving him all the same. You are not particular, you women. You can love +anything--even a man like that." + +And he went out muttering anathemas on the hearts of all women. + +"It seems," he said, "that a woman can love anything." + +Which is true; and a very good thing for some of us. For without that +Heaven-sent capacity the world could not go on at all. + +It was later in the day when Barlasch made his way into the low and +smoke-grimed Bier Halle of the Weissen Ross'l. He must have known +Sebastian's habits, for he went straight to that corner of the great +room where the violin-player usually sat. The stout waitress--a country +girl of no intelligence, smiled broadly at the sight of such a ragged +customer as she followed him down the length of the sawdust-strewn +floor. + +Sebastian's face showed no surprise when he looked up and recognized the +new-comer. The surrounding tables were empty. It was too early in the +evening for the regular customers, whose numbers, moreover, had been +sadly thinned during the last few months. For the peaceful Dantzigers, +remembering the siege of seven years ago, had mostly fled at the first +mention of the word. + +Sebastian nodded in answer to Barlasch's somewhat ceremonious bow, and +by a gesture invited him to be seated on the chair upon which he had +already laid his hand. The atmosphere of the room was warm, and Barlasch +laid aside his sheepskin coat, as he had seen the great and the rich +divest themselves of their sables. He turned sharply and caught the +waitress with an amused smile still on her face. He drew her attention +to a little pool of beer on the table, and stood until she had made good +this lapse in her duty. Then he pointed to Sebastian's mug of beer +and dismissed her giggling, to get one for him of the same size and +contents. + +Making sure that there was no one within earshot, he waited until +Sebastian's dreamy eye met his, and then said-- + +"It is time we understood each other." + +A light of surprise--passing and half-indifferent--flashed into +Sebastian's eyes and vanished again at once when he saw Barlasch had +meant nothing: made no sign or countersign with his hand. + +"By all means, my friend," he answered. + +"I delivered your letters," said Barlasch, "at Thorn and at the other +places." + +"I know; I have already had answers. You would be wise to forget the +incident." + +Barlasch shrugged his shoulders. + +"You were paid," said Sebastian, jumping to a natural conclusion. + +"A little," admitted Barlasch, "a small little--but it was not that. I +always get paid in advance, when I can. Except by the Emperor. He +owes me some--that citizen. It was another question. In the house I am +friends with all--with Lisa who has gone--with Mademoiselle Mathilde +who has gone--with Mademoiselle Desiree, so-called Madame Darragon, who +remains. With all except you. Why should we not be friends?" + +"But we are friends--" protested Sebastian, with a bow. As if in +confirmation of the statement, he held out his beer-mug, and Barlasch +touched it with the rim of his own before drinking. Sebastian's +attitude, his bow, his manner of drinking, were those of the Court; +Barlasch was distinctly of the camp. But these were strange days, and +all society had been turned topsy-turvy by one man. + +"Then," said Barlasch, licking his lips, "let us understand one another. +You say there will be no siege. I say you are wrong. You think that the +Dantzigers will rise in answer to the Emperor Alexander's proclamations, +and turn the French out. I say the Dantzigers' stomachs are too big. I +say that Rapp will hold Dantzig, and that the Russians will not take it +by storm, because they are too weak. There will be a siege, and a +long one. Are you and Mademoiselle and I going to sit it out in the +Frauengasse together?" + +"We shall be honoured to have you as our guest," answered Sebastian, +with that levity which went before the Revolution, and was never +understood of the people. + +Barlasch did not understand it. He glanced doubtfully at his companion, +and sipped his beer. + +"Then I will begin to-night." + +"Begin what, my friend?" + +Barlasch waved aside all petty detail. + +"My preparations. I go out about ten o'clock--after you are in. I will +take the key of the front door, and let myself in when I come back. +I shall make two journeys. Under the kitchen floor is a large hollow +space. I fill that with bags of corn." + +"But where will you get the corn, my friend?" + +"I know where to get it--corn and other things. Salt I have +already--enough for a year. Other things I can get for three months." + +"But we have no money to pay for them." + +"Bah!" + +"You mean you will steal them," suggested Sebastian, not without a ring +of contempt in his mincing voice. + +"A soldier never steals," answered Barlasch, carelessly announcing a +great truth. + +Sebastian laughed. It was obvious that his mind, absorbed in great +thought, heeded small things not at all. His companion pushed his fur +cap to the back of his head, and ruffled his hair forward. + +"That is not all," he said at length. He looked round the vast room, +which was almost deserted. The stout waitress was polishing pewter mugs +at the bar. "You say you have already had answers to those letters. It +is a great organization--your secret society--whatever it is called. It +delivers letters all over Prussia--eh? and Poland perhaps--or farther +still." + +Sebastian shrugged one shoulder, and made no answer for some time. + +"I have already told you," he said impatiently, at length, "to forget +the incident; you were paid." + +By way of reply, the old soldier laboriously emptied his pockets, +searching the most remote of them for small copper coins. He counted +slowly and carefully until he had made up a thaler. + +"But it is not my turn to be paid this time. It is I who pay." + +He held out his hand with a pound weight of base metal in it, but +Sebastian refused the money with a sudden assumption of his cold and +scornful manner, oddly out of keeping with his humble surroundings. + +"As between friends--" suggested Barlasch, and, on receiving a more +decided negative, returned the coins to his pocket, not without +satisfaction. + +"I want your friends to pass on a letter for me--I am willing to pay," +he said in a whisper. "A letter to Captain Louis d'Arragon--it concerns +the happiness of Mademoiselle Desiree. Do not shake your head. Think +before you refuse. The letter will be an open one--six words or +so--telling the Captain that his cousin, Mademoiselle's husband, is not +in Dantzig, and cannot now return here since the last of the rearguard +entered the city this morning." + +Sebastian seemed to be considering the matter, and Barlasch was quick to +combat possible objections. + +"The Captain went to Konigsberg. He is there now. Your friends can +easily find him, and give him the letter. It is of great importance to +Mademoiselle. The Captain is not looking for Monsieur Charles Darragon, +because he thinks that he is here in Dantzig. Colonel de Casimir assured +him that Mademoiselle would find him here. Where is he--that Monsieur +Charles--I wonder? It is of great importance to Mademoiselle. The +Captain would perhaps continue his search." + +"Where is your letter?" asked Sebastian. + +By way of reply, Barlasch laid on the table a sheet of paper. + +"You must write it," he said. "My hand is injured. I write not badly, +you understand. But this evening I do not feel that my hand is well +enough." + +So, with the sticky, thick ink of the Weissen Ross'l, Sebastian wrote +the letter, and Barlasch, forgetting his scholarly acquirements, took +the pen and made a mark beneath his own name written at the foot of it. + +Then he went out, and left Sebastian to pay for the beer. + + + +CHAPTER XXVI. ON THE BRIDGE. + + + + They that are above + Have ends in everything. + +A lame man was standing on the bridge that crosses the Neuer Pregel from +the Kant Strasse--which is the centre of the city of Konigsberg--to the +island known as the Kneiphof. This bridge is called the Kramer Brucke, +and may be described as the heart of the town. From it on either hand +diverge the narrow streets that run along the river bank, busy with +commerce, crowded with the narrow sleighs that carry wood from the +Pregel up into the town. + +The wider streets--such as the Kant Strasse, running downhill from the +royal castle to the river, and the Kneiphof'sche Langgasse, leading +southward to the Brandenburg gate and the great world--must needs make +use of the Kramer Brucke. Here, it may be said, every man in the town +must sooner or later pass in the execution of his daily business, +whether he go about it on foot or in a sleigh with a pair of horses. +Here the idler and those grave professors from the University, which was +still mourning the death of the aged Kant, nearly always passed in their +thoughtful and conscientious promenades. + +Here this lame man, a cobbler by trade, plying his quiet calling in a +house in the Neuer Markt, where the lime-trees grow close to the upper +windows, had patiently kept watch for three days. He was, like many lame +men, of an abnormal width and weight. He had a large, square, dogged +face, which seemed to promise that he would wait there till the crack of +doom rather than abandon a quest. + +It was very cold--mid-winter within a few miles of the frozen Baltic +on the very verge of Russia, at that point where old Europe stretches +a long arm out into the unknown. The cobbler was wrapped in a sheepskin +coat, which stood out all round him with the stiffness of wood, so +that he seemed to be living inside a box. To keep himself warm he +occasionally limped across from end to end of the bridge, but never +went farther. At times he leant his arms on the stone wall at the Kant +Strasse end of the bridge, and looked down into the Lower Fish +Market, where women from Pillau and the Baltic shores--mere bundles of +clothes--stood over their baskets of fish frozen hard like sticks. It +was a silent market. One cannot haggle long when a minute's exposure +to the air will give a frost-bite to the end of the nose. The would-be +purchaser can scarcely make an effective bargain through a fringe of +icicles that rattle against his lips if he open them. + +The Pregel had been frozen for three months, with only the one temporary +thaw in November which cost Napoleon so many thousands at his broken +bridge across the Beresina. Though no water had flowed beneath this +bridge, many strange feet had passed across it. + +It had vibrated beneath Napoleon's heavy carriage, under the lumbering +guns that Macdonald took northward to blockade Riga. Within the last few +weeks it had given passage to the last of the retreating army, a mere +handful of heartsick fugitives. Macdonald with his staff had been +ignominiously driven across it by the Cossacks who followed hard after +them, the great marshal still wild with rage at the defection of Yorck +and the Prussian contingent. + +And now the Cossacks on their spare and ill-tempered horses passed to +and fro, wild men under an untamed leader whose heart was hardened to +stone by bereavement. The cobbler looked at them with a countenance of +wood. It was hard to say whether he preferred them to the French, or +was indifferent to one as to the other. He looked at their boots with +professional disdain. For all men must look at the world from their own +standpoint and consider mankind in the light of their own interests. +Thus those who live on the greed or the vanity, or batten on the charity +of their neighbour, learn to watch the lips. + +The cobbler, by reason of looking at the lower end of men, attracted +little attention from the passer-by. He who has his eyes on the ground +passes unheeded. For the surest way of awakening interest is to appear +interested. It would seem that this cobbler was waiting for a pair of +boots not made in Konigsberg. And on the third day his expressionless +black eyes lighted on feet not shod in Poland, or France, or Germany, +nor yet in square-toed Russia. + +The owner of these far-travelled boots was a lightly-built dark-faced +man, with eyes quietly ubiquitous. He caught the interested glance of +the cobbler, and turned to look at him again with the uneasiness that is +bred of war. The cobbler instantly hobbled towards him. + +"Will you help a poor man?" he said. + +"Why should I?" was the answer, with one hand already half out of its +thick glove. "You are not hungry; you have never been starved in your +life." + +The German was quick enough, but it was not quite the Prussian German. + +The cobbler looked at the speaker slowly. + +"An Englishman?" he asked. + +And the other nodded. + +"Come this way." + +The cobbler hobbled towards the Kneiphof, where the streets are quiet, +and the Englishman followed him. At the corner of the Kohl Markt he +turned and looked, not at the man, but at his boots. + +"You are a sailor?" he said. + +"Yes." + +"I was told to look for an English sailor--Louis d'Arragon." + +"Then you have found me," was the reply. + +Still the cobbler hesitated. + +"How am I to know it?" he asked suspiciously. + +"Can you read?" asked D'Arragon. "I can prove who I am--if I want to. +But I am not sure that I want to." + +"Oh! it is only a letter--of no importance. Some private business of +your own. It comes from Dantzig--written by one whose name begins with +'B.'" + +"Barlasch," suggested D'Arragon quietly, as he took from his pocket a +paper which he unfolded and held beneath the eyes of the cobbler. It was +a passport written in three languages. If the man could read, he was not +anxious to boast of an accomplishment so far above his station; but +he glanced at the paper, not without a practised skill, to seize the +essential parts of it. + +"Yes, that is the name," he said, searching in his pockets. "The letter +is an open one. Here it is." + +In passing the letter, the man made a scarcely perceptible movement of +the hand which might have been a signal. + +"No," said D'Arragon, "I do not belong to the Tugendbund or to any other +secret society. We have need of no such associations in my country." + +The cobbler laughed, not without embarrassment. + +"You have a quick eye," he said. "It is a great country, England. I have +seen the river full of English ships before Napoleon chased you off the +seas." + +D'Arragon smiled as he unfolded the letter. + +"He has not done it yet," he said, with that spirit which enables +mariners of the Anglo-Saxon race to be amused when there is a talk of +supremacy on the high seas. He read the letter carefully, and his face +hardened. + +"I was instructed," said the cobbler, "to give you the letter, and at +the same time to inform you that any assistance or facilities you may +require will be forth-coming; besides..." he broke off and pointed with +his thick, leather-stained finger, "that writing is not the writing of +him who signs." + +"He who signs cannot write at all." + +"That writing," went on the cobbler, "is a passport in any German state. +He who carries a letter written in that hand can live and travel free +anywhere from here to the Rhine or the Danube." + +"Then I am lucky in possessing a powerful friend," said D'Arragon, "for +I know who wrote this letter. I think I may say he is a friend of mine." + +"I am sure of it. I have already been told so," said the cobbler. "Have +you a lodging in Konigsberg? No? Then you can lodge in my house." + +Without awaiting a reply, which he seemed to consider a foregone +conclusion, he limped down the Kohl Markt towards the steps leading to +the river, which in winter is a thoroughfare. + +"I live in the Neuer Markt," he said breathlessly, as he laboured +onwards. "I have waited for you three days on that bridge. Where have +you been all this time?" + +"Avoiding the French," replied D'Arragon curtly. Respecting his own +affairs he was reticent, as commanders and other lonely men must always +be. They walked side by side on the dusty and trodden ice without +further speech. At the steps from the river to Neuer Markt, D'Arragon +gave the lame man his hand, and glanced a second time at the fingers +which clasped his own. They had not been born to toil, but had had it +thrust upon them. + +They crossed the Neuer Markt together, and went into that house where +the linden grows so close as to obscure the windows. And the lodging +offered to Louis was the room in which Charles Darragon had slept in his +wet clothes six months earlier. So small is the world in which we live, +and so narrow are the circles drawn by Fate around human existence and +endeavour. + +The cobbler having shown his visitor the room, and pointed out its +advantages, was turning to go when D'Arragon, who was laying aside his +fur coat, seemed to catch his attention, and he paused on the threshold. + +"There is French blood in your veins," he said abruptly. + +"Yes--a little." + +"So. I thought there must be. You reminded me--it was odd, the way you +laid aside your coat--reminded me of a Frenchman who lodged here for +one night. He was like you, too, in build and face. He was a spy, if you +please--one of the French Emperor's secret police. I was new at the work +then, but still I suspected there was something wrong about him. I took +his boots--a pretext of mending them. I locked him in. He got out of +that window, if you please, without his boots. He followed me, and +learnt much that he was not meant to know. I have since heard it from +others. He did the Emperor a great service--that man. He saved his life, +I think, from assassination in Dantzig. And he did me an ill turn--but +it was my own carelessness. I thought to make a thaler by lodging him, +and he was tricking me all the while." + +"What was his name?" asked D'Arragon. + +"Oh--I forgot the name he gave. It was a false one. He was disguised as +a common soldier--and he was in reality an officer of the staff. But I +know the name of the officer to whom he wrote his report of his night's +lodging here--his colleague in the secret police, it would seem." + +"Ah!" said D'Arragon, busying himself with his haversack. + +"It was De Casimir--a Polish name. And in the last two days I have +heard of him. He has accepted the Emperor's amnesty. He has married a +beautiful woman, and is living like a prince at Cracow. All this since +the siege of Dantzig began. In time of war there is no moment to lose, +eh?" + +"And the other? He who slept in this room. Has he passed through +Konigsberg again?" + +"No, that he has not. If he had, I should have seen him. You can +believe me, I wanted to see him. I was at my place on the bridge all +the time--while the French occupied Konigsberg--when the last of them +hurried away a month ago with the Cossacks close behind. No. I should +have seen him, and known him. He is not on this side of the Niemen, that +fine young gentleman. Now, what can I do to help you to-morrow?" + +"You can help me on the way to Vilna," answered D'Arragon. + +"You will never get there." + +"I will try," said the sailor. + + + +CHAPTER XXVII. A FLASH OF MEMORY. + + + + Nothing can cover his high fame but Heaven, + No pyramids set off his memories, + But the eternal substance of his greatness + To which I leave him. + +"Why I will not let you go out into the streets?" said Barlasch one +February morning, stamping the snow from his boots. "Why I will not let +you go out into the streets?" + +He turned and followed Desiree towards the kitchen, after having +carefully bolted the heavy oaken door which had been strengthened as if +to resist a siege. Desiree's face had that clear pallor which marks an +indoor life; but Barlasch, weather-beaten, scorched and wrinkled, showed +no sign of having endured a month's siege in an overcrowded city. + +"I will tell you why I will not let you go into the streets. Because +they are not fit for any woman to go into--because if you walked from +here to the Rathhaus you would see sights that would come back to you in +your sleep, and wake you from it, when you are an old woman. Do you know +what they do with their dead? They throw them outside their doors--with +nothing to cover their starved nakedness--as Lisa put her ashes in the +street every morning. And the cart goes round, as the dustman's cart +used to go in times of peace, and, like the dustman's cart, it drops +part of its load, and the dust that blows round it is the infection of +typhus. That is why you cannot go into the streets." + +He unbuttoned his fur coat and displayed a smart new uniform; for Rapp +had put his miserable army into new clothes, with which many of the +Dantzig warehouses had been filled by Napoleon's order at the beginning +of the war. + +"There," he said, laying a small parcel on the table, "there is my +daily ration. Two ounces of horse, one ounce of salt beef, the same as +yesterday. One does not know how long we shall be treated so generously. +Let us keep the beef--we may come to want some day." + +And giving a hoarse laugh, he lifted a board in the floor, beneath which +he hoarded his stores. + +"Will you cook your dejeuner yourself," asked Desiree. "I have something +else for my father." + +"And what have you?" asked Barlasch curtly; "you are not keeping +anything hidden from me?" + +"No," answered Desiree, with a laugh at the sternness of his face, "I +will give him a piece of the ham which was left over from last night." + +"Left over?" echoed Barlasch, going close to her and looking up into her +face, for she was two inches taller than he. "Left over? Then you did +not eat your supper last night?" + +"Neither did you eat yours, for it is there under the floor." + +Barlasch turned away with a gesture of despair. He sat down in the high +armchair that stood on the hearth, and tapped on the floor with one foot +in pessimistic thought. + +"Ah! the women, the women," he muttered, looking into the smouldering +fire. "Lies--all lies. You said that your supper was very nice," he +shouted at her over his shoulder. + +"So it was," answered she gaily, "so it is still." + +Barlasch did not rise to her lighter humour. He sat in reflection for +some minutes. Then his thoughts took their usual form of a muttered +aside. + +"It is a case of compromise. Always like that. The good God had to +compromise with the first woman he created almost at once. And men have +done it ever since--and have never had the best of it. See here," he +said aloud, turning to Desiree, "I will make a bargain with you. I will +eat my last night's supper here at this table, now, if you will eat +yours." + +"Agreed." + +"Are you hungry?" asked Barlasch, when the scanty meal was set out +before him. + +"Yes." + +"So am I." + +He laughed quite gaily now, and the meal was not without a certain air +of festivity, though it consisted of nothing better than two ounces of +horse and half an ounce of ham eaten in company of that rye-bread made +with one-third part of straw which Rapp allowed the citizens to buy. + +For Rapp had first tamed his army, and was now taming the Dantzigers. +He had effected discipline in his own camp by getting his regiments into +shape, by establishing hospitals (which were immediately filled), and by +protecting the citizens from the depredations of the starving fugitives +who had been poured pell-mell into the town. + +Then he turned his attention to the Dantzigers, who were openly or +secretly opposed to him. He seized their churches and turned them into +stores; their schools he used for hospitals, their monasteries for +barracks. He broke into their cellars, and took the wine for the sick. +Their storehouses he placed under the strictest guard, and no man could +claim possession of his own goods. + +"We are," he said in effect, with that grim Alsatian humour which the +Prussians were slow to understand; "we are one united family in a narrow +house, and it is I who keep the storeroom key." + +Barlasch had proved to be no false prophet. His secret store escaped the +vigilance of the picket, whom he himself conducted to the cellars in +the Frauengasse. Although he was sparing enough, he could always +provide Desiree with anything for which she expressed a wish, and even +forestalled those which she left unspoken. In return he looked for +absolute obedience, and after their frugal breakfast he took her to task +for depriving herself of such food as they could afford. + +"See you," he said, "a siege is a question of the stomach. It is not the +Russians we have to fight; for they will not fight. They sit outside +and wait for us to die of cold, of starvation, of typhus. And we are +obliging them at the rate of two hundred a day. Yes, each day Rapp is +relieved of the responsibility of two hundred mouths that drop open and +require nothing more. Be greedy--eat all you have, and hope for release +to-morrow, and you die. Be sparing--starve yourself from parsimony or +for the love of some one who will eat your share and forget to +thank you, and you will die of typhus. Be careful, and patient, and +selfish--eat a little, take what exercise you can, cook your food +carefully with salt, and you will live. I was in a siege thirty years +before you were born, and I am alive yet, after many others. Obey me and +we will get through the siege of Dantzig, which is only just beginning." + +Then suddenly he gave way to anger, and banged his hand down on the +table. + +"But, sacred name of thunder, do not make me believe you have eaten when +you have not," he shouted. "Never do that." + +Carried away by the importance of this question, he said many things +which cannot be set before the eyes of a generation sensitive to +plainness of speech, and only tolerant of it in suggestions of +impropriety. + +"And the patron," he ended abruptly, "how is he?" + +"He is not very well," answered Desiree. Which answer did not satisfy +Barlasch, who insisted on taking off his boots, and going upstairs to +see Sebastian. + +It was a mere nothing, the invalid said. Such food did not suit him. + +"You have been accustomed to live well all your life," answered +Barlasch, looking at him with the puzzled light of a baffled memory in +his eye which always came when he looked at Desiree's father. "One must +see what can be done." + +And he went out forthwith to return after an hour and more with a +chicken freshly killed. Desiree did not ask him where he had procured +it. She had given up such inquiries, for Barlasch always confessed quite +bluntly to theft, and she did not know whether to believe him or not. + +But the change of diet had no beneficial effect, and the next day +Desiree sent Barlasch to the house of the doctor whose practice lay in +the Frauengasse. He came and shook his head bluntly. For even an old +doctor may be hardened at the end of his life by an orgy, as it were, of +death. + +"I could cure him," he said, "if there were no Russians outside the +walls; if I could give him fresh milk and good brandy and strong soup." + +But even Barlasch could not find milk in Dantzig. The brandy was +forthcoming, and the fresh meat; the soup Desiree made with her own +hands. Sebastian had not been the same man since the closing of the +roads and the gradual death of his hopes that the Dantzigers would rise +against the soldiers that thronged their streets. At one time it would +have been easy to carry out such a movement, and to throw themselves +and their city upon the mercy of the Russians. But Dantzig awoke to this +possibility too late, when Rapp's iron hand had closed in upon it. +He knew his own strength so well that he treated with a contemptuous +leniency such citizens as were convicted of communicating with the +enemy. + +Sebastian's friends seemed to have deserted him. Perhaps it was not +discreet to be seen in the company of one who had come under Napoleon's +displeasure. Some had quitted the city after hurriedly concealing their +valuables in their gardens, behind the chimneys, beneath the floors, +where it is to be supposed they still lie hidden. Others were among the +weekly thousand or twelve hundred who were carted out by the Oliva Gate +to be thrown into huge trenches, while the waiting Russians watched from +their lines on the heights of Langfuhr. + +It was true that news continued to filter in, and never quite ceased, +all through the terrible twelve months that were to follow. More +especially did news that was unfavourable to the French find its way +into the beleaguered city. But it was not authentic news, and Sebastian +gathered little comfort from the fact--not unknown to the whispering +citizens--that Rapp himself had heard nothing from the outer world since +the Elbing mail-cart had been turned back by the first of the Cossacks +on the night of the seventh of January. + +Perhaps Sebastian had that most fatal of maladies--to which nearly all +men come at last--weariness of life. + +"Why don't you fortify yourself, and laugh at fortune?" asked Barlasch, +twenty years his senior, as he stood sturdily on his stocking-feet at +the sick man's bedside. + +"I take what my daughter gives me," protested Sebastian, half peevishly. + +"But that does not suffice," answered the materialist. "It does not +suffice to swallow evil fortune--one must digest it." + +Sebastian made no answer. He was a quiet patient, and lay all day with +wide-open, dreaming eyes. He seemed to be waiting for something. This, +indeed, was his mental attitude as presented to his neighbours, and +perhaps to the few friends he possessed in Dantzig. He had waited +through the years during which Desiree had grown to womanhood. He waited +on doggedly through the first month of the siege, without enthusiasm, +without comment--without hope, perhaps. He seemed to be waiting now to +get better. + +"He has made little or no progress," said the doctor, who could only +give a passing glance at his patients, for he was working day and night. +He had not time to beat about the bush, as his kind heart would have +liked, for he had known Desiree all her life. + +It was Shrove Tuesday, and the streets were full of revellers. The +Neapolitans and other Southerners had made great preparations for the +carnival, and the Governor had not denied them their annual licence. +They had built a high car in one of the entrance yards to the +Marienkirche; and finding that the ancient arch would not allow the +erection to pass out into the street, they had pulled down the pious +handiwork of a bygone generation. + +The shouts of these merrymakers could be dimly heard through the double +windows, but Sebastian made no inquiry as to the meaning of the cry. +A sort of lassitude--the result of confinement within doors, of +insufficient food, of waning hope--had come over Desiree. She listened +heedlessly to the sounds in the streets through which the dead were +passing to the Oliva Gate, while the living danced by in their hideous +travesty of rejoicing. + +It was dusk when Barlasch came in. + +"The streets," he said, "are full of fools, dressed as such." +Receiving no answer, he crossed the room to where Desiree sat, treading +noiselessly, and stood in front of her, trying to see her averted face. +He stooped down and peered at her until she could no longer hide her +tear-stained eyes. + +He made a wry face and a little clicking noise with his tongue, such +as the women of his race make when they drop and break some household +utensil. Then he went back towards the bed. Hitherto he had always +observed a certain ceremoniousness of manner in the sick chamber. He +laid this aside this evening, and sat down on a chair that stood near. + +Thus they remained in a silence which seemed to increase with the +darkness. At length the stillness became so marked that Barlasch slowly +turned his head towards the bed. The same instinct had come to Desiree +at the same moment. + +They both rose and groped their way towards Sebastian. Desiree found the +flint and struck it. The sulphur burnt blue for interminable moments, +and then flared to meet the wick of the candle. Barlasch watched Desiree +as she held the light down to her father's face. Sebastian's waiting was +over. Barlasch had not needed a candle to recognize death. + +From Desiree his bright and restless eyes turned slowly towards the dead +man's face--and he stepped back. + +"Ah!" he said, with a hoarse cry of surprise, "now I remember. I was +always sure that I had seen his face before. And when I saw it it +was like that--like the face of a dead man. It was on the Place de la +Nation, on a tumbrel--going to the guillotine. He must have escaped, as +many did, by some accident or mistake." + +He went slowly to the window, holding his shaggy head between his two +clenched hands as if to spur his memory to an effort. Then he turned and +pointed to the silent form on the bed. + +"That is a noble of France," he said; "one of the greatest. And all +France thinks him dead this twenty years. And I cannot remember his +name--goodness of God--I cannot remember his name!" + + + +CHAPTER XXVIII. VILNA. + + + + It is our trust + That there is yet another world to mend + All error and mischance. + +Louis d'Arragon knew the road well enough from Konigsberg to the Niemen. +It runs across a plain, flat as a table, through which many small +streams seek their rivers in winding beds. This country was not thinly +inhabited, though the villages had been stripped, as foliage is stripped +by a cloud of locusts. Each cottage had its ring of silver birch-trees +to protect it from the winds which sweep from the Baltic and the steppe. +These had been torn and broken down by the retreating army, in a vain +hope of making fire with green wood. + +It was quite easy to keep in the steps of the retreating army, for the +road was marked by recumbent forms huddled on either side. Few vehicles +had come so far, for the broken country near to Vilna and around Kowno +had presented slopes up which the starving horses were unable to drag +their load. + +D'Arragon reached Kowno without mishap, and there found a Russian +colonel of Cossacks who proved friendly enough, and not only appreciated +the value of his passport and such letters of recommendation as he had +been able to procure at Konigsberg, but gave him others, and forwarded +him on his journey. + +He still nourished a lingering belief in De Casimir's word. Charles must +have been left behind at Vilna to recover from his exhaustion. He would, +undoubtedly, make his way westward as soon as possible. He might have +got away to the South. Any one of these huddled human landmarks might be +Charles Darragon. + +Louis was essentially a thorough man. The sea is a mistress demanding +a whole and concentrated attention--and concentration soon becomes a +habit. Louis did not travel at night, for fear of passing Charles on +the road, alive or dead. He knew his cousin better than any in the +Frauengasse had learnt to know this gay and inconsequent Frenchman. A +certain cunning lay behind the happy laugh--a great capacity was hidden +by the careless manner. If ready wit could bring man through the dangers +of the retreat, Charles had as good a chance of surviving as any. + +Nevertheless, Louis rarely passed a dead man on the road, but drew +up, and quitting his sleigh, turned over the body, which was almost +invariably huddled with its back offered to the deadly, prevailing North +wind. Against each this wind had piled a sloping bank of that fine snow +which, even in the lightest breeze, drifts over the surface of the land +like an ivory mist, waist high, and cakes the clothes. In a high wind it +will rise twenty feet in the air, and blind any who try to face it. + +As often as not a mere glance sufficed to show that this was not +Charles, for few of the bodies were clad. Many had been stripped, while +still living, by their half-frozen comrades. But sometimes Louis had to +dust the snow from strange bearded faces before he could pass on with a +quick sigh of relief. + +Beyond Kowno, the country is thinly populated, and spreading +pine-forests bound the horizon. The Cossacks--the wild men of Toula, who +reaped the laurels of the rearguard fighting--were all along the road. +D'Arragon frequently came upon a picket--as often as not the men were +placidly sitting on a frozen corpse, as on a seat--and stopped to say a +few words and gather news. + +"You will find your friend at Vilna," said one young officer, who had +been attached to General Wilson's staff, and had many stories to tell of +the energetic and indefatigable English commissioner. "At Vilna we +took twenty thousand prisoners--poor devils who came and asked us for +food--and I don't know how many officers. And if you see Wilson there, +remember me to him. If Napoleon has need to hate one man more than +another for this business, it is that firebrand, Wilson. Yes, you will +assuredly find your cousin at Vilna among the prisoners. But you must +not linger by the road, for they are being sent back to Moscow to +rebuild that which they have caused to be destroyed." + +He laughed and waved his gloved hand as D'Arragon drove on. + +After the broken land and low abrupt hills of Kowno, the country was +flat again until the valley of the Vilia opened out. And here, almost +within sight of Vilna, D'Arragon drove down a short hill which must ever +be historic. He drove slowly, for on either side were gun-carriages deep +sunken in the snow where the French had left them. This hill marked +the final degeneration of the Emperor's army into a shapeless rabble +hopelessly flying before an exhausted enemy. + +Half on the road and half in the ditch were hundreds of carriages which +had been hurriedly smashed up to provide firewood. Carts, still laden +with the booty of Moscow, stood among the trees. Some of them contained +small square boxes of silver coin, brought by Napoleon to pay his army +and here abandoned. Silver coin was too heavy to carry. The rate of +exchange had long been sixty francs in silver for a gold napoleon or a +louis. The cloth coverings of the cushions had been torn off to shape +into rough garments; the straw stuffing had been eaten by the horses. + +Inside the carriages were--crouching on the floor--the frozen bodies of +fugitives too badly wounded or too ill to attempt to walk. They had sat +there till death came to them. Many were women. In one carriage four +women, in silks and fine linen, were huddled together. Their furs had +been dragged from them either before or after death. + +Louis stopped at the bottom and looked back. De Casimir at all events +had succeeded in surmounting this obstacle which had proved fatal to +so many--the grave of so many hopes--God's rubbish-heap, where gold +and precious stones, silks and priceless furs, all that greedy men had +schemed and striven and fought to get, fell from their hands at last. + +Vilna lies all down a slope--a city built upon several hills--and the +Vilia runs at the bottom. That Way of Sorrow, the Smolensk Road, runs +eastward by the river bank, and here the rearguard held the Cossacks in +check while Murat hastily decamped, after dark, westwards to Kowno. The +King of Naples, to whom Napoleon gave the command of his broken army +quite gaily--"a vous, Roi de Naples," he is reported to have said, as he +hurried to his carriage--Murat abandoned his sick and wounded; did not +even warn the stragglers. + +D'Arragon entered the city by the narrow gate known as the Town Gate, +through which, as through that greater portal of Moscow, every man must +pass bareheaded. + +"The Emperor is here," were the first words spoken to him by the officer +on guard. + +But the streets were quiet enough, and the winner in this great game +of chance maintained the same unostentatious silence in victory as that +which, in the hour of humiliation, had baffled Napoleon. + +It was almost night, and D'Arragon had been travelling since daylight. +He found a lodging, and, having secured the comfort of the horse +provided by the lame shoemaker of Konigsberg, he went out into the +streets in search of information. + +Few cities are, to this day, so behind the times as Vilna. The streets +are still narrow, winding, ill-paved, ill-lighted. When D'Arragon +quitted his lodging, he found no lights at all, for the starving +soldiers had climbed to the lamps for the sake of the oil, which they +had greedily drunk. It was a full moon, however, and the patrols at the +street corners were willing to give such information as they could. They +were strangers to Vilna like Louis himself, and not without suspicion; +for this was a city which had bidden the French welcome. There had been +dancing and revelry on the outward march. The citizens themselves were +afraid of the strange, wild-eyed men who returned to them from Moscow. + +At last, in the Episcopal Palace, where head-quarters had been hurriedly +established, Louis found the man he sought, the officer in charge of the +arrangements for despatching prisoners into Russia and to Siberia. +He was a grizzled warrior of the old school, speaking only French and +Russian. He was tired out and hungry, but he listened to Louis' story. + +"There is the list," he said, "it is more or less complete. Many have +called themselves officers who never held a commission from the Emperor +Napoleon. But we have done what we can to sort them out." + +So Louis sat down in the dimly lighted room and deciphered the names of +those officers who had been left behind, detained by illness or wounds +or the lack of spirit to persevere. + +"You understand," said the Russian, returning to his work, "I cannot +afford the time to help you. We have twenty-five thousand prisoners to +feed and keep alive." + +"Yes--I understand," answered Louis, who had the seaman's way of making +himself a part of his surroundings. + +The old colonel glanced at him across the table with a grim smile. + +"The Emperor," he said, "was sitting in that chair an hour ago. He may +come back at any moment." + +"Ah!" said Louis, following the written lines with a pencil. + +But no interruption came, and at last the list was finished. Charles was +not among the officers taken prisoner at Vilna. + +"Well?" inquired the Russian, without looking up. + +"Not there." + +The old officer took a sheet of paper and hurriedly wrote a few words on +it. + +"Try the Basile Hospital to-morrow morning," he said. "That will gain +you admittance. It is to be cleared out by the Emperor's orders. We have +about twenty thousand dead to dispose of as well--but they are in no +hurry." + +He laughed grimly, and bade Louis good night. + +"Come to me again," he called out after him, drawn by a sudden chord +of sympathy to this stranger, who had the rare capacity of confining +himself to the business in hand. + +By daybreak the next morning Louis was at the hospital of St. Basile. +It had been prepared by the Duc de Bassano under Napoleon's orders when +Vilna was selected as the base of the great army. When the Russians +entered Vilna after the retreating remnant of Murat's rabble, they found +the dead and the dying in the streets and the market-place. Some had +made fires and had lain themselves down around them--to die. Others were +without food or firing, almost without clothes. Many were barefoot. All, +officers and men alike, were in rags. It was a piteous sight; for half +of these men were no longer human. Some were gnawing at their own limbs. +Many were blind, others had lost their speech or hearing. Nearly all +were marred by some disfigurement--some terrible sore, the result of a +frozen wound, of frostbite, of scurvy, of gangrene. + +The Cossacks, half civilized as they were, wild with the excitement of +killing and the chase of a human quarry, stood aghast in the streets of +Vilna. + +When the Emperor arrived, he set to work to clear the streets first, to +get these piteous men indoors. There was no question yet of succouring +them. It was not even possible to feed them all. The only thought was to +find them some protection against the ruthless cold. + +The first thought was, of course, directed to the hospitals. They looked +in and saw a storehouse of the dead. The dead could wait; but the living +must be housed. + +So the dead waited, and it was their turn now at the St. Basile +Hospital, where Louis presented himself at dawn. + +"Looking for some one?" asked a man in uniform, who must have been +inside the hospital, for he hurried down the steps with a set mouth and +quailing eyes. + +"Yes." + +"Then don't go in--wait here." + +Louis looked in and took the doctor's advice. The dead were stored in +the passages, one on the top of the other, like bales of goods in a +warehouse. + +Some attempt seemed to have been made to clear the wards, but those +whose task it had been had not had time to do more than drag the dead +out into the passage. + +The soldiers were now at work in the lower passage. Carts began to +arrive. An officer told off to this dread duty came up hurriedly smoking +a cigarette, his high fur collar about his ears. He glanced at Louis, +and bowed to him. + +"Looking for some one?" he asked. + +"Yes." + +"Then stand here beside me. It is I who have to keep count. They say +there are eight thousand in here. They will be carried past here to the +carts. Have a cigarette." + +It is hard to talk when the thermometer registers more than twenty +degrees of frost, for the lips stiffen and contract into wrinkles like +the lips of a very old woman. Perhaps neither of the watchers was in the +humour to begin an acquaintance. + +They stood side by side, stamping their feet to keep the blood going, +without speaking. Once or twice Louis stepped forward, and at a signal +from the officer the bearers stopped. But Louis shook his head, and they +passed on. At midday the officer was relieved, his place being taken by +another, who bowed stiffly to Louis and took no more notice of him. For +war either hardens or softens. It never leaves a man as it found him. + +All day the work was carried on. Through the hours this procession of +the bearded dead went silently by. At the invitation of a sergeant, +Louis took some soup and bread from the soldiers' table. The men +laughingly apologized for the quality of both. + +Towards evening the officer who had first come on duty returned to his +work. + +"Not yet?" he asked, offering the inevitable cigarette. + +"Not yet," answered Louis, and even as he spoke he stepped forward and +stopped the bearers. He brushed aside the matted hair and beard. + +"Is that your friend?" asked the officer. + +"Yes." + +It was Charles at last. + +"The doctor says these have been dead two months," volunteered the first +bearer, over his shoulder. + +"I am glad you have found him," said the officer, signing to the men to +go on with their burden. "It is better to know--is it not?" + +"Yes," answered Louis slowly. "It is better to know." + +And something in his voice made the Russian officer turn and watch him +as he went away. + + + +CHAPTER XXIX. THE BARGAIN. + + + + Like plants in mines which never saw the sun, + But dream of him and guess where he may be, + And do their best to climb and get to him. + +"Oh yes," Barlasch was saying, "it is easier to die--it is that that you +are thinking--it is easier to die." + +Desiree did not answer. She was sitting in the little kitchen at the +back of the house in the Frauengasse. For they had no firing now, and +were burning the furniture. Her father had been buried a week. The siege +was drawn closer than ever. There was nothing to eat, nothing to do, no +one to talk to. For Sebastian's political friends did not dare to come +near his house. Desiree was alone in this hopeless world with Barlasch, +who was on duty now in one of the trenches near the river. He went out +in the morning, and only returned at night. He had just come in, and she +could see by the light of the single candle that his face was grey and +haggard, with deep lines drawn downwards from eyes to chin. Desiree's +own face had lost all its roundness and the bloom of her northern +girlhood. + +Barlasch glanced at her, and bit his lip. He had brought nothing with +him. At one time he had always managed to bring something to the house +every day--a chicken, or a turnip, or a few carrots. But to-night there +was nothing. And he was tired out. He did not sit down, however, but +stood breathing on his fingers and rubbing them together to restore +circulation. He pushed the candle farther forward on the table, so that +it cast a better light upon her face. + +"Yes," he said, "it is often so. I, who speak to you, have seen it so a +dozen times in my life. When it is easier to sit down and die. Bah! That +is a fine thing to do--a brave thing--to sit down and die." + +"I am not going to do it, so do not make that mistake," said Desiree, +with a laugh that had no mirth in it. + +"But you would like to. Listen. It is not what you feel that matters; it +is what you do. Remember that." + +There was an unusual vigour in his voice. Of late, since the death of +Sebastian, Barlasch seemed to have fallen victim to the settled apathy +which lives within a prison wall and broods over a besieged city. It is +a sort of silent mourning worn by the soul for a lost liberty. Dantzig +had soon succumbed to it, for the citizens had not even the satisfaction +of being quite sure that they were deserving of the world's sympathy. +It soon spread to the soldiers who were defending a Prussian city for a +French Emperor who seemed to have forgotten them. + +But to-night Barlasch seemed to be more energetic. Desiree looked round +over her shoulder. He had not laid on the table any contribution to +a bare larder; and yet his manner was that of one who has prepared a +surprise and is waiting to enjoy its effect. He was restless, moving +from one foot to another, rubbing together his crooked fingers and +darting sidelong glances at her face. + +"What is it?" she asked suddenly, and Barlasch gave a start as if he had +been detected in some deceit. He bustled forward to the smouldering fire +and held his hands over it. + +"It is that it is very cold to-night," he answered, with that +exaggerated ease of manner with which the young and the simple seek to +conceal embarrassment. "Tell me, mademoiselle, what have we for supper +to-night? It is I who will cook it. To-night we will keep a fete. There +is that piece of beef for you. I know a way to make it appetizing. For +me there is my portion of horse. It is the friend of man--the horse." + +He laughed and made an effort to be gay, which had a poignant pathos in +it that made Desiree bite her lip. + +"What fete is it that we are to keep?" she asked, with a wan smile. Her +kind blue eyes had that glitter in them which is caused by a constant +and continuous hunger. Six months ago they had only been gay and kind, +now they saw the world as it is, as it always must be so long as the +human heart is capable of happiness and the human reason recognizes the +rarity of its attainment. + +"The fete of St. Matthias--my fete, mademoiselle." + +"But I thought your name was Jean." + +"So it is. But I keep my fete at St. Matthias, because on that day we +won a battle in Egypt. We will have wine--a bottle of wine--eh?" + +So Barlasch prepared a great feast which was to be celebrated by Desiree +in the dining-room, where he lighted a fire, and by himself in the +kitchen. For he held strongly to a code of social laws which the great +Revolution had not succeeded in breaking. And one of these laws was that +it would be in some way degrading to Desiree to see him eat. + +He was a skilled and delicate cook, only hampered by that insatiable +passion for economy which is the dominant characteristic of the peasant +of Northern France. To-night, however, he was reckless, and Desiree +could hear him searching in his secret hiding-place beneath the floor +for concealed condiments and herbs. + +"There," he said, when he set the dish before her, "eat it with an easy +mind. There is nothing unclean in it. It is not rat or cat or the liver +of a starved horse, such as we others eat and ask no better. It is all +clean meat." + +He poured out wine, and stood in the darkened doorway watching her drink +it. Then he went away to his own meal in the kitchen, leaving Desiree +vaguely uneasy--for he was not himself to-night. She could hear him +muttering as he ate and moved hither and thither in the kitchen. At +short intervals he came and looked in at the door to make sure that she +was doing full honour to St. Matthias. When she had finished, he came +into the room. + +"Ah!" he said, glancing at her suspiciously and rubbing his hands +together. "That strengthens, eh?--that strengthens. We others who lead +a rough life--we know that a little food and a glass of wine fit one out +for any enterprise, for--well, any catastrophe." + +And Desiree knew in a flash of comprehension that the food and the wine +and the forced gaiety were nothing but preliminaries to bad news. + +"What is it?" she asked a second time. "Is it... bombardment?" + +"Bombardment," he laughed, "they cannot shoot, those Cossacks. It is +only the French who understand artillery." + +"Then what is it?--for you have something to tell me, I know." + +He ruffled his shock-head of white hair, with a grimace of despair. + +"Yes," he admitted, "it is news." + +"From outside?" cried Desiree, with a sudden break in her voice. + +"From Vilna," answered Barlasch. He came into the room, and went past +her towards the fire, where he put the logs together carefully. + +"It is that he is alive," said Desiree, "my husband." + +"No, it is not that," Barlasch corrected. He stood with his back to +her, vaguely warming his hands. He had no learning, nor manners, nor any +polish: nothing but those instincts of the heart that teach the head. +And his instinct bade him turn his back on Desiree, and wait in silence +until she had understood his meaning. + +"Dead?" she asked, in a whisper. + +And, still warming his hands, he nodded his head vigorously. He waited +a long time for her to speak, and at last broke the silence himself +without looking round. + +"Troubles," he said, "troubles for us all. There is no avoiding them. +One can only push against them as against your cold wind of Dantzig that +comes from the sea. One can only push on. You must push, mademoiselle." + +"When did he die?" asked Desiree; "where?" + +"At Vilna, three months ago. He has been dead three months. I knew he +was dead when you came back to the inn at Thorn, and told me that you +had seen De Casimir. De Casimir had left him dying--that liar. You +remember, I met a comrade on the road--one of my own country--he told +me that they had left ten thousand dead at Vilna, and twenty thousand +prisoners little better than dead. And I knew then that De Casimir had +left him there dying, or dead." + +He glanced back at her over his shoulder, and at the sight of her face +made that little click in his throat which, in peasant circles, denotes +a catastrophe. Then he shook his head slowly from side to side. + +"Listen," he said roughly, "the good God knows best. I knew when I saw +you first, that day in June, in this kitchen, that you were beginning +your troubles; for I knew the reputation of Monsieur, your husband. He +was not what you thought him. A man is never what a woman thinks him. +But he was worse than most. And this trouble that has come to you is +chosen by the good God--and he has chosen the least in his sack for you. +You will know it some day--as I know it now." + +"You know a great deal," said Desiree, who was quick in speech, and he +swung round on his heel to meet her spirit. + +"You are right," he said, pointing his accusatory finger. "I know a +great deal about you--and I am a very old man." + +"How did you learn this news from Vilna?" she asked, and his hand went +up to his mouth as if to hide his thoughts and control his lips. + +"From one who comes straight from there--who buried your husband there." + +Desiree rose and stood with her hands resting on the table, looking at +the persistent back again turned towards her. + +"Who?" she asked, in little more than a whisper. + +"The Captain--Louis d'Arragon." + +"And you have spoken to him to-day--here, in Dantzig?" + +Barlasch nodded his head. + +"Was he well?" asked Desiree, with a spontaneous anxiety that made +Barlasch turn slowly and look at her from beneath his great brows. + +"Oh, he was well enough," he answered, "he is made of steel, that +gentleman. He was well enough, and he has the courage of the devil. +There are some fishermen who come from Zoppot to sell their fish. They +steal through the Russian lines--on the ice of the river at night and +come to our outposts at daylight. One of them said my name this morning. +I looked at him. He was wrapped up only to show the eyes. He drew his +scarf aside. It was the Captain d'Arragon." + +"And he was well?" asked Desiree again, as if nothing else in the world +mattered. + +"Oh, mon Dieu, yes," cried Barlasch, impatiently, "he was well, I tell +you. Do you know why he came?" + +Desiree had sat down at the table again, where she leant her arms and +rested her chin in the palms of her two hands; for she was weakened by +starvation, and confinement, and sorrow. + +"No," she answered. + +"He came because he had learnt that the patron was dead. It was known +in Konigsberg a week ago. It is known all over Germany; that quiet old +gentleman who scraped a fiddle here in the Frauengasse. And it is only +I, in all the world, who know that he was a greater man in Paris than +ever he was in Germany--with his Tugendbund--and I cannot remember his +name." + +Barlasch broke off and thumped his brow with his fists, as if to awaken +that dead memory. And all the while he was searching Desiree's face, +with eyes made brighter and sharper than ever by starvation. + +"And do you know what he came for--the Captain--for he never does +anything in idleness? He will run a great risk--but it is for a great +purpose. Do you know what he came for?" + +"No." + +Barlasch jerked his head back and laughed. + +"For you." + +He turned and looked at her; but she had raised her clasped hands to her +forehead, as if to shield her eyes from the light of the candle, and he +could not see her face. + +"Do you remember," said Barlasch, "that night when the patron was so +angry--on the mat--when Mademoiselle Mathilde had to make her choice. It +is your turn to-night. You have to make your choice. Will you go?" + +"Yes," answered Desiree, behind her fingers. + +"'If Mademoiselle will come,' he said to me, 'bring her to this place!' +'Yes, mon capitaine,' answered I. 'At any cost, Barlasch?' 'At any cost, +mon capitaine.' And we are not men to break our words. I will take you +there--at any cost, mademoiselle. And he will meet you there--at any +cost." + +And Barlasch expectorated emphatically into the fire, after the manner +of low-born men. + +"What a pity," he added reflectively, "that he is only an Englishman." + +"When are we to go?" asked Desiree, still behind her barrier of clasped +fingers. + +"To-morrow night, after midnight. We have arranged it all--the Captain +and I--at the outpost nearest to the river. He has influence. He has +rendered services to the Russians, and the Russian commander will make +a night attack on the outpost. In the confusion we get through. We +arranged it together. He pays me well. It is a bargain, and I am to have +my money. We shook hands on it, and those who saw us must have thought +that I was buying fish. I, who have no money--and he, who had no fish." + + + +CHAPTER XXX. THE FULFILMENT. + + + + And I have laboured somewhat in my time + And not been paid profusely. + +When Desiree came down the next morning, she found Barlasch talking to +himself and laughing as he prepared his breakfast. + +He met her with a gay salutation, and seemed unable to control his +hilarity. + +"It is," he explained, "because to-night we shall be under fire. We +shall be in danger. It makes me afraid, and I laugh. I cannot help it. +When I am afraid, I laugh." + +He bustled about the room, and Desiree saw that he had already opened +his secret store beneath the floor, to take from it such delicacies as +remained. + +"You slept?" he asked sharply. "Yes, I can see you did. That is good, +for to-night we shall be awake. And now you must eat." + +For Barlasch was a materialist. He had fought death in one form or +another all his life, and he knew that those who eat and sleep are +better equipped for the battle than those who cherish high ideals or +think great thoughts. + +"It is a good thing," he said, looking at her, "that you are so slim. In +a military coat--if you put on that short dress in which you skate, and +your high boots--you will look like a soldier. It is a good thing that +it is winter, for you can wear the hood of your military coat over +your head, as they all do out in the trenches to keep their ears from +falling. So you need not cut off your hair--all that golden hair. Name +of thunder, that would be a pity, would it not?" + +He turned to the fire and stirred his coffee reflectively. + +"In my own country," he said, "a long time ago, there was a girl who had +hair like yours. That is why we are friends, perhaps." + +He gave a queer, short laugh, and took up his sheepskin coat preparatory +to going out. + +"I have my preparations to make," he said, with an air of importance. +"There is much to be thought of. We had not long together, for the +others were watching us. But we understand each other. I go now to give +him the signal that it is for to-night. I have borrowed one of Lisa's +dusters--a blue one that will show against the snow--with which to give +him the signal. And he is watching from Zoppot with his telescope. That +fat Lisa--if I had held up my finger, she would have fallen in love with +me. It has always been so. These women--" + +And he went away muttering. + +If he had preparations to make, Desiree had no less. She could take but +little with her, and she was quitting the house which had always been +her home so long as she could remember. Those trunks which Barlasch +had so unhesitatingly recognized as coming from France were, it seemed, +destined never to be used again. Mathilde had gone, taking with her +her few simple possessions; for they had always been poor in the +Frauengasse. Sebastian had departed on that journey which the traveller +must face alone, taking naught with him. And it was characteristic of +the man that he had left nothing behind him--no papers, no testament, +no clue to that other life so different from his life in the Frauengasse +that it must have lapsed into a fleeting, intangible memory, such as +the brain is sometimes allowed to retain of a dream dreamt in this +existence, or perhaps in another. Sebastian was gone--with his secret. + +Desiree, alone with hers, was left in this quiet house for a few hours +longer. Mechanically she set it in order. What would it matter to-morrow +whether it were set in order or not? Who would come to note the last +touches? She worked with that feverish haste which is responsible for +much unnecessary woman's work in this world--the haste that owes its +existence to the fear of having time to think. Many talk for the same +reason. What a quiet world, if those who have nothing to say said +nothing! But speech or work must fail at last, and lo! the thoughts are +lying in wait. + +Desiree's thoughts found their opportunity when she went into the +drawing-room upstairs, where her wedding-breakfast had been set before +the guests only eight months ago. The guests--De Casimir, the Grafin, +Sebastian, Mathilde, Charles! + +Desiree stood alone now in the silent room. She did not look at the +table. The guests were all gone. The dead past had buried its dead. She +went to the window and drew aside the curtain as she had drawn it aside +on her wedding-day to look down into the Frauengasse and see Louis +d'Arragon. And again her heart leapt in her breast with that throb +of fear. She turned where she stood, and looked at the door as if she +expected to see Charles come in at it, laughing and gay, explaining (he +was so good at explaining) his encounter in the street, and stepping +aside to allow Louis to come forward. Louis, who looked at no one but +her, and came into the room and into her life. + +She had been afraid of him. She was afraid of him still. And her heart +had leapt at the thought that he had been restlessly, sleeplessly +thinking of her, working for her--had been to Vilna and back for her, +and was now waiting for her beyond the barrier of Russian camp-fires. +The dangers which made Barlasch laugh--and she knew they were real +enough, for it was only a real danger that stirred something in the old +soldier's blood to make him gay--these dangers were of no account. She +knew, she had known instantly and for all time when she looked down into +the Frauengasse and saw Louis, that nothing in heaven or earth could +keep them apart. + +She stood now, looking at the empty doorway. What was the rest of her +life to be? + +Barlasch returned in the afternoon. He was leisurely and inclined to +contemplativeness. It would seem that his preparations having all been +completed, he was left with nothing to do. War is a purifier; it clears +the social atmosphere and puts womanly men and manly women into their +right places. It is also a simplifier; it teaches us to know how little +we really require in daily life, and how many of the environments with +which men and women hamper themselves are superfluous and the fruit of +idleness. + +"I have nothing to do," said Barlasch, "I will cook a careful dinner. +All that I have saved in money I cannot carry away; all that was stored +beneath the floor must be left there. It is often so in war." + +He had told Desiree that they would have to walk twelve miles across +the snow-clad marshes bordering the frozen Vistula, between midnight and +dawn. It needed no telling that they could carry little with them. + +"You will have to make a new beginning in life," he said curtly, "with +the clothes upon your back. How many times have I done it--the Saints +alone know! But take money, if you have it in gold or silver. Mine is +all in copper groschen, and it is too heavy to carry. I have never yet +been anywhere that money was not useful--and name of a dog! I have never +had it." + +So Desiree divided what money she possessed with Barlasch, who added it +carefully up and repeated several times for accuracy the tale of what he +had received. For, like many who do not hesitate to steal, he was very +particular in money matters. + +"As for me," he said, "I shall make a new beginning, too. The Captain +will enable me to get back to France, when I shall go to the Emperor +again. It is no place for one of the Old Guard, here with Rapp. I +am getting old, but he will find something for me to do, that little +Emperor." + +At midnight they set out, quitting the house in the Frauengasse +noiselessly. The street was quiet enough, for half the houses were empty +now. Their footsteps were inaudible on the trodden snow. It was a dark +night and not cold; for the great frosts of this terrible winter were +nearly over. + +Barlasch carried his musket and bayonet. He had instructed Desiree to +walk in front of him, should they meet a patrol. But Rapp had no men to +spare for patrolling the town. There was no spirit left in Dantzig; for +typhus and starvation patrolled the narrow streets. + +They quitted the town to the north-west, near the Oliva Gate. There was +no guard-house here because Langfuhr was held by the French, and Rapp's +outposts were three miles out on the road to Zoppot. + +"I have played this game for fifty years," said Barlasch, with a low +laugh, when they reached the earthworks, completed, at such enormous +cost of life and strength, by Rapp; "follow me and do as I do. When I +stoop, stoop; when I crawl, crawl; when I run, run." + +For he was a soldier now and nothing else. He stood erect, and looked +round him with the air of a young man--ready, keen, alert. Then he moved +forward with confidence towards the high land which terminates in the +Johannesberg, where the peaceful Dantzigers now repair on a Sunday +afternoon to drink thin beer and admire the view. + +Below them on the right hand lay the marshes, a white expanse of snow +with a single dark line drawn across it--the Langfuhr road with its +double border of trees. + +Barlasch turned once or twice to make sure that Desiree was following +him; but he added nothing to his brief instructions. When he gained +the summit of the tableland which runs parallel with the coast and the +Langfuhr road, he paused for breath. + +"When I crawl, crawl. When I run, run," he whispered again; and led the +way. He went up the bed of a stream, turning his back to the coast, and +at a certain point stopped and by a gesture of the hand bade Desiree +crouch down and wait till he returned. He came back and signed to her +to quit the bed of the stream and follow him. When she came up to the +tableland, she found that they were quite close to a camp-fire. Through +the low pines she could perceive the dark outline of a house. + +"Now run," whispered Barlasch, leading the way across an open space +which seemed to extend to the line of the horizon. Without looking back, +Desiree ran--her only thought was a sudden surprise that Barlasch could +move so quickly and silently. + +When he gained the shelter of some trees, he threw himself down on the +snow, and Desiree coming up to him found him breathlessly holding his +sides and laughing aloud. + +"We are through the lines," he gasped, "name of a dog, I was so +frightened. There they go--pam! pam! Buz.. z.. z.." + +And he imitated the singing buzz of the bullets humming through the +trees over their heads. For half a dozen shots were fired, while he was +yet speaking, from behind the camp-fires. There were no more, however, +and presently, having recovered his breath, Barlasch rose. + +"Come," he said, "we have a long walk. En route." + +They made a great circuit in the pine-woods, through which Barlasch led +the way with an unerring skill, and descending towards the plain far +beyond Langfuhr they came out on to a lower tableland, below which the +great marshes of the Vistula stretched in the darkness, slowly merging +at last into the sea. + +"Those," said Barlasch, pausing at the edge of the slope, "those are the +lights of Oliva, where the Russians are. That line of lights straight in +front is the Russian fleet lying off Zoppot, and with them are English +ships. One of them is the little ship of Captain d'Arragon. And he +will take you home with him; for the ship is ordered to England, to +Plymouth--which is across the Channel from my own country. Ah--cristi! +I sometimes want to see my own country again--and my own +people--mademoiselle." + +He went on a few paces and then stopped again, and in the darkness held +up one hand, commanding silence. It was the churches of Dantzig striking +the hour. + +"Six o'clock," he whispered, "it will soon be dawn. Yes--we are half an +hour too early." + +He sat down, and, by a gesture, bade Desiree sit beside him. + +"Yes," he said, "the Captain told me that he is bound for England to +convoy larger ships, and you will sail in one of them. He has a home in +the west of England, and he will take you there--a sister or a mother, +I forget which--some woman. You cannot get on without women--you others. +It is there that you will be happy, as the bon Dieu meant you to be. It +is only in England that no one fears Napoleon. One may have a husband +there and not fear that he will be killed. One may have children and not +tremble for them--and it is that that makes you happy--you women." + +Presently he rose and led the way down the slope. At the foot of it, he +paused, and pointing out a long line of trees, said in a whisper-- + +"He is there--where there are three taller trees. Between us and those +trees are the French outposts. At dawn the Russians attack the outposts, +and during the attack we have simply to go through it to those trees. +There is no other way--that is the rendezvous. Those three tall trees. +When I give the word, you get up and run to those trees--run without +pausing, without looking round. I will follow. It is you he has come +for--not Barlasch. You think I know nothing. Bah! I know everything. I +have always known it--your poor little secret." + +They lay on the snow crouching in a ditch until a grey line appeared low +down in the Eastern sky and the horizon slowly distinguished itself from +the thin thread of cloud that nearly always awaits the rising of the sun +in Northern latitudes. + +A minute later the dark group of trees broke into intermittent flame +and the sharp, short "Hurrah!" of the Cossacks, like an angry bark, came +sweeping across the plain on the morning breeze. + +"Not yet," whispered Barlasch, with a gay chuckle of enjoyment. "Not +yet--not yet. Listen, the bullets are not coming here, but are going +past to the right of us. When you go, keep to the left. Slowly at +first--keep a little breath till the end. Now, up! Mademoiselle, run; +name of thunder, let us run!" + +Desiree did not understand which were the French lines and which the +line of Russian attack. But there was a clear way to the three trees +which stood above the rest, and she went towards them. She knew she +could not run so far, so she walked. Then the bullets, instead of +passing to the right, seemed to play round her--like bees in a garden on +a summer day--and she ran until she was tired. + +The trees were quite close now, and the sky was light behind them. Then +she saw Louis coming towards her, and she ran into his arms. The sound +of the humming bullets was still in her dazed brain, and she touched him +all over with her gloved hand as she clung to him, as a mother touches +her child when it has fallen, to see whether it be hurt. + +"How was I to know?" she whispered breathlessly. "How was I to know that +you were to come into my life?" + +The bullets did not matter, it seemed, nor the roar of the firing to the +right of them. Nothing mattered--except that Louis must know that she +had never loved Charles. + +He held her and said nothing. And she wanted him to say nothing. Then +she remembered Barlasch, and looked back over her shoulder. + +"Where is Barlasch?" she asked, with a sudden sinking at her heart. + +"He is coming slowly," replied Louis. "He came slowly behind you all the +time, so as to draw the fire away from you." + +They turned and waited for Barlasch, who seemed to be going in the wrong +direction with an odd vagueness in his movements. Louis ran towards him +with Desiree at his heels. + +"Ca-y-est," said Barlasch; which cannot be translated, and yet has many +meanings. "Ca-y-est." + +And he sat down slowly on the snow. He sat quite upright and rigid, and +in the cold light of the Baltic dawn they saw the meaning of his words. +One hand was within his fur coat. He drew it out, and concealed it from +Desiree behind his back. He did not seem to see them, but presently he +put out his hand and lightly touched Desiree. Then he turned to +Louis with that confidential drop of the voice with which he always +distinguished his friends from those who were not his friends. + +"What is she doing?" he asked. "I cannot see in the dark. Is it +not dark? I thought it was. What is she doing? Saying a prayer? +What--because I have my affair? Hey, mademoiselle. You may leave it to +me. I will get in, I tell you that." + +He put his finger to his nose, and then shook it from side to side with +an air of deep cunning. + +"Leave it to me. I shall slip in. Who will stop an old man, who has many +wounds? Not St. Peter, assuredly. Let him try. And if the good God hears +a commotion at the gate, He will only shrug His shoulders. He will say +to St. Peter, 'Let pass; it is only Papa Barlasch!'" + +And then there was silence. For Barlasch had gone to his own people. + + + + + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Barlasch of the Guard, by H. S. 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Merriman + +Release Date: May, 2005 [EBook #8158] +[This file was first posted on June 22, 2003] + +Edition: 10 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: US-ASCII + +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK, BARLASCH OF THE GUARD *** + + + + +This etext was produced by Les Bowler, St. Ives, Dorset. + + + + +BARLASCH OF THE GUARD BY HENRY SETON MERRIMAN + + + + + "And they that have not heard shall understand" + + + + +CONTENTS + +CHAPTER + +I. ALL ON A SUMMER'S DAY +II. A CAMPAIGNER +III. FATE +IV. THE CLOUDED MOON +V. THE WEISSEN ROSS'L +VI. THE SHOEMAKER OF KONIGSBERG +VII. THE WAY OF LOVE +VIII. A VISITATION +IX. THE GOLDEN GUESS +X. IN DEEP WATER +XI. THE WAVE MOVES ON +XII. FROM BORODINO +XIII. IN THE DAY OF REJOICING +XIV. MOSCOW +XV. THE GOAL +XVI. THE FIRST OF THE EBB +XVII. A FORLORN HOPE +XVIII. MISSING +XIX. KOWNO +XX. DESIREE'S CHOICE +XXI. ON THE WARSAW ROAD +XXII. THROUGH THE SHOALS +XXIII. AGAINST THE STREAM +XXIV. MATHILDE CHOOSES +XXV. A DESPATCH +XXVI. ON THE BRIDGE +XXVII. A FLASH OF MEMORY +XXVIII. VILNA +XXIX. THE BARGAIN +XXX. THE FULFILMENT + + + +CHAPTER I. ALL ON A SUMMER'S DAY. + + + + Il faut devoir lever les yeux pour regarder ce qu'on aime. + +A few children had congregated on the steps of the Marienkirche at +Dantzig, because the door stood open. The verger, old Peter Koch-- +on week days a locksmith--had told them that nothing was going to +happen; had been indiscreet enough to bid them go away. So they +stayed, for they were little girls. + +A wedding was in point of fact in progress within the towering walls +of the Marienkirche--a cathedral built of red brick in the great +days of the Hanseatic League. + +"Who is it?" asked a stout fishwife, stepping over the threshold to +whisper to Peter Koch. + +"It is the younger daughter of Antoine Sebastian," replied the +verger, indicating with a nod of his head the house on the left-hand +side of the Frauengasse where Sebastian lived. There was a wealth +of meaning in the nod. For Peter Koch lived round the corner in the +Kleine Schmiedegasse, and of course--well, it is only neighbourly to +take an interest in those who drink milk from the same cow and buy +wood from the same Jew. + +The fishwife looked thoughtfully down the Frauengasse where every +house has a different gable, and none of less than three floors +within the pitch of the roof. She singled out No. 36, which has a +carved stone balustrade to its broad verandah and a railing of +wrought-iron on either side of the steps descending from the +verandah to the street. + +"They teach dancing?" she inquired. + +And Koch nodded again, taking snuff. + +"And he--the father?" + +"He scrapes a fiddle," replied the verger, examining the lady's +basket of fish in a non-committing and final way. For a locksmith +is almost as confidential an adviser as a notary. The Dantzigers, +moreover, are a thrifty race and keep their money in a safe place; a +habit which was to cost many of them their lives before the coming +of another June. + +The marriage service was a long one and not exhilarating. Through +the open door came no sound of organ or choir, but the deep and +monotonous drawl of one voice. There had been no ringing of bells. +The north countries, with the exception of Russia, require more than +the ringing of bells or the waving of flags to warm their hearts. +They celebrate their festivities with good meat and wine consumed +decently behind closed doors. + +Dantzig was in fact under a cloud. No larger than a man's hand, +this cloud had risen in Corsica forty-three years earlier. It had +overshadowed France. Its gloom had spread to Italy, Austria, Spain; +had penetrated so far north as Sweden; was now hanging sullen over +Dantzig, the greatest of the Hanseatic towns, the Free City. For a +Dantziger had never needed to say that he was a Pole or a Prussian, +a Swede or a subject of the Czar. He was a Dantziger. Which is +tantamount to having for a postal address a single name that is +marked on the map. + +Napoleon had garrisoned the Free City with French troops some years +earlier, to the sullen astonishment of the citizens. And Prussia +had not objected for a very obvious reason. Within the last +fourteen months the garrison had been greatly augmented. The clouds +seemed to be gathering over this prosperous city of the north, +where, however, men continued to eat and drink, to marry and to be +given in marriage as in another city of the plain. + +Peter Koch replaced his snuff-stained handkerchief in the pocket of +his rusty cassock and stood aside. He murmured a few conventional +words of blessing, hard on the heels of stronger exhortations to the +waiting children. And Desiree Sebastian came out into the sunlight- +-Desiree Sebastian no more. + +That she was destined for the sunlight was clearly written on her +face and in her gay, kind blue eyes. She was tall and straight and +slim, as are English and Polish and Danish girls, and none other in +all the world. But the colouring of her face and hair was more +pronounced than in the fairness of Anglo-Saxon youth. For her hair +had a golden tinge in it, and her skin was of that startlingly milky +whiteness which is only found in those who live round the frozen +waters. Her eyes, too, were of a clearer blue--like the blue of a +summer sky over the Baltic sea. The rosy colour was in her cheeks, +her eyes were laughing. This was a bride who had no misgivings. + +On seeing such a happy face returning from the altar the observer +might have concluded that the bride had assuredly attained her +desire; that she had secured a title; that the pre-nuptial +settlement had been safely signed and sealed. + +But Desiree had none of these things. It was nearly a hundred years +ago. + +Her husband must have whispered some laughing comment on Koch, or +another appeal to her quick sense of the humorous, for she looked +into his changing face and gave a low, girlish laugh of amusement as +they descended the steps together into the brilliant sunlight. + +Charles Darragon wore one of the countless uniforms that enlivened +the outward world in the great days of the greatest captain that +history has seen. He was unmistakably French--unmistakably a French +gentleman, as rare in 1812 as he is to-day. To judge from his small +head and clean-cut features, fine and mobile; from his graceful +carriage and slight limbs, this man was one of the many bearing +names that begin with the fourth letter of the alphabet since the +Terror only. + +He was merely a lieutenant in a regiment of Alsatian recruits; but +that went for nothing in the days of the Empire. Three kings in +Europe had begun no farther up the ladder. + +The Frauengasse is a short street, made narrow by the terrace that +each house throws outward from its face, each seeking to gain a few +inches on its neighbour. It runs from the Marienkirche to the +Frauenthor, and remains to-day as it was built three hundred years +ago. + +Desiree nodded and laughed to the children, who interested her. She +was quite simple and womanly, as some women, it is to be hoped, may +succeed in continuing until the end of time. She was always pleased +to see children; was glad, it seemed, that they should have +congregated on the steps to watch her pass. Charles, with a faint +and unconscious reflex of that grand manner which had brought his +father to the guillotine, felt in his pocket for money, and found +none. + +He jerked his hand out with widespread fingers, in a gesture +indicative of familiarity with the nakedness of the land. + +"I have nothing, little citizens," he said with a mock gravity; +"nothing but my blessing." + +And he made a gay gesture with his left hand over their heads, not +the act of benediction, but of peppering, which made them all laugh. +The bride and bridegroom passing on joined in the laughter with +hearts as light and voices scarcely less youthful. + +The Frauengasse is intersected by the Pfaffengasse at right angles, +through which narrow and straight street passes much of the traffic +towards the Langenmarkt, the centre of the town. As the little +bridal procession reached the corner of this street, it halted at +the approach of some mounted troops. There was nothing unusual in +this sight in the streets of Dantzig, which were accustomed now to +the clatter of the Saxon cavalry. + +But at the sight of the first troopers Charles Darragon threw up his +head with a little exclamation of surprise. + +Desiree looked at him and then turned to follow the direction of his +gaze. + +"What are these?" she murmured. For the uniforms were new and +unfamiliar. + +"Cavalry of the Old Guard," replied her husband, and as he spoke he +caught his breath. + +The horsemen vanished into the continuation of the Pfaffengasse, and +immediately behind them came a travelling carriage, swung on high +wheels, three times the size of a Dantzig drosky, white with dust. +It had small square windows. As Desiree drew back in obedience to a +movement of her husband's arm, she saw a face for an instant--pale +and set--with eyes that seemed to look at everything and yet at +something beyond. + +"Who was it? He looked at you, Charles," said Desiree. + +"It is the Emperor," answered Darragon. His face was white. His +eyes were dull, like the eyes of one who has seen a vision and is +not yet back to earth. + +Desiree turned to those behind her. + +"It is the Emperor," she said, with an odd ring in her voice which +none had ever heard before. Then she stood looking after the +carriage. + +Her father, who was at her elbow--tall, white-haired, with an +aquiline, inscrutable face--stood in a like attitude, looking down +the Pfaffengasse. His hand was raised before his face with +outspread fingers which seemed rigid in that gesture, as if lifted +hastily to screen his face and hide it. + +"Did he see me?" he asked in a low voice which only Desiree heard. + +She glanced at him, and her eyes, which were clear as a cloudless +sky, were suddenly shadowed by a suspicion quick and poignant. + +"He seemed to see everything, but he only looked at Charles," she +answered. For a moment they all stood in the sunshine looking +towards the Langenmarkt where the tower of the Rathhaus rose above +the high roofs. The dust raised by the horses' feet and the +carriage wheels slowly settled on their bridal clothes. + +It was Desiree who at length made a movement to continue their way +towards her father's house. + +"Well," she said with a slight laugh, "he was not bidden to my +wedding, but he has come all the same." + +Others laughed as they followed her. For a bride at the church- +door, or a judge on the bench, or a criminal on the scaffold-steps, +need make but a very small joke to cause merriment. Laughter is +often nothing but the froth of tears. + +There were faces suddenly bleached in the little group of wedding- +guests, and none were whiter than the handsome features of Mathilde +Sebastian, Desiree's elder sister, who looked angry, had frowned at +the children, and seemed to find this simple wedding too bourgeois +for her taste. She carried her head with an air that told the world +not to expect that she should ever be content to marry in such a +humble style, and walk from the church in satin slippers like any +daughter of a burgher. + +This, at all events, was what old Koch the locksmith must have read +in her beautiful, discontented face. + +"Ah! ah!" he muttered to the bolts as he shot them. "But it is not +the lightest hearts that quit the church in a carriage." + +So simple were the arrangements that bride and bridegroom and +wedding-guests had to wait in the street while the servant unlocked +the front door of No. 36 with a great key hurriedly extracted from +her apron-pocket. + +There was no unusual stir in the street. The windows of one or two +of the houses had been decorated with flowers. These were the +houses of friends. Others were silent and still behind their lace +curtains, where there doubtless lurked peeping and criticizing eyes- +-the house of a neighbour. + +The wedding-guests were few in number. Only one of them had a +distinguished air, and he, like the bridegroom, wore the uniform of +France. He was a small man, somewhat brusque in attitude, as became +a soldier of Italy and Egypt. But he had a pleasant smile and that +affability of manner which many learnt in the first years of the +great Republic. He and Mathilde Sebastian never looked at each +other: either an understanding or a misunderstanding. + +The host, Antoine Sebastian, played his part well enough when he +remembered that he had a part to play. He listened with a kind +attention to the story of a very old lady, who it seemed had been +married herself, but it was so long ago that the human interest of +it all was lost in a pottle of petty detail which was all she could +recall. Before the story was half finished, Sebastian's attention +had strayed elsewhere, though his spare figure remained in its +attitude of attention and polite forbearance. His mind had, it +would seem, a trick of thus wandering away and leaving his body +rigid in the last attitude that it had dictated. + +Sebastian did not notice that the door was open and all the guests +were waiting for him to lead the way. + +"Now, old dreamer," whispered Desiree, with a quick pinch on his +arm, "take the Grafin upstairs to the drawing-room and give her +wine. You are to drink our healths, remember." + +"Is there wine?" he asked with a vague smile. "Where has it come +from?" + +"Like other good things, my father-in-law," replied Charles with his +easy laugh, "it comes from France." + +They spoke together thus in confidence, in the language of that same +sunny land. But when Sebastian turned again to the old lady, still +recalling the details of that other wedding, he addressed her in +German, offering his arm with a sudden stiffness of gesture which he +seemed to put on with the change of tongue. + +They passed up the low time-worn steps arm-in-arm, and beneath the +high carved doorway, whereon some pious Hanseatic merchant had +inscribed his belief that if God be in the house there is no need of +a watchman, emphasizing his creed by bolts and locks of enormous +strength, and bars to every window. + +The servant in her Samland Sunday dress, having shaken her fist at +the children, closed the door behind the last guest, and, so far as +the Frauengasse was concerned, the exciting incident was over. From +the open window came only the murmur of quiet voices, the clink of +glasses at the drinking of a toast, or a laugh in the clear voice of +the bride herself. For Desiree persisted in her optimistic view of +these proceedings, though her husband scarcely helped her now at +all, and seemed a different man since the passage through the +Pfaffengasse of that dusty travelling carriage which had played the +part of the stormy petrel from end to end of Europe. + + + +CHAPTER II. A CAMPAIGNER. + + + + Not what I am, but what I Do, is my Kingdom. + +Desiree had made all her own wedding-clothes. "Her poor little +marriage-basket," she called it. She had even made the cake which +was now cut with some ceremony by her father. + +"I tremble," she exclaimed aloud, "to think what it may be like in +the middle." + +And Mathilde was the only person there who did not smile at the +unconscious admission. The cake was still under discussion, and the +Grafin had just admitted that it was almost as good as that other +cake which had been consumed in the days of Frederick the Great, +when the servant called Desiree from the room. + +"It is a soldier," she said in a whisper at the head of the stairs. +"He has a paper in his hand. I know what that means. He is +quartered on us." + +Desiree hurried downstairs. In the entrance-hall, a broad-built +little man stood awaiting her. He was stout and red, with hair all +ragged at the temples, almost white. His eyes were lost behind +shaggy eyebrows. His face was made broader by little whiskers +stopping short at the level of his ear. He had a snuff-blown +complexion, and in the wrinkles of his face the dust of a dozen +campaigns seemed to have accumulated. + +"Barlasch," he said curtly, holding out a long strip of blue paper. +"Of the Guard. Once a sergeant. Italy, Egypt, the Danube." + +He frowned at Desiree while she read the paper in the dim light that +filtered through the twisted bars of the fanlight above the door. + +Then he turned to the servant who stood, comely and breathless, +looking him up and down. + +"Papa Barlasch," he added for her edification, and he drew down his +left eyebrow with a jerk, so that it almost touched his cheek. His +right eye, grey and piercing, returned her astonished gaze with a +fierce steadfastness. + +"Does this mean that you are quartered upon us?" asked Desiree +without seeking to hide her disgust. She spoke in her own tongue. + +"French?" said the soldier, looking at her. "Good. Yes. I am +quartered here. Thirty-six, Frauengasse. Sebastian; musician. You +are lucky to get me. I always give satisfaction--ha!" + +He gave a curt laugh in one syllable only. His left arm was curved +round a bundle of wood bound together by a red pocket-handkerchief +not innocent of snuff. He held out this bundle to Desiree, as +Solomon may have held out some great gift to the Queen of Sheba to +smooth the first doubtful steps of friendship. + +Desiree accepted the gift and stood in her wedding-dress holding the +bundle of wood against her breast. Then a gleam of the one grey eye +that was visible conveyed to her the fact that this walnut-faced +warrior was smiling. She laughed gaily. + +"It is well," said Barlasch. "We are friends. You are lucky to get +me. You may not think so now. Would this woman like me to speak to +her in Polish or German?" + +"Do you speak so many languages?" + +He shrugged his shoulders and spread out his arms as far as his many +burdens allowed. For he was hung round with a hundred parcels and +packages. + +"The Old Guard," he said, "can always make itself understood." + +He rubbed his hands together with the air of a brisk man ready for +any sort of work. + +"Now, where shall I sleep?" he asked. "One is not particular, you +understand. A few minutes and one is at home--perhaps peeling the +potatoes. It is only a civilian who is ashamed of using his knife +on a potato. Papa Barlasch, they call me." + +Without awaiting an invitation he went forward towards the kitchen. +He seemed to know the house by instinct. His progress was +accompanied by a clatter of utensils like that which heralds the +coming of a carrier's cart. + +At the kitchen door he stopped and sniffed loudly. There certainly +was a slight odour of burning fat. Papa Barlasch turned and shook +an admonitory finger at the servant, but he said nothing. He looked +round at the highly polished utensils, at the table and floor both +alike scrubbed clean by a vigorous northern arm. And he was kind +enough to nod approval. + +"On a campaign," he said to no one in particular, "a little bit of +horse thrust into the cinders on the end of a bayonet--but in times +of peace . . ." + +He broke off and made a gesture towards the saucepans which +indicated quite clearly that he was between campaigns--inclined to +good living. + +"I am a rude fork," he jerked to Desiree over his shoulder in the +dialect of the Cotes du Nord. + +"How long will you be here?" asked Desiree, who was eminently +practical. A billet was a misfortune which Charles Darragon had +hitherto succeeded in warding off. He had some small influence as +an officer of the head-quarters' staff. + +Barlasch held up a reproving hand. The question, he seemed to +think, was not quite delicate. + +"I pay my own," he said. "Give and take--that is my motto. When +you have nothing to give . . . offer a smile." + +With a gesture he indicated the bundle of firewood which Desiree +still absent-mindedly carried against her white dress. He turned +and opened a cupboard low down on the floor at the left-hand side of +the fireplace. He seemed to know by an instinct usually possessed +by charwomen and other domesticated persons of experience where the +firewood was kept. Lisa gave a little exclamation of surprise at +his impertinence and his perspicacity. He took the firewood, +unknotted his handkerchief, and threw his offering into the +cupboard. Then he turned and perceived for the first time that +Desiree had a bright ribbon at her waist and on her shoulders; that +a thin chain of gold was round her throat and that there were +flowers at her breast. + +"A fete?" he inquired curtly. + +"My marriage fete," she answered. "I was married half an hour ago." + +He looked at her beneath his grizzled brows. His face was only +capable of producing one expression--a shaggy weather-beaten +fierceness. But, like a dog which can express more than many human +beings, by a hundred instinctive gestures he could, it seemed, +dispense with words on occasion and get on quite as well without +them. He clearly disapproved of Desiree's marriage, and drew her +attention to the fact that she was no more than a schoolgirl with an +inconsequent brain, and little limbs too slight to fight a +successful battle in a world full of cruelty and danger. + +Then he made a gesture half of apology as if recognizing that it was +no business of his, and turned away thoughtfully. + +"I had troubles of that sort myself," he explained, putting together +the embers on the hearth with the point of a twisted, rusty bayonet, +"but that was long ago. Well, I can drink your health all the same, +mademoiselle." + +He turned to Lisa with a friendly nod and put out his tongue, in the +manner of the people, to indicate that his lips were dry. + +Desiree had always been the housekeeper. It was to her that Lisa +naturally turned in her extremity at the invasion of her kitchen by +Papa Barlasch. And when that warrior had been supplied with beer it +was with Desiree, in an agitated whisper in the great dark dining- +room with its gloomy old pictures and heavy carving, that she took +counsel as to where he should be quartered. + +The object of their solicitude himself interrupted their hurried +consultation by opening the door and putting his shaggy head round +the corner of it. + +"It is not worth while to consult long about it," he said. "There +is a little room behind the kitchen, that opens into the yard. It +is full of boxes. But we can move them--a little straw--and there!" + +With a gesture he described a condition of domestic peace and +comfort which far exceeded his humble requirements. + +"The blackbeetles and I are old friends," he concluded cheerfully. + +"There are no blackbeetles in the house, monsieur," said Desiree, +hesitating to accept his proposal. + +"Then I shall resign myself to my solitude," he answered. "It is +quiet. I shall not hear the patron touching on his violin. It is +that which occupies his leisure, is it not?" + +"Yes," answered Desiree, still considering the question. + +"I too am a musician," said Papa Barlasch, turning towards the +kitchen again. "I played a drum at Marengo." + +And as he led the way to the little room in the yard at the back of +the kitchen, he expressed by a shake of the head a fellow-feeling +for the gentleman upstairs, whose acquaintance he had not yet made, +who occupied his leisure by touching the violin. + +They stood together in the small apartment which Barlasch, with the +promptitude of an experienced conqueror, had set apart for his own +accommodation. + +"Those trunks," he observed casually, "were made in France"--a +mental note which he happened to make aloud, as some do for better +remembrance. "This solid girl and I will soon move them. And you, +mademoiselle, go back to your wedding." + +"The good God be merciful to you," he added under his breath when +Desiree had gone. + +She laughed as she mounted the stairs, a slim white figure amid the +heavy woodwork long since blackened by time. The stairs made no +sound beneath her light step. How many weary feet had climbed them +since they were built! For the Dantzigers have been a people of +sorrow, torn by wars, starved by siege, tossed from one conqueror to +another from the beginning until now. + +Desiree excused herself for her absence and frankly gave the cause. +She was disposed to make light of the incident. It was natural to +her to be optimistic. Both she and Mathilde made a practice of +withholding from their father's knowledge the smaller worries of +daily life which sour so many women and make them whine on platforms +to be given the larger woes. + +She was glad to note that her father did not attach much importance +to the arrival of Papa Barlasch; though Mathilde found opportunity +to convey her displeasure at the news by a movement of the eyebrows. + +Antoine Sebastian had applied himself seriously now to his role of +host, so rarely played in the Frauengasse. He was courteous and +quick to see a want or a possible desire of any one of his guests. +It was part of his sense of hospitality to dismiss all personal +matters, and especially a personal trouble, from public attention. + +"They will attend to him in the kitchen, no doubt," he said with +that grand air which the dancing academy tried to imitate. + +Charles hardly noted what Desiree said. So sunny a nature as his +might have been expected to make light of a minor trouble, more +especially the minor trouble of another. He was unusually +thoughtful. Some event of the morning had, it would appear, given +him pause on his primrose path. He glanced more than once over his +shoulder towards the window, which stood open. He seemed at times +to listen. + +Suddenly he rose and went to the window. His action caused a brief +silence, and all heard the clatter of a horse's feet and the quick +rattle of a sword against spur and buckle. + +After a glance he came back into the room. + +"Excuse me," he said, with a bow towards Mathilde. "It is, I think, +a messenger for me." + +And he hurried downstairs. He did not return at once, and soon the +conversation became general again. + +"You," said the Grafin, touching Desiree's arm with her fan, "you, +who are now his wife, must be dying to know what has called him +away. Do not consider the 'convenances,' my child." + +Desiree, thus admonished, followed Charles. She had not been aware +of this consuming curiosity until it was suggested to her. + +She found Charles standing at the open door. He thrust a letter +into his pocket as she approached him, and turned towards her the +face that she had seen for a moment when he drew her back at the +corner of the Pfaffengasse to allow the Emperor's carriage to pass +on its way. It was the white, half-stupefied face of one who has +for an instant seen a vision of things not earthly. + +"I have been sent for by the . . . I am wanted at head-quarters," +he said vaguely. "I shall not be long . . ." + +He took his shako, looked at her with an odd attempt to simulate +cheerfulness, kissed her fingers and hurried out into the street. + + + +CHAPTER III. FATE. + + + + We pass; the path that each man trod + Is dim; or will be dim, with weeds. + +When Desiree turned towards the stairs, she met the guests +descending. They were taking their leave as they came down, +hurriedly, like persons conscious of having outstayed their welcome. + +Mathilde listened coldly to the conventional excuses. So few people +recognize the simple fact that they need never apologize for going +away. Sebastian stood at the head of the stairs bowing in his most +Germanic manner. The urbane host, with a charm entirely French, who +had dispensed a simple hospitality so easily and gracefully a few +minutes earlier, seemed to have disappeared behind a pale and formal +mask. + +Desiree was glad to see them go. There was a sense of uneasiness, a +vague unrest in the air. There was something amiss. The wedding +party had been a failure. All had gone well and merrily up to a +certain point--at the corner of the Pfaffengasse, when the dusty +travelling carriage passed across their path. From that moment +there had been a change. A shadow seemed to have fallen across the +sunny nature of the proceedings; for never had bride and bridegroom +set forth together with lighter hearts than those carried by Charles +and Desiree Darragon down the steps of the Marienkirche. + +During its progress across the whole width of Germany, the carriage +had left unrest behind it. Men had travelled night and day to stand +sleepless by the roadside and see it pass. Whole cities had been +kept astir till morning by the mere rumour that its flying wheels +would be heard in the streets before dawn. Hatred and adoration, +fear and that dread tightening of the heart-strings which is caused +by the shadow of the superhuman, had sprung into being at the mere +sound of its approach. + +When therefore it passed across the Frauengasse, throwing its dust +upon Desiree's wedding-dress, it was only fulfilling a mission. +When it broke in upon the lives of these few persons seeking dimly +for their happiness--as the heathen grope for an unknown God--and +threw down carefully constructed plans, swept aside the strongest +will and crushed the stoutest heart, it was only working out its +destiny. The dust sprinkled on Desiree's hair had fallen on the +faces of thousands of dead. The unrest that entered into the quiet +little house on the left-hand side of the Frauengasse had made its +way across a thousand thresholds, of Arab tent and imperial palace +alike. The lives of millions were affected by it, the secret hopes +of thousands were undermined by it. It disturbed the sleep of half +the world, and made men old before their time. + +"More troops must have arrived," said Desiree, already busying +herself to set the house in order, "since they have been forced to +billet this man with us. And now they have sent for Charles, though +he is really on leave of absence." + +She glanced at the clock. + +"I hope he will not be late. The chaise is to come at four o'clock. +There is still time for me to help you." + +Mathilde made no answer. Their father stood near the window. He +was looking out with thoughtful eyes. His face was drawn downwards +by a hundred fine wrinkles. It was the face of one brooding over a +sorrow or a vengeance. There was something in his whole being +suggestive of a bygone prosperity. This was a lean man who had once +been well-seeming. + +"No!" said Desiree gaily, "we were a dull company. We need not +disguise it. It all came from that man crossing our path in his +dusty carriage." + +"He is on his way to Russia," Sebastian said jerkily. "God spare me +to see him return!" + +Desiree and Mathilde exchanged a glance of uneasiness. It seemed +that their father was subject to certain humours which they had +reason to dread. Desiree left her occupation and went to him, +linking her arm in his and standing beside him. + +"Do not let us think of disagreeable things to-day," she said. "God +will spare you much longer than that, you depressing old wedding- +guest!" + +He patted her hand which rested on his arm and looked down at her +with eyes softened by affection. But her fair hair, rather tumbled, +which met his glance must have awakened some memory that made his +face a marble mask again. + +"Yes," he said grimly, "but I am an old man and he is a young one. +And I want to see him dead before I die." + +"I will not have you think such bloodthirsty thoughts on my wedding- +day," said Desiree. "See, there is Charles returning already, and +he has not been absent ten minutes. He has some one with him--who +is it? Papa . . . Mathilde, look! Who is it coming back with +Charles in such a hurry?" + +Mathilde, who was setting the room in order, glanced through the +lace curtains. + +"I do not know," she answered indifferently. "Just an ordinary +man." + +Desiree had turned away from the window as if to go downstairs and +meet her husband. She paused and looked back again over her +shoulder towards the street. + +"Is it?" she said rather oddly. "I do not know--I--" + +And she stood with the incompleted sentence on her lips waiting +irresolutely for Charles to come upstairs. + +In a moment he burst into the room with all his usual exuberance and +high spirit. + +"Picture to yourselves!" he cried, standing in the doorway with his +arms extended before him. "I was hurrying to head-quarters when I +ran into the embrace of my dear Louis--my cousin. I have told you a +hundred times that he is brother and father and everything to me. I +am so glad that he should come to-day of all days." + +He turned towards the stairs with a gesture of welcome, still with +his two arms outheld, as if inviting the man, who came rather slowly +upstairs, to come to his embrace and to the embrace of those who +were now his relations. + +"There was a little suspicion of sadness--I do not know what it was- +-at the table; but now it is all gone. All is well now that this +unexpected guest has come. This dear Louis." + +He went to the landing as he spoke, and returned bringing by the arm +a man taller than himself and darker, with a still brown face and +steady eyes set close together. He had a lean look of good +breeding. + +"This dear Louis!" repeated Charles. "My only relative in all the +world. My cousin, Louis d'Arragon. But he, par exemple, spells his +name in two words." + +The man bowed gravely--a comprehensive bow; but he looked at +Desiree. + +"This is my father-in-law," continued Charles breathlessly. +"Monsieur Antoine Sebastian, and Desiree and Mathilde--my wife, my +dear Louis--your cousin, Desiree." + +He had turned again to Louis and shook him by the shoulders in the +fulness of his joy. He had not distinguished between Mathilde and +Desiree, and it was towards Mathilde that D'Arragon looked with a +polite and rather formal repetition of his bow. + +"It is I . . . I am Desiree," said the younger sister, coming +forward with a slow gesture of shyness. + +D'Arragon took her hand. + +"I have been happy," he said, "in the moment of my arrival." + +Then he turned to Mathilde and bowed over the hand she held out to +him. Sebastian had come forward with a sudden return of his +gracious and rather old-world manner. He did not offer to shake +hands, but bowed. + +"A son of Louis d'Arragon who was fortunate enough to escape to +England?" he inquired with a courteous gesture. + +"The only son," replied the new-comer. + +"I am honoured to make the acquaintance of Monsieur le Marquis," +said Antoine Sebastian slowly. + +"Oh, you must not call me that," replied D'Arragon with a short +laugh. "I am an English sailor--that is all." + +"And now, my dear Louis, I leave you," broke in Charles, who had +rather impatiently awaited the end of these formalities. "A brief +half-hour and I am with you again. You will stay here till I +return." + +He turned, nodded gaily to Desiree and ran downstairs. + +Through the open windows they heard his quick, light footfall as he +hurried up the Frauengasse. Something made them silent, listening +to it. + +It was not difficult to see that D'Arragon was a sailor. Not only +had he the brown face of those who live in the open, but he had the +attentive air of one whose waking moments are a watch. + +"You look at one as if one were the horizon," Desiree said to him +long afterwards. But it was at this moment in the drawing-room in +the Frauengasse that the comparison formed itself in her mind. + +His face was rather narrow, with a square chin and straight lips. +He was not quick in speech like Charles, but seemed to think before +he spoke, with the result that he often appeared to be about to say +something, and was interrupted before the words had been uttered. + +"Unless my memory is a bad one, your mother was an Englishwoman, +monsieur," said Sebastian, "which would account for your being in +the English service." + +"Not entirely," answered d'Arragon, "though my mother was indeed +English and died--in a French prison. But it was from a sense of +gratitude that my father placed me in the English service--and I +have never regretted it, monsieur." + +"Your father received kindnesses at English hands, after his escape, +like many others." + +"Yes, and he was too old to repay them by doing the country any +service himself. He would have done it if he could--" + +D'Arragon paused, looking steadily at the tall old man who listened +to him with averted eyes. + +"My father was one of those," he said at length, "who did not think +that in fighting for Bonaparte one was necessarily fighting for +France." + +Sebastian held up a warning hand. + +"In England--" he corrected, "in England one may think such things. +But not in France, and still less in Dantzig." + +"If one is an Englishman," replied D'Arragon with a smile, "one may +think them where one likes, and say them when one is disposed. It +is one of the privileges of the nation, monsieur." + +He made the statement lightly, seeing the humour of it with a +cosmopolitan understanding, without any suggestion of the +boastfulness of youth. Desiree noticed that his hair was turning +grey at the temples. + +"I did not know," he said, turning to her, "that Charles was in +Dantzig, much less that he was celebrating so happy an occasion. We +ran against each other by accident in the street. It was a lucky +accident that allowed me to make your acquaintance so soon after you +have become his wife." + +"It scarcely seems possible that it should be an accident," said +Desiree. "It must have been the work of fate--if fate has time to +think of such an insignificant person as myself and so small an +event as my marriage in these days." + +"Fate," put in Mathilde in her composed voice and manner, "has come +to Dantzig to-day." + +"Ah!" + +"Yes. You are the second unexpected arrival this afternoon." + +D'Arragon turned and looked at Mathilde. His manner, always grave +and attentive, was that of a reader who has found an interesting +book on a dusty shelf. + +"Has the Emperor come?" he asked. + +Mathilde nodded. + +"I thought I saw something in Charles's face," he said reflectively, +looking back through the open door towards the stairs where Charles +had nodded farewell to them. "So the Emperor is here, in Dantzig?" + +He turned towards Sebastian, who stood with a stony face. + +"Which means war," he said. + +"It always means war," replied Sebastian in a tired voice. "Is he +again going to prove himself stronger than any?" + +"Some day he will make a mistake," said D'Arragon cheerfully. "And +then will come the day of reckoning." + +"Ah!" said Sebastian, with a shake of the head that seemed to +indicate an account so one-sided that none could ever liquidate it. +"You are young, monsieur. You are full of hope." + +"I am not young--I am thirty-one--but I am, as you say, full of +hope. I look to that day, Monsieur Sebastian." + +"And in the mean time?" suggested the man who seemed but a shadow of +someone standing apart and far away from the affairs of daily life + +"In the mean time one must play one's part," returned D'Arragon, +with his almost inaudible laugh, "whatever it may be." + +There was no foreboding in his voice; no second meaning in the +words. He was open and simple and practical, like the life he led. + +"Then you have a part to play, too," said Desiree, thinking of +Charles, who had been called away at such an inopportune moment, and +had gone without complaint. "It is the penalty we pay for living in +one of the less dull periods of history. He touches your life too." + +"He touches every one's life, mademoiselle. That is what makes him +so great a man. Yes. I have a little part to play. I am like one +of the unseen supernumeraries who has to see that a door is open to +allow the great actors to make an effective entree. I am lent to +Russia for the war that is coming. It is a little part. I have to +keep open one small portion of the line of communication between +England and St. Petersburg, so that news may pass to and fro." + +He glanced towards Mathilde as he spoke. She was listening with an +odd eagerness which he noted, as he noted everything, methodically +and surely. He remembered it afterwards. + +"That will not be easy, with Denmark friendly to France," said +Sebastian, "and every Prussian port closed to you." + +"But Sweden will help. She is not friendly to France." + +Sebastian laughed, and made a gesture with his white and elegant +hand, of contempt and ridicule. + +"And, bon Dieu! what a friendship it is," he exclaimed, "that is +based on the fear of being taken for an enemy." + +"It is a friendship that waits its time, monsieur," said D'Arragon +taking up his hat. + +"Then you have a ship, monsieur, here in the Baltic?" asked Mathilde +with more haste than was characteristic of her usual utterance. + +"A very small one, mademoiselle," he answered. "So small that I +could turn her round here in the Frauengasse." + +"But she is fast?" + +"The fastest in the Baltic, mademoiselle," he answered. "And that +is why I must take my leave--with the news you have told me." + +He shook hands as he spoke, and bowed to Sebastian, whose generation +was content with the more formal salutation. Desiree went to the +door, and led the way downstairs. + +"We have but one servant," she said, "who is busy." + +On the doorstep he paused for a moment. And Desiree seemed to +expect him to do so. + +"Charles and I have always been like brothers--you will remember +that always, will you not?" + +"Yes," she answered with her gay nod. "I will remember." + +"Then good-bye, mademoiselle." + +"Madame," she corrected lightly. + +"Madame, my cousin," he said, and departed smiling. + +Desiree went slowly upstairs again. + + + +CHAPTER IV. THE CLOUDED MOON. + + + + Quand on se mefie on se trompe, quand on ne se mefie pas, on est +trompe. + +Charles Darragon had come to Dantzig a year earlier. He was a +lieutenant in an infantry regiment, and he was twenty-five. Many of +his contemporaries were colonels in these days of quick promotion, +when men lived at such a rate that few of them lived long. But +Charles was too easy-going to envy any man. + +When he arrived he knew no one in Dantzig, had few friends in the +army of occupation. In six months he possessed acquaintances in +every street, and was on terms of easy familiarity with all his +fellow-officers. + +"If the army of occupation had more officers like young Darragon," a +town councillor had grimly said to Rapp, "the Dantzigers would soon +be resigned to your presence." + +It seemed that Charles had the gift of popularity. He was open and +hearty, hail-fellow-well-met with the new-comers, who were numerous +enough at this time, quick to understand the quiet men, ready to +make merry with the gay. Regarding himself, he was quite open and +frank. + +"I am a poor devil of a lieutenant," he said, "that is all." + +Reserve is fatal to popularity, yet friendship cannot exist without +it. Charles had, it seemed, nothing to hide, and was indifferent to +the secrets of others. It is such people who receive many +confidences. + +"But it must go no farther . . ." a hundred men had said to him. + +"My friend, by to-morrow I shall have forgotten all about it," he +invariably replied, which men remembered afterwards and were glad. + +A certain sort of friendship seemed to exist between Charles +Darragon and Colonel de Casimir--not without patronage on one side +and a slightly constraining sense of obligation on the other. It +was de Casimir who had introduced Charles to Mathilde Sebastian at a +formal reception at General Rapp's. Charles, of course, fell in +love with Mathilde, and out again after half-an-hour's conversation. +There was something cold and calculating about Mathilde which held +him at arm's length with as much efficacy as the strictest duenna. +Indeed, there are some maidens who require no better chaperon for +their hearts than their own heads. + +A few days after this introduction Charles met Mathilde and Desiree +in the Langgasse, and he fell in love with Desiree. He went about +for a whole week seeking opportunity to tell her without delay what +had happened to him. The opportunity presented itself before long; +for one morning he saw her walking quickly towards the Kuh-brucke +with her skates swinging from her wrist. It was a sunny, still, +winter morning, such as temperate countries never know. Desiree's +eyes were bright with youth and happiness. The cold air had +slightly emphasized the rosy colour of her cheeks. + +Charles caught his breath at the sight of her, though she did not +happen to perceive him. He called a sleigh and drove to the +barracks for his own skates. Then to the Kuh-brucke, where a reach +of the Mottlau was cleared and kept in order for skating. He +overpaid the sleigh-driver and laughed aloud at the man's boorish +surprise. There was no one so happy as Charles Darragon in all the +world. He was going to tell Desiree that he loved her. + +At first Desiree was surprised, as was only natural. For she had +not thought again of the pleasant young officer introduced to her by +Mathilde. They had not even commented on him after he had made his +gay bow and gone. + +She had of course thought of these things in the abstract when her +busy mind had nothing more material and immediate to consider. She +had probably arranged how some abstract person should some day tell +her of his love and how she should make reply. But she had never +imagined the incident as it actually happened. She had never +pictured a youth in a gay uniform looking down at her with ardent +eyes as he skated by her side through the crisp still air, while the +ice sang a high clear song beneath their feet in accompaniment to +his hurried laughing words of protestation. He seemed to touch life +lightly and to anticipate nothing but happiness. In truth, it was +difficult to be tragic on such a morning. + +These were the heedless days of the beginning of the century, when +men not only threw away their lives, but played ducks-and-drakes +with their chances of happiness in a manner quite incomprehensible +to the careful method of human thought to-day. Charles Darragon +lived only in the present moment. He was in love with her. Desiree +must marry him. + +It was quite different from what she had anticipated. She had +looked forward to such a moment with a secret misgiving. The +abstract person of her thoughts had always inspired her with a +painful shyness and an indefinite, breathless fear. But the lover +who was here now in the flesh by her side inspired none of these +feelings. On the contrary, she felt easy and natural and quite at +home with him. There was nothing alarming about his flushed face +and laughing eyes. She was not at all afraid of him. She even felt +in some vague way older than he, though he had just told her that he +was twenty-five, and four years her senior. + +She accepted the violets which he had hurriedly bought for her as he +came through the Langenmarkt, but she would not say that she loved +him, because she did not. She was in most ways quite a matter-of- +fact person, and she was of an honest mind. She said she would +think about it. She did not love him now--she knew that. She could +not say that she would not learn to love him some day, but there +seemed no likelihood of it at present. Then he would shoot himself! +He would certainly shoot himself unless she learnt to love him! And +she asked "When?" and they both laughed. They changed the subject, +but after a time they came back to it; which is the worst of love-- +one always comes back to it. + +Then suddenly he began to assume an air of proprietorship, and burst +into a hundred explanations of what fears he felt for her; for her +happiness and welfare. Her father was absent-minded and heedless. +He was not a fit guardian for her. Was she not the prettiest girl +in all Dantzig--in all the world? Her sister was not fond enough of +her to care for her properly. He announced his intention of seeing +her father the next day. Everything should be done in order. Not a +word must be hinted by the most watchful neighbour against the +perfect propriety of their betrothal. + +Desiree laughed and said that he was progressing rather rapidly. +She had only her instinct to guide her through these troubled +waters; which was much better than experience. Experience in a +woman is tantamount to a previous conviction against a prisoner. + +Charles was grave, however; a rare tribute. He was in love for the +first time, which often makes men quite honest for a brief period-- +even unselfish. Of course, some men are honest and unselfish all +their lives; which perhaps means that they remain in love--for the +first time--all their lives. They are rare, of course. But the +sort of woman with whom it is possible to remain in love all through +a lifetime is rarer. + +So Charles waylaid Antoine Sebastian the next day as he went out of +the Frauenthor for his walk in the morning sun by the side of the +frozen Mottlau. He was better received than he had any reason to +expect. + +"I am only a lieutenant," he said, "but in these days, monsieur, you +know--there are possibilities." + +He laughed gaily as he waved his gloves in the direction of Russia, +across the river. But Sebastian's face clouded, and Charles, who +was quick and sympathetic, abandoned that point in his argument +almost before the words were out of his lips. + +"I have a little money," he said, "in addition to my pay. I assure +you, monsieur, I am not of mean birth." + +"You are an orphan?" said Sebastian curtly. + +"Yes." + +"Of the . . . Terror?" + +"Yes; I--well, one does not make much of one's parentage in these +rough times--monsieur." + +"Your father's name was Charles--like your own?" + +"Yes." + +"The second son?" + +"Yes, monsieur. Did you know him?" + +"One remembers a name here and there," answered Sebastian, in his +stiff manner, looking straight in front of him. + +"There was a tone in your voice--," began Charles, and, again +perceiving that he was on a false scent, broke off abruptly. "If +love can make mademoiselle happy--," he said; and a gesture of his +right hand seemed to indicate that his passion was beyond the +measure of words. + +So Charles Darragon was permitted to pay his addresses to Desiree in +the somewhat formal manner of a day which, upon careful +consideration, will be found to have been no more foolish than the +present. He made no inquiries respecting Desiree's parentage. It +was Desiree he wanted, and that was all. They understood the arts +of love and war in the great days of the Empire. + +The rest was easy enough, and the gods were kind. Charles had even +succeeded in getting a month's leave of absence. They were to spend +their honeymoon at Zoppot, a little fishing-village hidden in the +pines by the Baltic shore, only eight miles from Dantzig, where the +Vistula loses itself at last in the salt water. + +All these arrangements had been made, as Desiree had prepared her +trousseau, with a zest and gaiety which all were invited to enjoy. +It is said that love is an egoist. Charles and Desiree had no +desire to keep their happiness to themselves, but wore it, as it +were, upon their sleeves. + +The attitude of the Frauengasse towards Desiree's wedding was only +characteristic of the period. Every house in Dantzig looked askance +upon its neighbour at this time. Each roof covered a number of +contending interests. + +Some were for the French, and some for the conqueror's unwilling +ally, William of Prussia. The names above the shops were German and +Polish. There are to-day Scotch names also, here as elsewhere on +the Baltic shores. When the serfs were liberated it was necessary +to find surnames for these free men--these Pauls-the-son-of-Paul; +and the nobles of Esthonia and Lithuania were reading Sir Walter +Scott at the time. + +The burghers of Dantzig ("They must be made to pay, these rich +Dantzigers," wrote Napoleon to Rapp) trembled for their wealth, and +stood aghast by their empty counting-houses; for their gods had been +cast down; commerce was at a standstill. There were many, +therefore, who hated the French, and cherished a secret love of +those bluff British captains--so like themselves in build, and +thought, and slowness of speech--who would thrash their wooden brigs +through the shallow seas, despite decrees and threats and sloops-of- +war, so long as they could lay them alongside the granaries of the +Vistula. Lately the very tolls had been collected by a French +customs service, and the wholesale smuggling, to which even Governor +Rapp--that long-headed Alsatian--had closed his eyes, was at an end. + +Again, the Poles who looked on Dantzig as the seaport of that great +kingdom of Eastern Europe which was and is no more, had been assured +that France would set up again the throne of the Jagellons and the +Sobieskis. There was a Poniatowski high in the Emperor's service +and esteem. The Poles were for France. + +The Jew, hurrying along close by the wall--always in the shadow-- +traded with all and trusted none. Who could tell what thoughts were +hidden beneath the ragged fur cap--what revenge awaited its +consummation in the heart crushed by oppression and contempt? + +Besides these civilians there were many who had a military air +within their civil garb. For the pendulum of war had swung right +across from Cadiz to Dantzig, and swept northwards in its wake the +merchants of death, the men who live by feeding soldiers and rifling +the dead. + +All these were in the streets, rubbing shoulders with the gay +epaulettes of the Saxons, the Badeners, the Wurtembergers, the +Westphalians, and the Hessians, who had been poured into Dantzig by +Napoleon during the months when he had continued to exchange +courteous and affectionate letters with Alexander of Russia. For +more than a year the broad-faced Bavarians (who have borne the brunt +of every war in Central Europe) had been peaceably quartered in the +town. Half a dozen different tongues were daily heard in this city +of the plain, and no man knew who might be his friend and who his +enemy. For some who were allies to-day were commanded by their +kings to slay each other to-morrow. + +In the wine-cellars and the humbler beer-shops, in the great houses +of the councillors, and behind the snowy lace curtains of the +Frauengasse and the Portchaisengasse a thousand slow Northerners +spoke of these things and kept them in their hearts. A hundred +secret societies passed from mouth to mouth instruction, warning, +encouragement. Germany has always been the home of the secret +society. Northern Europe gave birth to those countless associations +which have proved stronger than kings and surer than a throne. The +Hanseatic League, the first of the commercial unions which were +destined to build up the greatest empire of the world, lived longest +in Dantzig. + +The Tugendbund, men whispered, was not dead but sleeping. Napoleon, +who had crushed it once, was watching for its revival; had a whole +army of his matchless secret police ready for it. And the +Tugendbund had had its centre in Dantzig. + +Perhaps, in the Rathskeller itself--one of the largest wine stores +in the world, where tables and chairs are set beneath the arches of +the Exchange, a vast cave under the streets--perhaps here the +Tugendbund still encouraged men to be virtuous and self-denying for +no other or higher purpose than the overthrow of the Scourge of +Europe. Here the richer citizens have met from time immemorial to +drink with solemnity and a decent leisure the wines sent hither in +their own ships from the Rhine, from Greece and the Crimea, from +Bordeaux and Burgundy, from the Champagne and Tokay. This is not +only the Rathskeller, but the real Rathhaus, where the Dantzigers +have taken counsel over their afternoon wine from generation to +generation, whence have been issued to all the world those decrees +of probity and a commercial uprightness between buyer and seller, +debtor and creditor, master and man, which reached to every corner +of the commercial world. And now it was whispered that the latter- +day Dantzigers--the sons of those who formed the Hanseatic League: +mostly fat men with large faces and shrewd, calculating eyes; high +foreheads; good solid men, who knew the world, and how to make their +way in it; withal, good judges of a wine and great drinkers, like +that William the Silent, who braved and met and conquered the +European scourge of mediaeval times--it was whispered that these +were reviving the Tugendbund. + +Amid such contending interests, and in a free city so near to +several frontiers, men came and went without attracting undesired +attention. Each party suspected a new-comer of belonging to the +other. + +"He scrapes a fiddle," Koch had explained to the inquiring fishwife. +And perhaps he knew no more than this of Antoine Sebastian. +Sebastian was poor. All the Frauengasse knew that. But the +Frauengasse itself was poor, and no man in Dantzig was so foolish at +this time as to admit that he had possessions. + +This was, moreover, not the day of display or snobbery. The king of +snobs, Louis XVI., had died to some purpose, for a wave of manliness +had swept across human thought at the beginning of the century. The +world has rarely been the poorer for the demise of a Bourbon. + +The Frauengasse knew that Antoine Sebastian played the fiddle to +gain his daily bread, while his two daughters taught dancing for +that same safest and most satisfactory of all motives. + +"But he holds his head so high!" once observed the stout and matter- +of-fact daughter of a Councillor. "Why has he that grand manner?" + +"Because he is a dancing-master," replied Desiree with a grave +assurance. "He does it so that you may copy him. Chin up. Oh! how +fat you are." + +Desiree herself was slim enough and as yet only half grown. She did +not dance so well as Mathilde, who moved through a quadrille with +the air of a duchess, and threw into a polonaise or mazurka a quiet +grace which was the envy and despair of her pupils. Mathilde was +patient with the slow and heavy of foot, while Desiree told them +bluntly that they were fat. Nevertheless, they were afraid of +Mathilde, and only laughed at Desiree when she rushed angrily at +them, and, seizing them by the arms, danced them round the room with +the energy of despair. + +Sebastian, who had an oddly judicial air, such as men acquire who +are in authority, held the balance evenly between the sisters, and +smiled apologetically over his fiddle towards the victim of +Desiree's impetuosity. + +"Yes," he would reply to watching mothers, who tried to lead him to +say that their daughter was the best dancer in the school: "Yes, +Mathilde puts it into their heads, and Desiree shakes it down to +their feet." + +In all matters of the household Desiree played a similar part. She +was up early and still astir after nine o'clock at night, when the +other houses in the Frauengasse were quiet, if there were work to +do. + +"It is because she has no method," said Mathilde, who had herself a +well-ordered mind, and that quickness which never needs to hurry. + + + +CHAPTER V. THE WEISSEN ROSS'L. + + + + The moth will singe her wings, and singed return, + Her love of light quenching her fear of pain. + +There are quite a number of people who get through life without +realizing their own insignificance. Ninety-nine out of a hundred +persons signify nothing, and the hundredth is usually so absorbed in +the message which he has been sent into the world to deliver that he +loses sight of the messenger altogether. + +By a merciful dispensation of Providence we are permitted to bustle +about in our immediate little circle like the ant, running hither +and thither with all the sublime conceit of that insect. We pick +up, as he does, a burden which on close inspection will be found to +be absolutely valueless, something that somebody else has thrown +away. We hoist it over obstructions while there is usually a short +way round; we fret and sweat and fume. Then we drop the burden and +rush off at a tangent to pick up another. We write letters to our +friends explaining to them what we are about. We even indite +diaries to be read by goodness knows whom, explaining to ourselves +what we have been doing. Sometimes we find something that really +looks valuable, and rush to our particular ant-heap with it while +our neighbours pause and watch us. But they really do not care; and +if the rumour of our discovery reach so far as the next ant-heap, +the bustlers there are almost indifferent, though a few may feel a +passing pang of jealousy. They may perhaps remember our name, and +will soon forget what we discovered--which is Fame. While we are +falling over each other to attain this, and dying to tell each other +what it feels like when we have it, or think we have it, let us +pause for a moment and think of an ant--who kept a diary. + +Desiree did not keep a diary. Her life was too busy for ink. She +had had to work for her daily bread, which is better than riches. +Her life had been full of occupation from morning till night, and +God had given her sleep from night till morning. It is better to +work for others than to think for them. Some day the world will +learn to have a greater respect for the workers than for the +thinkers, who are idle, wordy persons, frequently thinking wrong. + +Desiree remembered the siege and the occupation of Dantzig by French +troops. She was at school in the Jopengasse when the Treaty of +Tilsit--that peace which was nothing but a pause--was concluded. +She had seen Luisa of Prussia, the good Queen who baffled Napoleon. +Her childhood had passed away in the roar of siege-guns. Her +girlhood, in the Frauengasse, had been marked by the various woes of +Prussia, by each successive step in the development of Napoleon's +ambition. There were no bogey-men in the night-nursery at the +beginning of the century. One Aaron's rod of a bogey had swallowed +all the rest, and children buried their sobs in the pillow for fear +of Napoleon. There were no ghosts in the dark corners of the stairs +when Desiree, candle in hand, went to bed at eight o'clock, half an +hour before Mathilde. The shadows on the wall were the shadows of +soldiers--the wind roaring in the chimney was like the sound of +distant cannon. When the timid glanced over their shoulders, the +apparition they looked for was that of a little man in a cocked hat +and a long grey coat. + +This was not an age in which the individual life was highly valued. +Men were great to-day and gone to-morrow. Women were of small +account. It was the day of deeds and not of words. + +Desiree had never been oppressed by a sense of her own importance, +which oppression leaves its mark on many a woman's face in these +times. She had not, it would seem, expected much from life; and +when much was given to her she received it without misgivings. She +was young and light-hearted, and she lived in a reckless age. + +She was not surprised when Charles failed to return. The chaise +that was to carry them to Zoppot stood in the Frauengasse on the +shady side of the street in the heat of the afternoon for more than +an hour. Then she ran out and told the driver to go back to his +stables. + +"One cannot go for a honeymoon alone," she explained airily to her +father, who was peevish and restless, standing by the window with +the air of one who expects without knowing what to expect. "It is, +at all events, quite clear that there is nothing for me to do but +wait." + +She made light of it, and laughed at her father's grave face. +Mathilde said nothing, but her silence seemed to suggest that this +was no more than she had foretold, or at all events foreseen. She +was too proud or too generous to put her thoughts into words. For +pride and generosity are often confounded. There are many who give +because they are too proud to withhold. + +Desiree got her needlework and sat by the open window awaiting +Charles. She could hear the continuous clatter of carts on the +quay, and the voices of the men working in the great granaries +across the river. + +The whole city seemed to be astir, and men hurried to and fro in +even the quiet Frauengasse, while the clatter of cavalry and the +heavy rumble of gun carriages could be heard over the roofs from the +direction of the Langenmarkt. There was a sense of hurry in the +dusty air. The Emperor had arrived, and the magic of his name +lifted men out of themselves. It seemed nothing extraordinary to +Desiree that her life should be taken up by this whirlwind, and +carried on she knew not whither. + +At dinner-time Charles had not returned. Antoine Sebastian dined at +half-past four, in the manner of Northern Europe; but his daughters +provided his table with the lighter meats of France, which he +preferred to the German cuisine. Sebastian's dinner was an event in +the day, though he ate sparingly enough, and found a mental rather +than a physical pleasure in the ceremonious sequence of courses. + +It was now too late to think of going to Zoppot. After dinner +Mathilde and Desiree prepared the rooms which had been destined for +the occupation of the married pair after the honeymoon. + +"We shall have to omit Zoppot, that is all," said Desiree +cheerfully, and fell to unpacking the bridal clothes which had been +so merrily laid in the trunks. + +At half-past six a soldier brought a hurried note from Charles. + +"I cannot return to-night, as I am about to start for Konigsberg," +he wrote. "It is a commission which I could not refuse if I wished +to. You, I know, would have me go and do my duty." + +There was more which Desiree did not read aloud. Charles had always +found it easy enough to tell Desiree how much he loved her, and was +gaily indifferent to the ears of others. But she seemed to be +restrained by some feeling which had found birth in her heart during +her wedding day. She said nothing of Charles's protestations of +love. + +"Decidedly," she said, folding the letter, and placing it in her +work-basket, "Fate is interfering in our affairs to-day." + +She turned to her work again without further complaint, almost with +a sense of relief. Mathilde, whose steady grey eyes saw everything, +penetrating every thought, glanced at her with a suddenly aroused +interest. Desiree herself was half surprised at the philosophy with +which she met this fresh misfortune. + +Antoine Sebastian had never acquired the habit of drinking tea in +the evening, which had found favour in these northern countries +bordering on Russia. Instead, he usually went out at this time to +one of the many wine-rooms or Bier Halles in the town to drink a +slow and meditative glass of beer with such friends as he had made +in Dantzig. For he was a lonely man, whose face was quite familiar +to many who looked for a bow or a friendly salutation in vain. + +If he went to the Rathskeller it was on the invitation of a friend; +for he could not afford to pay the vintage of that cellar, though he +drank the wine with the slow mouthing of a connoisseur when he had +it. + +More often than not he took a walk first, passing out of the +Frauenthor on to the quay, where he turned to left or right and made +his way back through one or other of the town gates, by devious +narrow streets to that which is still called the Portchaisengasse +though chairs and carriers have long ceased to pass along it. Here, +on the northern side of the street is an old inn, "Zum weissen +Ross'l," with a broken, ill-carved head of a white horse above the +door. Across the face of the house is written, in old German +letters, an invitation: + + Gruss Gott. Tritt ein! + Bring Gluck herein. + +But few seemed to accept it. Even a hundred years ago the White +Horse was behind the times, and fashion sought the wider streets. + +Antoine Sebastian was perhaps ashamed of frequenting so humble a +house of entertainment, where for a groschen he could have a glass +of beer. He seemed to make his way through the narrower streets for +some purpose, changing his route from day to day, and hurrying +across the wider thoroughfares with the air of one desirous to +attract but little attention. He was not alone in the quiet +streets, for there were many in Dantzig at this time who from wealth +had fallen to want. Many counting-houses once noisy with prosperity +were now closed and silent. For five years the prosperous Dantzig +had lain crushed beneath the iron heel of the conqueror. + +It would seem that Sebastian had only waited for the explanation of +Charles's most ill-timed absence to carry out his usual programme. +The clock in the tower of the Rathhaus had barely struck seven when +he took his hat and cloak from the peg near the dining-room door. +He was so absorbed that he did not perceive Papa Barlasch seated +just within the open door of the kitchen. But Barlasch saw him, and +scratched his head at the sight. + +The northern evenings are chill even in June, and Sebastian fumbled +with his cloak. It would appear that he was little used to helping +himself in such matters. Barlasch came out of the kitchen when +Sebastian's back was turned and helped him to put the flowing cloak +straight upon his shoulders. + +"Thank you, Lisa, thank you," said Sebastian in German, without +looking round. By accident Barlasch had performed one of Lisa's +duties, and the master of the house was too deeply engaged in +thought to notice any difference in the handling or to perceive the +smell of snuff that heralded the approach of Papa Barlasch. +Sebastian took his hat and went out closing the door behind him, and +leaving Barlasch, who had followed him to the door, standing rather +stupidly on the mat. + +"Absent-minded--the citizen," muttered Barlasch, returning to the +kitchen, where he resumed his seat on a chair by the open door. He +scratched his head and appeared to lapse into thought. But his +brain was slow as were his movements. He had been drinking to the +health of the bride. He thumped himself on the brow with his closed +fist. + +"Sacred-name-of-a-thunderstorm," he said. "Where have I seen that +face before?" + +Sebastian went out by the Frauenthor to the quay. Although it was +dusk, the granaries were still at work. The river was full of craft +and the roadway choked by rows and rows of carts, all of one +pattern, too big and too heavy for roads that are laid across a +marsh. + +He turned to the right, but found his way blocked at the corner of +the Langenmarkt, where the road narrows to pass under the Grunes +Thor. Here the idlers of the evening hour were collected in a +crowd, peering over each other's shoulders towards the roadway and +the bridge. Sebastian was a tall man, and had no need to stand on +tip-toe in order to see the straight rows of bayonets swinging past, +and the line of shakos rising and falling in unison with the beat of +a thousand feet on the hollow woodwork of the drawbridge. + +The troops had been passing out of the city all the afternoon on the +road to Elbing and Konigsberg. + +"It is the same," said a man standing near to Sebastian, "at the +Hohes Thor, where they are marching out by the road leading to +Konigsberg by way of Dessau." + +"It is farther than Konigsberg that they are going," was the +significant answer of a white-haired veteran who had probably been +at Eylau, for he had a crushed look. + +"But war is not declared," said the first speaker. + +"Does that matter?" + +And both turned towards Sebastian with the challenging air that +invites opinion or calls for admiration of uncommon shrewdness. He +was better clad than they. He must know more than they did. But +Sebastian looked over their heads and did not seem to have heard +their conversation. + +He turned back and went another way, by side streets and the little +narrow alleys that nearly always encircle a cathedral, and are still +to be found on all sides of the Marienkirche. At last he came to +the Portchaisengasse, which was quiet enough in the twilight, though +he could hear the tramp of soldiers along the Langgasse and the +rumble of the guns. + +There were only two lamps in the Portchaisengasse, swinging on +wrought-iron gibbets at each end of the street. These were not yet +alight, though the day was fading fast, and the western light could +scarcely find its way between the high gables which hung over the +road and seemed to lean confidentially towards each other. + +Sebastian was going towards the door of the Weissen Ross'l when some +one came out of the hostelry, as if he had been awaiting him within +the porch. + +The new-comer, who was a fat man with baggy cheeks and odd, light +blue eyes--the eyes of an enthusiast, one would say--passed +Sebastian, making a little gesture which at once recommended +silence, and bade him turn and follow. At the entrance to a little +alley leading down towards the Marienkirche the fat man awaited +Sebastian, whose pace had not quickened, nor had his walk lost any +of its dignity. + +"Not there to-night," said the man, holding up a thick forefinger +and shaking it sideways. + +"Then where?" + +"Nowhere to-night," was the answer. "He has come--you know that?" + +"Yes," answered Sebastian slowly, "for I saw him." + +"He is at supper now with Rapp and the others. The town is full of +his people. His spies are everywhere. There are two in the Weissen +Ross'l who pretend to be Bavarians. See! There is another--just +there." + +He pointed the thick forefinger down the Portchaisengasse where it +widens to meet the Langgasse, where the last remains of daylight, +reflected to and fro between the houses, found freer play than in +the narrow alley where they stood. + +Sebastian looked in the direction indicated. An officer was walking +away from them. A quick observer would have noticed that his spurs +made no noise, and that he carried his sword instead of allowing it +to clatter after him. It was not clear whence he had come. It must +have been from a doorway nearly opposite to the Weissen Ross'l. + +"I know that man," said Sebastian. + +"So do I," was the reply. "It is Colonel de Casimir." + +With a little nod the fat man went out again into the +Portchaisengasse in the direction of the inn, as if he were keeping +watch there. + + + +CHAPTER VI. THE SHOEMAKER OF KONIGSBERG. + + + + Chacun ne comprend que ce qu'il trouve en soi. + +Nearly two years had passed since the death of Queen Luisa of +Prussia. And she from her grave yet spake to her people--as sixty +years later she was destined to speak to another King of Prussia, +who said a prayer by her tomb before departing on a journey that was +to end in Fontainebleau with an imperial crown and the reckoning for +all time of the seven years of woe that followed Tilsit and killed a +queen. + +Two years earlier than that, in 1808, while Luisa yet lived, a few +scientists and professors of Konigsberg had formed a sort of Union-- +vague enough and visionary--to encourage virtue and discipline and +patriotism. And now, in 1812, four years later, the memory of Luisa +still lingered in those narrow streets that run by the banks of the +Pregel beneath the great castle of Konigsberg, while the Tugendbund, +like a seed that has been crushed beneath an iron heel, had spread +its roots underground. + +From Dantzig, the commercial, to Konigsberg, the kingly and the +learned, the tide of war rolled steadily onwards. It is a tide that +carries before it a certain flotsam of quick and active men, keen- +eyed, restless, rising--men who speak with a sharp authority and pay +from a bottomless purse. The arrival of Napoleon in Dantzig swept +the first of the tide on to Konigsberg. + +Already every house was full. The high-gabled warehouses on the +riverside could not be used for barracks, for they too had been +crammed from floor to roof with stores and arms. So the soldiers +slept where they could. They bivouacked in the timber-yards by the +riverside. The country-women found the Neuer Markt transformed into +a camp when they brought their baskets in the early morning, but +they met with eager buyers, who haggled laughingly in half a dozen +different tongues. There was no lack of money, however. + +Cartloads of it were on the road. + +The Neuer Markt in Konigsberg is a square, of which the lower side +is a quay on the Pregel. The river is narrow here. Across it the +country is open. The houses surrounding the quadrangle are all +alike--two-storied buildings with dormer windows in the roof. There +are trees in front. In front of that which is now Number Thirteen, +at the right-hand corner, facing west, sideways to the river, the +trees grow quite close to the windows, so that an active man or a +boy might without great risk leap from the eaves below the dormer +window into the topmost branches of the linden, which here grows +strong and tough, as it surely should do in the fatherland. + +A young soldier, seeking lodgings, who happened to knock at the door +of Number Thirteen less than thirty hours after the arrival of +Napoleon at Dantzig, looked upward through the shady boughs, and +noted their growth with the light of interest in his eye. It would +almost seem that the house had been described to him as that one in +the Neuer Markt against which the lindens grew. For he had walked +all round the square between the trees and houses before knocking at +this door, which bore no number then, as it does to-day. + +His tired horse had followed him meditatively, and now stood with +drooping head in the shade. The man himself wore a dark uniform, +white with dust. His hair was dusty and rather lank. He was not a +very tidy soldier. + +He stood looking at the sign which swung from the doorpost, a relic +of the Polish days. It bore the painted semblance of a boot. For +in Poland--a frontier country, as in frontier cities where many +tongues are heard--it is the custom to paint a picture rather than +write a word. So that every house bears the sign of its inmate's +craft, legible alike to Lithuanian or Ruthenian, Swede or Cossack of +the Don. + +He knocked again, and at last the door was opened by a thickly-built +man, who looked, not at his face, but at his boots. As these wanted +no repair he half closed the door again and looked at the newcomer's +face. + +"What do you want?" he asked. + +"A lodging." + +The door was almost closed, when the soldier made an odd and, as it +would seem, tentative gesture with his left hand. All the fingers +were clenched, and with his extended thumb he scratched his chin +slowly from side to side. + +"I have no lodging to let," said the bootmaker. But he did not shut +the door. + +"I can pay," said the other, with his thumb still at his chin. He +had quick, blue eyes beneath the shaggy hair that wanted cutting. +"I am very tired--it is only for one night." + +"Who are you?" asked the bootmaker. + +The soldier was a dull and slow man. He leant against the doorpost +with tired gestures before replying. + +"Sergeant in a Schleswig regiment, in charge of spare horses." + +"And you have come far?" + +"From Dantzig without a halt." + +The shoemaker looked him up and down with a doubting eye, as if +there were something about him that was not quite clear and above- +board. The dust and fatigue were, however, unmistakable. + +"Who sent you to me, anyway?" he grumbled. + +"Oh, I do not know," was the half-impatient answer; "the man I +lodged with in Dantzig or another, I forget. It was Koch the +locksmith in the Schmiedegasse. See, I have money. I tell you it +is for one night. Say yes or no. I want to get to bed and to +sleep." + +"How much do you pay?" + +"A thaler--if you like. Among friends, one is willing to pay." + +After a short minute of hesitation the shoemaker opened the door +wider and came out. + +"And there will be another thaler for the horse, which I shall have +to take to the stable of the wood-merchant at the corner. Go into +the workshop and sit down till I come." + +He stood in the doorway and watched the soldier seat himself wearily +on a bench in the workshop among the ancient boots, past repair, one +would think, and lean his head against the wall. + +He was half asleep already, and the bootmaker, who was lame, +shrugged his shoulders as he led away the tired horse, with a +gesture half of pity, half of doubting suspicion. Had it suggested +itself to his mind, and had it been within the power of one so halt +and heavy-footed to turn back noiselessly, he would have found his +visitor wide-awake enough, hurriedly opening every drawer and +peering under the twine and needles, lifting every bale of leather, +shaking out the very boots awaiting repair. + +When the dweller in Number Thirteen returned, the soldier was +asleep, and had to be shaken before he would open his eyes. + +"Will you eat before you go to bed?" asked the bootmaker not +unkindly. + +"I ate as I came along the street," was the reply. "No, I will go +to bed. What time is it?" + +"It is only seven o'clock--but no matter." + +"No, it is no matter. To-morrow I must be astir by five." + +"Good," said the shoemaker. "But you will get your money's worth. +The bed is a good one. It is my son's. He is away, and I am alone +in the house." + +He led the way upstairs as he spoke, going heavily one step at a +time, so that the whole house seemed to shake beneath his tread. +The room was that attic in the roof which has a dormer window +overhanging the linden tree. It was small and not too clean; for +Konigsberg was once a Polish city, and is not far from the Russian +frontier. + +The soldier hardly noticed his surroundings, but sat down instantly, +with the abandonment of a shepherd's dog at the day's end. + +"I will put a stitch in your boots for you while you sleep," said +the host casually. "The thread is rotten, I can see. Look here-- +and here!" + +He stooped, and with a quick turn of the awl which he carried in his +belt he snapped the sewing at the join of the leg and the upper +leather, bringing the frayed ends of the thread out to view. + +Without answering, the soldier looked round for the boot-jack, +lacking which, no German or Polish bedroom is complete. + +When the bootmaker had gone, carrying the boots under his arm, the +soldier, left to himself, made a grimace at the closed door. +Without boots he was a prisoner in the house. He could hear his +host at work already, downstairs in the shop, of which the door +opened to the stairs and allowed passage to that smell of leather +which breeds Radical convictions. + +The regular "tap-tap" of the cobbler's hammer continued for an hour +until dusk, and all the while the soldier lay dressed on his bed. +Soon after, a creaking of the stairs told of the surreptitious +approach of the unwilling host. He listened outside, and even tried +the door, but found it bolted. The soldier, open-eyed on the bed, +snored aloud. At the sound of the key on the outside of the door he +made a grimace again. His features were very mobile, for Schleswig. + +He heard the bootmaker descend the stairs again almost noiselessly, +and, rising from the bed, he took his station at the window. All +the Langgasse would seem to be eating-houses. The basement, which +has a separate door, gives forth odours of simple Pomeranian meats, +and every other house bears to this day the curt but comforting +inscription, "Here one eats." It was only to be supposed that the +bootmaker at the end of his day would repair for supper to some +special haunt near by. + +But the smell of cooking mingling with that of leather told that he +was preparing his own evening meal. He was, it seemed, an +unsociable man, who had but a son beneath his roof, and mostly lived +alone. + +Seated near the window, where the sunset light yet lingered, the +Schleswiger opened his haversack, which was well supplied, and +finding paper, pens and ink, fell to writing with one eye watchful +of the window and both ears listening for any movement in the room +below. + +He wrote easily with a running pen, and sometimes he smiled as he +wrote. More than once he paused and looked across the Neuer Markt +above the trees and the roofs, towards the western sky, with a +sudden grave wistfulness. He was thinking of some one in the west. +It was assuredly not of war that this soldier wrote. Then, again, +his attention would be attracted to some passer in the street below. +He only gave half of his attention to his letter. He was, it +seemed, a man who as yet touched life lightly; for he was quite +young. But, nevertheless, his pen, urged by only half a mind that +had all the energy of spring, flew over the paper. Sowing is so +much easier than reaping. + +Suddenly he threw his pen aside and moved quickly to the window +which stood open. The shoemaker had gone out, closing the door +softly behind him. + +It was to be expected that he would turn to the left, upwards +towards the town and the Langgasse, but it was in the direction of +the river that his footsteps died away. There was no outlet on that +side except by boat. + +It was almost dark now, and the trees growing close to the window +obscured the view. So eager was the lodger to follow the movements +of his landlord that he crept in stocking-feet out on to the roof. +By lying on his face below the window he could just distinguish the +shadowy form of a lame man by the river edge. He was moving to and +fro, unchaining a boat moored to the steps, which are more used in +winter when the Pregel is a frozen roadway than in summer. There +was no one else in the Neuer Markt, for it was the supper hour. + +Out in the middle of the river a few ships were moored: high- +prowed, square-sterned vessels of a Dutch build trading in the +Frische Haaf and in the Baltic. + +The soldier saw the boat steal out towards them. There was no other +boat at the steps or in sight. He stood up on the edge of the roof, +and after carefully measuring his distance, with quick eyes aglow +with excitement, he leapt lightly across the leafy space into the +topmost boughs, where he alighted in a forked branch almost without +sound. + +At dawn the next morning, while the shoemaker still slept, the +soldier was astir again. He shivered as he rose, and went to the +window, where his clothes were hanging from a rafter. The water was +still dripping from them. Wrapt in a blanket he sat down by the +open window to write while the morning air should dry his clothes. + +That which he wrote was a long report--sheet after sheet closely +written. And in the middle of his work he broke off to read again +the letter that he had written the night before. With a quick, +impulsive gesture he kissed the name it bore. Then he turned to his +work again. + +The sun was up before he folded the papers together. By way of a +postscript he wrote a brief letter. + +"DEAR C.--I have been fortunate, as you will see from the enclosed +report. His Majesty cannot again say that I have been neglectful. +I was quite right. It is Sebastian and only Sebastian that we need +fear. Here they are clumsy conspirators compared to him. I have +been in the river half the night listening at the open stern-window +of a Reval pink to every word they said. His Majesty can safely +come to Konigsberg. Indeed, he is better out of Dantzig. For the +whole country is riddled with that which they call patriotism, and +we treason. But I can only repeat what his Majesty disbelieved the +day before yesterday--that the heart of the ill is Dantzig, and the +venom of it Sebastian. Who he really is and what he is about you +must find out how you can. I go forward to-day to Gumbinnen. The +enclosed letter to its address, I beg of you, if only in +acknowledgment of all that I have sacrificed." + +The letter was unsigned, and bore the date, "Dawn, June 10." This +and the report, and that other letter (carefully sealed with a +wafer) which did not deal with war or its alarms, were all placed in +one large envelope. He did not seal it, however, but sat thinking +while the sun began to shine on the opposite houses. Then he +withdrew the open letter, and added a postscript to it: + +"If an attempt were made on N.'s life--I should say Sebastian. If +Prussia were to play us false suddenly, and cut us off from France-- +I should say nothing else than Sebastian. He is more dangerous than +a fanatic; for he is too clever to be one." + +The writer shivered and laughed in sheer amusement at his own misery +as he drew on his wet clothes. The shoemaker was already astir, and +presently knocked at his door. + +"Yes, yes," the soldier cried, "I am astir." + +And as his host rattled the door he opened it. He had unrolled his +long cavalry cloak, and wore it over his wet clothes. + +"You never told me your name," said the shoemaker. A suspicious man +is always more suspicious at the beginning of the day. + +"My name," answered the other carelessly. "Oh! my name is Max +Brunner." + + + +CHAPTER VII. THE WAY OF LOVE. + + + + Celui qui souffle le feu s'expose a etre brule par les +etincelles. + +It was said that Colonel de Casimir--that guest whose presence and +uniform lent an air of distinction to the quiet wedding in the +Frauengasse--was a Pole from Cracow. Men also whispered that he was +in the confidence of the Emperor. But this must only have been a +manner of speaking. For no man was ever admitted fully into the +thoughts of that superhuman mind. + +De Casimir was left behind in Dantzig when the army moved forward. + +"There will be a great battle," he said, "somewhere near Vilna--and +I shall miss it." + +Indeed, every man was striving to get to the front. He who, +himself, had given a new meaning to human ambition seemed able to +inspire not only Frenchmen but soldiers of every nationality with +fire from his own consuming flame. + +"Yes! madame," said de Casimir; for it was to Desiree that he spoke, +"and your husband is more fortunate than I. He is sure of a staff +appointment. He will be among the first. It will soon be over. +To-morrow war is to be declared." + +They were in the street--not far from the Frauengasse, whence +Desiree, always practical, was hurrying towards the market-place. +De Casimir had seemed idle until he perceived her. + +Desiree made a little movement of horror at the announcement. She +did not know that the fighting had already begun. + +"Ah!" cried de Casimir with a reassuring smile. "You must be of +good cheer. There will be no war at all. I tell you that in +confidence. Russia will be paralyzed. I was going towards the +Frauengasse when I perceived you; to pay my respects to your father, +to say a word to you. Come--you are smiling again. That is right. +You were so grave, madame, as you hurried along with your eyes +looking far away. You must not think of Charles, if the thoughts +make you look as you looked then." + +His manner was kind and confidential and easy--inviting in response +that which the confidential always expect, a return in kind. It is +either hit or miss with such people; and de Casimir missed. He saw +Desiree draw back. She was young, and of that clear fairness of +skin which seems to let the thoughts out through the face so that +any can read them. That which her face expressed at that moment was +a clear and definite refusal to confide anything whatsoever in this +little dark man who stood in front of her, looking into her eyes +with a deferential and sympathetic glance. + +"I know for certain," he said, "that Charles was well two days ago, +and that he is highly thought of in high quarters. I can tell you +that, at all events." + +"Thank you," said Desiree. She had nothing against de Casimir. She +had only seen him once or twice, and she knew him to be Charles's +friend, and in some sense his patron. For de Casimir held a high +position in Dantzig. She was quite ready to like him since Charles +liked him; but she intended to do so at her own range. It is always +the woman who measures the distance. + +Desiree made a little movement as if to continue on her way; and de +Casimir instantly stood aside, with a bow. + +"Shall I find your father at home?" he asked. + +"I think so. He was at home when I left," she answered, responding +to his salute with a friendly nod. + +De Casimir watched her go and stood for a moment in reflection, as +if going over in his mind that which had passed between them. + +"I must try the other one," he said to himself as he turned down the +Pfaffengasse. He continued his way at a leisurely pace. At the +corner of the Frauengasse he lingered in the shadow of the linden +trees, and while so doing saw Antoine Sebastian quit the door of No. +36, going in the opposite direction towards the river, and pass out +through the Frauenthor on to the quay. + +He made a little gesture of annoyance on being told by the servant +that Sebastian was out. After a moment's reflection, he seemed to +make up his mind to ignore the conventionalities. + +"It is merely," he said in his friendly and confidential manner to +the servant, in perfect German, "that I have news from Monsieur +Darragon, the husband of Mademoiselle Desiree. Madame is out--you +say. Well, then, what is to be done?" + +He had a most charming, grave manner of asking advice which few +could resist. + +The servant nodded at him with a twinkle of understanding in her +eye. + +"There is Fraulein Mathilde." + +"But . . . well, ask her if she will do me the honour of speaking +to me for an instant. I leave it to you . . . ." + +"But come in," protested the servant. "Come upstairs. She will see +you; why not?" + +And she led the way upstairs. Papa Barlasch, sitting just within +the kitchen door, where he sat all day doing nothing, glanced +upwards through his overhanging eyebrows at the clink of spurs and +the clatter of de Casimir's sword against the banisters. He had the +air of a watchdog. + +Mathilde was not in the drawing-room, and the servant left the +visitor there alone, saying that she would seek her mistress. There +were one or two books on the tables. One table was rather untidy; +it was Desiree's. A writing-desk stood in the corner of the room. +It was locked--and the lock was a good one. De Casimir was an +observant man. He had time to make this observation, and to see +that there were no letters in Desiree's work-basket; to note the +titles of the books and the absence of name on the flyleaf, and was +looking out of the window when the door opened and Mathilde came in. + +This was a day when women were treated with a great show of +deference, while in reality they had but little voice in the world's +affairs. De Casimir's bow was deeper and more elaborate than would +be considered polite to-day. On standing erect he quickly +suppressed a glance of surprise. + +Mathilde must have expected him. She was dressed in white, and her +hair was tied with a bright ribbon. In her cheeks, usually so pale, +was a little touch of colour. It may have been because Desiree was +not near, but de Casimir had never known until this moment how +pretty Mathilde really was. There was something in her eyes, too, +which gripped his attention. He remembered that at the wedding he +had never seen her eyes. They had always been averted. But now +they met his with a troubling directness. + +De Casimir had a gallant manner. All women commanded his eager +respect, which they could assess at such value as their fancy +painted, remembering that it is for the woman to measure the +distance. On the few occasions of previous encounters, de Casimir +had been empresse in his manner towards Mathilde. As he looked at +her, his quick mind ran back to former meetings. He had no +recollection of having actually made love to her. + +"Mademoiselle," he said, "for a soldier--in time of war--the +conventions may, perhaps, be slightly relaxed. I was told that you +were alone--that your father is out, and yet I persisted--" + +He spread out his hands and laughed appealingly, begging her, it +would seem, to help him out of the social difficulty in which he +found himself. + +"My father will be sorry--" she began. + +"That is hardly the question," he interrupted; "I was thinking of +your displeasure. But I have an excuse, I assure you. I only ask a +moment to tell you that I have heard from Konigsberg that Charles +Darragon is in good health there, and is moving forward with the +advance-guard to the frontier." + +"You are kind to come so soon," answered Mathilde, and there was an +odd note of disappointment in her voice. De Casimir must have heard +it, for he glanced at her again with a gleam of surprise in his +eyes. + +"That is my excuse, Mademoiselle," he said with a tentative +emphasis, as if he were feeling his way. He was an opportunist with +all the quickness of one who must live by his wits among others +existing on the same uncertain fare. He saw her flush, and again he +hesitated as a wayfarer may hesitate when he finds an easy road +where he had expected to climb a hill. What was the meaning of it? +he seemed to ask himself. + +"Charles does not interest you so much as he interests your sister?" +he suggested. + +"He has never interested me much," she replied indifferently. She +did not ask him to sit down. It would not have been etiquette in an +age when women were by some odd misjudgment considered incapable of +managing their own hearts. + +"Is that because he is in love, Mademoiselle?" inquired de Casimir +with a guarded laugh. + +"Perhaps so." + +She did not look at him. De Casimir had not missed this time. His +air of candid confidence had met with a quick response. He laughed +again and moved towards the door. Mathilde stood motionless, and +although she said no word, nor by any gesture bade him stay, he +stopped on the threshold and turned again towards her. + +"It was my conscience," he said, looking at her over his shoulder, +"that bade me go." + +Her face and her averted eyes asked why, but her straight lips were +silent. + +"Because I cannot claim to be more interesting than Charles +Darragon," he hazarded. "And you, Mademoiselle, confess that you +have no tolerance for a man who is in love." + +"I have no tolerance for a man who is weakened by love. He should +be strengthened and hardened by it." + +"To--?" + +"To do a man's work in the world," said Mathilde coldly. + +De Casimir was standing by the open door. He closed it with his +foot. He was professedly a man alert for the chance of a moment, +which he was content to grasp without pausing to look ahead. Should +there be difficulties yet unperceived, these in turn might present +an opportunity to be seized by the quick-witted. + +"Then you would admit, Mademoiselle," he said gravely, "that there +may be good in a love that fights continually against ambition, and- +-does not prevail." + +Mathilde did not answer at once. There was an odd suggestion of +antagonism in their attitude towards each other--not irreconcilable, +the poets tell us, with love--but this is assuredly not the Love +that comes from Heaven and will go back there to live through +eternity. + +"Yes," said she at length. + +"Such is my love for you," he said, his quick instinct telling him +that with Mathilde few words were best. + +He only spoke the thoughts of his age; for ambition was the ruling +passion in men's hearts at this time. All who served the Great +Adventurer gave it the first place in their consideration, and de +Casimir only aped his betters. Though oddly enough the only two of +all the great leaders who were to emerge still greater from the +coming war--Ney and Eugene--thought otherwise on these matters. + +"I mean to be great and rich, Mademoiselle," he added after a pause. +"I have risked my life for that purpose half a dozen times." + +Mathilde stood looking across the room towards the window. He could +only see her profile and the straight line of her lips. She too was +the product of a generation in which men rose to dazzling heights +without the aid of women. + +"I should not have troubled you with these details, Mademoiselle," +he said, watching her. His instinct was very keen, for not one +woman in a thousand, even in those days, would have admitted that +love was a detail. "I should not have mentioned it--had you not +given me your views--so strangely in harmony with my own." + +Whatever his nationality, his voice was that of a Pole--rich, +musical, and expressive. He could have made, one would have +thought, a very different sort of love had he wished, or had he been +sincere. But he was an opportunist. This was the sort of love that +Mathilde wanted. + +He came a step nearer to her and stood resting on his sword--a lean +hard man who had seen much war. + +"Until you opened my eyes," he said, "I did not know, or did not +care to know, that love, far from being a drag on ambition, may be a +help." + +Mathilde made a little movement towards him which she instantly +repressed. The heart is quicker, but the head nearly always has the +last word. + +"Mademoiselle," he said--and no doubt he saw the movement and the +restraint--"will you help me now at the beginning of the war, and +listen to me again at the end of it--if I succeed?" + +After all, he was modest in his demands. + +"Will you help me? Together, Mademoiselle--to what height may we +not rise in these days?" + +There was a ring of sincerity in his voice, and her eyes answered +it. + +"How can I help you?" she asked in a doubting voice. + +"Oh, it is a small matter," was the reply. "But it is one in which +the Emperor is personally interested. Such things have a special +attraction for him. The human interest never fails to hold his +attention. If I do well, he will know it and remember me. It is a +question, Mademoiselle, of secret societies. You know that Prussia +is riddled with them." + +Mathilde did not answer. He studied her face, which was clean cut +and hard like a marble bust--a good face to hide a secret. + +"It is my duty to watch here in Dantzig and to report to the +Emperor. In serving myself I could also perhaps serve a friend, one +who might otherwise run into danger--who may be in danger while you +and I stand here. For the Emperor strikes hard and quickly. I +speak of your father, Mademoiselle--and of the Tugendbund." + +Still he could not see from the pale profile whether Mathilde knew +anything at all. + +"And if I procure information for you?" asked she at length, in a +quiet and collected voice. + +"You will help me to attain a position such as I could ask--even +you--to share with me. And you would do your father no harm. You +would even render him a service. For all the secret societies in +Germany will not stop Napoleon. It is only God who can stop him +now, Mademoiselle. All men who attempt it will only be crushed +beneath the wheels. I might save your father." + +But Mathilde did not seem to be thinking of her father. + +"I am hampered by poverty," de Casimir said, changing his ground. +"In the old days it did not matter. But now, in the Empire, one +must be rich. I shall be rich--at the end of this campaign." + +Again his voice was sincere, and again her eyes responded. He made +a step forward, and gently taking her hand, he raised it to his +lips. + +"You will help me!" he said, and, turning abruptly on his heel, he +left her. + +De Casimir's quarters were in the Langenmarkt. On returning to +them, he took from his despatch-case a letter which he turned over +thoughtfully in his hand. It was addressed to Desiree, and sealed +carefully with a wafer. + +"She may as well have it," he said. "It will be as well that she +should be occupied with her own affairs." + + + +CHAPTER VIII. A VISITATION. + + + + Be wiser than other people if you can, but do not tell them so. + +Whenever Papa Barlasch caught sight of his unwilling host's face, he +turned his own aside with a despairing upward nod. Once or twice, +during the early days of his occupation of the room behind the +kitchen in the Frauengasse, he smote himself sharply on the brow, as +if calling upon his brain to make an effort. But afterwards he +seemed to resign himself to this lapse of memory, and the upward +despairing nod gradually lost intensity until at last he brought +himself to pass Antoine Sebastian in the narrow passage with no more +emphatic notice than a scowl. + +"You and I," he said to Desiree, "are the friends. The others--" + +And his gesture seemed to permit the others to go hang if they so +desired. The army had gone forward, leaving Dantzig in that idle +restlessness which holds those who, finding themselves in a house of +sickness, are not permitted entry to the darkened chamber, but must +await the crisis elsewhere. + +There were some busy enough in the commerce that must exist between +a huge army and its base, in the forwarding of war material and +stores, in accommodating the sick and sending out in return those +who were to fill the gaps. But the Dantzigers themselves had +nothing to do. Their prosperous trade was paralyzed. Those who had +aught to sell had sold it. The high-seas and the high-roads were +alike blocked by the French. And rumour, ever busy among those that +wait, ran to and fro in the town. + +The Emperor of Russia had been taken prisoner. Napoleon had been +checked at the passage of the Niemen. There had been a great battle +at Gumbinnen, and the French were in full retreat. Vilna had +capitulated to Murat, and the war was at an end. A hundred +authentic despatches of the morning were the subject of contemptuous +laughter at the supper-table. + +Lisa heard these tales in the market-place, and told Desiree, who, +as often as not, translated them to Barlasch. But he only held up +his wrinkled forefinger and shook it slowly from side to side. + +"Woman's chatter!" he said. "What is the German for 'magpie'?" + +And on being told the word, he repeated it gravely to Lisa. For he +had not only fulfilled his promise of settling down in the house, +but had assumed therein a distinct and clearly defined position. He +was the counsellor, and from his chair just within the kitchen he +gave forth judgment. + +"And you," he said to Desiree one morning, when household affairs +had taken her to the kitchen, "you are troubled this morning. You +have had a letter from your husband?" + +"Yes--and he is in good health." + +"Ah!" + +Barlasch glared at her beneath his brows, looking her up and down, +noting her quick movements, which had the uncertainty of youth. + +"And now that he is gone," he said, "and that there is war, you are +going to employ yourself by falling in love with him, when you had +all the time before, and did not take advantage of it." + +Desiree laughed at him and made no other answer. While she spoke to +Lisa he sat and watched them. + +"It would be like a woman to do such a thing," he pursued. "They +are so inconvenient--women. They get married for fun, and then one +fine Thursday they find they have missed all the fun, like one who +comes late to the theatre--when the music is over." + +He went to the table and examined the morning marketing, which Lisa +had laid out in preparation for dinner. Of some of her purchases he +approved, but he laughed aloud at a lettuce which had no heart, and +at such a buyer. + +Then Desiree attracted his scrutiny again. + +"Yes," he said, half to himself, "I see it. You are in love. Just +Heaven, I know! I have had them in love with me . . . . Barlasch." + +"That must have been a long time ago," answered Desiree with her gay +laugh, only giving him half her attention. + +"Yes, it was a century ago. But they were the same then as they are +now, as they always will be--inconvenient. They waited, however, +till they were grown up!" + +And with his ever-ready accusing finger he drew Desiree's attention +to her own slimness. They were left alone for a minute while Lisa +answered a knock at the door, during which time Barlasch sat in grim +silence. + +"It is a letter," said Lisa, returning. "A sailor brought it." + +"Another?" said Barlasch, with a gesture of despair. + +"Can you give me news of Charles?" Desiree read, in a writing that +was unknown to her. "I shall wait a reply until midnight on board +the Elsa, lying off the Krahn-Thor." The letter bore the signature, +"Louis d'Arragon." Desiree turned slowly and went upstairs, +carrying it folded small in her closed hand. + +She was alone in the house, for Mathilde was out and her father had +not yet returned from his evening walk. She stood at the head of +the stairs, where the last of the daylight filtered through the +barred window, and read the letter again. Then she turned and gave +a slight start to see Barlasch at the foot of the stairs beckoning +to her. He made no attempt to come up, but stood on the mat like a +dog that has been forbidden the upper rooms. + +"Is it about your father?" he asked, in a hoarse whisper. + +"No!" + +He made a gesture commanding secrecy and silence. Then he went to +close the kitchen door and returned on tip-toe. + +"It is," he explained, "that they are talking of him in the cafes. +There are many to be arrested to-morrow. They say the patron is one +of them, and employs himself in plotting. That his name is not +Sebastian at all. That he is a Frenchman who escaped the +guillotine. What do I know? It is the gossip of the cafes. But I +tell it you because we are friends, you and I. And some day I may +want you to do something for me. One thinks of one's self, eh? It +is good to make friends. For some day one may want them. That is +why I do it. I think of myself. An old soldier. Of the Guard." + +With many gestures of tremendous import, and a face all wrinkled and +twisted with mystery, he returned to the kitchen. + +Mathilde was not to return until late. She had gone to the house of +the old Grafin whose reminiscences had been a fruitful topic at +Desiree's wedding. After dining there she and the Grafin were to go +together to a farewell reception given by the Governor. For Rapp +was bound for the frontier with the rest, and was to go to the war +as first aide-de-camp to the Emperor. + +Mathilde could not be back until ten o'clock. She, who was so quick +and quiet, had been much occupied in social observances lately, and +had made fast friends with the Grafin during the last few days, +constantly going to see her. + +Desiree knew that what Barlasch had repeated as the gossip of the +cafes was in part, if not wholly, true. She and Mathilde had long +known that any mention of France had the instant effect of turning +their father into a man of stone. It was the skeleton in this quiet +house that sat at table with its inmates, a shadowy fourth tying +their tongues. The rattle of its bones seemed to paralyze +Sebastian's mind, and at any moment he would fall into a dumb and +stricken apathy which terrified those about him. At such times it +seemed that one thought in his mind had swallowed all the rest, so +that he heard without understanding and saw without perceiving. + +He was in such a humour when he came back to dinner. He passed +Desiree on the stairs without speaking and went to his room to +change his clothes, for he never relaxed his formal habits. At the +dinner-table he glanced at her as a dog, knowing that he is ill, may +be seen to glance with a secret air at his master, wondering whether +he is detected. + +Desiree had always hoped that her father would speak to her when +this humour was upon him and tell her the meaning of it. Perhaps it +would come to-night, when they were alone. There was an unspoken +sympathy existing between them in which Mathilde took no share, +which had even shut out Charles as out of a room where there was no +light, into which Desiree and her father went at times and stood +hand-in-hand without speaking. + +They dined in silence, while Lisa hurried about her duties, +oppressed by a sense of unknown fear. After dinner they went to the +drawing-room as usual. It had been a dull day, with great clouds +creeping up from the West. The evening fell early, and the lamps +were already alight. Desiree looked to the wicks with the eye of +experience when she entered the room. Then she went to the window. +Lisa did not always draw the curtains effectually. She glanced down +into the street, and turned suddenly on her heel, facing her father. + +"They are there," she said. For she had seen shadowy forms lurking +beneath the trees of the Frauengasse. The street was ill-lighted, +but she knew the shadows of the trees. + +"How many?" asked Sebastian, in a dull voice. + +She glanced at him quickly--at his still, frozen face and quiescent +hands. He was not going to rise to the occasion, as he sometimes +did even from his deepest apathy. She must do alone anything that +was to be accomplished to-night. + +The house, like many in the Frauengasse, had been built by a careful +Hanseatic merchant, whose warehouse was his own cellar half sunk +beneath the level of the street. The door of the warehouse was +immediately under the front door, down a few steps below the street, +while a few more steps, broad and footworn, led up to the stone +veranda and the level of the lower dwelling-rooms. A guard placed +in the street could thus watch both doors without moving. + +There was a third door, giving exit from the little room where +Barlasch slept to the small yard where he had placed those trunks +which were made in France. + +Desiree had no time to think. She came of a race of women of a +brighter intelligence than any women in the world. She took her +father by the arm and hastened downstairs. Barlasch was at his post +within the kitchen door. His eyes shone suddenly as he saw her +face. It was said of Papa Barlasch that he was a gay man in battle, +laughing and making a hundred jests, but at other times lugubrious. +Desiree saw him smile for the first time, in the dim light of the +passage. + +"They are there in the street," he said; "I have seen them. I +thought you would come to Barlasch. They all do--the women. In +here. Leave him to me. When they ring the bell, receive them +yourself--with smiles. They are only men. Let them search the +house if they want to. Tell them he has gone to the reception with +Mademoiselle." + +As he spoke the bell rang just above his head. He looked up at it +and laughed. + +"Ah, ah!" he said, "the fanfare begins." + +He drew Sebastian within and closed the door of his little room. +Lisa had already gone to answer the bell. When she opened the door +three men stepped quickly over the threshold, and one of them, +thrusting her aside, closed the door and turned the key. Desiree, +in her white evening dress, on the bottom step, just beneath the +lamp that hung from the ceiling, made them pause and look at each +other. Then one of the three came towards her, hat in hand. + +"Our duty, Fraulein," he said awkwardly. "We are but obeying +orders. A mere formality. It will all be explained, no doubt, if +the householder, Antoine Sebastian, will put on his hat and come +with us." + +"His hat is not there, as you see," answered Desiree. "You must +seek him elsewhere." + +The man shook his head with a knowing smile. "We must seek him in +this house," he said. "We will make it as easy for you as we can, +Fraulein--if you make it easy for us." + +As he spoke he produced a candle from his pocket, and encouraged the +broken wick with his finger-nail. + +"It will make it pleasanter for all," said Desiree cheerfully, "if +you will accept a candlestick." + +The man glanced at her. He was a heavy man, with little suspicious +eyes set close together. He seemed to be concluding that she had +outwitted him--that Sebastian was not in the house. + +"Where are the cellar-stairs?" he asked. "I warn you, Fraulein, it +is useless to conceal your father. We shall, of course, find him." + +Desiree pointed to the door next to that giving entry to the +kitchen. It was bolted and locked. Desiree found the key for them. +She not only gave them every facility, but was anxious that they +should be as quick as possible. They did not linger in the cellar, +which, though vast, was empty; and when they returned, Desiree, who +was waiting for them, led the way upstairs. + +They were rather abashed by her silence. They would have preferred +protestations and argument. Discussion always belittles. The smile +recommended by Papa Barlasch, lurking at the corner of her lips, +made them feel foolish. She was so slight and young and helpless, +that a sort of shame rendered them clumsy. + +They felt more at home in the kitchen when they arrived there, and +the sight of Lisa, sturdy and defiant, reminded them of the +authority upon which Desiree had somehow cast a mystic contempt. + +"There is a door there," said the heavy official, with a brusque +return of his early manner. "Come, what is that door?" + +"That is a little room." + +"Then open it." + +"I cannot," returned Lisa. "It is locked." + +"Aha!" said the man, with a laugh of much meaning. "On the inside, +eh?" + +He went to it, and banged on it with his fist. + +"Come," he shouted, "open it and be done." + +There was a short silence, during which those in the kitchen +listened breathlessly. A shuffling sound inside the door made the +officer of the law turn and beckon to his two men to come closer. + +Then, after some fumbling, as of one in the dark, the door was +unlocked and slowly opened. + +Papa Barlasch stood in a very primitive night-apparel within the +door. He had not done things by halves, for he was an old +campaigner, and knew that a thing half done is better left undone in +times of war. He noted the presence of Desiree and Lisa, but was +not ashamed. The reason of it was soon apparent. For Papa Barlasch +was drunk, and the smell of drink came out of his apartment in a +warm wave. + +"It is the soldier billeted in the house," explained Lisa, with a +half-hysterical laugh. + +Then Barlasch harangued them in the language of intoxication. If he +had not spared Desiree's feelings, he spared her ears less now; for +he was an ignorant man, who had lived through a brutal period in the +world's history the roughest life a man can lead. Two of the men +held him with difficulty against the wall, while the third hastily +searched the room--where, indeed, no one could well be concealed. + +Then they quitted the house, followed by the polyglot curses of +Barlasch, who was now endeavouring to find his bayonet amidst his +chaotic possessions. + + + +CHAPTER IX. THE GOLDEN GUESS. + + + + The golden guess + Is morning star to the full round of truth. + +Barlasch was never more sober in his life than when he emerged a +minute later from his room, while Lisa was still feverishly bolting +the door. He had not wasted much time at his toilet. In his +flannel shirt, his arms bare to the elbow, knotted and muscular, he +looked like some rude son of toil. + +"One thinks of one's self," he hastened to explain to Desiree, +fearing that she might ascribe some other motive to his action. +"Some day the patron may be in power again, and then he will +remember a poor soldier. It is good to think of the future." + +He shook his head pessimistically at Lisa as belonging to a sex +liable to error: instanced in this case by bolting the door too +eagerly. + +"Now," he said, turning to Desiree again, "have you any in Dantzig +to help you?" + +"Yes," she answered rather slowly. + +"Then send for him." + +"I cannot do that." + +"Then go for him yourself," snapped Barlasch impatiently. + +He looked at her fiercely beneath his shaggy eyebrows. + +"It is no use to be afraid," he said; "you are afraid--I see it in +your face. And it is never any use. Before they hammered on that +door there, my legs shook. For I am easily afraid--I. But it is +never any use. And when one opens the door, it goes." + +He looked at her with a puzzled frown, seeking in vain, it may have +been, the ordinary symptoms of fear. She was hesitating but not +afraid. There ran blood in her veins which will for all time be +associated by history with a gay and indomitable courage. + +"Come," he said sharply; "there is nothing else to do." + +"I will go," said Desiree, at length, deciding suddenly to do the +one thing that is left to a woman once or twice in her life--to go +to the one man and trust him. + +"By the back way," said Barlasch, helping her with the cloak that +Lisa had brought, and pulling the hood forward over her face with a +jerk. "Ah, I know that way. The patron is hiding in the yard. An +old soldier looks to the retreat--though the Emperor has saved us +that, so far. Come, I will help you over the wall, for the door is +rusted." + +The way, which Barlasch had perceived, led through the room at the +back of the kitchen to a yard, and thence through a door not opened +by the present occupiers of the old house, into a very labyrinth of +narrow alleys running downward to the river and round the tall +houses that stand against the cathedral walls. + +The wall was taller than Barlasch, but he ran at it like a cat, and +Desiree standing below could see the black outline of his limbs +crouching on the top. He stooped down, and grasping her hands, +lifted her by the sheer strength of one arm, balanced her for an +instant on the wall, and then lowered her on the outer side. + +"Run," he whispered. + +She knew the way, and although the night was dark, and these narrow +alleys between high walls had no lamps, Desiree lost no time. The +Krahn-Thor is quite near to the Frauengasse. Indeed, the whole of +Dantzig occupied but a small space between the rivers in those +straitened days. The town was quieter than it had been for months, +and Desiree passed unmolested through the narrow streets. She made +her way to the quay, passing through the low gateway known as the +door of the Holy Ghost, and here found people still astir. For the +commerce that thrives on a northern river is paralyzed all the +winter, and feverishly active when the ice has gone. + +"The Elsa," replied a woman, who had been selling bread all day on +the quay, and was now packing up her stall, "you ask for the Elsa. +There is such a ship, I know. But how can I say which she is? See, +they lie right across the river like a bridge. Besides, it is late, +and sailors are rough men." + +Desiree hurried on. Louis d'Arragon had said that the ship was +lying near to the Krahn-Thor, of which the great hooded roof loomed +darkly against the stars above her. She was looking about her when +a man came forward with the hesitating step of one who has been told +to wait the arrival of some one unknown to him. + +"The Elsa," she said to him; "which ship is it?" + +"Come along with me, Mademoiselle," the man replied; "though I was +not told to look for a woman." + +He spoke in English, which Desiree hardly understood; for she had +never heard it from English lips, and looked for the first time on +one of that race upon which all the world waited now for salvation. +For the English, of all the nations, were the only men who from the +first had consistently defied Napoleon. + +The sailor led the way towards the river. As he passed the lamp +burning dimly above some steps, Desiree saw that he was little more +than a boy. He turned and offered her his hand with a shy laugh, +and together they stood at the bottom of the steps with the water +lapping at their feet. + +"Have you a letter," he said, "or will you come on board?" + +Then perceiving that she did not understand, he repeated the +question in German. + +"I will come on board," she answered. + +The Elsa was lying in the middle of the river, and the boat into +which Desiree stepped shot across the water without sound of oars. +The sailor was paddling it noiselessly at the stern. Desiree was +not unused to boats, and when they came alongside the Elsa she +climbed on board without help. + +"This way," said the sailor, leading her towards the deckhouse where +a light burned dimly behind red curtains. He knocked at the door +and opened it without awaiting a reply. In the little cabin two men +sat at a table, and one of them was Louis d'Arragon dressed in the +rough clothes of a merchant seaman. He seemed to recognize Desiree +at once, though she still stood without the door, in the darkness. + +"You?" he said in surprise. "I did not expect you, madame. You +want me?" + +"Yes," answered Desiree, stepping over the combing. Louis's +companion, who was also a sailor, coarsely clad, rose and, awkwardly +taking off his cap, hurried to the door, murmuring some vague +apology. It is not always the roughest men who have the worst +manners towards women. + +He closed the door behind him, leaving Desiree and Louis looking at +each other by the light of an oil lamp that flickered and gave forth +a greasy smell. The little cabin was smoke-ridden, and smelt of +ancient tar. It was no bigger than the table in the drawing-room in +the Frauengasse, across which he had bowed to her in farewell a few +days earlier, little knowing when and where they were to meet again. +For fate can always turn a surprise better than the human fancy. + +Behind the curtain, the window stood open, and the high, clear song +of the wind through the rigging filled the little cabin with a +continuous minor note of warning which must have been part of his +life; for he must have heard it, as all sailors do, sleeping or +waking, night and day. + +He was probably so accustomed to it that he never heeded it. But it +filled Desiree's ears, and whenever she heard it in after-life, in +memory this moment came again to her, and she looked back to it, as +a traveller may look back to a milestone at a cross-road, and wonder +where his journey might have ended had he taken another turning. + +"My father," she said quickly, "is in danger. There is no one else +in Dantzig to whom we can turn, and--" + +She paused. What was she going to add? She hesitated, and then was +silent. There was no reason why she should have elected to come to +him. At all events she gave none. + +"I am glad I was in Dantzig when it happened," he said, turning to +take up his cap, which was of rough dark fur, such as seamen wear +even in summer at night in the Northern seas. + +"Come," he added, "you can tell me as we go ashore." + +But they did not speak while the sailor sculled the boat to the +steps. On the quay they would probably pass unnoticed, for there +were many strange sailors at this time in Dantzig, and Louis +d'Arragon might easily be mistaken for one of the French seamen who +had brought stores by sea from Bordeaux and Brest and Cherbourg. + +"Now tell me," he said, as they walked side by side; and in voluble +French, Desiree launched into her story. It was rather incoherent, +by reason, perhaps, of its frankness. + +"Stop--stop," he interrupted gravely, "who is Barlasch?" + +Louis walked rather slowly in his stiff sea-boots at her side, and +she instinctively spoke less rapidly as she explained the part that +Barlasch had played. + +"And you trust him?" + +"Of course," she answered. + +"But why?" + +"Oh, you are so matter-of-fact," she exclaimed; "I do not know. +Because he is trustworthy, I suppose." + +She continued the story, but suddenly stopped and looked up at him +under the shadow of her hood. + +"You are silent," she said. "Do you know something about my father +of which I am ignorant? Is that it?" + +"No," he answered, "I am trying to follow--that is all. You leave +so much to my imagination." + +"But I have no time to explain things," she protested. "Every +moment is of value. I will explain all those things some other +time. At this moment all I can think of is my father and the danger +he is in. If it had not been for Barlasch, he would have been in +prison by now. And as it is, the danger is only half averted. For +he, himself, is so little help. All must be done for him. He will +do nothing for himself while this humour is upon him; you +understand?" + +"Partly," he answered slowly. + +"Oh!" she exclaimed half-impatiently, "one sees that you are an +Englishman." + +And she found time, even in her hurry, to laugh. For she was young +enough to float buoyant upon that sea of hope which ebbs in the +course of years and leaves men stranded on the hard facts of life. + +"You forget," he said in self-defence. + +"I forget what?" + +"That a week ago I had never seen Dantzig, or your father, or your +sister, or the Frauengasse. A week ago I did not know that there +was anybody called Sebastian in the world--and did not care." + +"Yes," she admitted thoughtfully, "I had forgotten that." + +And they walked on in silence, a long way, till they came to the +Gate of the Holy Ghost. + +"But you can help him to escape?" she said at length, as if +following the course of her own thoughts. + +"Yes," he answered, and that was all. + +They passed through the smaller streets in silence, and Desiree led +the way into a narrow alley running between the street of the Holy +Ghost and the Frauengasse. + +"There is the wall to be climbed," she said; but, as she spoke, the +door giving exit to the alley was cautiously opened by Barlasch. + +"A little oil," he whispered, "and it was soon done." + +The yard was dark within, for there might be watchers at any of the +windows above them in the pointed gables that made patterns against +the star-lit sky. + +"All is well," said Barlasch; "those sons of dogs have not returned, +and the patron is waiting in the kitchen, cloaked and ready for a +journey. He has collected himself--the patron." + +He led the way through his own room, which was dark, save for a +shaft of lamp-light coming from the kitchen. He looked back keenly +at Louis d'Arragon. + +"Salut!" he growled, scowling at his boots. "A sailor," he muttered +after a pause. "Good. She has her wits at the top of the basket-- +that child." + +Desiree was throwing back her hood and looking at her father with a +reassuring smile. + +"I have brought Monsieur d'Arragon," she said, "to help us." + +For Sebastian has not recognized the new-comer. He now bowed in his +stiff way, and began a formal apology, which D'Arragon cut short +with a quick gesture. + +"It is the least I could do," he said, "in the absence of Charles. +Have you money?" + +"Yes--a little." + +"You will require money and a few clothes. I can get you a passage +to Riga or to Helsingborg to-night. From there you can communicate +with your daughter. Events will follow each other rapidly. One +never knows what a week may bring forth in time of war. It may be +safe for you to return soon. Come, monsieur, we must go." + +Sebastian made a gesture with his outspread arms, half of +protestation, half of acquiescence. It was plain that he had no +sympathy with these modern, hurried methods of meeting the +emergencies of daily life. A valise, packed and strapped, lay on +the table. D'Arragon weighed it in his hand, and then lifted it to +his shoulder. + +"Come, monsieur," he repeated leading the way through Barlasch's +room to the yard. "And you," he added, addressing himself to that +soldier, "shut the door behind us." + +With another gesture of protest Sebastian gathered his cloak round +him and followed. D'Arragon had taken Desiree so literally at her +word that he allowed her father no time for hesitation, nor a moment +to say farewell. + +She was alone in the kitchen before she had realized that they were +going. In a minute Barlasch returned. She could hear him setting +in order the room which had been hurriedly disorganized in order to +open the door leading to the yard, where her father had concealed +himself. He was muttering to himself as he lifted the furniture. + +Coming back into the kitchen, he found Desiree standing where he had +left her. Glancing at her, he scratched his grey head in a plebeian +way, and gave a little laugh. + +"Yes," he said, pointing to the spot where D'Arragon had stood. +"That was a man, that you fetched to help us--a man. It makes a +difference when such as that goes out of the room--eh?" + +He busied himself in the kitchen, setting in order that which +remained of the mise en scene of his violent reception of the secret +police. Suddenly he turned in his emphatic manner, and threw out +his rugged forefinger to hold her attention. + +"If there had been some like that in Paris, there would have been no +Revolution. Za-za, za-za!" he concluded, imitating effectively the +buzz of many voices in an assembly. "Words and not deeds," Barlasch +protested. Whereas to-night, he clearly showed by two gestures, +they had met a man of deeds. + + + +CHAPTER X. IN DEEP WATER. + + + + Le coeur humain est un abime qui trompe tous les calculs. + +It is to be presumed that Colonel de Casimir met friends at the +reception given by Governor Rapp in the great rooms of the Rathhaus. +For there were many Poles present, and not a few officers of other +nationalities. + +The army indeed that set forth to conquer Russia was not a French- +speaking army. Less than half of the regiments were of that +nationality, while Italians, Bavarians, Saxons, Wurtembergers, +Westphalians, Prussians, Swiss, and Portuguese went gaily forward on +the great venture. There were soldiers from the numerous petty +states of the German Confederation which acknowledged Napoleon as +their protector, for the good reason that they could not protect +themselves against him. Finally, there were those Poles who had +fought in Spain for Napoleon, hoping that in return he would some +day set the ancient kingdom upon its feet among the nations. +Already the whisperers pointed to Davoust as the future king of the +new Poland. + +Many present at the farewell reception of the Governor carried a +sword, though they were the merest civilians, plotting, counter- +plotting, and whispering a hundred rumours. Perhaps Rapp himself, +speaking bluff French with a German accent, was as honest as any man +in the room, though he lacked the polish of the Parisian and had not +the subtlety of the Pole. Rapp was not a shining light in these +brilliant circles. He was a Governor not for peace, but for war. +His day was yet to come. + +Such men as de Casimir shrugged their supple shoulders at his simple +talk. They spoke of him half-contemptuously as of one who had had a +thousand chances and had never taken them. He was not even rich, +and he had handled great sums of money. He was only a General, and +he had slept in the Emperor's tent--had had access to him in every +humour. He might do the same again in the coming campaign. He was +worth cultivating. De Casimir and his like were full of smiles +which in no wise deceived the shrewd Alsatian. + +Mathilde Sebastian was among the ladies to whom these brilliant +warriors paid their uncouth compliments. Perhaps de Casimir was +aware that her measuring eyes followed him wherever he went. He +knew, at all events, that he could hold his own amid these +adventurers, many of whom had risen from the ranks; while others, +from remote northern States, had birth but no manners at all. He +was easy and gay, carrying lightly that subtle air of distinction +which is vouchsafed to many Poles. + +"Here to-day, Mademoiselle, and gone to-morrow," he said. "All +these eager soldiers. And who can tell which of us may return?" + +If he had expected Mathilde to flinch at this reminder of his +calling, he was disappointed. Her eyes were hard and bright. She +had had so few chances of moving amidst this splendour, of seeing +close at hand the greatness which Napoleon shed around him as the +sun its rays. She was carried away by the spirit of the age. +Anything was better, she felt, than obscurity. + +"And who can tell," whispered de Casimir with a careless and +confident laugh, "which of us shall come back rich and great?" + +This brought the glance from her dark eyes for which his own lay +waiting. She was certainly beautiful, and wore the difficult dress +of that day with assurance and grace. She possessed something which +the German ladies about her lacked; something which many suddenly +lack when a Frenchwoman is near. + +His manner, half respectful, half triumphant, betrayed an +understanding to which he did not refer in words. She had bestowed +some favour upon him--had acceded to some request. He hoped for +more. He had overstepped some barrier. She, who should have +measured the distance, had allowed him to come too close. The +barriers of love are one-sided; there is no climbing back. + +"A hundred envious eyes are watching me," he said in an undertone as +he passed on; "I dare not stay longer. I am on duty to-night." + +She bowed and watched him go. She was, it would seem, aware of that +fallen barrier. She had done nothing, had permitted nothing from +weakness. There was no weakness at all perhaps in Mathilde +Sebastian. She had the quiet manner of a skilled card-player with +folded cards laid face down upon the table, who knows what is in her +hand and is waiting for the foe to lead. + +De Casimir did not see her again. In such a throng it would have +been difficult to find her had he so desired. But, as he had told +her, he was on duty to-night. There were to be a hundred arrests +before dawn. Many who were laughing and talking with the French +officers to-night were already in the grasp of Napoleon's secret +police, and would drive straight from the door of the Rathhaus to +the town prison or to the old Watch-house in the Portchaisengasse. +Others, moving through the great rooms with a high head, were +already condemned out of their own bureaux and escritoires now being +rifled by the Emperor's spies. + +The Emperor himself had given the order, before quitting Dantzig to +take command of the maddest and greatest enterprise conceived by the +mind of man. There was nothing above the reach of his mind, it +seemed, and nothing too low for him to bend down and touch. Every +detail had been considered by himself. He was like a man who, +having an open wound on his back, attends to it hurriedly before +showing an undaunted face to the enemy. + +His inexorable finger had come down on the name of Antoine +Sebastian, figuring on all the secret reports--first in many. + +"Who is this man?" he asked, and none could answer. + +He had gone to the frontier without awaiting the solution to the +question. Such was his method now. He had so much to do that he +could but skim the surface of his task. For the human mind, though +it be colossal, can only work within certain limits. The greatest +orator in the world can only move his immediate hearers. Those +beyond the inner circle catch a word here and there, and imagination +supplies the rest or improves upon it. But those in the farthest +gallery hear nothing and see a little man gesticulating. + +De Casimir was not entrusted with the execution of the Emperor's +orders. As a member of General Rapp's staff, resident in Dantzig +since the city's occupation by the French, he had been called upon +to make exhaustive reports upon the feeling of the burghers. There +were many doubtful cases. De Casimir did not pretend to be better +than his fellows. To some he had sold the benefit of the doubt. +Some had paid willingly enough for their warning. Others had put +off the payment; for there were many Jews, then as now, in Dantzig; +slow payers requiring something stronger than a threat to make them +disburse. + +De Casimir therefore quitted the Rathhaus among the first to go, and +walked through the busy streets to his rooms in the Langenmarkt, +where he not only lived but had a small office to which orderlies +and aides-de-camp came by day or night. Two sentries kept guard on +the pavement. Since the spring, this office had been one of the +busiest military posts in Dantzig. Its doors were open at all +hours, and in truth many of de Casimir's assistants preferred to +transact their business in the dark. + +There might be some recalcitrant debtor driven by stress of +circumstance to clear his conscience to-night. It would be as well, +de Casimir thought, to be at one's post. Nor was he mistaken. +Though it was only ten o'clock, two men were awaiting his return, +and, their business despatched, de Casimir deemed it wise to send +away his assistants. Immediately after they had gone a woman came. +She was half distracted with fear, and the tears ran down her pallid +cheeks. But she dried them at the mention of de Casimir's price, +and fell to abusing him. + +"If your husband is innocent, there is all the more reason why he +should be grateful to me for warning him," he said, with a smile. +And at last the lady paid and went away. + +The town clocks had struck eleven before another footstep on the +pavement made de Casimir raise his head. He did not actually expect +any one, but a certain surreptitiousness in the approach of this +visitor, and the low knock on the door, made him suspect that this +was grist for his mill. + +He opened the door and, seeing that it was a woman, stepped back. +When she had entered, he closed the door while she stood watching +him in the dark passage, beneath the shadow of her hood. Knowing +the value of such small details, he locked the door rather +ostentatiously and dropped the key into his pocket. + +"And now, madame," he said reassuringly, as he followed his visitor +into the room where a shaded lamp lighted his writing-table. She +threw back her hood, and it was Mathilde! The surprise on de +Casimir's face was genuine enough. Romance could not have brought +about this visit, nor love be its motive. + +"Something has happened," he said, looking at her doubtfully. + +"Where is my father?" was the reply. + +"Unless there has been some mistake," he answered glibly, "he is at +home in bed." + +She smiled contemptuously into his innocent face. + +"There has been a mistake," she said; "they came to arrest him to- +night." + +De Casimir made a gesture of anger and seemed to be mentally +assigning a punishment to some blunderer. + +"And?" he asked, without looking at her. + +"And he escaped." + +"For the moment?" + +"No; he has left Dantzig." + +Something in her voice--the cold note of warning--made him glance +uneasily at her. This was not a woman to be deceived, and yet she +was womanly enough to fear deception and to resent her own fears, +visiting her anger on any who aroused them. In the flash of an eye +he understood her, and forestalled the words that were upon her +lips. + +"And I promised that he should come to no harm--I know that," he +said quickly. "At first I thought that it must have been a blunder, +but on reflection I am sure that it is not. It is the Emperor. He +must have given the order for the arrest himself, behind my back. +That is his way. He trusts no one. He deceives those nearest to +him. I made out the list of those to be arrested to-night, and your +father's name was not on it. Do you believe me? Mademoiselle, do +you believe me?" + +It was only natural in such a man to look for disbelief. The air he +breathed was infected by suspicion. No deception was too small for +the great man whom he served. Mathilde made no answer. + +"You came here to accuse me of having deceived you," he said rather +anxiously. "Is that it?" + +She nodded without meeting his eyes. It was not the truth. She had +come to hear his defence, hoping against hope that she might be able +to believe him. + +"Mathilde," he asked slowly, "do you believe me?" + +He came a step nearer, looking down at her averted face, which was +oddly white. Then suddenly she turned, without a sound, without +lifting her eyes--and was in his arms. It seemed that she had done +it against her will, and it took him by surprise. He had thought +that she was trying to attract his love because she believed in his +capability to make his fortune like so many soldiers of France; that +she was only playing a woman's subtle game. And, after all, she was +like the rest--a little cleverer, a little colder--but, like the +rest. + +While his arms were still round her, his quick mind leapt forward to +the future, wondering already to what end this would lead them. For +a moment he was taken aback. He was over the last of those barriers +which are so easy from the outside and unclimbable from within. She +had thrust into his hands a power greater than, for the moment, he +knew how to wield. It was characteristic of him to think first +whither it would lead him, and next how he could turn it to good +account. + +Some instinct told him that this was a different love from any that +he had met before. The same instinct made him understand that it +was crying aloud to be convinced; and, oddly enough, he had told her +the truth. + +"See," he said, "here is a copy of the list, and your father's name +is not on it. See, here is Napoleon's letter, expressing +satisfaction with my work here and in Konigsberg, where I have been +served by an agent of my own choosing. Many have climbed to a +throne with less than that letter for their first step. See . . . +!" he opened another drawer. It was full of money. + +"See, again!" he said with a low laugh, and from an iron chest he +took two or three bags which fell upon the table with the discreet +unmistakable chink of gold. "That is the Emperor's. He trusts me, +you see. These bags are mine. They are to be sent back to France +before I follow the army to Russia. What I have told you is true, +you see." + +It was an odd way of wooing, but this man rarely made a mistake. +There are many women who, like Mathilde Sebastian, are readier to +love success than console failure. + +"See," he said, after a moment's hesitation, opening another drawer +in his writing-table, "before I went away I had intended to ask you +to remember me." + +As he spoke he drew a jewel-case from under some papers, and slowly +opened it. He had others like it in the drawer; for emergencies. + +"But I never hoped," he went on, "to have an opportunity of seeing +you thus alone--to ask you never to forget me. You permit me?" + +He clasped the diamonds round her throat, and they glittered on the +poor, cheap dress, which was the best she had. She looked down at +them with a catching breath, and for an instant the glitter was +reflected in her eyes. + +She had come asking for reassurance, and he gave her diamonds; which +is an old tale told over and over again. For in human love we have +to accept not what we want, but what is given to us. + +"No one in Dantzig," he said, "is so glad to hear that your father +has escaped as I am." + +And, with the glitter still lurking in her dark-grey eyes, she +believed him. He drew her cloak round her, and gently brought her +hood over her hair. + +"I must take you home," he said tenderly, "without delay. And as we +go through the streets you must tell me how it happened, and how you +were able to come to me." + +"Desiree was not asleep," she answered; "she was waiting for me to +return, and told me at once. Then she went to bed, and I waited +until she was asleep. It was she who managed the escape." + +De Casimir, who was locking the drawers of his writing-table, +glanced up sharply. + +"Ah! but not alone?" + +"No--not alone. I will tell you as we go through the streets." + + + +CHAPTER XI. THE WAVE MOVES ON. + + + + La meme fermete qui sert a resister a l'amour sert aussi a le +rendre violent et durable. + +It is only in war that the unexpected admittedly happens. In love +and other domestic calamities there is always a relative who knew it +all the time. + +The news that Napoleon was in Vilna, hastily evacuated by the +Russians in full retreat, came as a surprise and not to all as a +pleasant one, in Dantzig. + +It was Papa Barlasch who brought the tidings to the Frauengasse, one +hot afternoon in July. He returned before his usual hour, and sent +Lisa upstairs, with a message given in dumb show and interpreted by +her into matter-of-fact German, that he must see the young ladies +without delay. Far back in the great days of the monarchy, Papa +Barlasch must have been a little child in a peasant's hut on those +Cotes du Nord where they breed a race of Frenchmen startlingly +similar to the hereditary foe across the Channel, where to this day +the men kick off their sabots at the door and hold that an honest +labourer has no business under a roof except in stocking-feet and +shirt-sleeves. + +Barlasch had never yet been upstairs in the Sebastians' house, and +deemed it only respectful to the ladies to take off his boots on the +mat, and prowl to the kitchen in coarse blue woollen stockings, +carefully darned by himself, under the scornful immediate eye of +Lisa. + +He was in the kitchen when Mathilde and Desiree, in obedience to his +command, came downstairs. The floor in one corner of the room was +littered with his belongings; for he never used the table. "He +takes up no more room than a cat," Lisa once said of him. "I never +fall over him." + +"She leaves her greasy plates here and there," explained Barlasch in +return. "One must think of one's self and one's uniform." + +He was in his stocking-feet with unbuttoned tunic when the two girls +came to him. + +"Ai, ai, ai," he said, imitating with his two hands the galloping of +a horse. "The Russians," he explained confidentially. + +"Has there been a battle?" asked Desiree. + +And Barlasch answered "Pooh!" not without contempt for the female +understanding. + +"Then what is it?" she inquired. "You must remember we are not +soldiers--we do not understand those manoeuvres--ai, ai, like that." + +And she copied his gesture beneath his scowling contempt. + +"It is Vilna," he said. "That is what it is. Then it will be +Smolensk, and then Moscow. Ah, ah! That little man!" + +He turned and took up his haversack. + +"And I--I have my route. It is good-bye to the Frauengasse. We +have been friends. I told you we should be. It is good-bye to +these ladies--and to that Lisa. Look at her!" + +He pointed with his curved and derisive finger into Lisa's eyes. +And in truth the tears were there. Lisa was in heart and person +that which is comprehensively called motherly. She saw perhaps some +pathos in the sight of this rugged man--worn by travel, bent with +hardship and many wounds, past his work--shouldering his haversack +and trudging off to the war. + +"The wave moves on," he said, making a gesture, and a sound +illustrating that watery progress. "And Dantzig will soon be +forgotten. You will be left in peace--but we go on to--" He paused +and shrugged his shoulders while attending to a strap. "India or +the devil," he concluded. + +"Colonel Casimir has gone," he added in what he took to be an aside +to Mathilde. Which made her wonder for a moment. "I saw him depart +with his staff soon after daybreak. And the Emperor has forgotten +Dantzig. It is safe enough for the patron now. You can write him a +letter to tell him so. Tell him that I said it was safe for him to +return quietly here, and live in the Frauengasse--I, Barlasch." + +He was ready now, and, buttoning his tunic, he fixed the straps +across his chest, looking from one to the other of the three women +watching him, not without some appreciation of an audience. Then he +turned to Desiree, who had always been his friend, with whom he now +considered that he had the soldier's bond of a peril passed through +together. + +"The Emperor has forgotten Dantzig," he repeated, "and those against +whom he had a grudge. But he has also forgotten those who are in +prison. It is not good to be forgotten in prison. Tell the patron +that--to put it in his pipe and smoke it. Some day he may remember +an old soldier. Ah, one thinks of one's self." + +And beneath his bushy brows he looked at her with a gleam of +cunning. He went to the door and, turning there, pointed the finger +of scorn at Lisa, stout and tearful. He gave a short laugh of a +low-born contempt, and departed without further parley. + +On the doorstep he paused to put on his boots and button his +gaiters, stooping clumsily with a groan beneath his burden of +haversack and kit. Desiree, who had had time to go upstairs to her +bedroom, ran after him as he descended the steps. She had her purse +in her hand, and she thrust it into his, quickly and breathlessly. + +"If you take it," she said, "I shall know that we are friends." + +He took it ungraciously enough. It was a silken thing with two +small rings to keep the money in place, and he looked at it with a +grimace, weighing it in his hand. It was very light. + +"Money," he said. "No, thank you. To get drink with, and be +degraded and sent to prison. Not for me, madame. No, thank you. +One thinks of one's career." + +And with a gruff laugh of worldly wisdom he continued his way down +the worn steps, never looking back at her as she stood in the +sunlight watching him, with the purse in her hand. + +So in his old age Papa Barlasch was borne forward to the war on that +human tide which flooded all Lithuania, and never ebbed again, but +sank into the barren ground, and was no more seen. + +As the slow autumn approached, it became apparent that Dantzig no +longer interested the watchers. Vilna became the base of +operations. Smolensk fell, and, most wonderful of all, the Russians +were retiring on Moscow. Dantzig was no longer on the route. For a +time it was of the world forgotten, while, as Barlasch had +predicted, free men continued at liberty, though their names had an +evil savour, while innocent persons in prison were left to rot +there. + +Desiree continued to receive letters from her husband, full of love +and war. For a long time he lingered at Konigsberg, hoping every +day to be sent forward. Then he followed Murat across the Niemen, +and wrote of weary journeys over the rolling plains of Lithuania. + +Towards the end of July he mentioned curtly the arrival of de +Casimir at head-quarters. + +"With him came a courier," wrote Charles, "bringing your dead +letter. I don't believe you love me as I love you. At all events, +you do not seem to tell me that you do so often as I want to tell +you. Tell me what you do and think every moment of the day . . . . +. . " And so on. Charles seemed to write as easily as he talked, +and had no difficulty in setting forth his feelings. "The courier +is in the saddle," he concluded. "De Casimir tells me that I must +finish. Write and tell me everything. How is Mathilde? And your +father? Is he in good health? How does he pass his day? Does he +still go out in the evening to his cafe?" + +This seemed to be an afterthought, suggested perhaps by conversation +passing in the room in which he sat. + +The other exile, writing from Stockholm, was briefer in his +communications. + +"I am well," wrote Antoine Sebastian, "and hope to arrive soon after +you receive this. Felix Meyer, the notary, has instructions to +furnish you with money for household expenses." + +It would appear that Sebastian possessed other friends in Dantzig, +who had kept him advised of all that passed in the city. + +For neither Mathilde nor Desiree had obeyed Barlasch's blunt order +to write to their father. They did not know whither he had fled, +neither had they received any communication giving an address or a +hint as to his future movements. It would appear that the same +direct and laconic mind which had carried out his escape deemed it +wiser that those left behind should be in no position to furnish +information. + +In fairness to Barlasch, Desiree had made little of that soldier's +part in Sebastian's evasion, and Mathilde displayed small interest +in such details. She rather fastened, however, upon the assistance +rendered by Louis d'Arragon. + +"Why did he do it?" she asked. + +"Oh, because I asked him," was the reply. + +"And why did you ask him?" + +"Who else was there to ask?" returned Desiree, which was indeed +unanswerable. + +Perhaps the question had been suggested to her by de Casimir, who, +on learning that Louis d'Arragon had helped her father to slip +through the Emperor's fingers, had asked the same in his own +characteristic way. + +"What could he hope to gain by doing it?" he had inquired as he +walked by Mathilde's side, along the Pfaffengasse. And he made +other interrogations respecting D'Arragon which Mathilde was no more +able to satisfy, as he accompanied her to the Frauengasse. + +Since that time the dancing-lessons had been resumed to the music of +a hired fiddler, and Desiree had once more taken up her household +task of making both ends meet. She approached the difficulties as +impetuously as ever, and danced the stout pupils round the room with +undiminished energy. + +"It seems no good at all, your being married," said one of these +breathlessly, while Desiree laughingly attended to her dishevelled +hair. + +"Why not?" + +"Because you still make your own dresses and teach dancing," replied +the pupil, with a quick sigh at the thought of some smart bursch in +the Prussian contingent. + +"Ah, but Charles will return a colonel, and I shall bow to you in a +silk dress from a chaise and pair--come, left foot first. You are +not so tired as you think you are." + +For those that are busy, time flies quickly enough. And there is +nothing more absorbing than keeping the wolf from the door, else +assuredly the hungry thousands would find time to arise and rend the +overfed few. + +August succeeded a hot July and brought with it Sebastian's curt +letter. Sebastian himself--that shadowy father--returned to his +home a few hours later. He was not alone, for a heavier step +followed his into the passage, and Desiree, always quick to hear and +see and act, coming to the head of the stairs, perceived her father +looking upwards towards her, while his companion in rough sailor's +clothes turned to lay aside the valise he had carried on his +shoulder. + +Mathilde was close behind Desiree, and Sebastian kissed his +daughters with that cold repression of manner which always suggested +a strenuous past in which the emotions had been relinquished for +ever as an indulgence unfit for a stern and hard-bitten age. + +"I took him away and now return him," said the sailor coming +forward. Desiree had always known that it was Louis, but Mathilde +gave a little start at the sound of the neat clipping French in the +mouth of an educated Frenchman so rarely heard in Dantzig--so rarely +heard in all broad France to-day. + +"Yes--that is true," answered Sebastian, turning to him with a +sudden change of manner. There was that in voice and attitude which +his hearers had never noted before, although Charles had often +evoked something approaching it. It seemed to indicate that, of all +the people with whom they had seen their father hold intercourse, +Louis d'Arragon was the only man who stood upon equality with him. + +"That is true--and at great risk to yourself," he said, not +assigning, however, so great an importance to personal danger as men +do in these careful days. As he spoke, he took Louis by the arm and +by a gesture invited him to precede him upstairs with a suggestion +of camaraderie somewhat startling in one usually so cold and formal +as Antoine Sebastian, the dancing-master of the Frauengasse. + +"I was writing to Charles," said Desiree to D'Arragon, when they +reached the drawing-room, and, crossing to her own table, she set +the papers in order there. These consisted of a number of letters +from her husband, read and re-read, it would appear. And the answer +to them, a clean sheet of paper bearing only the date and address, +lay beneath her hand. + +"The courier leaves this evening," she said, with a queer ring of +anxiety in her voice, as if she feared that for some reason or +another she ran the risk of failing to despatch her letter. She +glanced at the clock, and stood, pen in hand, thinking of what she +should write. + +"May I enclose a line?" asked Louis. "It is not wise, perhaps, for +me to address to him a letter--since I am on the other side. It is +a small matter of a heritage which he and I divide. I have placed +some money in a Dantzig bank for him. He may require it when he +returns." + +"Then you do not correspond with Charles?" said Mathilde, clearing a +space for him on the larger table, and setting before him ink and +pens and paper. + +"Thank you, Mademoiselle," he said, glancing at her with that light +of interest in his dark eyes which she had ignited once before by a +question on the only occasion that they had met. He seemed to +detect that she was more interested in him than her indifferent +manner would appear to indicate. "No, I am a bad correspondent. If +Charles and I, in our present circumstances, were to write to each +other it could only lead to intrigue, for which I have no taste and +Charles no capacity." + +"You seem to hint that Charles might have such a taste then," she +said, with her quiet smile, as she moved away leaving him to write. + +"Charles has probably found out by this time," he answered with the +bluntness which he claimed as a prerogative of his calling and +nation, "that a soldier of Napoleon's who intrigues will make a +better career than one who merely fights." + +He took up his pen and wrote with the absorption of one who has but +little time and knows exactly what to say. By chance he glanced +towards Desiree, who sat at her own table near the window. She was +stroking her cheek with the feather of her pen, looking with puzzled +eyes at the blank paper before her. Each time D'Arragon dipped his +pen he glanced at her, watching her. And Mathilde, with her +needlework, watched them both. + + + +CHAPTER XII. FROM BORODINO. + + + + However we brave it out, we men are a little breed. + +War is the gambling of kings. Napoleon, the arch-gambler, from that +Southern sea where men, lacking cards or dice and the money to buy +either, will yet play a game of chance with the ten fingers that God +gave them for another purpose--Napoleon had dealt a hand with every +monarch in Europe before he met for the second time that Northern +adversary of cool blood who knew the waiting game. + +It is only where the stakes are small that the leisurely players, +idly fingering the fallen cards, return in fancy to certain points-- +to this trick trumped or that chance missed, playing the game over +again. But when the result is great it overshadows the game, and +all men's thoughts fly to speculation on the future. How will the +loser meet his loss? What use will the winner make of his gain? + +The results of the Russian campaign were so stupendous to history +that the historians of the day, in their bewilderment, sought rather +to preserve these than the details of the war. Thus the student of +to-day, in piecing together an impression of bygone times, will +inevitably find portions of his picture missing. As a matter of +fact, no one can say for certain whether Alexander gently led +Napoleon onward to Moscow or was himself driven thither in confusion +by the conqueror. + +Perhaps each merely pushed on from day to day, as men who are not +Emperors must needs do in the stress of life. It is only in calm +weather that the eye is able to discern things afar off and make +ready; but in a storm the horizon is dimmed by cloud and spray. All +Europe was so obscured at this time. And even Emperors, being only +men, could look no farther than the immediate and urgent danger of +the moment. + +Napoleon's generals were scarcely social lights. Ney, the hero of +the retreat, the bravest of the brave, was a rough man who ate +horseflesh without troubling to cook it. Rapp, whose dogged defence +of an abandoned city is without compare in the story of war, had the +manners and the mind of a peasant. These gentlemen dealt more in +deeds than in words. They had not much to say for themselves. + +As for the Russians, Russia remains at this time the one European +country unhampered and unharassed by a cheap press--the one country +where prominent men have a quiet tongue. A hundred years ago +Russians did great deeds, and the rest was silence. Neither +Kutusoff nor Alexander ever stated clearly whether the retreat to +Moscow was intentional or unavoidable; and these are the only men +who knew. Perhaps Napoleon knew; at all events, he thought he did, +or pretended to think it long afterwards at St. Helena, for Napoleon +the Great was a consummate liar. + +Be that as it may, the Russians retreated, and the French advanced +farther and farther from their base. It was a great army--the +greatest ever seen. For Napoleon had eight monarchs serving with +the eagles; generals innumerable, many of them immortal--Davoust, +the greatest strategist; Prince Eugene, the incomparable lieutenant; +Ney, the fearless; four hundred thousand men. And they carried with +them only twenty days' provision. + +They had marched from the Vistula, full of shipping, across the +Pregel, loaded with stores, to the Niemen, where there was no +navigation. Dantzig, behind them--that Gibraltar of the North--was +stored with provision enough for the whole army. But there was no +transport; for the roads of Lithuania were unsuitable for the heavy +carts provided. + +The country across the Niemen could scarce sustain its own sparse +population, and had nothing to spare for an invading army. This had +once been Poland, and was now inimical to Russia; but Russia did not +care, and the friendship of Lithuania was like many human +friendships which we make sacrifices to preserve--not worth having. + +All the while the Russians retreated, and, stranger still, the +French followed them, eking out their twenty days' provision. + +"I will make them fight a big battle, and beat them," said Napoleon; +"and then the Emperor will sue for peace." + +But Barclay de Tolly continued to run away from that great battle. +Then came the news that Barclay had been deposed; that Kutusoff was +coming from the South to take command. It was true enough; and +Barclay cheerfully served in a subordinate position to the new +chief. September brought great hopes of a battle, for Kutusoff +seemed to retreat with less despatch, like a man choosing his +ground--Kutusoff, that master of the waiting game. + +Early in September Murat, the impetuous leader of the pursuit, +complained to Nansouty that a cavalry charge had not been pushed +home. + +"The horses have no patriotism," replied Nansouty. "The men will +fight on empty stomachs, but not the horses." + +An ominous reply at the beginning of a campaign, while +communications were still open. + +At last, within a few days' march of Moscow, Kutusoff made a stand. +At last the great battle was imminent, after a hundred false alarms, +after many disappointed hopes. The country had been flat hitherto. +The Borodino, running in a wider valley than many of these rivers, +which are merely great ditches, seemed to offer possibilities of +defence. It was the only hope for Moscow. + +"At last," wrote Charles to Desiree on September 6, "we are to have +a great battle. There has been much fighting the last few days, but +I have seen none of it. We are only eighty miles from Moscow. If +there is a great battle to-morrow we shall see Moscow in less than a +week. For we shall win. I have now found out from one who is near +him that the Emperor saw and remembered me the day he passed us in +the Frauengasse--our wedding-day, dearest. Nobody is too +insignificant for him to know. He thought that my marriage to you +(for he knows that you are French) would militate against the work I +had been given to do in Dantzig, so he gave orders for me to be sent +at once to Konigsberg and to continue the work there. De Casimir +tells me that the Emperor is pleased with me. De Casimir is the +best friend I have; I am sure of that. It is said that under the +walls of Moscow the Emperor will dictate his terms to Alexander. +Every one wonders that Alexander of Russia did not make proposals of +peace when Vilna and Smolensk fell. In a week we may be at Moscow. +In a month I may be back at Dantzig, Desiree . . . . " + +And the rest would have been for Desiree's eyes alone, had it ever +been penned. For next in sacredness to heaven-inspired words are +mere human love letters; and those who read the love-letters of +another commit a sacrilege. But Charles never finished the letter, +for the dawn surprised him where he wrote in a shed by the miserable +Kalugha, a streamlet running to the Moskwa. And it was the dawn of +September 7, 1812. + +"There is the sun of Austerlitz," said Napoleon to those who were +near him when it arose. But it was not. It was the sun of +Borodino. And before it set the great battle desired by the French +had been fought, and eight French generals lay dead, while thirty +more were wounded. Murat, Davoust, Ney, Junot, Prince Eugene, +Napoleon himself--all were there; and all fought to finish a war +which from the first had been disliked. The French claimed it as a +victory; but they gained nothing by it, and they lost forty thousand +killed and wounded. + +During the night the Russians evacuated the position which they had +held, and lost, and retaken. They retreated towards Moscow, but +Napoleon was hardly ready to pursue. + +These things, however, are history, and those who wish to know of +them may read them in another volume. While to the many orderly +persons who would wish to see everything in its place and the +history-books on the top shelf to be taken down and read on a future +day (which will never come), to such the explanation is due that +this battle of Borodino is here touched upon because it changed the +current of some lives with which we have to deal. + +For battles and revolutions and historical events of any sort are +the jagged instruments with which Fate rough-hews our lives, leaving +us to shape them as we will. In other days, no doubt, men rough- +hewed, while Fate shaped. But as civilization advances men will wax +so tender, so careful of the individual, that they will never cut +and slash, but move softly, very tolerant, very easy-going, seeking +the compromise that brings peace and breeds a small and timid race +of men. + +Into such lives Fate comes crashing like a woodman with his axe, +leaving us to smooth the edges of the gaping wound and smile, and +say that we are not hurt; to pare away the knots and broken stumps; +and hope that our neighbour, concealing such himself, will have the +decency to pretend not to see. + +Thus the battle of Borodino crashed into the lives of Desiree and +Mathilde, and their father, living quietly on the sunny side of the +Frauengasse in Dantzig. Antoine Sebastian was the first to hear the +news. He had, it seemed, special facilities for learning news at +the Weissen Ross'l, whither he went again now in the evening. + +"There has been a great battle," he said, with so much more than his +usual self-restraint that Desiree and Mathilde exchanged a glance of +anxiety. "A man coming this evening from Dirschau saw and spoke +with the Imperial couriers on their way to Berlin and Paris. It was +a great victory, quite near to Moscow. But the loss on both sides +has been terrible." + +He paused and glanced at Desiree. It was his creed that good blood +should show an example of self-restraint and a certain steadfast, +indifferent courage. + +"Not so much among the French," he said, "as among the Bavarians and +Italians. It is an odd way of showing patriotism, to gain victories +for the conqueror. One hoped--" he paused and made a gesture with +his right hand, scarcely indicative of a staunch hope, "that the +man's star might be setting, but it would appear to be still in the +ascendant. Charles," he added, as an afterthought, "would be on the +staff. No doubt he only saw the fighting from a distance." + +Desiree, from whose face the colour had faded, nodded cheerfully +enough. + +"Oh yes," she answered, "I have no doubt he is safe. He has good +fortune." + +For she was an apt pupil, and had already learnt that the world only +wishes to leave us in undisputed possession of our anxieties or +sorrows, however ready it may be to come forward and take a hand in +good fortune. + +"But there is no definite news," said Mathilde, hardly looking up +from the needlework at which her fingers were so deft and +industrious. + +"No." + +"No news of Charles, I mean," she continued, "or of any of our +friends. Of Monsieur de Casimir, for instance?" + +"No. As for Colonel de Casimir," returned Sebastian thoughtfully, +"he, like Charles, holds some staff appointment of which one does +not understand the scope. He is without doubt uninjured." + +Mathilde glanced at her father not without suspicion. His grand +manner might easily be at times a screen. One never knows how much +is perceived by those who look down from a high place. + +The town was quiet enough all that night. Sebastian must have heard +the news from some unofficial source, for none other seemed to know +it. But at daybreak the church bells, so rarely used in Dantzig for +rejoicing, awoke the burghers to the fact that the Emperor bade them +make merry. Napoleon gave great heed to such matters. In the +churches of Lithuania and farther on in Russia he had commanded the +popes to pray for him at their altars instead of for the Czar. + +When Desiree came downstairs, she found a packet awaiting her. The +courier had come in during the night. This was more than a letter. +A number of papers had been folded in a handkerchief and bound with +string. The address was written on a piece of white leather cut +from the uniform of one who had fallen at Borodino, and had no more +need of sabretasche or trapping. + + "Madame Desiree Darragon--nee Sebastian, + Frauengasse 36, + Dantzig." + +Desiree's heart stood still; for the writing was unknown to her. As +she cut the network of string, she thought that Charles was dead. +When the enclosed papers fell upon the table, she was sure of it; +for they were all in his writing. She did not pick and choose as +one would who has leisure and no very strong excitement, but took up +the first paper and read: + +"Dear C.--I have been fortunate, as you will see from the enclosed +report. His Majesty cannot again say that I have been neglectful. +I was quite right. It is Sebastian and only Sebastian that we need +fear. Here, they are clumsy conspirators compared to him. I have +been in the river half the night, listening at the open stern window +of a Reval pink to every word they said. His Majesty can safely +come to Konigsberg. Indeed, he is better out of Dantzig. For the +whole country is riddled with that which they call patriotism, and +we, treason. But I can only repeat what His Majesty disbelieved the +day before yesterday--that the heart of the ill is Dantzig, and the +venom of it Sebastian. Who he really is and what he is about, you +must find out how you can. I go forward to-day to Gumbinnen. The +enclosed letter to its address--I beg of you--if only in +acknowledgment of all that I have sacrificed." + +The letter was unsigned, but the writing was the writing of Charles +Darragon, and Desiree knew what he had sacrificed--what he could +never recover. + +There were two or three more letters addressed to "Dear C.," bearing +no signature, and yet written by Charles. Desiree read them +carefully with a sort of numb attention which photographed them +permanently on her memory like writing that is carved in stone upon +a wall. There must be some explanation in one of them. Who had +sent them to her? Was Charles dead? + +At last she came to a sealed envelope addressed to herself by +Charles. Some other hand had copied the address from it in +identical terms on the piece of white leather. She opened and read +it. It was the letter written to her by Charles on the bank of the +Kalugha river on the eve of Borodino, and left unfinished by him. +He must be dead. She prayed that he might be. + +She was alone in the room, having come down early, as was her wont, +to prepare breakfast. She heard Lisa talking with some one at the +door--a messenger, no doubt, to say that Charles was dead. + +One letter still remained unread. It was in a different writing-- +the writing on the white leather. + +"Madame," it read, "The enclosed papers were found on the field by +one of my orderlies. One of them being addressed to you, furnishes +a clue to their owner, who must have dropped them in the hurry of +the advance. Should Captain Charles Darragon be your husband, I +have the pleasure to inform you that he was seen alive and well at +the end of the day." The writer assured Desiree of his respectful +consideration, and wrote "Surgeon" after his name. + +Desiree had read the explanation too late. + + + +CHAPTER XIII. IN THE DAY OF REJOICING. + + + + Truth, though it crush me. + +The door of the room stood open, and the sound of a step in the +passage made Desiree glance up, as she hastily put together the +papers found on the battlefield of Borodino. + +Louis d'Arragon was coming into the room, and for an instant, before +his expression changed, she saw all the fatigue that he must have +endured during the night; all that he must have risked. His face +was usually still and quiet; a combination of that contemplative +calm which characterises seafaring faces, and the clean-cut +immobility of a racial type developed by hereditary duties of self- +restraint and command. + +He knew that there had been a battle, and, seeing the papers on the +table, his eyes asked her the inevitable question which his lips +were slow to put into words. + +In reply Desiree shook her head. She looked at the papers in quick +thought. Then she withdrew from them the letter written to her by +Charles--and put the others together. + +"You told me to send for you," she said in a quiet, tired voice, "if +I wanted you. You have saved me the trouble." + +His eyes were hard with anxiety as he looked at her. She held the +letters towards him. + +"By coming," she added, with a glance at him which took in the dust, +and the stains of salt-water on his clothes, the fatigue he sought +to conceal by a rigid stillness, and the tension that was left by +the dangers he had passed through--daring all--to come. + +Seeing that he looked doubtfully at the papers, she spoke again. + +"One," she said, "that one on the stained paper, is addressed to me. +You can read it--since I ask you." + +The letter told him, at all events, that Charles was not killed, +and, seeing his face clear as he read, she gave an odd, curt laugh. + +"Read the others," she said. "Oh! you need not hesitate. You need +not be so particular. Read one, the top one. One is enough." + +The windows stood open, and the morning breeze fluttering the +curtains brought in the gay sound of bells, the high clear bells of +Hanseatic days, rejoicing at Napoleon's new success--by order of +Napoleon. A bee sailed harmoniously into the room, made the circuit +of it, and sought the open again with a hum that faded drowsily into +silence. + +D'Arragon read the letter slowly from beginning to the unsigned end, +while Desiree, sitting at the table, upon which she leant one elbow, +resting her small square chin in the palm of her hand, watched him. + +"Ah?" she exclaimed at length, with a ring of contempt in her voice, +as if at the thought of something unclean. "A spy! It is so easy +for you to keep still, and to hide all you feel." + +D'Arragon folded the letter slowly. It was the fatal letter written +in the upper room in the shoemaker's house in Konigsberg in the +Neuer Markt, where the linden trees grow close to the window. In it +Charles spoke lightly of the sacrifice he had made in leaving +Desiree on his wedding-day, to do the Emperor's bidding. It was +indeed the greatest sacrifice that man can make; for he had thrown +away his honour. + +"It may not be so easy as you think," returned D'Arragon, looking +towards the door + +He had no time to say more; for Mathilde and her father were talking +together on the stairs as they came down. D'Arragon thrust the +letters into his pocket, the only indication he had time to give to +Desiree of the policy they must pursue. He stood facing the door, +alert and quiet, with only a moment in which to shape the course of +more than one life. + +"There is good news, Monsieur," he said to Sebastian. "Though I did +not come to bring it." + +Sebastian pointed interrogatively to the open window, where the +sound of the bells seemed to emphasize the sunlight and the +freshness of the morning. + +"No--not that," returned D'Arragon. "It is a great victory, they +tell me; but it is hard to say whether such news would be good or +bad. It was of Charles that I spoke. He is safe--Madame has +heard." + +He spoke rather slowly, and turned towards Desiree with a measured +gesture, not unlike Sebastian's habitual manner, and a quick glance +to satisfy himself that she had understood and was ready. + +"Yes," said Desiree, "he was safe and well after the battle, but he +gives no details; for the letter was actually written the day +before." + +"With a mere word, added in postscriptum, to say that he was unhurt +at the end of the day," suggested Sebastian, already drawing forward +a chair with a gesture full of hospitality, inviting D'Arragon to be +seated at the simple breakfast-table. But D'Arragon was looking at +Mathilde, who had gone rather hurriedly to the window, as if to +breathe the air. He had caught a glimpse of her face as she passed. +It was hard and set, quite colourless, with bright, sleepless eyes. +D'Arragon was a sailor. He had seen that look in rougher faces and +sterner eyes, and knew what it meant. + +"No details?" asked Mathilde in a muffled voice, without looking +round. + +"No," answered Desiree, who had noticed nothing. How much more +clearly we should understand what is going on around us if we had no +secrets of our own to defend! + +In obedience to Sebastian's gesture, D'Arragon took a chair, and +even as he did so Mathilde came to the table, calm and mistress of +herself again, to pour out the coffee, and do the honours of the +simple meal. D'Arragon, besides having acquired the seamen's habit +of adapting himself unconsciously and unobtrusively to his +surroundings, was of a direct mind, lacking self-consciousness, and +simplified by the pressure of a strong and steady purpose. For +men's minds are like the atmosphere, which is always cleared by a +steady breeze, while a changing wind generates vapours, mist, +uncertainty. + +"And what news do you bring from the sea?" asked Sebastian. "Is +your sky there as overcast as ours in Dantzig?" + +"No, Monsieur, our sky is clearing," answered D'Arragon, eating with +a hearty appetite the fresh bread and butter set before him. "Since +I saw you, the treaties have been signed, as you doubtless know, +between Sweden and Russia and England." + +Nodding his head with silent emphasis, Sebastian gave it to be +understood that he knew that and more. + +"It makes a great difference to us at sea in the Baltic," said +D'Arragon. "We are no longer harassed night and day, like a dog, +hounded from end to end of a hostile street, not daring to look into +any doorway. The Russian ports and Swedish ports are open to us +now." + +"One is glad to hear that your life is one of less hardship," said +Sebastian gravely. "I . . . . who have tasted it." + +Desiree glanced at his lean, hard face. She rose, went out of the +room, and returned in a few minutes carrying a new loaf which she +set on the table before him with a short laugh, and something +glistening in her eyes that was not mirth. + +But neither Desiree nor Mathilde joined in the conversation. They +were glad for their father to have a companion so sympathetic as to +produce a marked difference in his manner. For Sebastian was more +at ease with Louis d'Arragon than he was with Charles, though the +latter had the tie of a common fatherland, and spoke the same French +that Sebastian spoke. D'Arragon's French had the roundness always +imparted to that language by an English voice. It was perfect +enough, but of an educated perfection. + +The talk was of such matters as concerned men more than women; of +armies and war and treaties of peace. For all the world thought +that Alexander of Russia would be brought to his knees by the battle +of Borodino. None knew better how to turn a victory to account than +he who claimed to be victor now. "It does not suffice," Napoleon +wrote to his brother at this time, "to gain a victory. You must +learn to turn it to advantage." + +Save for the one reference to his life in the Baltic during the past +two months, D'Arragon said nothing of himself, of his patient, +dogged work carried on by day and by night in all weathers. Content +to have escaped with his life, he neither referred to, nor thought +of, his part in the negotiations which had resulted in the treaty +just signed. For he had been the link between Russia and England; +the never-failing messenger passing from one to the other with +question and answer which were destined to bear fruit at last in an +understanding brought to perfection in Paris, culminating at Elba. + +Both were guarded in what they said of passing events, and both +seemed to doubt the truth of the reports now flying through the +streets of Dantzig. Even in the quiet Frauengasse all the citizens +were out on their terraces calling questions to those that passed by +beneath the trees. The itinerant tradesman, the milkman going his +round, the vendors of fruit from Langfuhr and the distant villages +of the plain, lingered at the doors to tell the servants the latest +gossip of the market-place. Even in this frontier city, full of +spies, strangers spoke together in the streets, and the sound of +their voices, raised above the clang of carillons, came in at the +open window. + +"At first a victory is always a great one," said D'Arragon, looking +towards the window. + +"It is so easy to ring a bell," added Sebastian, with his rare +smile. + +He was quite himself this morning, and only once did the dull look +arrest his features into the stony stillness which his daughters +knew. + +"You are the only one of your name in Dantzig," said D'Arragon, in +the course of question and answer as to the safe delivery of letters +in time of war. + +"So far as I know, there is no other Sebastian," replied he; and +Desiree, who had guessed the motive of the question, which must have +been in D'Arragon's mind from the beginning, was startled by the +fulness of the answer. It seemed to make reply to more than +D'Arragon had asked. It shattered the last faint hope that there +might have been another Sebastian of whom Charles had written. + +"For myself," said D'Arragon, changing the subject quickly, "I can +now make sure of receiving letters addressed to me in the care of +the English Consul at Riga, or the Consul at Stockholm, should you +wish to communicate with me, or should Madame find leisure to give +me news of her husband." + +"Desiree will no doubt take pleasure in keeping you advised of +Charles's progress. As for myself, I fear I am a bad correspondent. +Perhaps not a desirable one in these days," said Sebastian, his face +slowly clearing. He waved the point aside with a gesture that +looked out of place on a hand lean and spare, emerging from a shabby +brown sleeve without cuff or ruffle. + +"For I feel assured," he went on, "that we shall continue to hear +good news of your cousin; not only that he is safe and well, but +that he makes progress in his profession. He will go far, I am +sure." + +D'Arragon bowed his acknowledgment of this kind thought, and rose +rather hastily. + +"My best chance of quitting the city unseen," he said, "is to pass +through the gates with the market-people returning to the villages. +To do that, I must not delay." + +"The streets are so full," replied Sebastian, glancing out of the +window, "that you will pass through them unnoticed. I see beneath +the trees, a neighbour, Koch the locksmith, who is perhaps waiting +to give me news. While you are saying farewell, I will go out and +speak to him. What he has to tell may interest you and your +comrades at sea--may help your escape from the city this morning." + +He took his hat as he spoke and went to the door. Mathilde, +thirsting for the news that seemed to hum in the streets like the +sound of bees, rose and followed him. Desiree and D'Arragon were +left alone. She had gone to the window, and, turning there, she +looked back at him over her shoulder, where he stood by the door +watching her. + +"So, you see," she said, "there is no other Sebastian." + +D'Arragon made no reply. She came nearer to him, her blue eyes +sombre with contempt for the man she had married. Suddenly she +pointed to the chair which D'Arragon had just vacated. + +"That is where he sat. He has eaten my father's salt a hundred +times," she said, with a short laugh. For whithersoever +civilization may take us, we must still go back to certain primaeval +laws of justice between man and man. + +"You judge too hastily," said D'Arragon; but she interrupted him +with a gesture of warning. + +"I have not judged hastily," she said. "You do not understand. You +think I judge from that letter. That is only a confirmation of +something that has been in my mind for a long time--ever since my +wedding-day. I knew when you came into the room upstairs on that +day that you did not trust Charles." + +"I--?" he asked. + +"Yes," she answered, standing squarely in front of him and looking +him in the eyes. "You did not trust him. You were not glad that I +had married him. I could see it in your face. I have never +forgotten." + +D'Arragon turned away towards the window. Sebastian and Mathilde +were in the street below, in the shade of the trees, talking with +the eager neighbours. + +"You would have stopped it if you could," said Desiree; and he did +not deny it. + +"It was some instinct," he said at length. "Some passing +misgiving." + +"For Charles?" she asked sharply. + +And D'Arragon, looking out of the window, would not answer. She +gave a sudden laugh. + +"One cannot compliment you on your politeness," she said. "Was it +for Charles that you had misgivings?" + +At last D'Arragon turned on his heel. + +"Does it matter?" he asked. "Since I came too late." + +"That is true," she said, after a pause. "You came too late; so it +doesn't matter. And the thing is done now, and I . . . , well, I +suppose I must do what others have done before me--I must make the +best of it." + +"I will help you," said D'Arragon slowly, almost carefully, "if I +can." + +He was still avoiding her eyes, still looking out of the window. +Sebastian was coming up the steps. + + + +CHAPTER XIV. MOSCOW. + + + + Nothing is so disappointing as failure--except success. + +While the Dantzigers with grave faces discussed the news of Borodino +beneath the trees in the Frauengasse, Charles Darragon, white with +dust, rose in his stirrups to catch the first sight of the domes and +cupolas of Moscow. + +It was a sunny morning, and the gold on the churches gleamed and +glittered in the shimmering heat like fairyland. Charles had ridden +to the summit of a hill and sat for a moment, as others had done, in +silent contemplation. Moscow at last! All around him men were +shouting: "Moscow! Moscow!" Grave, white-haired generals waved +their shakos in the air. Those at the summit of the hill called the +others to come. Far down in the valley, where the dust raised by +thousands of feet hung in the air like a mist, a faint sound like +the roar of falling water could be heard. It was the word "Moscow!" +sweeping back to the rearmost ranks of these starving men who had +marched for two months beneath the glaring sun, parched with dust, +through a country that seemed to them a Sahara. Every house they +approached, they had found deserted. Every barn was empty. The +very crops ripening to harvest had been gathered in and burnt. Near +to the miserable farmhouses, a pile of ashes hardly cold marked +where the poor furniture had been tossed upon the fire kindled with +the year's harvest. + +Everywhere it was the same. There are, as God created it, few +countries of a sadder aspect than that which spreads between the +Moskwa and the Vistula. But it has been decreed by the dim laws of +Race that the ugly countries shall be blessed with the greater love +of their children, while men born in a beautiful land seem readiest +to emigrate from it and make the best settlers in a new home. There +is only one country in the world with a ring-fence round it. If a +Russian is driven from his home, he will go to another part of +Russia: there is always room. + +Before the advance of the spoilers, chartered by their leader to +unlimited and open rapine--indeed, he had led them hither with that +understanding--the Prussians, peasant and noble alike, fled to the +East. A hundred times the advance guard, fully alive to the +advantages of their position, had raced to the gates of a chateau +only to find, on breaking open the doors, that it was empty--the +furniture destroyed, the stores burnt, the wine poured out. + +So also in the peasants' huts. Some, more careful than the rest, +had pulled the thatch from the roof to burn it. There was no corn +in this the Egypt of their greedy hopes. And, lest they should +bring the corn with them, the spoilers found the mills everywhere +wrecked. + +It was something new to them. It was new to Napoleon, who had so +frequently been met halfway, who knew that men for greed will part +smilingly with half in order to save the residue. He knew that +many, rather than help a neighbour who is in danger by a robber, +will join the robber and share the spoil, crying out that force +majeure was used to them. + +But, as every man must judge according to his lights, so must even +the greatest find himself in the dark at last. No man of the Latin +race will ever understand the Slav. And because the beginning is +easy--because in certain superficial tricks of speech and thought +Paris and Petersburg are not unlike--so much the more is the breach +widened when necessity digs deeper than the surface. For, to make +the acquaintance of a stranger who seems to be a counterpart of +one's self in thought and taste, is like the first hearing of a +kindred language such as Dutch to the English ear. At first it +sounds like one's own tongue with a hundred identical words, but on +closer listening it will be found that the words mean something +else, and that the whole is incomprehensible and the more difficult +to acquire by the very reason of its resemblance. + +Napoleon thought that the Russians would act as his enemies of the +Latin race had acted. He thought that like his own people they +would be over-confident, urging each other on to great deeds by loud +words and a hundred boasts. But the Russians lack self-confidence, +are timid rather than over-bold, dreamy rather than fiery. Only +their women are glib of speech. He thought that they would begin +very brilliantly and end with a compromise, heart-breaking at first +and soon lived down. + +"They are savages out here in the plains," he said. "It is a +barbaric and stupid instinct that makes them destroy their own +property for the sake of hampering us. As we approach Moscow we +shall find that the more civilized inhabitants of the villages, +enervated by an easy life, rendered selfish by possession of wealth, +will not abandon their property, but will barter and sell to us and +find themselves the victims of our might." + +And the army believed him. For they always believed him. Faith +can, indeed, move mountains. It carried four hundred thousand men, +without provisions, through a barren land. + +And now, in sight of the golden city, the army was still hungry. +Nay! it was ragged already. In three columns it converged on the +doomed capital, driving before it like a swarm of flies the Cossacks +who harassed the advance. + +Here again, on the hill looking down into the smiling valley of the +Moskwa, the unexpected awaited the invaders. The city, shimmering +in the sunlight like the realization of some Arab's dream, was +silent. The Cossacks had disappeared. Except those around the +Kremlin, towering above the river, the city had no walls. + +The army halted while aides-de-camp flew hither and thither on their +weary horses. Charles Darragon, sunburnt, dusty, hoarse with +cheering, was among the first. He looked right and left for de +Casimir, but could not see him. He had not seen his chief since +Borodino, for he was temporarily attached to the staff of Prince +Eugene, who had lost heavily at the Kalugha river. + +It was usual for the army to halt before a beleaguered city and +await the advent in all humility of the vanquished. Commonly it was +the mayor of a town who came, followed by his councillors in their +robes, to explain that the army had abandoned the city, which now +begged to throw itself upon the mercy of the conqueror. + +For this the army waited on that sunny September morning. + +"He is putting on his robes," they said gaily. "He is new to this +work." + +But the mayor of Moscow disappointed them. At last the troops moved +on and camped for the night in a village under the Kremlin walls. +It was here that Charles received a note from de Casimir. + +"I am slightly wounded," wrote that officer, "but am following the +army. At Borodino my horse was killed under me, and I was thrown. +While I was insensible, I was robbed and lost what money I had, as +well as my despatch-case. In the latter was the letter you wrote to +your wife. It is lost, my friend; you must write another." + +Charles was tired. He would put off till to-morrow, he thought, and +write to Desiree from Moscow. As he lay, all dressed on the hard +ground, he fell to thinking of what he should write to Desiree to- +morrow from Moscow. The mere date and address of such a letter +would make her love him the more, he thought; for, like his leaders, +he was dazed by a surfeit of glory. + +As he fell asleep smiling at these happy reflections, Desiree, far +away in Dantzig, was locking in her bureau the letter which had been +lost and found again; while, on the deck of his ship, lifting gently +to the tideway where the Vistula sweeps out into the Dantziger +Bucht, Louis d'Arragon stood fingering reflectively in his jacket- +pocket the unread papers which had fallen from the same despatch- +case. For it is a very small world in which to do wrong, though if +a man do a little good in his lifetime it is--heaven knows--soon +mislaid and trodden under the feet of the new-comers. + +The next day it was definitely ascertained that the citizens of +Moscow had no communication to make to the conquering leaders. Soon +after daylight the army moved towards the city. The suburbs were +deserted. The houses stood with closed shutters and locked doors. +Not so much as a dog awaited the triumphant entry through the city +gates. + +Long streets without a living being from end to end met the eyes of +those daring organizers of triumphal entries who had been sent +forward to clear a path and range the respectful citizens on either +hand. But there were no citizens. There was not a single witness +to this triumph of the greatest army the world had seen, led across +Europe by the first captain in all history to conquer a virgin +capital. + +The various corps marched to their quarters in silence, with nervous +glances at the shuttered windows. Some, breaking rank, ventured +into the churches which stood open. The candles were lighted on the +altars, they reported to their comrades in a hushed voice when they +returned, but there was no one there. + +Certain palaces were selected as head-quarters for the general +officers and the chiefs of various departments. As often as not a +summons would be answered and the door opened by an obsequious +porter, who handed the keys to the first-comer. But he spoke no +French, and only cringed in silence when addressed. Other doors +were broken in. + +It was like a play acted in dumb show on an immense stage. It was +disquieting and incomprehensible even to the oldest campaigner, +while the young fire-eaters, fresh from St. Cyr, were strangely +depressed by it. There was a smell of sour smoke in the air, a +suggestion of inevitable tragedy. + +On the Krasnaya Ploschad--the great Red Square, which is the central +point of the old town--the soldiers were already buying and selling +the spoil wrested from the burning Exchange. It seemed that the +citizens before leaving had collected their merchandise in this +building to burn it. To the rank-and-file this meant nothing but an +incomprehensible stupidity. To the educated and the thoughtful it +was another evidence of that dumb and sullen capacity for infinite +self-sacrifice which makes Russians different from any other race, +and which has yet to be reckoned with in the history of the world. +For it will tend to the greatest good of the greatest number, and is +a power for national aggrandisement quite unattainable by any Latin +people. + +Charles, with the other officers of Prince Eugene's staff, was +quartered in a palace on the Petrovka--that wide street running from +the Kremlin northward to the boulevards and the parks. Going +towards it he passed through the bazaars and the merchants' +quarters, where, like an army of rag-pickers, the eager looters were +silently hurrying from heap to heap. Every warehouse had, it +seemed, been ransacked and its contents thrown out into the streets. +The first-comers had hurried on, seeking something more valuable, +more portable, leaving the later arrivals to turn over their garbage +like dogs upon a dust-heap. + +The Petrovka is a long street of great houses, and was now deserted. +The pillagers were nervous and ill at ease, as men must always be in +the presence of something they do not understand. The most +experienced of them--and there were some famous robbers in Murat's +vanguard--had never seen an empty city abandoned all standing, as +the Russians had abandoned Moscow. They felt apprehensive of the +unknown. Even the least imaginative of them looked askance at the +tall houses, at the open doors of the empty churches, and they kept +together for company's sake. + +Charles's rooms were in the Momonoff Palace, where even the youngest +lieutenant had vast apartments assigned to him. It was in one of +these--a lady's boudoir, where his dust-covered baggage had been +thrown down carelessly by his orderly on a blue satin sofa--that he +sat down to write to Desiree. + +His emotions had been stirred by all that he had passed through--by +the first sight of Moscow, by the passage beneath the Gate of the +Redeemer, where every man must uncover and only Napoleon dared to +wear a hat; by the bewildering sense of triumph and the knowledge +that he was taking part in one of the epochs of man's history on +this earth. The emotions lie very near together, so that laughter +being aroused must also touch on tears, and hatred being kindled +warms the heart to love. + +And, here in this unknown woman's room, with the very pen that she +had thrown aside, Charles, who wrote and spoke his love with such +facility, wrote to Desiree a love-letter such as he had never +written before. + +When it was sealed and addressed he called his orderly to take it to +the officer to whose duty it fell to make up the courier for +Germany. But he received no reply. The man had joined his comrades +in the busier quarters of the city. Charles went to the head of the +stairs and called again, with no better success. The house was +comparatively modern, built on the familiar lines of a Parisian +hotel, with a wide stair descending to an entrance archway where +carriages passed through into a courtyard. + +Descending the stairs, Charles found that even the sentry had +absented himself from his duty. His musket, leant against the post +of the stone doorway, indicated that he was not far. Listening in +the silence of that great house, Charles heard some one at work with +hammer and chisel in the courtyard. He went there, and found the +sentry kneeling at a low door, endeavouring to break it open. The +man had not been idle; from a piece of rope slung across his back +half a dozen clocks were suspended. They rattled together like the +wares of a travelling tinsmith at every movement of his arms. + +"What are you doing there, my friend?" asked Charles. + +The man held up one finger over his shoulder without looking round, +and shook it from side to side, as not desiring to be interrupted. + +"The cellar," he answered, "always the cellar. It is human nature. +We get it from the animals." + +He glanced round as he worked, and, perceiving that he had been +addressing an officer, he scrambled to his feet with a grumbled +curse. He was an old man, baked by the sun. The wrinkles in his +face were filled with dust. Since quitting the banks of the Vistula +no opportunity for ablution seemed to have presented itself to him. +He stood at attention, his lips working over sunken gums. + +"I want you to take this letter," said Charles, "to the officer on +service at head-quarters, and ask him to include it in his courier. +It is, as you see, a private letter--to my wife at Dantzig." + +The man looked at it, and grumbled something inaudible. He took it +in his hand and turned it over with the slow manner of the +illiterate. + + + +CHAPTER XV. THE GOAL. + + + + God writes straight on crooked lines. + +Charles, having given his letter to the sentry with the order to +take it to its immediate destination, turned towards the stairs +again. In those days an order was given in a different tone to that +which servitude demands in later times. + +He returned to his room on the first floor without even waiting to +make sure that he would be obeyed. He had scarcely seated himself +when, after a fumbling knock, the sentry opened the door and +followed him into the room, still holding the letter in his hand. + +"Mon capitaine," he said with a certain calmness of manner as from +an old soldier to a young one, "a word--that is all. This letter," +he turned it in his hand as he spoke, and looking at Charles beneath +scowling brows, awaited an explanation. "Did you pick it up?" + +"No--I wrote it." + +"Good. I . . . " he paused, and tapped himself on the chest so that +there could be no mistake; there was a rattling sound behind him +suggestive of ironware. Indeed, he was hung about with other things +than clocks, and seemed to be of opinion that if a soldier sets +value upon any object he must attach it to his person. "I, Barlasch +of the Guard--Marengo, the Danube, Egypt--picked up after Borodino a +letter like it. I cannot read very quickly--indeed-- Bah! the old +Guard needs no pens and paper--but that letter I picked up was just +like this" + +"Was it addressed like that to Madame Desiree Darragon?" + +"So a comrade told me. It is you, her husband?" + +"Yes," answered Charles, "since you ask; I am her husband." + +"Ah!" replied Barlasch darkly, and his limbs and features settled +themselves into a patient waiting. + +"Well," asked Charles, "what are you waiting for?" + +"Whatever you may think proper, mon capitaine, for I gave the letter +to the surgeon who promised that it should be forwarded to its +address." + +Charles laughingly sought his purse. But there was nothing in it, +so he looked round the room. + +"Here, add this to your collection," and he took a small French +clock from the writing-table, a pretty, gilded toy from Paris. + +"Thank you, mon capitaine." + +Barlasch, with shaking fingers, unknotted the rope around his +shoulders. As he was doing so one of the clocks on his back began +to strike. He paused, and stood looking gravely at his superior +officer. Another clock took up the tale and a third, while Barlasch +sternly stood at attention. + +"Four o'clock," he said to himself, "and I, who have not yet +breakfasted--" + +With a grunt and a salute he turned towards the door which stood +open. Some one was coming up the stairs rather slowly, his spurs +clinking, his scabbard clashing against the gilded banisters. Papa +Barlasch stood aside at attention, and Colonel de Casimir came into +the room with a gay word of greeting. Barlasch went out, but he did +not close the door. It is to be presumed that he stood without, +where he might have overheard all that they said to each other for +quite a long time, until it was almost the half-hour when the clocks +would strike again. But de Casimir, perceiving that the door was +open, closed it quietly from within, and Barlasch, shut out on the +wide landing, made a grimace at the massive woodwork before turning +to descend the stairs. + +It was the middle of September, and the days were shortening. The +dusk of evening had already closed over the city when de Casimir and +Charles at length came downstairs. No one had troubled to open the +shutters of such rooms as were not required; and these were many. +For Moscow was even at that day a great city, though less spacious +and more fantastic than it is to-day. There was plenty of room for +the whole army in the houses left empty by their owners, so that +many lodged as they had never lodged before and would never lodge +again. + +The stairs were almost dark when Charles and his companion descended +them. The rusted musket poised against the doorpost still indicated +the supposed presence of a sentry. + +"Listen," said Charles, "I found him burrowing like a rat at a +cellar-door in the courtyard. Perhaps he has got in." + +They listened, but could hear nothing. Charles led the way towards +the courtyard. A glimmer of light guided him to the door he sought. +It stood open. Barlasch had succeeded in effecting an entry to the +cellar, where his experience taught him to seek the best that an +abandoned house contains. + +Charles and de Casimir peered down the narrow stairs. By the light +of a candle Barlasch was working vigorously amid a confused pile of +cases, and furniture, and roughly tied bundles of clothing. He had +laid aside nothing, and his movements were attended by the usual +rattle of hollow-ware. They could see the perspiration gleaming on +his face. Even in this cellar there lingered the faint smell of +sour smoke that filled the air of Moscow. + +De Casimir caught the gleam of jewellery, and went hurriedly +downstairs. + +"What are you doing there, my friend?" he asked, and the words were +scarcely out of his mouth, when Barlasch extinguished his candle. +There followed a dead silence, such as comes when a rodent is +disturbed at his work. The two men on the cellar-stairs were +conscious of the gaze of the bright, rat-like eyes below. + +De Casimir turned and followed Charles upstairs again. + +"Come up," he said, "and go to your post." + +There was no movement in response. + +"Name of a dog," cried de Casimir, "is all discipline relaxed? Come +up, I tell you, and obey my orders." + +He emphasized his command with the cocking of a pistol, and a slight +disturbance in the darkness of the cellar heralded the unwilling +approach of Barlasch, who climbed the stairs step by step like a +schoolboy coming to punishment. + +"It is I who found the door, mon colonel, behind that pile of +firewood. It is I who opened it. What is down there is mine," he +said, sullenly. But the only reply that de Casimir made was to +seize him by the arm and jerk him away from the stairs. + +"To your post," he said, "take your arm, and out into the street, in +front of the house. That is your place." + +But while he was still speaking, they were all startled by a sudden +disturbance in the cellar, and in the gloom a man stumbled up the +stairs and ran past them. Barlasch had taken the precaution of +bolting the huge front door, which was large enough to give passage +to a carriage. The man, who exhaled an atmosphere of dust mingled +with the disquieting and all-pervading odour of smoke, rushed at the +huge door and tugged furiously at its handles. + +Charles, who was on his heels, grasped his arm, but the man swung +round and threw him off as if he were a child. He had a hatchet in +his hand with which he aimed a blow at Charles, but missed him. +Barlasch was already going towards his musket, which stood in the +corner against the door-post, but the Russian saw his movement, and +forestalled him. Seizing the gun, he presented the bayonet to them, +and stood with his back to the door, facing the three men in a +breathless silence. He was a large man, dishevelled, with long hair +tumbled about his head, and light-coloured eyes, glaring like the +eyes of a beast at bay. + +In the background de Casimir, quick and calm, had already covered +him with the pistol produced as a persuasive to Barlasch. For a +second there was silence, during which they all could hear the call +to arms in the street outside. The patrol was hurrying down the +Petrovka, calling the assembly. + +The report of the pistol rang through the house, shaking the doors +and windows. The man threw up his arms and stood for a moment +looking at de Casimir with an expression of blank amazement. Then +his legs seemed to slip away from beneath him, and he collapsed to +the floor. He turned over with movements singularly suggestive of a +child seeking a comfortable position in bed, and lay quite still, +his cheek on the pavement and his staring eyes turned towards the +cellar-door from which he had emerged. + +"He has his affair--that parishioner," muttered Barlasch, looking at +him with a smile that twisted his mouth to one side. And, as he +spoke, the man's throat rattled. De Casimir was reloading his +pistol. So persistent was the gaze of the dead man's eyes that de +Casimir turned on his heel to look in the same direction. + +"Quick!" he exclaimed, pointing to the doorway, from which a lazy +white smoke emerged in thin puffs. "Quick, he has set fire to the +house!" + +"Quick--with what, mon colonel?" asked Barlasch. + +"Why, go and fetch some men with a fire-engine." + +"There are no fire-engines left in Moscow, mon colonel!" + +"Then find buckets, and tell me where the well is." + +"There are no buckets left in Moscow, mon colonel. We found that +out last night, when we wanted to water the horses. The citizens +have removed them. And there is not a well of which the rope has +not been cut. They are droll companions, these Russians, I can tell +you." + +"Do as I tell you," repeated de Casimir, angrily, "or I shall put +you under arrest. Go and fetch men to help me to extinguish this +fire." + +By way of reply, Barlasch held up one finger in a childlike gesture +of attention to some distant sound. + +"No, thank you," he said, coolly, "not for me. Discipline, mon +colonel, discipline. Listen, you can hear the 'assembly' as well as +I. It is the Emperor that one obeys. One thinks of one's military +career." + +With knotted and shaking fingers he drew back the bolts and opened +the door. On the threshold he saluted. + +"It is the call to arms, mes officiers," he said. Then, shouldering +his musket, he turned away, and all his clocks struck six. The +bells of the city churches seemed to greet him as he stepped into +the street, for in Moscow each hour is proclaimed with deafening +iteration from a thousand towers. + +He looked down the Petrovka; from half the houses which bordered the +wide roadway--a street of palaces--the smoke was pouring forth in +puffs. He went uphill towards the Red Square and the Kremlin, where +the Emperor had his head-quarters. It was to this centre that the +patrols had converged. Looking back, Barlasch saw, not one house on +fire, but a hundred. The smoke arose from every quarter of the city +at once. He hurried on, but was stopped by a crowd of soldiers, all +laden with booty, gesticulating, shouting, abusing one another. It +was Babel over again. The riff-raff of sixteen nations had followed +Napoleon to Moscow--to rob. Half a dozen different tongues were +spoken in one army corps. There remained no national pride to act +as a deterrent. No man cared what he did. The blame would be laid +upon France. + +The crowd was collected in front of a high, many-windowed building +in flames. + +"What is it?" Barlasch asked first one and then another. But no one +spoke his tongue. At last he found a Frenchman. + +"It is the hospital." + +"And what is that smell? What is burning there?" + +"Twelve thousand wounded," answered the man, with a sickening laugh. +And even as he spoke one or two of the wounded dragged themselves, +half burnt, down the wide steps. No one dared to approach them, for +the walls of the building were already bulging outwards. One man +was half covered with a sheet which was black, and his bare limbs +were black with smoke. All the hair was burnt from his head and +face. He stood for a moment in the doorway--a sight never to be +forgotten--and then fell headlong down the steps, where he lay +motionless. Some one in the crowd laughed--a high cackle which was +heard above the roar of the fire and the deafening chorus of burning +timbers. + +Barlasch passed on, following some officers who were leading their +horses towards the Kremlin. The streets were full of soldiers +carrying burdens, and staggering beneath the weight of their spoil. +Many were wearing priceless fur cloaks, and others walked in women's +wraps of sable and ermine. Some wore jewellery, such as necklaces, +on their rough uniforms, and bracelets round their sunburnt wrists. +No one laughed at them, but only glanced enviously at the pillage. +All were in deadly earnest, and none graver than those who had found +drink and now regretted that they had given way to the temptation; +for their sober comrades had outwitted them in finding treasure. + +One man gravely wore a gilt coronet crammed over the crown of his +shako. He joined Barlasch, staggering along beside him. + +"I come from the Cathedral," he explained, confidentially. "St. +Michael they call it. They said there was great treasure there +hidden in the cellars, but I only found a company of old kings in +their coffins. We stirred them up. They were quiet enough when we +found them, under their counterpanes of red velvet. We stirred them +up with the bayonet, and the dust got into our throats and choked +us. Name of God, I am thirsty. You have nothing in your bottle, +comrade?" + +"No." + +Barlasch trudged on, all his possessions swinging and clanking +together. The confidential man turned towards him and lifted his +water-bottle, weighed it, and found it wanting. + +"Name of a name, of a name, of a name," he muttered, walking on. +"Yes, there was nothing there. Even the silver plates on the +coffins with the names of those gentlemen were no thicker than a +sword. But I found a crown in the church itself. I borrowed it +from St. Michael. He had a sword in his hand, but he did not +strike. No. And there was only tinsel on the hilt. No jewels." + +He walked on in silence for a few minutes, coughing out the smoke +and dust from his lungs. It was almost dark, but the whole city was +blazing now, and the sky glowed with a red light that mingled with +the remnants of a lurid sunset. A strong wind blew the smoke and +the flying sparks across the roofs. + +"Then I went into the sacristy," continued the man, stumbling over +the dead body of a young girl and turning to curse her. Barlasch +looked at him sideways and cursed him for doing it, with a sudden +fierce eloquence. For Papa Barlasch was a man of unclean lips. + +"There was an old man in there, a sacristan. I asked him where he +kept the dishes, and he said he could not speak French. I jerked my +bayonet into him--name of a name! he soon spoke French." + +Barlasch broke off these delicate confidences by a quick word of +command, and himself stood rigid in the roadway before the Imperial +Palace of the Kremlin, presenting arms. A man passed close by them +on his way towards a waiting carriage. He was stout and heavy- +shouldered, peculiarly square, with a thick neck and head set low in +the shoulders. On the step of the carriage he turned and surveyed +the lurid sky and the burning city to the east with an indifferent +air. Into his deep bloodshot eyes there flashed a sudden gleam of +life and power, as he glanced along the row of watching faces to +read what was written there. + +It was Napoleon, at the summit of his dream, hurriedly quitting the +Kremlin, the boasted goal of his ambition, after having passed but +one night under that proud roof. + + + +CHAPTER XVI. THE FIRST OF THE EBB. + + + + Tho' he trip and fall + He shall not blind his soul with clay. + +The days were short, and November was drawing to its end when +Barlasch returned to Dantzig. Already the frost, holding its own +against a sun that seemed to linger in the North that year, +exercised its sway almost to midday, and drew a mist from the level +plains. + +The autumn had been one of unprecedented splendour, making the +imaginative whisper that Napoleon, like a second Joshua, could exact +obedience even from the sun. A month earlier, soon after the +retreat was ordered, the nights had begun to be cold, but the days +remained brilliant. Now the rivers were shrouded in white mist, and +still water was frozen. + +Barlasch seemed to take it for understood that a billet holds good +throughout a whole campaign. But the door of No. 36 Frauengasse was +locked when he turned its iron handle. He knocked, and waited on +the step. + +It was Desiree who opened the door at length--Desiree, grown older, +with something new in her eyes. Barlasch, sure of his entree, had +already removed his boots, which he carried in his hand; this added +to a certain surreptitiousness in his attitude. A handkerchief was +bound over his left eye. He wore his shako still, but the rest of +his uniform verged on the fantastic. Under a light-blue Bavarian +cavalry cape he wore a peasant's homespun shirt, and he carried no +arms. + +He pushed past Desiree rather unceremoniously, glad to get within +doors. He was very lame, and of his blue knitted stockings only the +legs remained; he was barefoot. + +He limped towards the kitchen, glancing over his shoulder to make +sure that Desiree shut the door. The chair he had made his own +stood just within the open door of the kitchen. It was nine o'clock +in the morning, and Lisa had gone to market. Barlasch sat down. + +"Voila," he said, and that was all. But by a gesture he described +the end of the world. Then he scowled at her with his available eye +with suspicion, and she turned away suddenly, as one may who has not +a clear conscience. + +"What is the matter with your eye?" she asked, in order to break the +silence. He laid aside his hat, and his ragged hair, quite white, +fell to his shoulders. By way of answer, he unknotted the +bloodstained dusky handkerchief, and looked up at her. The hidden +eye was uninjured and as bright as the other. + +"Nothing," he answered, and he confirmed the statement by a low-born +wink. More than once he glanced, with a glaring light in his eye, +towards the cupboard where Lisa kept the bread, and quite suddenly +Desiree knew that he was starving. She ran to the cupboard, and +hurriedly set down on the table before him what was there. It was +not much--a piece of cold meat and a whole loaf. + +He had taken off his haversack, and was fumbling in it with unsteady +hands. At last he found that which he sought. It was wrapped in a +silk scarf that must have come from Cashmere to Moscow, and from +Moscow in his haversack with pieces of horseflesh and muddy roots to +Dantzig. With that awkwardness in giving and taking which belongs +to his class, he held out to Desiree a little square "ikon" no +bigger than a playing-card. It was of gold, set with diamonds, and +the faces of the Virgin and Child were painted with exquisite +delicacy. + +"It is a thing to say your prayers to," he said gruffly. + +By an effort he kept his eyes averted from the food on the table. + +"I met a baker on the bridge," he said, "and offered it to him for a +loaf, but he refused." + +And there was a whole history of human suffering and temptation--of +the human fall--in his curt laugh. While Desiree was looking at the +treasure in speechless admiration, he turned suddenly and took the +bread and meat in his grimy hands. His crooked fingers closed over +the loaf, making the crust crack, and for a second the expression of +his face was not human. Then he hurried to the room that had been +his, like a dog that seeks to hide its greed in its kennel. + +In a surprisingly short time he came back, the greyness all gone +from his face, though his eyes still glittered with the dry, hard +light of starvation. He went back to the chair near the door, and +sat down. + +"Seven hundred miles," he said, looking down at his feet with a +shake of the head, "seven hundred miles in six weeks." + +Then he glanced at her and out through the open door, to make sure +none could overhear. + +"Because I was afraid," he added in a whisper. "I am easily +frightened. I am not brave." + +Desiree shook her head and laughed. Women have from all time +accepted the theory that a uniform makes a man courageous. + +"They had to abandon the guns," he went on, "soon after quitting +Moscow. The horses were starving. There was a steep hill, and the +guns were left at the bottom. Then I began to be afraid. There +were some marching with candelabras on their backs and nothing in +their carnassieres. They carried a million francs on their +shoulders and death in their faces. I was afraid. I carried salt-- +salt--and nothing else. Then one day I saw the Emperor's face. +That was enough. The same night I crept away while the others slept +round the fire. They looked like a masquerade. Some of them wore +ermine. Oh! I was afraid, I tell you. I only had the salt and some +horse. There was plenty of that on the road. And that toy. I +found it in Moscow. I stood in a cellar, as big as this room, full +of such things. But one thinks of one's life. I only carried salt, +and that picture for you . . . to say your prayers to. The good +God will hear you, perhaps; He has no time to listen to us others." + +And he used the last words as a French peasant, which is a survival +of serfdom that has come down through the furnace of the Revolution. + +"But I cannot take it," said Desiree. "It is worth a million +francs." + +He looked at her fiercely. + +"You think that I look for something in return?" + +"Oh no!" she answered, "I have nothing to give you in return. I am +as poor as you." + +"Then we can be friends," he said. He was eyeing surreptitiously a +mug of beer which Desiree had set before him on the table. Some +instinct, or the teaching of the last two months, made it repugnant +to him to eat or drink beneath his neighbour's eye. He was a sorry- +looking figure, not far removed from the animals, and in his +downward journey he had picked up, perhaps, the instinct which none +can explain, telling an animal to take its food in secret. + +Desiree went to the window, turning her back to him, and looked out +into the yard. She heard him drink, and set the mug down again with +a gulp. + +"You were in Moscow?" she said at length, half turning towards him +so that he could see her profile and her short upper lip, which was +parted as if to ask a question which she did not put into words. He +looked her slowly up and down beneath his heavy eyebrows, his little +cunning eyes alight with suspicion. He watched her parted lips, +which were tilted at the corners, showing humour and a nature quick +to laugh or suffer. Then he jerked his head upwards as if he saw +the unasked question quivering there, and bore her some malice for +her silence. + +"Yes! I was in Moscow," he said, watching the colour fade from her +face. "And I saw him--your husband--there. I was on guard outside +his door the night we entered the city. It was I who carried to the +post the letter he wrote you. He was very anxious that it should +reach you. You received it--that love-letter?" + +"Yes," answered Desiree gravely, in no wise responding to a sudden +forced gaiety in Papa Barlasch, which was only an evidence of the +shyness with which rough men all the world over approach the subject +of love. The gaiety lapsed into a sudden silence. He waited for +her to ask a question, but in vain. + +"I never saw him again," went on Barlasch, "for the 'general' +sounded, and I went out into the streets to find the city on fire. +In a great army, as in a large country, one may easily lose one's +own brother. But he will return--have no fear. He has good +fortune--the fine gentleman." + +He stopped and scratched his head, looked at her sideways with a +grimace of bewilderment. + +"It is good news I bring you," he muttered. "He was alive and well +when we began the retreat. He was on the staff, and the staff had +horses and carriages. They had bread to eat, I am told." + +"And you--what had you?" asked Desiree, over her shoulder. + +"No matter," he answered gruffly, "since I am here." + +"And yet you believe in that man still," flashed out Desiree, +turning to face him. + +Barlasch held up a warning finger, as if bidding her to be silent on +a subject on which she was not capable of forming a judgment. He +wagged his head from side to side and heaved a sigh. + +"I tell you," he said, "I saw his face after Malo-Jaroslavetz; we +lost ten thousand that day. And I was afraid. For I saw in it that +he was going to leave us as he did in Egypt. I am not afraid when +he is there--not afraid of the Devil--or the bon Dieu, but when +Napoleon is not there--" He broke off with a gesture describing +abject terror. + +"They say in Dantzig," said Desiree, "that he will never get back +across the Beresina, for the Russians are bringing two armies to +stop him there. They say that the Prussians will turn against him." + +"Ah--they say that already?" + +"Yes." + +He looked at her with a sudden light of anger in his eyes. + +"Who has taught you to hate Napoleon?" he asked bluntly. + +And again Desiree turned away from his glance as if she could not +meet it. + +"No one," she answered. + +"It is not the patron," said Barlasch, muttering his thoughts as he +hobbled to the door of his little room, and began unloading his +belongings with a view to ablution; for he was a self-contained +traveller, carrying with him all he required. "It is not the +patron. Because such a hatred as his cannot be spoken of. It is +not your husband, because Napoleon is his god." + +He broke off with one of his violent jerks of the head, almost +threatening to dislocate his neck, and looked at her fixedly. + +"It is because you have grown into a woman since I went away." + +And out came his accusing finger, though Desiree had her back turned +towards him, and there was none other to see. + +"Ah!" he said, with deadly contempt, "I see, I see!" + +"Did you expect me to grow up into a man?" asked Desiree, over her +shoulder. + +Barlasch stood in the doorway, his lips and jaw moving as if he were +masticating winged words. At length, having failed to find a +tremendous answer, he softly closed the door. + +This was not the only wise old veteran of the Grand Army to see +which way the wind blew; for many another after the battle of Malo- +Jaroslavetz packed upon his back such spoil as he could carry, and +set off on foot for France. For the cold had come at length, and +not a horse in the French army was roughed for the snowy roads, nor, +indeed, had provision been made to rough them. This was a sign not +lost upon those who had horses to care for. The Emperor, who forgot +nothing, had forgotten this. He who foresaw everything, had omitted +to foresee the winter. He had ordered a retreat from Moscow, in the +middle of October, of an army in summer clothing, without provision +for the road. The only hope was to retreat through a new line of +country not despoiled by the enormous army in its advance of every +grain of corn, every blade of grass. But this hope was frustrated by +the Russians who, hemming them in, forced them to keep the road +along which they had made so triumphant a march on Moscow. + +Already, in the ranks, it was whispered that by the light of the +burning city some had perceived dark forms moving on the distant +plains--a Russian army passing westward in front of them to await +and cut them off at the passage of some river. The Russians had +fought well at Borodino: they fought desperately at Malo- +Jaroslavetz, which town was taken and retaken eleven times and left +in cinders. + +The Grand Army was no longer in a position to choose its way. It +was forced to cross again the battlefield of Borodino, where thirty +thousand dead lay yet unburied. But Napoleon was still with them, +his genius flashing out at times with something of the fire which +had taken men's breath away and burnt his name indelibly into the +pages of the world's history. Even when hard pressed, he never +missed a chance of attacking. The enemy never made a mistake that +he did not give them reason to rue it. + +To the waiting world came at length the news that the winter, so +long retarded, had closed down over Russia. In Dantzig, so near the +frontier, a hundred rumours chased each other through the streets; +and day by day Antoine Sebastian grew younger and gayer. It seemed +as if a weight long laid upon his heart had been lifted at last. He +made a journey to Konigsberg soon after Barlasch's return, and came +back with eager eyes. His correspondence was enormous. He had, it +seemed, a hundred friends who gave him news and asked something in +exchange--advice, encouragement, warning. And all the while men +whispered that Prussia would ally herself to Russia, Sweden, and +England. + +From Paris came news of a growing discontent. For France, among a +multitude of virtues, has one vice unpardonable to Northern men: +she turns from a fallen friend. + +Soon followed the news of Beresina--a poor little river of +Lithuania--where the history of the world hung for a day as on a +thread. But a flash of the dying genius surmounted superhuman +difficulties, and the catastrophe was turned into a disaster. The +divisions of Victor and Oudinot--the last to preserve any semblance +of military discipline--were almost annihilated. The French lost +twelve thousand killed or drowned in the river, sixteen thousand +prisoners, twelve of the remaining guns. But they were across the +Beresina. There was no longer a Grand Army, however. There was no +army at all--only a starving, struggling trail of men stumbling +through the snow, without organization or discipline or hope. + +It was a disaster on the same gigantic scale as the past victories-- +a disaster worthy of such a conqueror. Even his enemies forgot to +rejoice. They caught their breath and waited. + +And suddenly came the news that Napoleon was in Paris. + + + +CHAPTER XVII. A FORLORN HOPE. + + + + The fire i' the flint + Shows not, till it be struck. + +"It is time to do something," said Papa Barlasch on the December +morning when the news reached Dantzig that Napoleon was no longer +with the army--that he had made over the parody of command of the +phantom army to Murat, King of Naples--that he had passed like an +evil spirit unknown through Poland, Prussia, Germany, travelling +twelve hundred miles night and day at breakneck speed, alone, racing +to Paris to save his throne. + +"It is time to do something," said all Europe, when it was too late. +For Napoleon was himself again--alert, indomitable, raising a new +army, calling on France to rise to such heights of energy and +vitality as only France can compass; for the colder nations of the +North lack the imagination that enables men to pit themselves +against the gods at the bidding of some stupendous will, only second +to the will of God Himself. + +"Go to Dantzig, and hold it till I come," Napoleon had said to Rapp. +"Retreat to Poland, and hold on to anything you can till I come back +with a new army," he had commanded Murat and Prince Eugene. + +"It is time to do something," said all the conquered nations, +looking at each other for initiation. And lo! the Master of +Surprises struck them dumb by his sudden apparition in his own +capital, with all the strings of the European net gathered as if by +magic into his own hands again. + +While everybody told his neighbour that it was time to do something, +no one knew what to do. For it has pleased the Creator to put a +great many talkers into this world and only a few men of action to +make its history. + +Papa Barlasch knew what to do, however. + +"Where is that sailor?" he asked Desiree, when she had told him the +news which Mathilde brought in from the streets. "He who took the +patron's valise that night--the cousin of your husband." + +"There is a man at Zoppot who will tell you," she answered. + +"Then I go to Zoppot." + +Barlasch had lived unmolested in the Frauengasse since his return. +He was an old man, ill-clad, with a bloody handkerchief bound over +one eye. No one asked him any questions, except Sebastian, who +heard again and again the tale of Moscow--how the army which had +crossed into Russia four hundred thousand strong was reduced to a +hundred thousand when the retreat began; how handmills were issued +to the troops to grind corn which did not exist; how the horses died +in thousands and the men in hundreds from starvation; how God at +last had turned his face from Napoleon. + +"Something must be done. The patron will do nothing; he is in the +clouds, he is dreaming dreams of a new France, that bourgeois. I am +an old man. Yes, I will go to Zoppot." + +"You mean that we should have heard from Charles before now," said +Desiree. + +"Name of thunder! he may be in Paris!" exclaimed Barlasch, with the +sudden anger that anxiety commands. "He is on the staff, I tell +you." + +For suspense is one of the most contagious of human emotions, and +makes a quicker call upon our sympathy than any other. Do we not +feel such a desire that our neighbour may know the worst without +delay, that we race to impart it to him? + +Nor was Desiree alone in the trial which had drawn certain lines +about her gay lips; for Mathilde had told her father and sister that +should Colonel de Casimir return from the war he would ask her hand +in marriage. + +"And that other--the Colonel," added Barlasch, glancing at Mathilde, +"he is on the staff too. They are safe enough, I tell you that. +They are doubtless together. They were together at Moscow. I saw +them, and took an order from them. They were . . . at their work." + +Mathilde did not like Papa Barlasch. She would, it seemed, rather +have no news at all of de Casimir than learn it from the old +soldier, for she quitted the room without even troubling to throw +him a glance of disdain. + +Barlasch waited with working lips until the sound of her footsteps +ceased on the stairs. Then he pushed across the kitchen table a +piece of writing-paper, rather yellow and woolly. It had been to +Moscow and back. + +"Write a word to him," he said. "I will take it to Zoppot." + +"But you can send a message by the fisherman whose name I have given +you," answered Desiree. + +"And will he heed the message? Will he come ashore at a word from +me--only Barlasch? Remember it is his life that he carries in his +hand. An English sailor with a French name! Thunder of thunder! +They would shoot him like a rat!" + +Desiree shook her head; but Barlasch was not to be denied. He +brought pen and ink from the dresser, and pushed them across the +table. + +"I would not ask it," he said, "if it was not necessary. Do you +think he will mind the danger? He will like it. He will say to me, +'Barlasch, I thank you.' Ah? I know him. Write. He will come." + +"Why?" asked Desiree. + +"Why? How should I know that? He came before when you asked him." + +Desiree leant over the table and wrote six words: + +"Come, if you can come safely." + +Barlasch took up the paper, and, pushing up the bandage which had +served to bring him unharmed through Russia, he frowned at it +without understanding. + +"It is not all writings that I can read," he admitted. "Have you +signed it?" + +"No." + +"Then sign something that he will know, and no other--they might +shoot me. Your baptismal name." + +And she wrote "Desiree" after the six words. + +Barlasch folded the paper carefully and placed it in the lining of +an old felt hat of Sebastian's which he now wore. He bound a scarf +over his ears, after the manner of those who live on the Baltic +shores in winter. + +"You can leave the rest to me," he said; and, with a nod and a +grimace expressive of cunning, he left her. + +He did not return that night. The days were short now, for the +winter was well set in. It was nearly dark the next afternoon and +very cold when he came back. He sent Lisa upstairs for Desiree. + +"First," he said, "there is a question for the patron. Will he quit +Dantzig?--that is the question." + +"No," answered Desiree. + +"Rapp is coming," said Barlasch, emphasizing each point with one +finger against the side of his nose. "He will hold Dantzig. There +will be a siege. Let the patron make no mistake. It will not be +like the last one. Rapp was outside then; he will be inside this +time. He will hold Dantzig till the bottom falls out of the world." + +"My father will not leave," said Desiree. "He has said so. He +knows that Rapp is coming, with the Russians behind him." + +"But," interrupted Barlasch, "he thinks that Prussia will turn and +declare war against Napoleon. That may be. Who knows? The +question is, Can the patron be induced to quit Dantzig?" + +Desiree shook her head. + +"It is not I," said Barlasch, "who ask the question. You +understand?" + +"Yes, I understand. My father will not quit Dantzig." + +Whereupon Barlasch made a gesture conveying a desire to think as +kindly of Antoine Sebastian as he could. + +"In half an hour," he said, "when it is dark, will you come for a +walk with me along the Langfuhr road--where the unfinished ramparts +are?" + +Desiree looked at him and hesitated. + +"Oh--good--if you are afraid--" said Barlasch. + +"I am not afraid--I will come," she answered quickly. + +The snow was hard when they set out, and squeaked under their feet, +as it does with a low thermometer. + +"We shall leave no tracks," said Barlasch, as he led the way off the +Langfuhr road towards the river. There was broken ground here, +where earthworks had been begun and never completed. The trees had +been partly cut, and beneath the snow were square mounds showing +where the timber had been piled up. But since the departure of +Rapp, all had been left incomplete. + +Barlasch turned towards Desiree and pointed out a rising knoll of +land with fir-trees on it--an outline against the sky where a faint +aurora borealis lit the north. She understood that Louis was +waiting there, and must necessarily see them approaching across the +untrodden snow. For an instant she lingered, and Barlasch turning, +glanced at her sharply over his shoulder. She had come against her +will, and her companion knew it. Her feet were heavy with +misgiving, like the feet of one who treads an uncertain road into a +strange country. She had been afraid of Louis d'Arragon when she +first caught sight of him in the Frauengasse. The fear of him was +with her now, and would not depart until he himself swept it away by +the first word he spoke. + +He came out from beneath the trees, made a few steps forward, and +then stopped. Again Desiree lingered, and Barlasch, who was +naturally impatient, turned and took her by the arm. + +"Is it the snow--that you find slippery?" he asked, not requiring an +answer. A moment later Louis came forward. + +"There is nothing but bad news," he said laconically. "Barlasch +will have told you; but there is no need to give up hope. The army +has reached the Niemen; the rearguard has quitted Vilna. There is +nothing for it but to go and look for him." + +"Who will go?" she asked quietly. + +"I." + +He was looking at her with grave eyes trained to darkness. But she +looked past him towards the sky, which was faintly lighted by the +aurora. Her averted eyes and rigid attitude were not without some +suggestion of guilt. + +"My ship is ice-bound at Reval," said D'Arragon, in a matter-of-fact +way. "They have no use for me until the winter is over, and they +have given me three months' leave." + +"To go to England?" she asked. + +"To go anywhere I like," he said, with a short laugh. "So I am +going to look for Charles, and Barlasch will come with me." + +"At a price," put in that soldier, in a shrewd undertone. "At a +price." + +"A small one," corrected Louis, turning to look at him with the +close attention of one exploring a new country. + +"Bah! You give what you can. One does not go back across the +Niemen for pleasure. We bargained, and we came to terms. I got as +much as I could." + +Louis laughed, as if this were the blunt truth. + +"If I had more, I would give you more. It is the money I placed in +a Dantzig bank for my cousin. I must take it out again, that is +all." + +The last words were addressed to Desiree, as if he had acted in +assurance of her approval. + +"But I have more," she said; "a little--not very much. We must not +think of money. We must do everything to find him--to give him +help, if he needs it." + +"Yes," answered Louis, as if she had asked him a question. "We must +do everything; but I have no more money." + +"And I have none with me. I have nothing that I can sell." + +She withdrew her fur mitten and held out her hand, as if to show +that she had no rings, except the plain gold one on her third +finger. + +"You have the ikon I brought you from Moscow," said Barlasch +gruffly. "Sell that." + +"No," answered Desiree; "I will not sell that." + +Barlasch laughed cynically. + +"There you have a woman," he said, turning to Louis. "First she +will not have a thing, then she will not part with it." + +"Well," said Desiree, with some spirit, "a woman may know her own +mind." + +"Some do," admitted Barlasch carelessly; "the happy ones. And since +you will not sell your ikon, I must go for what Monsieur le +capitaine offers me. + +"Five hundred francs," said Louis. "A thousand francs, if we +succeed in bringing my cousin safely back to Dantzig." + +"It is agreed," said Barlasch, and Desiree looked from one to the +other with an odd smile of amusement. For women do not understand +that spirit of adventure which makes the mercenary soldier, and +urges the sailor to join an exploring expedition without hope of any +reward beyond his daily pay, for which he is content to work and die +loyally. + +"And I," she asked, "what am I to do?" + +"We must know where to find you," replied D'Arragon. + +There was so much in the simple answer that Desiree fell into a +train of thought. It did not seem much for her to do, and yet it +was all. For it summed up in six words a woman's life: to wait +till she is found. + +"I shall wait in Dantzig," she said at length. + +Barlasch held up his finger close to her face so that she could not +fail to see it, and shook it slowly from side to side commanding her +careful and entire attention. + +"And buy salt," he said. "Fill a cupboard full of salt. It is +cheap enough in Dantzig now. The patron will not think of it. He +is a dreamer. But a dreamer awakes at length, and is hungry. It is +I who tell you--Barlasch." + +He emphasized himself with a touch of his curved fingers on either +shoulder. + +"Buy salt," he said, and walked away to a rising knoll to make sure +that no one was approaching. The moon was just below the horizon, +and a yellow glow was already in the sky. + +Desiree and Louis were left alone. He was looking at her, but she +was watching Barlasch with a still persistency. + +"He said that it is the happy women who know their own minds," she +said slowly. + +"I suppose he meant--Duty," she added at length, when Louis made no +sign of answering. + +"Yes," he said. + +Barlasch was beckoning to her. She moved away, but stopped a few +yards off, and looked at Louis again. + +"Do you think it is any good trying?" she asked, with a short laugh. + +"It is no good trying unless you mean to succeed," he answered +lightly. She laughed a second time and lingered, though Barlasch +was calling her to come. + +"Oh," she said, "I am not afraid of you when you say things like +that. It is what you leave unsaid. I am afraid of you, I think, +because you expect so much." + +She tried to see his face. + +"I am only an ordinary human being, you know," she said warningly. + +Then she followed Barlasch. + + + +CHAPTER XVIII. MISSING. + + + + I should fear those that dance before me now + Would one day stamp upon me; it has been done: + Men shut their doors against a setting sun. + +During the first weeks of December the biting wind abated for a +time, and immediately the snow came. It fell for days, until at +length the grey sky seemed exhausted; for the flakes sailed +downwards in twos and threes like the stragglers of an army bringing +up the rear. Then the sun broke through again, and all the world +was a dazzling white. + +There had been a cessation in that stream of pitiable men who +staggered across the bridge from the Konigsberg road. Some instinct +had turned it southwards. Now it began again, and the rumour spread +throughout the city that Rapp was coming. At length, in the middle +of December, an officer brought word that Rapp with his staff would +arrive next day. + +Desiree heard the news without comment. + +"You do not believe it?" asked Mathilde, who had come in with +shining eyes and a pale face. + +"Oh yes, I believe it." + +"Then you forget," persisted Mathilde, "that Charles is on the +staff. They may arrive to-night." + +While they were speaking Sebastian came in. He looked quickly from +one to the other. + +"You have heard the news?" he asked. + +"That the General is coming back?" said Mathilde. + +"No; not that. Though it is true. Macdonald is in full retreat on +Dantzig. The Prussians have abandoned him--at last." + +He gave a queer laugh and stood looking towards the window with +restless eyes that flitted from one object to another, as if he were +endeavouring to follow in mind the quick course of events. Then he +remembered Desiree and turned towards her. + +"Rapp returns to-morrow," he said. "We may presume that Charles is +with him." + +"Yes," said Desiree, in a lifeless voice. + +Sebastian wrinkled his eyes and gave an apologetic laugh. + +"We cannot offer him a fitting welcome," he said, with a gesture of +frustrated hospitality. "We must do what we can. You and he may, +of course, consider this your home as long as it pleases you to +remain with us. Mathilde, you will see that we have such delicacies +in the house as Dantzig can now afford--and you, Desiree, will of +course make such preparations as are necessary. It is well to +remember, he may return . . . to-night." + +Desiree went towards the door while Mathilde laid aside the delicate +needlework which seemed to absorb her mind and employ her fingers +from morning till night. She made a movement as if to accompany her +sister, but Desiree shook her head sharply and Mathilde remained +where she was, leaving Desiree to go upstairs alone. + +The day was already drawing to its long twilight, and at four +o'clock the night came. Sebastian went out as usual, though he had +caught cold. But Mathilde stayed at home. Desiree sent Lisa to the +shops in the Langenmarkt, which is the centre of business and gossip +in Dantzig. Lisa always brought home the latest news. Mathilde +came to the kitchen to seek something when the messenger returned. +She heard Lisa tell Desiree that a few more stragglers had come in, +but they brought no news of the General. The house seemed lonely +now that Barlasch was gone. + +Throughout the night the sound of sleigh-bells could be faintly +heard through the double windows, though no sleigh passed through +the Frauengasse. A hundred times the bells seemed to come closer, +and always Desiree was ready behind the curtains to see the light +flash past into the Pfaffengasse. With a shiver of suspense she +crept back to bed to await the next alarm. In the early morning, +long before it was light, the dull thud of steps on the trodden snow +called her to the window again. She caught her breath as she drew +back the curtain; for through the long watches of the night she had +imagined every possible form of return. + +This must be Barlasch. Louis and Barlasch must, of course, have met +Rapp on his homeward journey. On finding Charles, they had sent +Barlasch back in advance to announce the safety of Desiree's +husband. Louis would, of course, not come to Dantzig. He would go +north to Russia, to Reval, and perhaps home to England--never to +return. + +But it was not Barlasch. It was a woman who staggered past under a +burden of firewood which she had collected in the woods of +Schottland, and did not dare to carry through the streets by day. + +At last the clocks struck six, and, soon after, Lisa's heavy +footstep made the stairs creak and crack. + +Desiree went downstairs before daylight. She could hear Mathilde +astir in her room, and the light of candles was visible under her +door. Desiree busied herself with household affairs. + +"I have not slept," said Lisa bluntly, "for thinking that your +husband might return, and fearing that we should make him wait in +the street. But without doubt you would have heard him." + +"Yes, I should have heard him." + +"If it had been my husband, I should have been at the window all +night," said Lisa, with a gay laugh--and Desiree laughed too. + +Mathilde seemed a long time in coming, and when at length she +appeared Desiree could scarcely repress a movement of surprise. +Mathilde was dressed, all in her best, as for a fete. + +At breakfast Lisa brought the news told to her at the door that the +Governor would re-enter the city in state with his staff at midday. +The citizens were invited to decorate their streets, and to gather +there to welcome the returning garrison. + +"And the citizens will accept the invitation," commented Sebastian, +with a curt laugh. "All the world has sneered at Russia since the +Empire existed--and yet it has to learn from Moscow what part a +citizen may play in war. These good Dantzigers will accept the +invitation." + +And he was right. For one reason or another the city did honour to +Rapp. Even the Poles must have known by now that France had made +tools of them. But as yet they could not realize that Napoleon had +fallen. There were doubtless many spies in the streets that cold +December day--one who listened for Napoleon; and another, peeping to +this side and that, for the King of Prussia. Sweden also would need +to know what Dantzig thought, and Russia must not be ignorant of the +gossip in a great Baltic port. + +Enveloped in their stiff sheepskins, concealed by the high collars +which reached to the brim of their hats--showing nothing but eyes +where the rime made old faces and young all alike, it was difficult +for any to judge of his neighbour--whether he were Pole or Prussian, +Dantziger or Swede. The women in thick shawls, with hoods or +scarves concealing their faces, stood silently beside their +husbands. It was only the children who asked a thousand questions, +and got never an answer from the cautious descendants of a Hanseatic +people. + +"Is it the French or the Russians that are coming?" asked a child +near to Desiree. + +"Both," was the answer. + +"But which will come first?" + +"Wait and see--silentium," replied the careful Dantziger, looking +over his shoulder. + +Desiree had changed her clothes, and wore beneath her furs the dress +that had been prepared for the journey to Zoppot so long ago. +Mathilde had noticed the dress, which had not been seen for six +months. Lisa, more loquacious, nodded to it as to a friend when +helping Desiree with her furs. + +"You have changed," she said, "since you last wore it." + +"I have grown older--and fatter," answered Desiree cheerfully. + +And Lisa, who had no imagination, seemed satisfied with the +explanation. But the change was in Desiree's eyes. + +With Sebastian's permission--almost at his suggestion--they had +selected the Grune Brucke as the point from which to see the sight. +This bridge spans the Mottlau at the entrance to the Langenmarkt, +and the roadway widens before it narrows again to pass beneath the +Grunes Thor. There is rising ground where the road spreads like a +fan, and here they could see and be seen. + +"Let us hope," said Sebastian, "that two of these gentlemen may +perceive you as they pass." + +But he did not offer to accompany them. + +By half-past eleven the streets were full. The citizens knew their +governor, it seemed. He would not keep them waiting. Although Rapp +lacked that power of appealing to the imagination which has survived +Napoleon's death with such astounding vitality that it moves men's +minds to-day as surely as it did a hundred years ago, he was shrewd +enough to make use of his master's methods when such would seem to +serve his purpose. He was not going to creep into Dantzig like a +whipped dog into his kennel. + +He had procured a horse at Elbing. Between that town and the +Mottlau he had halted to form his army into something like order, to +get together a staff with which to surround himself. + +But the Dantzigers did not cheer. They stood and watched him in a +sullen silence as he rode across the bridge now known as the "Milk- +Can." His bridle was twisted round his arm, for all his fingers +were frostbitten. His nose and his ears were in the same plight, +and had been treated by a Polish barber who, indeed, effected a +cure. One eye was almost closed. His face was astonishingly red. +But he carried himself like a soldier, and faced the world with the +audacity that Napoleon taught to all his disciples. + +Behind him rode a few staff officers, but the majority were on foot. +Some effort had been made to revive the faded uniforms. One or two +heroic souls had cast aside the fur cloaks to which they owed their +life, but the majority were broken men without spirit, without +pride--appealing only to pity. They hugged themselves closely in +their ragged cloaks and stumbled as they walked. It was impossible +to distinguish between the officers and the men. The biggest and +the strongest were the best clad--the bullies were the best fed. +All were black and smoke-grimed--with eyes reddened and inflamed by +the dazzling snow through which they stumbled by day, as much as by +the smoke into which they crouched at night. Every garment was +riddled by the holes burnt by flying sparks--every face was smeared +with blood that ran from the horseflesh they had torn asunder with +their teeth while it yet smoked. + +Some laughed and waved their hands to the crowd. Others, who had +known the tragedy of Vilna and Kowno, stumbled on in stubborn +silence still doubting that Dantzig stood--that they were at last in +sight of food and warmth and rest. + +"Is that all?" men asked each other in astonishment. For the last +stragglers had crossed the new Mottlau before the head of the +procession had reached the Grune Brucke. + +"If I had such an army as that," said a stout Dantziger, "I should +bring it into the city quietly, after dusk." + +But the majority were silent, remembering the departure of these +men--the triumph, the glory, and the hope. For a great catastrophe +is a curtain that for a moment shuts out all history and makes the +human family little children again who can but cower and hold each +other's hands in the dark. + +"Where are the guns?" asked one. + +"And the baggage?" suggested another. + +"And the treasure of Moscow?" whispered a Jew with cunning eyes, who +had hidden behind his neighbour when Rapp glanced in his direction. + +Emerging on the bridge, the General glanced at the old Mottlau. A +crowd was collected on it. The citizens no longer used the bridges +but crossed without fear where they pleased, and heavy sleighs +passed up and down as on a high-road. Rapp saw it, made a grimace, +and, turning in his saddle, spoke to his neighbour, an engineer +officer, who was to make an immortal name and die in Dantzig. + +The Mottlau was one of the chief defences of the city, but instead +of a river the Governor found a high-road! + +Rapp alone seemed to look about him with the air of one who knew his +whereabouts. In the straggling trail of men behind him, not one in +a hundred looked for a friendly face. Some stared in front of them +with lifeless eyes, while others, with a little spirit plucked up at +the end of a weary march, glanced up at the gabled houses with the +interest called forth by the first sight of a new city. + +It was not until long afterwards that the world, piecing together +information purposely delayed and details carefully falsified, knew +that of the four hundred thousand men who marched triumphantly to +the Niemen, only twenty thousand recrossed that river six months +later, and of these two-thirds had never seen Moscow. + +Rapp, whose bloodshot eyes searched the crowd of faces turned +towards him, recognized a number of people. To Mathilde he bowed +gravely, and with a kindlier glance turned in his saddle to bow +again to Desiree. They hardly heeded him, but with colourless faces +turned towards the staff riding behind him. + +Most of the faces were strange: others were so altered that the +features had to be sought for as in the face of a mummy. Neither +Charles nor de Casimir was among the horsemen. One or two of them +bowed, as their leader had done, to the two girls. + +"That is Captain de Villars," said Mathilde, "and the other I do not +know. Nor that tall man who is bowing now. Who are they?" + +Desiree did not answer. None of these men was Charles. +Unconsciously holding her two mittened hands at her throat, she +searched each face. + +They were well placed to see even those who followed on foot. Many +of them were not French. It would have been easy to distinguish +Charles or de Casimir among the dark-visaged southerners. Desiree +was not conscious of the crowd around her. She heard none of the +muttered remarks. All her soul was in her eyes. + +"Is that all?" she said at length--as the others had said at the +entrance to the town. + +She found she was standing hand-in-hand with Mathilde, whose face +was like marble. + +At last, when even the crowd had passed away beneath the Grunes +Thor, they turned and walked home in silence. + + + +CHAPTER XIX. KOWNO. + + + + Distinct with footprints yet + Of many a mighty marcher gone that way. + +There are many who overlook the fact that in Northern lands, more +especially in such plains as Lithuania, Courland, and Poland, travel +in winter is easier than at any other time of year. The rivers, +which run sluggishly in their ditch-like beds, are frozen so +completely that the bridges are no longer required. The roads, in +summer almost impassable--mere ruts across the plain--are for the +time ignored, and the traveller strikes a bee-line from place to +place across a level of frozen snow. + +Louis d'Arragon had worked out a route across the plain, as he had +been taught to shape a course across a chart. + +"How did you return from Kowno?" he asked Barlasch. + +"Name of my own nose," replied that traveller. "I followed the line +of dead horses." + +"Then I will take you by another route," replied the sailor. + +And three days later--before General Rapp had made his entry into +Dantzig--Barlasch sold two skeletons of horses and a sleigh at an +enormous profit to a staff officer of Murat's at Gumbinnen. + +They had passed through Rapp's army. They had halted at Konigsberg +to make inquiry, and now, almost in sight of the Niemen, where the +land begins to heave in great waves, like those that roll round Cape +Horn, they were asking still if any man had seen Charles Darragon. + +"Where are you going, comrades?" a hundred men had paused to ask +them. + +"To seek a brother," answered Barlasch, who, like many unprincipled +persons, had soon found that a lie is much simpler than an +explanation. + +But the majority glanced at them stupidly without comment, or with +only a shrug of their bowed shoulders. They were going the wrong +way. They must be mad. Between Dantzig and Konigsberg they had +indeed found a few travellers going eastward--despatch-bearers +seeking Murat--spies going northwards to Tilsit, and General Yorck +still in treaty with his own conscience--a prominent member of the +Tugendbund, wondering, like many others, if there were any virtue +left in the world. Others, again, told them that they were officers +ordered to take up some new command in the retreating army. + +Beyond Konigsberg, however, D'Arragon and Barlasch found themselves +alone on their eastward route. Every man's face was set towards the +west. This was not an army at all, but an endless procession of +tramps. Without food or shelter, with no baggage but what they +could carry on their backs, they journeyed as each of us must +journey out of this world into that which lies beyond--alone, with +no comrade to help them over the rough places or lift them when they +fell. For there was only one man of all this rabble who rose to the +height of self-sacrifice, and a persistent devotion to duty. And he +was coming last of all. + +Many had started off in couples--with a faithful friend--only to +quarrel at last. For it is a peculiarity of the French that they +can only have one friend at a time. Long ago--back beyond the +Niemen--all friendships had been dissolved, and discipline had +vanished before that. For when Discipline and a Republic are wedded +we shall have the millennium. Liberty, they cry: meaning, I may do +as I like. Equality: I am better than you. Fraternity: what is +yours is mine, if I want it. + +So they quarrelled over everything, and fought for a place round the +fire that another had lighted. They burnt the houses in which they +had passed a night, though they knew that thousands trudging behind +them must die for lack of this poor shelter. + +At the Beresina they had fought on the bridge like wild animals, and +those who had horses trod their comrades underfoot, or pushed them +over the parapet. Twelve thousand perished on the banks or in the +river; and sixteen thousand were left behind to the mercy of the +Cossacks. + +At Vilna the people were terrified at the sight of this inhuman +rabble, which had commanded their admiration on the outward march. +And the commander, with his staff, crept out of the city at night, +abandoning sick, wounded, and fighting men. + +At Kowno they crowded numbly across the bridge, fighting for +precedence, when they might have walked at leisure across the ice. +They were no longer men at all, but dumb and driven animals, who +fell by the roadside, and were stripped by their comrades before the +warmth of life had left their limbs. + +"Excuse me, comrade? I thought you were dead," said one, on being +remonstrated with by a dying man. And he went on his way +reluctantly, for he knew that in a few minutes another would snatch +the booty. But for the most part they were not so scrupulous. + +At first D'Arragon, to whom these horrors were new, attempted to +help such as appealed to him, but Barlasch laughed at him. + +"Yes," he said. "Take the medallion, and promise to send it to his +mother. Holy Heaven--they all have medallions, and they all have +mothers. Every Frenchman remembers his mother--when it is too late. +I will get a cart. By to-morrow we shall fill it with keepsakes. +And here is another. He is hungry. So am I, comrade. I come from +Moscow--bah!" + +And so they fought their way through the stream. They could have +journeyed by a quicker route--D'Arragon could have steered a course +across the frozen plain as over a sea--but Charles must necessarily +be in this stream. He might be by the wayside. Any one of these +pitiable objects, half blind, frost-bitten, with one limb or another +swinging useless, like a snapped branch, wrapped to the eyes in +filthy furs--inhuman, horrible--any one of these might be Desiree's +husband. + +They never missed a chance of hearing news. Barlasch interrupted +the last message of a dying man to inquire whether he had ever heard +of Prince Eugene. It was startling to learn how little they knew. +The majority of them were quite ignorant of French, and had scarcely +heard the name of the commander of their division. Many spoke in a +language which even Barlasch could not identify. + +"His talk is like a coffee-mill," he explained to D'Arragon, "and I +do not know to what regiment he belonged. He asked me if I was +Russki--I! Then he wanted to hold my hand. And he went to sleep. +He will wake among the angels--that parishioner." + +Not only had no one heard of Charles Darragon, but few knew the name +of the commander to whose staff he had been attached in Moscow. +There was nothing for it but to go on towards Kowno, where it was +understood temporary head-quarters had been established. + +Rapp himself had told D'Arragon that officers had been despatched to +Kowno to form a base--a sort of rock in the midst of a torrent to +divert the currents. There had then been a talk of Tilsit, and +diverting the stream, or part of it towards Macdonald in the north. +But D'Arragon knew that Macdonald was likely to be in no better +plight than Murat; for it was an open secret in Dantzig that Yorck, +with four-fifths of Macdonald's army, was about to abandon him. + +The road to Kowno was not to be mistaken. On either side of it, +like fallen landmarks, the dead lay huddled on the snow. Sometimes +D'Arragon and Barlasch found the remains of a fire, where, amid the +ashes, the chains and rings showed that a gun-carriage had been +burnt. The trees were cut and scored where, as a forlorn hope, some +poor imbecile had stripped the bark with the thought that it might +burn. Nearly every fire had its grim guardian; for the wounds of +the injured nearly always mortified when the flesh was melted by the +warmth. Once or twice, with their ragged feet in the ashes, a whole +company had never awakened from their sleep. + +Barlasch pessimistically went the round of these bivouacs, but +rarely found anything worth carrying away. If he recognized a +veteran by the grizzled hair straggling out of the rags in which all +faces were enveloped, or perceived some remnant of a Garde uniform, +he searched more carefully. + +"There may be salt," he said. And sometimes he found a little. +They had been on foot since Gumbinnen, because no horse would be +allowed by starving men to live a day. They existed from day to day +on what they found, which was, at the best, frozen horse. But +Barlasch ate singularly little. + +"One thinks of one's digestion," he said vaguely, and persuaded +D'Arragon to eat his portion because it would be a sin to throw it +away. + +At length D'Arragon, who was quick enough in understanding rough +men, said-- + +"No, I don't want any more. I will throw it away." + +And an hour later, while pretending to be asleep, he saw Barlasch +get up, and crawl cautiously into the trees where the unsavoury food +had been thrown. + +"Provided," muttered Barlasch one day, "that you keep your health. +I am an old man. I could not do this alone." + +Which was true, for D'Arragon was carrying all the baggage now. + +"We must both keep our health," answered Louis. "I have eaten worse +things than horse." + +"I saw one yesterday," said Barlasch, with a gesture of disgust; "he +had three stripes on his arm, too; he was crouching in a ditch +eating something much worse than horse, mon capitaine. Bah! It +made me sick. For three sous I would have put my heel on his face. +And later on at the roadside I saw where he or another had played +the butcher. But you saw none of these things, mon capitaine?" + +"It was by that winding stream where a farm had been burnt," said +Louis. + +Barlasch glanced at him sideways. + +"If we should come to that, mon capitaine . . . . " + +"We won't." + +They trudged on in silence for some time. They were off the road +now, and D'Arragon was steering by dead-reckoning. Even amid the +pine-woods, which seemed interminable, they frequently found remains +of an encampment. As often as not they found the campers huddled +over their last bivouac. + +"But these," said Barlasch, pointing to what looked like a few +bundles of old clothes, continuing the conversation where he had +left it after a long silence, as men learn to do who are together +day and night in some hard enterprise, "even these have a woman +dinning the ears of the good God for them, just as we have." + +For Barlasch's conception of a Deity could not get further than the +picture of a great Commander who in times of stress had no leisure +to see that non-commissioned officers did their best for the rank +and file. Indeed, the poor in all lands rather naturally conclude +that God will think of carriage-people first. + +They came within sight of Kowno one evening, after a tiring day over +snow that glittered in a cloudless sun. Barlasch sat down wearily +against a pine tree, when they first caught sight of a distant +church-tower. The country is much broken up into little valleys +here, through which streams find their way to the Niemen. Each +river necessitated a rapid descent and an arduous climb over +slippery snow. + +"Voila," said Barlasch. "That is Kowno. I am done. Go on, mon +capitaine. I will lie here, and if I am not dead to-morrow morning, +I will join you." + +Louis looked at him with a slow smile. + +"I am tired as you," he said. "We will rest here until the moon +rises." + +Already the bare larches threw shadows three times their own length +on the snow. Near at hand it glittered like a carpet of diamonds, +while the distance was of a pale blue, merging to grey on the +horizon. A far-off belt of pines against a sky absolutely cloudless +suggested infinite space--immeasurable distance. Nothing was sharp +and clearly outlined, but hazy, silvery, as seen through a thin +veil. The sea would seem to be our earthly picture of infinite +space, but no sea speaks of distance so clearly as the plain of +Lithuania--absolutely flat, quite lonely. The far-off belt of pines +only leads the eye to a shadow beyond, which is another pine-wood; +and the traveller walking all day towards it knows that when at +length he gets there he will see just such another on the far +horizon. + +Louis sat down wearily beside Barlasch. As far as eye could see, +they were alone in this grim white world. They had nothing to say +to each other. They sat and watched the sun go down with drawn eyes +and a queer stolidity which comes to men in great cold, as if their +souls were numb. + +As the sun sank, the shadows turned bluer, and all the snow gleamed +like a lake. The silver tints slowly turned to gold; the greys grew +darker. The distant lines of pines were almost black now, a +silhouette against the golden sky. Near at hand the little +inequalities in the snow loomed blue, like deeper pools in shallow +water. + +The sun sank very slowly, moving along the horizon almost parallel +with it towards two bars of golden cloud awaiting it, the bars of +the West forming a prison to this poor pale captive of the snows. +The stems of a few silver-birch near at hand were rosy now, and +suddenly the snow took a similar tint. At the same moment, a wave +of cold seemed to sweep across the world. + +The sun went down at length, leaving a brownish-red sky. This, too, +faded to grey in a few minutes, and a steely cold gripped the world +as in a vice. + +Louis d'Arragon made a sudden effort and rose to his feet, beneath +which the snow squeaked. + +"Come," he said. "If we stay, we shall fall asleep, and then--" + +Barlasch roused himself and looked sleepily at his companion. He +had a patch of blue on either cheek. + +"Come!" shouted Louis, as if to a deaf man. "Let us go on to Kowno, +and find out whether he is alive or dead." + + + +CHAPTER XX. DESIREE'S CHOICE. + + + + Our wills and fates do so contrary run, + That our devices still are overthrown. + Our thoughts are ours, their ends none of our own. + +Rapp found himself in a stronghold which was strong in theory only. +For the frozen river formed the easiest possible approach, instead +of an insuperable barrier to the enemy. He had an army which was a +paper army only. + +He had, according to official returns, thirty-five thousand men. In +reality a bare eight thousand could be collected to show a face to +the enemy. The rest were sick and wounded. There was no national +spirit among these men; they hardly had a language in common. For +they were men from Africa and Italy, from France, Germany, Poland, +Spain, and Holland. The majority of them were recruits, raw and of +poor physique. All were fugitives, flying before those dread +Cossacks whose "hurrah! hurrah!"--the Arabic "kill! kill!"--haunted +their fitful sleep at night. They came to Dantzig not to fight, but +to lie down and rest. They were the last of the great army--the +reinforcements dragged to the frontier which many of them had never +crossed. For those who had been to Moscow were few and far between. +The army of Moscow had perished at Malo-Jaroslavetz, at the +Beresina, in Smolensk and Vilna. + +These fugitives had fled to Dantzig for safety; and Rapp in crossing +the bridge had made a grimace, for he saw that there was no safety +here. + +The fortifications had been merely sketched out. The ditches were +full of snow, the rivers were frozen. All work was at a standstill. +Dantzig lay at the mercy of the first-comer. + +In twenty-four hours every available smith was at work, forging ice- +axes and picks. Rapp was going to cut the frozen Vistula and set +the river free. The Dantzigers laughed aloud. + +"It will freeze again in a night," they said. And it did. So Rapp +set the ice-cutters to work again next day. He kept boats moving +day and night in the water, which ran sluggish and thick, like +porridge, with the desire to freeze and be still. + +He ordered the engineers to set to work on the abandoned +fortifications. But the ground was hard like granite, and the picks +sprang back in the worker's grip, jarring his bones, and making not +so much as a mark on the surface of the earth. + +Again the Dantzigers laughed. + +"It is frozen three feet down," they said. + +The thermometer marked between twenty and thirty degrees of frost +every night now. And it was only December--only the beginning of +the winter. The Russians were at the Niemen, daily coming nearer. +Dantzig was full of sick and wounded. The available troops were +worn out, frost-bitten, desperate. There were only a few doctors, +who were without medical stores; no meat, no vegetables, no spirits, +no forage. + +No wonder the Dantzigers laughed. Rapp, who had to rely on +Southerners to obey his orders--Italians, Africans, a few Frenchmen, +men little used to cold and the hardships of a Northern winter--Rapp +let them laugh. He was a medium-sized man, with a bullet-head and a +round chubby face, a small nose, round eyes, and, if you please, +side-whiskers. + +Never for a moment did he admit that things looked black. He lit +enormous bonfires, melted the frozen earth, and built the +fortifications that had been planned. + +"I took counsel," he said, long afterwards, "with two engineer +officers whose devotion equalled their brilliancy--Colonel Richemont +and General Campredon." + +Soldiers might for all time study with advantage the acts of such +obscure and almost forgotten men as these. For, through them, +Napoleon was now teaching the world that a fortified place might be +made stronger than any had hitherto suspected. That he should turn +round and teach, on the other hand, that a city usually considered +impregnable could be taken without great loss of life, was only +characteristic of his splendid genius, which, like a towering tree, +grew and grew until it fell. + +The days were very short now, and it was dark when the sappers-- +whose business it was to keep the ice moving in the river at that +spot where the Government building-yard abuts the river front to- +day--were roused from their meditations by a shout on the farther +bank. + +They pushed their clumsy boat through the ice, and soon perceived +against the snowy distance the outline of a man wrapped, swaddled, +disguised in the heaped-up clothing so familiar to Eastern Europe at +this time. The joke of seeing a grave artilleryman clad in a lady's +ermine cloak had long since lost its savour for those who dwelt near +the Moscow road. + +"Ah! comrade," said one of the boatmen, an Italian who spoke French +and had learnt his seamanship on the Mediterranean, by whose waters +he would never idle again. "Ah! you are from Moscow?" + +"And you, countryman?" replied the new-comer, with a non-committing +readiness, as he stumbled over the gunwale. + +"And you--an old man?" remarked the Italian, with the easy frankness +of Piedmont. + +By way of reply, the new-comer held out one hand roughly swathed in +cloth, and shook it from side to side slowly, taking exception to +such personal matters on a short acquaintance. + +"A week ago, when I quitted Dantzig on a mission to Kowno," he said, +with a careless air, "one could cross the Vistula anywhere. I have +been walking on the bank for half a league looking for a way across. +One would think there is a General in Dantzig now." + +"There is Rapp," replied the Italian, poling his boat through the +floating ice. + +"He will be glad to see me." + +The Italian turned and looked over his shoulder. Then he gave a +curt, derisive laugh. + +"Barlasch--of the Old Guard!" explained the new-comer, with a +careless air. + +"Never heard of him." + +Barlasch pushed up the bandage which he still wore over his left +eye, in order to get a better sight of this phenomenal ignoramus, +but he made no comment. + +On landing he nodded curtly, at which the boatman made a quick +gesture and spat. + +"You have not the price of a glass in your purse, perhaps," he +suggested. + +Barlasch disappeared in the darkness without deigning a reply. Half +an hour later he was on the steps of Sebastian's house in the +Frauengasse. On his way through the streets a hundred evidences of +energy had caught his attention, for many of the houses were +barricaded, and palisades were built at the end of the streets +running down towards the river. The town was busy, and everywhere +soldiers passed to and fro. Like Samuel, Barlasch heard the +bleating of sheep and the lowing of oxen in his ears. + +The houses in the Frauengasse were barricaded like others--many of +the lower windows were built up. The door of No. 36 was bolted, and +through the shutters of the upper windows no glimmer of light +penetrated to the outer darkness of the street. Barlasch knocked +and waited. He thought he could hear surreptitious movements within +the house. Again he knocked. + +"Who is that?" asked Lisa just within, on the mat. She must have +been there all the time. + +"Barlasch," he replied. And the bolts which he, in his knowledge of +such matters, himself had oiled, were quickly drawn. + +Inside he found Lisa, and behind her Mathilde and Desiree. + +"Where is the patron?" he asked, turning to bolt the door again. + +"He is out, in the town," answered Desiree, in a strained voice. +"Where are you from?" + +"From Kowno." + +Barlasch looked from one face to the other. His own was burnt red, +and the light of the lamp hanging over his head gleamed on the +icicles suspended to his eyebrows and ragged whiskers. In the +warmth of the house his frozen garments began to melt, and from his +limbs the water dripped to the floor with a sound like rain. Then +he caught sight of Desiree's face. + +"He is alive, I tell you that," he said abruptly. "And well, so far +as we know. It was at Kowno that we got news of him. I have a +letter." + +He opened his cloak, which was stiff like cardboard and creaked when +he bent the rough cloth. Under his cloak he wore a Russian +peasant's sheepskin coat, and beneath that the remains of his +uniform. + +"A dog's country," he muttered, as he breathed on his fingers. + +At last he found the letter, and gave it to Desiree. + +"You will have to make your choice," he commented, with a grimace +indicative of a serious situation, "like any other woman. No doubt +you will choose wrong." + +Desiree went up two steps in order to be nearer the lamp, and they +all watched her as she opened the letter. + +"Is it from Charles?" asked Mathilde, speaking for the first time. + +"No," answered Desiree, rather breathlessly. + +Barlasch nudged Lisa, indicated his own mouth, and pushed her +towards the kitchen. He nodded cunningly to Mathilde, as if to say +that they were now free to discuss family affairs; and added, with a +gesture towards his inner man-- + +"Since last night--nothing." + +In a few minutes Desiree, having read the letter twice, handed it to +her sister. It was characteristically short. + +"We have found a man here," wrote Louis d'Arragon, "who travelled as +far as Vilna with Charles. There they parted. Charles, who was +ordered to Warsaw on staff work, told his friend that you were in +Dantzig, and that, foreseeing a siege of the city, he had written to +you to join him at Warsaw. This letter has doubtless been lost. I +am following Charles to Warsaw, tracing him step by step, and if he +has fallen ill by the way, as so many have done, shall certainly +find him. Barlasch returns to bring you to Thorn, if you elect to +join Charles. I will await you at Thorn, and if Charles has +proceeded, we will follow him to Warsaw." + +Barlasch, who had watched Desiree, now followed Mathilde's eyes as +they passed to and fro over the closely written lines. As she +neared the end, and her face, upon which deep shadows had been +graven by sorrow and suspense, grew drawn and hopeless, he gave a +curt laugh. + +"There were two," he said, "travelling together--the Colonel de +Casimir and the husband of--of la petite. They had facilities--name +of God!--two carriages and an escort. In the carriages they had +some of the Emperor's playthings--holy pictures, the imperial loot-- +I know not what. Besides that, they had some of their own--not furs +and candlesticks such as we others carried on our backs, but gold +and jewellery enough to make a man rich all his life." + +"How do you know that?" asked Mathilde, a dull light in her eyes. + +"I--I know where it came from," replied Barlasch, with an odd smile. +"Allez! you may take it from me." And he muttered to himself in the +patois of the Cotes du Nord. + +"And they were safe and well at Vilna?" asked Mathilde. + +"Yes--and they had their treasure. They had good fortune, or else +they were more clever than other men; for they had the Imperial +treasure to escort, and could take any man's horse for the carriages +in which also they had placed their own treasure. It was Captain +Darragon who held the appointment, and the other--the Colonel--had +attached himself to him as volunteer. For it was at Vilna that the +last thread of discipline was broken, and every man did as he +wished." + +"They did not come to Kowno?" asked Mathilde, who had a clear mind, +and that grasp of a situation which more often falls to the lot of +the duller sex. + +"They did not come to Kowno. They would turn south at Vilna. It +was as well. At Kowno the soldiers had broken into the magazines-- +the brandy was poured out in the streets. The men were lying there, +the drunken and the dead all confused together on the snow. But +there would be no confusion the next morning; for all would be +dead." + +"Was it at Kowno that you left Monsieur d'Arragon?" asked Desiree, +in a sharp voice. + +"No--no. We quitted Kowno together, and parted on the heights above +the town. He would not trust me--monsieur le marquis--he was afraid +that I should get at the brandy. And he was right. I only wanted +the opportunity. He is a strong one--that!" And Barlasch held up a +warning hand, as if to make known to all and sundry that it would be +inadvisable to trifle with Louis d'Arragon. + +He drew the icicles one by one from his whiskers with a wry face +indicative of great agony, and threw them down on the mat. + +"Well," he said, after a pause, to Desiree, "have you made your +choice?" + +Desiree was reading the letter again, and before she could answer, a +quick knock on the front door startled them all. Barlasch's face +broke into that broad smile which was only called forth by the +presence of danger. + +"Is it the patron?" he asked in a whisper, with his hand on the +heavy bolts affixed by that pious Hanseatic merchant who held that +if God be in the house there is no need of watchmen. + +"Yes," answered Mathilde. "Open quickly." + +Sebastian came in with a light step. He was like a man long saddled +with a burden of which he had at length been relieved. + +"Ah! What news?" he asked, when he recognised Barlasch. + +"Nothing that you do not know already, monsieur," replied Barlasch, +"except that the husband of Mademoiselle is well and on the road to +Warsaw. Here--read that." + +And he took the letter from Desiree's hand. + +"I knew he would come back safely," said Desiree; and that was all. + +Sebastian read the letter in one quick glance--and then fell to +thinking. + +"It is time to quit Dantzig," said Barlasch quietly, as if he had +divined the old man's thoughts. "I know Rapp. There will be +trouble--here, on the Vistula." + +But Sebastian dismissed the suggestion with a curt shake of the +head. + +Barlasch's attention had been somewhat withdrawn by a smell of +cooking meat, to which he opened his nostrils frankly and noisily +after the manner of a dog. + +"Then it remains," he said, looking towards the kitchen, "for +Mademoiselle to make her choice." + +"There is no choice," replied Desiree, "I shall be ready to go with +you--when you have eaten." + +"Good," said Barlasch, and the word applied as well to Lisa, who was +beckoning to him. + + + +CHAPTER XXI. ON THE WARSAW ROAD. + + + + Oft expectation fails, and most oft there + Where it most promises; and oft it hits + Where hope is coldest and despair most sits. + +Love, it is said, is blind. But hatred is as bad. In Antoine +Sebastian hatred of Napoleon had not only blinded eyes far-seeing +enough in earlier days, but it had killed many natural affections. +Love, too, may easily die--from a surfeit or a famine. Hatred never +dies; it only sleeps. + +Sebastian's hatred was all awake now. It was aroused by the +disasters that had befallen Napoleon; of which disasters the Russian +campaign was only one small part. For he who stands above all his +compeers must expect them to fall upon him should he stumble. +Napoleon had fallen, and a hundred foes who had hitherto nursed +their hatred in a hopeless silence were alert to strike a blow +should he descend within their reach. + +When whole empires had striven in vain to strike, how could a mere +association of obscure men hope to record its blow? The Tugendbund +had begun humbly enough; and Napoleon, with that unerring foresight +which raised him above all other men, had struck at its base. For +an association in which kings and cobblers stand side by side on an +equal footing must necessarily be dangerous to its foes. + +Sebastian was not carried off his feet by the great events of the +last six months. They only rendered him steadier. For he had +waited a lifetime. It is only a sudden success that dazzles. Long +waiting nearly always ensures a wise possession. + +Sebastian, like all men absorbed in a great thought, was neglectful +of his social and domestic obligations. Has it not been shown that +he allowed Mathilde and Desiree to support him by giving dancing +lessons? But he was not the ordinary domestic tyrant who is +familiar to all--the dignified father of a family who must have the +best of everything, whose teaching to his offspring takes the form +of an unconscious and solemn warning. He did not ask the best; he +hardly noticed what was offered to him; and it was not owing to his +demand, but to that feminine spirit of self-sacrifice which has +ruined so many men, that he fared better than his daughters. + +If he thought about it at all, he probably concluded that Mathilde +and Desiree were quite content to give their time and thought to the +support of himself--not as their father, but as the motive power of +the Tugendbund in Prussia. Many greater men have made the same +mistake, and quite small men with a great name make it every day, +thinking complacently that it is a privilege to some woman to +minister to their wants while they produce their immortal pictures +or deathless books; whereas, the woman would tend him as carefully +were he a crossing-sweeper, and is only following the dictates of an +instinct which is loftier than his highest thought and more +admirable than his most astounding work of art. + +Barlasch had not lived so long in the Frauengasse without learning +the domestic economy of Sebastian's household. He knew that +Desiree, like many persons with kind blue eyes, shaped her own +course through life, and abided by the result with a steadfastness +not usually attributed to the light-hearted. He concluded that he +must make ready to take the road again before midnight. He +therefore gave a careful and businesslike attention to the simple +meal set before him by Lisa; and, looking up over his plate, he saw +for the second time in his life Sebastian hurrying into his own +kitchen. + +Barlasch half rose, and then, in obedience to a gesture from +Sebastian, or remembering perhaps the sturdy Republicanism which he +had not learnt until middle-age, he sat down again, fork in hand. + +"You are prepared to accompany Madame Darragon to Thorn?" inquired +Sebastian, inviting his guest by a gesture to make himself at home-- +scarcely a necessary thought in the present instance. + +"Yes." + +"And how do you propose to make the journey?" + +This was so unlike Sebastian's usual method, so far from his lax +comprehension of a father's duty, that Barlasch paused and looked at +him with suspicion. With the back of his hand he pushed up the +unkempt hair which obscured his eyes. This unusual display of +parental anxiety required looking into. + +"From what I could see in the streets," he answered, "the General +will not stand in the way of women and useless mouths who wish to +quit Dantzig." + +"That is possible; but he will not go so far as to provide horses." + +Barlasch gave his companion a quick glance, and returned to his +supper, eating with an exaggerated nonchalance, as if he were alone. + +"Will you provide them?" he asked abruptly, at length, without +looking up. + +"I can get them for you, and can ensure you relays by the way." + +Barlasch cut a piece of meat very carefully, and, opening his mouth +wide, looked at Sebastian over the orifice. + +"On one condition," pursued Sebastian quietly; "that you deliver a +letter for me in Thorn. I make no pretence; if it is found on you, +you will be shot." + +Barlasch smiled pleasantly. + +"The risks are very great," said Sebastian, tapping his snuff-box +reflectively. + +"I am not an officer to talk of my honour," answered Barlasch, with +a laugh. "And as for risk"--he paused and put half a potato into +his mouth--"it is Mademoiselle I serve," concluded this uncouth +knight with a curt simplicity. + +So they set out at ten o'clock that night in a light sleigh on high +runners, such as may be seen on any winter day in Poland down to the +present time. The horses were as good as any in Dantzig at this +date, when a horse was more costly than his master. The moon, +sailing high overhead through fleecy clouds, found it no hard task +to light a world all snow and ice. The streets of Dantzig were +astir with life and the rumble of waggons. At first there were +difficulties, and Barlasch explained airily that he was not so +accomplished a whip in the streets as in the open country. + +"But never fear," he added. "We shall get there, soon enough." + +At the city gates there was, as Barlasch had predicted, no objection +made to the departure of a young girl and an old man. Others were +quitting Dantzig by the same gate, on foot, in sleighs and carts; +but all turned westward at the cross-roads and joined the stream of +refugees hurrying forward to Germany. Barlasch and Desiree were +alone on the wide road that runs southward across the plain towards +Dirschau. The air was very cold and still. On the snow, hard and +dry like white dust, the runners of the sleigh sang a song on one +note, only varied from time to time by a drop of several octaves as +they passed over a culvert or some hollow in the road, after which +the high note, like the sound of escaping steam, again held sway. +The horses fell into a long steady trot, their feet beating the +ground with a regular, sleep-inducing thud. They were harnessed +well forward to a very long pole, and covered the ground with free +strides, unhampered by any thought of their heels. The snow +pattered against the cloth stretched like a wind-sail from their +flanks to the rising front of the sleigh. + +Barlasch sat upright, a thick motionless figure, four-square to the +cutting wind. He drove with one hand at a time, sitting on the +other to restore circulation between whiles. It was impossible to +distinguish the form of his garments, for he was wrapped round in a +woollen shawl like a mummy, showing only his eyes beneath the ragged +fur of a sheepskin cap upon which the rime caused by the warmth of +the horses and his own breath had frozen like a coating of frosted +silver. + +Desiree was huddled down beside him, with her head bent forward so +as to protect her face from the wind, which seared like a hot iron. +She wore a hood of white fur lined with a darker fur, and when she +lifted her face only her eyes, bright and wakeful, were visible. + +"If you are warm, you may go to sleep," said Barlasch in a mumbling +voice, for his face was drawn tight and his lips stiffened by the +cold. "But if you shiver, you must stay awake." + +But Desiree seemed to have no wish for sleep. Whenever Barlasch +leant forward to peer beneath her hood she looked round at him with +wakeful eyes. Whenever, to see if she were still awake, he gave her +an unceremonious nudge, she nudged back again instantly. As the +night wore on, she grew more wakeful. When they halted at a wayside +inn, which must have been minutely described to Barlasch by +Sebastian, and Desiree accepted the innkeeper's offer of a cup of +coffee by the fire while fresh horses were being put into harness, +she was wide awake and looked at Barlasch with a reckless laugh as +he shook the rime from his eyebrows. In response he frowningly +scrutinized as much of her face as he could see, and shook his head +disapprovingly. + +"You laugh when there is nothing to laugh at," he said grimly. +"Foolish. It makes people wonder what is in your mind." + +"There is nothing in my mind," she answered gaily. + +"Then there is something in your heart, and that is worse!" said +Barlasch, which made Desiree look at him doubtfully. + +They had done forty miles with the same horses, and were nearly +halfway. For some hours the road had followed the course of the +Vistula on the high tableland above the river, and would so continue +until they reached Thorn. + +"You must sleep," said Barlasch curtly, when they were once more on +the road. She sat silent beside him for an hour. The horses were +fresh, and covered the ground at a great pace. Barlasch was no +driver, but he was skilful with the horses, and husbanded their +strength at every hill. + +"If we go on like this, when shall we arrive?" asked Desiree +suddenly. + +"By eight o'clock, if all goes well." + +"And we shall find Monsieur Louis d'Arragon awaiting us at Thorn?" + +Barlasch shrugged his shoulders doubtfully. + +"He said he would be there," he muttered, and, turning in his seat, +he looked down at her with some contempt. + +"That is like a woman," he said. "They think all men are fools +except one, and that one is only to be compared with the bon Dieu." + +Desiree could not have heard the remark, for she made no answer and +sat silent, leaning more and more heavily against her companion. He +changed the reins to his other hand, and drove with it for an hour +after all feeling had left it. Desiree was asleep. She was still +sleeping when, in the dim light of a late dawn, Barlasch saw the +distant tower of Thorn Cathedral. + +They were no longer alone on the road now, but passed a number of +heavy market-sleighs bringing produce and wood to the town. +Barlasch had been in Thorn before. Desiree was still sleeping when +he turned the horses into the crowded yard of the "Drei Kronen." +The sleighs and carriages were packed side by side as in a +warehouse, but the stables were empty. No eager host came out to +meet the travellers. The innkeepers of Thorn had long ceased to +give themselves that trouble. For the city was on the direct route +of the retreat, and few who got so far had any money left. + +Slowly and painfully Barlasch unwound himself and disentangled his +legs. He tried first one and then the other, as if uncertain +whether he could walk. Then he staggered numbly across the yard to +the door of the inn. + +A few minutes later Desiree woke up. She was in a room warmed by a +great white stove and dimly lighted by candles. Some one was +pulling off her gloves and feeling her hands to make sure that they +were not frost-bitten. She looked sleepily at a white coffee-pot +standing on the table near the candles; then her eyes, still +uncomprehending, rested on the face of the man who was loosening her +hood, which was hard with rime and ice. He had his back to the +candles, and was half-hidden by the collar of his fur coat, which +met the cap pressed down over his ears. + +He turned towards the table to lay aside her gloves, and the light +fell on his face. Desiree was wideawake in an instant, and Louis +d'Arragon, hearing her move, turned anxiously to look at her again. +Neither spoke for a minute. Barlasch was holding his numbed hand +against the stove, and was grinding his teeth and muttering at the +pain of the restored circulation. + +Desiree shook the icicles from her hood, and they rattled like hail +on the bare floor. Her hair, all tumbled round her face, caught the +light of the candles. Her eyes were bright and the colour was in +her cheeks. D'Arragon glanced at her with a sudden look of relief, +and then turned to Barlasch. He took the numbed hand and felt it; +then he held a candle close to it. Two of the fingers were quite +white, and Barlasch made a grimace when he saw them. D'Arragon +began rubbing at once, taking no notice of his companion's moans and +complaints. + +Without desisting, he looked over his shoulder towards Desiree, but +not actually at her face. + +"I heard last night," he said, "that the two carriages are standing +in an inn-yard three leagues beyond this on the Warsaw road. I have +traced them step by step from Kowno. My informant tells me that the +escort has deserted, and that the officer in charge, Colonel +Darragon, was going on alone, with the two drivers, when he was +taken ill. He is nearly well again, and hopes to continue his +journey to-morrow or the next day." + +Desiree nodded her head to signify that she had heard and +understood. Barlasch gave a cry of pain, and withdrew his hand with +a jerk. + +"Enough, enough!" he said. "You hurt me. The life is returning +now; a drop of brandy perhaps--" + +"There is no brandy in Thorn," said D'Arragon, turning towards the +table. "There is only coffee." + +He busied himself with the cups, and did not look at Desiree when he +spoke again. + +"I have secured two horses," he said, "to enable you to proceed at +once, if you are able to. But if you would rather rest here to-day- +-" + +"Let us go on at once," interrupted Desiree hastily. + +Barlasch, crouching against the stove, glanced from one to the other +beneath his heavy brows, wondering, perhaps, why they avoided +looking at each other. + +"You will wait here," said D'Arragon, turning towards him, "until-- +until I return." + +"Yes," was the answer. "I will lie on the floor here and sleep. I +have had enough. I--" + +Louis left the room to give the necessary orders. When he returned +in a few minutes, Barlasch was asleep on the floor, and Desiree had +tied on her hood again, which concealed her face. He drank a cup of +coffee and ate some dry bread absent-mindedly, in silence. + +The sound of bells, feebly heard through the double windows, told +them that the horses were being harnessed. + +"Are you ready?" asked D'Arragon, who had not sat down; and in +response, Desiree, standing near the stove, went towards the door, +which he held open for her to pass out. As she passed him, she +glanced at his face, and winced. + +In the sleigh she looked up at him as if expecting him to speak. He +was looking straight in front of him. There was, after all, nothing +to be said. She could see his steady eyes between his high collar +and the fur cap. They were hard and unflinching. The road was +level now, and the snow beaten to a gleaming track like ice. +D'Arragon put the horses to a gallop at the town gate, and kept them +at it. + +In half an hour he turned towards her and pointed with his whip to a +roof half hidden by some thin pines. + +"That is the inn," he said. + +In the inn yard he indicated with his whip two travelling-carriages +standing side by side. + +"Colonel Darragon is here?" he said to the cringing Jew who came to +meet them; and the innkeeper led the way upstairs. The house was a +miserable one, evil-smelling, sordid. The Jew pointed to a door, +and, cringing again, left them. + +Desiree made a gesture telling Louis to go in first, which he did at +once. The room was littered with trunks and cases. All the +treasure had been brought into the sick man's chamber for greater +safety. + +On a narrow bed near the window a man lay huddled on his side. He +turned and looked over his shoulder, showing a haggard face with a +ten-days' beard on it. He looked from one to the other in silence. + +It was Colonel de Casimir. + + + +CHAPTER XXII. THROUGH THE SHOALS. + + + + I see my way, as birds their trackless way. + +De Casimir had never seen Louis d'Arragon, and yet some dim +resemblance to his cousin must have introduced the new-comer to a +conscience not quite easy. + +"You seek me, Monsieur," he asked, not having recognized Desiree, +who stood behind her companion, in her furs. + +"I seek Colonel Darragon, and was told that we should find him in +this room." + +"May I ask why you seek him in this rather unceremonious manner?" +asked De Casimir, with the ready insolence of his calling and his +age. + +"Because I am his cousin," replied Louis quietly, "and Madame is his +wife." + +Desiree came forward, her face colourless. She caught her breath, +but made no attempt to speak. + +De Casimir tried to lift himself on his elbows. + +"Ah! madame," he said. "You see me in a sorry state. I have been +very ill." And he made a gesture with one hand, begging her to +overlook his unkempt appearance and the disorder of his room. + +"Where is Charles?" asked Desiree curtly. She had suddenly realized +how intensely she had always disliked De Casimir, and distrusted +him. + +"Has he not returned to Dantzig?" was the ready answer. "He should +have been there a week ago. We parted at Vilna. He was exhausted-- +a mere question of over-fatigue--and at his request I left him there +to recover and to pursue his way to Dantzig, where he knew you would +be awaiting him." + +He paused and looked from one to the other with quick and furtive +eyes. He felt himself easily a match for them in quickness of +perception, in rapid thought, in glib speech. Both were dumb--he +could not guess why. But there was a steadiness in D'Arragon's eyes +which rarely goes with dulness of wit. This was a man who could be +quick at will--a man to be reckoned with. + +"You are wondering why I travel under your cousin's name, Monsieur," +said De Casimir, with a friendly smile. + +"Yes," returned Louis, without returning the smile. + +"It is simple enough," explained the sick man. "At Vilna we found +all discipline relaxed. There were no longer any regiments. There +was no longer staff. There was no longer an army. Every man did as +he thought best. Many, as you know, elected to await the Russians +at Vilna, rather than attempt to journey farther. Your cousin had +been given the command of the escort which has now filtered away, +like every other corps. He was to conduct back to Paris two +carriages laden with imperial treasure and certain papers of value. +Charles did not want to go back to Paris. He wished most naturally +to return to Dantzig. I, on the other hand, desired to go to +France; and there place my sword once more at the Emperor's service. +What more simple than to change places?" + +"And names," suggested D'Arragon, without falling into De Casimir's +easy and friendly manner. + +"For greater security in passing through Poland and across the +frontier," explained De Casimir readily. "Once in France--and I +hope to be there in a week--I shall report the matter to the Emperor +as it really happened: namely, that, owing to Colonel Darragon's +illness, he transferred his task to me at Vilna. The Emperor will +be indifferent, so long as the order has been carried out." + +De Casimir turned to Desiree as likely to be more responsive than +this dark-eyed stranger, who listened with so disconcerting a lack +of comment or sympathy. + +"So you see, madame," he said, "Charles will still get the credit +for having carried out his most difficult task, and no harm is +done." + +"When did you leave Charles at Vilna?" asked she. + +De Casimir lay back on the pillow in an attitude which betrayed his +weakness and exhaustion. He looked at the ceiling with lustreless +eyes. + +"It must have been a fortnight ago," he said at length. "I was +trying to count the days. We have lost all account of dates since +quitting Moscow. One day has been like another--and all, terrible. +Believe me, madame, it has always been in my mind that you were +awaiting the return of your husband at Dantzig. I spared him all I +could. A dozen times we saved each other's lives." + +In six words Desiree could have told him all she knew: that he was +a spy who had betrayed to death and exile many Dantzigers whose +hospitality had been extended to him as a Polish officer; that +Charles was a traitor who had gained access to her father's house in +order to watch him--though he had honestly fallen in love with her. +He was in love with her still, and he was her husband. It was this +thought that broke into her sleep at night, that haunted her waking +hours. + +She glanced at Louis d'Arragon, and held her peace. + +"Then, Monsieur," he said, "you have every reason to suppose that if +Madame returns to Dantzig now, she will find her husband there?" + +De Casimir looked at D'Arragon, and hesitated for an instant. They +both remembered afterwards that moment of uncertainty. + +"I have every reason to suppose it," replied De Casimir at length, +speaking in a low voice, as if fearful of being overheard. + +Louis waited a moment, and glanced at Desiree, who, however, had +evidently nothing more to say. + +"Then we will not trouble you farther," he said, going towards the +door, which he held open for Desiree to pass out. He was following +her when De Casimir called him back. + +"Monsieur," cried the sick man, "Monsieur, one moment, if you can +spare it." + +Louis came back. They looked at each other in silence while they +heard Desiree descend the stairs and speak in German to the +innkeeper who had been waiting there. + +"I will be quite frank with you," said De Casimir, in that voice of +confidential friendliness which so rarely failed in its effect. +"You know that Madame Darragon has an elder sister, Mademoiselle +Mathilde Sebastian?" + +"Yes." + +De Casimir raised himself on his elbows again, with an effort, and +gave a short, half shamefaced laugh which was quite genuine. It was +odd that Mathilde and he, who had walked most circumspectly, should +both have been tripped up, as it were, by love. + +"Bah!" he said, with a gesture dismissing the subject, "I cannot +tell you more. It is a woman's secret, Monsieur, not mine. Will +you deliver a letter for me in Dantzig, that is all I ask?" + +"I will give it to Madame Darragon to give to Mademoiselle Mathilde, +if you like; I am not returning to Dantzig," replied Louis. But de +Casimir shook his head. + +"I am afraid that will not do," he said doubtfully. "Between +sisters, you understand--" + +And he was no doubt right; this man of quick perception. Is it not +from our nearest relative that our dearest secret is usually +withheld? + +"You cannot find another messenger?" asked De Casimir, and the +anxiety in his face was genuine enough. + +"I can--if you wish it." + +"Ah, Monsieur, I shall not forget it! I shall never forget it," +said the sick man quickly and eagerly. "The letter is there, +beneath that sabretasche. It is sealed and addressed." + +Louis found the letter, and went towards the door, as he placed it +in his pocket. + +"Monsieur," said De Casimir, stopping him again. "Your name, if I +may ask it, so that I may remember a countryman who has done me so +great a service." + +"I am not a countryman; I am an Englishman," replied Louis. "My +name is Louis d'Arragon." + +"Ah! I know. Charles has told me, Monsieur le--" + +But D'Arragon heard no more, for he closed the door behind him. + +He found Desiree awaiting him in the entrance hall of the inn, where +a fire of pine-logs burnt in an open chimney. The walls and low +ceiling were black with smoke, the little windows were covered with +ice an inch thick. It was twilight in this quiet room, and would +have been dark but for the leaping flames of the fire. + +"You will go back to Dantzig," he asked, "at once?" + +He carefully avoided looking at her, though he need not have feared +that she would have allowed her eyes to meet his. And thus they +stood, looking downward to the fire--alone in a world that heeded +them not, and would forget them in a week--and made their choice of +a life. + +"Yes," she answered. + +He stood thinking for a moment. He was quite practical and matter- +of-fact; and had the air of a man of action rather than of one who +deals in thoughts, and twists them hither and thither so that good +is made to look ridiculous, and bad is tricked out with a fine new +name. He frowned as he looked at the fire with eyes that flitted +from one object to another, as men's eyes do who think of action and +not of thought. This was the sailor--second to none in the shallow +northern sea, where all marks had been removed, and every light +extinguished--accustomed to facing danger and avoiding it, to +foresee remote contingencies and provide against them, day and +night, week in, week out; a sailor, careful and intrepid. He had +the air of being capable of that concentration without which no man +can hope to steer a clear course at all. + +"The horses that brought you from Marienwerder will not be fit for +the road till to-morrow morning," he said. "I will take you back to +Thorn at once, and--leave you there with Barlasch." + +He glanced towards her, and she nodded, as if acknowledging the +sureness and steadiness of the hand at the helm. + +"You can start early to-morrow morning, and be in Dantzig to-morrow +night." + +They stood side by side in silence for some minutes. He was still +thinking of her journey--of the dangers and the difficulties of that +longer journey through life without landmark or light to guide her. + +"And you?" she asked curtly. + +He did not reply at once but busied himself with his ponderous fur +coat, which he buttoned, as if bracing himself for the start. +Beneath her lashes she looked sideways at the deliberate hands and +the lean strong face, burnt to a red-brown by sun and snow, half +hidden in the fur collar of his worn and weather-beaten coat. + +"Konigsberg," he answered, "and Riga." + +A light passed through her watching eyes, usually so kind and gay; +like the gleam of jealousy. + +"Your ship?" she asked sharply. + +"Yes," he answered, as the innkeeper came to tell them that their +sleigh awaited them. + +It was snowing now, and a whistling, fitful wind swept down the +valley of the Vistula from Poland and the far Carpathians which made +the travellers crouch low in the sleigh and rendered talk +impossible, had there been anything to say. But there was nothing. + +They found Barlasch asleep where they had left him in the inn at +Thorn, on the floor against the stove. He roused himself with the +quickness and completeness of one accustomed to brief and broken +rest, and stood up shaking himself in his clothes, like a dog with a +heavy coat. He took no notice of D'Arragon, but looked at Desiree +with questioning eyes. + +"It was not the Captain?" he asked. + +And Desiree shook her head. Louis was standing near the door giving +orders to the landlady of the inn--a kindly Pomeranian, clean and +slow--for Desiree's comfort till the next morning. + +Barlasch went close to Desiree, and, nudging her arm with +exaggerated cunning, whispered-- + +"Who was it?" + +"Colonel de Casimir." + +"With the two carriages and the treasure from Moscow?" asked +Barlasch, watching Louis out of the corner of one eye, to make sure +that he did not hear. It did not matter whether he heard or not, +but Barlasch came of a peasant stock that always speaks of money in +a whisper. And when Desiree nodded, he cut short the conversation. + +The hostess came forward to tell Desiree that her room was ready, +kindly suggesting that the "gnadiges Fraulein" must need sleep and +rest. Desiree knew that Louis would go on to Konigsberg at once. +She wondered whether she should ever see him again--long afterwards, +perhaps, when all this would seem like a dream. Barlasch, breathing +noisily on his frost-bitten fingers, was watching them. Desiree +shook hands with Louis in an odd silence, and, turning on her heel, +followed the woman out of the room without looking back. + + + +CHAPTER XXIII. AGAINST THE STREAM. + + + + Wo viel Licht ist, ist starker Schatten. + +In the mean time the last of the Great Army had reached the Niemen, +that narrow winding river in its ditch-like bed sunk below the level +of the tableland, to which six months earlier the greatest captain +this world has ever seen rode alone, and, coming back to his +officers, said-- + +"Here we cross." + +Four hundred thousand men had crossed--a bare eighty thousand lived +to pass the bridge again. Twelve hundred cannons had been left +behind, nearly a thousand in the hands of the enemy, and the +remainder buried or thrown into those dull rivers whose slow waters +flow over them to this day. One hundred and twenty-five thousand +officers and men had been killed in battle, another hundred thousand +had perished by cold and disaster at the Beresina or other rivers +where panic seized the fugitives. + +Forty-eight generals had been captured by the Russians, three +thousand officers, one hundred and ninety thousand men, swallowed by +the silent white Empire of the North and no more seen. + +As the retreat neared Vilna the cold had increased, killing men as +the first cold of an English winter kills flies. And when the +French quitted Vilna, the Russians were glad enough to seek its +shelter, Kutusoff creeping in with forty thousand men, all that +remained to him of two hundred thousand. He could not carry on the +pursuit, but sent forward a handful of Cossacks to harry the hare- +brained few who called themselves the rearguard. He was an old man, +nearly worn out, with only three months more to live--but he had +done his work. + +Ney--the bravest of the brave--left alone in Russia at the last with +seven hundred foreign recruits, men picked from here and there, +called in from the highways and hedges to share the glory of the +only Marshal who came back from Moscow with a name untarnished--Ney +and Girard, musket in hand, were the last to cross the bridge, +shouting defiance at their Cossack foes, who, when they had hounded +the last of the French across the frontier, flung themselves down on +the bloodstained snow to rest. + +All along the banks of the Vistula, from Konigsberg and Dantzig up +to Warsaw--that slow river which at the last call shall assuredly +give up more dead than any other--the fugitives straggled homewards. +For the Russians paused at their own frontier, and Prussia was still +nominally the friend of France. She had still to wear the mask for +three long months when she should at last openly side with Russia, +only to be beaten again by Napoleon. + +Murat was at Konigsberg with the Imperial staff, left in supreme +command by the Emperor, and already thinking of his own sunny +kingdom of the Mediterranean, and the ease and the glory of it. In +a few weeks he, too, must tarnish his name. + +"I make over the command to you," he said to Prince Eugene; and +Napoleon's step-son made an answer which shows, as Eugene showed +again and again, that contact with a great man makes for greatness. + +"You cannot make it over to me," he replied. "Only the Emperor can +do that. You can run away in the night, and the supreme command +will devolve on me the next morning." + +And what Murat did is no doubt known to the learned reader. + +Macdonald, abandoned by Yorck with the Prussian contingent, in great +peril, alone in the north, was retreating with the remains of the +Tenth Army Corps, wondering whether Konigsberg or Dantzig would +still be French when he reached them. On his heels was +Wittgenstein, in touch with St. Petersburg and the Emperor +Alexander, communicating with Kutusoff at Vilna. And Macdonald, +like the Scotchman and the Frenchman that he was, turned at a +critical moment and rent Wittgenstein. Here was another bulldog in +that panic-stricken pack, who turned and snarled and fought while +his companions slunk homewards with their tails between their legs. +There were three of such breed--Ney and Macdonald, and Prince Eugene +de Beauharnais. + +Napoleon was in Paris, getting together in wild haste the new army +with which he was yet to frighten Europe into fits. And Rapp, +doggedly fortifying his frozen city, knew that he was to hold +Dantzig at any cost--a remote, far-thrown outpost on the Northern +sea, cut off from all help, hundreds of miles from the French +frontier, nearly a thousand miles from Paris. + +At Marienwerder, Barlasch and Desiree found themselves in the midst +of that bustle and confusion which attends the arrival or departure +of an army corps. The majority of the men were young and of a dark +skin. They seemed gay, and called out salutations to which Barlasch +replied curtly enough. + +"They are Italians," said he to his companion; "I know their talk +and their manners. To you and me, who come from the North, they are +like children. See that one who is dancing. It is some fete. What +is to-day?" + +"It is New Year's Day," replied Desiree. + +"New Year's Day," echoed Barlasch. "Good. And we have been on the +road since six o'clock; and I, who have forgotten to wish you--" He +paused and called cheerily to the horses, which had covered more +than forty miles since leaving their stable at Thorn. "Bon Dieu!" +he said in a lower tone, glancing at her beneath the ice-bound rim +of his fur cap, "Bon Dieu--what am I to wish you, I wonder?" + +Desiree did not answer, but smiled a little and looked straight in +front of her. + +Barlasch made a movement of the shoulders and eyebrows indicative of +a hidden anger. + +"We are friends," he asked suddenly, "you and I?" + +"Yes." + +"We have been friends since--that day--when you were married?" + +"Yes," answered Desiree. + +"Then between friends," said Barlasch, gruffly; "it is not necessary +to smile--like that--when it is tears that are there." + +Desiree laughed. + +"Would you have me weep?" she asked. + +"It would hurt one less," said Barlasch, attending to his horses. +They were in the town now, and the narrow streets were crowded. +Many sick and wounded were dragging themselves wearily along. A few +carts, drawn by starving horses, went slowly down the hill. But +there was some semblance of order, and thus men had the air and +carriage of soldiers under discipline. Barlasch was quick to see +it. + +"It is the Fourth Corps. The Viceroy's army. They have done well. +He is a soldier, who commands them. Ah! There is one I know." + +He threw the reins to Desiree, and in a moment he was out on the +snow. A man, as old, it would seem, as himself, in uniform and +carrying a musket, was marching past with a few men who seemed to be +under his orders, though his uniform was long past recognition. He +did not perceive, for some minutes, that Barlasch was coming towards +him, and then the process of recognition was slow. Finally, he laid +aside his musket, and the two old men gravely kissed each other. + +Quite forgetful of Desiree, they stood talking together for twenty +minutes. Then they gravely embraced once more, and Barlasch +returned to the sleigh. He took the reins, and urged the horses up +the hill without commenting on his encounter, but Desiree could see +that he had heard news. + +The inn was outside the town, on the road that follows the Vistula +northwards to Dirschau and Dantzig. The horses were tired, and +stumbled on the powdery snow which was heavy, like sand, and of a +sandy colour. Here and there, by the side of the road, were great +stains of blood and the remains of a horse that had been killed, and +eaten raw. The faces of many of the men were smeared with blood, +which had dried on their cheeks and caked there. Nearly all were +smoke-grimed and had sore eyes. + +At last Barlasch spoke, with the decisive air of one who has finally +drawn up a course of action in a difficult position. + +"He comes from my own country, that man. You heard us? We spoke +together in our patois. I shall not see him again. He has a +catarrh. When he coughs there is blood. Alas!" + +Desiree glanced at the rugged face half turned away from her. She +was not naturally heartless; but she quite forgot to sympathize with +the elderly soldier who had caught a cold on the retreat from +Moscow; for his friend's grief lacked conviction. Barlasch had +heard news which he had decided to keep to himself. + +"Has he come from Vilna?" asked Desiree. + +"From Vilna--oh yes. They are all from Vilna." + +"And he had no news"--persisted she, "of--Captain Darragon?" + +"News--oh no! He is a common soldier, and knows nothing of the +officers on the staff. We are the same--he and I--poor animals in +the ranks. A little gentleman rides up, all sabretasche and gold +lace. It is an officer of the staff. 'Go down into the valley and +get shot,' he says. And--bon jour! we go. No--no. He has no news, +my poor comrade." + +They were at the inn now, and found the huge yard still packed with +sleighs and disabled carriages, and the stables ostentatiously +empty. + +"Go in," said Barlasch; "and tell them who your father is--say +Antoine Sebastian and nothing else. I would do it myself, but when +it is so cold as that, the lips are stiff, and I cannot speak German +properly. They would find out that I am French, and it is no good +being French now. My comrade told me that in Konigsberg, Murat +himself was ill-received by the burgomaster and such city stuff as +that." + +It was as Barlasch foretold. For at the name of Antoine Sebastian +the innkeeper found horses--in another stable. + +It would take a few minutes, he said, to fetch them, and in the +meantime there were coffee and some roast meat--his own dinner. +Indeed, he could not do enough to testify his respect for Desiree, +and his commiseration for her, being forced to travel in such +weather through a country infested by starving brigands. + +Barlasch consented to come just within the inner door, but refused +to sit at the table with Desiree. He took a piece of bread, and ate +it standing. + +"See you," he said to her when they were left alone, "the good God +has made very few mistakes, but there is one thing I would have +altered. If He intended us for such a rough life, He should have +made the human frame capable of going longer without food. To a +poor soldier marching from Moscow to have to stop every three hours +and gnaw a piece of horse that has died--and raw--it is not +amusing." + +He watched Desiree with a grudging eye. For she was young, and had +eaten nothing for six freezing hours. + +"And for us," he added; "what a waste of time!" + +Desiree rose at once with a laugh. + +"You want to go," she said. "Come, I am ready." + +"Yes," he admitted, "I want to go. I am afraid--name of a dog! I +am afraid, I tell you. For I have heard the Cossacks cry, 'Hurrah! +Hurrah!' And they are coming." + +"Ah!" said Desiree, "that is what your friend told you." + +"That, and other things." + +He was pulling on his gloves as he spoke, and turned quickly on his +heel when the innkeeper entered the room, as if he had expected one +of those dread Cossacks of Toula who were half savage. But the +innkeeper carried nothing more lethal in his hand than a yellow mug +of beer, which he offered to Barlasch. And the old soldier only +shook his head. + +"There is poison in it," he muttered. "He knows I am a Frenchman." + +"Come," said Desiree, with her gay laugh, "I will show you that +there is no poison in it." + +She took the mug and drank, and handed the measure to Barlasch. It +was a poor thin beer, and Barlasch was not one to hide his opinion +from the host, to whom he made a reproving grimace when he returned +the empty mug. But the effect upon him was nevertheless good, for +he took the reins again with a renewed energy, and called to the +horses gaily enough. + +"Allons," he said; "we shall reach Dantzig safely by nightfall, and +there we shall find your husband awaiting us, and laughing at us for +our foolish journey." + +But being an old man, the beer could not warm his heart for long, +and he soon lapsed again into melancholy and silence. Nevertheless, +they reached Dantzig by nightfall, and although it was a bitter +twilight--colder than the night itself--the streets were full. Men +stood in groups and talked. In the brief time required to journey +to Thorn something had happened. Something happened every day in +Dantzig; for when history wakes from her slumber and moves, it is +with a heavy and restless tread. + +"What is it?" asked Barlasch of the sentry at the town gate, while +they waited for their passports to be returned to them. + +"It is a proclamation from the Emperor of Russia--no one knows how +it has got here." + +"And what does he proclaim--that citizen?" + +"He bids the Dantzigers rise and turn us out," answered the soldier, +with a grim laugh. + +"Is that all?" + +"No, comrade, that is not all," was the answer in a graver voice. + +"He proclaims that every Pole who submits now will be forgiven and +set at liberty; the past, he says, will be committed to an eternal +oblivion and a profound silence--those are his words." + +"Ah!" + +"Yes, and half the defenders of Dantzig are Poles--there are your +passports--pass on." + +They drove through the dark streets where men like shadows hurried +silently about their business. + +The Frauengasse seemed to be deserted when they reached it. It was +Mathilde who opened the door. She must have been at the darkened +window, behind the curtain. Lisa had gone home to her native +village in Sammland in obedience to the Governor's orders. +Sebastian had not been home all day. Charles had not returned, and +there was no news of him. + +Barlasch, wiping the snow from his face, watched Desiree, and made +no comment. + + + +CHAPTER XXIV. MATHILDE CHOOSES. + + + + But strong is fate, O Love, + Who makes, who mars, who ends. + +Desiree was telling Mathilde the brief news of her futile journey, +when a knock at the front door made them turn from the stairs where +they were standing. It was Sebastian's knock. His hours had been +less regular of late. He came and went without explanation. + +When he had freed his throat from his furs, and laid aside his +gloves, he glanced hastily at Desiree, who had kissed him without +speaking. + +"And your husband?" he asked curtly. + +"It was not he whom we found at Thorn," she answered. There was +something in her father's voice--in his quick, sidelong glance at +her--that caught her attention. He had changed lately. From a man +of dreams he had been transformed into a man of action. It is +customary to designate a man of action as a hard man. Custom is the +brick wall against which feeble minds come to a standstill and +hinder the progress of the world. Sebastian had been softened by +action, through which his mental energy had found an outlet. But +to-night he was his old self again--hard, scornful, +incomprehensible. + +"I have heard nothing of him," said Desiree. + +Sebastian was stamping the snow from his boots. + +"But I have," he said, without looking up. + +Desiree said nothing. She knew that the secret she had guarded so +carefully--the secret kept by herself and Louis--was hers no longer. +In the silence of the next moments she could hear Barlasch breathing +on his fingers, within the kitchen doorway just behind her. +Mathilde made a little movement. She was on the stairs, and she +moved nearer to the balustrade and held to it breathlessly. For +Charles Darragon's secret was De Casimir's too. + +"These two gentlemen," said Sebastian slowly, "were in the secret +service of Napoleon. They are hardly likely to return to Dantzig." + +"Why not?" asked Mathilde. + +"They dare not." + +"I think the Emperor will be able to protect his officers," said +Mathilde. + +"But not his spies," replied Sebastian coldly. + +"Since they wore his uniform, they cannot be blamed for doing their +duty. They are brave enough. They would hardly avoid returning to +Dantzig because--because they have outwitted the Tugendbund." + +Mathilde's face was colourless with anger, and her quiet eyes +flashed. She had been surprised into this sudden advocacy, and an +advocate who displays temper is always a dangerous ally. Sebastian +glanced at her sharply. She was usually so self-controlled that her +flashing eyes and quick breath betrayed her. + +"What do you know of the Tugendbund?" he asked. + +But she would not answer, merely shrugging her shoulders and closing +her thin lips with a snap. + +"It is not only in Dantzig," said Sebastian, "that they are unsafe. +It is anywhere where the Tugendbund can reach them." + +He turned sharply to Desiree. His wits, cleared by action, told him +that her silence meant that she, at all events, had not been +surprised. She had, therefore, known already the part played by De +Casimir and Charles, in Dantzig, before the war. + +"And you," he said, "you have nothing to say for your husband." + +"He may have been misled," she said mechanically, in the manner of +one making a prepared speech or meeting a foreseen emergency. It +had been foreseen by Louis d'Arragon. The speech had been, +unconsciously, prepared by him. + +"You mean, by Colonel de Casimir," suggested Mathilde, who had +recovered her usual quiet. And Desiree did not deny her meaning. +Sebastian looked from one to the other. It was the irony of Fate +that had married one of his daughters to Charles Darragon, and +affianced the other to De Casimir. His own secret, so well kept, +had turned in his hand like a concealed weapon. + +They were all startled by Barlasch, who spoke from the kitchen door, +where he had been standing unobserved or forgotten. He came forward +to the light of the lamp hanging overhead. + +"That reminds me . . . " he said a second time, and having secured +their attention, he instituted a search in the many pockets of his +nondescript clothing. He still wore a dirty handkerchief bound over +one eye. It served to release him from duty in the trenches or work +on the frozen fortifications. By this simple device, coupled with +half a dozen bandages in various parts of his person, where a frost- +bite or a wound gave excuse, he passed as one of the twenty-five +thousand sick and wounded who encumbered Dantzig at this time, and +were already dying at the rate of fifty a day. + +"A letter . . . " he said, still searching with his maimed hand. +"You mentioned the name of the Colonel de Casimir. It was that +which recalled to my mind . . . " He paused, and produced a letter +carefully sealed. He turned it over, glancing at the seals with a +reproving jerk of the head, which conveyed as clearly as words a +shameless confession that he had been frustrated by them . . . "this +letter. I was told to give it you, without fail, at the right +moment." + +It could hardly be the case that he honestly thought this moment +might be so described. But he gave the letter to Mathilde with a +gesture of grim triumph. Perhaps he was thinking of the cellar in +the Palace on the Petrovka at Moscow, and the treasure which he had +found there. + +"It is from the Colonel de Casimir," he said, "a clever man," he +added, turning confidentially to Sebastian, and holding his +attention by an upraised hand. "Oh! . . . a clever man." + +Mathilde, her face all flushed, tore open the envelope, while +Barlasch, breathing on his fingers, watched with twinkling eye and +busy lips. + +The letter was a long one. Colonel de Casimir was an adept at +explanation. There was, no doubt, much to explain. Mathilde read +the letter carefully. It was the first she had ever had--a love- +letter in its guise--with explanations in it. Love and explanation +in the same breath. Assuredly De Casimir was a daring lover. + +"He says that Dantzig will be taken by storm," she said at length, +"and that the Cossacks will spare no one." + +"Does it signify," inquired Sebastian in his smoothest voice, "what +Colonel de Casimir may say?" + +His grand manner had come back to him. He made a gesture with his +hand almost suggestive of a ruffle at the wrist, and clearly +insulting to Colonel de Casimir. + +"He urges us to quit the city before it is too late," continued +Mathilde, in her measured voice, and awaited her father's reply. He +took snuff with a cold smile. + +"You will not do so?" she asked. And by way of reply, Sebastian +laughed as he dusted the snuff from his coat with his pocket- +handkerchief. + +"He asks me to go to Cracow with the Grafin, and marry him," said +Mathilde finally. And Sebastian only shrugged his shoulders. The +suggestion was beneath contempt. + +"And . . . ?" he inquired with raised eyebrows. + +"I shall do it," replied Mathilde, defiance shining in her eyes. + +"At all events," commented Sebastian, who knew Mathilde's mind, and +met her coldness with indifference, "you will do it with your eyes +open, and not leap in the dark, as Desiree did. I was to blame +there; a man is always to blame if he is deceived. With you . . . +Bah! you know what the man is. But you do not know, unless he tells +you in that letter, that he is even a traitor in his treachery. He +has accepted the amnesty offered by the Czar; he has abandoned +Napoleon's cause; he has petitioned the Czar to allow him to retire +to Cracow, and there live on his estates." + +"He has no doubt good reasons for his action," said Mathilde. + +"Two carriages full," muttered Barlasch, who had withdrawn to the +dark corner near the kitchen door. But no one heeded him. + +"You must make your choice," said Sebastian, with the coldness of a +judge. "You are of age. Choose." + +"I have already chosen," answered Mathilde. "The Grafin leaves to- +morrow. I will go with her." + +She had, at all events, the courage of her own opinions--a courage +not rare in women, however valueless may be the judgment upon which +it is based. And in fairness it must be admitted that women usually +have the courage not only of the opinion, but of the consequence, +and meet it with a better grace than men can summon in misfortune. + +Sebastian dined alone and hastily. Mathilde was locked in her room, +and refused to open the door. Desiree cooked her father's dinner +while Barlasch made ready to depart on some vague errand in the +town. + +"There may be news," he said. "Who knows? And afterwards the +patron will go out, and it would not be wise for you to remain alone +in the house." + +"Why not?" + +Barlasch turned and looked at her thoughtfully over his shoulder. + +"In some of the big houses down in the Niederstadt there are forty +and fifty soldiers quartered--diseased, wounded, without discipline. +There are others coming. I have told them we have fever in the +house. It is the only way. We may keep them out; for the +Frauengasse is in the centre of the town, and the soldiers are not +needed in this quarter. But you--you cannot lie as I can. You +laugh--ah! A woman tells more lies; but a man tells them better. +Push the bolts, when I am gone." + +After his dinner, Sebastian went out, as Barlasch had predicted. He +said nothing to Desiree of Charles or of the future. There was +nothing to be said, perhaps. He did not ask why Mathilde was +absent. In the stillness of the house, he could probably hear her +moving in her rooms upstairs. + +He had not been long gone when Mathilde came down, dressed to go +out. She came into the kitchen where Desiree was doing the work of +the absent Lisa, who had reluctantly gone to her home on the Baltic +coast. Mathilde stood by the kitchen table and ate some bread. + +"The Grafin has arranged to quit Dantzig to-morrow," she said. "I +am going to ask her to take me with her." + +Desiree nodded and made no comment. Mathilde went to the door, but +paused there. Without looking round, she stood thinking deeply. +They had grown from childhood together--motherless--with a father +whom neither understood. Together they had faced the difficulties +of life; the hundred petty difficulties attending a woman's life in +a strange land, among neighbours who bear the sleepless grudge of +unsatisfied curiosity. They had worked together for their daily +bread. And now the full stream of life had swept them together from +the safe moorings of childhood. + +"Will you come too?" asked Mathilde. "All that he says about +Dantzig is true." + +"No, thank you," answered Desiree, gently enough. "I will wait +here. I must wait in Dantzig." + +"I cannot," said Mathilde, half excusing herself. "I must go. I +cannot help it. You understand?" + +"Yes," said Desiree, and nothing more. + +Had Mathilde asked her the question six months ago, she would have +said "No." But she understood now, not that Mathilde could love De +Casimir; that was beyond her individual comprehension, but that +there was no alternative now. + +Soon after Mathilde had gone, Barlasch returned. + +"If Mademoiselle Mathilde is going, she will have to go to-morrow," +he said. "Those that are coming in at the gates now are the +rearguard of the Heudelet Division which was driven out of Elbing by +the Cossacks three days ago." + +He sat mumbling to himself by the fire, and only turned to the +supper which Desiree had placed in readiness for him when she +quitted the room and went upstairs. It was he who opened the door +for Mathilde, who returned in half an hour. She thanked him absent- +mindedly and went upstairs. He could hear the sisters talking +together in a low voice in the drawing-room, which he had never +seen, at the top of the stairs. + +Then Desiree came down, and he helped her to find in a shed in the +yard one of those travelling-trunks which he had recognized as being +of French manufacture. He took off his boots, and carried it +upstairs for her. + +It was ten o'clock before Sebastian came in. He nodded his thanks +to Barlasch, and watched him bolt the door. He made no inquiry as +to Mathilde, but extinguished the lamp, and went to his room. He +never mentioned her name again. + +Early the next morning, the girls were astir. But Barlasch was +before them, and when Desiree came down, she found the kitchen fire +alight. Barlasch was cleaning a knife, and nodded a silent good +morning. Desiree's eyes were red, and Barlasch must have noted this +sign of grief, for he gave a contemptuous laugh, and continued his +occupation. + +It was barely daylight when the Grafin's heavy, old-fashioned +carriage drew up in front of the house. Mathilde came down, thickly +veiled and in her travelling furs. She did not seem to see +Barlasch, and omitted to thank him for carrying her travelling-trunk +to the carriage. + +He stood on the terrace beside Desiree until the carriage had turned +the corner into the Pfaffengasse. + +"Bah!" he said, "let her go. There is no stopping them, when they +are like that. It is the curse--of the Garden of Eden." + + + +CHAPTER XXV. A DESPATCH. + + + + In counsel it is good to see dangers; and in execution not to +see them unless they be very great. + +Mathilde had told Desiree that Colonel de Casimir made no mention of +Charles in his letter to her. Barlasch was able to supply but +little further information on the matter. + +"It was given to me by the Captain Louis d'Arragon at Thorn," he +said. "He handled it as if it were not too clean. And he had +nothing to say about it. You know his way, for the rest. He says +little; but he knows the look of things. It seemed that he had +promised to deliver the letter--for some reason, who knows what? and +he kept his promise. The man was not dying by any chance--that De +Casimir?" + +And his little sharp eyes, reddened by the smoke of camp-fires, +inflamed by the glare of sun on snow, searched her face. He was +thinking of the treasure. + +"Oh no!" + +"Was he ill at all?" + +"He was in bed," answered Desiree, doubtfully. + +Barlasch scratched his head without ceremony, and fell into a long +train of thought. + +"Do you know what I think?" he said at length. "I think that De +Casimir was not ill at all--any more than I am; I, Barlasch. Not so +ill, perhaps, as I am, for I have an indigestion. It is always +there at the summit of the stomach. It is horse without salt." + +He paused and rubbed his chest tenderly. + +"Never eat horse without salt," he put in parenthetically. + +"I hope never to eat it at all," answered Desiree. "What about +Colonel de Casimir?" + +He waved her aside as a babbler who broke in upon his thoughts. +These seemed to be lodged in his mouth, for, when reflecting, he +chewed and mumbled with his lips. + +"Listen," he said at length. "This is De Casimir. He goes to bed +and lets his beard grow--half an inch of beard will keep any man in +the hospital. You nod your head. Yes; I thought so. He knows that +the viceroy, with the last of the army, is at Thorn. He keeps +quiet. He waits in his roadside inn until the last of the army has +gone. He waits until the Russians come, and to them he hands over +the Emperor's possessions--all the papers, the maps, the despatches. +For that he will be rewarded by the Emperor Alexander, who has +already promised pardon to all Poles who have taken arms against +Russia and now submit. De Casimir will be allowed to retain his own +baggage. He has no loot taken at Moscow--oh no! Only his own +baggage. Ah--that man! See, I spit him out." + +And it is painful to record that he here resorted to graphic +illustration. + +"Ah!" he went on triumphantly, "I know. I can see right into the +mind of such a man. I will tell you why. It is because I am that +sort of man myself." + +"You do not seem to have been so successful--since you are poor," +said Desiree, with a laugh. + +He frowned at her apparently in speechless anger, seeking an answer. +But for the moment he could think of none, so he turned to the +knives again, which he was cleaning on a board on the kitchen-table. +At length he paused and glanced at Desiree. + +"And your husband," he said slowly. "Remember that he is a partner +with this De Casimir. They hunt together. I know it; for I was in +Moscow. Ah! that makes you stand stiffly, and push your chin out." + +He went on cleaning the knives, and, without looking at her, seemed +to be speaking his own thoughts aloud. + +"Yes! He is a traitor. And he is worse than the other; for he is +no Pole, but a Frenchman. And if he returns to France, the Emperor +will say: 'Where are my despatches, my maps, my papers, which were +given into your care?'" + +He finished the thought with three gestures, which seemed to +illustrate the placing of a man against a wall and shooting him. +His meaning could not be mistaken. + +"And that is what the patron means when he says that Monsieur +Charles Darragon will not return to Dantzig. I knew that he meant +that last night, when he was so angry--on the mat." + +"And why did you not tell me?" + +Barlasch looked at her thoughtfully for a moment, before replying +slowly and impressively. + +"Because, if I had told you, you might have decided to quit Dantzig +with Mademoiselle Mathilde, and go hunting your husband in a country +overrun by desperate fugitives and untamed Cossacks. And I did not +want that. I want you here--in Dantzig; in the Frauengasse; in this +kitchen; under my hand--so that I can take care of you till the war +is over. I--who speak to you--Papa Barlasch, at your service. And +there is not another man in the world who will do it so well. No; +not one." + +And his eyes flashed as he threw the knives into a drawer. + +"But why should you do all this for me?" asked Desiree. "You could +have gone home to France--quite easily--and have left us to our fate +here in Dantzig. Why did you not go home?" + +Barlasch looked at her with surprise, not unmixed with a sudden dumb +disappointment. He was preparing to go out according to his wont +immediately after breakfast; for Lisa had unconsciously hit the mark +when she compared him to a cat. He had the regular and self- +contained habits of that unobtrusive friend. He buttoned his rough +coat slowly, and looked round the kitchen with eyes dimly wistful. +He was very old and ragged and homeless. + +"Is it not enough," he said, "that we are friends?" + +He went towards the door, but came back and warned her by the +familiar upheld finger not to let her attention wander from his +words. + +"You will be glad yet that I have stayed. It is because I speak a +little plainly of your husband that you wish me gone. Bah! What +does it matter? All men are alike. We are only men--not angels. +And you can go on loving him all the same. You are not particular, +you women. You can love anything--even a man like that." + +And he went out muttering anathemas on the hearts of all women. + +"It seems," he said, "that a woman can love anything." + +Which is true; and a very good thing for some of us. For without +that Heaven-sent capacity the world could not go on at all. + +It was later in the day when Barlasch made his way into the low and +smoke-grimed Bier Halle of the Weissen Ross'l. He must have known +Sebastian's habits, for he went straight to that corner of the great +room where the violin-player usually sat. The stout waitress--a +country girl of no intelligence, smiled broadly at the sight of such +a ragged customer as she followed him down the length of the +sawdust-strewn floor. + +Sebastian's face showed no surprise when he looked up and recognized +the new-comer. The surrounding tables were empty. It was too early +in the evening for the regular customers, whose numbers, moreover, +had been sadly thinned during the last few months. For the peaceful +Dantzigers, remembering the siege of seven years ago, had mostly +fled at the first mention of the word. + +Sebastian nodded in answer to Barlasch's somewhat ceremonious bow, +and by a gesture invited him to be seated on the chair upon which he +had already laid his hand. The atmosphere of the room was warm, and +Barlasch laid aside his sheepskin coat, as he had seen the great and +the rich divest themselves of their sables. He turned sharply and +caught the waitress with an amused smile still on her face. He drew +her attention to a little pool of beer on the table, and stood until +she had made good this lapse in her duty. Then he pointed to +Sebastian's mug of beer and dismissed her giggling, to get one for +him of the same size and contents. + +Making sure that there was no one within earshot, he waited until +Sebastian's dreamy eye met his, and then said-- + +"It is time we understood each other." + +A light of surprise--passing and half-indifferent--flashed into +Sebastian's eyes and vanished again at once when he saw Barlasch had +meant nothing: made no sign or countersign with his hand. + +"By all means, my friend," he answered. + +"I delivered your letters," said Barlasch, "at Thorn and at the +other places." + +"I know; I have already had answers. You would be wise to forget +the incident." + +Barlasch shrugged his shoulders. + +"You were paid," said Sebastian, jumping to a natural conclusion. + +"A little," admitted Barlasch, "a small little--but it was not that. +I always get paid in advance, when I can. Except by the Emperor. +He owes me some--that citizen. It was another question. In the +house I am friends with all--with Lisa who has gone--with +Mademoiselle Mathilde who has gone--with Mademoiselle Desiree, so- +called Madame Darragon, who remains. With all except you. Why +should we not be friends?" + +"But we are friends--" protested Sebastian, with a bow. As if in +confirmation of the statement, he held out his beer-mug, and +Barlasch touched it with the rim of his own before drinking. +Sebastian's attitude, his bow, his manner of drinking, were those of +the Court; Barlasch was distinctly of the camp. But these were +strange days, and all society had been turned topsy-turvy by one +man. + +"Then," said Barlasch, licking his lips, "let us understand one +another. You say there will be no siege. I say you are wrong. You +think that the Dantzigers will rise in answer to the Emperor +Alexander's proclamations, and turn the French out. I say the +Dantzigers' stomachs are too big. I say that Rapp will hold +Dantzig, and that the Russians will not take it by storm, because +they are too weak. There will be a siege, and a long one. Are you +and Mademoiselle and I going to sit it out in the Frauengasse +together?" + +"We shall be honoured to have you as our guest," answered Sebastian, +with that levity which went before the Revolution, and was never +understood of the people. + +Barlasch did not understand it. He glanced doubtfully at his +companion, and sipped his beer. + +"Then I will begin to-night." + +"Begin what, my friend?" + +Barlasch waved aside all petty detail. + +"My preparations. I go out about ten o'clock--after you are in. I +will take the key of the front door, and let myself in when I come +back. I shall make two journeys. Under the kitchen floor is a +large hollow space. I fill that with bags of corn." + +"But where will you get the corn, my friend?" + +"I know where to get it--corn and other things. Salt I have +already--enough for a year. Other things I can get for three +months." + +"But we have no money to pay for them." + +"Bah!" + +"You mean you will steal them," suggested Sebastian, not without a +ring of contempt in his mincing voice. + +"A soldier never steals," answered Barlasch, carelessly announcing a +great truth. + +Sebastian laughed. It was obvious that his mind, absorbed in great +thought, heeded small things not at all. His companion pushed his +fur cap to the back of his head, and ruffled his hair forward. + +"That is not all," he said at length. He looked round the vast +room, which was almost deserted. The stout waitress was polishing +pewter mugs at the bar. "You say you have already had answers to +those letters. It is a great organization--your secret society-- +whatever it is called. It delivers letters all over Prussia--eh? +and Poland perhaps--or farther still." + +Sebastian shrugged one shoulder, and made no answer for some time. + +"I have already told you," he said impatiently, at length, "to +forget the incident; you were paid." + +By way of reply, the old soldier laboriously emptied his pockets, +searching the most remote of them for small copper coins. He +counted slowly and carefully until he had made up a thaler. + +"But it is not my turn to be paid this time. It is I who pay." + +He held out his hand with a pound weight of base metal in it, but +Sebastian refused the money with a sudden assumption of his cold and +scornful manner, oddly out of keeping with his humble surroundings. + +"As between friends--" suggested Barlasch, and, on receiving a more +decided negative, returned the coins to his pocket, not without +satisfaction. + +"I want your friends to pass on a letter for me--I am willing to +pay," he said in a whisper. "A letter to Captain Louis d'Arragon-- +it concerns the happiness of Mademoiselle Desiree. Do not shake +your head. Think before you refuse. The letter will be an open +one--six words or so--telling the Captain that his cousin, +Mademoiselle's husband, is not in Dantzig, and cannot now return +here since the last of the rearguard entered the city this morning." + +Sebastian seemed to be considering the matter, and Barlasch was +quick to combat possible objections. + +"The Captain went to Konigsberg. He is there now. Your friends can +easily find him, and give him the letter. It is of great importance +to Mademoiselle. The Captain is not looking for Monsieur Charles +Darragon, because he thinks that he is here in Dantzig. Colonel de +Casimir assured him that Mademoiselle would find him here. Where is +he--that Monsieur Charles--I wonder? It is of great importance to +Mademoiselle. The Captain would perhaps continue his search." + +"Where is your letter?" asked Sebastian. + +By way of reply, Barlasch laid on the table a sheet of paper. + +"You must write it," he said. "My hand is injured. I write not +badly, you understand. But this evening I do not feel that my hand +is well enough." + +So, with the sticky, thick ink of the Weissen Ross'l, Sebastian +wrote the letter, and Barlasch, forgetting his scholarly +acquirements, took the pen and made a mark beneath his own name +written at the foot of it. + +Then he went out, and left Sebastian to pay for the beer. + + + +CHAPTER XXVI. ON THE BRIDGE. + + + + They that are above + Have ends in everything. + +A lame man was standing on the bridge that crosses the Neuer Pregel +from the Kant Strasse--which is the centre of the city of +Konigsberg--to the island known as the Kneiphof. This bridge is +called the Kramer Brucke, and may be described as the heart of the +town. From it on either hand diverge the narrow streets that run +along the river bank, busy with commerce, crowded with the narrow +sleighs that carry wood from the Pregel up into the town. + +The wider streets--such as the Kant Strasse, running downhill from +the royal castle to the river, and the Kneiphof'sche Langgasse, +leading southward to the Brandenburg gate and the great world--must +needs make use of the Kramer Brucke. Here, it may be said, every +man in the town must sooner or later pass in the execution of his +daily business, whether he go about it on foot or in a sleigh with a +pair of horses. Here the idler and those grave professors from the +University, which was still mourning the death of the aged Kant, +nearly always passed in their thoughtful and conscientious +promenades. + +Here this lame man, a cobbler by trade, plying his quiet calling in +a house in the Neuer Markt, where the lime-trees grow close to the +upper windows, had patiently kept watch for three days. He was, +like many lame men, of an abnormal width and weight. He had a +large, square, dogged face, which seemed to promise that he would +wait there till the crack of doom rather than abandon a quest. + +It was very cold--mid-winter within a few miles of the frozen Baltic +on the very verge of Russia, at that point where old Europe +stretches a long arm out into the unknown. The cobbler was wrapped +in a sheepskin coat, which stood out all round him with the +stiffness of wood, so that he seemed to be living inside a box. To +keep himself warm he occasionally limped across from end to end of +the bridge, but never went farther. At times he leant his arms on +the stone wall at the Kant Strasse end of the bridge, and looked +down into the Lower Fish Market, where women from Pillau and the +Baltic shores--mere bundles of clothes--stood over their baskets of +fish frozen hard like sticks. It was a silent market. One cannot +haggle long when a minute's exposure to the air will give a frost- +bite to the end of the nose. The would-be purchaser can scarcely +make an effective bargain through a fringe of icicles that rattle +against his lips if he open them. + +The Pregel had been frozen for three months, with only the one +temporary thaw in November which cost Napoleon so many thousands at +his broken bridge across the Beresina. Though no water had flowed +beneath this bridge, many strange feet had passed across it. + +It had vibrated beneath Napoleon's heavy carriage, under the +lumbering guns that Macdonald took northward to blockade Riga. +Within the last few weeks it had given passage to the last of the +retreating army, a mere handful of heartsick fugitives. Macdonald +with his staff had been ignominiously driven across it by the +Cossacks who followed hard after them, the great marshal still wild +with rage at the defection of Yorck and the Prussian contingent. + +And now the Cossacks on their spare and ill-tempered horses passed +to and fro, wild men under an untamed leader whose heart was +hardened to stone by bereavement. The cobbler looked at them with a +countenance of wood. It was hard to say whether he preferred them +to the French, or was indifferent to one as to the other. He looked +at their boots with professional disdain. For all men must look at +the world from their own standpoint and consider mankind in the +light of their own interests. Thus those who live on the greed or +the vanity, or batten on the charity of their neighbour, learn to +watch the lips. + +The cobbler, by reason of looking at the lower end of men, attracted +little attention from the passer-by. He who has his eyes on the +ground passes unheeded. For the surest way of awakening interest is +to appear interested. It would seem that this cobbler was waiting +for a pair of boots not made in Konigsberg. And on the third day +his expressionless black eyes lighted on feet not shod in Poland, or +France, or Germany, nor yet in square-toed Russia. + +The owner of these far-travelled boots was a lightly-built dark- +faced man, with eyes quietly ubiquitous. He caught the interested +glance of the cobbler, and turned to look at him again with the +uneasiness that is bred of war. The cobbler instantly hobbled +towards him. + +"Will you help a poor man?" he said. + +"Why should I?" was the answer, with one hand already half out of +its thick glove. "You are not hungry; you have never been starved +in your life." + +The German was quick enough, but it was not quite the Prussian +German. + +The cobbler looked at the speaker slowly. + +"An Englishman?" he asked. + +And the other nodded. + +"Come this way." + +The cobbler hobbled towards the Kneiphof, where the streets are +quiet, and the Englishman followed him. At the corner of the Kohl +Markt he turned and looked, not at the man, but at his boots. + +"You are a sailor?" he said. + +"Yes." + +"I was told to look for an English sailor--Louis d'Arragon." + +"Then you have found me," was the reply. + +Still the cobbler hesitated. + +"How am I to know it?" he asked suspiciously. + +"Can you read?" asked D'Arragon. "I can prove who I am--if I want +to. But I am not sure that I want to." + +"Oh! it is only a letter--of no importance. Some private business +of your own. It comes from Dantzig--written by one whose name +begins with 'B.'" + +"Barlasch," suggested D'Arragon quietly, as he took from his pocket +a paper which he unfolded and held beneath the eyes of the cobbler. +It was a passport written in three languages. If the man could +read, he was not anxious to boast of an accomplishment so far above +his station; but he glanced at the paper, not without a practised +skill, to seize the essential parts of it. + +"Yes, that is the name," he said, searching in his pockets. "The +letter is an open one. Here it is." + +In passing the letter, the man made a scarcely perceptible movement +of the hand which might have been a signal. + +"No," said D'Arragon, "I do not belong to the Tugendbund or to any +other secret society. We have need of no such associations in my +country." + +The cobbler laughed, not without embarrassment. + +"You have a quick eye," he said. "It is a great country, England. +I have seen the river full of English ships before Napoleon chased +you off the seas." + +D'Arragon smiled as he unfolded the letter. + +"He has not done it yet," he said, with that spirit which enables +mariners of the Anglo-Saxon race to be amused when there is a talk +of supremacy on the high seas. He read the letter carefully, and +his face hardened. + +"I was instructed," said the cobbler, "to give you the letter, and +at the same time to inform you that any assistance or facilities you +may require will be forth-coming; besides . . . " he broke off and +pointed with his thick, leather-stained finger, "that writing is not +the writing of him who signs." + +"He who signs cannot write at all." + +"That writing," went on the cobbler, "is a passport in any German +state. He who carries a letter written in that hand can live and +travel free anywhere from here to the Rhine or the Danube." + +"Then I am lucky in possessing a powerful friend," said D'Arragon, +"for I know who wrote this letter. I think I may say he is a friend +of mine." + +"I am sure of it. I have already been told so," said the cobbler. +"Have you a lodging in Konigsberg? No? Then you can lodge in my +house." + +Without awaiting a reply, which he seemed to consider a foregone +conclusion, he limped down the Kohl Markt towards the steps leading +to the river, which in winter is a thoroughfare. + +"I live in the Neuer Markt," he said breathlessly, as he laboured +onwards. "I have waited for you three days on that bridge. Where +have you been all this time?" + +"Avoiding the French," replied D'Arragon curtly. Respecting his own +affairs he was reticent, as commanders and other lonely men must +always be. They walked side by side on the dusty and trodden ice +without further speech. At the steps from the river to Neuer Markt, +D'Arragon gave the lame man his hand, and glanced a second time at +the fingers which clasped his own. They had not been born to toil, +but had had it thrust upon them. + +They crossed the Neuer Markt together, and went into that house +where the linden grows so close as to obscure the windows. And the +lodging offered to Louis was the room in which Charles Darragon had +slept in his wet clothes six months earlier. So small is the world +in which we live, and so narrow are the circles drawn by Fate around +human existence and endeavour. + +The cobbler having shown his visitor the room, and pointed out its +advantages, was turning to go when D'Arragon, who was laying aside +his fur coat, seemed to catch his attention, and he paused on the +threshold. + +"There is French blood in your veins," he said abruptly. + +"Yes--a little." + +"So. I thought there must be. You reminded me--it was odd, the way +you laid aside your coat--reminded me of a Frenchman who lodged here +for one night. He was like you, too, in build and face. He was a +spy, if you please--one of the French Emperor's secret police. I +was new at the work then, but still I suspected there was something +wrong about him. I took his boots--a pretext of mending them. I +locked him in. He got out of that window, if you please, without +his boots. He followed me, and learnt much that he was not meant to +know. I have since heard it from others. He did the Emperor a +great service--that man. He saved his life, I think, from +assassination in Dantzig. And he did me an ill turn--but it was my +own carelessness. I thought to make a thaler by lodging him, and he +was tricking me all the while." + +"What was his name?" asked D'Arragon. + +"Oh--I forgot the name he gave. It was a false one. He was +disguised as a common soldier--and he was in reality an officer of +the staff. But I know the name of the officer to whom he wrote his +report of his night's lodging here--his colleague in the secret +police, it would seem." + +"Ah!" said D'Arragon, busying himself with his haversack. + +"It was De Casimir--a Polish name. And in the last two days I have +heard of him. He has accepted the Emperor's amnesty. He has +married a beautiful woman, and is living like a prince at Cracow. +All this since the siege of Dantzig began. In time of war there is +no moment to lose, eh?" + +"And the other? He who slept in this room. Has he passed through +Konigsberg again?" + +"No, that he has not. If he had, I should have seen him. You can +believe me, I wanted to see him. I was at my place on the bridge +all the time--while the French occupied Konigsberg--when the last of +them hurried away a month ago with the Cossacks close behind. No. +I should have seen him, and known him. He is not on this side of +the Niemen, that fine young gentleman. Now, what can I do to help +you to-morrow?" + +"You can help me on the way to Vilna," answered D'Arragon. + +"You will never get there." + +"I will try," said the sailor. + + + +CHAPTER XXVII. A FLASH OF MEMORY. + + + + Nothing can cover his high fame but Heaven, + No pyramids set off his memories, + But the eternal substance of his greatness + To which I leave him. + +"Why I will not let you go out into the streets?" said Barlasch one +February morning, stamping the snow from his boots. "Why I will not +let you go out into the streets?" + +He turned and followed Desiree towards the kitchen, after having +carefully bolted the heavy oaken door which had been strengthened as +if to resist a siege. Desiree's face had that clear pallor which +marks an indoor life; but Barlasch, weather-beaten, scorched and +wrinkled, showed no sign of having endured a month's siege in an +overcrowded city. + +"I will tell you why I will not let you go into the streets. +Because they are not fit for any woman to go into--because if you +walked from here to the Rathhaus you would see sights that would +come back to you in your sleep, and wake you from it, when you are +an old woman. Do you know what they do with their dead? They throw +them outside their doors--with nothing to cover their starved +nakedness--as Lisa put her ashes in the street every morning. And +the cart goes round, as the dustman's cart used to go in times of +peace, and, like the dustman's cart, it drops part of its load, and +the dust that blows round it is the infection of typhus. That is +why you cannot go into the streets." + +He unbuttoned his fur coat and displayed a smart new uniform; for +Rapp had put his miserable army into new clothes, with which many of +the Dantzig warehouses had been filled by Napoleon's order at the +beginning of the war. + +"There," he said, laying a small parcel on the table, "there is my +daily ration. Two ounces of horse, one ounce of salt beef, the same +as yesterday. One does not know how long we shall be treated so +generously. Let us keep the beef--we may come to want some day." + +And giving a hoarse laugh, he lifted a board in the floor, beneath +which he hoarded his stores. + +"Will you cook your dejeuner yourself," asked Desiree. "I have +something else for my father." + +"And what have you?" asked Barlasch curtly; "you are not keeping +anything hidden from me?" + +"No," answered Desiree, with a laugh at the sternness of his face, +"I will give him a piece of the ham which was left over from last +night." + +"Left over?" echoed Barlasch, going close to her and looking up into +her face, for she was two inches taller than he. "Left over? Then +you did not eat your supper last night?" + +"Neither did you eat yours, for it is there under the floor." + +Barlasch turned away with a gesture of despair. He sat down in the +high armchair that stood on the hearth, and tapped on the floor with +one foot in pessimistic thought. + +"Ah! the women, the women," he muttered, looking into the +smouldering fire. "Lies--all lies. You said that your supper was +very nice," he shouted at her over his shoulder. + +"So it was," answered she gaily, "so it is still." + +Barlasch did not rise to her lighter humour. He sat in reflection +for some minutes. Then his thoughts took their usual form of a +muttered aside. + +"It is a case of compromise. Always like that. The good God had to +compromise with the first woman he created almost at once. And men +have done it ever since--and have never had the best of it. See +here," he said aloud, turning to Desiree, "I will make a bargain +with you. I will eat my last night's supper here at this table, +now, if you will eat yours." + +"Agreed." + +"Are you hungry?" asked Barlasch, when the scanty meal was set out +before him. + +"Yes." + +"So am I." + +He laughed quite gaily now, and the meal was not without a certain +air of festivity, though it consisted of nothing better than two +ounces of horse and half an ounce of ham eaten in company of that +rye-bread made with one-third part of straw which Rapp allowed the +citizens to buy. + +For Rapp had first tamed his army, and was now taming the +Dantzigers. He had effected discipline in his own camp by getting +his regiments into shape, by establishing hospitals (which were +immediately filled), and by protecting the citizens from the +depredations of the starving fugitives who had been poured pell-mell +into the town. + +Then he turned his attention to the Dantzigers, who were openly or +secretly opposed to him. He seized their churches and turned them +into stores; their schools he used for hospitals, their monasteries +for barracks. He broke into their cellars, and took the wine for +the sick. Their storehouses he placed under the strictest guard, +and no man could claim possession of his own goods. + +"We are," he said in effect, with that grim Alsatian humour which +the Prussians were slow to understand; "we are one united family in +a narrow house, and it is I who keep the storeroom key." + +Barlasch had proved to be no false prophet. His secret store +escaped the vigilance of the picket, whom he himself conducted to +the cellars in the Frauengasse. Although he was sparing enough, he +could always provide Desiree with anything for which she expressed a +wish, and even forestalled those which she left unspoken. In return +he looked for absolute obedience, and after their frugal breakfast +he took her to task for depriving herself of such food as they could +afford. + +"See you," he said, "a siege is a question of the stomach. It is +not the Russians we have to fight; for they will not fight. They +sit outside and wait for us to die of cold, of starvation, of +typhus. And we are obliging them at the rate of two hundred a day. +Yes, each day Rapp is relieved of the responsibility of two hundred +mouths that drop open and require nothing more. Be greedy--eat all +you have, and hope for release to-morrow, and you die. Be sparing-- +starve yourself from parsimony or for the love of some one who will +eat your share and forget to thank you, and you will die of typhus. +Be careful, and patient, and selfish--eat a little, take what +exercise you can, cook your food carefully with salt, and you will +live. I was in a siege thirty years before you were born, and I am +alive yet, after many others. Obey me and we will get through the +siege of Dantzig, which is only just beginning." + +Then suddenly he gave way to anger, and banged his hand down on the +table. + +"But, sacred name of thunder, do not make me believe you have eaten +when you have not," he shouted. "Never do that." + +Carried away by the importance of this question, he said many things +which cannot be set before the eyes of a generation sensitive to +plainness of speech, and only tolerant of it in suggestions of +impropriety. + +"And the patron," he ended abruptly, "how is he?" + +"He is not very well," answered Desiree. Which answer did not +satisfy Barlasch, who insisted on taking off his boots, and going +upstairs to see Sebastian. + +It was a mere nothing, the invalid said. Such food did not suit +him. + +"You have been accustomed to live well all your life," answered +Barlasch, looking at him with the puzzled light of a baffled memory +in his eye which always came when he looked at Desiree's father. +"One must see what can be done." + +And he went out forthwith to return after an hour and more with a +chicken freshly killed. Desiree did not ask him where he had +procured it. She had given up such inquiries, for Barlasch always +confessed quite bluntly to theft, and she did not know whether to +believe him or not. + +But the change of diet had no beneficial effect, and the next day +Desiree sent Barlasch to the house of the doctor whose practice lay +in the Frauengasse. He came and shook his head bluntly. For even +an old doctor may be hardened at the end of his life by an orgy, as +it were, of death. + +"I could cure him," he said, "if there were no Russians outside the +walls; if I could give him fresh milk and good brandy and strong +soup." + +But even Barlasch could not find milk in Dantzig. The brandy was +forthcoming, and the fresh meat; the soup Desiree made with her own +hands. Sebastian had not been the same man since the closing of the +roads and the gradual death of his hopes that the Dantzigers would +rise against the soldiers that thronged their streets. At one time +it would have been easy to carry out such a movement, and to throw +themselves and their city upon the mercy of the Russians. But +Dantzig awoke to this possibility too late, when Rapp's iron hand +had closed in upon it. He knew his own strength so well that he +treated with a contemptuous leniency such citizens as were convicted +of communicating with the enemy. + +Sebastian's friends seemed to have deserted him. Perhaps it was not +discreet to be seen in the company of one who had come under +Napoleon's displeasure. Some had quitted the city after hurriedly +concealing their valuables in their gardens, behind the chimneys, +beneath the floors, where it is to be supposed they still lie +hidden. Others were among the weekly thousand or twelve hundred who +were carted out by the Oliva Gate to be thrown into huge trenches, +while the waiting Russians watched from their lines on the heights +of Langfuhr. + +It was true that news continued to filter in, and never quite +ceased, all through the terrible twelve months that were to follow. +More especially did news that was unfavourable to the French find +its way into the beleaguered city. But it was not authentic news, +and Sebastian gathered little comfort from the fact--not unknown to +the whispering citizens--that Rapp himself had heard nothing from +the outer world since the Elbing mail-cart had been turned back by +the first of the Cossacks on the night of the seventh of January. + +Perhaps Sebastian had that most fatal of maladies--to which nearly +all men come at last--weariness of life. + +"Why don't you fortify yourself, and laugh at fortune?" asked +Barlasch, twenty years his senior, as he stood sturdily on his +stocking-feet at the sick man's bedside. + +"I take what my daughter gives me," protested Sebastian, half +peevishly. + +"But that does not suffice," answered the materialist. "It does not +suffice to swallow evil fortune--one must digest it." + +Sebastian made no answer. He was a quiet patient, and lay all day +with wide-open, dreaming eyes. He seemed to be waiting for +something. This, indeed, was his mental attitude as presented to +his neighbours, and perhaps to the few friends he possessed in +Dantzig. He had waited through the years during which Desiree had +grown to womanhood. He waited on doggedly through the first month +of the siege, without enthusiasm, without comment--without hope, +perhaps. He seemed to be waiting now to get better. + +"He has made little or no progress," said the doctor, who could only +give a passing glance at his patients, for he was working day and +night. He had not time to beat about the bush, as his kind heart +would have liked, for he had known Desiree all her life. + +It was Shrove Tuesday, and the streets were full of revellers. The +Neapolitans and other Southerners had made great preparations for +the carnival, and the Governor had not denied them their annual +licence. They had built a high car in one of the entrance yards to +the Marienkirche; and finding that the ancient arch would not allow +the erection to pass out into the street, they had pulled down the +pious handiwork of a bygone generation. + +The shouts of these merrymakers could be dimly heard through the +double windows, but Sebastian made no inquiry as to the meaning of +the cry. A sort of lassitude--the result of confinement within +doors, of insufficient food, of waning hope--had come over Desiree. +She listened heedlessly to the sounds in the streets through which +the dead were passing to the Oliva Gate, while the living danced by +in their hideous travesty of rejoicing. + +It was dusk when Barlasch came in. + +"The streets," he said, "are full of fools, dressed as such." +Receiving no answer, he crossed the room to where Desiree sat, +treading noiselessly, and stood in front of her, trying to see her +averted face. He stooped down and peered at her until she could no +longer hide her tear-stained eyes. + +He made a wry face and a little clicking noise with his tongue, such +as the women of his race make when they drop and break some +household utensil. Then he went back towards the bed. Hitherto he +had always observed a certain ceremoniousness of manner in the sick +chamber. He laid this aside this evening, and sat down on a chair +that stood near. + +Thus they remained in a silence which seemed to increase with the +darkness. At length the stillness became so marked that Barlasch +slowly turned his head towards the bed. The same instinct had come +to Desiree at the same moment. + +They both rose and groped their way towards Sebastian. Desiree +found the flint and struck it. The sulphur burnt blue for +interminable moments, and then flared to meet the wick of the +candle. Barlasch watched Desiree as she held the light down to her +father's face. Sebastian's waiting was over. Barlasch had not +needed a candle to recognize death. + +From Desiree his bright and restless eyes turned slowly towards the +dead man's face--and he stepped back. + +"Ah!" he said, with a hoarse cry of surprise, "now I remember. I +was always sure that I had seen his face before. And when I saw it +it was like that--like the face of a dead man. It was on the Place +de la Nation, on a tumbrel--going to the guillotine. He must have +escaped, as many did, by some accident or mistake." + +He went slowly to the window, holding his shaggy head between his +two clenched hands as if to spur his memory to an effort. Then he +turned and pointed to the silent form on the bed. + +"That is a noble of France," he said; "one of the greatest. And all +France thinks him dead this twenty years. And I cannot remember his +name--goodness of God--I cannot remember his name!" + + + +CHAPTER XXVIII. VILNA. + + + + It is our trust + That there is yet another world to mend + All error and mischance. + +Louis d'Arragon knew the road well enough from Konigsberg to the +Niemen. It runs across a plain, flat as a table, through which many +small streams seek their rivers in winding beds. This country was +not thinly inhabited, though the villages had been stripped, as +foliage is stripped by a cloud of locusts. Each cottage had its +ring of silver birch-trees to protect it from the winds which sweep +from the Baltic and the steppe. These had been torn and broken down +by the retreating army, in a vain hope of making fire with green +wood. + +It was quite easy to keep in the steps of the retreating army, for +the road was marked by recumbent forms huddled on either side. Few +vehicles had come so far, for the broken country near to Vilna and +around Kowno had presented slopes up which the starving horses were +unable to drag their load. + +D'Arragon reached Kowno without mishap, and there found a Russian +colonel of Cossacks who proved friendly enough, and not only +appreciated the value of his passport and such letters of +recommendation as he had been able to procure at Konigsberg, but +gave him others, and forwarded him on his journey. + +He still nourished a lingering belief in De Casimir's word. Charles +must have been left behind at Vilna to recover from his exhaustion. +He would, undoubtedly, make his way westward as soon as possible. +He might have got away to the South. Any one of these huddled human +landmarks might be Charles Darragon. + +Louis was essentially a thorough man. The sea is a mistress +demanding a whole and concentrated attention--and concentration soon +becomes a habit. Louis did not travel at night, for fear of passing +Charles on the road, alive or dead. He knew his cousin better than +any in the Frauengasse had learnt to know this gay and inconsequent +Frenchman. A certain cunning lay behind the happy laugh--a great +capacity was hidden by the careless manner. If ready wit could +bring man through the dangers of the retreat, Charles had as good a +chance of surviving as any. + +Nevertheless, Louis rarely passed a dead man on the road, but drew +up, and quitting his sleigh, turned over the body, which was almost +invariably huddled with its back offered to the deadly, prevailing +North wind. Against each this wind had piled a sloping bank of that +fine snow which, even in the lightest breeze, drifts over the +surface of the land like an ivory mist, waist high, and cakes the +clothes. In a high wind it will rise twenty feet in the air, and +blind any who try to face it. + +As often as not a mere glance sufficed to show that this was not +Charles, for few of the bodies were clad. Many had been stripped, +while still living, by their half-frozen comrades. But sometimes +Louis had to dust the snow from strange bearded faces before he +could pass on with a quick sigh of relief. + +Beyond Kowno, the country is thinly populated, and spreading pine- +forests bound the horizon. The Cossacks--the wild men of Toula, who +reaped the laurels of the rearguard fighting--were all along the +road. D'Arragon frequently came upon a picket--as often as not the +men were placidly sitting on a frozen corpse, as on a seat--and +stopped to say a few words and gather news. + +"You will find your friend at Vilna," said one young officer, who +had been attached to General Wilson's staff, and had many stories to +tell of the energetic and indefatigable English commissioner. "At +Vilna we took twenty thousand prisoners--poor devils who came and +asked us for food--and I don't know how many officers. And if you +see Wilson there, remember me to him. If Napoleon has need to hate +one man more than another for this business, it is that firebrand, +Wilson. Yes, you will assuredly find your cousin at Vilna among the +prisoners. But you must not linger by the road, for they are being +sent back to Moscow to rebuild that which they have caused to be +destroyed." + +He laughed and waved his gloved hand as D'Arragon drove on. + +After the broken land and low abrupt hills of Kowno, the country was +flat again until the valley of the Vilia opened out. And here, +almost within sight of Vilna, D'Arragon drove down a short hill +which must ever be historic. He drove slowly, for on either side +were gun-carriages deep sunken in the snow where the French had left +them. This hill marked the final degeneration of the Emperor's army +into a shapeless rabble hopelessly flying before an exhausted enemy. + +Half on the road and half in the ditch were hundreds of carriages +which had been hurriedly smashed up to provide firewood. Carts, +still laden with the booty of Moscow, stood among the trees. Some +of them contained small square boxes of silver coin, brought by +Napoleon to pay his army and here abandoned. Silver coin was too +heavy to carry. The rate of exchange had long been sixty francs in +silver for a gold napoleon or a louis. The cloth coverings of the +cushions had been torn off to shape into rough garments; the straw +stuffing had been eaten by the horses. + +Inside the carriages were--crouching on the floor--the frozen bodies +of fugitives too badly wounded or too ill to attempt to walk. They +had sat there till death came to them. Many were women. In one +carriage four women, in silks and fine linen, were huddled together. +Their furs had been dragged from them either before or after death. + +Louis stopped at the bottom and looked back. De Casimir at all +events had succeeded in surmounting this obstacle which had proved +fatal to so many--the grave of so many hopes--God's rubbish-heap, +where gold and precious stones, silks and priceless furs, all that +greedy men had schemed and striven and fought to get, fell from +their hands at last. + +Vilna lies all down a slope--a city built upon several hills--and +the Vilia runs at the bottom. That Way of Sorrow, the Smolensk +Road, runs eastward by the river bank, and here the rearguard held +the Cossacks in check while Murat hastily decamped, after dark, +westwards to Kowno. The King of Naples, to whom Napoleon gave the +command of his broken army quite gaily--"a vous, Roi de Naples," he +is reported to have said, as he hurried to his carriage--Murat +abandoned his sick and wounded; did not even warn the stragglers. + +D'Arragon entered the city by the narrow gate known as the Town +Gate, through which, as through that greater portal of Moscow, every +man must pass bareheaded. + +"The Emperor is here," were the first words spoken to him by the +officer on guard. + +But the streets were quiet enough, and the winner in this great game +of chance maintained the same unostentatious silence in victory as +that which, in the hour of humiliation, had baffled Napoleon. + +It was almost night, and D'Arragon had been travelling since +daylight. He found a lodging, and, having secured the comfort of +the horse provided by the lame shoemaker of Konigsberg, he went out +into the streets in search of information. + +Few cities are, to this day, so behind the times as Vilna. The +streets are still narrow, winding, ill-paved, ill-lighted. When +D'Arragon quitted his lodging, he found no lights at all, for the +starving soldiers had climbed to the lamps for the sake of the oil, +which they had greedily drunk. It was a full moon, however, and the +patrols at the street corners were willing to give such information +as they could. They were strangers to Vilna like Louis himself, and +not without suspicion; for this was a city which had bidden the +French welcome. There had been dancing and revelry on the outward +march. The citizens themselves were afraid of the strange, wild- +eyed men who returned to them from Moscow. + +At last, in the Episcopal Palace, where head-quarters had been +hurriedly established, Louis found the man he sought, the officer in +charge of the arrangements for despatching prisoners into Russia and +to Siberia. He was a grizzled warrior of the old school, speaking +only French and Russian. He was tired out and hungry, but he +listened to Louis' story. + +"There is the list," he said, "it is more or less complete. Many +have called themselves officers who never held a commission from the +Emperor Napoleon. But we have done what we can to sort them out." + +So Louis sat down in the dimly lighted room and deciphered the names +of those officers who had been left behind, detained by illness or +wounds or the lack of spirit to persevere. + +"You understand," said the Russian, returning to his work, "I cannot +afford the time to help you. We have twenty-five thousand prisoners +to feed and keep alive." + +"Yes--I understand," answered Louis, who had the seaman's way of +making himself a part of his surroundings. + +The old colonel glanced at him across the table with a grim smile. + +"The Emperor," he said, "was sitting in that chair an hour ago. He +may come back at any moment." + +"Ah!" said Louis, following the written lines with a pencil. + +But no interruption came, and at last the list was finished. +Charles was not among the officers taken prisoner at Vilna. + +"Well?" inquired the Russian, without looking up. + +"Not there." + +The old officer took a sheet of paper and hurriedly wrote a few +words on it. + +"Try the Basile Hospital to-morrow morning," he said. "That will +gain you admittance. It is to be cleared out by the Emperor's +orders. We have about twenty thousand dead to dispose of as well-- +but they are in no hurry." + +He laughed grimly, and bade Louis good night. + +"Come to me again," he called out after him, drawn by a sudden chord +of sympathy to this stranger, who had the rare capacity of confining +himself to the business in hand. + +By daybreak the next morning Louis was at the hospital of St. +Basile. It had been prepared by the Duc de Bassano under Napoleon's +orders when Vilna was selected as the base of the great army. When +the Russians entered Vilna after the retreating remnant of Murat's +rabble, they found the dead and the dying in the streets and the +market-place. Some had made fires and had lain themselves down +around them--to die. Others were without food or firing, almost +without clothes. Many were barefoot. All, officers and men alike, +were in rags. It was a piteous sight; for half of these men were no +longer human. Some were gnawing at their own limbs. Many were +blind, others had lost their speech or hearing. Nearly all were +marred by some disfigurement--some terrible sore, the result of a +frozen wound, of frostbite, of scurvy, of gangrene. + +The Cossacks, half civilized as they were, wild with the excitement +of killing and the chase of a human quarry, stood aghast in the +streets of Vilna. + +When the Emperor arrived, he set to work to clear the streets first, +to get these piteous men indoors. There was no question yet of +succouring them. It was not even possible to feed them all. The +only thought was to find them some protection against the ruthless +cold. + +The first thought was, of course, directed to the hospitals. They +looked in and saw a storehouse of the dead. The dead could wait; +but the living must be housed. + +So the dead waited, and it was their turn now at the St. Basile +Hospital, where Louis presented himself at dawn. + +"Looking for some one?" asked a man in uniform, who must have been +inside the hospital, for he hurried down the steps with a set mouth +and quailing eyes. + +"Yes." + +"Then don't go in--wait here." + +Louis looked in and took the doctor's advice. The dead were stored +in the passages, one on the top of the other, like bales of goods in +a warehouse. + +Some attempt seemed to have been made to clear the wards, but those +whose task it had been had not had time to do more than drag the +dead out into the passage. + +The soldiers were now at work in the lower passage. Carts began to +arrive. An officer told off to this dread duty came up hurriedly +smoking a cigarette, his high fur collar about his ears. He glanced +at Louis, and bowed to him. + +"Looking for some one?" he asked. + +"Yes." + +"Then stand here beside me. It is I who have to keep count. They +say there are eight thousand in here. They will be carried past +here to the carts. Have a cigarette." + +It is hard to talk when the thermometer registers more than twenty +degrees of frost, for the lips stiffen and contract into wrinkles +like the lips of a very old woman. Perhaps neither of the watchers +was in the humour to begin an acquaintance. + +They stood side by side, stamping their feet to keep the blood +going, without speaking. Once or twice Louis stepped forward, and +at a signal from the officer the bearers stopped. But Louis shook +his head, and they passed on. At midday the officer was relieved, +his place being taken by another, who bowed stiffly to Louis and +took no more notice of him. For war either hardens or softens. It +never leaves a man as it found him. + +All day the work was carried on. Through the hours this procession +of the bearded dead went silently by. At the invitation of a +sergeant, Louis took some soup and bread from the soldiers' table. +The men laughingly apologized for the quality of both. + +Towards evening the officer who had first come on duty returned to +his work. + +"Not yet?" he asked, offering the inevitable cigarette. + +"Not yet," answered Louis, and even as he spoke he stepped forward +and stopped the bearers. He brushed aside the matted hair and +beard. + +"Is that your friend?" asked the officer. + +"Yes." + +It was Charles at last. + +"The doctor says these have been dead two months," volunteered the +first bearer, over his shoulder. + +"I am glad you have found him," said the officer, signing to the men +to go on with their burden. "It is better to know--is it not?" + +"Yes," answered Louis slowly. "It is better to know." + +And something in his voice made the Russian officer turn and watch +him as he went away. + + + +CHAPTER XXIX. THE BARGAIN. + + + + Like plants in mines which never saw the sun, + But dream of him and guess where he may be, + And do their best to climb and get to him. + +"Oh yes," Barlasch was saying, "it is easier to die--it is that that +you are thinking--it is easier to die." + +Desiree did not answer. She was sitting in the little kitchen at +the back of the house in the Frauengasse. For they had no firing +now, and were burning the furniture. Her father had been buried a +week. The siege was drawn closer than ever. There was nothing to +eat, nothing to do, no one to talk to. For Sebastian's political +friends did not dare to come near his house. Desiree was alone in +this hopeless world with Barlasch, who was on duty now in one of the +trenches near the river. He went out in the morning, and only +returned at night. He had just come in, and she could see by the +light of the single candle that his face was grey and haggard, with +deep lines drawn downwards from eyes to chin. Desiree's own face +had lost all its roundness and the bloom of her northern girlhood. + +Barlasch glanced at her, and bit his lip. He had brought nothing +with him. At one time he had always managed to bring something to +the house every day--a chicken, or a turnip, or a few carrots. But +to-night there was nothing. And he was tired out. He did not sit +down, however, but stood breathing on his fingers and rubbing them +together to restore circulation. He pushed the candle farther +forward on the table, so that it cast a better light upon her face. + +"Yes," he said, "it is often so. I, who speak to you, have seen it +so a dozen times in my life. When it is easier to sit down and die. +Bah! That is a fine thing to do--a brave thing--to sit down and +die." + +"I am not going to do it, so do not make that mistake," said +Desiree, with a laugh that had no mirth in it. + +"But you would like to. Listen. It is not what you feel that +matters; it is what you do. Remember that." + +There was an unusual vigour in his voice. Of late, since the death +of Sebastian, Barlasch seemed to have fallen victim to the settled +apathy which lives within a prison wall and broods over a besieged +city. It is a sort of silent mourning worn by the soul for a lost +liberty. Dantzig had soon succumbed to it, for the citizens had not +even the satisfaction of being quite sure that they were deserving +of the world's sympathy. It soon spread to the soldiers who were +defending a Prussian city for a French Emperor who seemed to have +forgotten them. + +But to-night Barlasch seemed to be more energetic. Desiree looked +round over her shoulder. He had not laid on the table any +contribution to a bare larder; and yet his manner was that of one +who has prepared a surprise and is waiting to enjoy its effect. He +was restless, moving from one foot to another, rubbing together his +crooked fingers and darting sidelong glances at her face. + +"What is it?" she asked suddenly, and Barlasch gave a start as if he +had been detected in some deceit. He bustled forward to the +smouldering fire and held his hands over it. + +"It is that it is very cold to-night," he answered, with that +exaggerated ease of manner with which the young and the simple seek +to conceal embarrassment. "Tell me, mademoiselle, what have we for +supper to-night? It is I who will cook it. To-night we will keep a +fete. There is that piece of beef for you. I know a way to make it +appetizing. For me there is my portion of horse. It is the friend +of man--the horse." + +He laughed and made an effort to be gay, which had a poignant pathos +in it that made Desiree bite her lip. + +"What fete is it that we are to keep?" she asked, with a wan smile. +Her kind blue eyes had that glitter in them which is caused by a +constant and continuous hunger. Six months ago they had only been +gay and kind, now they saw the world as it is, as it always must be +so long as the human heart is capable of happiness and the human +reason recognizes the rarity of its attainment. + +"The fete of St. Matthias--my fete, mademoiselle." + +"But I thought your name was Jean." + +"So it is. But I keep my fete at St. Matthias, because on that day +we won a battle in Egypt. We will have wine--a bottle of wine--eh?" + +So Barlasch prepared a great feast which was to be celebrated by +Desiree in the dining-room, where he lighted a fire, and by himself +in the kitchen. For he held strongly to a code of social laws which +the great Revolution had not succeeded in breaking. And one of +these laws was that it would be in some way degrading to Desiree to +see him eat. + +He was a skilled and delicate cook, only hampered by that insatiable +passion for economy which is the dominant characteristic of the +peasant of Northern France. To-night, however, he was reckless, and +Desiree could hear him searching in his secret hiding-place beneath +the floor for concealed condiments and herbs. + +"There," he said, when he set the dish before her, "eat it with an +easy mind. There is nothing unclean in it. It is not rat or cat or +the liver of a starved horse, such as we others eat and ask no +better. It is all clean meat." + +He poured out wine, and stood in the darkened doorway watching her +drink it. Then he went away to his own meal in the kitchen, leaving +Desiree vaguely uneasy--for he was not himself to-night. She could +hear him muttering as he ate and moved hither and thither in the +kitchen. At short intervals he came and looked in at the door to +make sure that she was doing full honour to St. Matthias. When she +had finished, he came into the room. + +"Ah!" he said, glancing at her suspiciously and rubbing his hands +together. "That strengthens, eh?--that strengthens. We others who +lead a rough life--we know that a little food and a glass of wine +fit one out for any enterprise, for--well, any catastrophe." + +And Desiree knew in a flash of comprehension that the food and the +wine and the forced gaiety were nothing but preliminaries to bad +news. + +"What is it?" she asked a second time. "Is it . . . bombardment?" + +"Bombardment," he laughed, "they cannot shoot, those Cossacks. It +is only the French who understand artillery." + +"Then what is it?--for you have something to tell me, I know." + +He ruffled his shock-head of white hair, with a grimace of despair. + +"Yes," he admitted, "it is news." + +"From outside?" cried Desiree, with a sudden break in her voice. + +"From Vilna," answered Barlasch. He came into the room, and went +past her towards the fire, where he put the logs together carefully. + +"It is that he is alive," said Desiree, "my husband." + +"No, it is not that," Barlasch corrected. He stood with his back to +her, vaguely warming his hands. He had no learning, nor manners, +nor any polish: nothing but those instincts of the heart that teach +the head. And his instinct bade him turn his back on Desiree, and +wait in silence until she had understood his meaning. + +"Dead?" she asked, in a whisper. + +And, still warming his hands, he nodded his head vigorously. He +waited a long time for her to speak, and at last broke the silence +himself without looking round. + +"Troubles," he said, "troubles for us all. There is no avoiding +them. One can only push against them as against your cold wind of +Dantzig that comes from the sea. One can only push on. You must +push, mademoiselle." + +"When did he die?" asked Desiree; "where?" + +"At Vilna, three months ago. He has been dead three months. I knew +he was dead when you came back to the inn at Thorn, and told me that +you had seen De Casimir. De Casimir had left him dying--that liar. +You remember, I met a comrade on the road--one of my own country--he +told me that they had left ten thousand dead at Vilna, and twenty +thousand prisoners little better than dead. And I knew then that De +Casimir had left him there dying, or dead." + +He glanced back at her over his shoulder, and at the sight of her +face made that little click in his throat which, in peasant circles, +denotes a catastrophe. Then he shook his head slowly from side to +side. + +"Listen," he said roughly, "the good God knows best. I knew when I +saw you first, that day in June, in this kitchen, that you were +beginning your troubles; for I knew the reputation of Monsieur, your +husband. He was not what you thought him. A man is never what a +woman thinks him. But he was worse than most. And this trouble +that has come to you is chosen by the good God--and he has chosen +the least in his sack for you. You will know it some day--as I know +it now." + +"You know a great deal," said Desiree, who was quick in speech, and +he swung round on his heel to meet her spirit. + +"You are right," he said, pointing his accusatory finger. "I know a +great deal about you--and I am a very old man." + +"How did you learn this news from Vilna?" she asked, and his hand +went up to his mouth as if to hide his thoughts and control his +lips. + +"From one who comes straight from there--who buried your husband +there." + +Desiree rose and stood with her hands resting on the table, looking +at the persistent back again turned towards her. + +"Who?" she asked, in little more than a whisper. + +"The Captain--Louis d'Arragon." + +"And you have spoken to him to-day--here, in Dantzig?" + +Barlasch nodded his head. + +"Was he well?" asked Desiree, with a spontaneous anxiety that made +Barlasch turn slowly and look at her from beneath his great brows. + +"Oh, he was well enough," he answered, "he is made of steel, that +gentleman. He was well enough, and he has the courage of the devil. +There are some fishermen who come from Zoppot to sell their fish. +They steal through the Russian lines--on the ice of the river at +night and come to our outposts at daylight. One of them said my +name this morning. I looked at him. He was wrapped up only to show +the eyes. He drew his scarf aside. It was the Captain d'Arragon." + +"And he was well?" asked Desiree again, as if nothing else in the +world mattered. + +"Oh, mon Dieu, yes," cried Barlasch, impatiently, "he was well, I +tell you. Do you know why he came?" + +Desiree had sat down at the table again, where she leant her arms +and rested her chin in the palms of her two hands; for she was +weakened by starvation, and confinement, and sorrow. + +"No," she answered. + +"He came because he had learnt that the patron was dead. It was +known in Konigsberg a week ago. It is known all over Germany; that +quiet old gentleman who scraped a fiddle here in the Frauengasse. +And it is only I, in all the world, who know that he was a greater +man in Paris than ever he was in Germany--with his Tugendbund--and I +cannot remember his name." + +Barlasch broke off and thumped his brow with his fists, as if to +awaken that dead memory. And all the while he was searching +Desiree's face, with eyes made brighter and sharper than ever by +starvation. + +"And do you know what he came for--the Captain--for he never does +anything in idleness? He will run a great risk--but it is for a +great purpose. Do you know what he came for?" + +"No." + +Barlasch jerked his head back and laughed. + +"For you." + +He turned and looked at her; but she had raised her clasped hands to +her forehead, as if to shield her eyes from the light of the candle, +and he could not see her face. + +"Do you remember," said Barlasch, "that night when the patron was so +angry--on the mat--when Mademoiselle Mathilde had to make her +choice. It is your turn to-night. You have to make your choice. +Will you go?" + +"Yes," answered Desiree, behind her fingers. + +"'If Mademoiselle will come,' he said to me, 'bring her to this +place!' 'Yes, mon capitaine,' answered I. 'At any cost, Barlasch?' +'At any cost, mon capitaine.' And we are not men to break our +words. I will take you there--at any cost, mademoiselle. And he +will meet you there--at any cost." + +And Barlasch expectorated emphatically into the fire, after the +manner of low-born men. + +"What a pity," he added reflectively, "that he is only an +Englishman." + +"When are we to go?" asked Desiree, still behind her barrier of +clasped fingers. + +"To-morrow night, after midnight. We have arranged it all--the +Captain and I--at the outpost nearest to the river. He has +influence. He has rendered services to the Russians, and the +Russian commander will make a night attack on the outpost. In the +confusion we get through. We arranged it together. He pays me +well. It is a bargain, and I am to have my money. We shook hands +on it, and those who saw us must have thought that I was buying +fish. I, who have no money--and he, who had no fish." + + + +CHAPTER XXX. THE FULFILMENT. + + + + And I have laboured somewhat in my time + And not been paid profusely. + +When Desiree came down the next morning, she found Barlasch talking +to himself and laughing as he prepared his breakfast. + +He met her with a gay salutation, and seemed unable to control his +hilarity. + +"It is," he explained, "because to-night we shall be under fire. We +shall be in danger. It makes me afraid, and I laugh. I cannot help +it. When I am afraid, I laugh." + +He bustled about the room, and Desiree saw that he had already +opened his secret store beneath the floor, to take from it such +delicacies as remained. + +"You slept?" he asked sharply. "Yes, I can see you did. That is +good, for to-night we shall be awake. And now you must eat." + +For Barlasch was a materialist. He had fought death in one form or +another all his life, and he knew that those who eat and sleep are +better equipped for the battle than those who cherish high ideals or +think great thoughts. + +"It is a good thing," he said, looking at her, "that you are so +slim. In a military coat--if you put on that short dress in which +you skate, and your high boots--you will look like a soldier. It is +a good thing that it is winter, for you can wear the hood of your +military coat over your head, as they all do out in the trenches to +keep their ears from falling. So you need not cut off your hair-- +all that golden hair. Name of thunder, that would be a pity, would +it not?" + +He turned to the fire and stirred his coffee reflectively. + +"In my own country," he said, "a long time ago, there was a girl who +had hair like yours. That is why we are friends, perhaps." + +He gave a queer, short laugh, and took up his sheepskin coat +preparatory to going out. + +"I have my preparations to make," he said, with an air of +importance. "There is much to be thought of. We had not long +together, for the others were watching us. But we understand each +other. I go now to give him the signal that it is for to-night. I +have borrowed one of Lisa's dusters--a blue one that will show +against the snow--with which to give him the signal. And he is +watching from Zoppot with his telescope. That fat Lisa--if I had +held up my finger, she would have fallen in love with me. It has +always been so. These women--" + +And he went away muttering. + +If he had preparations to make, Desiree had no less. She could take +but little with her, and she was quitting the house which had always +been her home so long as she could remember. Those trunks which +Barlasch had so unhesitatingly recognized as coming from France +were, it seemed, destined never to be used again. Mathilde had +gone, taking with her her few simple possessions; for they had +always been poor in the Frauengasse. Sebastian had departed on that +journey which the traveller must face alone, taking naught with him. +And it was characteristic of the man that he had left nothing behind +him--no papers, no testament, no clue to that other life so +different from his life in the Frauengasse that it must have lapsed +into a fleeting, intangible memory, such as the brain is sometimes +allowed to retain of a dream dreamt in this existence, or perhaps in +another. Sebastian was gone--with his secret. + +Desiree, alone with hers, was left in this quiet house for a few +hours longer. Mechanically she set it in order. What would it +matter to-morrow whether it were set in order or not? Who would +come to note the last touches? She worked with that feverish haste +which is responsible for much unnecessary woman's work in this +world--the haste that owes its existence to the fear of having time +to think. Many talk for the same reason. What a quiet world, if +those who have nothing to say said nothing! But speech or work must +fail at last, and lo! the thoughts are lying in wait. + +Desiree's thoughts found their opportunity when she went into the +drawing-room upstairs, where her wedding-breakfast had been set +before the guests only eight months ago. The guests--De Casimir, +the Grafin, Sebastian, Mathilde, Charles! + +Desiree stood alone now in the silent room. She did not look at the +table. The guests were all gone. The dead past had buried its +dead. She went to the window and drew aside the curtain as she had +drawn it aside on her wedding-day to look down into the Frauengasse +and see Louis d'Arragon. And again her heart leapt in her breast +with that throb of fear. She turned where she stood, and looked at +the door as if she expected to see Charles come in at it, laughing +and gay, explaining (he was so good at explaining) his encounter in +the street, and stepping aside to allow Louis to come forward. +Louis, who looked at no one but her, and came into the room and into +her life. + +She had been afraid of him. She was afraid of him still. And her +heart had leapt at the thought that he had been restlessly, +sleeplessly thinking of her, working for her--had been to Vilna and +back for her, and was now waiting for her beyond the barrier of +Russian camp-fires. The dangers which made Barlasch laugh--and she +knew they were real enough, for it was only a real danger that +stirred something in the old soldier's blood to make him gay--these +dangers were of no account. She knew, she had known instantly and +for all time when she looked down into the Frauengasse and saw +Louis, that nothing in heaven or earth could keep them apart. + +She stood now, looking at the empty doorway. What was the rest of +her life to be? + +Barlasch returned in the afternoon. He was leisurely and inclined +to contemplativeness. It would seem that his preparations having +all been completed, he was left with nothing to do. War is a +purifier; it clears the social atmosphere and puts womanly men and +manly women into their right places. It is also a simplifier; it +teaches us to know how little we really require in daily life, and +how many of the environments with which men and women hamper +themselves are superfluous and the fruit of idleness. + +"I have nothing to do," said Barlasch, "I will cook a careful +dinner. All that I have saved in money I cannot carry away; all +that was stored beneath the floor must be left there. It is often +so in war." + +He had told Desiree that they would have to walk twelve miles across +the snow-clad marshes bordering the frozen Vistula, between midnight +and dawn. It needed no telling that they could carry little with +them. + +"You will have to make a new beginning in life," he said curtly, +"with the clothes upon your back. How many times have I done it-- +the Saints alone know! But take money, if you have it in gold or +silver. Mine is all in copper groschen, and it is too heavy to +carry. I have never yet been anywhere that money was not useful-- +and name of a dog! I have never had it." + +So Desiree divided what money she possessed with Barlasch, who added +it carefully up and repeated several times for accuracy the tale of +what he had received. For, like many who do not hesitate to steal, +he was very particular in money matters. + +"As for me," he said, "I shall make a new beginning, too. The +Captain will enable me to get back to France, when I shall go to the +Emperor again. It is no place for one of the Old Guard, here with +Rapp. I am getting old, but he will find something for me to do, +that little Emperor." + +At midnight they set out, quitting the house in the Frauengasse +noiselessly. The street was quiet enough, for half the houses were +empty now. Their footsteps were inaudible on the trodden snow. It +was a dark night and not cold; for the great frosts of this terrible +winter were nearly over. + +Barlasch carried his musket and bayonet. He had instructed Desiree +to walk in front of him, should they meet a patrol. But Rapp had no +men to spare for patrolling the town. There was no spirit left in +Dantzig; for typhus and starvation patrolled the narrow streets. + +They quitted the town to the north-west, near the Oliva Gate. There +was no guard-house here because Langfuhr was held by the French, and +Rapp's outposts were three miles out on the road to Zoppot. + +"I have played this game for fifty years," said Barlasch, with a low +laugh, when they reached the earthworks, completed, at such enormous +cost of life and strength, by Rapp; "follow me and do as I do. When +I stoop, stoop; when I crawl, crawl; when I run, run." + +For he was a soldier now and nothing else. He stood erect, and +looked round him with the air of a young man--ready, keen, alert. +Then he moved forward with confidence towards the high land which +terminates in the Johannesberg, where the peaceful Dantzigers now +repair on a Sunday afternoon to drink thin beer and admire the view. + +Below them on the right hand lay the marshes, a white expanse of +snow with a single dark line drawn across it--the Langfuhr road with +its double border of trees. + +Barlasch turned once or twice to make sure that Desiree was +following him; but he added nothing to his brief instructions. When +he gained the summit of the tableland which runs parallel with the +coast and the Langfuhr road, he paused for breath. + +"When I crawl, crawl. When I run, run," he whispered again; and led +the way. He went up the bed of a stream, turning his back to the +coast, and at a certain point stopped and by a gesture of the hand +bade Desiree crouch down and wait till he returned. He came back +and signed to her to quit the bed of the stream and follow him. +When she came up to the tableland, she found that they were quite +close to a camp-fire. Through the low pines she could perceive the +dark outline of a house. + +"Now run," whispered Barlasch, leading the way across an open space +which seemed to extend to the line of the horizon. Without looking +back, Desiree ran--her only thought was a sudden surprise that +Barlasch could move so quickly and silently. + +When he gained the shelter of some trees, he threw himself down on +the snow, and Desiree coming up to him found him breathlessly +holding his sides and laughing aloud. + +"We are through the lines," he gasped, "name of a dog, I was so +frightened. There they go--pam! pam! Buz . . z . . z . ." + +And he imitated the singing buzz of the bullets humming through the +trees over their heads. For half a dozen shots were fired, while he +was yet speaking, from behind the camp-fires. There were no more, +however, and presently, having recovered his breath, Barlasch rose. + +"Come," he said, "we have a long walk. En route." + +They made a great circuit in the pine-woods, through which Barlasch +led the way with an unerring skill, and descending towards the plain +far beyond Langfuhr they came out on to a lower tableland, below +which the great marshes of the Vistula stretched in the darkness, +slowly merging at last into the sea. + +"Those," said Barlasch, pausing at the edge of the slope, "those are +the lights of Oliva, where the Russians are. That line of lights +straight in front is the Russian fleet lying off Zoppot, and with +them are English ships. One of them is the little ship of Captain +d'Arragon. And he will take you home with him; for the ship is +ordered to England, to Plymouth--which is across the Channel from my +own country. Ah--cristi! I sometimes want to see my own country +again--and my own people--mademoiselle." + +He went on a few paces and then stopped again, and in the darkness +held up one hand, commanding silence. It was the churches of +Dantzig striking the hour. + +"Six o'clock," he whispered, "it will soon be dawn. Yes--we are +half an hour too early." + +He sat down, and, by a gesture, bade Desiree sit beside him. + +"Yes," he said, "the Captain told me that he is bound for England to +convoy larger ships, and you will sail in one of them. He has a +home in the west of England, and he will take you there--a sister or +a mother, I forget which--some woman. You cannot get on without +women--you others. It is there that you will be happy, as the bon +Dieu meant you to be. It is only in England that no one fears +Napoleon. One may have a husband there and not fear that he will be +killed. One may have children and not tremble for them--and it is +that that makes you happy--you women." + +Presently he rose and led the way down the slope. At the foot of +it, he paused, and pointing out a long line of trees, said in a +whisper-- + +"He is there--where there are three taller trees. Between us and +those trees are the French outposts. At dawn the Russians attack +the outposts, and during the attack we have simply to go through it +to those trees. There is no other way--that is the rendezvous. +Those three tall trees. When I give the word, you get up and run to +those trees--run without pausing, without looking round. I will +follow. It is you he has come for--not Barlasch. You think I know +nothing. Bah! I know everything. I have always known it--your poor +little secret." + +They lay on the snow crouching in a ditch until a grey line appeared +low down in the Eastern sky and the horizon slowly distinguished +itself from the thin thread of cloud that nearly always awaits the +rising of the sun in Northern latitudes. + +A minute later the dark group of trees broke into intermittent flame +and the sharp, short "Hurrah!" of the Cossacks, like an angry bark, +came sweeping across the plain on the morning breeze. + +"Not yet," whispered Barlasch, with a gay chuckle of enjoyment. +"Not yet--not yet. Listen, the bullets are not coming here, but are +going past to the right of us. When you go, keep to the left. +Slowly at first--keep a little breath till the end. Now, up! +Mademoiselle, run; name of thunder, let us run!" + +Desiree did not understand which were the French lines and which the +line of Russian attack. But there was a clear way to the three +trees which stood above the rest, and she went towards them. She +knew she could not run so far, so she walked. Then the bullets, +instead of passing to the right, seemed to play round her--like bees +in a garden on a summer day--and she ran until she was tired. + +The trees were quite close now, and the sky was light behind them. +Then she saw Louis coming towards her, and she ran into his arms. +The sound of the humming bullets was still in her dazed brain, and +she touched him all over with her gloved hand as she clung to him, +as a mother touches her child when it has fallen, to see whether it +be hurt. + +"How was I to know?" she whispered breathlessly. "How was I to know +that you were to come into my life?" + +The bullets did not matter, it seemed, nor the roar of the firing to +the right of them. Nothing mattered--except that Louis must know +that she had never loved Charles. + +He held her and said nothing. And she wanted him to say nothing. +Then she remembered Barlasch, and looked back over her shoulder. + +"Where is Barlasch?" she asked, with a sudden sinking at her heart. + +"He is coming slowly," replied Louis. "He came slowly behind you +all the time, so as to draw the fire away from you." + +They turned and waited for Barlasch, who seemed to be going in the +wrong direction with an odd vagueness in his movements. Louis ran +towards him with Desiree at his heels. + +"Ca-y-est," said Barlasch; which cannot be translated, and yet has +many meanings. "Ca-y-est." + +And he sat down slowly on the snow. He sat quite upright and rigid, +and in the cold light of the Baltic dawn they saw the meaning of his +words. One hand was within his fur coat. He drew it out, and +concealed it from Desiree behind his back. He did not seem to see +them, but presently he put out his hand and lightly touched Desiree. +Then he turned to Louis with that confidential drop of the voice +with which he always distinguished his friends from those who were +not his friends. + +"What is she doing?" he asked. "I cannot see in the dark. Is it +not dark? I thought it was. What is she doing? Saying a prayer? +What--because I have my affair? Hey, mademoiselle. You may leave +it to me. I will get in, I tell you that." + +He put his finger to his nose, and then shook it from side to side +with an air of deep cunning. + +"Leave it to me. I shall slip in. Who will stop an old man, who +has many wounds? Not St. Peter, assuredly. Let him try. And if +the good God hears a commotion at the gate, He will only shrug His +shoulders. He will say to St. Peter, 'Let pass; it is only Papa +Barlasch!'" + +And then there was silence. For Barlasch had gone to his own +people. + + + + + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK, BARLASCH OF THE GUARD *** + +This file should be named brls10.txt or brls10.zip +Corrected EDITIONS of our eBooks get a new NUMBER, brls11.txt +VERSIONS based on separate sources get new LETTER, brls10a.txt + +Project Gutenberg eBooks are often created from several printed +editions, all of which are confirmed as Public Domain in the US +unless a copyright notice is included. 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Merriman + +Copyright laws are changing all over the world. Be sure to check the +copyright laws for your country before downloading or redistributing +this or any other Project Gutenberg eBook. + +This header should be the first thing seen when viewing this Project +Gutenberg file. Please do not remove it. Do not change or edit the +header without written permission. + +Please read the "legal small print," and other information about the +eBook and Project Gutenberg at the bottom of this file. Included is +important information about your specific rights and restrictions in +how the file may be used. You can also find out about how to make a +donation to Project Gutenberg, and how to get involved. + + +**Welcome To The World of Free Plain Vanilla Electronic Texts** + +**eBooks Readable By Both Humans and By Computers, Since 1971** + +*****These eBooks Were Prepared By Thousands of Volunteers!***** + + +Title: Barlasch of the Guard + +Author: H. S. Merriman + +Release Date: May, 2005 [EBook #8158] +[This file was first posted on June 22, 2003] + +Edition: 10 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: US-ASCII +</pre> +<p><a name="startoftext"></a></p> +<p>This etext was produced by Les Bowler, St. Ives, Dorset.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines3"><br /><br /><br /></div> +<h1>BARLASCH OF THE GUARD BY HENRY SETON MERRIMAN</h1> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines3"><br /><br /><br /></div> +<p> <i>“And they that have not heard +shall understand”</i></p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines3"><br /><br /><br /></div> +<p>CONTENTS</p> +<p>CHAPTER</p> +<p>I. ALL ON A SUMMER’S DAY<br />II. + A CAMPAIGNER<br />III. FATE<br />IV. + THE CLOUDED MOON<br />V. THE WEISSEN +RÖSS’L<br />VI. THE SHOEMAKER OF KÖNIGSBERG<br />VII. + THE WAY OF LOVE<br />VIII. A VISITATION<br />IX. + THE GOLDEN GUESS<br />X. IN DEEP +WATER<br />XI. THE WAVE MOVES ON<br />XII. + FROM BORODINO<br />XIII. IN THE DAY OF REJOICING<br />XIV. + MOSCOW<br />XV. THE GOAL<br />XVI. + THE FIRST OF THE EBB<br />XVII. A FORLORN HOPE<br />XVIII. + MISSING<br />XIX. KOWNO<br />XX. +DÉSIRÉE’S CHOICE<br />XXI. ON THE +WARSAW ROAD<br />XXII. THROUGH THE SHOALS<br />XXIII. + AGAINST THE STREAM<br />XXIV. MATHILDE CHOOSES<br />XXV. + A DESPATCH<br />XXVI. ON THE BRIDGE<br />XXVII. + A FLASH OF MEMORY<br />XXVIII. VILNA<br />XXIX. +THE BARGAIN<br />XXX. THE FULFILMENT</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h2>CHAPTER I. ALL ON A SUMMER’S DAY.</h2> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p> <i>Il faut devoir lever les yeux pour +regarder ce qu’on aime.</i></p> +<p>A few children had congregated on the steps of the Marienkirche at +Dantzig, because the door stood open. The verger, old Peter Koch—on +week days a locksmith—had told them that nothing was going to +happen; had been indiscreet enough to bid them go away. So they +stayed, for they were little girls.</p> +<p>A wedding was in point of fact in progress within the towering walls +of the Marienkirche—a cathedral built of red brick in the great +days of the Hanseatic League.</p> +<p>“Who is it?” asked a stout fishwife, stepping over the +threshold to whisper to Peter Koch.</p> +<p>“It is the younger daughter of Antoine Sebastian,” replied +the verger, indicating with a nod of his head the house on the left-hand +side of the Frauengasse where Sebastian lived. There was a wealth +of meaning in the nod. For Peter Koch lived round the corner in +the Kleine Schmiedegasse, and of course—well, it is only neighbourly +to take an interest in those who drink milk from the same cow and buy +wood from the same Jew.</p> +<p>The fishwife looked thoughtfully down the Frauengasse where every +house has a different gable, and none of less than three floors within +the pitch of the roof. She singled out No. 36, which has a carved +stone balustrade to its broad verandah and a railing of wrought-iron +on either side of the steps descending from the verandah to the street.</p> +<p>“They teach dancing?” she inquired.</p> +<p>And Koch nodded again, taking snuff.</p> +<p>“And he—the father?”</p> +<p>“He scrapes a fiddle,” replied the verger, examining +the lady’s basket of fish in a non-committing and final way. +For a locksmith is almost as confidential an adviser as a notary. +The Dantzigers, moreover, are a thrifty race and keep their money in +a safe place; a habit which was to cost many of them their lives before +the coming of another June.</p> +<p>The marriage service was a long one and not exhilarating. Through +the open door came no sound of organ or choir, but the deep and monotonous +drawl of one voice. There had been no ringing of bells. +The north countries, with the exception of Russia, require more than +the ringing of bells or the waving of flags to warm their hearts. +They celebrate their festivities with good meat and wine consumed decently +behind closed doors.</p> +<p>Dantzig was in fact under a cloud. No larger than a man’s +hand, this cloud had risen in Corsica forty-three years earlier. +It had overshadowed France. Its gloom had spread to Italy, Austria, +Spain; had penetrated so far north as Sweden; was now hanging sullen +over Dantzig, the greatest of the Hanseatic towns, the Free City. +For a Dantziger had never needed to say that he was a Pole or a Prussian, +a Swede or a subject of the Czar. He was a Dantziger. Which +is tantamount to having for a postal address a single name that is marked +on the map.</p> +<p>Napoleon had garrisoned the Free City with French troops some years +earlier, to the sullen astonishment of the citizens. And Prussia +had not objected for a very obvious reason. Within the last fourteen +months the garrison had been greatly augmented. The clouds seemed +to be gathering over this prosperous city of the north, where, however, +men continued to eat and drink, to marry and to be given in marriage +as in another city of the plain.</p> +<p>Peter Koch replaced his snuff-stained handkerchief in the pocket +of his rusty cassock and stood aside. He murmured a few conventional +words of blessing, hard on the heels of stronger exhortations to the +waiting children. And Désirée Sebastian came out +into the sunlight—Désirée Sebastian no more.</p> +<p>That she was destined for the sunlight was clearly written on her +face and in her gay, kind blue eyes. She was tall and straight +and slim, as are English and Polish and Danish girls, and none other +in all the world. But the colouring of her face and hair was more +pronounced than in the fairness of Anglo-Saxon youth. For her +hair had a golden tinge in it, and her skin was of that startlingly +milky whiteness which is only found in those who live round the frozen +waters. Her eyes, too, were of a clearer blue—like the blue +of a summer sky over the Baltic sea. The rosy colour was in her +cheeks, her eyes were laughing. This was a bride who had no misgivings.</p> +<p>On seeing such a happy face returning from the altar the observer +might have concluded that the bride had assuredly attained her desire; +that she had secured a title; that the pre-nuptial settlement had been +safely signed and sealed.</p> +<p>But Désirée had none of these things. It was +nearly a hundred years ago.</p> +<p>Her husband must have whispered some laughing comment on Koch, or +another appeal to her quick sense of the humorous, for she looked into +his changing face and gave a low, girlish laugh of amusement as they +descended the steps together into the brilliant sunlight.</p> +<p>Charles Darragon wore one of the countless uniforms that enlivened +the outward world in the great days of the greatest captain that history +has seen. He was unmistakably French—unmistakably a French +gentleman, as rare in 1812 as he is to-day. To judge from his +small head and clean-cut features, fine and mobile; from his graceful +carriage and slight limbs, this man was one of the many bearing names +that begin with the fourth letter of the alphabet since the Terror only.</p> +<p>He was merely a lieutenant in a regiment of Alsatian recruits; but +that went for nothing in the days of the Empire. Three kings in +Europe had begun no farther up the ladder.</p> +<p>The Frauengasse is a short street, made narrow by the terrace that +each house throws outward from its face, each seeking to gain a few +inches on its neighbour. It runs from the Marienkirche to the +Frauenthor, and remains to-day as it was built three hundred years ago.</p> +<p>Désirée nodded and laughed to the children, who interested +her. She was quite simple and womanly, as some women, it is to +be hoped, may succeed in continuing until the end of time. She +was always pleased to see children; was glad, it seemed, that they should +have congregated on the steps to watch her pass. Charles, with +a faint and unconscious reflex of that grand manner which had brought +his father to the guillotine, felt in his pocket for money, and found +none.</p> +<p>He jerked his hand out with widespread fingers, in a gesture indicative +of familiarity with the nakedness of the land.</p> +<p>“I have nothing, little citizens,” he said with a mock +gravity; “nothing but my blessing.”</p> +<p>And he made a gay gesture with his left hand over their heads, not +the act of benediction, but of peppering, which made them all laugh. +The bride and bridegroom passing on joined in the laughter with hearts +as light and voices scarcely less youthful.</p> +<p>The Frauengasse is intersected by the Pfaffengasse at right angles, +through which narrow and straight street passes much of the traffic +towards the Langenmarkt, the centre of the town. As the little +bridal procession reached the corner of this street, it halted at the +approach of some mounted troops. There was nothing unusual in +this sight in the streets of Dantzig, which were accustomed now to the +clatter of the Saxon cavalry.</p> +<p>But at the sight of the first troopers Charles Darragon threw up +his head with a little exclamation of surprise.</p> +<p>Désirée looked at him and then turned to follow the +direction of his gaze.</p> +<p>“What are these?” she murmured. For the uniforms +were new and unfamiliar.</p> +<p>“Cavalry of the Old Guard,” replied her husband, and +as he spoke he caught his breath.</p> +<p>The horsemen vanished into the continuation of the Pfaffengasse, +and immediately behind them came a travelling carriage, swung on high +wheels, three times the size of a Dantzig drosky, white with dust. +It had small square windows. As Désirée drew back +in obedience to a movement of her husband’s arm, she saw a face +for an instant—pale and set—with eyes that seemed to look +at everything and yet at something beyond.</p> +<p>“Who was it? He looked at you, Charles,” said Désirée.</p> +<p>“It is the Emperor,” answered Darragon. His face +was white. His eyes were dull, like the eyes of one who has seen +a vision and is not yet back to earth.</p> +<p>Désirée turned to those behind her.</p> +<p>“It is the Emperor,” she said, with an odd ring in her +voice which none had ever heard before. Then she stood looking +after the carriage.</p> +<p>Her father, who was at her elbow—tall, white-haired, with an +aquiline, inscrutable face—stood in a like attitude, looking down +the Pfaffengasse. His hand was raised before his face with outspread +fingers which seemed rigid in that gesture, as if lifted hastily to +screen his face and hide it.</p> +<p>“Did he see me?” he asked in a low voice which only Désirée +heard.</p> +<p>She glanced at him, and her eyes, which were clear as a cloudless +sky, were suddenly shadowed by a suspicion quick and poignant.</p> +<p>“He seemed to see everything, but he only looked at Charles,” +she answered. For a moment they all stood in the sunshine looking +towards the Langenmarkt where the tower of the Rathhaus rose above the +high roofs. The dust raised by the horses’ feet and the +carriage wheels slowly settled on their bridal clothes.</p> +<p>It was Désirée who at length made a movement to continue +their way towards her father’s house.</p> +<p>“Well,” she said with a slight laugh, “he was not +bidden to my wedding, but he has come all the same.”</p> +<p>Others laughed as they followed her. For a bride at the church-door, +or a judge on the bench, or a criminal on the scaffold-steps, need make +but a very small joke to cause merriment. Laughter is often nothing +but the froth of tears.</p> +<p>There were faces suddenly bleached in the little group of wedding-guests, +and none were whiter than the handsome features of Mathilde Sebastian, +Désirée’s elder sister, who looked angry, had frowned +at the children, and seemed to find this simple wedding too bourgeois +for her taste. She carried her head with an air that told the +world not to expect that she should ever be content to marry in such +a humble style, and walk from the church in satin slippers like any +daughter of a burgher.</p> +<p>This, at all events, was what old Koch the locksmith must have read +in her beautiful, discontented face.</p> +<p>“Ah! ah!” he muttered to the bolts as he shot them. +“But it is not the lightest hearts that quit the church in a carriage.”</p> +<p>So simple were the arrangements that bride and bridegroom and wedding-guests +had to wait in the street while the servant unlocked the front door +of No. 36 with a great key hurriedly extracted from her apron-pocket.</p> +<p>There was no unusual stir in the street. The windows of one +or two of the houses had been decorated with flowers. These were +the houses of friends. Others were silent and still behind their +lace curtains, where there doubtless lurked peeping and criticizing +eyes—the house of a neighbour.</p> +<p>The wedding-guests were few in number. Only one of them had +a distinguished air, and he, like the bridegroom, wore the uniform of +France. He was a small man, somewhat brusque in attitude, as became +a soldier of Italy and Egypt. But he had a pleasant smile and +that affability of manner which many learnt in the first years of the +great Republic. He and Mathilde Sebastian never looked at each +other: either an understanding or a misunderstanding.</p> +<p>The host, Antoine Sebastian, played his part well enough when he +remembered that he had a part to play. He listened with a kind +attention to the story of a very old lady, who it seemed had been married +herself, but it was so long ago that the human interest of it all was +lost in a pottle of petty detail which was all she could recall. +Before the story was half finished, Sebastian’s attention had +strayed elsewhere, though his spare figure remained in its attitude +of attention and polite forbearance. His mind had, it would seem, +a trick of thus wandering away and leaving his body rigid in the last +attitude that it had dictated.</p> +<p>Sebastian did not notice that the door was open and all the guests +were waiting for him to lead the way.</p> +<p>“Now, old dreamer,” whispered Désirée, +with a quick pinch on his arm, “take the Gräfin upstairs +to the drawing-room and give her wine. You are to drink our healths, +remember.”</p> +<p>“Is there wine?” he asked with a vague smile. “Where +has it come from?”</p> +<p>“Like other good things, my father-in-law,” replied Charles +with his easy laugh, “it comes from France.”</p> +<p>They spoke together thus in confidence, in the language of that same +sunny land. But when Sebastian turned again to the old lady, still +recalling the details of that other wedding, he addressed her in German, +offering his arm with a sudden stiffness of gesture which he seemed +to put on with the change of tongue.</p> +<p>They passed up the low time-worn steps arm-in-arm, and beneath the +high carved doorway, whereon some pious Hanseatic merchant had inscribed +his belief that if God be in the house there is no need of a watchman, +emphasizing his creed by bolts and locks of enormous strength, and bars +to every window.</p> +<p>The servant in her Samland Sunday dress, having shaken her fist at +the children, closed the door behind the last guest, and, so far as +the Frauengasse was concerned, the exciting incident was over. +From the open window came only the murmur of quiet voices, the clink +of glasses at the drinking of a toast, or a laugh in the clear voice +of the bride herself. For Désirée persisted in her +optimistic view of these proceedings, though her husband scarcely helped +her now at all, and seemed a different man since the passage through +the Pfaffengasse of that dusty travelling carriage which had played +the part of the stormy petrel from end to end of Europe.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h2>CHAPTER II. A CAMPAIGNER.</h2> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p> <i>Not what I am, but what I Do, is +my Kingdom.</i></p> +<p>Désirée had made all her own wedding-clothes. +“Her poor little marriage-basket,” she called it. +She had even made the cake which was now cut with some ceremony by her +father.</p> +<p>“I tremble,” she exclaimed aloud, “to think what +it may be like in the middle.”</p> +<p>And Mathilde was the only person there who did not smile at the unconscious +admission. The cake was still under discussion, and the Gräfin +had just admitted that it was almost as good as that other cake which +had been consumed in the days of Frederick the Great, when the servant +called Désirée from the room.</p> +<p>“It is a soldier,” she said in a whisper at the head +of the stairs. “He has a paper in his hand. I know +what that means. He is quartered on us.”</p> +<p>Désirée hurried downstairs. In the entrance-hall, +a broad-built little man stood awaiting her. He was stout and +red, with hair all ragged at the temples, almost white. His eyes +were lost behind shaggy eyebrows. His face was made broader by +little whiskers stopping short at the level of his ear. He had +a snuff-blown complexion, and in the wrinkles of his face the dust of +a dozen campaigns seemed to have accumulated.</p> +<p>“Barlasch,” he said curtly, holding out a long strip +of blue paper. “Of the Guard. Once a sergeant. +Italy, Egypt, the Danube.”</p> +<p>He frowned at Désirée while she read the paper in the +dim light that filtered through the twisted bars of the fanlight above +the door.</p> +<p>Then he turned to the servant who stood, comely and breathless, looking +him up and down.</p> +<p>“Papa Barlasch,” he added for her edification, and he +drew down his left eyebrow with a jerk, so that it almost touched his +cheek. His right eye, grey and piercing, returned her astonished +gaze with a fierce steadfastness.</p> +<p>“Does this mean that you are quartered upon us?” asked +Désirée without seeking to hide her disgust. She +spoke in her own tongue.</p> +<p>“French?” said the soldier, looking at her. “Good. +Yes. I am quartered here. Thirty-six, Frauengasse. +Sebastian; musician. You are lucky to get me. I always give +satisfaction—ha!”</p> +<p>He gave a curt laugh in one syllable only. His left arm was +curved round a bundle of wood bound together by a red pocket-handkerchief +not innocent of snuff. He held out this bundle to Désirée, +as Solomon may have held out some great gift to the Queen of Sheba to +smooth the first doubtful steps of friendship.</p> +<p>Désirée accepted the gift and stood in her wedding-dress +holding the bundle of wood against her breast. Then a gleam of +the one grey eye that was visible conveyed to her the fact that this +walnut-faced warrior was smiling. She laughed gaily.</p> +<p>“It is well,” said Barlasch. “We are friends. +You are lucky to get me. You may not think so now. Would +this woman like me to speak to her in Polish or German?”</p> +<p>“Do you speak so many languages?”</p> +<p>He shrugged his shoulders and spread out his arms as far as his many +burdens allowed. For he was hung round with a hundred parcels +and packages.</p> +<p>“The Old Guard,” he said, “can always make itself +understood.”</p> +<p>He rubbed his hands together with the air of a brisk man ready for +any sort of work.</p> +<p>“Now, where shall I sleep?” he asked. “One +is not particular, you understand. A few minutes and one is at +home—perhaps peeling the potatoes. It is only a civilian +who is ashamed of using his knife on a potato. Papa Barlasch, +they call me.”</p> +<p>Without awaiting an invitation he went forward towards the kitchen. +He seemed to know the house by instinct. His progress was accompanied +by a clatter of utensils like that which heralds the coming of a carrier’s +cart.</p> +<p>At the kitchen door he stopped and sniffed loudly. There certainly +was a slight odour of burning fat. Papa Barlasch turned and shook +an admonitory finger at the servant, but he said nothing. He looked +round at the highly polished utensils, at the table and floor both alike +scrubbed clean by a vigorous northern arm. And he was kind enough +to nod approval.</p> +<p>“On a campaign,” he said to no one in particular, “a +little bit of horse thrust into the cinders on the end of a bayonet—but +in times of peace . . .”</p> +<p>He broke off and made a gesture towards the saucepans which indicated +quite clearly that he was between campaigns—inclined to good living.</p> +<p>“I am a rude fork,” he jerked to Désirée +over his shoulder in the dialect of the Côtes du Nord.</p> +<p>“How long will you be here?” asked Désirée, +who was eminently practical. A billet was a misfortune which Charles +Darragon had hitherto succeeded in warding off. He had some small +influence as an officer of the head-quarters’ staff.</p> +<p>Barlasch held up a reproving hand. The question, he seemed +to think, was not quite delicate.</p> +<p>“I pay my own,” he said. “Give and take—that +is my motto. When you have nothing to give . . . offer a smile.”</p> +<p>With a gesture he indicated the bundle of firewood which Désirée +still absent-mindedly carried against her white dress. He turned +and opened a cupboard low down on the floor at the left-hand side of +the fireplace. He seemed to know by an instinct usually possessed +by charwomen and other domesticated persons of experience where the +firewood was kept. Lisa gave a little exclamation of surprise +at his impertinence and his perspicacity. He took the firewood, +unknotted his handkerchief, and threw his offering into the cupboard. +Then he turned and perceived for the first time that Désirée +had a bright ribbon at her waist and on her shoulders; that a thin chain +of gold was round her throat and that there were flowers at her breast.</p> +<p>“A fête?” he inquired curtly.</p> +<p>“My marriage fête,” she answered. “I +was married half an hour ago.”</p> +<p>He looked at her beneath his grizzled brows. His face was only +capable of producing one expression—a shaggy weather-beaten fierceness. +But, like a dog which can express more than many human beings, by a +hundred instinctive gestures he could, it seemed, dispense with words +on occasion and get on quite as well without them. He clearly +disapproved of Désirée’s marriage, and drew her +attention to the fact that she was no more than a schoolgirl with an +inconsequent brain, and little limbs too slight to fight a successful +battle in a world full of cruelty and danger.</p> +<p>Then he made a gesture half of apology as if recognizing that it +was no business of his, and turned away thoughtfully.</p> +<p>“I had troubles of that sort myself,” he explained, putting +together the embers on the hearth with the point of a twisted, rusty +bayonet, “but that was long ago. Well, I can drink your +health all the same, mademoiselle.”</p> +<p>He turned to Lisa with a friendly nod and put out his tongue, in +the manner of the people, to indicate that his lips were dry.</p> +<p>Désirée had always been the housekeeper. It was +to her that Lisa naturally turned in her extremity at the invasion of +her kitchen by Papa Barlasch. And when that warrior had been supplied +with beer it was with Désirée, in an agitated whisper +in the great dark dining-room with its gloomy old pictures and heavy +carving, that she took counsel as to where he should be quartered.</p> +<p>The object of their solicitude himself interrupted their hurried +consultation by opening the door and putting his shaggy head round the +corner of it.</p> +<p>“It is not worth while to consult long about it,” he +said. “There is a little room behind the kitchen, that opens +into the yard. It is full of boxes. But we can move them—a +little straw—and there!”</p> +<p>With a gesture he described a condition of domestic peace and comfort +which far exceeded his humble requirements.</p> +<p>“The blackbeetles and I are old friends,” he concluded +cheerfully.</p> +<p>“There are no blackbeetles in the house, monsieur,” said +Désirée, hesitating to accept his proposal.</p> +<p>“Then I shall resign myself to my solitude,” he answered. +“It is quiet. I shall not hear the patron touching on his +violin. It is that which occupies his leisure, is it not?”</p> +<p>“Yes,” answered Désirée, still considering +the question.</p> +<p>“I too am a musician,” said Papa Barlasch, turning towards +the kitchen again. “I played a drum at Marengo.”</p> +<p>And as he led the way to the little room in the yard at the back +of the kitchen, he expressed by a shake of the head a fellow-feeling +for the gentleman upstairs, whose acquaintance he had not yet made, +who occupied his leisure by touching the violin.</p> +<p>They stood together in the small apartment which Barlasch, with the +promptitude of an experienced conqueror, had set apart for his own accommodation.</p> +<p>“Those trunks,” he observed casually, “were made +in France”—a mental note which he happened to make aloud, +as some do for better remembrance. “This solid girl and +I will soon move them. And you, mademoiselle, go back to your +wedding.”</p> +<p>“The good God be merciful to you,” he added under his +breath when Désirée had gone.</p> +<p>She laughed as she mounted the stairs, a slim white figure amid the +heavy woodwork long since blackened by time. The stairs made no +sound beneath her light step. How many weary feet had climbed +them since they were built! For the Dantzigers have been a people +of sorrow, torn by wars, starved by siege, tossed from one conqueror +to another from the beginning until now.</p> +<p>Désirée excused herself for her absence and frankly +gave the cause. She was disposed to make light of the incident. +It was natural to her to be optimistic. Both she and Mathilde +made a practice of withholding from their father’s knowledge the +smaller worries of daily life which sour so many women and make them +whine on platforms to be given the larger woes.</p> +<p>She was glad to note that her father did not attach much importance +to the arrival of Papa Barlasch; though Mathilde found opportunity to +convey her displeasure at the news by a movement of the eyebrows.</p> +<p>Antoine Sebastian had applied himself seriously now to his <i>rôle</i> +of host, so rarely played in the Frauengasse. He was courteous +and quick to see a want or a possible desire of any one of his guests. +It was part of his sense of hospitality to dismiss all personal matters, +and especially a personal trouble, from public attention.</p> +<p>“They will attend to him in the kitchen, no doubt,” he +said with that grand air which the dancing academy tried to imitate.</p> +<p>Charles hardly noted what Désirée said. So sunny +a nature as his might have been expected to make light of a minor trouble, +more especially the minor trouble of another. He was unusually +thoughtful. Some event of the morning had, it would appear, given +him pause on his primrose path. He glanced more than once over +his shoulder towards the window, which stood open. He seemed at +times to listen.</p> +<p>Suddenly he rose and went to the window. His action caused +a brief silence, and all heard the clatter of a horse’s feet and +the quick rattle of a sword against spur and buckle.</p> +<p>After a glance he came back into the room.</p> +<p>“Excuse me,” he said, with a bow towards Mathilde. +“It is, I think, a messenger for me.”</p> +<p>And he hurried downstairs. He did not return at once, and soon +the conversation became general again.</p> +<p>“You,” said the Gräfin, touching Désirée’s +arm with her fan, “you, who are now his wife, must be dying to +know what has called him away. Do not consider the ‘convenances,’ +my child.”</p> +<p>Désirée, thus admonished, followed Charles. She +had not been aware of this consuming curiosity until it was suggested +to her.</p> +<p>She found Charles standing at the open door. He thrust a letter +into his pocket as she approached him, and turned towards her the face +that she had seen for a moment when he drew her back at the corner of +the Pfaffengasse to allow the Emperor’s carriage to pass on its +way. It was the white, half-stupefied face of one who has for +an instant seen a vision of things not earthly.</p> +<p>“I have been sent for by the . . . I am wanted at head-quarters,” +he said vaguely. “I shall not be long . . .”</p> +<p>He took his shako, looked at her with an odd attempt to simulate +cheerfulness, kissed her fingers and hurried out into the street.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h2>CHAPTER III. FATE.</h2> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p> <i>We pass; the path that each man +trod<br /> Is dim; or will be dim, with +weeds.</i></p> +<p>When Désirée turned towards the stairs, she met the +guests descending. They were taking their leave as they came down, +hurriedly, like persons conscious of having outstayed their welcome.</p> +<p>Mathilde listened coldly to the conventional excuses. So few +people recognize the simple fact that they need never apologize for +going away. Sebastian stood at the head of the stairs bowing in +his most Germanic manner. The urbane host, with a charm entirely +French, who had dispensed a simple hospitality so easily and gracefully +a few minutes earlier, seemed to have disappeared behind a pale and +formal mask.</p> +<p>Désirée was glad to see them go. There was a +sense of uneasiness, a vague unrest in the air. There was something +amiss. The wedding party had been a failure. All had gone +well and merrily up to a certain point—at the corner of the Pfaffengasse, +when the dusty travelling carriage passed across their path. From +that moment there had been a change. A shadow seemed to have fallen +across the sunny nature of the proceedings; for never had bride and +bridegroom set forth together with lighter hearts than those carried +by Charles and Désirée Darragon down the steps of the +Marienkirche.</p> +<p>During its progress across the whole width of Germany, the carriage +had left unrest behind it. Men had travelled night and day to +stand sleepless by the roadside and see it pass. Whole cities +had been kept astir till morning by the mere rumour that its flying +wheels would be heard in the streets before dawn. Hatred and adoration, +fear and that dread tightening of the heart-strings which is caused +by the shadow of the superhuman, had sprung into being at the mere sound +of its approach.</p> +<p>When therefore it passed across the Frauengasse, throwing its dust +upon Désirée’s wedding-dress, it was only fulfilling +a mission. When it broke in upon the lives of these few persons +seeking dimly for their happiness—as the heathen grope for an +unknown God—and threw down carefully constructed plans, swept +aside the strongest will and crushed the stoutest heart, it was only +working out its destiny. The dust sprinkled on Désirée’s +hair had fallen on the faces of thousands of dead. The unrest +that entered into the quiet little house on the left-hand side of the +Frauengasse had made its way across a thousand thresholds, of Arab tent +and imperial palace alike. The lives of millions were affected +by it, the secret hopes of thousands were undermined by it. It +disturbed the sleep of half the world, and made men old before their +time.</p> +<p>“More troops must have arrived,” said Désirée, +already busying herself to set the house in order, “since they +have been forced to billet this man with us. And now they have +sent for Charles, though he is really on leave of absence.”</p> +<p>She glanced at the clock.</p> +<p>“I hope he will not be late. The chaise is to come at +four o’clock. There is still time for me to help you.”</p> +<p>Mathilde made no answer. Their father stood near the window. +He was looking out with thoughtful eyes. His face was drawn downwards +by a hundred fine wrinkles. It was the face of one brooding over +a sorrow or a vengeance. There was something in his whole being +suggestive of a bygone prosperity. This was a lean man who had +once been well-seeming.</p> +<p>“No!” said Désirée gaily, “we were +a dull company. We need not disguise it. It all came from +that man crossing our path in his dusty carriage.”</p> +<p>“He is on his way to Russia,” Sebastian said jerkily. +“God spare me to see him return!”</p> +<p>Désirée and Mathilde exchanged a glance of uneasiness. +It seemed that their father was subject to certain humours which they +had reason to dread. Désirée left her occupation +and went to him, linking her arm in his and standing beside him.</p> +<p>“Do not let us think of disagreeable things to-day,” +she said. “God will spare you much longer than that, you +depressing old wedding-guest!”</p> +<p>He patted her hand which rested on his arm and looked down at her +with eyes softened by affection. But her fair hair, rather tumbled, +which met his glance must have awakened some memory that made his face +a marble mask again.</p> +<p>“Yes,” he said grimly, “but I am an old man and +he is a young one. And I want to see him dead before I die.”</p> +<p>“I will not have you think such bloodthirsty thoughts on my +wedding-day,” said Désirée. “See, there +is Charles returning already, and he has not been absent ten minutes. +He has some one with him—who is it? Papa . . . Mathilde, +look! Who is it coming back with Charles in such a hurry?”</p> +<p>Mathilde, who was setting the room in order, glanced through the +lace curtains.</p> +<p>“I do not know,” she answered indifferently. “Just +an ordinary man.”</p> +<p>Désirée had turned away from the window as if to go +downstairs and meet her husband. She paused and looked back again +over her shoulder towards the street.</p> +<p>“Is it?” she said rather oddly. “I do not +know—I—”</p> +<p>And she stood with the incompleted sentence on her lips waiting irresolutely +for Charles to come upstairs.</p> +<p>In a moment he burst into the room with all his usual exuberance +and high spirit.</p> +<p>“Picture to yourselves!” he cried, standing in the doorway +with his arms extended before him. “I was hurrying to head-quarters +when I ran into the embrace of my dear Louis—my cousin. +I have told you a hundred times that he is brother and father and everything +to me. I am so glad that he should come to-day of all days.”</p> +<p>He turned towards the stairs with a gesture of welcome, still with +his two arms outheld, as if inviting the man, who came rather slowly +upstairs, to come to his embrace and to the embrace of those who were +now his relations.</p> +<p>“There was a little suspicion of sadness—I do not know +what it was—at the table; but now it is all gone. All is +well now that this unexpected guest has come. This dear Louis.”</p> +<p>He went to the landing as he spoke, and returned bringing by the +arm a man taller than himself and darker, with a still brown face and +steady eyes set close together. He had a lean look of good breeding.</p> +<p>“This dear Louis!” repeated Charles. “My +only relative in all the world. My cousin, Louis d’Arragon. +But he, <i>par exemple</i>, spells his name in two words.”</p> +<p>The man bowed gravely—a comprehensive bow; but he looked at +Désirée.</p> +<p>“This is my father-in-law,” continued Charles breathlessly. +“Monsieur Antoine Sebastian, and Désirée and Mathilde—my +wife, my dear Louis—your cousin, Désirée.”</p> +<p>He had turned again to Louis and shook him by the shoulders in the +fulness of his joy. He had not distinguished between Mathilde +and Désirée, and it was towards Mathilde that D’Arragon +looked with a polite and rather formal repetition of his bow.</p> +<p>“It is I . . . I am Désirée,” said +the younger sister, coming forward with a slow gesture of shyness.</p> +<p>D’Arragon took her hand.</p> +<p>“I have been happy,” he said, “in the moment of +my arrival.”</p> +<p>Then he turned to Mathilde and bowed over the hand she held out to +him. Sebastian had come forward with a sudden return of his gracious +and rather old-world manner. He did not offer to shake hands, +but bowed.</p> +<p>“A son of Louis d’Arragon who was fortunate enough to +escape to England?” he inquired with a courteous gesture.</p> +<p>“The only son,” replied the new-comer.</p> +<p>“I am honoured to make the acquaintance of Monsieur le Marquis,” +said Antoine Sebastian slowly.</p> +<p>“Oh, you must not call me that,” replied D’Arragon +with a short laugh. “I am an English sailor—that is +all.”</p> +<p>“And now, my dear Louis, I leave you,” broke in Charles, +who had rather impatiently awaited the end of these formalities. +“A brief half-hour and I am with you again. You will stay +here till I return.”</p> +<p>He turned, nodded gaily to Désirée and ran downstairs.</p> +<p>Through the open windows they heard his quick, light footfall as +he hurried up the Frauengasse. Something made them silent, listening +to it.</p> +<p>It was not difficult to see that D’Arragon was a sailor. +Not only had he the brown face of those who live in the open, but he +had the attentive air of one whose waking moments are a watch.</p> +<p>“You look at one as if one were the horizon,” Désirée +said to him long afterwards. But it was at this moment in the +drawing-room in the Frauengasse that the comparison formed itself in +her mind.</p> +<p>His face was rather narrow, with a square chin and straight lips. +He was not quick in speech like Charles, but seemed to think before +he spoke, with the result that he often appeared to be about to say +something, and was interrupted before the words had been uttered.</p> +<p>“Unless my memory is a bad one, your mother was an Englishwoman, +monsieur,” said Sebastian, “which would account for your +being in the English service.”</p> +<p>“Not entirely,” answered d’Arragon, “though +my mother was indeed English and died—in a French prison. +But it was from a sense of gratitude that my father placed me in the +English service—and I have never regretted it, monsieur.”</p> +<p>“Your father received kindnesses at English hands, after his +escape, like many others.”</p> +<p>“Yes, and he was too old to repay them by doing the country +any service himself. He would have done it if he could—”</p> +<p>D’Arragon paused, looking steadily at the tall old man who +listened to him with averted eyes.</p> +<p>“My father was one of those,” he said at length, “who +did not think that in fighting for Bonaparte one was necessarily fighting +for France.”</p> +<p>Sebastian held up a warning hand.</p> +<p>“In England—” he corrected, “in England one +may think such things. But not in France, and still less in Dantzig.”</p> +<p>“If one is an Englishman,” replied D’Arragon with +a smile, “one may think them where one likes, and say them when +one is disposed. It is one of the privileges of the nation, monsieur.”</p> +<p>He made the statement lightly, seeing the humour of it with a cosmopolitan +understanding, without any suggestion of the boastfulness of youth. +Désirée noticed that his hair was turning grey at the +temples.</p> +<p>“I did not know,” he said, turning to her, “that +Charles was in Dantzig, much less that he was celebrating so happy an +occasion. We ran against each other by accident in the street. +It was a lucky accident that allowed me to make your acquaintance so +soon after you have become his wife.”</p> +<p>“It scarcely seems possible that it should be an accident,” +said Désirée. “It must have been the work +of fate—if fate has time to think of such an insignificant person +as myself and so small an event as my marriage in these days.”</p> +<p>“Fate,” put in Mathilde in her composed voice and manner, +“has come to Dantzig to-day.”</p> +<p>“Ah!”</p> +<p>“Yes. You are the second unexpected arrival this afternoon.”</p> +<p>D’Arragon turned and looked at Mathilde. His manner, +always grave and attentive, was that of a reader who has found an interesting +book on a dusty shelf.</p> +<p>“Has the Emperor come?” he asked.</p> +<p>Mathilde nodded.</p> +<p>“I thought I saw something in Charles’s face,” +he said reflectively, looking back through the open door towards the +stairs where Charles had nodded farewell to them. “So the +Emperor is here, in Dantzig?”</p> +<p>He turned towards Sebastian, who stood with a stony face.</p> +<p>“Which means war,” he said.</p> +<p>“It always means war,” replied Sebastian in a tired voice. +“Is he again going to prove himself stronger than any?”</p> +<p>“Some day he will make a mistake,” said D’Arragon +cheerfully. “And then will come the day of reckoning.”</p> +<p>“Ah!” said Sebastian, with a shake of the head that seemed +to indicate an account so one-sided that none could ever liquidate it. +“You are young, monsieur. You are full of hope.”</p> +<p>“I am not young—I am thirty-one—but I am, as you +say, full of hope. I look to that day, Monsieur Sebastian.”</p> +<p>“And in the mean time?” suggested the man who seemed +but a shadow of someone standing apart and far away from the affairs +of daily life</p> +<p>“In the mean time one must play one’s part,” returned +D’Arragon, with his almost inaudible laugh, “whatever it +may be.”</p> +<p>There was no foreboding in his voice; no second meaning in the words. +He was open and simple and practical, like the life he led.</p> +<p>“Then you have a part to play, too,” said Désirée, +thinking of Charles, who had been called away at such an inopportune +moment, and had gone without complaint. “It is the penalty +we pay for living in one of the less dull periods of history. +He touches your life too.”</p> +<p>“He touches every one’s life, mademoiselle. That +is what makes him so great a man. Yes. I have a little part +to play. I am like one of the unseen supernumeraries who has to +see that a door is open to allow the great actors to make an effective +<i>entrée</i>. I am lent to Russia for the war that is +coming. It is a little part. I have to keep open one small +portion of the line of communication between England and St. Petersburg, +so that news may pass to and fro.”</p> +<p>He glanced towards Mathilde as he spoke. She was listening +with an odd eagerness which he noted, as he noted everything, methodically +and surely. He remembered it afterwards.</p> +<p>“That will not be easy, with Denmark friendly to France,” +said Sebastian, “and every Prussian port closed to you.”</p> +<p>“But Sweden will help. She is not friendly to France.”</p> +<p>Sebastian laughed, and made a gesture with his white and elegant +hand, of contempt and ridicule.</p> +<p>“And, <i>bon Dieu</i>! what a friendship it is,” he exclaimed, +“that is based on the fear of being taken for an enemy.”</p> +<p>“It is a friendship that waits its time, monsieur,” said +D’Arragon taking up his hat.</p> +<p>“Then you have a ship, monsieur, here in the Baltic?” +asked Mathilde with more haste than was characteristic of her usual +utterance.</p> +<p>“A very small one, mademoiselle,” he answered. +“So small that I could turn her round here in the Frauengasse.”</p> +<p>“But she is fast?”</p> +<p>“The fastest in the Baltic, mademoiselle,” he answered. +“And that is why I must take my leave—with the news you +have told me.”</p> +<p>He shook hands as he spoke, and bowed to Sebastian, whose generation +was content with the more formal salutation. Désirée +went to the door, and led the way downstairs.</p> +<p>“We have but one servant,” she said, “who is busy.”</p> +<p>On the doorstep he paused for a moment. And Désirée +seemed to expect him to do so.</p> +<p>“Charles and I have always been like brothers—you will +remember that always, will you not?”</p> +<p>“Yes,” she answered with her gay nod. “I +will remember.”</p> +<p>“Then good-bye, mademoiselle.”</p> +<p>“Madame,” she corrected lightly.</p> +<p>“Madame, my cousin,” he said, and departed smiling.</p> +<p>Désirée went slowly upstairs again.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h2>CHAPTER IV. THE CLOUDED MOON.</h2> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p> <i>Quand on se méfie on se trompe, quand on ne +se méfie pas, on est trompé.</i></p> +<p>Charles Darragon had come to Dantzig a year earlier. He was +a lieutenant in an infantry regiment, and he was twenty-five. +Many of his contemporaries were colonels in these days of quick promotion, +when men lived at such a rate that few of them lived long. But +Charles was too easy-going to envy any man.</p> +<p>When he arrived he knew no one in Dantzig, had few friends in the +army of occupation. In six months he possessed acquaintances in +every street, and was on terms of easy familiarity with all his fellow-officers.</p> +<p>“If the army of occupation had more officers like young Darragon,” +a town councillor had grimly said to Rapp, “the Dantzigers would +soon be resigned to your presence.”</p> +<p>It seemed that Charles had the gift of popularity. He was open +and hearty, hail-fellow-well-met with the new-comers, who were numerous +enough at this time, quick to understand the quiet men, ready to make +merry with the gay. Regarding himself, he was quite open and frank.</p> +<p>“I am a poor devil of a lieutenant,” he said, “that +is all.”</p> +<p>Reserve is fatal to popularity, yet friendship cannot exist without +it. Charles had, it seemed, nothing to hide, and was indifferent +to the secrets of others. It is such people who receive many confidences.</p> +<p>“But it must go no farther . . .” a hundred men had said +to him.</p> +<p>“My friend, by to-morrow I shall have forgotten all about it,” +he invariably replied, which men remembered afterwards and were glad.</p> +<p>A certain sort of friendship seemed to exist between Charles Darragon +and Colonel de Casimir—not without patronage on one side and a +slightly constraining sense of obligation on the other. It was +de Casimir who had introduced Charles to Mathilde Sebastian at a formal +reception at General Rapp’s. Charles, of course, fell in +love with Mathilde, and out again after half-an-hour’s conversation. +There was something cold and calculating about Mathilde which held him +at arm’s length with as much efficacy as the strictest duenna. +Indeed, there are some maidens who require no better chaperon for their +hearts than their own heads.</p> +<p>A few days after this introduction Charles met Mathilde and Désirée +in the Langgasse, and he fell in love with Désirée. +He went about for a whole week seeking opportunity to tell her without +delay what had happened to him. The opportunity presented itself +before long; for one morning he saw her walking quickly towards the +Kuh-brücke with her skates swinging from her wrist. It was +a sunny, still, winter morning, such as temperate countries never know. +Désirée’s eyes were bright with youth and happiness. +The cold air had slightly emphasized the rosy colour of her cheeks.</p> +<p>Charles caught his breath at the sight of her, though she did not +happen to perceive him. He called a sleigh and drove to the barracks +for his own skates. Then to the Kuh-brücke, where a reach +of the Mottlau was cleared and kept in order for skating. He overpaid +the sleigh-driver and laughed aloud at the man’s boorish surprise. +There was no one so happy as Charles Darragon in all the world. +He was going to tell Désirée that he loved her.</p> +<p>At first Désirée was surprised, as was only natural. +For she had not thought again of the pleasant young officer introduced +to her by Mathilde. They had not even commented on him after he +had made his gay bow and gone.</p> +<p>She had of course thought of these things in the abstract when her +busy mind had nothing more material and immediate to consider. +She had probably arranged how some abstract person should some day tell +her of his love and how she should make reply. But she had never +imagined the incident as it actually happened. She had never pictured +a youth in a gay uniform looking down at her with ardent eyes as he +skated by her side through the crisp still air, while the ice sang a +high clear song beneath their feet in accompaniment to his hurried laughing +words of protestation. He seemed to touch life lightly and to +anticipate nothing but happiness. In truth, it was difficult to +be tragic on such a morning.</p> +<p>These were the heedless days of the beginning of the century, when +men not only threw away their lives, but played ducks-and-drakes with +their chances of happiness in a manner quite incomprehensible to the +careful method of human thought to-day. Charles Darragon lived +only in the present moment. He was in love with her. Désirée +must marry him.</p> +<p>It was quite different from what she had anticipated. She had +looked forward to such a moment with a secret misgiving. The abstract +person of her thoughts had always inspired her with a painful shyness +and an indefinite, breathless fear. But the lover who was here +now in the flesh by her side inspired none of these feelings. +On the contrary, she felt easy and natural and quite at home with him. +There was nothing alarming about his flushed face and laughing eyes. +She was not at all afraid of him. She even felt in some vague +way older than he, though he had just told her that he was twenty-five, +and four years her senior.</p> +<p>She accepted the violets which he had hurriedly bought for her as +he came through the Langenmarkt, but she would not say that she loved +him, because she did not. She was in most ways quite a matter-of-fact +person, and she was of an honest mind. She said she would think +about it. She did not love him now—she knew that. +She could not say that she would not learn to love him some day, but +there seemed no likelihood of it at present. Then he would shoot +himself! He would certainly shoot himself unless she learnt to +love him! And she asked “When?” and they both laughed. +They changed the subject, but after a time they came back to it; which +is the worst of love—one always comes back to it.</p> +<p>Then suddenly he began to assume an air of proprietorship, and burst +into a hundred explanations of what fears he felt for her; for her happiness +and welfare. Her father was absent-minded and heedless. +He was not a fit guardian for her. Was she not the prettiest girl +in all Dantzig—in all the world? Her sister was not fond +enough of her to care for her properly. He announced his intention +of seeing her father the next day. Everything should be done in +order. Not a word must be hinted by the most watchful neighbour +against the perfect propriety of their betrothal.</p> +<p>Désirée laughed and said that he was progressing rather +rapidly. She had only her instinct to guide her through these +troubled waters; which was much better than experience. Experience +in a woman is tantamount to a previous conviction against a prisoner.</p> +<p>Charles was grave, however; a rare tribute. He was in love +for the first time, which often makes men quite honest for a brief period—even +unselfish. Of course, some men are honest and unselfish all their +lives; which perhaps means that they remain in love—for the first +time—all their lives. They are rare, of course. But +the sort of woman with whom it is possible to remain in love all through +a lifetime is rarer.</p> +<p>So Charles waylaid Antoine Sebastian the next day as he went out +of the Frauenthor for his walk in the morning sun by the side of the +frozen Mottlau. He was better received than he had any reason +to expect.</p> +<p>“I am only a lieutenant,” he said, “but in these +days, monsieur, you know—there are possibilities.”</p> +<p>He laughed gaily as he waved his gloves in the direction of Russia, +across the river. But Sebastian’s face clouded, and Charles, +who was quick and sympathetic, abandoned that point in his argument +almost before the words were out of his lips.</p> +<p>“I have a little money,” he said, “in addition +to my pay. I assure you, monsieur, I am not of mean birth.”</p> +<p>“You are an orphan?” said Sebastian curtly.</p> +<p>“Yes.”</p> +<p>“Of the . . . Terror?”</p> +<p>“Yes; I—well, one does not make much of one’s parentage +in these rough times—monsieur.”</p> +<p>“Your father’s name was Charles—like your own?”</p> +<p>“Yes.”</p> +<p>“The second son?”</p> +<p>“Yes, monsieur. Did you know him?”</p> +<p>“One remembers a name here and there,” answered Sebastian, +in his stiff manner, looking straight in front of him.</p> +<p>“There was a tone in your voice—,” began Charles, +and, again perceiving that he was on a false scent, broke off abruptly. +“If love can make mademoiselle happy—,” he said; and +a gesture of his right hand seemed to indicate that his passion was +beyond the measure of words.</p> +<p>So Charles Darragon was permitted to pay his addresses to Désirée +in the somewhat formal manner of a day which, upon careful consideration, +will be found to have been no more foolish than the present. He +made no inquiries respecting Désirée’s parentage. +It was Désirée he wanted, and that was all. They +understood the arts of love and war in the great days of the Empire.</p> +<p>The rest was easy enough, and the gods were kind. Charles had +even succeeded in getting a month’s leave of absence. They +were to spend their honeymoon at Zoppot, a little fishing-village hidden +in the pines by the Baltic shore, only eight miles from Dantzig, where +the Vistula loses itself at last in the salt water.</p> +<p>All these arrangements had been made, as Désirée had +prepared her trousseau, with a zest and gaiety which all were invited +to enjoy. It is said that love is an egoist. Charles and +Désirée had no desire to keep their happiness to themselves, +but wore it, as it were, upon their sleeves.</p> +<p>The attitude of the Frauengasse towards Désirée’s +wedding was only characteristic of the period. Every house in +Dantzig looked askance upon its neighbour at this time. Each roof +covered a number of contending interests.</p> +<p>Some were for the French, and some for the conqueror’s unwilling +ally, William of Prussia. The names above the shops were German +and Polish. There are to-day Scotch names also, here as elsewhere +on the Baltic shores. When the serfs were liberated it was necessary +to find surnames for these free men—these Pauls-the-son-of-Paul; +and the nobles of Esthonia and Lithuania were reading Sir Walter Scott +at the time.</p> +<p>The burghers of Dantzig (“They must be made to pay, these rich +Dantzigers,” wrote Napoleon to Rapp) trembled for their wealth, +and stood aghast by their empty counting-houses; for their gods had +been cast down; commerce was at a standstill. There were many, +therefore, who hated the French, and cherished a secret love of those +bluff British captains—so like themselves in build, and thought, +and slowness of speech—who would thrash their wooden brigs through +the shallow seas, despite decrees and threats and sloops-of-war, so +long as they could lay them alongside the granaries of the Vistula. +Lately the very tolls had been collected by a French customs service, +and the wholesale smuggling, to which even Governor Rapp—that +long-headed Alsatian—had closed his eyes, was at an end.</p> +<p>Again, the Poles who looked on Dantzig as the seaport of that great +kingdom of Eastern Europe which was and is no more, had been assured +that France would set up again the throne of the Jagellons and the Sobieskis. +There was a Poniatowski high in the Emperor’s service and esteem. +The Poles were for France.</p> +<p>The Jew, hurrying along close by the wall—always in the shadow—traded +with all and trusted none. Who could tell what thoughts were hidden +beneath the ragged fur cap—what revenge awaited its consummation +in the heart crushed by oppression and contempt?</p> +<p>Besides these civilians there were many who had a military air within +their civil garb. For the pendulum of war had swung right across +from Cadiz to Dantzig, and swept northwards in its wake the merchants +of death, the men who live by feeding soldiers and rifling the dead.</p> +<p>All these were in the streets, rubbing shoulders with the gay epaulettes +of the Saxons, the Badeners, the Würtembergers, the Westphalians, +and the Hessians, who had been poured into Dantzig by Napoleon during +the months when he had continued to exchange courteous and affectionate +letters with Alexander of Russia. For more than a year the broad-faced +Bavarians (who have borne the brunt of every war in Central Europe) +had been peaceably quartered in the town. Half a dozen different +tongues were daily heard in this city of the plain, and no man knew +who might be his friend and who his enemy. For some who were allies +to-day were commanded by their kings to slay each other to-morrow.</p> +<p>In the wine-cellars and the humbler beer-shops, in the great houses +of the councillors, and behind the snowy lace curtains of the Frauengasse +and the Portchaisengasse a thousand slow Northerners spoke of these +things and kept them in their hearts. A hundred secret societies +passed from mouth to mouth instruction, warning, encouragement. +Germany has always been the home of the secret society. Northern +Europe gave birth to those countless associations which have proved +stronger than kings and surer than a throne. The Hanseatic League, +the first of the commercial unions which were destined to build up the +greatest empire of the world, lived longest in Dantzig.</p> +<p>The Tugendbund, men whispered, was not dead but sleeping. Napoleon, +who had crushed it once, was watching for its revival; had a whole army +of his matchless secret police ready for it. And the Tugendbund +had had its centre in Dantzig.</p> +<p>Perhaps, in the Rathskeller itself—one of the largest wine +stores in the world, where tables and chairs are set beneath the arches +of the Exchange, a vast cave under the streets—perhaps here the +Tugendbund still encouraged men to be virtuous and self-denying for +no other or higher purpose than the overthrow of the Scourge of Europe. +Here the richer citizens have met from time immemorial to drink with +solemnity and a decent leisure the wines sent hither in their own ships +from the Rhine, from Greece and the Crimea, from Bordeaux and Burgundy, +from the Champagne and Tokay. This is not only the Rathskeller, +but the real Rathhaus, where the Dantzigers have taken counsel over +their afternoon wine from generation to generation, whence have been +issued to all the world those decrees of probity and a commercial uprightness +between buyer and seller, debtor and creditor, master and man, which +reached to every corner of the commercial world. And now it was +whispered that the latter-day Dantzigers—the sons of those who +formed the Hanseatic League: mostly fat men with large faces and shrewd, +calculating eyes; high foreheads; good solid men, who knew the world, +and how to make their way in it; withal, good judges of a wine and great +drinkers, like that William the Silent, who braved and met and conquered +the European scourge of mediæval times—it was whispered +that these were reviving the Tugendbund.</p> +<p>Amid such contending interests, and in a free city so near to several +frontiers, men came and went without attracting undesired attention. +Each party suspected a new-comer of belonging to the other.</p> +<p>“He scrapes a fiddle,” Koch had explained to the inquiring +fishwife. And perhaps he knew no more than this of Antoine Sebastian. +Sebastian was poor. All the Frauengasse knew that. But the +Frauengasse itself was poor, and no man in Dantzig was so foolish at +this time as to admit that he had possessions.</p> +<p>This was, moreover, not the day of display or snobbery. The +king of snobs, Louis XVI., had died to some purpose, for a wave of manliness +had swept across human thought at the beginning of the century. +The world has rarely been the poorer for the demise of a Bourbon.</p> +<p>The Frauengasse knew that Antoine Sebastian played the fiddle to +gain his daily bread, while his two daughters taught dancing for that +same safest and most satisfactory of all motives.</p> +<p>“But he holds his head so high!” once observed the stout +and matter-of-fact daughter of a Councillor. “Why has he +that grand manner?”</p> +<p>“Because he is a dancing-master,” replied Désirée +with a grave assurance. “He does it so that you may copy +him. Chin up. Oh! how fat you are.”</p> +<p>Désirée herself was slim enough and as yet only half +grown. She did not dance so well as Mathilde, who moved through +a quadrille with the air of a duchess, and threw into a polonaise or +mazurka a quiet grace which was the envy and despair of her pupils. +Mathilde was patient with the slow and heavy of foot, while Désirée +told them bluntly that they were fat. Nevertheless, they were +afraid of Mathilde, and only laughed at Désirée when she +rushed angrily at them, and, seizing them by the arms, danced them round +the room with the energy of despair.</p> +<p>Sebastian, who had an oddly judicial air, such as men acquire who +are in authority, held the balance evenly between the sisters, and smiled +apologetically over his fiddle towards the victim of Désirée’s +impetuosity.</p> +<p>“Yes,” he would reply to watching mothers, who tried +to lead him to say that their daughter was the best dancer in the school: +“Yes, Mathilde puts it into their heads, and Désirée +shakes it down to their feet.”</p> +<p>In all matters of the household Désirée played a similar +part. She was up early and still astir after nine o’clock +at night, when the other houses in the Frauengasse were quiet, if there +were work to do.</p> +<p>“It is because she has no method,” said Mathilde, who +had herself a well-ordered mind, and that quickness which never needs +to hurry.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h2>CHAPTER V. THE WEISSEN RÖSS’L.</h2> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p> <i>The moth will singe her wings, and +singed return,<br /> Her love of light +quenching her fear of pain.</i></p> +<p>There are quite a number of people who get through life without realizing +their own insignificance. Ninety-nine out of a hundred persons +signify nothing, and the hundredth is usually so absorbed in the message +which he has been sent into the world to deliver that he loses sight +of the messenger altogether.</p> +<p>By a merciful dispensation of Providence we are permitted to bustle +about in our immediate little circle like the ant, running hither and +thither with all the sublime conceit of that insect. We pick up, +as he does, a burden which on close inspection will be found to be absolutely +valueless, something that somebody else has thrown away. We hoist +it over obstructions while there is usually a short way round; we fret +and sweat and fume. Then we drop the burden and rush off at a +tangent to pick up another. We write letters to our friends explaining +to them what we are about. We even indite diaries to be read by +goodness knows whom, explaining to ourselves what we have been doing. +Sometimes we find something that really looks valuable, and rush to +our particular ant-heap with it while our neighbours pause and watch +us. But they really do not care; and if the rumour of our discovery +reach so far as the next ant-heap, the bustlers there are almost indifferent, +though a few may feel a passing pang of jealousy. They may perhaps +remember our name, and will soon forget what we discovered—which +is Fame. While we are falling over each other to attain this, +and dying to tell each other what it feels like when we have it, or +think we have it, let us pause for a moment and think of an ant—who +kept a diary.</p> +<p>Désirée did not keep a diary. Her life was too +busy for ink. She had had to work for her daily bread, which is +better than riches. Her life had been full of occupation from +morning till night, and God had given her sleep from night till morning. +It is better to work for others than to think for them. Some day +the world will learn to have a greater respect for the workers than +for the thinkers, who are idle, wordy persons, frequently thinking wrong.</p> +<p>Désirée remembered the siege and the occupation of +Dantzig by French troops. She was at school in the Jopengasse +when the Treaty of Tilsit—that peace which was nothing but a pause—was +concluded. She had seen Luisa of Prussia, the good Queen who baffled +Napoleon. Her childhood had passed away in the roar of siege-guns. +Her girlhood, in the Frauengasse, had been marked by the various woes +of Prussia, by each successive step in the development of Napoleon’s +ambition. There were no bogey-men in the night-nursery at the +beginning of the century. One Aaron’s rod of a bogey had +swallowed all the rest, and children buried their sobs in the pillow +for fear of Napoleon. There were no ghosts in the dark corners +of the stairs when Désirée, candle in hand, went to bed +at eight o’clock, half an hour before Mathilde. The shadows +on the wall were the shadows of soldiers—the wind roaring in the +chimney was like the sound of distant cannon. When the timid glanced +over their shoulders, the apparition they looked for was that of a little +man in a cocked hat and a long grey coat.</p> +<p>This was not an age in which the individual life was highly valued. +Men were great to-day and gone to-morrow. Women were of small +account. It was the day of deeds and not of words.</p> +<p>Désirée had never been oppressed by a sense of her +own importance, which oppression leaves its mark on many a woman’s +face in these times. She had not, it would seem, expected much +from life; and when much was given to her she received it without misgivings. +She was young and light-hearted, and she lived in a reckless age.</p> +<p>She was not surprised when Charles failed to return. The chaise +that was to carry them to Zoppot stood in the Frauengasse on the shady +side of the street in the heat of the afternoon for more than an hour. +Then she ran out and told the driver to go back to his stables.</p> +<p>“One cannot go for a honeymoon alone,” she explained +airily to her father, who was peevish and restless, standing by the +window with the air of one who expects without knowing what to expect. +“It is, at all events, quite clear that there is nothing for me +to do but wait.”</p> +<p>She made light of it, and laughed at her father’s grave face. +Mathilde said nothing, but her silence seemed to suggest that this was +no more than she had foretold, or at all events foreseen. She +was too proud or too generous to put her thoughts into words. +For pride and generosity are often confounded. There are many +who give because they are too proud to withhold.</p> +<p>Désirée got her needlework and sat by the open window +awaiting Charles. She could hear the continuous clatter of carts +on the quay, and the voices of the men working in the great granaries +across the river.</p> +<p>The whole city seemed to be astir, and men hurried to and fro in +even the quiet Frauengasse, while the clatter of cavalry and the heavy +rumble of gun carriages could be heard over the roofs from the direction +of the Langenmarkt. There was a sense of hurry in the dusty air. +The Emperor had arrived, and the magic of his name lifted men out of +themselves. It seemed nothing extraordinary to Désirée +that her life should be taken up by this whirlwind, and carried on she +knew not whither.</p> +<p>At dinner-time Charles had not returned. Antoine Sebastian +dined at half-past four, in the manner of Northern Europe; but his daughters +provided his table with the lighter meats of France, which he preferred +to the German cuisine. Sebastian’s dinner was an event in +the day, though he ate sparingly enough, and found a mental rather than +a physical pleasure in the ceremonious sequence of courses.</p> +<p>It was now too late to think of going to Zoppot. After dinner +Mathilde and Désirée prepared the rooms which had been +destined for the occupation of the married pair after the honeymoon.</p> +<p>“We shall have to omit Zoppot, that is all,” said Désirée +cheerfully, and fell to unpacking the bridal clothes which had been +so merrily laid in the trunks.</p> +<p>At half-past six a soldier brought a hurried note from Charles.</p> +<p>“I cannot return to-night, as I am about to start for Königsberg,” +he wrote. “It is a commission which I could not refuse if +I wished to. You, I know, would have me go and do my duty.”</p> +<p>There was more which Désirée did not read aloud. +Charles had always found it easy enough to tell Désirée +how much he loved her, and was gaily indifferent to the ears of others. +But she seemed to be restrained by some feeling which had found birth +in her heart during her wedding day. She said nothing of Charles’s +protestations of love.</p> +<p>“Decidedly,” she said, folding the letter, and placing +it in her work-basket, “Fate is interfering in our affairs to-day.”</p> +<p>She turned to her work again without further complaint, almost with +a sense of relief. Mathilde, whose steady grey eyes saw everything, +penetrating every thought, glanced at her with a suddenly aroused interest. +Désirée herself was half surprised at the philosophy with +which she met this fresh misfortune.</p> +<p>Antoine Sebastian had never acquired the habit of drinking tea in +the evening, which had found favour in these northern countries bordering +on Russia. Instead, he usually went out at this time to one of +the many wine-rooms or Bier Halles in the town to drink a slow and meditative +glass of beer with such friends as he had made in Dantzig. For +he was a lonely man, whose face was quite familiar to many who looked +for a bow or a friendly salutation in vain.</p> +<p>If he went to the Rathskeller it was on the invitation of a friend; +for he could not afford to pay the vintage of that cellar, though he +drank the wine with the slow mouthing of a connoisseur when he had it.</p> +<p>More often than not he took a walk first, passing out of the Frauenthor +on to the quay, where he turned to left or right and made his way back +through one or other of the town gates, by devious narrow streets to +that which is still called the Portchaisengasse though chairs and carriers +have long ceased to pass along it. Here, on the northern side +of the street is an old inn, “Zum weissen Röss’l,” +with a broken, ill-carved head of a white horse above the door. +Across the face of the house is written, in old German letters, an invitation:</p> +<p> Grüss +Gott. Tritt ein!<br /> Bring +Glück herein.</p> +<p>But few seemed to accept it. Even a hundred years ago the White +Horse was behind the times, and fashion sought the wider streets.</p> +<p>Antoine Sebastian was perhaps ashamed of frequenting so humble a +house of entertainment, where for a groschen he could have a glass of +beer. He seemed to make his way through the narrower streets for +some purpose, changing his route from day to day, and hurrying across +the wider thoroughfares with the air of one desirous to attract but +little attention. He was not alone in the quiet streets, for there +were many in Dantzig at this time who from wealth had fallen to want. +Many counting-houses once noisy with prosperity were now closed and +silent. For five years the prosperous Dantzig had lain crushed +beneath the iron heel of the conqueror.</p> +<p>It would seem that Sebastian had only waited for the explanation +of Charles’s most ill-timed absence to carry out his usual programme. +The clock in the tower of the Rathhaus had barely struck seven when +he took his hat and cloak from the peg near the dining-room door. +He was so absorbed that he did not perceive Papa Barlasch seated just +within the open door of the kitchen. But Barlasch saw him, and +scratched his head at the sight.</p> +<p>The northern evenings are chill even in June, and Sebastian fumbled +with his cloak. It would appear that he was little used to helping +himself in such matters. Barlasch came out of the kitchen when +Sebastian’s back was turned and helped him to put the flowing +cloak straight upon his shoulders.</p> +<p>“Thank you, Lisa, thank you,” said Sebastian in German, +without looking round. By accident Barlasch had performed one +of Lisa’s duties, and the master of the house was too deeply engaged +in thought to notice any difference in the handling or to perceive the +smell of snuff that heralded the approach of Papa Barlasch. Sebastian +took his hat and went out closing the door behind him, and leaving Barlasch, +who had followed him to the door, standing rather stupidly on the mat.</p> +<p>“Absent-minded—the citizen,” muttered Barlasch, +returning to the kitchen, where he resumed his seat on a chair by the +open door. He scratched his head and appeared to lapse into thought. +But his brain was slow as were his movements. He had been drinking +to the health of the bride. He thumped himself on the brow with +his closed fist.</p> +<p>“Sacred-name-of-a-thunderstorm,” he said. “Where +have I seen that face before?”</p> +<p>Sebastian went out by the Frauenthor to the quay. Although +it was dusk, the granaries were still at work. The river was full +of craft and the roadway choked by rows and rows of carts, all of one +pattern, too big and too heavy for roads that are laid across a marsh.</p> +<p>He turned to the right, but found his way blocked at the corner of +the Langenmarkt, where the road narrows to pass under the Grünes +Thor. Here the idlers of the evening hour were collected in a +crowd, peering over each other’s shoulders towards the roadway +and the bridge. Sebastian was a tall man, and had no need to stand +on tip-toe in order to see the straight rows of bayonets swinging past, +and the line of shakos rising and falling in unison with the beat of +a thousand feet on the hollow woodwork of the drawbridge.</p> +<p>The troops had been passing out of the city all the afternoon on +the road to Elbing and Königsberg.</p> +<p>“It is the same,” said a man standing near to Sebastian, +“at the Hohes Thor, where they are marching out by the road leading +to Königsberg by way of Dessau.”</p> +<p>“It is farther than Königsberg that they are going,” +was the significant answer of a white-haired veteran who had probably +been at Eylau, for he had a crushed look.</p> +<p>“But war is not declared,” said the first speaker.</p> +<p>“Does that matter?”</p> +<p>And both turned towards Sebastian with the challenging air that invites +opinion or calls for admiration of uncommon shrewdness. He was +better clad than they. He must know more than they did. +But Sebastian looked over their heads and did not seem to have heard +their conversation.</p> +<p>He turned back and went another way, by side streets and the little +narrow alleys that nearly always encircle a cathedral, and are still +to be found on all sides of the Marienkirche. At last he came +to the Portchaisengasse, which was quiet enough in the twilight, though +he could hear the tramp of soldiers along the Langgasse and the rumble +of the guns.</p> +<p>There were only two lamps in the Portchaisengasse, swinging on wrought-iron +gibbets at each end of the street. These were not yet alight, +though the day was fading fast, and the western light could scarcely +find its way between the high gables which hung over the road and seemed +to lean confidentially towards each other.</p> +<p>Sebastian was going towards the door of the Weissen Röss’l +when some one came out of the hostelry, as if he had been awaiting him +within the porch.</p> +<p>The new-comer, who was a fat man with baggy cheeks and odd, light +blue eyes—the eyes of an enthusiast, one would say—passed +Sebastian, making a little gesture which at once recommended silence, +and bade him turn and follow. At the entrance to a little alley +leading down towards the Marienkirche the fat man awaited Sebastian, +whose pace had not quickened, nor had his walk lost any of its dignity.</p> +<p>“Not there to-night,” said the man, holding up a thick +forefinger and shaking it sideways.</p> +<p>“Then where?”</p> +<p>“Nowhere to-night,” was the answer. “He has +come—you know that?”</p> +<p>“Yes,” answered Sebastian slowly, “for I saw him.”</p> +<p>“He is at supper now with Rapp and the others. The town +is full of his people. His spies are everywhere. There are +two in the Weissen Röss’l who pretend to be Bavarians. +See! There is another—just there.”</p> +<p>He pointed the thick forefinger down the Portchaisengasse where it +widens to meet the Langgasse, where the last remains of daylight, reflected +to and fro between the houses, found freer play than in the narrow alley +where they stood.</p> +<p>Sebastian looked in the direction indicated. An officer was +walking away from them. A quick observer would have noticed that +his spurs made no noise, and that he carried his sword instead of allowing +it to clatter after him. It was not clear whence he had come. +It must have been from a doorway nearly opposite to the Weissen Röss’l.</p> +<p>“I know that man,” said Sebastian.</p> +<p>“So do I,” was the reply. “It is Colonel +de Casimir.”</p> +<p>With a little nod the fat man went out again into the Portchaisengasse +in the direction of the inn, as if he were keeping watch there.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h2>CHAPTER VI. THE SHOEMAKER OF KÖNIGSBERG.</h2> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p> <i>Chacun ne comprend que ce qu’il +trouve en soi.</i></p> +<p>Nearly two years had passed since the death of Queen Luisa of Prussia. +And she from her grave yet spake to her people—as sixty years +later she was destined to speak to another King of Prussia, who said +a prayer by her tomb before departing on a journey that was to end in +Fontainebleau with an imperial crown and the reckoning for all time +of the seven years of woe that followed Tilsit and killed a queen.</p> +<p>Two years earlier than that, in 1808, while Luisa yet lived, a few +scientists and professors of Königsberg had formed a sort of Union—vague +enough and visionary—to encourage virtue and discipline and patriotism. +And now, in 1812, four years later, the memory of Luisa still lingered +in those narrow streets that run by the banks of the Pregel beneath +the great castle of Königsberg, while the Tugendbund, like a seed +that has been crushed beneath an iron heel, had spread its roots underground.</p> +<p>From Dantzig, the commercial, to Königsberg, the kingly and +the learned, the tide of war rolled steadily onwards. It is a +tide that carries before it a certain flotsam of quick and active men, +keen-eyed, restless, rising—men who speak with a sharp authority +and pay from a bottomless purse. The arrival of Napoleon in Dantzig +swept the first of the tide on to Königsberg.</p> +<p>Already every house was full. The high-gabled warehouses on +the riverside could not be used for barracks, for they too had been +crammed from floor to roof with stores and arms. So the soldiers +slept where they could. They bivouacked in the timber-yards by +the riverside. The country-women found the Neuer Markt transformed +into a camp when they brought their baskets in the early morning, but +they met with eager buyers, who haggled laughingly in half a dozen different +tongues. There was no lack of money, however.</p> +<p>Cartloads of it were on the road.</p> +<p>The Neuer Markt in Königsberg is a square, of which the lower +side is a quay on the Pregel. The river is narrow here. +Across it the country is open. The houses surrounding the quadrangle +are all alike—two-storied buildings with dormer windows in the +roof. There are trees in front. In front of that which is +now Number Thirteen, at the right-hand corner, facing west, sideways +to the river, the trees grow quite close to the windows, so that an +active man or a boy might without great risk leap from the eaves below +the dormer window into the topmost branches of the linden, which here +grows strong and tough, as it surely should do in the fatherland.</p> +<p>A young soldier, seeking lodgings, who happened to knock at the door +of Number Thirteen less than thirty hours after the arrival of Napoleon +at Dantzig, looked upward through the shady boughs, and noted their +growth with the light of interest in his eye. It would almost +seem that the house had been described to him as that one in the Neuer +Markt against which the lindens grew. For he had walked all round +the square between the trees and houses before knocking at this door, +which bore no number then, as it does to-day.</p> +<p>His tired horse had followed him meditatively, and now stood with +drooping head in the shade. The man himself wore a dark uniform, +white with dust. His hair was dusty and rather lank. He +was not a very tidy soldier.</p> +<p>He stood looking at the sign which swung from the doorpost, a relic +of the Polish days. It bore the painted semblance of a boot. +For in Poland—a frontier country, as in frontier cities where +many tongues are heard—it is the custom to paint a picture rather +than write a word. So that every house bears the sign of its inmate’s +craft, legible alike to Lithuanian or Ruthenian, Swede or Cossack of +the Don.</p> +<p>He knocked again, and at last the door was opened by a thickly-built +man, who looked, not at his face, but at his boots. As these wanted +no repair he half closed the door again and looked at the newcomer’s +face.</p> +<p>“What do you want?” he asked.</p> +<p>“A lodging.”</p> +<p>The door was almost closed, when the soldier made an odd and, as +it would seem, tentative gesture with his left hand. All the fingers +were clenched, and with his extended thumb he scratched his chin slowly +from side to side.</p> +<p>“I have no lodging to let,” said the bootmaker. +But he did not shut the door.</p> +<p>“I can pay,” said the other, with his thumb still at +his chin. He had quick, blue eyes beneath the shaggy hair that +wanted cutting. “I am very tired—it is only for one +night.”</p> +<p>“Who are you?” asked the bootmaker.</p> +<p>The soldier was a dull and slow man. He leant against the doorpost +with tired gestures before replying.</p> +<p>“Sergeant in a Schleswig regiment, in charge of spare horses.”</p> +<p>“And you have come far?”</p> +<p>“From Dantzig without a halt.”</p> +<p>The shoemaker looked him up and down with a doubting eye, as if there +were something about him that was not quite clear and above-board. +The dust and fatigue were, however, unmistakable.</p> +<p>“Who sent you to me, anyway?” he grumbled.</p> +<p>“Oh, I do not know,” was the half-impatient answer; “the +man I lodged with in Dantzig or another, I forget. It was Koch +the locksmith in the Schmiedegasse. See, I have money. I +tell you it is for one night. Say yes or no. I want to get +to bed and to sleep.”</p> +<p>“How much do you pay?”</p> +<p>“A thaler—if you like. Among friends, one is willing +to pay.”</p> +<p>After a short minute of hesitation the shoemaker opened the door +wider and came out.</p> +<p>“And there will be another thaler for the horse, which I shall +have to take to the stable of the wood-merchant at the corner. +Go into the workshop and sit down till I come.”</p> +<p>He stood in the doorway and watched the soldier seat himself wearily +on a bench in the workshop among the ancient boots, past repair, one +would think, and lean his head against the wall.</p> +<p>He was half asleep already, and the bootmaker, who was lame, shrugged +his shoulders as he led away the tired horse, with a gesture half of +pity, half of doubting suspicion. Had it suggested itself to his +mind, and had it been within the power of one so halt and heavy-footed +to turn back noiselessly, he would have found his visitor wide-awake +enough, hurriedly opening every drawer and peering under the twine and +needles, lifting every bale of leather, shaking out the very boots awaiting +repair.</p> +<p>When the dweller in Number Thirteen returned, the soldier was asleep, +and had to be shaken before he would open his eyes.</p> +<p>“Will you eat before you go to bed?” asked the bootmaker +not unkindly.</p> +<p>“I ate as I came along the street,” was the reply. +“No, I will go to bed. What time is it?”</p> +<p>“It is only seven o’clock—but no matter.”</p> +<p>“No, it is no matter. To-morrow I must be astir by five.”</p> +<p>“Good,” said the shoemaker. “But you will +get your money’s worth. The bed is a good one. It +is my son’s. He is away, and I am alone in the house.”</p> +<p>He led the way upstairs as he spoke, going heavily one step at a +time, so that the whole house seemed to shake beneath his tread. +The room was that attic in the roof which has a dormer window overhanging +the linden tree. It was small and not too clean; for Königsberg +was once a Polish city, and is not far from the Russian frontier.</p> +<p>The soldier hardly noticed his surroundings, but sat down instantly, +with the abandonment of a shepherd’s dog at the day’s end.</p> +<p>“I will put a stitch in your boots for you while you sleep,” +said the host casually. “The thread is rotten, I can see. +Look here—and here!”</p> +<p>He stooped, and with a quick turn of the awl which he carried in +his belt he snapped the sewing at the join of the leg and the upper +leather, bringing the frayed ends of the thread out to view.</p> +<p>Without answering, the soldier looked round for the boot-jack, lacking +which, no German or Polish bedroom is complete.</p> +<p>When the bootmaker had gone, carrying the boots under his arm, the +soldier, left to himself, made a grimace at the closed door. Without +boots he was a prisoner in the house. He could hear his host at +work already, downstairs in the shop, of which the door opened to the +stairs and allowed passage to that smell of leather which breeds Radical +convictions.</p> +<p>The regular “tap-tap” of the cobbler’s hammer continued +for an hour until dusk, and all the while the soldier lay dressed on +his bed. Soon after, a creaking of the stairs told of the surreptitious +approach of the unwilling host. He listened outside, and even +tried the door, but found it bolted. The soldier, open-eyed on +the bed, snored aloud. At the sound of the key on the outside +of the door he made a grimace again. His features were very mobile, +for Schleswig.</p> +<p>He heard the bootmaker descend the stairs again almost noiselessly, +and, rising from the bed, he took his station at the window. All +the Langgasse would seem to be eating-houses. The basement, which +has a separate door, gives forth odours of simple Pomeranian meats, +and every other house bears to this day the curt but comforting inscription, +“Here one eats.” It was only to be supposed that the +bootmaker at the end of his day would repair for supper to some special +haunt near by.</p> +<p>But the smell of cooking mingling with that of leather told that +he was preparing his own evening meal. He was, it seemed, an unsociable +man, who had but a son beneath his roof, and mostly lived alone.</p> +<p>Seated near the window, where the sunset light yet lingered, the +Schleswiger opened his haversack, which was well supplied, and finding +paper, pens and ink, fell to writing with one eye watchful of the window +and both ears listening for any movement in the room below.</p> +<p>He wrote easily with a running pen, and sometimes he smiled as he +wrote. More than once he paused and looked across the Neuer Markt +above the trees and the roofs, towards the western sky, with a sudden +grave wistfulness. He was thinking of some one in the west. +It was assuredly not of war that this soldier wrote. Then, again, +his attention would be attracted to some passer in the street below. +He only gave half of his attention to his letter. He was, it seemed, +a man who as yet touched life lightly; for he was quite young. +But, nevertheless, his pen, urged by only half a mind that had all the +energy of spring, flew over the paper. Sowing is so much easier +than reaping.</p> +<p>Suddenly he threw his pen aside and moved quickly to the window which +stood open. The shoemaker had gone out, closing the door softly +behind him.</p> +<p>It was to be expected that he would turn to the left, upwards towards +the town and the Langgasse, but it was in the direction of the river +that his footsteps died away. There was no outlet on that side +except by boat.</p> +<p>It was almost dark now, and the trees growing close to the window +obscured the view. So eager was the lodger to follow the movements +of his landlord that he crept in stocking-feet out on to the roof. +By lying on his face below the window he could just distinguish the +shadowy form of a lame man by the river edge. He was moving to +and fro, unchaining a boat moored to the steps, which are more used +in winter when the Pregel is a frozen roadway than in summer. +There was no one else in the Neuer Markt, for it was the supper hour.</p> +<p>Out in the middle of the river a few ships were moored: high-prowed, +square-sterned vessels of a Dutch build trading in the Frische Haaf +and in the Baltic.</p> +<p>The soldier saw the boat steal out towards them. There was +no other boat at the steps or in sight. He stood up on the edge +of the roof, and after carefully measuring his distance, with quick +eyes aglow with excitement, he leapt lightly across the leafy space +into the topmost boughs, where he alighted in a forked branch almost +without sound.</p> +<p>At dawn the next morning, while the shoemaker still slept, the soldier +was astir again. He shivered as he rose, and went to the window, +where his clothes were hanging from a rafter. The water was still +dripping from them. Wrapt in a blanket he sat down by the open +window to write while the morning air should dry his clothes.</p> +<p>That which he wrote was a long report—sheet after sheet closely +written. And in the middle of his work he broke off to read again +the letter that he had written the night before. With a quick, +impulsive gesture he kissed the name it bore. Then he turned to +his work again.</p> +<p>The sun was up before he folded the papers together. By way +of a postscript he wrote a brief letter.</p> +<p>“DEAR C.—I have been fortunate, as you will see from +the enclosed report. His Majesty cannot again say that I have +been neglectful. I was quite right. It is Sebastian and +only Sebastian that we need fear. Here they are clumsy conspirators +compared to him. I have been in the river half the night listening +at the open stern-window of a Reval pink to every word they said. +His Majesty can safely come to Königsberg. Indeed, he is +better out of Dantzig. For the whole country is riddled with that +which they call patriotism, and we treason. But I can only repeat +what his Majesty disbelieved the day before yesterday—that the +heart of the ill is Dantzig, and the venom of it Sebastian. Who +he really is and what he is about you must find out how you can. +I go forward to-day to Gumbinnen. The enclosed letter to its address, +I beg of you, if only in acknowledgment of all that I have sacrificed.”</p> +<p>The letter was unsigned, and bore the date, “Dawn, June 10.” +This and the report, and that other letter (carefully sealed with a +wafer) which did not deal with war or its alarms, were all placed in +one large envelope. He did not seal it, however, but sat thinking +while the sun began to shine on the opposite houses. Then he withdrew +the open letter, and added a postscript to it:</p> +<p>“If an attempt were made on N.’s life—I should +say Sebastian. If Prussia were to play us false suddenly, and +cut us off from France—I should say nothing else than Sebastian. +He is more dangerous than a fanatic; for he is too clever to be one.”</p> +<p>The writer shivered and laughed in sheer amusement at his own misery +as he drew on his wet clothes. The shoemaker was already astir, +and presently knocked at his door.</p> +<p>“Yes, yes,” the soldier cried, “I am astir.”</p> +<p>And as his host rattled the door he opened it. He had unrolled +his long cavalry cloak, and wore it over his wet clothes.</p> +<p>“You never told me your name,” said the shoemaker. +A suspicious man is always more suspicious at the beginning of the day.</p> +<p>“My name,” answered the other carelessly. “Oh! +my name is Max Brunner.”</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h2>CHAPTER VII. THE WAY OF LOVE.</h2> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p> <i>Celui qui souffle le feu s’expose à +être brûlé par les étincelles.</i></p> +<p>It was said that Colonel de Casimir—that guest whose presence +and uniform lent an air of distinction to the quiet wedding in the Frauengasse—was +a Pole from Cracow. Men also whispered that he was in the confidence +of the Emperor. But this must only have been a manner of speaking. +For no man was ever admitted fully into the thoughts of that superhuman +mind.</p> +<p>De Casimir was left behind in Dantzig when the army moved forward.</p> +<p>“There will be a great battle,” he said, “somewhere +near Vilna—and I shall miss it.”</p> +<p>Indeed, every man was striving to get to the front. He who, +himself, had given a new meaning to human ambition seemed able to inspire +not only Frenchmen but soldiers of every nationality with fire from +his own consuming flame.</p> +<p>“Yes! madame,” said de Casimir; for it was to Désirée +that he spoke, “and your husband is more fortunate than I. +He is sure of a staff appointment. He will be among the first. +It will soon be over. To-morrow war is to be declared.”</p> +<p>They were in the street—not far from the Frauengasse, whence +Désirée, always practical, was hurrying towards the market-place. +De Casimir had seemed idle until he perceived her.</p> +<p>Désirée made a little movement of horror at the announcement. +She did not know that the fighting had already begun.</p> +<p>“Ah!” cried de Casimir with a reassuring smile. +“You must be of good cheer. There will be no war at all. +I tell you that in confidence. Russia will be paralyzed. +I was going towards the Frauengasse when I perceived you; to pay my +respects to your father, to say a word to you. Come—you +are smiling again. That is right. You were so grave, madame, +as you hurried along with your eyes looking far away. You must +not think of Charles, if the thoughts make you look as you looked then.”</p> +<p>His manner was kind and confidential and easy—inviting in response +that which the confidential always expect, a return in kind. It +is either hit or miss with such people; and de Casimir missed. +He saw Désirée draw back. She was young, and of +that clear fairness of skin which seems to let the thoughts out through +the face so that any can read them. That which her face expressed +at that moment was a clear and definite refusal to confide anything +whatsoever in this little dark man who stood in front of her, looking +into her eyes with a deferential and sympathetic glance.</p> +<p>“I know for certain,” he said, “that Charles was +well two days ago, and that he is highly thought of in high quarters. +I can tell you that, at all events.”</p> +<p>“Thank you,” said Désirée. She had +nothing against de Casimir. She had only seen him once or twice, +and she knew him to be Charles’s friend, and in some sense his +patron. For de Casimir held a high position in Dantzig. +She was quite ready to like him since Charles liked him; but she intended +to do so at her own range. It is always the woman who measures +the distance.</p> +<p>Désirée made a little movement as if to continue on +her way; and de Casimir instantly stood aside, with a bow.</p> +<p>“Shall I find your father at home?” he asked.</p> +<p>“I think so. He was at home when I left,” she answered, +responding to his salute with a friendly nod.</p> +<p>De Casimir watched her go and stood for a moment in reflection, as +if going over in his mind that which had passed between them.</p> +<p>“I must try the other one,” he said to himself as he +turned down the Pfaffengasse. He continued his way at a leisurely +pace. At the corner of the Frauengasse he lingered in the shadow +of the linden trees, and while so doing saw Antoine Sebastian quit the +door of No. 36, going in the opposite direction towards the river, and +pass out through the Frauenthor on to the quay.</p> +<p>He made a little gesture of annoyance on being told by the servant +that Sebastian was out. After a moment’s reflection, he +seemed to make up his mind to ignore the conventionalities.</p> +<p>“It is merely,” he said in his friendly and confidential +manner to the servant, in perfect German, “that I have news from +Monsieur Darragon, the husband of Mademoiselle Désirée. +Madame is out—you say. Well, then, what is to be done?”</p> +<p>He had a most charming, grave manner of asking advice which few could +resist.</p> +<p>The servant nodded at him with a twinkle of understanding in her +eye.</p> +<p>“There is Fräulein Mathilde.”</p> +<p>“But . . . well, ask her if she will do me the honour +of speaking to me for an instant. I leave it to you . . . .”</p> +<p>“But come in,” protested the servant. “Come +upstairs. She will see you; why not?”</p> +<p>And she led the way upstairs. Papa Barlasch, sitting just within +the kitchen door, where he sat all day doing nothing, glanced upwards +through his overhanging eyebrows at the clink of spurs and the clatter +of de Casimir’s sword against the banisters. He had the +air of a watchdog.</p> +<p>Mathilde was not in the drawing-room, and the servant left the visitor +there alone, saying that she would seek her mistress. There were +one or two books on the tables. One table was rather untidy; it +was Désirée’s. A writing-desk stood in the +corner of the room. It was locked—and the lock was a good +one. De Casimir was an observant man. He had time to make +this observation, and to see that there were no letters in Désirée’s +work-basket; to note the titles of the books and the absence of name +on the flyleaf, and was looking out of the window when the door opened +and Mathilde came in.</p> +<p>This was a day when women were treated with a great show of deference, +while in reality they had but little voice in the world’s affairs. +De Casimir’s bow was deeper and more elaborate than would be considered +polite to-day. On standing erect he quickly suppressed a glance +of surprise.</p> +<p>Mathilde must have expected him. She was dressed in white, +and her hair was tied with a bright ribbon. In her cheeks, usually +so pale, was a little touch of colour. It may have been because +Désirée was not near, but de Casimir had never known until +this moment how pretty Mathilde really was. There was something +in her eyes, too, which gripped his attention. He remembered that +at the wedding he had never seen her eyes. They had always been +averted. But now they met his with a troubling directness.</p> +<p>De Casimir had a gallant manner. All women commanded his eager +respect, which they could assess at such value as their fancy painted, +remembering that it is for the woman to measure the distance. +On the few occasions of previous encounters, de Casimir had been <i>empressé</i> +in his manner towards Mathilde. As he looked at her, his quick +mind ran back to former meetings. He had no recollection of having +actually made love to her.</p> +<p>“Mademoiselle,” he said, “for a soldier—in +time of war—the conventions may, perhaps, be slightly relaxed. +I was told that you were alone—that your father is out, and yet +I persisted—”</p> +<p>He spread out his hands and laughed appealingly, begging her, it +would seem, to help him out of the social difficulty in which he found +himself.</p> +<p>“My father will be sorry—” she began.</p> +<p>“That is hardly the question,” he interrupted; “I +was thinking of your displeasure. But I have an excuse, I assure +you. I only ask a moment to tell you that I have heard from Königsberg +that Charles Darragon is in good health there, and is moving forward +with the advance-guard to the frontier.”</p> +<p>“You are kind to come so soon,” answered Mathilde, and +there was an odd note of disappointment in her voice. De Casimir +must have heard it, for he glanced at her again with a gleam of surprise +in his eyes.</p> +<p>“That is my excuse, Mademoiselle,” he said with a tentative +emphasis, as if he were feeling his way. He was an opportunist +with all the quickness of one who must live by his wits among others +existing on the same uncertain fare. He saw her flush, and again +he hesitated as a wayfarer may hesitate when he finds an easy road where +he had expected to climb a hill. What was the meaning of it? he +seemed to ask himself.</p> +<p>“Charles does not interest you so much as he interests your +sister?” he suggested.</p> +<p>“He has never interested me much,” she replied indifferently. +She did not ask him to sit down. It would not have been etiquette +in an age when women were by some odd misjudgment considered incapable +of managing their own hearts.</p> +<p>“Is that because he is in love, Mademoiselle?” inquired +de Casimir with a guarded laugh.</p> +<p>“Perhaps so.”</p> +<p>She did not look at him. De Casimir had not missed this time. +His air of candid confidence had met with a quick response. He +laughed again and moved towards the door. Mathilde stood motionless, +and although she said no word, nor by any gesture bade him stay, he +stopped on the threshold and turned again towards her.</p> +<p>“It was my conscience,” he said, looking at her over +his shoulder, “that bade me go.”</p> +<p>Her face and her averted eyes asked why, but her straight lips were +silent.</p> +<p>“Because I cannot claim to be more interesting than Charles +Darragon,” he hazarded. “And you, Mademoiselle, confess +that you have no tolerance for a man who is in love.”</p> +<p>“I have no tolerance for a man who is weakened by love. +He should be strengthened and hardened by it.”</p> +<p>“To—?”</p> +<p>“To do a man’s work in the world,” said Mathilde +coldly.</p> +<p>De Casimir was standing by the open door. He closed it with +his foot. He was professedly a man alert for the chance of a moment, +which he was content to grasp without pausing to look ahead. Should +there be difficulties yet unperceived, these in turn might present an +opportunity to be seized by the quick-witted.</p> +<p>“Then you would admit, Mademoiselle,” he said gravely, +“that there may be good in a love that fights continually against +ambition, and—does not prevail.”</p> +<p>Mathilde did not answer at once. There was an odd suggestion +of antagonism in their attitude towards each other—not irreconcilable, +the poets tell us, with love—but this is assuredly not the Love +that comes from Heaven and will go back there to live through eternity.</p> +<p>“Yes,” said she at length.</p> +<p>“Such is my love for you,” he said, his quick instinct +telling him that with Mathilde few words were best.</p> +<p>He only spoke the thoughts of his age; for ambition was the ruling +passion in men’s hearts at this time. All who served the +Great Adventurer gave it the first place in their consideration, and +de Casimir only aped his betters. Though oddly enough the only +two of all the great leaders who were to emerge still greater from the +coming war—Ney and Eugene—thought otherwise on these matters.</p> +<p>“I mean to be great and rich, Mademoiselle,” he added +after a pause. “I have risked my life for that purpose half +a dozen times.”</p> +<p>Mathilde stood looking across the room towards the window. +He could only see her profile and the straight line of her lips. +She too was the product of a generation in which men rose to dazzling +heights without the aid of women.</p> +<p>“I should not have troubled you with these details, Mademoiselle,” +he said, watching her. His instinct was very keen, for not one +woman in a thousand, even in those days, would have admitted that love +was a detail. “I should not have mentioned it—had +you not given me your views—so strangely in harmony with my own.”</p> +<p>Whatever his nationality, his voice was that of a Pole—rich, +musical, and expressive. He could have made, one would have thought, +a very different sort of love had he wished, or had he been sincere. +But he was an opportunist. This was the sort of love that Mathilde +wanted.</p> +<p>He came a step nearer to her and stood resting on his sword—a +lean hard man who had seen much war.</p> +<p>“Until you opened my eyes,” he said, “I did not +know, or did not care to know, that love, far from being a drag on ambition, +may be a help.”</p> +<p>Mathilde made a little movement towards him which she instantly repressed. +The heart is quicker, but the head nearly always has the last word.</p> +<p>“Mademoiselle,” he said—and no doubt he saw the +movement and the restraint—“will you help me now at the +beginning of the war, and listen to me again at the end of it—if +I succeed?”</p> +<p>After all, he was modest in his demands.</p> +<p>“Will you help me? Together, Mademoiselle—to what +height may we not rise in these days?”</p> +<p>There was a ring of sincerity in his voice, and her eyes answered +it.</p> +<p>“How can I help you?” she asked in a doubting voice.</p> +<p>“Oh, it is a small matter,” was the reply. “But +it is one in which the Emperor is personally interested. Such +things have a special attraction for him. The human interest never +fails to hold his attention. If I do well, he will know it and +remember me. It is a question, Mademoiselle, of secret societies. +You know that Prussia is riddled with them.”</p> +<p>Mathilde did not answer. He studied her face, which was clean +cut and hard like a marble bust—a good face to hide a secret.</p> +<p>“It is my duty to watch here in Dantzig and to report to the +Emperor. In serving myself I could also perhaps serve a friend, +one who might otherwise run into danger—who may be in danger while +you and I stand here. For the Emperor strikes hard and quickly. +I speak of your father, Mademoiselle—and of the Tugendbund.”</p> +<p>Still he could not see from the pale profile whether Mathilde knew +anything at all.</p> +<p>“And if I procure information for you?” asked she at +length, in a quiet and collected voice.</p> +<p>“You will help me to attain a position such as I could ask—even +you—to share with me. And you would do your father no harm. +You would even render him a service. For all the secret societies +in Germany will not stop Napoleon. It is only God who can stop +him now, Mademoiselle. All men who attempt it will only be crushed +beneath the wheels. I might save your father.”</p> +<p>But Mathilde did not seem to be thinking of her father.</p> +<p>“I am hampered by poverty,” de Casimir said, changing +his ground. “In the old days it did not matter. But +now, in the Empire, one must be rich. I shall be rich—at +the end of this campaign.”</p> +<p>Again his voice was sincere, and again her eyes responded. +He made a step forward, and gently taking her hand, he raised it to +his lips.</p> +<p>“You will help me!” he said, and, turning abruptly on +his heel, he left her.</p> +<p>De Casimir’s quarters were in the Langenmarkt. On returning +to them, he took from his despatch-case a letter which he turned over +thoughtfully in his hand. It was addressed to Désirée, +and sealed carefully with a wafer.</p> +<p>“She may as well have it,” he said. “It will +be as well that she should be occupied with her own affairs.”</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h2>CHAPTER VIII. A VISITATION.</h2> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p> <i> Be wiser than other people if you +can, but do not tell them so.</i></p> +<p>Whenever Papa Barlasch caught sight of his unwilling host’s +face, he turned his own aside with a despairing upward nod. Once +or twice, during the early days of his occupation of the room behind +the kitchen in the Frauengasse, he smote himself sharply on the brow, +as if calling upon his brain to make an effort. But afterwards +he seemed to resign himself to this lapse of memory, and the upward +despairing nod gradually lost intensity until at last he brought himself +to pass Antoine Sebastian in the narrow passage with no more emphatic +notice than a scowl.</p> +<p>“You and I,” he said to Désirée, “are +the friends. The others—”</p> +<p>And his gesture seemed to permit the others to go hang if they so +desired. The army had gone forward, leaving Dantzig in that idle +restlessness which holds those who, finding themselves in a house of +sickness, are not permitted entry to the darkened chamber, but must +await the crisis elsewhere.</p> +<p>There were some busy enough in the commerce that must exist between +a huge army and its base, in the forwarding of war material and stores, +in accommodating the sick and sending out in return those who were to +fill the gaps. But the Dantzigers themselves had nothing to do. +Their prosperous trade was paralyzed. Those who had aught to sell +had sold it. The high-seas and the high-roads were alike blocked +by the French. And rumour, ever busy among those that wait, ran +to and fro in the town.</p> +<p>The Emperor of Russia had been taken prisoner. Napoleon had +been checked at the passage of the Niemen. There had been a great +battle at Gumbinnen, and the French were in full retreat. Vilna +had capitulated to Murat, and the war was at an end. A hundred +authentic despatches of the morning were the subject of contemptuous +laughter at the supper-table.</p> +<p>Lisa heard these tales in the market-place, and told Désirée, +who, as often as not, translated them to Barlasch. But he only +held up his wrinkled forefinger and shook it slowly from side to side.</p> +<p>“Woman’s chatter!” he said. “What is +the German for ‘magpie’?”</p> +<p>And on being told the word, he repeated it gravely to Lisa. +For he had not only fulfilled his promise of settling down in the house, +but had assumed therein a distinct and clearly defined position. +He was the counsellor, and from his chair just within the kitchen he +gave forth judgment.</p> +<p>“And you,” he said to Désirée one morning, +when household affairs had taken her to the kitchen, “you are +troubled this morning. You have had a letter from your husband?”</p> +<p>“Yes—and he is in good health.”</p> +<p>“Ah!”</p> +<p>Barlasch glared at her beneath his brows, looking her up and down, +noting her quick movements, which had the uncertainty of youth.</p> +<p>“And now that he is gone,” he said, “and that there +is war, you are going to employ yourself by falling in love with him, +when you had all the time before, and did not take advantage of it.”</p> +<p>Désirée laughed at him and made no other answer. +While she spoke to Lisa he sat and watched them.</p> +<p>“It would be like a woman to do such a thing,” he pursued. +“They are so inconvenient—women. They get married +for fun, and then one fine Thursday they find they have missed all the +fun, like one who comes late to the theatre—when the music is +over.”</p> +<p>He went to the table and examined the morning marketing, which Lisa +had laid out in preparation for dinner. Of some of her purchases +he approved, but he laughed aloud at a lettuce which had no heart, and +at such a buyer.</p> +<p>Then Désirée attracted his scrutiny again.</p> +<p>“Yes,” he said, half to himself, “I see it. +You are in love. Just Heaven, I know! I have had them in +love with me . . . . Barlasch.”</p> +<p>“That must have been a long time ago,” answered Désirée +with her gay laugh, only giving him half her attention.</p> +<p>“Yes, it was a century ago. But they were the same then +as they are now, as they always will be—inconvenient. They +waited, however, till they were grown up!”</p> +<p>And with his ever-ready accusing finger he drew Désirée’s +attention to her own slimness. They were left alone for a minute +while Lisa answered a knock at the door, during which time Barlasch +sat in grim silence.</p> +<p>“It is a letter,” said Lisa, returning. “A +sailor brought it.”</p> +<p>“Another?” said Barlasch, with a gesture of despair.</p> +<p>“Can you give me news of Charles?” Désirée +read, in a writing that was unknown to her. “I shall wait +a reply until midnight on board the <i>Elsa</i>, lying off the Krahn-Thor.” +The letter bore the signature, “Louis d’Arragon.” +Désirée turned slowly and went upstairs, carrying it folded +small in her closed hand.</p> +<p>She was alone in the house, for Mathilde was out and her father had +not yet returned from his evening walk. She stood at the head +of the stairs, where the last of the daylight filtered through the barred +window, and read the letter again. Then she turned and gave a +slight start to see Barlasch at the foot of the stairs beckoning to +her. He made no attempt to come up, but stood on the mat like +a dog that has been forbidden the upper rooms.</p> +<p>“Is it about your father?” he asked, in a hoarse whisper.</p> +<p>“No!”</p> +<p>He made a gesture commanding secrecy and silence. Then he went +to close the kitchen door and returned on tip-toe.</p> +<p>“It is,” he explained, “that they are talking of +him in the cafés. There are many to be arrested to-morrow. +They say the patron is one of them, and employs himself in plotting. +That his name is not Sebastian at all. That he is a Frenchman +who escaped the guillotine. What do I know? It is the gossip +of the cafés. But I tell it you because we are friends, +you and I. And some day I may want you to do something for me. +One thinks of one’s self, eh? It is good to make friends. +For some day one may want them. That is why I do it. I think +of myself. An old soldier. Of the Guard.”</p> +<p>With many gestures of tremendous import, and a face all wrinkled +and twisted with mystery, he returned to the kitchen.</p> +<p>Mathilde was not to return until late. She had gone to the +house of the old Gräfin whose reminiscences had been a fruitful +topic at Désirée’s wedding. After dining there +she and the Gräfin were to go together to a farewell reception +given by the Governor. For Rapp was bound for the frontier with +the rest, and was to go to the war as first aide-de-camp to the Emperor.</p> +<p>Mathilde could not be back until ten o’clock. She, who +was so quick and quiet, had been much occupied in social observances +lately, and had made fast friends with the Gräfin during the last +few days, constantly going to see her.</p> +<p>Désirée knew that what Barlasch had repeated as the +gossip of the cafés was in part, if not wholly, true. She +and Mathilde had long known that any mention of France had the instant +effect of turning their father into a man of stone. It was the +skeleton in this quiet house that sat at table with its inmates, a shadowy +fourth tying their tongues. The rattle of its bones seemed to +paralyze Sebastian’s mind, and at any moment he would fall into +a dumb and stricken apathy which terrified those about him. At +such times it seemed that one thought in his mind had swallowed all +the rest, so that he heard without understanding and saw without perceiving.</p> +<p>He was in such a humour when he came back to dinner. He passed +Désirée on the stairs without speaking and went to his +room to change his clothes, for he never relaxed his formal habits. +At the dinner-table he glanced at her as a dog, knowing that he is ill, +may be seen to glance with a secret air at his master, wondering whether +he is detected.</p> +<p>Désirée had always hoped that her father would speak +to her when this humour was upon him and tell her the meaning of it. +Perhaps it would come to-night, when they were alone. There was +an unspoken sympathy existing between them in which Mathilde took no +share, which had even shut out Charles as out of a room where there +was no light, into which Désirée and her father went at +times and stood hand-in-hand without speaking.</p> +<p>They dined in silence, while Lisa hurried about her duties, oppressed +by a sense of unknown fear. After dinner they went to the drawing-room +as usual. It had been a dull day, with great clouds creeping up +from the West. The evening fell early, and the lamps were already +alight. Désirée looked to the wicks with the eye +of experience when she entered the room. Then she went to the +window. Lisa did not always draw the curtains effectually. +She glanced down into the street, and turned suddenly on her heel, facing +her father.</p> +<p>“They are there,” she said. For she had seen shadowy +forms lurking beneath the trees of the Frauengasse. The street +was ill-lighted, but she knew the shadows of the trees.</p> +<p>“How many?” asked Sebastian, in a dull voice.</p> +<p>She glanced at him quickly—at his still, frozen face and quiescent +hands. He was not going to rise to the occasion, as he sometimes +did even from his deepest apathy. She must do alone anything that +was to be accomplished to-night.</p> +<p>The house, like many in the Frauengasse, had been built by a careful +Hanseatic merchant, whose warehouse was his own cellar half sunk beneath +the level of the street. The door of the warehouse was immediately +under the front door, down a few steps below the street, while a few +more steps, broad and footworn, led up to the stone veranda and the +level of the lower dwelling-rooms. A guard placed in the street +could thus watch both doors without moving.</p> +<p>There was a third door, giving exit from the little room where Barlasch +slept to the small yard where he had placed those trunks which were +made in France.</p> +<p>Désirée had no time to think. She came of a race +of women of a brighter intelligence than any women in the world. +She took her father by the arm and hastened downstairs. Barlasch +was at his post within the kitchen door. His eyes shone suddenly +as he saw her face. It was said of Papa Barlasch that he was a +gay man in battle, laughing and making a hundred jests, but at other +times lugubrious. Désirée saw him smile for the +first time, in the dim light of the passage.</p> +<p>“They are there in the street,” he said; “I have +seen them. I thought you would come to Barlasch. They all +do—the women. In here. Leave him to me. When +they ring the bell, receive them yourself—with smiles. They +are only men. Let them search the house if they want to. +Tell them he has gone to the reception with Mademoiselle.”</p> +<p>As he spoke the bell rang just above his head. He looked up +at it and laughed.</p> +<p>“Ah, ah!” he said, “the fanfare begins.”</p> +<p>He drew Sebastian within and closed the door of his little room. +Lisa had already gone to answer the bell. When she opened the +door three men stepped quickly over the threshold, and one of them, +thrusting her aside, closed the door and turned the key. Désirée, +in her white evening dress, on the bottom step, just beneath the lamp +that hung from the ceiling, made them pause and look at each other. +Then one of the three came towards her, hat in hand.</p> +<p>“Our duty, Fräulein,” he said awkwardly. “We +are but obeying orders. A mere formality. It will all be +explained, no doubt, if the householder, Antoine Sebastian, will put +on his hat and come with us.”</p> +<p>“His hat is not there, as you see,” answered Désirée. +“You must seek him elsewhere.”</p> +<p>The man shook his head with a knowing smile. “We must +seek him in this house,” he said. “We will make it +as easy for you as we can, Fräulein—if you make it easy for +us.”</p> +<p>As he spoke he produced a candle from his pocket, and encouraged +the broken wick with his finger-nail.</p> +<p>“It will make it pleasanter for all,” said Désirée +cheerfully, “if you will accept a candlestick.”</p> +<p>The man glanced at her. He was a heavy man, with little suspicious +eyes set close together. He seemed to be concluding that she had +outwitted him—that Sebastian was not in the house.</p> +<p>“Where are the cellar-stairs?” he asked. “I +warn you, Fräulein, it is useless to conceal your father. +We shall, of course, find him.”</p> +<p>Désirée pointed to the door next to that giving entry +to the kitchen. It was bolted and locked. Désirée +found the key for them. She not only gave them every facility, +but was anxious that they should be as quick as possible. They +did not linger in the cellar, which, though vast, was empty; and when +they returned, Désirée, who was waiting for them, led +the way upstairs.</p> +<p>They were rather abashed by her silence. They would have preferred +protestations and argument. Discussion always belittles. +The smile recommended by Papa Barlasch, lurking at the corner of her +lips, made them feel foolish. She was so slight and young and +helpless, that a sort of shame rendered them clumsy.</p> +<p>They felt more at home in the kitchen when they arrived there, and +the sight of Lisa, sturdy and defiant, reminded them of the authority +upon which Désirée had somehow cast a mystic contempt.</p> +<p>“There is a door there,” said the heavy official, with +a brusque return of his early manner. “Come, what is that +door?”</p> +<p>“That is a little room.”</p> +<p>“Then open it.”</p> +<p>“I cannot,” returned Lisa. “It is locked.”</p> +<p>“Aha!” said the man, with a laugh of much meaning. +“On the inside, eh?”</p> +<p>He went to it, and banged on it with his fist.</p> +<p>“Come,” he shouted, “open it and be done.”</p> +<p>There was a short silence, during which those in the kitchen listened +breathlessly. A shuffling sound inside the door made the officer +of the law turn and beckon to his two men to come closer.</p> +<p>Then, after some fumbling, as of one in the dark, the door was unlocked +and slowly opened.</p> +<p>Papa Barlasch stood in a very primitive night-apparel within the +door. He had not done things by halves, for he was an old campaigner, +and knew that a thing half done is better left undone in times of war. +He noted the presence of Désirée and Lisa, but was not +ashamed. The reason of it was soon apparent. For Papa Barlasch +was drunk, and the smell of drink came out of his apartment in a warm +wave.</p> +<p>“It is the soldier billeted in the house,” explained +Lisa, with a half-hysterical laugh.</p> +<p>Then Barlasch harangued them in the language of intoxication. +If he had not spared Désirée’s feelings, he spared +her ears less now; for he was an ignorant man, who had lived through +a brutal period in the world’s history the roughest life a man +can lead. Two of the men held him with difficulty against the +wall, while the third hastily searched the room—where, indeed, +no one could well be concealed.</p> +<p>Then they quitted the house, followed by the polyglot curses of Barlasch, +who was now endeavouring to find his bayonet amidst his chaotic possessions.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h2>CHAPTER IX. THE GOLDEN GUESS.</h2> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p> <i>The +golden guess<br /> Is morning star to the +full round of truth.</i></p> +<p>Barlasch was never more sober in his life than when he emerged a +minute later from his room, while Lisa was still feverishly bolting +the door. He had not wasted much time at his toilet. In +his flannel shirt, his arms bare to the elbow, knotted and muscular, +he looked like some rude son of toil.</p> +<p>“One thinks of one’s self,” he hastened to explain +to Désirée, fearing that she might ascribe some other +motive to his action. “Some day the patron may be in power +again, and then he will remember a poor soldier. It is good to +think of the future.”</p> +<p>He shook his head pessimistically at Lisa as belonging to a sex liable +to error: instanced in this case by bolting the door too eagerly.</p> +<p>“Now,” he said, turning to Désirée again, +“have you any in Dantzig to help you?”</p> +<p>“Yes,” she answered rather slowly.</p> +<p>“Then send for him.”</p> +<p>“I cannot do that.”</p> +<p>“Then go for him yourself,” snapped Barlasch impatiently.</p> +<p>He looked at her fiercely beneath his shaggy eyebrows.</p> +<p>“It is no use to be afraid,” he said; “you are +afraid—I see it in your face. And it is never any use. +Before they hammered on that door there, my legs shook. For I +am easily afraid—I. But it is never any use. And when +one opens the door, it goes.”</p> +<p>He looked at her with a puzzled frown, seeking in vain, it may have +been, the ordinary symptoms of fear. She was hesitating but not +afraid. There ran blood in her veins which will for all time be +associated by history with a gay and indomitable courage.</p> +<p>“Come,” he said sharply; “there is nothing else +to do.”</p> +<p>“I will go,” said Désirée, at length, deciding +suddenly to do the one thing that is left to a woman once or twice in +her life—to go to the one man and trust him.</p> +<p>“By the back way,” said Barlasch, helping her with the +cloak that Lisa had brought, and pulling the hood forward over her face +with a jerk. “Ah, I know that way. The patron is hiding +in the yard. An old soldier looks to the retreat—though +the Emperor has saved us that, so far. Come, I will help you over +the wall, for the door is rusted.”</p> +<p>The way, which Barlasch had perceived, led through the room at the +back of the kitchen to a yard, and thence through a door not opened +by the present occupiers of the old house, into a very labyrinth of +narrow alleys running downward to the river and round the tall houses +that stand against the cathedral walls.</p> +<p>The wall was taller than Barlasch, but he ran at it like a cat, and +Désirée standing below could see the black outline of +his limbs crouching on the top. He stooped down, and grasping +her hands, lifted her by the sheer strength of one arm, balanced her +for an instant on the wall, and then lowered her on the outer side.</p> +<p>“Run,” he whispered.</p> +<p>She knew the way, and although the night was dark, and these narrow +alleys between high walls had no lamps, Désirée lost no +time. The Krahn-Thor is quite near to the Frauengasse. Indeed, +the whole of Dantzig occupied but a small space between the rivers in +those straitened days. The town was quieter than it had been for +months, and Désirée passed unmolested through the narrow +streets. She made her way to the quay, passing through the low +gateway known as the door of the Holy Ghost, and here found people still +astir. For the commerce that thrives on a northern river is paralyzed +all the winter, and feverishly active when the ice has gone.</p> +<p>“The <i>Elsa</i>,” replied a woman, who had been selling +bread all day on the quay, and was now packing up her stall, “you +ask for the <i>Elsa</i>. There is such a ship, I know. But +how can I say which she is? See, they lie right across the river +like a bridge. Besides, it is late, and sailors are rough men.”</p> +<p>Désirée hurried on. Louis d’Arragon had +said that the ship was lying near to the Krahn-Thor, of which the great +hooded roof loomed darkly against the stars above her. She was +looking about her when a man came forward with the hesitating step of +one who has been told to wait the arrival of some one unknown to him.</p> +<p>“The <i>Elsa</i>,” she said to him; “which ship +is it?”</p> +<p>“Come along with me, Mademoiselle,” the man replied; +“though I was not told to look for a woman.”</p> +<p>He spoke in English, which Désirée hardly understood; +for she had never heard it from English lips, and looked for the first +time on one of that race upon which all the world waited now for salvation. +For the English, of all the nations, were the only men who from the +first had consistently defied Napoleon.</p> +<p>The sailor led the way towards the river. As he passed the +lamp burning dimly above some steps, Désirée saw that +he was little more than a boy. He turned and offered her his hand +with a shy laugh, and together they stood at the bottom of the steps +with the water lapping at their feet.</p> +<p>“Have you a letter,” he said, “or will you come +on board?”</p> +<p>Then perceiving that she did not understand, he repeated the question +in German.</p> +<p>“I will come on board,” she answered.</p> +<p>The <i>Elsa</i> was lying in the middle of the river, and the boat +into which Désirée stepped shot across the water without +sound of oars. The sailor was paddling it noiselessly at the stern. +Désirée was not unused to boats, and when they came alongside +the <i>Elsa</i> she climbed on board without help.</p> +<p>“This way,” said the sailor, leading her towards the +deckhouse where a light burned dimly behind red curtains. He knocked +at the door and opened it without awaiting a reply. In the little +cabin two men sat at a table, and one of them was Louis d’Arragon +dressed in the rough clothes of a merchant seaman. He seemed to +recognize Désirée at once, though she still stood without +the door, in the darkness.</p> +<p>“You?” he said in surprise. “I did not expect +you, madame. You want me?”</p> +<p>“Yes,” answered Désirée, stepping over +the combing. Louis’s companion, who was also a sailor, coarsely +clad, rose and, awkwardly taking off his cap, hurried to the door, murmuring +some vague apology. It is not always the roughest men who have +the worst manners towards women.</p> +<p>He closed the door behind him, leaving Désirée and +Louis looking at each other by the light of an oil lamp that flickered +and gave forth a greasy smell. The little cabin was smoke-ridden, +and smelt of ancient tar. It was no bigger than the table in the +drawing-room in the Frauengasse, across which he had bowed to her in +farewell a few days earlier, little knowing when and where they were +to meet again. For fate can always turn a surprise better than +the human fancy.</p> +<p>Behind the curtain, the window stood open, and the high, clear song +of the wind through the rigging filled the little cabin with a continuous +minor note of warning which must have been part of his life; for he +must have heard it, as all sailors do, sleeping or waking, night and +day.</p> +<p>He was probably so accustomed to it that he never heeded it. +But it filled Désirée’s ears, and whenever she heard +it in after-life, in memory this moment came again to her, and she looked +back to it, as a traveller may look back to a milestone at a cross-road, +and wonder where his journey might have ended had he taken another turning.</p> +<p>“My father,” she said quickly, “is in danger. +There is no one else in Dantzig to whom we can turn, and—”</p> +<p>She paused. What was she going to add? She hesitated, +and then was silent. There was no reason why she should have elected +to come to him. At all events she gave none.</p> +<p>“I am glad I was in Dantzig when it happened,” he said, +turning to take up his cap, which was of rough dark fur, such as seamen +wear even in summer at night in the Northern seas.</p> +<p>“Come,” he added, “you can tell me as we go ashore.”</p> +<p>But they did not speak while the sailor sculled the boat to the steps. +On the quay they would probably pass unnoticed, for there were many +strange sailors at this time in Dantzig, and Louis d’Arragon might +easily be mistaken for one of the French seamen who had brought stores +by sea from Bordeaux and Brest and Cherbourg.</p> +<p>“Now tell me,” he said, as they walked side by side; +and in voluble French, Désirée launched into her story. +It was rather incoherent, by reason, perhaps, of its frankness.</p> +<p>“Stop—stop,” he interrupted gravely, “who +is Barlasch?”</p> +<p>Louis walked rather slowly in his stiff sea-boots at her side, and +she instinctively spoke less rapidly as she explained the part that +Barlasch had played.</p> +<p>“And you trust him?”</p> +<p>“Of course,” she answered.</p> +<p>“But why?”</p> +<p>“Oh, you are so matter-of-fact,” she exclaimed; “I +do not know. Because he is trustworthy, I suppose.”</p> +<p>She continued the story, but suddenly stopped and looked up at him +under the shadow of her hood.</p> +<p>“You are silent,” she said. “Do you know +something about my father of which I am ignorant? Is that it?”</p> +<p>“No,” he answered, “I am trying to follow—that +is all. You leave so much to my imagination.”</p> +<p>“But I have no time to explain things,” she protested. +“Every moment is of value. I will explain all those things +some other time. At this moment all I can think of is my father +and the danger he is in. If it had not been for Barlasch, he would +have been in prison by now. And as it is, the danger is only half +averted. For he, himself, is so little help. All must be +done for him. He will do nothing for himself while this humour +is upon him; you understand?”</p> +<p>“Partly,” he answered slowly.</p> +<p>“Oh!” she exclaimed half-impatiently, “one sees +that you are an Englishman.”</p> +<p>And she found time, even in her hurry, to laugh. For she was +young enough to float buoyant upon that sea of hope which ebbs in the +course of years and leaves men stranded on the hard facts of life.</p> +<p>“You forget,” he said in self-defence.</p> +<p>“I forget what?”</p> +<p>“That a week ago I had never seen Dantzig, or your father, +or your sister, or the Frauengasse. A week ago I did not know +that there was anybody called Sebastian in the world—and did not +care.”</p> +<p>“Yes,” she admitted thoughtfully, “I had forgotten +that.”</p> +<p>And they walked on in silence, a long way, till they came to the +Gate of the Holy Ghost.</p> +<p>“But you can help him to escape?” she said at length, +as if following the course of her own thoughts.</p> +<p>“Yes,” he answered, and that was all.</p> +<p>They passed through the smaller streets in silence, and Désirée +led the way into a narrow alley running between the street of the Holy +Ghost and the Frauengasse.</p> +<p>“There is the wall to be climbed,” she said; but, as +she spoke, the door giving exit to the alley was cautiously opened by +Barlasch.</p> +<p>“A little oil,” he whispered, “and it was soon +done.”</p> +<p>The yard was dark within, for there might be watchers at any of the +windows above them in the pointed gables that made patterns against +the star-lit sky.</p> +<p>“All is well,” said Barlasch; “those sons of dogs +have not returned, and the patron is waiting in the kitchen, cloaked +and ready for a journey. He has collected himself—the patron.”</p> +<p>He led the way through his own room, which was dark, save for a shaft +of lamp-light coming from the kitchen. He looked back keenly at +Louis d’Arragon.</p> +<p>“Salut!” he growled, scowling at his boots. “A +sailor,” he muttered after a pause. “Good. She +has her wits at the top of the basket—that child.”</p> +<p>Désirée was throwing back her hood and looking at her +father with a reassuring smile.</p> +<p>“I have brought Monsieur d’Arragon,” she said, +“to help us.”</p> +<p>For Sebastian has not recognized the new-comer. He now bowed +in his stiff way, and began a formal apology, which D’Arragon +cut short with a quick gesture.</p> +<p>“It is the least I could do,” he said, “in the +absence of Charles. Have you money?”</p> +<p>“Yes—a little.”</p> +<p>“You will require money and a few clothes. I can get +you a passage to Riga or to Helsingborg to-night. From there you +can communicate with your daughter. Events will follow each other +rapidly. One never knows what a week may bring forth in time of +war. It may be safe for you to return soon. Come, monsieur, +we must go.”</p> +<p>Sebastian made a gesture with his outspread arms, half of protestation, +half of acquiescence. It was plain that he had no sympathy with +these modern, hurried methods of meeting the emergencies of daily life. +A valise, packed and strapped, lay on the table. D’Arragon +weighed it in his hand, and then lifted it to his shoulder.</p> +<p>“Come, monsieur,” he repeated leading the way through +Barlasch’s room to the yard. “And you,” he added, +addressing himself to that soldier, “shut the door behind us.”</p> +<p>With another gesture of protest Sebastian gathered his cloak round +him and followed. D’Arragon had taken Désirée +so literally at her word that he allowed her father no time for hesitation, +nor a moment to say farewell.</p> +<p>She was alone in the kitchen before she had realized that they were +going. In a minute Barlasch returned. She could hear him +setting in order the room which had been hurriedly disorganized in order +to open the door leading to the yard, where her father had concealed +himself. He was muttering to himself as he lifted the furniture.</p> +<p>Coming back into the kitchen, he found Désirée standing +where he had left her. Glancing at her, he scratched his grey +head in a plebeian way, and gave a little laugh.</p> +<p>“Yes,” he said, pointing to the spot where D’Arragon +had stood. “That was a man, that you fetched to help us—a +man. It makes a difference when such as that goes out of the room—eh?”</p> +<p>He busied himself in the kitchen, setting in order that which remained +of the <i>mise en scène</i> of his violent reception of the secret +police. Suddenly he turned in his emphatic manner, and threw out +his rugged forefinger to hold her attention.</p> +<p>“If there had been some like that in Paris, there would have +been no Revolution. Za-za, za-za!” he concluded, imitating +effectively the buzz of many voices in an assembly. “Words +and not deeds,” Barlasch protested. Whereas to-night, he +clearly showed by two gestures, they had met a man of deeds.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h2>CHAPTER X. IN DEEP WATER.</h2> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p> <i>Le coeur humain est un abîme +qui trompe tous les calculs.</i></p> +<p>It is to be presumed that Colonel de Casimir met friends at the reception +given by Governor Rapp in the great rooms of the Rathhaus. For +there were many Poles present, and not a few officers of other nationalities.</p> +<p>The army indeed that set forth to conquer Russia was not a French-speaking +army. Less than half of the regiments were of that nationality, +while Italians, Bavarians, Saxons, Würtembergers, Westphalians, +Prussians, Swiss, and Portuguese went gaily forward on the great venture. +There were soldiers from the numerous petty states of the German Confederation +which acknowledged Napoleon as their protector, for the good reason +that they could not protect themselves against him. Finally, there +were those Poles who had fought in Spain for Napoleon, hoping that in +return he would some day set the ancient kingdom upon its feet among +the nations. Already the whisperers pointed to Davoust as the +future king of the new Poland.</p> +<p>Many present at the farewell reception of the Governor carried a +sword, though they were the merest civilians, plotting, counter-plotting, +and whispering a hundred rumours. Perhaps Rapp himself, speaking +bluff French with a German accent, was as honest as any man in the room, +though he lacked the polish of the Parisian and had not the subtlety +of the Pole. Rapp was not a shining light in these brilliant circles. +He was a Governor not for peace, but for war. His day was yet +to come.</p> +<p>Such men as de Casimir shrugged their supple shoulders at his simple +talk. They spoke of him half-contemptuously as of one who had +had a thousand chances and had never taken them. He was not even +rich, and he had handled great sums of money. He was only a General, +and he had slept in the Emperor’s tent—had had access to +him in every humour. He might do the same again in the coming +campaign. He was worth cultivating. De Casimir and his like +were full of smiles which in no wise deceived the shrewd Alsatian.</p> +<p>Mathilde Sebastian was among the ladies to whom these brilliant warriors +paid their uncouth compliments. Perhaps de Casimir was aware that +her measuring eyes followed him wherever he went. He knew, at +all events, that he could hold his own amid these adventurers, many +of whom had risen from the ranks; while others, from remote northern +States, had birth but no manners at all. He was easy and gay, +carrying lightly that subtle air of distinction which is vouchsafed +to many Poles.</p> +<p>“Here to-day, Mademoiselle, and gone to-morrow,” he said. +“All these eager soldiers. And who can tell which of us +may return?”</p> +<p>If he had expected Mathilde to flinch at this reminder of his calling, +he was disappointed. Her eyes were hard and bright. She +had had so few chances of moving amidst this splendour, of seeing close +at hand the greatness which Napoleon shed around him as the sun its +rays. She was carried away by the spirit of the age. Anything +was better, she felt, than obscurity.</p> +<p>“And who can tell,” whispered de Casimir with a careless +and confident laugh, “which of us shall come back rich and great?”</p> +<p>This brought the glance from her dark eyes for which his own lay +waiting. She was certainly beautiful, and wore the difficult dress +of that day with assurance and grace. She possessed something +which the German ladies about her lacked; something which many suddenly +lack when a Frenchwoman is near.</p> +<p>His manner, half respectful, half triumphant, betrayed an understanding +to which he did not refer in words. She had bestowed some favour +upon him—had acceded to some request. He hoped for more. +He had overstepped some barrier. She, who should have measured +the distance, had allowed him to come too close. The barriers +of love are one-sided; there is no climbing back.</p> +<p>“A hundred envious eyes are watching me,” he said in +an undertone as he passed on; “I dare not stay longer. I +am on duty to-night.”</p> +<p>She bowed and watched him go. She was, it would seem, aware +of that fallen barrier. She had done nothing, had permitted nothing +from weakness. There was no weakness at all perhaps in Mathilde +Sebastian. She had the quiet manner of a skilled card-player with +folded cards laid face down upon the table, who knows what is in her +hand and is waiting for the foe to lead.</p> +<p>De Casimir did not see her again. In such a throng it would +have been difficult to find her had he so desired. But, as he +had told her, he was on duty to-night. There were to be a hundred +arrests before dawn. Many who were laughing and talking with the +French officers to-night were already in the grasp of Napoleon’s +secret police, and would drive straight from the door of the Rathhaus +to the town prison or to the old Watch-house in the Portchaisengasse. +Others, moving through the great rooms with a high head, were already +condemned out of their own bureaux and escritoires now being rifled +by the Emperor’s spies.</p> +<p>The Emperor himself had given the order, before quitting Dantzig +to take command of the maddest and greatest enterprise conceived by +the mind of man. There was nothing above the reach of his mind, +it seemed, and nothing too low for him to bend down and touch. +Every detail had been considered by himself. He was like a man +who, having an open wound on his back, attends to it hurriedly before +showing an undaunted face to the enemy.</p> +<p>His inexorable finger had come down on the name of Antoine Sebastian, +figuring on all the secret reports—first in many.</p> +<p>“Who is this man?” he asked, and none could answer.</p> +<p>He had gone to the frontier without awaiting the solution to the +question. Such was his method now. He had so much to do +that he could but skim the surface of his task. For the human +mind, though it be colossal, can only work within certain limits. +The greatest orator in the world can only move his immediate hearers. +Those beyond the inner circle catch a word here and there, and imagination +supplies the rest or improves upon it. But those in the farthest +gallery hear nothing and see a little man gesticulating.</p> +<p>De Casimir was not entrusted with the execution of the Emperor’s +orders. As a member of General Rapp’s staff, resident in +Dantzig since the city’s occupation by the French, he had been +called upon to make exhaustive reports upon the feeling of the burghers. +There were many doubtful cases. De Casimir did not pretend to +be better than his fellows. To some he had sold the benefit of +the doubt. Some had paid willingly enough for their warning. +Others had put off the payment; for there were many Jews, then as now, +in Dantzig; slow payers requiring something stronger than a threat to +make them disburse.</p> +<p>De Casimir therefore quitted the Rathhaus among the first to go, +and walked through the busy streets to his rooms in the Langenmarkt, +where he not only lived but had a small office to which orderlies and +aides-de-camp came by day or night. Two sentries kept guard on +the pavement. Since the spring, this office had been one of the +busiest military posts in Dantzig. Its doors were open at all +hours, and in truth many of de Casimir’s assistants preferred +to transact their business in the dark.</p> +<p>There might be some recalcitrant debtor driven by stress of circumstance +to clear his conscience to-night. It would be as well, de Casimir +thought, to be at one’s post. Nor was he mistaken. +Though it was only ten o’clock, two men were awaiting his return, +and, their business despatched, de Casimir deemed it wise to send away +his assistants. Immediately after they had gone a woman came. +She was half distracted with fear, and the tears ran down her pallid +cheeks. But she dried them at the mention of de Casimir’s +price, and fell to abusing him.</p> +<p>“If your husband is innocent, there is all the more reason +why he should be grateful to me for warning him,” he said, with +a smile. And at last the lady paid and went away.</p> +<p>The town clocks had struck eleven before another footstep on the +pavement made de Casimir raise his head. He did not actually expect +any one, but a certain surreptitiousness in the approach of this visitor, +and the low knock on the door, made him suspect that this was grist +for his mill.</p> +<p>He opened the door and, seeing that it was a woman, stepped back. +When she had entered, he closed the door while she stood watching him +in the dark passage, beneath the shadow of her hood. Knowing the +value of such small details, he locked the door rather ostentatiously +and dropped the key into his pocket.</p> +<p>“And now, madame,” he said reassuringly, as he followed +his visitor into the room where a shaded lamp lighted his writing-table. +She threw back her hood, and it was Mathilde! The surprise on +de Casimir’s face was genuine enough. Romance could not +have brought about this visit, nor love be its motive.</p> +<p>“Something has happened,” he said, looking at her doubtfully.</p> +<p>“Where is my father?” was the reply.</p> +<p>“Unless there has been some mistake,” he answered glibly, +“he is at home in bed.”</p> +<p>She smiled contemptuously into his innocent face.</p> +<p>“There has been a mistake,” she said; “they came +to arrest him to-night.”</p> +<p>De Casimir made a gesture of anger and seemed to be mentally assigning +a punishment to some blunderer.</p> +<p>“And?” he asked, without looking at her.</p> +<p>“And he escaped.”</p> +<p>“For the moment?”</p> +<p>“No; he has left Dantzig.”</p> +<p>Something in her voice—the cold note of warning—made +him glance uneasily at her. This was not a woman to be deceived, +and yet she was womanly enough to fear deception and to resent her own +fears, visiting her anger on any who aroused them. In the flash +of an eye he understood her, and forestalled the words that were upon +her lips.</p> +<p>“And I promised that he should come to no harm—I know +that,” he said quickly. “At first I thought that it +must have been a blunder, but on reflection I am sure that it is not. +It is the Emperor. He must have given the order for the arrest +himself, behind my back. That is his way. He trusts no one. +He deceives those nearest to him. I made out the list of those +to be arrested to-night, and your father’s name was not on it. +Do you believe me? Mademoiselle, do you believe me?”</p> +<p>It was only natural in such a man to look for disbelief. The +air he breathed was infected by suspicion. No deception was too +small for the great man whom he served. Mathilde made no answer.</p> +<p>“You came here to accuse me of having deceived you,” +he said rather anxiously. “Is that it?”</p> +<p>She nodded without meeting his eyes. It was not the truth. +She had come to hear his defence, hoping against hope that she might +be able to believe him.</p> +<p>“Mathilde,” he asked slowly, “do you believe me?”</p> +<p>He came a step nearer, looking down at her averted face, which was +oddly white. Then suddenly she turned, without a sound, without +lifting her eyes—and was in his arms. It seemed that she +had done it against her will, and it took him by surprise. He +had thought that she was trying to attract his love because she believed +in his capability to make his fortune like so many soldiers of France; +that she was only playing a woman’s subtle game. And, after +all, she was like the rest—a little cleverer, a little colder—but, +like the rest.</p> +<p>While his arms were still round her, his quick mind leapt forward +to the future, wondering already to what end this would lead them. +For a moment he was taken aback. He was over the last of those +barriers which are so easy from the outside and unclimbable from within. +She had thrust into his hands a power greater than, for the moment, +he knew how to wield. It was characteristic of him to think first +whither it would lead him, and next how he could turn it to good account.</p> +<p>Some instinct told him that this was a different love from any that +he had met before. The same instinct made him understand that +it was crying aloud to be convinced; and, oddly enough, he had told +her the truth.</p> +<p>“See,” he said, “here is a copy of the list, and +your father’s name is not on it. See, here is Napoleon’s +letter, expressing satisfaction with my work here and in Königsberg, +where I have been served by an agent of my own choosing. Many +have climbed to a throne with less than that letter for their first +step. See . . . !” he opened another drawer. It was +full of money.</p> +<p>“See, again!” he said with a low laugh, and from an iron +chest he took two or three bags which fell upon the table with the discreet +unmistakable chink of gold. “That is the Emperor’s. +He trusts me, you see. These bags are mine. They are to +be sent back to France before I follow the army to Russia. What +I have told you is true, you see.”</p> +<p>It was an odd way of wooing, but this man rarely made a mistake. +There are many women who, like Mathilde Sebastian, are readier to love +success than console failure.</p> +<p>“See,” he said, after a moment’s hesitation, opening +another drawer in his writing-table, “before I went away I had +intended to ask you to remember me.”</p> +<p>As he spoke he drew a jewel-case from under some papers, and slowly +opened it. He had others like it in the drawer; for emergencies.</p> +<p>“But I never hoped,” he went on, “to have an opportunity +of seeing you thus alone—to ask you never to forget me. +You permit me?”</p> +<p>He clasped the diamonds round her throat, and they glittered on the +poor, cheap dress, which was the best she had. She looked down +at them with a catching breath, and for an instant the glitter was reflected +in her eyes.</p> +<p>She had come asking for reassurance, and he gave her diamonds; which +is an old tale told over and over again. For in human love we +have to accept not what we want, but what is given to us.</p> +<p>“No one in Dantzig,” he said, “is so glad to hear +that your father has escaped as I am.”</p> +<p>And, with the glitter still lurking in her dark-grey eyes, she believed +him. He drew her cloak round her, and gently brought her hood +over her hair.</p> +<p>“I must take you home,” he said tenderly, “without +delay. And as we go through the streets you must tell me how it +happened, and how you were able to come to me.”</p> +<p>“Désirée was not asleep,” she answered; +“she was waiting for me to return, and told me at once. +Then she went to bed, and I waited until she was asleep. It was +she who managed the escape.”</p> +<p>De Casimir, who was locking the drawers of his writing-table, glanced +up sharply.</p> +<p>“Ah! but not alone?”</p> +<p>“No—not alone. I will tell you as we go through +the streets.”</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h2>CHAPTER XI. THE WAVE MOVES ON.</h2> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p> <i>La même fermeté qui +sert à résister à l’amour sert aussi à +le rendre violent et durable.</i></p> +<p>It is only in war that the unexpected admittedly happens. In +love and other domestic calamities there is always a relative who knew +it all the time.</p> +<p>The news that Napoleon was in Vilna, hastily evacuated by the Russians +in full retreat, came as a surprise and not to all as a pleasant one, +in Dantzig.</p> +<p>It was Papa Barlasch who brought the tidings to the Frauengasse, +one hot afternoon in July. He returned before his usual hour, +and sent Lisa upstairs, with a message given in dumb show and interpreted +by her into matter-of-fact German, that he must see the young ladies +without delay. Far back in the great days of the monarchy, Papa +Barlasch must have been a little child in a peasant’s hut on those +Côtes du Nord where they breed a race of Frenchmen startlingly +similar to the hereditary foe across the Channel, where to this day +the men kick off their sabots at the door and hold that an honest labourer +has no business under a roof except in stocking-feet and shirt-sleeves.</p> +<p>Barlasch had never yet been upstairs in the Sebastians’ house, +and deemed it only respectful to the ladies to take off his boots on +the mat, and prowl to the kitchen in coarse blue woollen stockings, +carefully darned by himself, under the scornful immediate eye of Lisa.</p> +<p>He was in the kitchen when Mathilde and Désirée, in +obedience to his command, came downstairs. The floor in one corner +of the room was littered with his belongings; for he never used the +table. “He takes up no more room than a cat,” Lisa +once said of him. “I never fall over him.”</p> +<p>“She leaves her greasy plates here and there,” explained +Barlasch in return. “One must think of one’s self +and one’s uniform.”</p> +<p>He was in his stocking-feet with unbuttoned tunic when the two girls +came to him.</p> +<p>“Aï, aï, aï,” he said, imitating with +his two hands the galloping of a horse. “The Russians,” +he explained confidentially.</p> +<p>“Has there been a battle?” asked Désirée.</p> +<p>And Barlasch answered “Pooh!” not without contempt for +the female understanding.</p> +<p>“Then what is it?” she inquired. “You must +remember we are not soldiers—we do not understand those manœuvres—aï, +aï, like that.”</p> +<p>And she copied his gesture beneath his scowling contempt.</p> +<p>“It is Vilna,” he said. “That is what it +is. Then it will be Smolensk, and then Moscow. Ah, ah! +That little man!”</p> +<p>He turned and took up his haversack.</p> +<p>“And I—I have my route. It is good-bye to the Frauengasse. +We have been friends. I told you we should be. It is good-bye +to these ladies—and to that Lisa. Look at her!”</p> +<p>He pointed with his curved and derisive finger into Lisa’s +eyes. And in truth the tears were there. Lisa was in heart +and person that which is comprehensively called motherly. She +saw perhaps some pathos in the sight of this rugged man—worn by +travel, bent with hardship and many wounds, past his work—shouldering +his haversack and trudging off to the war.</p> +<p>“The wave moves on,” he said, making a gesture, and a +sound illustrating that watery progress. “And Dantzig will +soon be forgotten. You will be left in peace—but we go on +to—” He paused and shrugged his shoulders while attending +to a strap. “India or the devil,” he concluded.</p> +<p>“Colonel Casimir has gone,” he added in what he took +to be an aside to Mathilde. Which made her wonder for a moment. +“I saw him depart with his staff soon after daybreak. And +the Emperor has forgotten Dantzig. It is safe enough for the patron +now. You can write him a letter to tell him so. Tell him +that I said it was safe for him to return quietly here, and live in +the Frauengasse—I, Barlasch.”</p> +<p>He was ready now, and, buttoning his tunic, he fixed the straps across +his chest, looking from one to the other of the three women watching +him, not without some appreciation of an audience. Then he turned +to Désirée, who had always been his friend, with whom +he now considered that he had the soldier’s bond of a peril passed +through together.</p> +<p>“The Emperor has forgotten Dantzig,” he repeated, “and +those against whom he had a grudge. But he has also forgotten +those who are in prison. It is not good to be forgotten in prison. +Tell the patron that—to put it in his pipe and smoke it. +Some day he may remember an old soldier. Ah, one thinks of one’s +self.”</p> +<p>And beneath his bushy brows he looked at her with a gleam of cunning. +He went to the door and, turning there, pointed the finger of scorn +at Lisa, stout and tearful. He gave a short laugh of a low-born +contempt, and departed without further parley.</p> +<p>On the doorstep he paused to put on his boots and button his gaiters, +stooping clumsily with a groan beneath his burden of haversack and kit. +Désirée, who had had time to go upstairs to her bedroom, +ran after him as he descended the steps. She had her purse in +her hand, and she thrust it into his, quickly and breathlessly.</p> +<p>“If you take it,” she said, “I shall know that +we are friends.”</p> +<p>He took it ungraciously enough. It was a silken thing with +two small rings to keep the money in place, and he looked at it with +a grimace, weighing it in his hand. It was very light.</p> +<p>“Money,” he said. “No, thank you. To +get drink with, and be degraded and sent to prison. Not for me, +madame. No, thank you. One thinks of one’s career.”</p> +<p>And with a gruff laugh of worldly wisdom he continued his way down +the worn steps, never looking back at her as she stood in the sunlight +watching him, with the purse in her hand.</p> +<p>So in his old age Papa Barlasch was borne forward to the war on that +human tide which flooded all Lithuania, and never ebbed again, but sank +into the barren ground, and was no more seen.</p> +<p>As the slow autumn approached, it became apparent that Dantzig no +longer interested the watchers. Vilna became the base of operations. +Smolensk fell, and, most wonderful of all, the Russians were retiring +on Moscow. Dantzig was no longer on the route. For a time +it was of the world forgotten, while, as Barlasch had predicted, free +men continued at liberty, though their names had an evil savour, while +innocent persons in prison were left to rot there.</p> +<p>Désirée continued to receive letters from her husband, +full of love and war. For a long time he lingered at Königsberg, +hoping every day to be sent forward. Then he followed Murat across +the Niemen, and wrote of weary journeys over the rolling plains of Lithuania.</p> +<p>Towards the end of July he mentioned curtly the arrival of de Casimir +at head-quarters.</p> +<p>“With him came a courier,” wrote Charles, “bringing +your dead letter. I don’t believe you love me as I love +you. At all events, you do not seem to tell me that you do so +often as I want to tell you. Tell me what you do and think every +moment of the day . . . . . . ” And so on. Charles +seemed to write as easily as he talked, and had no difficulty in setting +forth his feelings. “The courier is in the saddle,” +he concluded. “De Casimir tells me that I must finish. +Write and tell me everything. How is Mathilde? And your +father? Is he in good health? How does he pass his day? +Does he still go out in the evening to his cafe?”</p> +<p>This seemed to be an afterthought, suggested perhaps by conversation +passing in the room in which he sat.</p> +<p>The other exile, writing from Stockholm, was briefer in his communications.</p> +<p>“I am well,” wrote Antoine Sebastian, “and hope +to arrive soon after you receive this. Felix Meyer, the notary, +has instructions to furnish you with money for household expenses.”</p> +<p>It would appear that Sebastian possessed other friends in Dantzig, +who had kept him advised of all that passed in the city.</p> +<p>For neither Mathilde nor Désirée had obeyed Barlasch’s +blunt order to write to their father. They did not know whither +he had fled, neither had they received any communication giving an address +or a hint as to his future movements. It would appear that the +same direct and laconic mind which had carried out his escape deemed +it wiser that those left behind should be in no position to furnish +information.</p> +<p>In fairness to Barlasch, Désirée had made little of +that soldier’s part in Sebastian’s evasion, and Mathilde +displayed small interest in such details. She rather fastened, +however, upon the assistance rendered by Louis d’Arragon.</p> +<p>“Why did he do it?” she asked.</p> +<p>“Oh, because I asked him,” was the reply.</p> +<p>“And why did you ask him?”</p> +<p>“Who else was there to ask?” returned Désirée, +which was indeed unanswerable.</p> +<p>Perhaps the question had been suggested to her by de Casimir, who, +on learning that Louis d’Arragon had helped her father to slip +through the Emperor’s fingers, had asked the same in his own characteristic +way.</p> +<p>“What could he hope to gain by doing it?” he had inquired +as he walked by Mathilde’s side, along the Pfaffengasse. +And he made other interrogations respecting D’Arragon which Mathilde +was no more able to satisfy, as he accompanied her to the Frauengasse.</p> +<p>Since that time the dancing-lessons had been resumed to the music +of a hired fiddler, and Désirée had once more taken up +her household task of making both ends meet. She approached the +difficulties as impetuously as ever, and danced the stout pupils round +the room with undiminished energy.</p> +<p>“It seems no good at all, your being married,” said one +of these breathlessly, while Désirée laughingly attended +to her dishevelled hair.</p> +<p>“Why not?”</p> +<p>“Because you still make your own dresses and teach dancing,” +replied the pupil, with a quick sigh at the thought of some smart bursch +in the Prussian contingent.</p> +<p>“Ah, but Charles will return a colonel, and I shall bow to +you in a silk dress from a chaise and pair—come, left foot first. +You are not so tired as you think you are.”</p> +<p>For those that are busy, time flies quickly enough. And there +is nothing more absorbing than keeping the wolf from the door, else +assuredly the hungry thousands would find time to arise and rend the +overfed few.</p> +<p>August succeeded a hot July and brought with it Sebastian’s +curt letter. Sebastian himself—that shadowy father—returned +to his home a few hours later. He was not alone, for a heavier +step followed his into the passage, and Désirée, always +quick to hear and see and act, coming to the head of the stairs, perceived +her father looking upwards towards her, while his companion in rough +sailor’s clothes turned to lay aside the valise he had carried +on his shoulder.</p> +<p>Mathilde was close behind Désirée, and Sebastian kissed +his daughters with that cold repression of manner which always suggested +a strenuous past in which the emotions had been relinquished for ever +as an indulgence unfit for a stern and hard-bitten age.</p> +<p>“I took him away and now return him,” said the sailor +coming forward. Désirée had always known that it +was Louis, but Mathilde gave a little start at the sound of the neat +clipping French in the mouth of an educated Frenchman so rarely heard +in Dantzig—so rarely heard in all broad France to-day.</p> +<p>“Yes—that is true,” answered Sebastian, turning +to him with a sudden change of manner. There was that in voice +and attitude which his hearers had never noted before, although Charles +had often evoked something approaching it. It seemed to indicate +that, of all the people with whom they had seen their father hold intercourse, +Louis d’Arragon was the only man who stood upon equality with +him.</p> +<p>“That is true—and at great risk to yourself,” he +said, not assigning, however, so great an importance to personal danger +as men do in these careful days. As he spoke, he took Louis by +the arm and by a gesture invited him to precede him upstairs with a +suggestion of <i>camaraderie</i> somewhat startling in one usually so +cold and formal as Antoine Sebastian, the dancing-master of the Frauengasse.</p> +<p>“I was writing to Charles,” said Désirée +to D’Arragon, when they reached the drawing-room, and, crossing +to her own table, she set the papers in order there. These consisted +of a number of letters from her husband, read and re-read, it would +appear. And the answer to them, a clean sheet of paper bearing +only the date and address, lay beneath her hand.</p> +<p>“The courier leaves this evening,” she said, with a queer +ring of anxiety in her voice, as if she feared that for some reason +or another she ran the risk of failing to despatch her letter. +She glanced at the clock, and stood, pen in hand, thinking of what she +should write.</p> +<p>“May I enclose a line?” asked Louis. “It +is not wise, perhaps, for me to address to him a letter—since +I am on the other side. It is a small matter of a heritage which +he and I divide. I have placed some money in a Dantzig bank for +him. He may require it when he returns.”</p> +<p>“Then you do not correspond with Charles?” said Mathilde, +clearing a space for him on the larger table, and setting before him +ink and pens and paper.</p> +<p>“Thank you, Mademoiselle,” he said, glancing at her with +that light of interest in his dark eyes which she had ignited once before +by a question on the only occasion that they had met. He seemed +to detect that she was more interested in him than her indifferent manner +would appear to indicate. “No, I am a bad correspondent. +If Charles and I, in our present circumstances, were to write to each +other it could only lead to intrigue, for which I have no taste and +Charles no capacity.”</p> +<p>“You seem to hint that Charles might have such a taste then,” +she said, with her quiet smile, as she moved away leaving him to write.</p> +<p>“Charles has probably found out by this time,” he answered +with the bluntness which he claimed as a prerogative of his calling +and nation, “that a soldier of Napoleon’s who intrigues +will make a better career than one who merely fights.”</p> +<p>He took up his pen and wrote with the absorption of one who has but +little time and knows exactly what to say. By chance he glanced +towards Désirée, who sat at her own table near the window. +She was stroking her cheek with the feather of her pen, looking with +puzzled eyes at the blank paper before her. Each time D’Arragon +dipped his pen he glanced at her, watching her. And Mathilde, +with her needlework, watched them both.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h2>CHAPTER XII. FROM BORODINO.</h2> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p> <i>However we brave it out, we men +are a little breed.</i></p> +<p>War is the gambling of kings. Napoleon, the arch-gambler, from +that Southern sea where men, lacking cards or dice and the money to +buy either, will yet play a game of chance with the ten fingers that +God gave them for another purpose—Napoleon had dealt a hand with +every monarch in Europe before he met for the second time that Northern +adversary of cool blood who knew the waiting game.</p> +<p>It is only where the stakes are small that the leisurely players, +idly fingering the fallen cards, return in fancy to certain points—to +this trick trumped or that chance missed, playing the game over again. +But when the result is great it overshadows the game, and all men’s +thoughts fly to speculation on the future. How will the loser +meet his loss? What use will the winner make of his gain?</p> +<p>The results of the Russian campaign were so stupendous to history +that the historians of the day, in their bewilderment, sought rather +to preserve these than the details of the war. Thus the student +of to-day, in piecing together an impression of bygone times, will inevitably +find portions of his picture missing. As a matter of fact, no +one can say for certain whether Alexander gently led Napoleon onward +to Moscow or was himself driven thither in confusion by the conqueror.</p> +<p>Perhaps each merely pushed on from day to day, as men who are not +Emperors must needs do in the stress of life. It is only in calm +weather that the eye is able to discern things afar off and make ready; +but in a storm the horizon is dimmed by cloud and spray. All Europe +was so obscured at this time. And even Emperors, being only men, +could look no farther than the immediate and urgent danger of the moment.</p> +<p>Napoleon’s generals were scarcely social lights. Ney, +the hero of the retreat, the bravest of the brave, was a rough man who +ate horseflesh without troubling to cook it. Rapp, whose dogged +defence of an abandoned city is without compare in the story of war, +had the manners and the mind of a peasant. These gentlemen dealt +more in deeds than in words. They had not much to say for themselves.</p> +<p>As for the Russians, Russia remains at this time the one European +country unhampered and unharassed by a cheap press—the one country +where prominent men have a quiet tongue. A hundred years ago Russians +did great deeds, and the rest was silence. Neither Kutusoff nor +Alexander ever stated clearly whether the retreat to Moscow was intentional +or unavoidable; and these are the only men who knew. Perhaps Napoleon +knew; at all events, he thought he did, or pretended to think it long +afterwards at St. Helena, for Napoleon the Great was a consummate liar.</p> +<p>Be that as it may, the Russians retreated, and the French advanced +farther and farther from their base. It was a great army—the +greatest ever seen. For Napoleon had eight monarchs serving with +the eagles; generals innumerable, many of them immortal—Davoust, +the greatest strategist; Prince Eugene, the incomparable lieutenant; +Ney, the fearless; four hundred thousand men. And they carried +with them only twenty days’ provision.</p> +<p>They had marched from the Vistula, full of shipping, across the Pregel, +loaded with stores, to the Niemen, where there was no navigation. +Dantzig, behind them—that Gibraltar of the North—was stored +with provision enough for the whole army. But there was no transport; +for the roads of Lithuania were unsuitable for the heavy carts provided.</p> +<p>The country across the Niemen could scarce sustain its own sparse +population, and had nothing to spare for an invading army. This +had once been Poland, and was now inimical to Russia; but Russia did +not care, and the friendship of Lithuania was like many human friendships +which we make sacrifices to preserve—not worth having.</p> +<p>All the while the Russians retreated, and, stranger still, the French +followed them, eking out their twenty days’ provision.</p> +<p>“I will make them fight a big battle, and beat them,” +said Napoleon; “and then the Emperor will sue for peace.”</p> +<p>But Barclay de Tolly continued to run away from that great battle. +Then came the news that Barclay had been deposed; that Kutusoff was +coming from the South to take command. It was true enough; and +Barclay cheerfully served in a subordinate position to the new chief. +September brought great hopes of a battle, for Kutusoff seemed to retreat +with less despatch, like a man choosing his ground—Kutusoff, that +master of the waiting game.</p> +<p>Early in September Murat, the impetuous leader of the pursuit, complained +to Nansouty that a cavalry charge had not been pushed home.</p> +<p>“The horses have no patriotism,” replied Nansouty. +“The men will fight on empty stomachs, but not the horses.”</p> +<p>An ominous reply at the beginning of a campaign, while communications +were still open.</p> +<p>At last, within a few days’ march of Moscow, Kutusoff made +a stand. At last the great battle was imminent, after a hundred +false alarms, after many disappointed hopes. The country had been +flat hitherto. The Borodino, running in a wider valley than many +of these rivers, which are merely great ditches, seemed to offer possibilities +of defence. It was the only hope for Moscow.</p> +<p>“At last,” wrote Charles to Désirée on +September 6, “we are to have a great battle. There has been +much fighting the last few days, but I have seen none of it. We +are only eighty miles from Moscow. If there is a great battle +to-morrow we shall see Moscow in less than a week. For we shall +win. I have now found out from one who is near him that the Emperor +saw and remembered me the day he passed us in the Frauengasse—our +wedding-day, dearest. Nobody is too insignificant for him to know. +He thought that my marriage to you (for he knows that you are French) +would militate against the work I had been given to do in Dantzig, so +he gave orders for me to be sent at once to Königsberg and to continue +the work there. De Casimir tells me that the Emperor is pleased +with me. De Casimir is the best friend I have; I am sure of that. +It is said that under the walls of Moscow the Emperor will dictate his +terms to Alexander. Every one wonders that Alexander of Russia +did not make proposals of peace when Vilna and Smolensk fell. +In a week we may be at Moscow. In a month I may be back at Dantzig, +Désirée . . . . “</p> +<p>And the rest would have been for Désirée’s eyes +alone, had it ever been penned. For next in sacredness to heaven-inspired +words are mere human love letters; and those who read the love-letters +of another commit a sacrilege. But Charles never finished the +letter, for the dawn surprised him where he wrote in a shed by the miserable +Kalugha, a streamlet running to the Moskwa. And it was the dawn +of September 7, 1812.</p> +<p>“There is the sun of Austerlitz,” said Napoleon to those +who were near him when it arose. But it was not. It was +the sun of Borodino. And before it set the great battle desired +by the French had been fought, and eight French generals lay dead, while +thirty more were wounded. Murat, Davoust, Ney, Junot, Prince Eugene, +Napoleon himself—all were there; and all fought to finish a war +which from the first had been disliked. The French claimed it +as a victory; but they gained nothing by it, and they lost forty thousand +killed and wounded.</p> +<p>During the night the Russians evacuated the position which they had +held, and lost, and retaken. They retreated towards Moscow, but +Napoleon was hardly ready to pursue.</p> +<p>These things, however, are history, and those who wish to know of +them may read them in another volume. While to the many orderly +persons who would wish to see everything in its place and the history-books +on the top shelf to be taken down and read on a future day (which will +never come), to such the explanation is due that this battle of Borodino +is here touched upon because it changed the current of some lives with +which we have to deal.</p> +<p>For battles and revolutions and historical events of any sort are +the jagged instruments with which Fate rough-hews our lives, leaving +us to shape them as we will. In other days, no doubt, men rough-hewed, +while Fate shaped. But as civilization advances men will wax so +tender, so careful of the individual, that they will never cut and slash, +but move softly, very tolerant, very easy-going, seeking the compromise +that brings peace and breeds a small and timid race of men.</p> +<p>Into such lives Fate comes crashing like a woodman with his axe, +leaving us to smooth the edges of the gaping wound and smile, and say +that we are not hurt; to pare away the knots and broken stumps; and +hope that our neighbour, concealing such himself, will have the decency +to pretend not to see.</p> +<p>Thus the battle of Borodino crashed into the lives of Désirée +and Mathilde, and their father, living quietly on the sunny side of +the Frauengasse in Dantzig. Antoine Sebastian was the first to +hear the news. He had, it seemed, special facilities for learning +news at the Weissen Röss’l, whither he went again now in +the evening.</p> +<p>“There has been a great battle,” he said, with so much +more than his usual self-restraint that Désirée and Mathilde +exchanged a glance of anxiety. “A man coming this evening +from Dirschau saw and spoke with the Imperial couriers on their way +to Berlin and Paris. It was a great victory, quite near to Moscow. +But the loss on both sides has been terrible.”</p> +<p>He paused and glanced at Désirée. It was his +creed that good blood should show an example of self-restraint and a +certain steadfast, indifferent courage.</p> +<p>“Not so much among the French,” he said, “as among +the Bavarians and Italians. It is an odd way of showing patriotism, +to gain victories for the conqueror. One hoped—” he +paused and made a gesture with his right hand, scarcely indicative of +a staunch hope, “that the man’s star might be setting, but +it would appear to be still in the ascendant. Charles,” +he added, as an afterthought, “would be on the staff. No +doubt he only saw the fighting from a distance.”</p> +<p>Désirée, from whose face the colour had faded, nodded +cheerfully enough.</p> +<p>“Oh yes,” she answered, “I have no doubt he is +safe. He has good fortune.”</p> +<p>For she was an apt pupil, and had already learnt that the world only +wishes to leave us in undisputed possession of our anxieties or sorrows, +however ready it may be to come forward and take a hand in good fortune.</p> +<p>“But there is no definite news,” said Mathilde, hardly +looking up from the needlework at which her fingers were so deft and +industrious.</p> +<p>“No.”</p> +<p>“No news of Charles, I mean,” she continued, “or +of any of our friends. Of Monsieur de Casimir, for instance?”</p> +<p>“No. As for Colonel de Casimir,” returned Sebastian +thoughtfully, “he, like Charles, holds some staff appointment +of which one does not understand the scope. He is without doubt +uninjured.”</p> +<p>Mathilde glanced at her father not without suspicion. His grand +manner might easily be at times a screen. One never knows how +much is perceived by those who look down from a high place.</p> +<p>The town was quiet enough all that night. Sebastian must have +heard the news from some unofficial source, for none other seemed to +know it. But at daybreak the church bells, so rarely used in Dantzig +for rejoicing, awoke the burghers to the fact that the Emperor bade +them make merry. Napoleon gave great heed to such matters. +In the churches of Lithuania and farther on in Russia he had commanded +the popes to pray for him at their altars instead of for the Czar.</p> +<p>When Désirée came downstairs, she found a packet awaiting +her. The courier had come in during the night. This was +more than a letter. A number of papers had been folded in a handkerchief +and bound with string. The address was written on a piece of white +leather cut from the uniform of one who had fallen at Borodino, and +had no more need of sabretasche or trapping.</p> +<p> “Madame Désirée +Darragon—<i>née</i> Sebastian,<br /> Frauengasse +36,<br /> Dantzig.”</p> +<p>Désirée’s heart stood still; for the writing +was unknown to her. As she cut the network of string, she thought +that Charles was dead. When the enclosed papers fell upon the +table, she was sure of it; for they were all in his writing. She +did not pick and choose as one would who has leisure and no very strong +excitement, but took up the first paper and read:</p> +<p>“Dear C.—I have been fortunate, as you will see from +the enclosed report. His Majesty cannot again say that I have +been neglectful. I was quite right. It is Sebastian and +only Sebastian that we need fear. Here, they are clumsy conspirators +compared to him. I have been in the river half the night, listening +at the open stern window of a Reval pink to every word they said. +His Majesty can safely come to Königsberg. Indeed, he is +better out of Dantzig. For the whole country is riddled with that +which they call patriotism, and we, treason. But I can only repeat +what His Majesty disbelieved the day before yesterday—that the +heart of the ill is Dantzig, and the venom of it Sebastian. Who +he really is and what he is about, you must find out how you can. +I go forward to-day to Gumbinnen. The enclosed letter to its address—I +beg of you—if only in acknowledgment of all that I have sacrificed.”</p> +<p>The letter was unsigned, but the writing was the writing of Charles +Darragon, and Désirée knew what he had sacrificed—what +he could never recover.</p> +<p>There were two or three more letters addressed to “Dear C.,” +bearing no signature, and yet written by Charles. Désirée +read them carefully with a sort of numb attention which photographed +them permanently on her memory like writing that is carved in stone +upon a wall. There must be some explanation in one of them. +Who had sent them to her? Was Charles dead?</p> +<p>At last she came to a sealed envelope addressed to herself by Charles. +Some other hand had copied the address from it in identical terms on +the piece of white leather. She opened and read it. It was +the letter written to her by Charles on the bank of the Kalugha river +on the eve of Borodino, and left unfinished by him. He must be +dead. She prayed that he might be.</p> +<p>She was alone in the room, having come down early, as was her wont, +to prepare breakfast. She heard Lisa talking with some one at +the door—a messenger, no doubt, to say that Charles was dead.</p> +<p>One letter still remained unread. It was in a different writing—the +writing on the white leather.</p> +<p>“Madame,” it read, “The enclosed papers were found +on the field by one of my orderlies. One of them being addressed +to you, furnishes a clue to their owner, who must have dropped them +in the hurry of the advance. Should Captain Charles Darragon be +your husband, I have the pleasure to inform you that he was seen alive +and well at the end of the day.” The writer assured Désirée +of his respectful consideration, and wrote “Surgeon” after +his name.</p> +<p>Désirée had read the explanation too late.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h2>CHAPTER XIII. IN THE DAY OF REJOICING.</h2> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p> <i>Truth, though it crush me</i>.</p> +<p>The door of the room stood open, and the sound of a step in the passage +made Désirée glance up, as she hastily put together the +papers found on the battlefield of Borodino.</p> +<p>Louis d’Arragon was coming into the room, and for an instant, +before his expression changed, she saw all the fatigue that he must +have endured during the night; all that he must have risked. His +face was usually still and quiet; a combination of that contemplative +calm which characterises seafaring faces, and the clean-cut immobility +of a racial type developed by hereditary duties of self-restraint and +command.</p> +<p>He knew that there had been a battle, and, seeing the papers on the +table, his eyes asked her the inevitable question which his lips were +slow to put into words.</p> +<p>In reply Désirée shook her head. She looked at +the papers in quick thought. Then she withdrew from them the letter +written to her by Charles—and put the others together.</p> +<p>“You told me to send for you,” she said in a quiet, tired +voice, “if I wanted you. You have saved me the trouble.”</p> +<p>His eyes were hard with anxiety as he looked at her. She held +the letters towards him.</p> +<p>“By coming,” she added, with a glance at him which took +in the dust, and the stains of salt-water on his clothes, the fatigue +he sought to conceal by a rigid stillness, and the tension that was +left by the dangers he had passed through—daring all—to +come.</p> +<p>Seeing that he looked doubtfully at the papers, she spoke again.</p> +<p>“One,” she said, “that one on the stained paper, +is addressed to me. You can read it—since I ask you.”</p> +<p>The letter told him, at all events, that Charles was not killed, +and, seeing his face clear as he read, she gave an odd, curt laugh.</p> +<p>“Read the others,” she said. “Oh! you need +not hesitate. You need not be so particular. Read one, the +top one. One is enough.”</p> +<p>The windows stood open, and the morning breeze fluttering the curtains +brought in the gay sound of bells, the high clear bells of Hanseatic +days, rejoicing at Napoleon’s new success—by order of Napoleon. +A bee sailed harmoniously into the room, made the circuit of it, and +sought the open again with a hum that faded drowsily into silence.</p> +<p>D’Arragon read the letter slowly from beginning to the unsigned +end, while Désirée, sitting at the table, upon which she +leant one elbow, resting her small square chin in the palm of her hand, +watched him.</p> +<p>“Ah?” she exclaimed at length, with a ring of contempt +in her voice, as if at the thought of something unclean. “A +spy! It is so easy for you to keep still, and to hide all you +feel.”</p> +<p>D’Arragon folded the letter slowly. It was the fatal +letter written in the upper room in the shoemaker’s house in Königsberg +in the Neuer Markt, where the linden trees grow close to the window. +In it Charles spoke lightly of the sacrifice he had made in leaving +Désirée on his wedding-day, to do the Emperor’s +bidding. It was indeed the greatest sacrifice that man can make; +for he had thrown away his honour.</p> +<p>“It may not be so easy as you think,” returned D’Arragon, +looking towards the door</p> +<p>He had no time to say more; for Mathilde and her father were talking +together on the stairs as they came down. D’Arragon thrust +the letters into his pocket, the only indication he had time to give +to Désirée of the policy they must pursue. He stood +facing the door, alert and quiet, with only a moment in which to shape +the course of more than one life.</p> +<p>“There is good news, Monsieur,” he said to Sebastian. +“Though I did not come to bring it.”</p> +<p>Sebastian pointed interrogatively to the open window, where the sound +of the bells seemed to emphasize the sunlight and the freshness of the +morning.</p> +<p>“No—not that,” returned D’Arragon. +“It is a great victory, they tell me; but it is hard to say whether +such news would be good or bad. It was of Charles that I spoke. +He is safe—Madame has heard.”</p> +<p>He spoke rather slowly, and turned towards Désirée +with a measured gesture, not unlike Sebastian’s habitual manner, +and a quick glance to satisfy himself that she had understood and was +ready.</p> +<p>“Yes,” said Désirée, “he was safe +and well after the battle, but he gives no details; for the letter was +actually written the day before.”</p> +<p>“With a mere word, added in postscriptum, to say that he was +unhurt at the end of the day,” suggested Sebastian, already drawing +forward a chair with a gesture full of hospitality, inviting D’Arragon +to be seated at the simple breakfast-table. But D’Arragon +was looking at Mathilde, who had gone rather hurriedly to the window, +as if to breathe the air. He had caught a glimpse of her face +as she passed. It was hard and set, quite colourless, with bright, +sleepless eyes. D’Arragon was a sailor. He had seen +that look in rougher faces and sterner eyes, and knew what it meant.</p> +<p>“No details?” asked Mathilde in a muffled voice, without +looking round.</p> +<p>“No,” answered Désirée, who had noticed +nothing. How much more clearly we should understand what is going +on around us if we had no secrets of our own to defend!</p> +<p>In obedience to Sebastian’s gesture, D’Arragon took a +chair, and even as he did so Mathilde came to the table, calm and mistress +of herself again, to pour out the coffee, and do the honours of the +simple meal. D’Arragon, besides having acquired the seamen’s +habit of adapting himself unconsciously and unobtrusively to his surroundings, +was of a direct mind, lacking self-consciousness, and simplified by +the pressure of a strong and steady purpose. For men’s minds +are like the atmosphere, which is always cleared by a steady breeze, +while a changing wind generates vapours, mist, uncertainty.</p> +<p>“And what news do you bring from the sea?” asked Sebastian. +“Is your sky there as overcast as ours in Dantzig?”</p> +<p>“No, Monsieur, our sky is clearing,” answered D’Arragon, +eating with a hearty appetite the fresh bread and butter set before +him. “Since I saw you, the treaties have been signed, as +you doubtless know, between Sweden and Russia and England.”</p> +<p>Nodding his head with silent emphasis, Sebastian gave it to be understood +that he knew that and more.</p> +<p>“It makes a great difference to us at sea in the Baltic,” +said D’Arragon. “We are no longer harassed night and +day, like a dog, hounded from end to end of a hostile street, not daring +to look into any doorway. The Russian ports and Swedish ports +are open to us now.”</p> +<p>“One is glad to hear that your life is one of less hardship,” +said Sebastian gravely. “I . . . . who have tasted it.”</p> +<p>Désirée glanced at his lean, hard face. She rose, +went out of the room, and returned in a few minutes carrying a new loaf +which she set on the table before him with a short laugh, and something +glistening in her eyes that was not mirth.</p> +<p>But neither Désirée nor Mathilde joined in the conversation. +They were glad for their father to have a companion so sympathetic as +to produce a marked difference in his manner. For Sebastian was +more at ease with Louis d’Arragon than he was with Charles, though +the latter had the tie of a common fatherland, and spoke the same French +that Sebastian spoke. D’Arragon’s French had the roundness +always imparted to that language by an English voice. It was perfect +enough, but of an educated perfection.</p> +<p>The talk was of such matters as concerned men more than women; of +armies and war and treaties of peace. For all the world thought +that Alexander of Russia would be brought to his knees by the battle +of Borodino. None knew better how to turn a victory to account +than he who claimed to be victor now. “It does not suffice,” +Napoleon wrote to his brother at this time, “to gain a victory. +You must learn to turn it to advantage.”</p> +<p>Save for the one reference to his life in the Baltic during the past +two months, D’Arragon said nothing of himself, of his patient, +dogged work carried on by day and by night in all weathers. Content +to have escaped with his life, he neither referred to, nor thought of, +his part in the negotiations which had resulted in the treaty just signed. +For he had been the link between Russia and England; the never-failing +messenger passing from one to the other with question and answer which +were destined to bear fruit at last in an understanding brought to perfection +in Paris, culminating at Elba.</p> +<p>Both were guarded in what they said of passing events, and both seemed +to doubt the truth of the reports now flying through the streets of +Dantzig. Even in the quiet Frauengasse all the citizens were out +on their terraces calling questions to those that passed by beneath +the trees. The itinerant tradesman, the milkman going his round, +the vendors of fruit from Langfuhr and the distant villages of the plain, +lingered at the doors to tell the servants the latest gossip of the +market-place. Even in this frontier city, full of spies, strangers +spoke together in the streets, and the sound of their voices, raised +above the clang of carillons, came in at the open window.</p> +<p>“At first a victory is always a great one,” said D’Arragon, +looking towards the window.</p> +<p>“It is so easy to ring a bell,” added Sebastian, with +his rare smile.</p> +<p>He was quite himself this morning, and only once did the dull look +arrest his features into the stony stillness which his daughters knew.</p> +<p>“You are the only one of your name in Dantzig,” said +D’Arragon, in the course of question and answer as to the safe +delivery of letters in time of war.</p> +<p>“So far as I know, there is no other Sebastian,” replied +he; and Désirée, who had guessed the motive of the question, +which must have been in D’Arragon’s mind from the beginning, +was startled by the fulness of the answer. It seemed to make reply +to more than D’Arragon had asked. It shattered the last +faint hope that there might have been another Sebastian of whom Charles +had written.</p> +<p>“For myself,” said D’Arragon, changing the subject +quickly, “I can now make sure of receiving letters addressed to +me in the care of the English Consul at Riga, or the Consul at Stockholm, +should you wish to communicate with me, or should Madame find leisure +to give me news of her husband.”</p> +<p>“Désirée will no doubt take pleasure in keeping +you advised of Charles’s progress. As for myself, I fear +I am a bad correspondent. Perhaps not a desirable one in these +days,” said Sebastian, his face slowly clearing. He waved +the point aside with a gesture that looked out of place on a hand lean +and spare, emerging from a shabby brown sleeve without cuff or ruffle.</p> +<p>“For I feel assured,” he went on, “that we shall +continue to hear good news of your cousin; not only that he is safe +and well, but that he makes progress in his profession. He will +go far, I am sure.”</p> +<p>D’Arragon bowed his acknowledgment of this kind thought, and +rose rather hastily.</p> +<p>“My best chance of quitting the city unseen,” he said, +“is to pass through the gates with the market-people returning +to the villages. To do that, I must not delay.”</p> +<p>“The streets are so full,” replied Sebastian, glancing +out of the window, “that you will pass through them unnoticed. +I see beneath the trees, a neighbour, Koch the locksmith, who is perhaps +waiting to give me news. While you are saying farewell, I will +go out and speak to him. What he has to tell may interest you +and your comrades at sea—may help your escape from the city this +morning.”</p> +<p>He took his hat as he spoke and went to the door. Mathilde, +thirsting for the news that seemed to hum in the streets like the sound +of bees, rose and followed him. Désirée and D’Arragon +were left alone. She had gone to the window, and, turning there, +she looked back at him over her shoulder, where he stood by the door +watching her.</p> +<p>“So, you see,” she said, “there is no other Sebastian.”</p> +<p>D’Arragon made no reply. She came nearer to him, her +blue eyes sombre with contempt for the man she had married. Suddenly +she pointed to the chair which D’Arragon had just vacated.</p> +<p>“That is where he sat. He has eaten my father’s +salt a hundred times,” she said, with a short laugh. For +whithersoever civilization may take us, we must still go back to certain +primæval laws of justice between man and man.</p> +<p>“You judge too hastily,” said D’Arragon; but she +interrupted him with a gesture of warning.</p> +<p>“I have not judged hastily,” she said. “You +do not understand. You think I judge from that letter. That +is only a confirmation of something that has been in my mind for a long +time—ever since my wedding-day. I knew when you came into +the room upstairs on that day that you did not trust Charles.”</p> +<p>“I—?” he asked.</p> +<p>“Yes,” she answered, standing squarely in front of him +and looking him in the eyes. “You did not trust him. +You were not glad that I had married him. I could see it in your +face. I have never forgotten.”</p> +<p>D’Arragon turned away towards the window. Sebastian and +Mathilde were in the street below, in the shade of the trees, talking +with the eager neighbours.</p> +<p>“You would have stopped it if you could,” said Désirée; +and he did not deny it.</p> +<p>“It was some instinct,” he said at length. “Some +passing misgiving.”</p> +<p>“For Charles?” she asked sharply.</p> +<p>And D’Arragon, looking out of the window, would not answer. +She gave a sudden laugh.</p> +<p>“One cannot compliment you on your politeness,” she said. +“Was it for Charles that you had misgivings?”</p> +<p>At last D’Arragon turned on his heel.</p> +<p>“Does it matter?” he asked. “Since I came +too late.”</p> +<p>“That is true,” she said, after a pause. “You +came too late; so it doesn’t matter. And the thing is done +now, and I . . . , well, I suppose I must do what others have done before +me—I must make the best of it.”</p> +<p>“I will help you,” said D’Arragon slowly, almost +carefully, “if I can.”</p> +<p>He was still avoiding her eyes, still looking out of the window. +Sebastian was coming up the steps.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h2>CHAPTER XIV. MOSCOW.</h2> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p> <i>Nothing is so disappointing as failure—except +success.</i></p> +<p>While the Dantzigers with grave faces discussed the news of Borodino +beneath the trees in the Frauengasse, Charles Darragon, white with dust, +rose in his stirrups to catch the first sight of the domes and cupolas +of Moscow.</p> +<p>It was a sunny morning, and the gold on the churches gleamed and +glittered in the shimmering heat like fairyland. Charles had ridden +to the summit of a hill and sat for a moment, as others had done, in +silent contemplation. Moscow at last! All around him men +were shouting: “Moscow! Moscow!” Grave, white-haired +generals waved their shakos in the air. Those at the summit of +the hill called the others to come. Far down in the valley, where +the dust raised by thousands of feet hung in the air like a mist, a +faint sound like the roar of falling water could be heard. It +was the word “Moscow!” sweeping back to the rearmost ranks +of these starving men who had marched for two months beneath the glaring +sun, parched with dust, through a country that seemed to them a Sahara. +Every house they approached, they had found deserted. Every barn +was empty. The very crops ripening to harvest had been gathered +in and burnt. Near to the miserable farmhouses, a pile of ashes +hardly cold marked where the poor furniture had been tossed upon the +fire kindled with the year’s harvest.</p> +<p>Everywhere it was the same. There are, as God created it, few +countries of a sadder aspect than that which spreads between the Moskwa +and the Vistula. But it has been decreed by the dim laws of Race +that the ugly countries shall be blessed with the greater love of their +children, while men born in a beautiful land seem readiest to emigrate +from it and make the best settlers in a new home. There is only +one country in the world with a ring-fence round it. If a Russian +is driven from his home, he will go to another part of Russia: there +is always room.</p> +<p>Before the advance of the spoilers, chartered by their leader to +unlimited and open rapine—indeed, he had led them hither with +that understanding—the Prussians, peasant and noble alike, fled +to the East. A hundred times the advance guard, fully alive to +the advantages of their position, had raced to the gates of a château +only to find, on breaking open the doors, that it was empty—the +furniture destroyed, the stores burnt, the wine poured out.</p> +<p>So also in the peasants’ huts. Some, more careful than +the rest, had pulled the thatch from the roof to burn it. There +was no corn in this the Egypt of their greedy hopes. And, lest +they should bring the corn with them, the spoilers found the mills everywhere +wrecked.</p> +<p>It was something new to them. It was new to Napoleon, who had +so frequently been met halfway, who knew that men for greed will part +smilingly with half in order to save the residue. He knew that +many, rather than help a neighbour who is in danger by a robber, will +join the robber and share the spoil, crying out that <i>force majeure</i> +was used to them.</p> +<p>But, as every man must judge according to his lights, so must even +the greatest find himself in the dark at last. No man of the Latin +race will ever understand the Slav. And because the beginning +is easy—because in certain superficial tricks of speech and thought +Paris and Petersburg are not unlike—so much the more is the breach +widened when necessity digs deeper than the surface. For, to make +the acquaintance of a stranger who seems to be a counterpart of one’s +self in thought and taste, is like the first hearing of a kindred language +such as Dutch to the English ear. At first it sounds like one’s +own tongue with a hundred identical words, but on closer listening it +will be found that the words mean something else, and that the whole +is incomprehensible and the more difficult to acquire by the very reason +of its resemblance.</p> +<p>Napoleon thought that the Russians would act as his enemies of the +Latin race had acted. He thought that like his own people they +would be over-confident, urging each other on to great deeds by loud +words and a hundred boasts. But the Russians lack self-confidence, +are timid rather than over-bold, dreamy rather than fiery. Only +their women are glib of speech. He thought that they would begin +very brilliantly and end with a compromise, heart-breaking at first +and soon lived down.</p> +<p>“They are savages out here in the plains,” he said. +“It is a barbaric and stupid instinct that makes them destroy +their own property for the sake of hampering us. As we approach +Moscow we shall find that the more civilized inhabitants of the villages, +enervated by an easy life, rendered selfish by possession of wealth, +will not abandon their property, but will barter and sell to us and +find themselves the victims of our might.”</p> +<p>And the army believed him. For they always believed him. +Faith can, indeed, move mountains. It carried four hundred thousand +men, without provisions, through a barren land.</p> +<p>And now, in sight of the golden city, the army was still hungry. +Nay! it was ragged already. In three columns it converged on the +doomed capital, driving before it like a swarm of flies the Cossacks +who harassed the advance.</p> +<p>Here again, on the hill looking down into the smiling valley of the +Moskwa, the unexpected awaited the invaders. The city, shimmering +in the sunlight like the realization of some Arab’s dream, was +silent. The Cossacks had disappeared. Except those around +the Kremlin, towering above the river, the city had no walls.</p> +<p>The army halted while aides-de-camp flew hither and thither on their +weary horses. Charles Darragon, sunburnt, dusty, hoarse with cheering, +was among the first. He looked right and left for de Casimir, +but could not see him. He had not seen his chief since Borodino, +for he was temporarily attached to the staff of Prince Eugene, who had +lost heavily at the Kalugha river.</p> +<p>It was usual for the army to halt before a beleaguered city and await +the advent in all humility of the vanquished. Commonly it was +the mayor of a town who came, followed by his councillors in their robes, +to explain that the army had abandoned the city, which now begged to +throw itself upon the mercy of the conqueror.</p> +<p>For this the army waited on that sunny September morning.</p> +<p>“He is putting on his robes,” they said gaily. +“He is new to this work.”</p> +<p>But the mayor of Moscow disappointed them. At last the troops +moved on and camped for the night in a village under the Kremlin walls. +It was here that Charles received a note from de Casimir.</p> +<p>“I am slightly wounded,” wrote that officer, “but +am following the army. At Borodino my horse was killed under me, +and I was thrown. While I was insensible, I was robbed and lost +what money I had, as well as my despatch-case. In the latter was +the letter you wrote to your wife. It is lost, my friend; you +must write another.”</p> +<p>Charles was tired. He would put off till to-morrow, he thought, +and write to Désirée from Moscow. As he lay, all +dressed on the hard ground, he fell to thinking of what he should write +to Désirée to-morrow from Moscow. The mere date +and address of such a letter would make her love him the more, he thought; +for, like his leaders, he was dazed by a surfeit of glory.</p> +<p>As he fell asleep smiling at these happy reflections, Désirée, +far away in Dantzig, was locking in her bureau the letter which had +been lost and found again; while, on the deck of his ship, lifting gently +to the tideway where the Vistula sweeps out into the Dantziger Bucht, +Louis d’Arragon stood fingering reflectively in his jacket-pocket +the unread papers which had fallen from the same despatch-case. +For it is a very small world in which to do wrong, though if a man do +a little good in his lifetime it is—heaven knows—soon mislaid +and trodden under the feet of the new-comers.</p> +<p>The next day it was definitely ascertained that the citizens of Moscow +had no communication to make to the conquering leaders. Soon after +daylight the army moved towards the city. The suburbs were deserted. +The houses stood with closed shutters and locked doors. Not so +much as a dog awaited the triumphant entry through the city gates.</p> +<p>Long streets without a living being from end to end met the eyes +of those daring organizers of triumphal entries who had been sent forward +to clear a path and range the respectful citizens on either hand. +But there were no citizens. There was not a single witness to +this triumph of the greatest army the world had seen, led across Europe +by the first captain in all history to conquer a virgin capital.</p> +<p>The various corps marched to their quarters in silence, with nervous +glances at the shuttered windows. Some, breaking rank, ventured +into the churches which stood open. The candles were lighted on +the altars, they reported to their comrades in a hushed voice when they +returned, but there was no one there.</p> +<p>Certain palaces were selected as head-quarters for the general officers +and the chiefs of various departments. As often as not a summons +would be answered and the door opened by an obsequious porter, who handed +the keys to the first-comer. But he spoke no French, and only +cringed in silence when addressed. Other doors were broken in.</p> +<p>It was like a play acted in dumb show on an immense stage. +It was disquieting and incomprehensible even to the oldest campaigner, +while the young fire-eaters, fresh from St. Cyr, were strangely depressed +by it. There was a smell of sour smoke in the air, a suggestion +of inevitable tragedy.</p> +<p>On the Krasnaya Plòschad—the great Red Square, which +is the central point of the old town—the soldiers were already +buying and selling the spoil wrested from the burning Exchange. +It seemed that the citizens before leaving had collected their merchandise +in this building to burn it. To the rank-and-file this meant nothing +but an incomprehensible stupidity. To the educated and the thoughtful +it was another evidence of that dumb and sullen capacity for infinite +self-sacrifice which makes Russians different from any other race, and +which has yet to be reckoned with in the history of the world. +For it will tend to the greatest good of the greatest number, and is +a power for national aggrandisement quite unattainable by any Latin +people.</p> +<p>Charles, with the other officers of Prince Eugene’s staff, +was quartered in a palace on the Petrovka—that wide street running +from the Kremlin northward to the boulevards and the parks. Going +towards it he passed through the bazaars and the merchants’ quarters, +where, like an army of rag-pickers, the eager looters were silently +hurrying from heap to heap. Every warehouse had, it seemed, been +ransacked and its contents thrown out into the streets. The first-comers +had hurried on, seeking something more valuable, more portable, leaving +the later arrivals to turn over their garbage like dogs upon a dust-heap.</p> +<p>The Petrovka is a long street of great houses, and was now deserted. +The pillagers were nervous and ill at ease, as men must always be in +the presence of something they do not understand. The most experienced +of them—and there were some famous robbers in Murat’s vanguard—had +never seen an empty city abandoned all standing, as the Russians had +abandoned Moscow. They felt apprehensive of the unknown. +Even the least imaginative of them looked askance at the tall houses, +at the open doors of the empty churches, and they kept together for +company’s sake.</p> +<p>Charles’s rooms were in the Momonoff Palace, where even the +youngest lieutenant had vast apartments assigned to him. It was +in one of these—a lady’s boudoir, where his dust-covered +baggage had been thrown down carelessly by his orderly on a blue satin +sofa—that he sat down to write to Désirée.</p> +<p>His emotions had been stirred by all that he had passed through—by +the first sight of Moscow, by the passage beneath the Gate of the Redeemer, +where every man must uncover and only Napoleon dared to wear a hat; +by the bewildering sense of triumph and the knowledge that he was taking +part in one of the epochs of man’s history on this earth. +The emotions lie very near together, so that laughter being aroused +must also touch on tears, and hatred being kindled warms the heart to +love.</p> +<p>And, here in this unknown woman’s room, with the very pen that +she had thrown aside, Charles, who wrote and spoke his love with such +facility, wrote to Désirée a love-letter such as he had +never written before.</p> +<p>When it was sealed and addressed he called his orderly to take it +to the officer to whose duty it fell to make up the courier for Germany. +But he received no reply. The man had joined his comrades in the +busier quarters of the city. Charles went to the head of the stairs +and called again, with no better success. The house was comparatively +modern, built on the familiar lines of a Parisian <i>hôtel</i>, +with a wide stair descending to an entrance archway where carriages +passed through into a courtyard.</p> +<p>Descending the stairs, Charles found that even the sentry had absented +himself from his duty. His musket, leant against the post of the +stone doorway, indicated that he was not far. Listening in the +silence of that great house, Charles heard some one at work with hammer +and chisel in the courtyard. He went there, and found the sentry +kneeling at a low door, endeavouring to break it open. The man +had not been idle; from a piece of rope slung across his back half a +dozen clocks were suspended. They rattled together like the wares +of a travelling tinsmith at every movement of his arms.</p> +<p>“What are you doing there, my friend?” asked Charles.</p> +<p>The man held up one finger over his shoulder without looking round, +and shook it from side to side, as not desiring to be interrupted.</p> +<p>“The cellar,” he answered, “always the cellar. +It is human nature. We get it from the animals.”</p> +<p>He glanced round as he worked, and, perceiving that he had been addressing +an officer, he scrambled to his feet with a grumbled curse. He +was an old man, baked by the sun. The wrinkles in his face were +filled with dust. Since quitting the banks of the Vistula no opportunity +for ablution seemed to have presented itself to him. He stood +at attention, his lips working over sunken gums.</p> +<p>“I want you to take this letter,” said Charles, “to +the officer on service at head-quarters, and ask him to include it in +his courier. It is, as you see, a private letter—to my wife +at Dantzig.”</p> +<p>The man looked at it, and grumbled something inaudible. He +took it in his hand and turned it over with the slow manner of the illiterate.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h2>CHAPTER XV. THE GOAL.</h2> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p> <i>God writes straight on crooked lines.</i></p> +<p>Charles, having given his letter to the sentry with the order to +take it to its immediate destination, turned towards the stairs again. +In those days an order was given in a different tone to that which servitude +demands in later times.</p> +<p>He returned to his room on the first floor without even waiting to +make sure that he would be obeyed. He had scarcely seated himself +when, after a fumbling knock, the sentry opened the door and followed +him into the room, still holding the letter in his hand.</p> +<p>“Mon capitaine,” he said with a certain calmness of manner +as from an old soldier to a young one, “a word—that is all. +This letter,” he turned it in his hand as he spoke, and looking +at Charles beneath scowling brows, awaited an explanation. “Did +you pick it up?”</p> +<p>“No—I wrote it.”</p> +<p>“Good. I . . . ” he paused, and tapped himself +on the chest so that there could be no mistake; there was a rattling +sound behind him suggestive of ironware. Indeed, he was hung about +with other things than clocks, and seemed to be of opinion that if a +soldier sets value upon any object he must attach it to his person. +“I, Barlasch of the Guard—Marengo, the Danube, Egypt—picked +up after Borodino a letter like it. I cannot read very quickly—indeed— +Bah! the old Guard needs no pens and paper—but that letter I picked +up was just like this”</p> +<p>“Was it addressed like that to Madame Désirée +Darragon?”</p> +<p>“So a comrade told me. It is you, her husband?”</p> +<p>“Yes,” answered Charles, “since you ask; I am her +husband.”</p> +<p>“Ah!” replied Barlasch darkly, and his limbs and features +settled themselves into a patient waiting.</p> +<p>“Well,” asked Charles, “what are you waiting for?”</p> +<p>“Whatever you may think proper, mon capitaine, for I gave the +letter to the surgeon who promised that it should be forwarded to its +address.”</p> +<p>Charles laughingly sought his purse. But there was nothing +in it, so he looked round the room.</p> +<p>“Here, add this to your collection,” and he took a small +French clock from the writing-table, a pretty, gilded toy from Paris.</p> +<p>“Thank you, mon capitaine.”</p> +<p>Barlasch, with shaking fingers, unknotted the rope around his shoulders. +As he was doing so one of the clocks on his back began to strike. +He paused, and stood looking gravely at his superior officer. +Another clock took up the tale and a third, while Barlasch sternly stood +at attention.</p> +<p>“Four o’clock,” he said to himself, “and +I, who have not yet breakfasted—”</p> +<p>With a grunt and a salute he turned towards the door which stood +open. Some one was coming up the stairs rather slowly, his spurs +clinking, his scabbard clashing against the gilded banisters. +Papa Barlasch stood aside at attention, and Colonel de Casimir came +into the room with a gay word of greeting. Barlasch went out, +but he did not close the door. It is to be presumed that he stood +without, where he might have overheard all that they said to each other +for quite a long time, until it was almost the half-hour when the clocks +would strike again. But de Casimir, perceiving that the door was +open, closed it quietly from within, and Barlasch, shut out on the wide +landing, made a grimace at the massive woodwork before turning to descend +the stairs.</p> +<p>It was the middle of September, and the days were shortening. +The dusk of evening had already closed over the city when de Casimir +and Charles at length came downstairs. No one had troubled to +open the shutters of such rooms as were not required; and these were +many. For Moscow was even at that day a great city, though less +spacious and more fantastic than it is to-day. There was plenty +of room for the whole army in the houses left empty by their owners, +so that many lodged as they had never lodged before and would never +lodge again.</p> +<p>The stairs were almost dark when Charles and his companion descended +them. The rusted musket poised against the doorpost still indicated +the supposed presence of a sentry.</p> +<p>“Listen,” said Charles, “I found him burrowing +like a rat at a cellar-door in the courtyard. Perhaps he has got +in.”</p> +<p>They listened, but could hear nothing. Charles led the way +towards the courtyard. A glimmer of light guided him to the door +he sought. It stood open. Barlasch had succeeded in effecting +an entry to the cellar, where his experience taught him to seek the +best that an abandoned house contains.</p> +<p>Charles and de Casimir peered down the narrow stairs. By the +light of a candle Barlasch was working vigorously amid a confused pile +of cases, and furniture, and roughly tied bundles of clothing. +He had laid aside nothing, and his movements were attended by the usual +rattle of hollow-ware. They could see the perspiration gleaming +on his face. Even in this cellar there lingered the faint smell +of sour smoke that filled the air of Moscow.</p> +<p>De Casimir caught the gleam of jewellery, and went hurriedly downstairs.</p> +<p>“What are you doing there, my friend?” he asked, and +the words were scarcely out of his mouth, when Barlasch extinguished +his candle. There followed a dead silence, such as comes when +a rodent is disturbed at his work. The two men on the cellar-stairs +were conscious of the gaze of the bright, rat-like eyes below.</p> +<p>De Casimir turned and followed Charles upstairs again.</p> +<p>“Come up,” he said, “and go to your post.”</p> +<p>There was no movement in response.</p> +<p>“Name of a dog,” cried de Casimir, “is all discipline +relaxed? Come up, I tell you, and obey my orders.”</p> +<p>He emphasized his command with the cocking of a pistol, and a slight +disturbance in the darkness of the cellar heralded the unwilling approach +of Barlasch, who climbed the stairs step by step like a schoolboy coming +to punishment.</p> +<p>“It is I who found the door, mon colonel, behind that pile +of firewood. It is I who opened it. What is down there is +mine,” he said, sullenly. But the only reply that de Casimir +made was to seize him by the arm and jerk him away from the stairs.</p> +<p>“To your post,” he said, “take your arm, and out +into the street, in front of the house. That is your place.”</p> +<p>But while he was still speaking, they were all startled by a sudden +disturbance in the cellar, and in the gloom a man stumbled up the stairs +and ran past them. Barlasch had taken the precaution of bolting +the huge front door, which was large enough to give passage to a carriage. +The man, who exhaled an atmosphere of dust mingled with the disquieting +and all-pervading odour of smoke, rushed at the huge door and tugged +furiously at its handles.</p> +<p>Charles, who was on his heels, grasped his arm, but the man swung +round and threw him off as if he were a child. He had a hatchet +in his hand with which he aimed a blow at Charles, but missed him. +Barlasch was already going towards his musket, which stood in the corner +against the door-post, but the Russian saw his movement, and forestalled +him. Seizing the gun, he presented the bayonet to them, and stood +with his back to the door, facing the three men in a breathless silence. +He was a large man, dishevelled, with long hair tumbled about his head, +and light-coloured eyes, glaring like the eyes of a beast at bay.</p> +<p>In the background de Casimir, quick and calm, had already covered +him with the pistol produced as a persuasive to Barlasch. For +a second there was silence, during which they all could hear the call +to arms in the street outside. The patrol was hurrying down the +Petrovka, calling the assembly.</p> +<p>The report of the pistol rang through the house, shaking the doors +and windows. The man threw up his arms and stood for a moment +looking at de Casimir with an expression of blank amazement. Then +his legs seemed to slip away from beneath him, and he collapsed to the +floor. He turned over with movements singularly suggestive of +a child seeking a comfortable position in bed, and lay quite still, +his cheek on the pavement and his staring eyes turned towards the cellar-door +from which he had emerged.</p> +<p>“He has his affair—that parishioner,” muttered +Barlasch, looking at him with a smile that twisted his mouth to one +side. And, as he spoke, the man’s throat rattled. +De Casimir was reloading his pistol. So persistent was the gaze +of the dead man’s eyes that de Casimir turned on his heel to look +in the same direction.</p> +<p>“Quick!” he exclaimed, pointing to the doorway, from +which a lazy white smoke emerged in thin puffs. “Quick, +he has set fire to the house!”</p> +<p>“Quick—with what, mon colonel?” asked Barlasch.</p> +<p>“Why, go and fetch some men with a fire-engine.”</p> +<p>“There are no fire-engines left in Moscow, mon colonel!”</p> +<p>“Then find buckets, and tell me where the well is.”</p> +<p>“There are no buckets left in Moscow, mon colonel. We +found that out last night, when we wanted to water the horses. +The citizens have removed them. And there is not a well of which +the rope has not been cut. They are droll companions, these Russians, +I can tell you.”</p> +<p>“Do as I tell you,” repeated de Casimir, angrily, “or +I shall put you under arrest. Go and fetch men to help me to extinguish +this fire.”</p> +<p>By way of reply, Barlasch held up one finger in a childlike gesture +of attention to some distant sound.</p> +<p>“No, thank you,” he said, coolly, “not for me. +Discipline, mon colonel, discipline. Listen, you can hear the +‘assembly’ as well as I. It is the Emperor that one +obeys. One thinks of one’s military career.”</p> +<p>With knotted and shaking fingers he drew back the bolts and opened +the door. On the threshold he saluted.</p> +<p>“It is the call to arms, mes officiers,” he said. +Then, shouldering his musket, he turned away, and all his clocks struck +six. The bells of the city churches seemed to greet him as he +stepped into the street, for in Moscow each hour is proclaimed with +deafening iteration from a thousand towers.</p> +<p>He looked down the Petrovka; from half the houses which bordered +the wide roadway—a street of palaces—the smoke was pouring +forth in puffs. He went uphill towards the Red Square and the +Kremlin, where the Emperor had his head-quarters. It was to this +centre that the patrols had converged. Looking back, Barlasch +saw, not one house on fire, but a hundred. The smoke arose from +every quarter of the city at once. He hurried on, but was stopped +by a crowd of soldiers, all laden with booty, gesticulating, shouting, +abusing one another. It was Babel over again. The riff-raff +of sixteen nations had followed Napoleon to Moscow—to rob. +Half a dozen different tongues were spoken in one army corps. +There remained no national pride to act as a deterrent. No man +cared what he did. The blame would be laid upon France.</p> +<p>The crowd was collected in front of a high, many-windowed building +in flames.</p> +<p>“What is it?” Barlasch asked first one and then another. +But no one spoke his tongue. At last he found a Frenchman.</p> +<p>“It is the hospital.”</p> +<p>“And what is that smell? What is burning there?”</p> +<p>“Twelve thousand wounded,” answered the man, with a sickening +laugh. And even as he spoke one or two of the wounded dragged +themselves, half burnt, down the wide steps. No one dared to approach +them, for the walls of the building were already bulging outwards. +One man was half covered with a sheet which was black, and his bare +limbs were black with smoke. All the hair was burnt from his head +and face. He stood for a moment in the doorway—a sight never +to be forgotten—and then fell headlong down the steps, where he +lay motionless. Some one in the crowd laughed—a high cackle +which was heard above the roar of the fire and the deafening chorus +of burning timbers.</p> +<p>Barlasch passed on, following some officers who were leading their +horses towards the Kremlin. The streets were full of soldiers +carrying burdens, and staggering beneath the weight of their spoil. +Many were wearing priceless fur cloaks, and others walked in women’s +wraps of sable and ermine. Some wore jewellery, such as necklaces, +on their rough uniforms, and bracelets round their sunburnt wrists. +No one laughed at them, but only glanced enviously at the pillage. +All were in deadly earnest, and none graver than those who had found +drink and now regretted that they had given way to the temptation; for +their sober comrades had outwitted them in finding treasure.</p> +<p>One man gravely wore a gilt coronet crammed over the crown of his +shako. He joined Barlasch, staggering along beside him.</p> +<p>“I come from the Cathedral,” he explained, confidentially. +“St. Michael they call it. They said there was great treasure +there hidden in the cellars, but I only found a company of old kings +in their coffins. We stirred them up. They were quiet enough +when we found them, under their counterpanes of red velvet. We +stirred them up with the bayonet, and the dust got into our throats +and choked us. Name of God, I am thirsty. You have nothing +in your bottle, comrade?”</p> +<p>“No.”</p> +<p>Barlasch trudged on, all his possessions swinging and clanking together. +The confidential man turned towards him and lifted his water-bottle, +weighed it, and found it wanting.</p> +<p>“Name of a name, of a name, of a name,” he muttered, +walking on. “Yes, there was nothing there. Even the +silver plates on the coffins with the names of those gentlemen were +no thicker than a sword. But I found a crown in the church itself. +I borrowed it from St. Michael. He had a sword in his hand, but +he did not strike. No. And there was only tinsel on the +hilt. No jewels.”</p> +<p>He walked on in silence for a few minutes, coughing out the smoke +and dust from his lungs. It was almost dark, but the whole city +was blazing now, and the sky glowed with a red light that mingled with +the remnants of a lurid sunset. A strong wind blew the smoke and +the flying sparks across the roofs.</p> +<p>“Then I went into the sacristy,” continued the man, stumbling +over the dead body of a young girl and turning to curse her. Barlasch +looked at him sideways and cursed him for doing it, with a sudden fierce +eloquence. For Papa Barlasch was a man of unclean lips.</p> +<p>“There was an old man in there, a sacristan. I asked +him where he kept the dishes, and he said he could not speak French. +I jerked my bayonet into him—name of a name! he soon spoke French.”</p> +<p>Barlasch broke off these delicate confidences by a quick word of +command, and himself stood rigid in the roadway before the Imperial +Palace of the Kremlin, presenting arms. A man passed close by +them on his way towards a waiting carriage. He was stout and heavy-shouldered, +peculiarly square, with a thick neck and head set low in the shoulders. +On the step of the carriage he turned and surveyed the lurid sky and +the burning city to the east with an indifferent air. Into his +deep bloodshot eyes there flashed a sudden gleam of life and power, +as he glanced along the row of watching faces to read what was written +there.</p> +<p>It was Napoleon, at the summit of his dream, hurriedly quitting the +Kremlin, the boasted goal of his ambition, after having passed but one +night under that proud roof.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h2>CHAPTER XVI. THE FIRST OF THE EBB.</h2> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p> <i>Tho’ +he trip and fall<br /> He shall not blind +his soul with clay.</i></p> +<p>The days were short, and November was drawing to its end when Barlasch +returned to Dantzig. Already the frost, holding its own against +a sun that seemed to linger in the North that year, exercised its sway +almost to midday, and drew a mist from the level plains.</p> +<p>The autumn had been one of unprecedented splendour, making the imaginative +whisper that Napoleon, like a second Joshua, could exact obedience even +from the sun. A month earlier, soon after the retreat was ordered, +the nights had begun to be cold, but the days remained brilliant. +Now the rivers were shrouded in white mist, and still water was frozen.</p> +<p>Barlasch seemed to take it for understood that a billet holds good +throughout a whole campaign. But the door of No. 36 Frauengasse +was locked when he turned its iron handle. He knocked, and waited +on the step.</p> +<p>It was Désirée who opened the door at length—Désirée, +grown older, with something new in her eyes. Barlasch, sure of +his <i>entrée</i>, had already removed his boots, which he carried +in his hand; this added to a certain surreptitiousness in his attitude. +A handkerchief was bound over his left eye. He wore his shako +still, but the rest of his uniform verged on the fantastic. Under +a light-blue Bavarian cavalry cape he wore a peasant’s homespun +shirt, and he carried no arms.</p> +<p>He pushed past Désirée rather unceremoniously, glad +to get within doors. He was very lame, and of his blue knitted +stockings only the legs remained; he was barefoot.</p> +<p>He limped towards the kitchen, glancing over his shoulder to make +sure that Désirée shut the door. The chair he had +made his own stood just within the open door of the kitchen. It +was nine o’clock in the morning, and Lisa had gone to market. +Barlasch sat down.</p> +<p>“Voilà,” he said, and that was all. But +by a gesture he described the end of the world. Then he scowled +at her with his available eye with suspicion, and she turned away suddenly, +as one may who has not a clear conscience.</p> +<p>“What is the matter with your eye?” she asked, in order +to break the silence. He laid aside his hat, and his ragged hair, +quite white, fell to his shoulders. By way of answer, he unknotted +the bloodstained dusky handkerchief, and looked up at her. The +hidden eye was uninjured and as bright as the other.</p> +<p>“Nothing,” he answered, and he confirmed the statement +by a low-born wink. More than once he glanced, with a glaring +light in his eye, towards the cupboard where Lisa kept the bread, and +quite suddenly Désirée knew that he was starving. +She ran to the cupboard, and hurriedly set down on the table before +him what was there. It was not much—a piece of cold meat +and a whole loaf.</p> +<p>He had taken off his haversack, and was fumbling in it with unsteady +hands. At last he found that which he sought. It was wrapped +in a silk scarf that must have come from Cashmere to Moscow, and from +Moscow in his haversack with pieces of horseflesh and muddy roots to +Dantzig. With that awkwardness in giving and taking which belongs +to his class, he held out to Désirée a little square “ikon” +no bigger than a playing-card. It was of gold, set with diamonds, +and the faces of the Virgin and Child were painted with exquisite delicacy.</p> +<p>“It is a thing to say your prayers to,” he said gruffly.</p> +<p>By an effort he kept his eyes averted from the food on the table.</p> +<p>“I met a baker on the bridge,” he said, “and offered +it to him for a loaf, but he refused.”</p> +<p>And there was a whole history of human suffering and temptation—of +the human fall—in his curt laugh. While Désirée +was looking at the treasure in speechless admiration, he turned suddenly +and took the bread and meat in his grimy hands. His crooked fingers +closed over the loaf, making the crust crack, and for a second the expression +of his face was not human. Then he hurried to the room that had +been his, like a dog that seeks to hide its greed in its kennel.</p> +<p>In a surprisingly short time he came back, the greyness all gone +from his face, though his eyes still glittered with the dry, hard light +of starvation. He went back to the chair near the door, and sat +down.</p> +<p>“Seven hundred miles,” he said, looking down at his feet +with a shake of the head, “seven hundred miles in six weeks.”</p> +<p>Then he glanced at her and out through the open door, to make sure +none could overhear.</p> +<p>“Because I was afraid,” he added in a whisper. +“I am easily frightened. I am not brave.”</p> +<p>Désirée shook her head and laughed. Women have +from all time accepted the theory that a uniform makes a man courageous.</p> +<p>“They had to abandon the guns,” he went on, “soon +after quitting Moscow. The horses were starving. There was +a steep hill, and the guns were left at the bottom. Then I began +to be afraid. There were some marching with candelabras on their +backs and nothing in their <i>carnassières</i>. They carried +a million francs on their shoulders and death in their faces. +I was afraid. I carried salt—salt—and nothing else. +Then one day I saw the Emperor’s face. That was enough. +The same night I crept away while the others slept round the fire. +They looked like a masquerade. Some of them wore ermine. +Oh! I was afraid, I tell you. I only had the salt and some horse. +There was plenty of that on the road. And that toy. I found +it in Moscow. I stood in a cellar, as big as this room, full of +such things. But one thinks of one’s life. I only +carried salt, and that picture for you . . . to say your prayers +to. The good God will hear you, perhaps; He has no time to listen +to us others.”</p> +<p>And he used the last words as a French peasant, which is a survival +of serfdom that has come down through the furnace of the Revolution.</p> +<p>“But I cannot take it,” said Désirée. +“It is worth a million francs.”</p> +<p>He looked at her fiercely.</p> +<p>“You think that I look for something in return?”</p> +<p>“Oh no!” she answered, “I have nothing to give +you in return. I am as poor as you.”</p> +<p>“Then we can be friends,” he said. He was eyeing +surreptitiously a mug of beer which Désirée had set before +him on the table. Some instinct, or the teaching of the last two +months, made it repugnant to him to eat or drink beneath his neighbour’s +eye. He was a sorry-looking figure, not far removed from the animals, +and in his downward journey he had picked up, perhaps, the instinct +which none can explain, telling an animal to take its food in secret.</p> +<p>Désirée went to the window, turning her back to him, +and looked out into the yard. She heard him drink, and set the +mug down again with a gulp.</p> +<p>“You were in Moscow?” she said at length, half turning +towards him so that he could see her profile and her short upper lip, +which was parted as if to ask a question which she did not put into +words. He looked her slowly up and down beneath his heavy eyebrows, +his little cunning eyes alight with suspicion. He watched her +parted lips, which were tilted at the corners, showing humour and a +nature quick to laugh or suffer. Then he jerked his head upwards +as if he saw the unasked question quivering there, and bore her some +malice for her silence.</p> +<p>“Yes! I was in Moscow,” he said, watching the colour +fade from her face. “And I saw him—your husband—there. +I was on guard outside his door the night we entered the city. +It was I who carried to the post the letter he wrote you. He was +very anxious that it should reach you. You received it—that +love-letter?”</p> +<p>“Yes,” answered Désirée gravely, in no +wise responding to a sudden forced gaiety in Papa Barlasch, which was +only an evidence of the shyness with which rough men all the world over +approach the subject of love. The gaiety lapsed into a sudden +silence. He waited for her to ask a question, but in vain.</p> +<p>“I never saw him again,” went on Barlasch, “for +the ‘general’ sounded, and I went out into the streets to +find the city on fire. In a great army, as in a large country, +one may easily lose one’s own brother. But he will return—have +no fear. He has good fortune—the fine gentleman.”</p> +<p>He stopped and scratched his head, looked at her sideways with a +grimace of bewilderment.</p> +<p>“It is good news I bring you,” he muttered. “He +was alive and well when we began the retreat. He was on the staff, +and the staff had horses and carriages. They had bread to eat, +I am told.”</p> +<p>“And you—what had you?” asked Désirée, +over her shoulder.</p> +<p>“No matter,” he answered gruffly, “since I am here.”</p> +<p>“And yet you believe in that man still,” flashed out +Désirée, turning to face him.</p> +<p>Barlasch held up a warning finger, as if bidding her to be silent +on a subject on which she was not capable of forming a judgment. +He wagged his head from side to side and heaved a sigh.</p> +<p>“I tell you,” he said, “I saw his face after Malo-Jaroslavetz; +we lost ten thousand that day. And I was afraid. For I saw +in it that he was going to leave us as he did in Egypt. I am not +afraid when he is there—not afraid of the Devil—or the bon +Dieu, but when Napoleon is not there—” He broke off +with a gesture describing abject terror.</p> +<p>“They say in Dantzig,” said Désirée, “that +he will never get back across the Bérésina, for the Russians +are bringing two armies to stop him there. They say that the Prussians +will turn against him.”</p> +<p>“Ah—they say that already?”</p> +<p>“Yes.”</p> +<p>He looked at her with a sudden light of anger in his eyes.</p> +<p>“Who has taught you to hate Napoleon?” he asked bluntly.</p> +<p>And again Désirée turned away from his glance as if +she could not meet it.</p> +<p>“No one,” she answered.</p> +<p>“It is not the patron,” said Barlasch, muttering his +thoughts as he hobbled to the door of his little room, and began unloading +his belongings with a view to ablution; for he was a self-contained +traveller, carrying with him all he required. “It is not +the patron. Because such a hatred as his cannot be spoken of. +It is not your husband, because Napoleon is his god.”</p> +<p>He broke off with one of his violent jerks of the head, almost threatening +to dislocate his neck, and looked at her fixedly.</p> +<p>“It is because you have grown into a woman since I went away.”</p> +<p>And out came his accusing finger, though Désirée had +her back turned towards him, and there was none other to see.</p> +<p>“Ah!” he said, with deadly contempt, “I see, I +see!”</p> +<p>“Did you expect me to grow up into a man?” asked Désirée, +over her shoulder.</p> +<p>Barlasch stood in the doorway, his lips and jaw moving as if he were +masticating wingèd words. At length, having failed to find +a tremendous answer, he softly closed the door.</p> +<p>This was not the only wise old veteran of the Grand Army to see which +way the wind blew; for many another after the battle of Malo-Jaroslavetz +packed upon his back such spoil as he could carry, and set off on foot +for France. For the cold had come at length, and not a horse in +the French army was roughed for the snowy roads, nor, indeed, had provision +been made to rough them. This was a sign not lost upon those who +had horses to care for. The Emperor, who forgot nothing, had forgotten +this. He who foresaw everything, had omitted to foresee the winter. +He had ordered a retreat from Moscow, in the middle of October, of an +army in summer clothing, without provision for the road. The only +hope was to retreat through a new line of country not despoiled by the +enormous army in its advance of every grain of corn, every blade of +grass. But this hope was frustrated by the Russians who, hemming them +in, forced them to keep the road along which they had made so triumphant +a march on Moscow.</p> +<p>Already, in the ranks, it was whispered that by the light of the +burning city some had perceived dark forms moving on the distant plains—a +Russian army passing westward in front of them to await and cut them +off at the passage of some river. The Russians had fought well +at Borodino: they fought desperately at Malo-Jaroslavetz, which town +was taken and retaken eleven times and left in cinders.</p> +<p>The Grand Army was no longer in a position to choose its way. +It was forced to cross again the battlefield of Borodino, where thirty +thousand dead lay yet unburied. But Napoleon was still with them, +his genius flashing out at times with something of the fire which had +taken men’s breath away and burnt his name indelibly into the +pages of the world’s history. Even when hard pressed, he +never missed a chance of attacking. The enemy never made a mistake +that he did not give them reason to rue it.</p> +<p>To the waiting world came at length the news that the winter, so +long retarded, had closed down over Russia. In Dantzig, so near +the frontier, a hundred rumours chased each other through the streets; +and day by day Antoine Sebastian grew younger and gayer. It seemed +as if a weight long laid upon his heart had been lifted at last. +He made a journey to Königsberg soon after Barlasch’s return, +and came back with eager eyes. His correspondence was enormous. +He had, it seemed, a hundred friends who gave him news and asked something +in exchange—advice, encouragement, warning. And all the +while men whispered that Prussia would ally herself to Russia, Sweden, +and England.</p> +<p>From Paris came news of a growing discontent. For France, among +a multitude of virtues, has one vice unpardonable to Northern men: she +turns from a fallen friend.</p> +<p>Soon followed the news of Bérésina—a poor little +river of Lithuania—where the history of the world hung for a day +as on a thread. But a flash of the dying genius surmounted superhuman +difficulties, and the catastrophe was turned into a disaster. +The divisions of Victor and Oudinot—the last to preserve any semblance +of military discipline—were almost annihilated. The French +lost twelve thousand killed or drowned in the river, sixteen thousand +prisoners, twelve of the remaining guns. But they were across +the Bérésina. There was no longer a Grand Army, +however. There was no army at all—only a starving, struggling +trail of men stumbling through the snow, without organization or discipline +or hope.</p> +<p>It was a disaster on the same gigantic scale as the past victories—a +disaster worthy of such a conqueror. Even his enemies forgot to +rejoice. They caught their breath and waited.</p> +<p>And suddenly came the news that Napoleon was in Paris.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h2>CHAPTER XVII. A FORLORN HOPE.</h2> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p> <i>The +fire i’ the flint<br /> Shows not, +till it be struck.</i></p> +<p>“It is time to do something,” said Papa Barlasch on the +December morning when the news reached Dantzig that Napoleon was no +longer with the army—that he had made over the parody of command +of the phantom army to Murat, King of Naples—that he had passed +like an evil spirit unknown through Poland, Prussia, Germany, travelling +twelve hundred miles night and day at breakneck speed, alone, racing +to Paris to save his throne.</p> +<p>“It is time to do something,” said all Europe, when it +was too late. For Napoleon was himself again—alert, indomitable, +raising a new army, calling on France to rise to such heights of energy +and vitality as only France can compass; for the colder nations of the +North lack the imagination that enables men to pit themselves against +the gods at the bidding of some stupendous will, only second to the +will of God Himself.</p> +<p>“Go to Dantzig, and hold it till I come,” Napoleon had +said to Rapp. “Retreat to Poland, and hold on to anything +you can till I come back with a new army,” he had commanded Murat +and Prince Eugene.</p> +<p>“It is time to do something,” said all the conquered +nations, looking at each other for initiation. And lo! the Master +of Surprises struck them dumb by his sudden apparition in his own capital, +with all the strings of the European net gathered as if by magic into +his own hands again.</p> +<p>While everybody told his neighbour that it was time to do something, +no one knew what to do. For it has pleased the Creator to put +a great many talkers into this world and only a few men of action to +make its history.</p> +<p>Papa Barlasch knew what to do, however.</p> +<p>“Where is that sailor?” he asked Désirée, +when she had told him the news which Mathilde brought in from the streets. +“He who took the patron’s valise that night—the cousin +of your husband.”</p> +<p>“There is a man at Zoppot who will tell you,” she answered.</p> +<p>“Then I go to Zoppot.”</p> +<p>Barlasch had lived unmolested in the Frauengasse since his return. +He was an old man, ill-clad, with a bloody handkerchief bound over one +eye. No one asked him any questions, except Sebastian, who heard +again and again the tale of Moscow—how the army which had crossed +into Russia four hundred thousand strong was reduced to a hundred thousand +when the retreat began; how handmills were issued to the troops to grind +corn which did not exist; how the horses died in thousands and the men +in hundreds from starvation; how God at last had turned his face from +Napoleon.</p> +<p>“Something must be done. The patron will do nothing; +he is in the clouds, he is dreaming dreams of a new France, that <i>bourgeois</i>. +I am an old man. Yes, I will go to Zoppot.”</p> +<p>“You mean that we should have heard from Charles before now,” +said Désirée.</p> +<p>“Name of thunder! he may be in Paris!” exclaimed Barlasch, +with the sudden anger that anxiety commands. “He is on the +staff, I tell you.”</p> +<p>For suspense is one of the most contagious of human emotions, and +makes a quicker call upon our sympathy than any other. Do we not +feel such a desire that our neighbour may know the worst without delay, +that we race to impart it to him?</p> +<p>Nor was Désirée alone in the trial which had drawn +certain lines about her gay lips; for Mathilde had told her father and +sister that should Colonel de Casimir return from the war he would ask +her hand in marriage.</p> +<p>“And that other—the Colonel,” added Barlasch, glancing +at Mathilde, “he is on the staff too. They are safe enough, +I tell you that. They are doubtless together. They were +together at Moscow. I saw them, and took an order from them. +They were . . . at their work.”</p> +<p>Mathilde did not like Papa Barlasch. She would, it seemed, +rather have no news at all of de Casimir than learn it from the old +soldier, for she quitted the room without even troubling to throw him +a glance of disdain.</p> +<p>Barlasch waited with working lips until the sound of her footsteps +ceased on the stairs. Then he pushed across the kitchen table +a piece of writing-paper, rather yellow and woolly. It had been +to Moscow and back.</p> +<p>“Write a word to him,” he said. “I will take +it to Zoppot.”</p> +<p>“But you can send a message by the fisherman whose name I have +given you,” answered Désirée.</p> +<p>“And will he heed the message? Will he come ashore at +a word from me—only Barlasch? Remember it is his life that +he carries in his hand. An English sailor with a French name! +Thunder of thunder! They would shoot him like a rat!”</p> +<p>Désirée shook her head; but Barlasch was not to be +denied. He brought pen and ink from the dresser, and pushed them +across the table.</p> +<p>“I would not ask it,” he said, “if it was not necessary. +Do you think he will mind the danger? He will like it. He +will say to me, ‘Barlasch, I thank you.’ Ah? I know +him. Write. He will come.”</p> +<p>“Why?” asked Désirée.</p> +<p>“Why? How should I know that? He came before when +you asked him.”</p> +<p>Désirée leant over the table and wrote six words:</p> +<p>“Come, if you can come safely.”</p> +<p>Barlasch took up the paper, and, pushing up the bandage which had +served to bring him unharmed through Russia, he frowned at it without +understanding.</p> +<p>“It is not all writings that I can read,” he admitted. +“Have you signed it?”</p> +<p>“No.”</p> +<p>“Then sign something that he will know, and no other—they +might shoot me. Your baptismal name.”</p> +<p>And she wrote “Désirée” after the six words.</p> +<p>Barlasch folded the paper carefully and placed it in the lining of +an old felt hat of Sebastian’s which he now wore. He bound +a scarf over his ears, after the manner of those who live on the Baltic +shores in winter.</p> +<p>“You can leave the rest to me,” he said; and, with a +nod and a grimace expressive of cunning, he left her.</p> +<p>He did not return that night. The days were short now, for +the winter was well set in. It was nearly dark the next afternoon +and very cold when he came back. He sent Lisa upstairs for Désirée.</p> +<p>“First,” he said, “there is a question for the +patron. Will he quit Dantzig?—that is the question.”</p> +<p>“No,” answered Désirée.</p> +<p>“Rapp is coming,” said Barlasch, emphasizing each point +with one finger against the side of his nose. “He will hold +Dantzig. There will be a siege. Let the patron make no mistake. +It will not be like the last one. Rapp was outside then; he will +be inside this time. He will hold Dantzig till the bottom falls +out of the world.”</p> +<p>“My father will not leave,” said Désirée. +“He has said so. He knows that Rapp is coming, with the +Russians behind him.”</p> +<p>“But,” interrupted Barlasch, “he thinks that Prussia +will turn and declare war against Napoleon. That may be. +Who knows? The question is, Can the patron be induced to quit +Dantzig?”</p> +<p>Désirée shook her head.</p> +<p>“It is not I,” said Barlasch, “who ask the question. +You understand?”</p> +<p>“Yes, I understand. My father will not quit Dantzig.”</p> +<p>Whereupon Barlasch made a gesture conveying a desire to think as +kindly of Antoine Sebastian as he could.</p> +<p>“In half an hour,” he said, “when it is dark, will +you come for a walk with me along the Langfuhr road—where the +unfinished ramparts are?”</p> +<p>Désirée looked at him and hesitated.</p> +<p>“Oh—good—if you are afraid—” said Barlasch.</p> +<p>“I am not afraid—I will come,” she answered quickly.</p> +<p>The snow was hard when they set out, and squeaked under their feet, +as it does with a low thermometer.</p> +<p>“We shall leave no tracks,” said Barlasch, as he led +the way off the Langfuhr road towards the river. There was broken +ground here, where earthworks had been begun and never completed. +The trees had been partly cut, and beneath the snow were square mounds +showing where the timber had been piled up. But since the departure +of Rapp, all had been left incomplete.</p> +<p>Barlasch turned towards Désirée and pointed out a rising +knoll of land with fir-trees on it—an outline against the sky +where a faint aurora borealis lit the north. She understood that +Louis was waiting there, and must necessarily see them approaching across +the untrodden snow. For an instant she lingered, and Barlasch +turning, glanced at her sharply over his shoulder. She had come +against her will, and her companion knew it. Her feet were heavy +with misgiving, like the feet of one who treads an uncertain road into +a strange country. She had been afraid of Louis d’Arragon +when she first caught sight of him in the Frauengasse. The fear +of him was with her now, and would not depart until he himself swept +it away by the first word he spoke.</p> +<p>He came out from beneath the trees, made a few steps forward, and +then stopped. Again Désirée lingered, and Barlasch, +who was naturally impatient, turned and took her by the arm.</p> +<p>“Is it the snow—that you find slippery?” he asked, +not requiring an answer. A moment later Louis came forward.</p> +<p>“There is nothing but bad news,” he said laconically. +“Barlasch will have told you; but there is no need to give up +hope. The army has reached the Niemen; the rearguard has quitted +Vilna. There is nothing for it but to go and look for him.”</p> +<p>“Who will go?” she asked quietly.</p> +<p>“I.”</p> +<p>He was looking at her with grave eyes trained to darkness. +But she looked past him towards the sky, which was faintly lighted by +the aurora. Her averted eyes and rigid attitude were not without +some suggestion of guilt.</p> +<p>“My ship is ice-bound at Reval,” said D’Arragon, +in a matter-of-fact way. “They have no use for me until +the winter is over, and they have given me three months’ leave.”</p> +<p>“To go to England?” she asked.</p> +<p>“To go anywhere I like,” he said, with a short laugh. +“So I am going to look for Charles, and Barlasch will come with +me.”</p> +<p>“At a price,” put in that soldier, in a shrewd undertone. +“At a price.”</p> +<p>“A small one,” corrected Louis, turning to look at him +with the close attention of one exploring a new country.</p> +<p>“Bah! You give what you can. One does not go back +across the Niemen for pleasure. We bargained, and we came to terms. +I got as much as I could.”</p> +<p>Louis laughed, as if this were the blunt truth.</p> +<p>“If I had more, I would give you more. It is the money +I placed in a Dantzig bank for my cousin. I must take it out again, +that is all.”</p> +<p>The last words were addressed to Désirée, as if he +had acted in assurance of her approval.</p> +<p>“But I have more,” she said; “a little—not +very much. We must not think of money. We must do everything +to find him—to give him help, if he needs it.”</p> +<p>“Yes,” answered Louis, as if she had asked him a question. +“We must do everything; but I have no more money.”</p> +<p>“And I have none with me. I have nothing that I can sell.”</p> +<p>She withdrew her fur mitten and held out her hand, as if to show +that she had no rings, except the plain gold one on her third finger.</p> +<p>“You have the ikon I brought you from Moscow,” said Barlasch +gruffly. “Sell that.”</p> +<p>“No,” answered Désirée; “I will not +sell that.”</p> +<p>Barlasch laughed cynically.</p> +<p>“There you have a woman,” he said, turning to Louis. +“First she will not have a thing, then she will not part with +it.”</p> +<p>“Well,” said Désirée, with some spirit, +“a woman may know her own mind.”</p> +<p>“Some do,” admitted Barlasch carelessly; “the happy +ones. And since you will not sell your ikon, I must go for what +Monsieur le capitaine offers me.</p> +<p>“Five hundred francs,” said Louis. “A thousand +francs, if we succeed in bringing my cousin safely back to Dantzig.”</p> +<p>“It is agreed,” said Barlasch, and Désirée +looked from one to the other with an odd smile of amusement. For +women do not understand that spirit of adventure which makes the mercenary +soldier, and urges the sailor to join an exploring expedition without +hope of any reward beyond his daily pay, for which he is content to +work and die loyally.</p> +<p>“And I,” she asked, “what am I to do?”</p> +<p>“We must know where to find you,” replied D’Arragon.</p> +<p>There was so much in the simple answer that Désirée +fell into a train of thought. It did not seem much for her to +do, and yet it was all. For it summed up in six words a woman’s +life: to wait till she is found.</p> +<p>“I shall wait in Dantzig,” she said at length.</p> +<p>Barlasch held up his finger close to her face so that she could not +fail to see it, and shook it slowly from side to side commanding her +careful and entire attention.</p> +<p>“And buy salt,” he said. “Fill a cupboard +full of salt. It is cheap enough in Dantzig now. The patron +will not think of it. He is a dreamer. But a dreamer awakes +at length, and is hungry. It is I who tell you—Barlasch.”</p> +<p>He emphasized himself with a touch of his curved fingers on either +shoulder.</p> +<p>“Buy salt,” he said, and walked away to a rising knoll +to make sure that no one was approaching. The moon was just below +the horizon, and a yellow glow was already in the sky.</p> +<p>Désirée and Louis were left alone. He was looking +at her, but she was watching Barlasch with a still persistency.</p> +<p>“He said that it is the happy women who know their own minds,” +she said slowly.</p> +<p>“I suppose he meant—Duty,” she added at length, +when Louis made no sign of answering.</p> +<p>“Yes,” he said.</p> +<p>Barlasch was beckoning to her. She moved away, but stopped +a few yards off, and looked at Louis again.</p> +<p>“Do you think it is any good trying?” she asked, with +a short laugh.</p> +<p>“It is no good trying unless you mean to succeed,” he +answered lightly. She laughed a second time and lingered, though +Barlasch was calling her to come.</p> +<p>“Oh,” she said, “I am not afraid of you when you +say things like that. It is what you leave unsaid. I am +afraid of you, I think, because you expect so much.”</p> +<p>She tried to see his face.</p> +<p>“I am only an ordinary human being, you know,” she said +warningly.</p> +<p>Then she followed Barlasch.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h2>CHAPTER XVIII. MISSING.</h2> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p> <i>I should fear those that dance before +me now<br /> Would one day stamp upon me; +it has been done:<br /> Men shut their +doors against a setting sun.</i></p> +<p>During the first weeks of December the biting wind abated for a time, +and immediately the snow came. It fell for days, until at length +the grey sky seemed exhausted; for the flakes sailed downwards in twos +and threes like the stragglers of an army bringing up the rear. +Then the sun broke through again, and all the world was a dazzling white.</p> +<p>There had been a cessation in that stream of pitiable men who staggered +across the bridge from the Königsberg road. Some instinct +had turned it southwards. Now it began again, and the rumour spread +throughout the city that Rapp was coming. At length, in the middle +of December, an officer brought word that Rapp with his staff would +arrive next day.</p> +<p>Désirée heard the news without comment.</p> +<p>“You do not believe it?” asked Mathilde, who had come +in with shining eyes and a pale face.</p> +<p>“Oh yes, I believe it.”</p> +<p>“Then you forget,” persisted Mathilde, “that Charles +is on the staff. They may arrive to-night.”</p> +<p>While they were speaking Sebastian came in. He looked quickly +from one to the other.</p> +<p>“You have heard the news?” he asked.</p> +<p>“That the General is coming back?” said Mathilde.</p> +<p>“No; not that. Though it is true. Macdonald is +in full retreat on Dantzig. The Prussians have abandoned him—at +last.”</p> +<p>He gave a queer laugh and stood looking towards the window with restless +eyes that flitted from one object to another, as if he were endeavouring +to follow in mind the quick course of events. Then he remembered +Désirée and turned towards her.</p> +<p>“Rapp returns to-morrow,” he said. “We may +presume that Charles is with him.”</p> +<p>“Yes,” said Désirée, in a lifeless voice.</p> +<p>Sebastian wrinkled his eyes and gave an apologetic laugh.</p> +<p>“We cannot offer him a fitting welcome,” he said, with +a gesture of frustrated hospitality. “We must do what we +can. You and he may, of course, consider this your home as long +as it pleases you to remain with us. Mathilde, you will see that +we have such delicacies in the house as Dantzig can now afford—and +you, Désirée, will of course make such preparations as +are necessary. It is well to remember, he may return . . . to-night.”</p> +<p>Désirée went towards the door while Mathilde laid aside +the delicate needlework which seemed to absorb her mind and employ her +fingers from morning till night. She made a movement as if to +accompany her sister, but Désirée shook her head sharply +and Mathilde remained where she was, leaving Désirée to +go upstairs alone.</p> +<p>The day was already drawing to its long twilight, and at four o’clock +the night came. Sebastian went out as usual, though he had caught +cold. But Mathilde stayed at home. Désirée +sent Lisa to the shops in the Langenmarkt, which is the centre of business +and gossip in Dantzig. Lisa always brought home the latest news. +Mathilde came to the kitchen to seek something when the messenger returned. +She heard Lisa tell Désirée that a few more stragglers +had come in, but they brought no news of the General. The house +seemed lonely now that Barlasch was gone.</p> +<p>Throughout the night the sound of sleigh-bells could be faintly heard +through the double windows, though no sleigh passed through the Frauengasse. +A hundred times the bells seemed to come closer, and always Désirée +was ready behind the curtains to see the light flash past into the Pfaffengasse. +With a shiver of suspense she crept back to bed to await the next alarm. +In the early morning, long before it was light, the dull thud of steps +on the trodden snow called her to the window again. She caught +her breath as she drew back the curtain; for through the long watches +of the night she had imagined every possible form of return.</p> +<p>This must be Barlasch. Louis and Barlasch must, of course, +have met Rapp on his homeward journey. On finding Charles, they +had sent Barlasch back in advance to announce the safety of Désirée’s +husband. Louis would, of course, not come to Dantzig. He +would go north to Russia, to Reval, and perhaps home to England—never +to return.</p> +<p>But it was not Barlasch. It was a woman who staggered past +under a burden of firewood which she had collected in the woods of Schottland, +and did not dare to carry through the streets by day.</p> +<p>At last the clocks struck six, and, soon after, Lisa’s heavy +footstep made the stairs creak and crack.</p> +<p>Désirée went downstairs before daylight. She +could hear Mathilde astir in her room, and the light of candles was +visible under her door. Désirée busied herself with +household affairs.</p> +<p>“I have not slept,” said Lisa bluntly, “for thinking +that your husband might return, and fearing that we should make him +wait in the street. But without doubt you would have heard him.”</p> +<p>“Yes, I should have heard him.”</p> +<p>“If it had been my husband, I should have been at the window +all night,” said Lisa, with a gay laugh—and Désirée +laughed too.</p> +<p>Mathilde seemed a long time in coming, and when at length she appeared +Désirée could scarcely repress a movement of surprise. +Mathilde was dressed, all in her best, as for a <i>fête</i>.</p> +<p>At breakfast Lisa brought the news told to her at the door that the +Governor would re-enter the city in state with his staff at midday. +The citizens were invited to decorate their streets, and to gather there +to welcome the returning garrison.</p> +<p>“And the citizens will accept the invitation,” commented +Sebastian, with a curt laugh. “All the world has sneered +at Russia since the Empire existed—and yet it has to learn from +Moscow what part a citizen may play in war. These good Dantzigers +will accept the invitation.”</p> +<p>And he was right. For one reason or another the city did honour +to Rapp. Even the Poles must have known by now that France had +made tools of them. But as yet they could not realize that Napoleon +had fallen. There were doubtless many spies in the streets that +cold December day—one who listened for Napoleon; and another, +peeping to this side and that, for the King of Prussia. Sweden +also would need to know what Dantzig thought, and Russia must not be +ignorant of the gossip in a great Baltic port.</p> +<p>Enveloped in their stiff sheepskins, concealed by the high collars +which reached to the brim of their hats—showing nothing but eyes +where the rime made old faces and young all alike, it was difficult +for any to judge of his neighbour—whether he were Pole or Prussian, +Dantziger or Swede. The women in thick shawls, with hoods or scarves +concealing their faces, stood silently beside their husbands. +It was only the children who asked a thousand questions, and got never +an answer from the cautious descendants of a Hanseatic people.</p> +<p>“Is it the French or the Russians that are coming?” asked +a child near to Désirée.</p> +<p>“Both,” was the answer.</p> +<p>“But which will come first?”</p> +<p>“Wait and see—silentium,” replied the careful Dantziger, +looking over his shoulder.</p> +<p>Désirée had changed her clothes, and wore beneath her +furs the dress that had been prepared for the journey to Zoppot so long +ago. Mathilde had noticed the dress, which had not been seen for +six months. Lisa, more loquacious, nodded to it as to a friend +when helping Désirée with her furs.</p> +<p>“You have changed,” she said, “since you last wore +it.”</p> +<p>“I have grown older—and fatter,” answered Désirée +cheerfully.</p> +<p>And Lisa, who had no imagination, seemed satisfied with the explanation. +But the change was in Désirée’s eyes.</p> +<p>With Sebastian’s permission—almost at his suggestion—they +had selected the Grüne Brücke as the point from which to see +the sight. This bridge spans the Mottlau at the entrance to the +Langenmarkt, and the roadway widens before it narrows again to pass +beneath the Grünes Thor. There is rising ground where the +road spreads like a fan, and here they could see and be seen.</p> +<p>“Let us hope,” said Sebastian, “that two of these +gentlemen may perceive you as they pass.”</p> +<p>But he did not offer to accompany them.</p> +<p>By half-past eleven the streets were full. The citizens knew +their governor, it seemed. He would not keep them waiting. +Although Rapp lacked that power of appealing to the imagination which +has survived Napoleon’s death with such astounding vitality that +it moves men’s minds to-day as surely as it did a hundred years +ago, he was shrewd enough to make use of his master’s methods +when such would seem to serve his purpose. He was not going to +creep into Dantzig like a whipped dog into his kennel.</p> +<p>He had procured a horse at Elbing. Between that town and the +Mottlau he had halted to form his army into something like order, to +get together a staff with which to surround himself.</p> +<p>But the Dantzigers did not cheer. They stood and watched him +in a sullen silence as he rode across the bridge now known as the “Milk-Can.” +His bridle was twisted round his arm, for all his fingers were frostbitten. +His nose and his ears were in the same plight, and had been treated +by a Polish barber who, indeed, effected a cure. One eye was almost +closed. His face was astonishingly red. But he carried himself +like a soldier, and faced the world with the audacity that Napoleon +taught to all his disciples.</p> +<p>Behind him rode a few staff officers, but the majority were on foot. +Some effort had been made to revive the faded uniforms. One or +two heroic souls had cast aside the fur cloaks to which they owed their +life, but the majority were broken men without spirit, without pride—appealing +only to pity. They hugged themselves closely in their ragged cloaks +and stumbled as they walked. It was impossible to distinguish +between the officers and the men. The biggest and the strongest +were the best clad—the bullies were the best fed. All were +black and smoke-grimed—with eyes reddened and inflamed by the +dazzling snow through which they stumbled by day, as much as by the +smoke into which they crouched at night. Every garment was riddled +by the holes burnt by flying sparks—every face was smeared with +blood that ran from the horseflesh they had torn asunder with their +teeth while it yet smoked.</p> +<p>Some laughed and waved their hands to the crowd. Others, who +had known the tragedy of Vilna and Kowno, stumbled on in stubborn silence +still doubting that Dantzig stood—that they were at last in sight +of food and warmth and rest.</p> +<p>“Is that all?” men asked each other in astonishment. +For the last stragglers had crossed the new Mottlau before the head +of the procession had reached the Grüne Brücke.</p> +<p>“If I had such an army as that,” said a stout Dantziger, +“I should bring it into the city quietly, after dusk.”</p> +<p>But the majority were silent, remembering the departure of these +men—the triumph, the glory, and the hope. For a great catastrophe +is a curtain that for a moment shuts out all history and makes the human +family little children again who can but cower and hold each other’s +hands in the dark.</p> +<p>“Where are the guns?” asked one.</p> +<p>“And the baggage?” suggested another.</p> +<p>“And the treasure of Moscow?” whispered a Jew with cunning +eyes, who had hidden behind his neighbour when Rapp glanced in his direction.</p> +<p>Emerging on the bridge, the General glanced at the old Mottlau. +A crowd was collected on it. The citizens no longer used the bridges +but crossed without fear where they pleased, and heavy sleighs passed +up and down as on a high-road. Rapp saw it, made a grimace, and, +turning in his saddle, spoke to his neighbour, an engineer officer, +who was to make an immortal name and die in Dantzig.</p> +<p>The Mottlau was one of the chief defences of the city, but instead +of a river the Governor found a high-road!</p> +<p>Rapp alone seemed to look about him with the air of one who knew +his whereabouts. In the straggling trail of men behind him, not +one in a hundred looked for a friendly face. Some stared in front +of them with lifeless eyes, while others, with a little spirit plucked +up at the end of a weary march, glanced up at the gabled houses with +the interest called forth by the first sight of a new city.</p> +<p>It was not until long afterwards that the world, piecing together +information purposely delayed and details carefully falsified, knew +that of the four hundred thousand men who marched triumphantly to the +Niemen, only twenty thousand recrossed that river six months later, +and of these two-thirds had never seen Moscow.</p> +<p>Rapp, whose bloodshot eyes searched the crowd of faces turned towards +him, recognized a number of people. To Mathilde he bowed gravely, +and with a kindlier glance turned in his saddle to bow again to Désirée. +They hardly heeded him, but with colourless faces turned towards the +staff riding behind him.</p> +<p>Most of the faces were strange: others were so altered that the features +had to be sought for as in the face of a mummy. Neither Charles +nor de Casimir was among the horsemen. One or two of them bowed, +as their leader had done, to the two girls.</p> +<p>“That is Captain de Villars,” said Mathilde, “and +the other I do not know. Nor that tall man who is bowing now. +Who are they?”</p> +<p>Désirée did not answer. None of these men was +Charles. Unconsciously holding her two mittened hands at her throat, +she searched each face.</p> +<p>They were well placed to see even those who followed on foot. +Many of them were not French. It would have been easy to distinguish +Charles or de Casimir among the dark-visaged southerners. Désirée +was not conscious of the crowd around her. She heard none of the +muttered remarks. All her soul was in her eyes.</p> +<p>“Is that all?” she said at length—as the others +had said at the entrance to the town.</p> +<p>She found she was standing hand-in-hand with Mathilde, whose face +was like marble.</p> +<p>At last, when even the crowd had passed away beneath the Grünes +Thor, they turned and walked home in silence.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h2>CHAPTER XIX. KOWNO.</h2> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p> <i>Distinct +with footprints yet<br /> Of many a mighty +marcher gone that way.</i></p> +<p>There are many who overlook the fact that in Northern lands, more +especially in such plains as Lithuania, Courland, and Poland, travel +in winter is easier than at any other time of year. The rivers, +which run sluggishly in their ditch-like beds, are frozen so completely +that the bridges are no longer required. The roads, in summer +almost impassable—mere ruts across the plain—are for the +time ignored, and the traveller strikes a bee-line from place to place +across a level of frozen snow.</p> +<p>Louis d’Arragon had worked out a route across the plain, as +he had been taught to shape a course across a chart.</p> +<p>“How did you return from Kowno?” he asked Barlasch.</p> +<p>“Name of my own nose,” replied that traveller. +“I followed the line of dead horses.”</p> +<p>“Then I will take you by another route,” replied the +sailor.</p> +<p>And three days later—before General Rapp had made his entry +into Dantzig—Barlasch sold two skeletons of horses and a sleigh +at an enormous profit to a staff officer of Murat’s at Gumbinnen.</p> +<p>They had passed through Rapp’s army. They had halted +at Königsberg to make inquiry, and now, almost in sight of the +Niemen, where the land begins to heave in great waves, like those that +roll round Cape Horn, they were asking still if any man had seen Charles +Darragon.</p> +<p>“Where are you going, comrades?” a hundred men had paused +to ask them.</p> +<p>“To seek a brother,” answered Barlasch, who, like many +unprincipled persons, had soon found that a lie is much simpler than +an explanation.</p> +<p>But the majority glanced at them stupidly without comment, or with +only a shrug of their bowed shoulders. They were going the wrong +way. They must be mad. Between Dantzig and Königsberg +they had indeed found a few travellers going eastward—despatch-bearers +seeking Murat—spies going northwards to Tilsit, and General Yorck +still in treaty with his own conscience—a prominent member of +the Tugendbund, wondering, like many others, if there were any virtue +left in the world. Others, again, told them that they were officers +ordered to take up some new command in the retreating army.</p> +<p>Beyond Königsberg, however, D’Arragon and Barlasch found +themselves alone on their eastward route. Every man’s face +was set towards the west. This was not an army at all, but an +endless procession of tramps. Without food or shelter, with no +baggage but what they could carry on their backs, they journeyed as +each of us must journey out of this world into that which lies beyond—alone, +with no comrade to help them over the rough places or lift them when +they fell. For there was only one man of all this rabble who rose +to the height of self-sacrifice, and a persistent devotion to duty. +And he was coming last of all.</p> +<p>Many had started off in couples—with a faithful friend—only +to quarrel at last. For it is a peculiarity of the French that +they can only have one friend at a time. Long ago—back beyond +the Niemen—all friendships had been dissolved, and discipline +had vanished before that. For when Discipline and a Republic are +wedded we shall have the millennium. Liberty, they cry: meaning, +I may do as I like. Equality: I am better than you. Fraternity: +what is yours is mine, if I want it.</p> +<p>So they quarrelled over everything, and fought for a place round +the fire that another had lighted. They burnt the houses in which +they had passed a night, though they knew that thousands trudging behind +them must die for lack of this poor shelter.</p> +<p>At the Bérésina they had fought on the bridge like +wild animals, and those who had horses trod their comrades underfoot, +or pushed them over the parapet. Twelve thousand perished on the +banks or in the river; and sixteen thousand were left behind to the +mercy of the Cossacks.</p> +<p>At Vilna the people were terrified at the sight of this inhuman rabble, +which had commanded their admiration on the outward march. And +the commander, with his staff, crept out of the city at night, abandoning +sick, wounded, and fighting men.</p> +<p>At Kowno they crowded numbly across the bridge, fighting for precedence, +when they might have walked at leisure across the ice. They were +no longer men at all, but dumb and driven animals, who fell by the roadside, +and were stripped by their comrades before the warmth of life had left +their limbs.</p> +<p>“Excuse me, comrade? I thought you were dead,” +said one, on being remonstrated with by a dying man. And he went +on his way reluctantly, for he knew that in a few minutes another would +snatch the booty. But for the most part they were not so scrupulous.</p> +<p>At first D’Arragon, to whom these horrors were new, attempted +to help such as appealed to him, but Barlasch laughed at him.</p> +<p>“Yes,” he said. “Take the medallion, and +promise to send it to his mother. Holy Heaven—they all have +medallions, and they all have mothers. Every Frenchman remembers +his mother—when it is too late. I will get a cart. +By to-morrow we shall fill it with keepsakes. And here is another. +He is hungry. So am I, comrade. I come from Moscow—bah!”</p> +<p>And so they fought their way through the stream. They could +have journeyed by a quicker route—D’Arragon could have steered +a course across the frozen plain as over a sea—but Charles must +necessarily be in this stream. He might be by the wayside. +Any one of these pitiable objects, half blind, frost-bitten, with one +limb or another swinging useless, like a snapped branch, wrapped to +the eyes in filthy furs—inhuman, horrible—any one of these +might be Désirée’s husband.</p> +<p>They never missed a chance of hearing news. Barlasch interrupted +the last message of a dying man to inquire whether he had ever heard +of Prince Eugene. It was startling to learn how little they knew. +The majority of them were quite ignorant of French, and had scarcely +heard the name of the commander of their division. Many spoke +in a language which even Barlasch could not identify.</p> +<p>“His talk is like a coffee-mill,” he explained to D’Arragon, +“and I do not know to what regiment he belonged. He asked +me if I was Russki—I! Then he wanted to hold my hand. +And he went to sleep. He will wake among the angels—that +parishioner.”</p> +<p>Not only had no one heard of Charles Darragon, but few knew the name +of the commander to whose staff he had been attached in Moscow. +There was nothing for it but to go on towards Kowno, where it was understood +temporary head-quarters had been established.</p> +<p>Rapp himself had told D’Arragon that officers had been despatched +to Kowno to form a base—a sort of rock in the midst of a torrent +to divert the currents. There had then been a talk of Tilsit, +and diverting the stream, or part of it towards Macdonald in the north. +But D’Arragon knew that Macdonald was likely to be in no better +plight than Murat; for it was an open secret in Dantzig that Yorck, +with four-fifths of Macdonald’s army, was about to abandon him.</p> +<p>The road to Kowno was not to be mistaken. On either side of +it, like fallen landmarks, the dead lay huddled on the snow. Sometimes +D’Arragon and Barlasch found the remains of a fire, where, amid +the ashes, the chains and rings showed that a gun-carriage had been +burnt. The trees were cut and scored where, as a forlorn hope, +some poor imbecile had stripped the bark with the thought that it might +burn. Nearly every fire had its grim guardian; for the wounds +of the injured nearly always mortified when the flesh was melted by +the warmth. Once or twice, with their ragged feet in the ashes, +a whole company had never awakened from their sleep.</p> +<p>Barlasch pessimistically went the round of these bivouacs, but rarely +found anything worth carrying away. If he recognized a veteran +by the grizzled hair straggling out of the rags in which all faces were +enveloped, or perceived some remnant of a Garde uniform, he searched +more carefully.</p> +<p>“There may be salt,” he said. And sometimes he +found a little. They had been on foot since Gumbinnen, because +no horse would be allowed by starving men to live a day. They +existed from day to day on what they found, which was, at the best, +frozen horse. But Barlasch ate singularly little.</p> +<p>“One thinks of one’s digestion,” he said vaguely, +and persuaded D’Arragon to eat his portion because it would be +a sin to throw it away.</p> +<p>At length D’Arragon, who was quick enough in understanding +rough men, said—</p> +<p>“No, I don’t want any more. I will throw it away.”</p> +<p>And an hour later, while pretending to be asleep, he saw Barlasch +get up, and crawl cautiously into the trees where the unsavoury food +had been thrown.</p> +<p>“Provided,” muttered Barlasch one day, “that you +keep your health. I am an old man. I could not do this alone.”</p> +<p>Which was true, for D’Arragon was carrying all the baggage +now.</p> +<p>“We must both keep our health,” answered Louis. +“I have eaten worse things than horse.”</p> +<p>“I saw one yesterday,” said Barlasch, with a gesture +of disgust; “he had three stripes on his arm, too; he was crouching +in a ditch eating something much worse than horse, mon capitaine. +Bah! It made me sick. For three sous I would have put my +heel on his face. And later on at the roadside I saw where he +or another had played the butcher. But you saw none of these things, +mon capitaine?”</p> +<p>“It was by that winding stream where a farm had been burnt,” +said Louis.</p> +<p>Barlasch glanced at him sideways.</p> +<p>“If we should come to that, mon capitaine . . . . “</p> +<p>“We won’t.”</p> +<p>They trudged on in silence for some time. They were off the +road now, and D’Arragon was steering by dead-reckoning. +Even amid the pine-woods, which seemed interminable, they frequently +found remains of an encampment. As often as not they found the +campers huddled over their last bivouac.</p> +<p>“But these,” said Barlasch, pointing to what looked like +a few bundles of old clothes, continuing the conversation where he had +left it after a long silence, as men learn to do who are together day +and night in some hard enterprise, “even these have a woman dinning +the ears of the good God for them, just as we have.”</p> +<p>For Barlasch’s conception of a Deity could not get further +than the picture of a great Commander who in times of stress had no +leisure to see that non-commissioned officers did their best for the +rank and file. Indeed, the poor in all lands rather naturally +conclude that God will think of carriage-people first.</p> +<p>They came within sight of Kowno one evening, after a tiring day over +snow that glittered in a cloudless sun. Barlasch sat down wearily +against a pine tree, when they first caught sight of a distant church-tower. +The country is much broken up into little valleys here, through which +streams find their way to the Niemen. Each river necessitated +a rapid descent and an arduous climb over slippery snow.</p> +<p>“Voilà,” said Barlasch. “That is Kowno. +I am done. Go on, mon capitaine. I will lie here, and if +I am not dead to-morrow morning, I will join you.”</p> +<p>Louis looked at him with a slow smile.</p> +<p>“I am tired as you,” he said. “We will rest +here until the moon rises.”</p> +<p>Already the bare larches threw shadows three times their own length +on the snow. Near at hand it glittered like a carpet of diamonds, +while the distance was of a pale blue, merging to grey on the horizon. +A far-off belt of pines against a sky absolutely cloudless suggested +infinite space—immeasurable distance. Nothing was sharp +and clearly outlined, but hazy, silvery, as seen through a thin veil. +The sea would seem to be our earthly picture of infinite space, but +no sea speaks of distance so clearly as the plain of Lithuania—absolutely +flat, quite lonely. The far-off belt of pines only leads the eye +to a shadow beyond, which is another pine-wood; and the traveller walking +all day towards it knows that when at length he gets there he will see +just such another on the far horizon.</p> +<p>Louis sat down wearily beside Barlasch. As far as eye could +see, they were alone in this grim white world. They had nothing +to say to each other. They sat and watched the sun go down with +drawn eyes and a queer stolidity which comes to men in great cold, as +if their souls were numb.</p> +<p>As the sun sank, the shadows turned bluer, and all the snow gleamed +like a lake. The silver tints slowly turned to gold; the greys +grew darker. The distant lines of pines were almost black now, +a silhouette against the golden sky. Near at hand the little inequalities +in the snow loomed blue, like deeper pools in shallow water.</p> +<p>The sun sank very slowly, moving along the horizon almost parallel +with it towards two bars of golden cloud awaiting it, the bars of the +West forming a prison to this poor pale captive of the snows. +The stems of a few silver-birch near at hand were rosy now, and suddenly +the snow took a similar tint. At the same moment, a wave of cold +seemed to sweep across the world.</p> +<p>The sun went down at length, leaving a brownish-red sky. This, +too, faded to grey in a few minutes, and a steely cold gripped the world +as in a vice.</p> +<p>Louis d’Arragon made a sudden effort and rose to his feet, +beneath which the snow squeaked.</p> +<p>“Come,” he said. “If we stay, we shall fall +asleep, and then—”</p> +<p>Barlasch roused himself and looked sleepily at his companion. +He had a patch of blue on either cheek.</p> +<p>“Come!” shouted Louis, as if to a deaf man. “Let +us go on to Kowno, and find out whether he is alive or dead.”</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h2>CHAPTER XX. DÉSIRÉE’S CHOICE.</h2> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p> <i>Our wills and fates do so contrary +run,<br /> That our devices still are overthrown.<br /> Our +thoughts are ours, their ends none of our own.</i></p> +<p>Rapp found himself in a stronghold which was strong in theory only. +For the frozen river formed the easiest possible approach, instead of +an insuperable barrier to the enemy. He had an army which was +a paper army only.</p> +<p>He had, according to official returns, thirty-five thousand men. +In reality a bare eight thousand could be collected to show a face to +the enemy. The rest were sick and wounded. There was no +national spirit among these men; they hardly had a language in common. +For they were men from Africa and Italy, from France, Germany, Poland, +Spain, and Holland. The majority of them were recruits, raw and +of poor physique. All were fugitives, flying before those dread +Cossacks whose “hurrah! hurrah!”—the Arabic “kill! +kill!”—haunted their fitful sleep at night. They came +to Dantzig not to fight, but to lie down and rest. They were the +last of the great army—the reinforcements dragged to the frontier +which many of them had never crossed. For those who had been to +Moscow were few and far between. The army of Moscow had perished +at Malo-Jaroslavetz, at the Bérésina, in Smolensk and +Vilna.</p> +<p>These fugitives had fled to Dantzig for safety; and Rapp in crossing +the bridge had made a grimace, for he saw that there was no safety here.</p> +<p>The fortifications had been merely sketched out. The ditches +were full of snow, the rivers were frozen. All work was at a standstill. +Dantzig lay at the mercy of the first-comer.</p> +<p>In twenty-four hours every available smith was at work, forging ice-axes +and picks. Rapp was going to cut the frozen Vistula and set the +river free. The Dantzigers laughed aloud.</p> +<p>“It will freeze again in a night,” they said. And +it did. So Rapp set the ice-cutters to work again next day. +He kept boats moving day and night in the water, which ran sluggish +and thick, like porridge, with the desire to freeze and be still.</p> +<p>He ordered the engineers to set to work on the abandoned fortifications. +But the ground was hard like granite, and the picks sprang back in the +worker’s grip, jarring his bones, and making not so much as a +mark on the surface of the earth.</p> +<p>Again the Dantzigers laughed.</p> +<p>“It is frozen three feet down,” they said.</p> +<p>The thermometer marked between twenty and thirty degrees of frost +every night now. And it was only December—only the beginning +of the winter. The Russians were at the Niemen, daily coming nearer. +Dantzig was full of sick and wounded. The available troops were +worn out, frost-bitten, desperate. There were only a few doctors, +who were without medical stores; no meat, no vegetables, no spirits, +no forage.</p> +<p>No wonder the Dantzigers laughed. Rapp, who had to rely on +Southerners to obey his orders—Italians, Africans, a few Frenchmen, +men little used to cold and the hardships of a Northern winter—Rapp +let them laugh. He was a medium-sized man, with a bullet-head +and a round chubby face, a small nose, round eyes, and, if you please, +side-whiskers.</p> +<p>Never for a moment did he admit that things looked black. He +lit enormous bonfires, melted the frozen earth, and built the fortifications +that had been planned.</p> +<p>“I took counsel,” he said, long afterwards, “with +two engineer officers whose devotion equalled their brilliancy—Colonel +Richemont and General Campredon.”</p> +<p>Soldiers might for all time study with advantage the acts of such +obscure and almost forgotten men as these. For, through them, +Napoleon was now teaching the world that a fortified place might be +made stronger than any had hitherto suspected. That he should +turn round and teach, on the other hand, that a city usually considered +impregnable could be taken without great loss of life, was only characteristic +of his splendid genius, which, like a towering tree, grew and grew until +it fell.</p> +<p>The days were very short now, and it was dark when the sappers—whose +business it was to keep the ice moving in the river at that spot where +the Government building-yard abuts the river front to-day—were +roused from their meditations by a shout on the farther bank.</p> +<p>They pushed their clumsy boat through the ice, and soon perceived +against the snowy distance the outline of a man wrapped, swaddled, disguised +in the heaped-up clothing so familiar to Eastern Europe at this time. +The joke of seeing a grave artilleryman clad in a lady’s ermine +cloak had long since lost its savour for those who dwelt near the Moscow +road.</p> +<p>“Ah! comrade,” said one of the boatmen, an Italian who +spoke French and had learnt his seamanship on the Mediterranean, by +whose waters he would never idle again. “Ah! you are from +Moscow?”</p> +<p>“And you, countryman?” replied the new-comer, with a +non-committing readiness, as he stumbled over the gunwale.</p> +<p>“And you—an old man?” remarked the Italian, with +the easy frankness of Piedmont.</p> +<p>By way of reply, the new-comer held out one hand roughly swathed +in cloth, and shook it from side to side slowly, taking exception to +such personal matters on a short acquaintance.</p> +<p>“A week ago, when I quitted Dantzig on a mission to Kowno,” +he said, with a careless air, “one could cross the Vistula anywhere. +I have been walking on the bank for half a league looking for a way +across. One would think there is a General in Dantzig now.”</p> +<p>“There is Rapp,” replied the Italian, poling his boat +through the floating ice.</p> +<p>“He will be glad to see me.”</p> +<p>The Italian turned and looked over his shoulder. Then he gave +a curt, derisive laugh.</p> +<p>“Barlasch—of the Old Guard!” explained the new-comer, +with a careless air.</p> +<p>“Never heard of him.”</p> +<p>Barlasch pushed up the bandage which he still wore over his left +eye, in order to get a better sight of this phenomenal ignoramus, but +he made no comment.</p> +<p>On landing he nodded curtly, at which the boatman made a quick gesture +and spat.</p> +<p>“You have not the price of a glass in your purse, perhaps,” +he suggested.</p> +<p>Barlasch disappeared in the darkness without deigning a reply. +Half an hour later he was on the steps of Sebastian’s house in +the Frauengasse. On his way through the streets a hundred evidences +of energy had caught his attention, for many of the houses were barricaded, +and palisades were built at the end of the streets running down towards +the river. The town was busy, and everywhere soldiers passed to +and fro. Like Samuel, Barlasch heard the bleating of sheep and +the lowing of oxen in his ears.</p> +<p>The houses in the Frauengasse were barricaded like others—many +of the lower windows were built up. The door of No. 36 was bolted, +and through the shutters of the upper windows no glimmer of light penetrated +to the outer darkness of the street. Barlasch knocked and waited. +He thought he could hear surreptitious movements within the house. +Again he knocked.</p> +<p>“Who is that?” asked Lisa just within, on the mat. +She must have been there all the time.</p> +<p>“Barlasch,” he replied. And the bolts which he, +in his knowledge of such matters, himself had oiled, were quickly drawn.</p> +<p>Inside he found Lisa, and behind her Mathilde and Désirée.</p> +<p>“Where is the patron?” he asked, turning to bolt the +door again.</p> +<p>“He is out, in the town,” answered Désirée, +in a strained voice. “Where are you from?”</p> +<p>“From Kowno.”</p> +<p>Barlasch looked from one face to the other. His own was burnt +red, and the light of the lamp hanging over his head gleamed on the +icicles suspended to his eyebrows and ragged whiskers. In the +warmth of the house his frozen garments began to melt, and from his +limbs the water dripped to the floor with a sound like rain. Then +he caught sight of Désirée’s face.</p> +<p>“He is alive, I tell you that,” he said abruptly. +“And well, so far as we know. It was at Kowno that we got +news of him. I have a letter.”</p> +<p>He opened his cloak, which was stiff like cardboard and creaked when +he bent the rough cloth. Under his cloak he wore a Russian peasant’s +sheepskin coat, and beneath that the remains of his uniform.</p> +<p>“A dog’s country,” he muttered, as he breathed +on his fingers.</p> +<p>At last he found the letter, and gave it to Désirée.</p> +<p>“You will have to make your choice,” he commented, with +a grimace indicative of a serious situation, “like any other woman. +No doubt you will choose wrong.”</p> +<p>Désirée went up two steps in order to be nearer the +lamp, and they all watched her as she opened the letter.</p> +<p>“Is it from Charles?” asked Mathilde, speaking for the +first time.</p> +<p>“No,” answered Désirée, rather breathlessly.</p> +<p>Barlasch nudged Lisa, indicated his own mouth, and pushed her towards +the kitchen. He nodded cunningly to Mathilde, as if to say that +they were now free to discuss family affairs; and added, with a gesture +towards his inner man—</p> +<p>“Since last night—nothing.”</p> +<p>In a few minutes Désirée, having read the letter twice, +handed it to her sister. It was characteristically short.</p> +<p>“We have found a man here,” wrote Louis d’Arragon, +“who travelled as far as Vilna with Charles. There they +parted. Charles, who was ordered to Warsaw on staff work, told +his friend that you were in Dantzig, and that, foreseeing a siege of +the city, he had written to you to join him at Warsaw. This letter +has doubtless been lost. I am following Charles to Warsaw, tracing +him step by step, and if he has fallen ill by the way, as so many have +done, shall certainly find him. Barlasch returns to bring you +to Thorn, if you elect to join Charles. I will await you at Thorn, +and if Charles has proceeded, we will follow him to Warsaw.”</p> +<p>Barlasch, who had watched Désirée, now followed Mathilde’s +eyes as they passed to and fro over the closely written lines. +As she neared the end, and her face, upon which deep shadows had been +graven by sorrow and suspense, grew drawn and hopeless, he gave a curt +laugh.</p> +<p>“There were two,” he said, “travelling together—the +Colonel de Casimir and the husband of—of la petite. They +had facilities—name of God!—two carriages and an escort. +In the carriages they had some of the Emperor’s playthings—holy +pictures, the imperial loot—I know not what. Besides that, +they had some of their own—not furs and candlesticks such as we +others carried on our backs, but gold and jewellery enough to make a +man rich all his life.”</p> +<p>“How do you know that?” asked Mathilde, a dull light +in her eyes.</p> +<p>“I—I know where it came from,” replied Barlasch, +with an odd smile. “Allez! you may take it from me.” +And he muttered to himself in the patois of the Côtes du Nord.</p> +<p>“And they were safe and well at Vilna?” asked Mathilde.</p> +<p>“Yes—and they had their treasure. They had good +fortune, or else they were more clever than other men; for they had +the Imperial treasure to escort, and could take any man’s horse +for the carriages in which also they had placed their own treasure. +It was Captain Darragon who held the appointment, and the other—the +Colonel—had attached himself to him as volunteer. For it +was at Vilna that the last thread of discipline was broken, and every +man did as he wished.”</p> +<p>“They did not come to Kowno?” asked Mathilde, who had +a clear mind, and that grasp of a situation which more often falls to +the lot of the duller sex.</p> +<p>“They did not come to Kowno. They would turn south at +Vilna. It was as well. At Kowno the soldiers had broken +into the magazines—the brandy was poured out in the streets. +The men were lying there, the drunken and the dead all confused together +on the snow. But there would be no confusion the next morning; +for all would be dead.”</p> +<p>“Was it at Kowno that you left Monsieur d’Arragon?” +asked Désirée, in a sharp voice.</p> +<p>“No—no. We quitted Kowno together, and parted on +the heights above the town. He would not trust me—monsieur +le marquis—he was afraid that I should get at the brandy. +And he was right. I only wanted the opportunity. He is a +strong one—that!” And Barlasch held up a warning hand, +as if to make known to all and sundry that it would be inadvisable to +trifle with Louis d’Arragon.</p> +<p>He drew the icicles one by one from his whiskers with a wry face +indicative of great agony, and threw them down on the mat.</p> +<p>“Well,” he said, after a pause, to Désirée, +“have you made your choice?”</p> +<p>Désirée was reading the letter again, and before she +could answer, a quick knock on the front door startled them all. +Barlasch’s face broke into that broad smile which was only called +forth by the presence of danger.</p> +<p>“Is it the patron?” he asked in a whisper, with his hand +on the heavy bolts affixed by that pious Hanseatic merchant who held +that if God be in the house there is no need of watchmen.</p> +<p>“Yes,” answered Mathilde. “Open quickly.”</p> +<p>Sebastian came in with a light step. He was like a man long +saddled with a burden of which he had at length been relieved.</p> +<p>“Ah! What news?” he asked, when he recognised Barlasch.</p> +<p>“Nothing that you do not know already, monsieur,” replied +Barlasch, “except that the husband of Mademoiselle is well and +on the road to Warsaw. Here—read that.”</p> +<p>And he took the letter from Désirée’s hand.</p> +<p>“I knew he would come back safely,” said Désirée; +and that was all.</p> +<p>Sebastian read the letter in one quick glance—and then fell +to thinking.</p> +<p>“It is time to quit Dantzig,” said Barlasch quietly, +as if he had divined the old man’s thoughts. “I know +Rapp. There will be trouble—here, on the Vistula.”</p> +<p>But Sebastian dismissed the suggestion with a curt shake of the head.</p> +<p>Barlasch’s attention had been somewhat withdrawn by a smell +of cooking meat, to which he opened his nostrils frankly and noisily +after the manner of a dog.</p> +<p>“Then it remains,” he said, looking towards the kitchen, +“for Mademoiselle to make her choice.”</p> +<p>“There is no choice,” replied Désirée, +“I shall be ready to go with you—when you have eaten.”</p> +<p>“Good,” said Barlasch, and the word applied as well to +Lisa, who was beckoning to him.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h2>CHAPTER XXI. ON THE WARSAW ROAD.</h2> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p> <i>Oft expectation fails, and most +oft there<br /> Where it most promises; +and oft it hits<br /> Where hope is coldest +and despair most sits.</i></p> +<p>Love, it is said, is blind. But hatred is as bad. In +Antoine Sebastian hatred of Napoleon had not only blinded eyes far-seeing +enough in earlier days, but it had killed many natural affections. +Love, too, may easily die—from a surfeit or a famine. Hatred +never dies; it only sleeps.</p> +<p>Sebastian’s hatred was all awake now. It was aroused +by the disasters that had befallen Napoleon; of which disasters the +Russian campaign was only one small part. For he who stands above +all his compeers must expect them to fall upon him should he stumble. +Napoleon had fallen, and a hundred foes who had hitherto nursed their +hatred in a hopeless silence were alert to strike a blow should he descend +within their reach.</p> +<p>When whole empires had striven in vain to strike, how could a mere +association of obscure men hope to record its blow? The Tugendbund +had begun humbly enough; and Napoleon, with that unerring foresight +which raised him above all other men, had struck at its base. +For an association in which kings and cobblers stand side by side on +an equal footing must necessarily be dangerous to its foes.</p> +<p>Sebastian was not carried off his feet by the great events of the +last six months. They only rendered him steadier. For he +had waited a lifetime. It is only a sudden success that dazzles. +Long waiting nearly always ensures a wise possession.</p> +<p>Sebastian, like all men absorbed in a great thought, was neglectful +of his social and domestic obligations. Has it not been shown +that he allowed Mathilde and Désirée to support him by +giving dancing lessons? But he was not the ordinary domestic tyrant +who is familiar to all—the dignified father of a family who must +have the best of everything, whose teaching to his offspring takes the +form of an unconscious and solemn warning. He did not ask the +best; he hardly noticed what was offered to him; and it was not owing +to his demand, but to that feminine spirit of self-sacrifice which has +ruined so many men, that he fared better than his daughters.</p> +<p>If he thought about it at all, he probably concluded that Mathilde +and Désirée were quite content to give their time and +thought to the support of himself—not as their father, but as +the motive power of the Tugendbund in Prussia. Many greater men +have made the same mistake, and quite small men with a great name make +it every day, thinking complacently that it is a privilege to some woman +to minister to their wants while they produce their immortal pictures +or deathless books; whereas, the woman would tend him as carefully were +he a crossing-sweeper, and is only following the dictates of an instinct +which is loftier than his highest thought and more admirable than his +most astounding work of art.</p> +<p>Barlasch had not lived so long in the Frauengasse without learning +the domestic economy of Sebastian’s household. He knew that +Désirée, like many persons with kind blue eyes, shaped +her own course through life, and abided by the result with a steadfastness +not usually attributed to the light-hearted. He concluded that +he must make ready to take the road again before midnight. He +therefore gave a careful and businesslike attention to the simple meal +set before him by Lisa; and, looking up over his plate, he saw for the +second time in his life Sebastian hurrying into his own kitchen.</p> +<p>Barlasch half rose, and then, in obedience to a gesture from Sebastian, +or remembering perhaps the sturdy Republicanism which he had not learnt +until middle-age, he sat down again, fork in hand.</p> +<p>“You are prepared to accompany Madame Darragon to Thorn?” +inquired Sebastian, inviting his guest by a gesture to make himself +at home—scarcely a necessary thought in the present instance.</p> +<p>“Yes.”</p> +<p>“And how do you propose to make the journey?”</p> +<p>This was so unlike Sebastian’s usual method, so far from his +lax comprehension of a father’s duty, that Barlasch paused and +looked at him with suspicion. With the back of his hand he pushed +up the unkempt hair which obscured his eyes. This unusual display +of parental anxiety required looking into.</p> +<p>“From what I could see in the streets,” he answered, +“the General will not stand in the way of women and useless mouths +who wish to quit Dantzig.”</p> +<p>“That is possible; but he will not go so far as to provide +horses.”</p> +<p>Barlasch gave his companion a quick glance, and returned to his supper, +eating with an exaggerated nonchalance, as if he were alone.</p> +<p>“Will you provide them?” he asked abruptly, at length, +without looking up.</p> +<p>“I can get them for you, and can ensure you relays by the way.”</p> +<p>Barlasch cut a piece of meat very carefully, and, opening his mouth +wide, looked at Sebastian over the orifice.</p> +<p>“On one condition,” pursued Sebastian quietly; “that +you deliver a letter for me in Thorn. I make no pretence; if it +is found on you, you will be shot.”</p> +<p>Barlasch smiled pleasantly.</p> +<p>“The risks are very great,” said Sebastian, tapping his +snuff-box reflectively.</p> +<p>“I am not an officer to talk of my honour,” answered +Barlasch, with a laugh. “And as for risk”—he +paused and put half a potato into his mouth—“it is Mademoiselle +I serve,” concluded this uncouth knight with a curt simplicity.</p> +<p>So they set out at ten o’clock that night in a light sleigh +on high runners, such as may be seen on any winter day in Poland down +to the present time. The horses were as good as any in Dantzig +at this date, when a horse was more costly than his master. The +moon, sailing high overhead through fleecy clouds, found it no hard +task to light a world all snow and ice. The streets of Dantzig +were astir with life and the rumble of waggons. At first there +were difficulties, and Barlasch explained airily that he was not so +accomplished a whip in the streets as in the open country.</p> +<p>“But never fear,” he added. “We shall get +there, soon enough.”</p> +<p>At the city gates there was, as Barlasch had predicted, no objection +made to the departure of a young girl and an old man. Others were +quitting Dantzig by the same gate, on foot, in sleighs and carts; but +all turned westward at the cross-roads and joined the stream of refugees +hurrying forward to Germany. Barlasch and Désirée +were alone on the wide road that runs southward across the plain towards +Dirschau. The air was very cold and still. On the snow, +hard and dry like white dust, the runners of the sleigh sang a song +on one note, only varied from time to time by a drop of several octaves +as they passed over a culvert or some hollow in the road, after which +the high note, like the sound of escaping steam, again held sway. +The horses fell into a long steady trot, their feet beating the ground +with a regular, sleep-inducing thud. They were harnessed well +forward to a very long pole, and covered the ground with free strides, +unhampered by any thought of their heels. The snow pattered against +the cloth stretched like a wind-sail from their flanks to the rising +front of the sleigh.</p> +<p>Barlasch sat upright, a thick motionless figure, four-square to the +cutting wind. He drove with one hand at a time, sitting on the +other to restore circulation between whiles. It was impossible +to distinguish the form of his garments, for he was wrapped round in +a woollen shawl like a mummy, showing only his eyes beneath the ragged +fur of a sheepskin cap upon which the rime caused by the warmth of the +horses and his own breath had frozen like a coating of frosted silver.</p> +<p>Désirée was huddled down beside him, with her head +bent forward so as to protect her face from the wind, which seared like +a hot iron. She wore a hood of white fur lined with a darker fur, +and when she lifted her face only her eyes, bright and wakeful, were +visible.</p> +<p>“If you are warm, you may go to sleep,” said Barlasch +in a mumbling voice, for his face was drawn tight and his lips stiffened +by the cold. “But if you shiver, you must stay awake.”</p> +<p>But Désirée seemed to have no wish for sleep. +Whenever Barlasch leant forward to peer beneath her hood she looked +round at him with wakeful eyes. Whenever, to see if she were still +awake, he gave her an unceremonious nudge, she nudged back again instantly. +As the night wore on, she grew more wakeful. When they halted +at a wayside inn, which must have been minutely described to Barlasch +by Sebastian, and Désirée accepted the innkeeper’s +offer of a cup of coffee by the fire while fresh horses were being put +into harness, she was wide awake and looked at Barlasch with a reckless +laugh as he shook the rime from his eyebrows. In response he frowningly +scrutinized as much of her face as he could see, and shook his head +disapprovingly.</p> +<p>“You laugh when there is nothing to laugh at,” he said +grimly. “Foolish. It makes people wonder what is in +your mind.”</p> +<p>“There is nothing in my mind,” she answered gaily.</p> +<p>“Then there is something in your heart, and that is worse!” +said Barlasch, which made Désirée look at him doubtfully.</p> +<p>They had done forty miles with the same horses, and were nearly halfway. +For some hours the road had followed the course of the Vistula on the +high tableland above the river, and would so continue until they reached +Thorn.</p> +<p>“You must sleep,” said Barlasch curtly, when they were +once more on the road. She sat silent beside him for an hour. +The horses were fresh, and covered the ground at a great pace. +Barlasch was no driver, but he was skilful with the horses, and husbanded +their strength at every hill.</p> +<p>“If we go on like this, when shall we arrive?” asked +Désirée suddenly.</p> +<p>“By eight o’clock, if all goes well.”</p> +<p>“And we shall find Monsieur Louis d’Arragon awaiting +us at Thorn?”</p> +<p>Barlasch shrugged his shoulders doubtfully.</p> +<p>“He said he would be there,” he muttered, and, turning +in his seat, he looked down at her with some contempt.</p> +<p>“That is like a woman,” he said. “They think +all men are fools except one, and that one is only to be compared with +the bon Dieu.”</p> +<p>Désirée could not have heard the remark, for she made +no answer and sat silent, leaning more and more heavily against her +companion. He changed the reins to his other hand, and drove with +it for an hour after all feeling had left it. Désirée +was asleep. She was still sleeping when, in the dim light of a +late dawn, Barlasch saw the distant tower of Thorn Cathedral.</p> +<p>They were no longer alone on the road now, but passed a number of +heavy market-sleighs bringing produce and wood to the town. Barlasch +had been in Thorn before. Désirée was still sleeping +when he turned the horses into the crowded yard of the “Drei Kronen.” +The sleighs and carriages were packed side by side as in a warehouse, +but the stables were empty. No eager host came out to meet the +travellers. The innkeepers of Thorn had long ceased to give themselves +that trouble. For the city was on the direct route of the retreat, +and few who got so far had any money left.</p> +<p>Slowly and painfully Barlasch unwound himself and disentangled his +legs. He tried first one and then the other, as if uncertain whether +he could walk. Then he staggered numbly across the yard to the +door of the inn.</p> +<p>A few minutes later Désirée woke up. She was +in a room warmed by a great white stove and dimly lighted by candles. +Some one was pulling off her gloves and feeling her hands to make sure +that they were not frost-bitten. She looked sleepily at a white +coffee-pot standing on the table near the candles; then her eyes, still +uncomprehending, rested on the face of the man who was loosening her +hood, which was hard with rime and ice. He had his back to the +candles, and was half-hidden by the collar of his fur coat, which met +the cap pressed down over his ears.</p> +<p>He turned towards the table to lay aside her gloves, and the light +fell on his face. Désirée was wideawake in an instant, +and Louis d’Arragon, hearing her move, turned anxiously to look +at her again. Neither spoke for a minute. Barlasch was holding +his numbed hand against the stove, and was grinding his teeth and muttering +at the pain of the restored circulation.</p> +<p>Désirée shook the icicles from her hood, and they rattled +like hail on the bare floor. Her hair, all tumbled round her face, +caught the light of the candles. Her eyes were bright and the +colour was in her cheeks. D’Arragon glanced at her with +a sudden look of relief, and then turned to Barlasch. He took +the numbed hand and felt it; then he held a candle close to it. +Two of the fingers were quite white, and Barlasch made a grimace when +he saw them. D’Arragon began rubbing at once, taking no +notice of his companion’s moans and complaints.</p> +<p>Without desisting, he looked over his shoulder towards Désirée, +but not actually at her face.</p> +<p>“I heard last night,” he said, “that the two carriages +are standing in an inn-yard three leagues beyond this on the Warsaw +road. I have traced them step by step from Kowno. My informant +tells me that the escort has deserted, and that the officer in charge, +Colonel Darragon, was going on alone, with the two drivers, when he +was taken ill. He is nearly well again, and hopes to continue +his journey to-morrow or the next day.”</p> +<p>Désirée nodded her head to signify that she had heard +and understood. Barlasch gave a cry of pain, and withdrew his +hand with a jerk.</p> +<p>“Enough, enough!” he said. “You hurt me. +The life is returning now; a drop of brandy perhaps—”</p> +<p>“There is no brandy in Thorn,” said D’Arragon, +turning towards the table. “There is only coffee.”</p> +<p>He busied himself with the cups, and did not look at Désirée +when he spoke again.</p> +<p>“I have secured two horses,” he said, “to enable +you to proceed at once, if you are able to. But if you would rather +rest here to-day—”</p> +<p>“Let us go on at once,” interrupted Désirée +hastily.</p> +<p>Barlasch, crouching against the stove, glanced from one to the other +beneath his heavy brows, wondering, perhaps, why they avoided looking +at each other.</p> +<p>“You will wait here,” said D’Arragon, turning towards +him, “until—until I return.”</p> +<p>“Yes,” was the answer. “I will lie on the +floor here and sleep. I have had enough. I—”</p> +<p>Louis left the room to give the necessary orders. When he returned +in a few minutes, Barlasch was asleep on the floor, and Désirée +had tied on her hood again, which concealed her face. He drank +a cup of coffee and ate some dry bread absent-mindedly, in silence.</p> +<p>The sound of bells, feebly heard through the double windows, told +them that the horses were being harnessed.</p> +<p>“Are you ready?” asked D’Arragon, who had not sat +down; and in response, Désirée, standing near the stove, +went towards the door, which he held open for her to pass out. +As she passed him, she glanced at his face, and winced.</p> +<p>In the sleigh she looked up at him as if expecting him to speak. +He was looking straight in front of him. There was, after all, +nothing to be said. She could see his steady eyes between his +high collar and the fur cap. They were hard and unflinching. +The road was level now, and the snow beaten to a gleaming track like +ice. D’Arragon put the horses to a gallop at the town gate, +and kept them at it.</p> +<p>In half an hour he turned towards her and pointed with his whip to +a roof half hidden by some thin pines.</p> +<p>“That is the inn,” he said.</p> +<p>In the inn yard he indicated with his whip two travelling-carriages +standing side by side.</p> +<p>“Colonel Darragon is here?” he said to the cringing Jew +who came to meet them; and the innkeeper led the way upstairs. +The house was a miserable one, evil-smelling, sordid. The Jew +pointed to a door, and, cringing again, left them.</p> +<p>Désirée made a gesture telling Louis to go in first, +which he did at once. The room was littered with trunks and cases. +All the treasure had been brought into the sick man’s chamber +for greater safety.</p> +<p>On a narrow bed near the window a man lay huddled on his side. +He turned and looked over his shoulder, showing a haggard face with +a ten-days’ beard on it. He looked from one to the other +in silence.</p> +<p>It was Colonel de Casimir.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h2>CHAPTER XXII. THROUGH THE SHOALS.</h2> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p> <i>I see my way, as birds their trackless +way.</i></p> +<p>De Casimir had never seen Louis d’Arragon, and yet some dim +resemblance to his cousin must have introduced the new-comer to a conscience +not quite easy.</p> +<p>“You seek me, Monsieur,” he asked, not having recognized +Désirée, who stood behind her companion, in her furs.</p> +<p>“I seek Colonel Darragon, and was told that we should find +him in this room.”</p> +<p>“May I ask why you seek him in this rather unceremonious manner?” +asked De Casimir, with the ready insolence of his calling and his age.</p> +<p>“Because I am his cousin,” replied Louis quietly, “and +Madame is his wife.”</p> +<p>Désirée came forward, her face colourless. She +caught her breath, but made no attempt to speak.</p> +<p>De Casimir tried to lift himself on his elbows.</p> +<p>“Ah! madame,” he said. “You see me in a sorry +state. I have been very ill.” And he made a gesture +with one hand, begging her to overlook his unkempt appearance and the +disorder of his room.</p> +<p>“Where is Charles?” asked Désirée curtly. +She had suddenly realized how intensely she had always disliked De Casimir, +and distrusted him.</p> +<p>“Has he not returned to Dantzig?” was the ready answer. +“He should have been there a week ago. We parted at Vilna. +He was exhausted—a mere question of over-fatigue—and at +his request I left him there to recover and to pursue his way to Dantzig, +where he knew you would be awaiting him.”</p> +<p>He paused and looked from one to the other with quick and furtive +eyes. He felt himself easily a match for them in quickness of +perception, in rapid thought, in glib speech. Both were dumb—he +could not guess why. But there was a steadiness in D’Arragon’s +eyes which rarely goes with dulness of wit. This was a man who +could be quick at will—a man to be reckoned with.</p> +<p>“You are wondering why I travel under your cousin’s name, +Monsieur,” said De Casimir, with a friendly smile.</p> +<p>“Yes,” returned Louis, without returning the smile.</p> +<p>“It is simple enough,” explained the sick man. +“At Vilna we found all discipline relaxed. There were no +longer any regiments. There was no longer staff. There was +no longer an army. Every man did as he thought best. Many, +as you know, elected to await the Russians at Vilna, rather than attempt +to journey farther. Your cousin had been given the command of +the escort which has now filtered away, like every other corps. +He was to conduct back to Paris two carriages laden with imperial treasure +and certain papers of value. Charles did not want to go back to +Paris. He wished most naturally to return to Dantzig. I, +on the other hand, desired to go to France; and there place my sword +once more at the Emperor’s service. What more simple than +to change places?”</p> +<p>“And names,” suggested D’Arragon, without falling +into De Casimir’s easy and friendly manner.</p> +<p>“For greater security in passing through Poland and across +the frontier,” explained De Casimir readily. “Once +in France—and I hope to be there in a week—I shall report +the matter to the Emperor as it really happened: namely, that, owing +to Colonel Darragon’s illness, he transferred his task to me at +Vilna. The Emperor will be indifferent, so long as the order has +been carried out.”</p> +<p>De Casimir turned to Désirée as likely to be more responsive +than this dark-eyed stranger, who listened with so disconcerting a lack +of comment or sympathy.</p> +<p>“So you see, madame,” he said, “Charles will still +get the credit for having carried out his most difficult task, and no +harm is done.”</p> +<p>“When did you leave Charles at Vilna?” asked she.</p> +<p>De Casimir lay back on the pillow in an attitude which betrayed his +weakness and exhaustion. He looked at the ceiling with lustreless +eyes.</p> +<p>“It must have been a fortnight ago,” he said at length. +“I was trying to count the days. We have lost all account +of dates since quitting Moscow. One day has been like another—and +all, terrible. Believe me, madame, it has always been in my mind +that you were awaiting the return of your husband at Dantzig. +I spared him all I could. A dozen times we saved each other’s +lives.”</p> +<p>In six words Désirée could have told him all she knew: +that he was a spy who had betrayed to death and exile many Dantzigers +whose hospitality had been extended to him as a Polish officer; that +Charles was a traitor who had gained access to her father’s house +in order to watch him—though he had honestly fallen in love with +her. He was in love with her still, and he was her husband. +It was this thought that broke into her sleep at night, that haunted +her waking hours.</p> +<p>She glanced at Louis d’Arragon, and held her peace.</p> +<p>“Then, Monsieur,” he said, “you have every reason +to suppose that if Madame returns to Dantzig now, she will find her +husband there?”</p> +<p>De Casimir looked at D’Arragon, and hesitated for an instant. +They both remembered afterwards that moment of uncertainty.</p> +<p>“I have every reason to suppose it,” replied De Casimir +at length, speaking in a low voice, as if fearful of being overheard.</p> +<p>Louis waited a moment, and glanced at Désirée, who, +however, had evidently nothing more to say.</p> +<p>“Then we will not trouble you farther,” he said, going +towards the door, which he held open for Désirée to pass +out. He was following her when De Casimir called him back.</p> +<p>“Monsieur,” cried the sick man, “Monsieur, one +moment, if you can spare it.”</p> +<p>Louis came back. They looked at each other in silence while +they heard Désirée descend the stairs and speak in German +to the innkeeper who had been waiting there.</p> +<p>“I will be quite frank with you,” said De Casimir, in +that voice of confidential friendliness which so rarely failed in its +effect. “You know that Madame Darragon has an elder sister, +Mademoiselle Mathilde Sebastian?”</p> +<p>“Yes.”</p> +<p>De Casimir raised himself on his elbows again, with an effort, and +gave a short, half shamefaced laugh which was quite genuine. It +was odd that Mathilde and he, who had walked most circumspectly, should +both have been tripped up, as it were, by love.</p> +<p>“Bah!” he said, with a gesture dismissing the subject, +“I cannot tell you more. It is a woman’s secret, Monsieur, +not mine. Will you deliver a letter for me in Dantzig, that is +all I ask?”</p> +<p>“I will give it to Madame Darragon to give to Mademoiselle +Mathilde, if you like; I am not returning to Dantzig,” replied +Louis. But de Casimir shook his head.</p> +<p>“I am afraid that will not do,” he said doubtfully. +“Between sisters, you understand—”</p> +<p>And he was no doubt right; this man of quick perception. Is +it not from our nearest relative that our dearest secret is usually +withheld?</p> +<p>“You cannot find another messenger?” asked De Casimir, +and the anxiety in his face was genuine enough.</p> +<p>“I can—if you wish it.”</p> +<p>“Ah, Monsieur, I shall not forget it! I shall never forget +it,” said the sick man quickly and eagerly. “The letter +is there, beneath that sabretasche. It is sealed and addressed.”</p> +<p>Louis found the letter, and went towards the door, as he placed it +in his pocket.</p> +<p>“Monsieur,” said De Casimir, stopping him again. +“Your name, if I may ask it, so that I may remember a countryman +who has done me so great a service.”</p> +<p>“I am not a countryman; I am an Englishman,” replied +Louis. “My name is Louis d’Arragon.”</p> +<p>“Ah! I know. Charles has told me, Monsieur le—”</p> +<p>But D’Arragon heard no more, for he closed the door behind +him.</p> +<p>He found Désirée awaiting him in the entrance hall +of the inn, where a fire of pine-logs burnt in an open chimney. +The walls and low ceiling were black with smoke, the little windows +were covered with ice an inch thick. It was twilight in this quiet +room, and would have been dark but for the leaping flames of the fire.</p> +<p>“You will go back to Dantzig,” he asked, “at once?”</p> +<p>He carefully avoided looking at her, though he need not have feared +that she would have allowed her eyes to meet his. And thus they +stood, looking downward to the fire—alone in a world that heeded +them not, and would forget them in a week—and made their choice +of a life.</p> +<p>“Yes,” she answered.</p> +<p>He stood thinking for a moment. He was quite practical and +matter-of-fact; and had the air of a man of action rather than of one +who deals in thoughts, and twists them hither and thither so that good +is made to look ridiculous, and bad is tricked out with a fine new name. +He frowned as he looked at the fire with eyes that flitted from one +object to another, as men’s eyes do who think of action and not +of thought. This was the sailor—second to none in the shallow +northern sea, where all marks had been removed, and every light extinguished—accustomed +to facing danger and avoiding it, to foresee remote contingencies and +provide against them, day and night, week in, week out; a sailor, careful +and intrepid. He had the air of being capable of that concentration +without which no man can hope to steer a clear course at all.</p> +<p>“The horses that brought you from Marienwerder will not be +fit for the road till to-morrow morning,” he said. “I +will take you back to Thorn at once, and—leave you there with +Barlasch.”</p> +<p>He glanced towards her, and she nodded, as if acknowledging the sureness +and steadiness of the hand at the helm.</p> +<p>“You can start early to-morrow morning, and be in Dantzig to-morrow +night.”</p> +<p>They stood side by side in silence for some minutes. He was +still thinking of her journey—of the dangers and the difficulties +of that longer journey through life without landmark or light to guide +her.</p> +<p>“And you?” she asked curtly.</p> +<p>He did not reply at once but busied himself with his ponderous fur +coat, which he buttoned, as if bracing himself for the start. +Beneath her lashes she looked sideways at the deliberate hands and the +lean strong face, burnt to a red-brown by sun and snow, half hidden +in the fur collar of his worn and weather-beaten coat.</p> +<p>“Königsberg,” he answered, “and Riga.”</p> +<p>A light passed through her watching eyes, usually so kind and gay; +like the gleam of jealousy.</p> +<p>“Your ship?” she asked sharply.</p> +<p>“Yes,” he answered, as the innkeeper came to tell them +that their sleigh awaited them.</p> +<p>It was snowing now, and a whistling, fitful wind swept down the valley +of the Vistula from Poland and the far Carpathians which made the travellers +crouch low in the sleigh and rendered talk impossible, had there been +anything to say. But there was nothing.</p> +<p>They found Barlasch asleep where they had left him in the inn at +Thorn, on the floor against the stove. He roused himself with +the quickness and completeness of one accustomed to brief and broken +rest, and stood up shaking himself in his clothes, like a dog with a +heavy coat. He took no notice of D’Arragon, but looked at +Désirée with questioning eyes.</p> +<p>“It was not the Captain?” he asked.</p> +<p>And Désirée shook her head. Louis was standing +near the door giving orders to the landlady of the inn—a kindly +Pomeranian, clean and slow—for Désirée’s comfort +till the next morning.</p> +<p>Barlasch went close to Désirée, and, nudging her arm +with exaggerated cunning, whispered—</p> +<p>“Who was it?”</p> +<p>“Colonel de Casimir.”</p> +<p>“With the two carriages and the treasure from Moscow?” +asked Barlasch, watching Louis out of the corner of one eye, to make +sure that he did not hear. It did not matter whether he heard +or not, but Barlasch came of a peasant stock that always speaks of money +in a whisper. And when Désirée nodded, he cut short +the conversation.</p> +<p>The hostess came forward to tell Désirée that her room +was ready, kindly suggesting that the “gnädiges Fraülein” +must need sleep and rest. Désirée knew that Louis +would go on to Königsberg at once. She wondered whether she +should ever see him again—long afterwards, perhaps, when all this +would seem like a dream. Barlasch, breathing noisily on his frost-bitten +fingers, was watching them. Désirée shook hands +with Louis in an odd silence, and, turning on her heel, followed the +woman out of the room without looking back.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h2>CHAPTER XXIII. AGAINST THE STREAM.</h2> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p> <i> Wo viel Licht ist, ist starker Schatten.</i></p> +<p>In the mean time the last of the Great Army had reached the Niemen, +that narrow winding river in its ditch-like bed sunk below the level +of the tableland, to which six months earlier the greatest captain this +world has ever seen rode alone, and, coming back to his officers, said—</p> +<p>“Here we cross.”</p> +<p>Four hundred thousand men had crossed—a bare eighty thousand +lived to pass the bridge again. Twelve hundred cannons had been +left behind, nearly a thousand in the hands of the enemy, and the remainder +buried or thrown into those dull rivers whose slow waters flow over +them to this day. One hundred and twenty-five thousand officers +and men had been killed in battle, another hundred thousand had perished +by cold and disaster at the Bérésina or other rivers where +panic seized the fugitives.</p> +<p>Forty-eight generals had been captured by the Russians, three thousand +officers, one hundred and ninety thousand men, swallowed by the silent +white Empire of the North and no more seen.</p> +<p>As the retreat neared Vilna the cold had increased, killing men as +the first cold of an English winter kills flies. And when the +French quitted Vilna, the Russians were glad enough to seek its shelter, +Kutusoff creeping in with forty thousand men, all that remained to him +of two hundred thousand. He could not carry on the pursuit, but +sent forward a handful of Cossacks to harry the hare-brained few who +called themselves the rearguard. He was an old man, nearly worn +out, with only three months more to live—but he had done his work.</p> +<p>Ney—the bravest of the brave—left alone in Russia at +the last with seven hundred foreign recruits, men picked from here and +there, called in from the highways and hedges to share the glory of +the only Marshal who came back from Moscow with a name untarnished—Ney +and Girard, musket in hand, were the last to cross the bridge, shouting +defiance at their Cossack foes, who, when they had hounded the last +of the French across the frontier, flung themselves down on the bloodstained +snow to rest.</p> +<p>All along the banks of the Vistula, from Königsberg and Dantzig +up to Warsaw—that slow river which at the last call shall assuredly +give up more dead than any other—the fugitives straggled homewards. +For the Russians paused at their own frontier, and Prussia was still +nominally the friend of France. She had still to wear the mask +for three long months when she should at last openly side with Russia, +only to be beaten again by Napoleon.</p> +<p>Murat was at Königsberg with the Imperial staff, left in supreme +command by the Emperor, and already thinking of his own sunny kingdom +of the Mediterranean, and the ease and the glory of it. In a few +weeks he, too, must tarnish his name.</p> +<p>“I make over the command to you,” he said to Prince Eugene; +and Napoleon’s step-son made an answer which shows, as Eugene +showed again and again, that contact with a great man makes for greatness.</p> +<p>“You cannot make it over to me,” he replied. “Only +the Emperor can do that. You can run away in the night, and the +supreme command will devolve on me the next morning.”</p> +<p>And what Murat did is no doubt known to the learned reader.</p> +<p>Macdonald, abandoned by Yorck with the Prussian contingent, in great +peril, alone in the north, was retreating with the remains of the Tenth +Army Corps, wondering whether Königsberg or Dantzig would still +be French when he reached them. On his heels was Wittgenstein, +in touch with St. Petersburg and the Emperor Alexander, communicating +with Kutusoff at Vilna. And Macdonald, like the Scotchman and +the Frenchman that he was, turned at a critical moment and rent Wittgenstein. +Here was another bulldog in that panic-stricken pack, who turned and +snarled and fought while his companions slunk homewards with their tails +between their legs. There were three of such breed—Ney and +Macdonald, and Prince Eugene de Beauharnais.</p> +<p>Napoleon was in Paris, getting together in wild haste the new army +with which he was yet to frighten Europe into fits. And Rapp, +doggedly fortifying his frozen city, knew that he was to hold Dantzig +at any cost—a remote, far-thrown outpost on the Northern sea, +cut off from all help, hundreds of miles from the French frontier, nearly +a thousand miles from Paris.</p> +<p>At Marienwerder, Barlasch and Désirée found themselves +in the midst of that bustle and confusion which attends the arrival +or departure of an army corps. The majority of the men were young +and of a dark skin. They seemed gay, and called out salutations +to which Barlasch replied curtly enough.</p> +<p>“They are Italians,” said he to his companion; “I +know their talk and their manners. To you and me, who come from +the North, they are like children. See that one who is dancing. +It is some fête. What is to-day?”</p> +<p>“It is New Year’s Day,” replied Désirée.</p> +<p>“New Year’s Day,” echoed Barlasch. “Good. +And we have been on the road since six o’clock; and I, who have +forgotten to wish you—” He paused and called cheerily +to the horses, which had covered more than forty miles since leaving +their stable at Thorn. “Bon Dieu!” he said in a lower +tone, glancing at her beneath the ice-bound rim of his fur cap, “Bon +Dieu—what am I to wish you, I wonder?”</p> +<p>Désirée did not answer, but smiled a little and looked +straight in front of her.</p> +<p>Barlasch made a movement of the shoulders and eyebrows indicative +of a hidden anger.</p> +<p>“We are friends,” he asked suddenly, “you and I?”</p> +<p>“Yes.”</p> +<p>“We have been friends since—that day—when you were +married?”</p> +<p>“Yes,” answered Désirée.</p> +<p>“Then between friends,” said Barlasch, gruffly; “it +is not necessary to smile—like that—when it is tears that +are there.”</p> +<p>Désirée laughed.</p> +<p>“Would you have me weep?” she asked.</p> +<p>“It would hurt one less,” said Barlasch, attending to +his horses. They were in the town now, and the narrow streets +were crowded. Many sick and wounded were dragging themselves wearily +along. A few carts, drawn by starving horses, went slowly down +the hill. But there was some semblance of order, and thus men +had the air and carriage of soldiers under discipline. Barlasch +was quick to see it.</p> +<p>“It is the Fourth Corps. The Viceroy’s army. +They have done well. He is a soldier, who commands them. +Ah! There is one I know.”</p> +<p>He threw the reins to Désirée, and in a moment he was +out on the snow. A man, as old, it would seem, as himself, in +uniform and carrying a musket, was marching past with a few men who +seemed to be under his orders, though his uniform was long past recognition. +He did not perceive, for some minutes, that Barlasch was coming towards +him, and then the process of recognition was slow. Finally, he +laid aside his musket, and the two old men gravely kissed each other.</p> +<p>Quite forgetful of Désirée, they stood talking together +for twenty minutes. Then they gravely embraced once more, and +Barlasch returned to the sleigh. He took the reins, and urged +the horses up the hill without commenting on his encounter, but Désirée +could see that he had heard news.</p> +<p>The inn was outside the town, on the road that follows the Vistula +northwards to Dirschau and Dantzig. The horses were tired, and +stumbled on the powdery snow which was heavy, like sand, and of a sandy +colour. Here and there, by the side of the road, were great stains +of blood and the remains of a horse that had been killed, and eaten +raw. The faces of many of the men were smeared with blood, which +had dried on their cheeks and caked there. Nearly all were smoke-grimed +and had sore eyes.</p> +<p>At last Barlasch spoke, with the decisive air of one who has finally +drawn up a course of action in a difficult position.</p> +<p>“He comes from my own country, that man. You heard us? +We spoke together in our patois. I shall not see him again. +He has a catarrh. When he coughs there is blood. Alas!”</p> +<p>Désirée glanced at the rugged face half turned away +from her. She was not naturally heartless; but she quite forgot +to sympathize with the elderly soldier who had caught a cold on the +retreat from Moscow; for his friend’s grief lacked conviction. +Barlasch had heard news which he had decided to keep to himself.</p> +<p>“Has he come from Vilna?” asked Désirée.</p> +<p>“From Vilna—oh yes. They are all from Vilna.”</p> +<p>“And he had no news”—persisted she, “of—Captain +Darragon?”</p> +<p>“News—oh no! He is a common soldier, and knows +nothing of the officers on the staff. We are the same—he +and I—poor animals in the ranks. A little gentleman rides +up, all sabretasche and gold lace. It is an officer of the staff. +‘Go down into the valley and get shot,’ he says. And—<i>bon +jour</i>! we go. No—no. He has no news, my poor comrade.”</p> +<p>They were at the inn now, and found the huge yard still packed with +sleighs and disabled carriages, and the stables ostentatiously empty.</p> +<p>“Go in,” said Barlasch; “and tell them who your +father is—say Antoine Sebastian and nothing else. I would +do it myself, but when it is so cold as that, the lips are stiff, and +I cannot speak German properly. They would find out that I am +French, and it is no good being French now. My comrade told me +that in Königsberg, Murat himself was ill-received by the burgomaster +and such city stuff as that.”</p> +<p>It was as Barlasch foretold. For at the name of Antoine Sebastian +the innkeeper found horses—in another stable.</p> +<p>It would take a few minutes, he said, to fetch them, and in the meantime +there were coffee and some roast meat—his own dinner. Indeed, +he could not do enough to testify his respect for Désirée, +and his commiseration for her, being forced to travel in such weather +through a country infested by starving brigands.</p> +<p>Barlasch consented to come just within the inner door, but refused +to sit at the table with Désirée. He took a piece +of bread, and ate it standing.</p> +<p>“See you,” he said to her when they were left alone, +“the good God has made very few mistakes, but there is one thing +I would have altered. If He intended us for such a rough life, +He should have made the human frame capable of going longer without +food. To a poor soldier marching from Moscow to have to stop every +three hours and gnaw a piece of horse that has died—and raw—it +is not amusing.”</p> +<p>He watched Désirée with a grudging eye. For she +was young, and had eaten nothing for six freezing hours.</p> +<p>“And for us,” he added; “what a waste of time!”</p> +<p>Désirée rose at once with a laugh.</p> +<p>“You want to go,” she said. “Come, I am ready.”</p> +<p>“Yes,” he admitted, “I want to go. I am afraid—name +of a dog! I am afraid, I tell you. For I have heard the +Cossacks cry, ‘Hurrah! Hurrah!’ And they are coming.”</p> +<p>“Ah!” said Désirée, “that is what +your friend told you.”</p> +<p>“That, and other things.”</p> +<p>He was pulling on his gloves as he spoke, and turned quickly on his +heel when the innkeeper entered the room, as if he had expected one +of those dread Cossacks of Toula who were half savage. But the +innkeeper carried nothing more lethal in his hand than a yellow mug +of beer, which he offered to Barlasch. And the old soldier only +shook his head.</p> +<p>“There is poison in it,” he muttered. “He +knows I am a Frenchman.”</p> +<p>“Come,” said Désirée, with her gay laugh, +“I will show you that there is no poison in it.”</p> +<p>She took the mug and drank, and handed the measure to Barlasch. +It was a poor thin beer, and Barlasch was not one to hide his opinion +from the host, to whom he made a reproving grimace when he returned +the empty mug. But the effect upon him was nevertheless good, +for he took the reins again with a renewed energy, and called to the +horses gaily enough.</p> +<p>“Allons,” he said; “we shall reach Dantzig safely +by nightfall, and there we shall find your husband awaiting us, and +laughing at us for our foolish journey.”</p> +<p>But being an old man, the beer could not warm his heart for long, +and he soon lapsed again into melancholy and silence. Nevertheless, +they reached Dantzig by nightfall, and although it was a bitter twilight—colder +than the night itself—the streets were full. Men stood in +groups and talked. In the brief time required to journey to Thorn +something had happened. Something happened every day in Dantzig; +for when history wakes from her slumber and moves, it is with a heavy +and restless tread.</p> +<p>“What is it?” asked Barlasch of the sentry at the town +gate, while they waited for their passports to be returned to them.</p> +<p>“It is a proclamation from the Emperor of Russia—no one +knows how it has got here.”</p> +<p>“And what does he proclaim—that citizen?”</p> +<p>“He bids the Dantzigers rise and turn us out,” answered +the soldier, with a grim laugh.</p> +<p>“Is that all?”</p> +<p>“No, comrade, that is not all,” was the answer in a graver +voice.</p> +<p>“He proclaims that every Pole who submits now will be forgiven +and set at liberty; the past, he says, will be committed to an eternal +oblivion and a profound silence—those are his words.”</p> +<p>“Ah!”</p> +<p>“Yes, and half the defenders of Dantzig are Poles—there +are your passports—pass on.”</p> +<p>They drove through the dark streets where men like shadows hurried +silently about their business.</p> +<p>The Frauengasse seemed to be deserted when they reached it. +It was Mathilde who opened the door. She must have been at the +darkened window, behind the curtain. Lisa had gone home to her +native village in Sammland in obedience to the Governor’s orders. +Sebastian had not been home all day. Charles had not returned, +and there was no news of him.</p> +<p>Barlasch, wiping the snow from his face, watched Désirée, +and made no comment.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h2>CHAPTER XXIV. MATHILDE CHOOSES.</h2> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p> <i>But strong is fate, O Love,<br /> Who +makes, who mars, who ends.</i></p> +<p>Désirée was telling Mathilde the brief news of her +futile journey, when a knock at the front door made them turn from the +stairs where they were standing. It was Sebastian’s knock. +His hours had been less regular of late. He came and went without +explanation.</p> +<p>When he had freed his throat from his furs, and laid aside his gloves, +he glanced hastily at Désirée, who had kissed him without +speaking.</p> +<p>“And your husband?” he asked curtly.</p> +<p>“It was not he whom we found at Thorn,” she answered. +There was something in her father’s voice—in his quick, +sidelong glance at her—that caught her attention. He had +changed lately. From a man of dreams he had been transformed into +a man of action. It is customary to designate a man of action +as a hard man. Custom is the brick wall against which feeble minds +come to a standstill and hinder the progress of the world. Sebastian +had been softened by action, through which his mental energy had found +an outlet. But to-night he was his old self again—hard, +scornful, incomprehensible.</p> +<p>“I have heard nothing of him,” said Désirée.</p> +<p>Sebastian was stamping the snow from his boots.</p> +<p>“But I have,” he said, without looking up.</p> +<p>Désirée said nothing. She knew that the secret +she had guarded so carefully—the secret kept by herself and Louis—was +hers no longer. In the silence of the next moments she could hear +Barlasch breathing on his fingers, within the kitchen doorway just behind +her. Mathilde made a little movement. She was on the stairs, +and she moved nearer to the balustrade and held to it breathlessly. +For Charles Darragon’s secret was De Casimir’s too.</p> +<p>“These two gentlemen,” said Sebastian slowly, “were +in the secret service of Napoleon. They are hardly likely to return +to Dantzig.”</p> +<p>“Why not?” asked Mathilde.</p> +<p>“They dare not.”</p> +<p>“I think the Emperor will be able to protect his officers,” +said Mathilde.</p> +<p>“But not his spies,” replied Sebastian coldly.</p> +<p>“Since they wore his uniform, they cannot be blamed for doing +their duty. They are brave enough. They would hardly avoid +returning to Dantzig because—because they have outwitted the Tugendbund.”</p> +<p>Mathilde’s face was colourless with anger, and her quiet eyes +flashed. She had been surprised into this sudden advocacy, and +an advocate who displays temper is always a dangerous ally. Sebastian +glanced at her sharply. She was usually so self-controlled that +her flashing eyes and quick breath betrayed her.</p> +<p>“What do you know of the Tugendbund?” he asked.</p> +<p>But she would not answer, merely shrugging her shoulders and closing +her thin lips with a snap.</p> +<p>“It is not only in Dantzig,” said Sebastian, “that +they are unsafe. It is anywhere where the Tugendbund can reach +them.”</p> +<p>He turned sharply to Désirée. His wits, cleared +by action, told him that her silence meant that she, at all events, +had not been surprised. She had, therefore, known already the +part played by De Casimir and Charles, in Dantzig, before the war.</p> +<p>“And you,” he said, “you have nothing to say for +your husband.”</p> +<p>“He may have been misled,” she said mechanically, in +the manner of one making a prepared speech or meeting a foreseen emergency. +It had been foreseen by Louis d’Arragon. The speech had +been, unconsciously, prepared by him.</p> +<p>“You mean, by Colonel de Casimir,” suggested Mathilde, +who had recovered her usual quiet. And Désirée did +not deny her meaning. Sebastian looked from one to the other. +It was the irony of Fate that had married one of his daughters to Charles +Darragon, and affianced the other to De Casimir. His own secret, +so well kept, had turned in his hand like a concealed weapon.</p> +<p>They were all startled by Barlasch, who spoke from the kitchen door, +where he had been standing unobserved or forgotten. He came forward +to the light of the lamp hanging overhead.</p> +<p>“That reminds me . . . ” he said a second time, and having +secured their attention, he instituted a search in the many pockets +of his nondescript clothing. He still wore a dirty handkerchief +bound over one eye. It served to release him from duty in the +trenches or work on the frozen fortifications. By this simple +device, coupled with half a dozen bandages in various parts of his person, +where a frost-bite or a wound gave excuse, he passed as one of the twenty-five +thousand sick and wounded who encumbered Dantzig at this time, and were +already dying at the rate of fifty a day.</p> +<p>“A letter . . . ” he said, still searching with his maimed +hand. “You mentioned the name of the Colonel de Casimir. +It was that which recalled to my mind . . . ” He paused, +and produced a letter carefully sealed. He turned it over, glancing +at the seals with a reproving jerk of the head, which conveyed as clearly +as words a shameless confession that he had been frustrated by them +. . . “this letter. I was told to give it you, without fail, +at the right moment.”</p> +<p>It could hardly be the case that he honestly thought this moment +might be so described. But he gave the letter to Mathilde with +a gesture of grim triumph. Perhaps he was thinking of the cellar +in the Palace on the Petrovka at Moscow, and the treasure which he had +found there.</p> +<p>“It is from the Colonel de Casimir,” he said, “a +clever man,” he added, turning confidentially to Sebastian, and +holding his attention by an upraised hand. “Oh! . . . a +clever man.”</p> +<p>Mathilde, her face all flushed, tore open the envelope, while Barlasch, +breathing on his fingers, watched with twinkling eye and busy lips.</p> +<p>The letter was a long one. Colonel de Casimir was an adept +at explanation. There was, no doubt, much to explain. Mathilde +read the letter carefully. It was the first she had ever had—a +love-letter in its guise—with explanations in it. Love and +explanation in the same breath. Assuredly De Casimir was a daring +lover.</p> +<p>“He says that Dantzig will be taken by storm,” she said +at length, “and that the Cossacks will spare no one.”</p> +<p>“Does it signify,” inquired Sebastian in his smoothest +voice, “what Colonel de Casimir may say?”</p> +<p>His grand manner had come back to him. He made a gesture with +his hand almost suggestive of a ruffle at the wrist, and clearly insulting +to Colonel de Casimir.</p> +<p>“He urges us to quit the city before it is too late,” +continued Mathilde, in her measured voice, and awaited her father’s +reply. He took snuff with a cold smile.</p> +<p>“You will not do so?” she asked. And by way of +reply, Sebastian laughed as he dusted the snuff from his coat with his +pocket-handkerchief.</p> +<p>“He asks me to go to Cracow with the Gräfin, and marry +him,” said Mathilde finally. And Sebastian only shrugged +his shoulders. The suggestion was beneath contempt.</p> +<p>“And . . . ?” he inquired with raised eyebrows.</p> +<p>“I shall do it,” replied Mathilde, defiance shining in +her eyes.</p> +<p>“At all events,” commented Sebastian, who knew Mathilde’s +mind, and met her coldness with indifference, “you will do it +with your eyes open, and not leap in the dark, as Désirée +did. I was to blame there; a man is always to blame if he is deceived. +With you . . . Bah! you know what the man is. But you do +not know, unless he tells you in that letter, that he is even a traitor +in his treachery. He has accepted the amnesty offered by the Czar; +he has abandoned Napoleon’s cause; he has petitioned the Czar +to allow him to retire to Cracow, and there live on his estates.”</p> +<p>“He has no doubt good reasons for his action,” said Mathilde.</p> +<p>“Two carriages full,” muttered Barlasch, who had withdrawn +to the dark corner near the kitchen door. But no one heeded him.</p> +<p>“You must make your choice,” said Sebastian, with the +coldness of a judge. “You are of age. Choose.”</p> +<p>“I have already chosen,” answered Mathilde. “The +Gräfin leaves to-morrow. I will go with her.”</p> +<p>She had, at all events, the courage of her own opinions—a courage +not rare in women, however valueless may be the judgment upon which +it is based. And in fairness it must be admitted that women usually +have the courage not only of the opinion, but of the consequence, and +meet it with a better grace than men can summon in misfortune.</p> +<p>Sebastian dined alone and hastily. Mathilde was locked in her +room, and refused to open the door. Désirée cooked +her father’s dinner while Barlasch made ready to depart on some +vague errand in the town.</p> +<p>“There may be news,” he said. “Who knows? +And afterwards the patron will go out, and it would not be wise for +you to remain alone in the house.”</p> +<p>“Why not?”</p> +<p>Barlasch turned and looked at her thoughtfully over his shoulder.</p> +<p>“In some of the big houses down in the Niederstadt there are +forty and fifty soldiers quartered—diseased, wounded, without +discipline. There are others coming. I have told them we +have fever in the house. It is the only way. We may keep +them out; for the Frauengasse is in the centre of the town, and the +soldiers are not needed in this quarter. But you—you cannot +lie as I can. You laugh—ah! A woman tells more lies; +but a man tells them better. Push the bolts, when I am gone.”</p> +<p>After his dinner, Sebastian went out, as Barlasch had predicted. +He said nothing to Désirée of Charles or of the future. +There was nothing to be said, perhaps. He did not ask why Mathilde +was absent. In the stillness of the house, he could probably hear +her moving in her rooms upstairs.</p> +<p>He had not been long gone when Mathilde came down, dressed to go +out. She came into the kitchen where Désirée was +doing the work of the absent Lisa, who had reluctantly gone to her home +on the Baltic coast. Mathilde stood by the kitchen table and ate +some bread.</p> +<p>“The Gräfin has arranged to quit Dantzig to-morrow,” +she said. “I am going to ask her to take me with her.”</p> +<p>Désirée nodded and made no comment. Mathilde +went to the door, but paused there. Without looking round, she +stood thinking deeply. They had grown from childhood together—motherless—with +a father whom neither understood. Together they had faced the +difficulties of life; the hundred petty difficulties attending a woman’s +life in a strange land, among neighbours who bear the sleepless grudge +of unsatisfied curiosity. They had worked together for their daily +bread. And now the full stream of life had swept them together +from the safe moorings of childhood.</p> +<p>“Will you come too?” asked Mathilde. “All +that he says about Dantzig is true.”</p> +<p>“No, thank you,” answered Désirée, gently +enough. “I will wait here. I must wait in Dantzig.”</p> +<p>“I cannot,” said Mathilde, half excusing herself. +“I must go. I cannot help it. You understand?”</p> +<p>“Yes,” said Désirée, and nothing more.</p> +<p>Had Mathilde asked her the question six months ago, she would have +said “No.” But she understood now, not that Mathilde +could love De Casimir; that was beyond her individual comprehension, +but that there was no alternative now.</p> +<p>Soon after Mathilde had gone, Barlasch returned.</p> +<p>“If Mademoiselle Mathilde is going, she will have to go to-morrow,” +he said. “Those that are coming in at the gates now are +the rearguard of the Heudelet Division which was driven out of Elbing +by the Cossacks three days ago.”</p> +<p>He sat mumbling to himself by the fire, and only turned to the supper +which Désirée had placed in readiness for him when she +quitted the room and went upstairs. It was he who opened the door +for Mathilde, who returned in half an hour. She thanked him absent-mindedly +and went upstairs. He could hear the sisters talking together +in a low voice in the drawing-room, which he had never seen, at the +top of the stairs.</p> +<p>Then Désirée came down, and he helped her to find in +a shed in the yard one of those travelling-trunks which he had recognized +as being of French manufacture. He took off his boots, and carried +it upstairs for her.</p> +<p>It was ten o’clock before Sebastian came in. He nodded +his thanks to Barlasch, and watched him bolt the door. He made +no inquiry as to Mathilde, but extinguished the lamp, and went to his +room. He never mentioned her name again.</p> +<p>Early the next morning, the girls were astir. But Barlasch +was before them, and when Désirée came down, she found +the kitchen fire alight. Barlasch was cleaning a knife, and nodded +a silent good morning. Désirée’s eyes were +red, and Barlasch must have noted this sign of grief, for he gave a +contemptuous laugh, and continued his occupation.</p> +<p>It was barely daylight when the Gräfin’s heavy, old-fashioned +carriage drew up in front of the house. Mathilde came down, thickly +veiled and in her travelling furs. She did not seem to see Barlasch, +and omitted to thank him for carrying her travelling-trunk to the carriage.</p> +<p>He stood on the terrace beside Désirée until the carriage +had turned the corner into the Pfaffengasse.</p> +<p>“Bah!” he said, “let her go. There is no +stopping them, when they are like that. It is the curse—of +the Garden of Eden.”</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h2>CHAPTER XXV. A DESPATCH.</h2> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p> <i>In counsel it is good to see dangers; +and in execution not to see them unless they be very great.</i></p> +<p>Mathilde had told Désirée that Colonel de Casimir made +no mention of Charles in his letter to her. Barlasch was able +to supply but little further information on the matter.</p> +<p>“It was given to me by the Captain Louis d’Arragon at +Thorn,” he said. “He handled it as if it were not +too clean. And he had nothing to say about it. You know +his way, for the rest. He says little; but he knows the look of +things. It seemed that he had promised to deliver the letter—for +some reason, who knows what? and he kept his promise. The man +was not dying by any chance—that De Casimir?”</p> +<p>And his little sharp eyes, reddened by the smoke of camp-fires, inflamed +by the glare of sun on snow, searched her face. He was thinking +of the treasure.</p> +<p>“Oh no!”</p> +<p>“Was he ill at all?”</p> +<p>“He was in bed,” answered Désirée, doubtfully.</p> +<p>Barlasch scratched his head without ceremony, and fell into a long +train of thought.</p> +<p>“Do you know what I think?” he said at length. +“I think that De Casimir was not ill at all—any more than +I am; I, Barlasch. Not so ill, perhaps, as I am, for I have an +indigestion. It is always there at the summit of the stomach. +It is horse without salt.”</p> +<p>He paused and rubbed his chest tenderly.</p> +<p>“Never eat horse without salt,” he put in parenthetically.</p> +<p>“I hope never to eat it at all,” answered Désirée. +“What about Colonel de Casimir?”</p> +<p>He waved her aside as a babbler who broke in upon his thoughts. +These seemed to be lodged in his mouth, for, when reflecting, he chewed +and mumbled with his lips.</p> +<p>“Listen,” he said at length. “This is De +Casimir. He goes to bed and lets his beard grow—half an +inch of beard will keep any man in the hospital. You nod your +head. Yes; I thought so. He knows that the viceroy, with +the last of the army, is at Thorn. He keeps quiet. He waits +in his roadside inn until the last of the army has gone. He waits +until the Russians come, and to them he hands over the Emperor’s +possessions—all the papers, the maps, the despatches. For +that he will be rewarded by the Emperor Alexander, who has already promised +pardon to all Poles who have taken arms against Russia and now submit. +De Casimir will be allowed to retain his own baggage. He has no +loot taken at Moscow—oh no! Only his own baggage. +Ah—that man! See, I spit him out.”</p> +<p>And it is painful to record that he here resorted to graphic illustration.</p> +<p>“Ah!” he went on triumphantly, “I know. I +can see right into the mind of such a man. I will tell you why. +It is because I am that sort of man myself.”</p> +<p>“You do not seem to have been so successful—since you +are poor,” said Désirée, with a laugh.</p> +<p>He frowned at her apparently in speechless anger, seeking an answer. +But for the moment he could think of none, so he turned to the knives +again, which he was cleaning on a board on the kitchen-table. +At length he paused and glanced at Désirée.</p> +<p>“And your husband,” he said slowly. “Remember +that he is a partner with this De Casimir. They hunt together. +I know it; for I was in Moscow. Ah! that makes you stand stiffly, +and push your chin out.”</p> +<p>He went on cleaning the knives, and, without looking at her, seemed +to be speaking his own thoughts aloud.</p> +<p>“Yes! He is a traitor. And he is worse than the +other; for he is no Pole, but a Frenchman. And if he returns to +France, the Emperor will say: ‘Where are my despatches, my maps, +my papers, which were given into your care?’”</p> +<p>He finished the thought with three gestures, which seemed to illustrate +the placing of a man against a wall and shooting him. His meaning +could not be mistaken.</p> +<p>“And that is what the patron means when he says that Monsieur +Charles Darragon will not return to Dantzig. I knew that he meant +that last night, when he was so angry—on the mat.”</p> +<p>“And why did you not tell me?”</p> +<p>Barlasch looked at her thoughtfully for a moment, before replying +slowly and impressively.</p> +<p>“Because, if I had told you, you might have decided to quit +Dantzig with Mademoiselle Mathilde, and go hunting your husband in a +country overrun by desperate fugitives and untamed Cossacks. And +I did not want that. I want you here—in Dantzig; in the +Frauengasse; in this kitchen; under my hand—so that I can take +care of you till the war is over. I—who speak to you—Papa +Barlasch, at your service. And there is not another man in the +world who will do it so well. No; not one.”</p> +<p>And his eyes flashed as he threw the knives into a drawer.</p> +<p>“But why should you do all this for me?” asked Désirée. +“You could have gone home to France—quite easily—and +have left us to our fate here in Dantzig. Why did you not go home?”</p> +<p>Barlasch looked at her with surprise, not unmixed with a sudden dumb +disappointment. He was preparing to go out according to his wont +immediately after breakfast; for Lisa had unconsciously hit the mark +when she compared him to a cat. He had the regular and self-contained +habits of that unobtrusive friend. He buttoned his rough coat +slowly, and looked round the kitchen with eyes dimly wistful. +He was very old and ragged and homeless.</p> +<p>“Is it not enough,” he said, “that we are friends?”</p> +<p>He went towards the door, but came back and warned her by the familiar +upheld finger not to let her attention wander from his words.</p> +<p>“You will be glad yet that I have stayed. It is because +I speak a little plainly of your husband that you wish me gone. +Bah! What does it matter? All men are alike. We are +only men—not angels. And you can go on loving him all the +same. You are not particular, you women. You can love anything—even +a man like that.”</p> +<p>And he went out muttering anathemas on the hearts of all women.</p> +<p>“It seems,” he said, “that a woman can love anything.”</p> +<p>Which is true; and a very good thing for some of us. For without +that Heaven-sent capacity the world could not go on at all.</p> +<p>It was later in the day when Barlasch made his way into the low and +smoke-grimed Bier Halle of the Weissen Röss’l. He must +have known Sebastian’s habits, for he went straight to that corner +of the great room where the violin-player usually sat. The stout +waitress—a country girl of no intelligence, smiled broadly at +the sight of such a ragged customer as she followed him down the length +of the sawdust-strewn floor.</p> +<p>Sebastian’s face showed no surprise when he looked up and recognized +the new-comer. The surrounding tables were empty. It was +too early in the evening for the regular customers, whose numbers, moreover, +had been sadly thinned during the last few months. For the peaceful +Dantzigers, remembering the siege of seven years ago, had mostly fled +at the first mention of the word.</p> +<p>Sebastian nodded in answer to Barlasch’s somewhat ceremonious +bow, and by a gesture invited him to be seated on the chair upon which +he had already laid his hand. The atmosphere of the room was warm, +and Barlasch laid aside his sheepskin coat, as he had seen the great +and the rich divest themselves of their sables. He turned sharply +and caught the waitress with an amused smile still on her face. +He drew her attention to a little pool of beer on the table, and stood +until she had made good this lapse in her duty. Then he pointed +to Sebastian’s mug of beer and dismissed her giggling, to get +one for him of the same size and contents.</p> +<p>Making sure that there was no one within earshot, he waited until +Sebastian’s dreamy eye met his, and then said—</p> +<p>“It is time we understood each other.”</p> +<p>A light of surprise—passing and half-indifferent—flashed +into Sebastian’s eyes and vanished again at once when he saw Barlasch +had meant nothing: made no sign or countersign with his hand.</p> +<p>“By all means, my friend,” he answered.</p> +<p>“I delivered your letters,” said Barlasch, “at +Thorn and at the other places.”</p> +<p>“I know; I have already had answers. You would be wise +to forget the incident.”</p> +<p>Barlasch shrugged his shoulders.</p> +<p>“You were paid,” said Sebastian, jumping to a natural +conclusion.</p> +<p>“A little,” admitted Barlasch, “a small little—but +it was not that. I always get paid in advance, when I can. +Except by the Emperor. He owes me some—that citizen. +It was another question. In the house I am friends with all—with +Lisa who has gone—with Mademoiselle Mathilde who has gone—with +Mademoiselle Désirée, so-called Madame Darragon, who remains. +With all except you. Why should we not be friends?”</p> +<p>“But we are friends—” protested Sebastian, with +a bow. As if in confirmation of the statement, he held out his +beer-mug, and Barlasch touched it with the rim of his own before drinking. +Sebastian’s attitude, his bow, his manner of drinking, were those +of the Court; Barlasch was distinctly of the camp. But these were +strange days, and all society had been turned topsy-turvy by one man.</p> +<p>“Then,” said Barlasch, licking his lips, “let us +understand one another. You say there will be no siege. +I say you are wrong. You think that the Dantzigers will rise in +answer to the Emperor Alexander’s proclamations, and turn the +French out. I say the Dantzigers’ stomachs are too big. +I say that Rapp will hold Dantzig, and that the Russians will not take +it by storm, because they are too weak. There will be a siege, +and a long one. Are you and Mademoiselle and I going to sit it +out in the Frauengasse together?”</p> +<p>“We shall be honoured to have you as our guest,” answered +Sebastian, with that levity which went before the Revolution, and was +never understood of the people.</p> +<p>Barlasch did not understand it. He glanced doubtfully at his +companion, and sipped his beer.</p> +<p>“Then I will begin to-night.”</p> +<p>“Begin what, my friend?”</p> +<p>Barlasch waved aside all petty detail.</p> +<p>“My preparations. I go out about ten o’clock—after +you are in. I will take the key of the front door, and let myself +in when I come back. I shall make two journeys. Under the +kitchen floor is a large hollow space. I fill that with bags of +corn.”</p> +<p>“But where will you get the corn, my friend?”</p> +<p>“I know where to get it—corn and other things. +Salt I have already—enough for a year. Other things I can +get for three months.”</p> +<p>“But we have no money to pay for them.”</p> +<p>“Bah!”</p> +<p>“You mean you will steal them,” suggested Sebastian, +not without a ring of contempt in his mincing voice.</p> +<p>“A soldier never steals,” answered Barlasch, carelessly +announcing a great truth.</p> +<p>Sebastian laughed. It was obvious that his mind, absorbed in +great thought, heeded small things not at all. His companion pushed +his fur cap to the back of his head, and ruffled his hair forward.</p> +<p>“That is not all,” he said at length. He looked +round the vast room, which was almost deserted. The stout waitress +was polishing pewter mugs at the bar. “You say you have +already had answers to those letters. It is a great organization—your +secret society—whatever it is called. It delivers letters +all over Prussia—eh? and Poland perhaps—or farther still.”</p> +<p>Sebastian shrugged one shoulder, and made no answer for some time.</p> +<p>“I have already told you,” he said impatiently, at length, +“to forget the incident; you were paid.”</p> +<p>By way of reply, the old soldier laboriously emptied his pockets, +searching the most remote of them for small copper coins. He counted +slowly and carefully until he had made up a thaler.</p> +<p>“But it is not my turn to be paid this time. It is I +who pay.”</p> +<p>He held out his hand with a pound weight of base metal in it, but +Sebastian refused the money with a sudden assumption of his cold and +scornful manner, oddly out of keeping with his humble surroundings.</p> +<p>“As between friends—” suggested Barlasch, and, +on receiving a more decided negative, returned the coins to his pocket, +not without satisfaction.</p> +<p>“I want your friends to pass on a letter for me—I am +willing to pay,” he said in a whisper. “A letter to +Captain Louis d’Arragon—it concerns the happiness of Mademoiselle +Désirée. Do not shake your head. Think before +you refuse. The letter will be an open one—six words or +so—telling the Captain that his cousin, Mademoiselle’s husband, +is not in Dantzig, and cannot now return here since the last of the +rearguard entered the city this morning.”</p> +<p>Sebastian seemed to be considering the matter, and Barlasch was quick +to combat possible objections.</p> +<p>“The Captain went to Königsberg. He is there now. +Your friends can easily find him, and give him the letter. It +is of great importance to Mademoiselle. The Captain is not looking +for Monsieur Charles Darragon, because he thinks that he is here in +Dantzig. Colonel de Casimir assured him that Mademoiselle would +find him here. Where is he—that Monsieur Charles—I +wonder? It is of great importance to Mademoiselle. The Captain +would perhaps continue his search.”</p> +<p>“Where is your letter?” asked Sebastian.</p> +<p>By way of reply, Barlasch laid on the table a sheet of paper.</p> +<p>“You must write it,” he said. “My hand is +injured. I write not badly, you understand. But this evening +I do not feel that my hand is well enough.”</p> +<p>So, with the sticky, thick ink of the Weissen Röss’l, +Sebastian wrote the letter, and Barlasch, forgetting his scholarly acquirements, +took the pen and made a mark beneath his own name written at the foot +of it.</p> +<p>Then he went out, and left Sebastian to pay for the beer.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h2>CHAPTER XXVI. ON THE BRIDGE.</h2> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p> <i>They that are above<br /> Have +ends in everything.</i></p> +<p>A lame man was standing on the bridge that crosses the Neuer Pregel +from the Kant Strasse—which is the centre of the city of Königsberg—to +the island known as the Kneiphof. This bridge is called the Krämer +Brücke, and may be described as the heart of the town. From +it on either hand diverge the narrow streets that run along the river +bank, busy with commerce, crowded with the narrow sleighs that carry +wood from the Pregel up into the town.</p> +<p>The wider streets—such as the Kant Strasse, running downhill +from the royal castle to the river, and the Kneiphöf’sche +Langgasse, leading southward to the Brandenburg gate and the great world—must +needs make use of the Krämer Brücke. Here, it may be +said, every man in the town must sooner or later pass in the execution +of his daily business, whether he go about it on foot or in a sleigh +with a pair of horses. Here the idler and those grave professors +from the University, which was still mourning the death of the aged +Kant, nearly always passed in their thoughtful and conscientious promenades.</p> +<p>Here this lame man, a cobbler by trade, plying his quiet calling +in a house in the Neuer Markt, where the lime-trees grow close to the +upper windows, had patiently kept watch for three days. He was, +like many lame men, of an abnormal width and weight. He had a +large, square, dogged face, which seemed to promise that he would wait +there till the crack of doom rather than abandon a quest.</p> +<p>It was very cold—mid-winter within a few miles of the frozen +Baltic on the very verge of Russia, at that point where old Europe stretches +a long arm out into the unknown. The cobbler was wrapped in a +sheepskin coat, which stood out all round him with the stiffness of +wood, so that he seemed to be living inside a box. To keep himself +warm he occasionally limped across from end to end of the bridge, but +never went farther. At times he leant his arms on the stone wall +at the Kant Strasse end of the bridge, and looked down into the Lower +Fish Market, where women from Pillau and the Baltic shores—mere +bundles of clothes—stood over their baskets of fish frozen hard +like sticks. It was a silent market. One cannot haggle long +when a minute’s exposure to the air will give a frost-bite to +the end of the nose. The would-be purchaser can scarcely make +an effective bargain through a fringe of icicles that rattle against +his lips if he open them.</p> +<p>The Pregel had been frozen for three months, with only the one temporary +thaw in November which cost Napoleon so many thousands at his broken +bridge across the Bérésina. Though no water had +flowed beneath this bridge, many strange feet had passed across it.</p> +<p>It had vibrated beneath Napoleon’s heavy carriage, under the +lumbering guns that Macdonald took northward to blockade Riga. +Within the last few weeks it had given passage to the last of the retreating +army, a mere handful of heartsick fugitives. Macdonald with his +staff had been ignominiously driven across it by the Cossacks who followed +hard after them, the great marshal still wild with rage at the defection +of Yorck and the Prussian contingent.</p> +<p>And now the Cossacks on their spare and ill-tempered horses passed +to and fro, wild men under an untamed leader whose heart was hardened +to stone by bereavement. The cobbler looked at them with a countenance +of wood. It was hard to say whether he preferred them to the French, +or was indifferent to one as to the other. He looked at their +boots with professional disdain. For all men must look at the +world from their own standpoint and consider mankind in the light of +their own interests. Thus those who live on the greed or the vanity, +or batten on the charity of their neighbour, learn to watch the lips.</p> +<p>The cobbler, by reason of looking at the lower end of men, attracted +little attention from the passer-by. He who has his eyes on the +ground passes unheeded. For the surest way of awakening interest +is to appear interested. It would seem that this cobbler was waiting +for a pair of boots not made in Königsberg. And on the third +day his expressionless black eyes lighted on feet not shod in Poland, +or France, or Germany, nor yet in square-toed Russia.</p> +<p>The owner of these far-travelled boots was a lightly-built dark-faced +man, with eyes quietly ubiquitous. He caught the interested glance +of the cobbler, and turned to look at him again with the uneasiness +that is bred of war. The cobbler instantly hobbled towards him.</p> +<p>“Will you help a poor man?” he said.</p> +<p>“Why should I?” was the answer, with one hand already +half out of its thick glove. “You are not hungry; you have +never been starved in your life.”</p> +<p>The German was quick enough, but it was not quite the Prussian German.</p> +<p>The cobbler looked at the speaker slowly.</p> +<p>“An Englishman?” he asked.</p> +<p>And the other nodded.</p> +<p>“Come this way.”</p> +<p>The cobbler hobbled towards the Kneiphof, where the streets are quiet, +and the Englishman followed him. At the corner of the Kohl Markt +he turned and looked, not at the man, but at his boots.</p> +<p>“You are a sailor?” he said.</p> +<p>“Yes.”</p> +<p>“I was told to look for an English sailor—Louis d’Arragon.”</p> +<p>“Then you have found me,” was the reply.</p> +<p>Still the cobbler hesitated.</p> +<p>“How am I to know it?” he asked suspiciously.</p> +<p>“Can you read?” asked D’Arragon. “I +can prove who I am—if I want to. But I am not sure that +I want to.”</p> +<p>“Oh! it is only a letter—of no importance. Some +private business of your own. It comes from Dantzig—written +by one whose name begins with ‘B.’”</p> +<p>“Barlasch,” suggested D’Arragon quietly, as he +took from his pocket a paper which he unfolded and held beneath the +eyes of the cobbler. It was a passport written in three languages. +If the man could read, he was not anxious to boast of an accomplishment +so far above his station; but he glanced at the paper, not without a +practised skill, to seize the essential parts of it.</p> +<p>“Yes, that is the name,” he said, searching in his pockets. +“The letter is an open one. Here it is.”</p> +<p>In passing the letter, the man made a scarcely perceptible movement +of the hand which might have been a signal.</p> +<p>“No,” said D’Arragon, “I do not belong to +the Tugendbund or to any other secret society. We have need of +no such associations in my country.”</p> +<p>The cobbler laughed, not without embarrassment.</p> +<p>“You have a quick eye,” he said. “It is a +great country, England. I have seen the river full of English +ships before Napoleon chased you off the seas.”</p> +<p>D’Arragon smiled as he unfolded the letter.</p> +<p>“He has not done it yet,” he said, with that spirit which +enables mariners of the Anglo-Saxon race to be amused when there is +a talk of supremacy on the high seas. He read the letter carefully, +and his face hardened.</p> +<p>“I was instructed,” said the cobbler, “to give +you the letter, and at the same time to inform you that any assistance +or facilities you may require will be forth-coming; besides . . . ” +he broke off and pointed with his thick, leather-stained finger, “that +writing is not the writing of him who signs.”</p> +<p>“He who signs cannot write at all.”</p> +<p>“That writing,” went on the cobbler, “is a passport +in any German state. He who carries a letter written in that hand +can live and travel free anywhere from here to the Rhine or the Danube.”</p> +<p>“Then I am lucky in possessing a powerful friend,” said +D’Arragon, “for I know who wrote this letter. I think +I may say he is a friend of mine.”</p> +<p>“I am sure of it. I have already been told so,” +said the cobbler. “Have you a lodging in Königsberg? +No? Then you can lodge in my house.”</p> +<p>Without awaiting a reply, which he seemed to consider a foregone +conclusion, he limped down the Kohl Markt towards the steps leading +to the river, which in winter is a thoroughfare.</p> +<p>“I live in the Neuer Markt,” he said breathlessly, as +he laboured onwards. “I have waited for you three days on +that bridge. Where have you been all this time?”</p> +<p>“Avoiding the French,” replied D’Arragon curtly. +Respecting his own affairs he was reticent, as commanders and other +lonely men must always be. They walked side by side on the dusty +and trodden ice without further speech. At the steps from the +river to Neuer Markt, D’Arragon gave the lame man his hand, and +glanced a second time at the fingers which clasped his own. They +had not been born to toil, but had had it thrust upon them.</p> +<p>They crossed the Neuer Markt together, and went into that house where +the linden grows so close as to obscure the windows. And the lodging +offered to Louis was the room in which Charles Darragon had slept in +his wet clothes six months earlier. So small is the world in which +we live, and so narrow are the circles drawn by Fate around human existence +and endeavour.</p> +<p>The cobbler having shown his visitor the room, and pointed out its +advantages, was turning to go when D’Arragon, who was laying aside +his fur coat, seemed to catch his attention, and he paused on the threshold.</p> +<p>“There is French blood in your veins,” he said abruptly.</p> +<p>“Yes—a little.”</p> +<p>“So. I thought there must be. You reminded me—it +was odd, the way you laid aside your coat—reminded me of a Frenchman +who lodged here for one night. He was like you, too, in build +and face. He was a spy, if you please—one of the French +Emperor’s secret police. I was new at the work then, but +still I suspected there was something wrong about him. I took +his boots—a pretext of mending them. I locked him in. +He got out of that window, if you please, without his boots. He +followed me, and learnt much that he was not meant to know. I +have since heard it from others. He did the Emperor a great service—that +man. He saved his life, I think, from assassination in Dantzig. +And he did me an ill turn—but it was my own carelessness. +I thought to make a thaler by lodging him, and he was tricking me all +the while.”</p> +<p>“What was his name?” asked D’Arragon.</p> +<p>“Oh—I forgot the name he gave. It was a false one. +He was disguised as a common soldier—and he was in reality an +officer of the staff. But I know the name of the officer to whom +he wrote his report of his night’s lodging here—his colleague +in the secret police, it would seem.”</p> +<p>“Ah!” said D’Arragon, busying himself with his +haversack.</p> +<p>“It was De Casimir—a Polish name. And in the last +two days I have heard of him. He has accepted the Emperor’s +amnesty. He has married a beautiful woman, and is living like +a prince at Cracow. All this since the siege of Dantzig began. +In time of war there is no moment to lose, eh?”</p> +<p>“And the other? He who slept in this room. Has +he passed through Königsberg again?”</p> +<p>“No, that he has not. If he had, I should have seen him. +You can believe me, I wanted to see him. I was at my place on +the bridge all the time—while the French occupied Königsberg—when +the last of them hurried away a month ago with the Cossacks close behind. +No. I should have seen him, and known him. He is not on +this side of the Niemen, that fine young gentleman. Now, what +can I do to help you to-morrow?”</p> +<p>“You can help me on the way to Vilna,” answered D’Arragon.</p> +<p>“You will never get there.”</p> +<p>“I will try,” said the sailor.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h2>CHAPTER XXVII. A FLASH OF MEMORY.</h2> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p> <i>Nothing can cover his high fame +but Heaven,<br /> No pyramids set off his +memories,<br /> But the eternal substance +of his greatness<br /> To which I leave +him.</i></p> +<p>“Why I will not let you go out into the streets?” said +Barlasch one February morning, stamping the snow from his boots. +“Why I will not let you go out into the streets?”</p> +<p>He turned and followed Désirée towards the kitchen, +after having carefully bolted the heavy oaken door which had been strengthened +as if to resist a siege. Désirée’s face had +that clear pallor which marks an indoor life; but Barlasch, weather-beaten, +scorched and wrinkled, showed no sign of having endured a month’s +siege in an overcrowded city.</p> +<p>“I will tell you why I will not let you go into the streets. +Because they are not fit for any woman to go into—because if you +walked from here to the Rathhaus you would see sights that would come +back to you in your sleep, and wake you from it, when you are an old +woman. Do you know what they do with their dead? They throw +them outside their doors—with nothing to cover their starved nakedness—as +Lisa put her ashes in the street every morning. And the cart goes +round, as the dustman’s cart used to go in times of peace, and, +like the dustman’s cart, it drops part of its load, and the dust +that blows round it is the infection of typhus. That is why you +cannot go into the streets.”</p> +<p>He unbuttoned his fur coat and displayed a smart new uniform; for +Rapp had put his miserable army into new clothes, with which many of +the Dantzig warehouses had been filled by Napoleon’s order at +the beginning of the war.</p> +<p>“There,” he said, laying a small parcel on the table, +“there is my daily ration. Two ounces of horse, one ounce +of salt beef, the same as yesterday. One does not know how long +we shall be treated so generously. Let us keep the beef—we +may come to want some day.”</p> +<p>And giving a hoarse laugh, he lifted a board in the floor, beneath +which he hoarded his stores.</p> +<p>“Will you cook your <i>déjeuner</i> yourself,” +asked Désirée. “I have something else for +my father.”</p> +<p>“And what have you?” asked Barlasch curtly; “you +are not keeping anything hidden from me?”</p> +<p>“No,” answered Désirée, with a laugh at +the sternness of his face, “I will give him a piece of the ham +which was left over from last night.”</p> +<p>“Left over?” echoed Barlasch, going close to her and +looking up into her face, for she was two inches taller than he. +“Left over? Then you did not eat your supper last night?”</p> +<p>“Neither did you eat yours, for it is there under the floor.”</p> +<p>Barlasch turned away with a gesture of despair. He sat down +in the high armchair that stood on the hearth, and tapped on the floor +with one foot in pessimistic thought.</p> +<p>“Ah! the women, the women,” he muttered, looking into +the smouldering fire. “Lies—all lies. You said +that your supper was very nice,” he shouted at her over his shoulder.</p> +<p>“So it was,” answered she gaily, “so it is still.”</p> +<p>Barlasch did not rise to her lighter humour. He sat in reflection +for some minutes. Then his thoughts took their usual form of a +muttered aside.</p> +<p>“It is a case of compromise. Always like that. +The good God had to compromise with the first woman he created almost +at once. And men have done it ever since—and have never +had the best of it. See here,” he said aloud, turning to +Désirée, “I will make a bargain with you. +I will eat my last night’s supper here at this table, now, if +you will eat yours.”</p> +<p>“Agreed.”</p> +<p>“Are you hungry?” asked Barlasch, when the scanty meal +was set out before him.</p> +<p>“Yes.”</p> +<p>“So am I.”</p> +<p>He laughed quite gaily now, and the meal was not without a certain +air of festivity, though it consisted of nothing better than two ounces +of horse and half an ounce of ham eaten in company of that rye-bread +made with one-third part of straw which Rapp allowed the citizens to +buy.</p> +<p>For Rapp had first tamed his army, and was now taming the Dantzigers. +He had effected discipline in his own camp by getting his regiments +into shape, by establishing hospitals (which were immediately filled), +and by protecting the citizens from the depredations of the starving +fugitives who had been poured pell-mell into the town.</p> +<p>Then he turned his attention to the Dantzigers, who were openly or +secretly opposed to him. He seized their churches and turned them +into stores; their schools he used for hospitals, their monasteries +for barracks. He broke into their cellars, and took the wine for +the sick. Their storehouses he placed under the strictest guard, +and no man could claim possession of his own goods.</p> +<p>“We are,” he said in effect, with that grim Alsatian +humour which the Prussians were slow to understand; “we are one +united family in a narrow house, and it is I who keep the storeroom +key.”</p> +<p>Barlasch had proved to be no false prophet. His secret store +escaped the vigilance of the picket, whom he himself conducted to the +cellars in the Frauengasse. Although he was sparing enough, he +could always provide Désirée with anything for which she +expressed a wish, and even forestalled those which she left unspoken. +In return he looked for absolute obedience, and after their frugal breakfast +he took her to task for depriving herself of such food as they could +afford.</p> +<p>“See you,” he said, “a siege is a question of the +stomach. It is not the Russians we have to fight; for they will +not fight. They sit outside and wait for us to die of cold, of +starvation, of typhus. And we are obliging them at the rate of +two hundred a day. Yes, each day Rapp is relieved of the responsibility +of two hundred mouths that drop open and require nothing more. +Be greedy—eat all you have, and hope for release to-morrow, and +you die. Be sparing—starve yourself from parsimony or for +the love of some one who will eat your share and forget to thank you, +and you will die of typhus. Be careful, and patient, and selfish—eat +a little, take what exercise you can, cook your food carefully with +salt, and you will live. I was in a siege thirty years before +you were born, and I am alive yet, after many others. Obey me +and we will get through the siege of Dantzig, which is only just beginning.”</p> +<p>Then suddenly he gave way to anger, and banged his hand down on the +table.</p> +<p>“But, sacred name of thunder, do not make me believe you have +eaten when you have not,” he shouted. “Never do that.”</p> +<p>Carried away by the importance of this question, he said many things +which cannot be set before the eyes of a generation sensitive to plainness +of speech, and only tolerant of it in suggestions of impropriety.</p> +<p>“And the patron,” he ended abruptly, “how is he?”</p> +<p>“He is not very well,” answered Désirée. +Which answer did not satisfy Barlasch, who insisted on taking off his +boots, and going upstairs to see Sebastian.</p> +<p>It was a mere nothing, the invalid said. Such food did not +suit him.</p> +<p>“You have been accustomed to live well all your life,” +answered Barlasch, looking at him with the puzzled light of a baffled +memory in his eye which always came when he looked at Désirée’s +father. “One must see what can be done.”</p> +<p>And he went out forthwith to return after an hour and more with a +chicken freshly killed. Désirée did not ask him +where he had procured it. She had given up such inquiries, for +Barlasch always confessed quite bluntly to theft, and she did not know +whether to believe him or not.</p> +<p>But the change of diet had no beneficial effect, and the next day +Désirée sent Barlasch to the house of the doctor whose +practice lay in the Frauengasse. He came and shook his head bluntly. +For even an old doctor may be hardened at the end of his life by an +orgy, as it were, of death.</p> +<p>“I could cure him,” he said, “if there were no +Russians outside the walls; if I could give him fresh milk and good +brandy and strong soup.”</p> +<p>But even Barlasch could not find milk in Dantzig. The brandy +was forthcoming, and the fresh meat; the soup Désirée +made with her own hands. Sebastian had not been the same man since +the closing of the roads and the gradual death of his hopes that the +Dantzigers would rise against the soldiers that thronged their streets. +At one time it would have been easy to carry out such a movement, and +to throw themselves and their city upon the mercy of the Russians. +But Dantzig awoke to this possibility too late, when Rapp’s iron +hand had closed in upon it. He knew his own strength so well that +he treated with a contemptuous leniency such citizens as were convicted +of communicating with the enemy.</p> +<p>Sebastian’s friends seemed to have deserted him. Perhaps +it was not discreet to be seen in the company of one who had come under +Napoleon’s displeasure. Some had quitted the city after +hurriedly concealing their valuables in their gardens, behind the chimneys, +beneath the floors, where it is to be supposed they still lie hidden. +Others were among the weekly thousand or twelve hundred who were carted +out by the Oliva Gate to be thrown into huge trenches, while the waiting +Russians watched from their lines on the heights of Langfuhr.</p> +<p>It was true that news continued to filter in, and never quite ceased, +all through the terrible twelve months that were to follow. More +especially did news that was unfavourable to the French find its way +into the beleaguered city. But it was not authentic news, and +Sebastian gathered little comfort from the fact—not unknown to +the whispering citizens—that Rapp himself had heard nothing from +the outer world since the Elbing mail-cart had been turned back by the +first of the Cossacks on the night of the seventh of January.</p> +<p>Perhaps Sebastian had that most fatal of maladies—to which +nearly all men come at last—weariness of life.</p> +<p>“Why don’t you fortify yourself, and laugh at fortune?” +asked Barlasch, twenty years his senior, as he stood sturdily on his +stocking-feet at the sick man’s bedside.</p> +<p>“I take what my daughter gives me,” protested Sebastian, +half peevishly.</p> +<p>“But that does not suffice,” answered the materialist. +“It does not suffice to swallow evil fortune—one must digest +it.”</p> +<p>Sebastian made no answer. He was a quiet patient, and lay all +day with wide-open, dreaming eyes. He seemed to be waiting for +something. This, indeed, was his mental attitude as presented +to his neighbours, and perhaps to the few friends he possessed in Dantzig. +He had waited through the years during which Désirée had +grown to womanhood. He waited on doggedly through the first month +of the siege, without enthusiasm, without comment—without hope, +perhaps. He seemed to be waiting now to get better.</p> +<p>“He has made little or no progress,” said the doctor, +who could only give a passing glance at his patients, for he was working +day and night. He had not time to beat about the bush, as his +kind heart would have liked, for he had known Désirée +all her life.</p> +<p>It was Shrove Tuesday, and the streets were full of revellers. +The Neapolitans and other Southerners had made great preparations for +the carnival, and the Governor had not denied them their annual licence. +They had built a high car in one of the entrance yards to the Marienkirche; +and finding that the ancient arch would not allow the erection to pass +out into the street, they had pulled down the pious handiwork of a bygone +generation.</p> +<p>The shouts of these merrymakers could be dimly heard through the +double windows, but Sebastian made no inquiry as to the meaning of the +cry. A sort of lassitude—the result of confinement within +doors, of insufficient food, of waning hope—had come over Désirée. +She listened heedlessly to the sounds in the streets through which the +dead were passing to the Oliva Gate, while the living danced by in their +hideous travesty of rejoicing.</p> +<p>It was dusk when Barlasch came in.</p> +<p>“The streets,” he said, “are full of fools, dressed +as such.” Receiving no answer, he crossed the room to where +Désirée sat, treading noiselessly, and stood in front +of her, trying to see her averted face. He stooped down and peered +at her until she could no longer hide her tear-stained eyes.</p> +<p>He made a wry face and a little clicking noise with his tongue, such +as the women of his race make when they drop and break some household +utensil. Then he went back towards the bed. Hitherto he +had always observed a certain ceremoniousness of manner in the sick +chamber. He laid this aside this evening, and sat down on a chair +that stood near.</p> +<p>Thus they remained in a silence which seemed to increase with the +darkness. At length the stillness became so marked that Barlasch +slowly turned his head towards the bed. The same instinct had +come to Désirée at the same moment.</p> +<p>They both rose and groped their way towards Sebastian. Désirée +found the flint and struck it. The sulphur burnt blue for interminable +moments, and then flared to meet the wick of the candle. Barlasch +watched Désirée as she held the light down to her father’s +face. Sebastian’s waiting was over. Barlasch had not +needed a candle to recognize death.</p> +<p>From Désirée his bright and restless eyes turned slowly +towards the dead man’s face—and he stepped back.</p> +<p>“Ah!” he said, with a hoarse cry of surprise, “now +I remember. I was always sure that I had seen his face before. +And when I saw it it was like that—like the face of a dead man. +It was on the Place de la Nation, on a tumbrel—going to the guillotine. +He must have escaped, as many did, by some accident or mistake.”</p> +<p>He went slowly to the window, holding his shaggy head between his +two clenched hands as if to spur his memory to an effort. Then +he turned and pointed to the silent form on the bed.</p> +<p>“That is a noble of France,” he said; “one of the +greatest. And all France thinks him dead this twenty years. +And I cannot remember his name—goodness of God—I cannot +remember his name!”</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h2>CHAPTER XXVIII. VILNA.</h2> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p> <i>It +is our trust<br /> That there is yet another +world to mend<br /> All error and mischance.</i></p> +<p>Louis d’Arragon knew the road well enough from Königsberg +to the Niemen. It runs across a plain, flat as a table, through +which many small streams seek their rivers in winding beds. This +country was not thinly inhabited, though the villages had been stripped, +as foliage is stripped by a cloud of locusts. Each cottage had +its ring of silver birch-trees to protect it from the winds which sweep +from the Baltic and the steppe. These had been torn and broken +down by the retreating army, in a vain hope of making fire with green +wood.</p> +<p>It was quite easy to keep in the steps of the retreating army, for +the road was marked by recumbent forms huddled on either side. +Few vehicles had come so far, for the broken country near to Vilna and +around Kowno had presented slopes up which the starving horses were +unable to drag their load.</p> +<p>D’Arragon reached Kowno without mishap, and there found a Russian +colonel of Cossacks who proved friendly enough, and not only appreciated +the value of his passport and such letters of recommendation as he had +been able to procure at Königsberg, but gave him others, and forwarded +him on his journey.</p> +<p>He still nourished a lingering belief in De Casimir’s word. +Charles must have been left behind at Vilna to recover from his exhaustion. +He would, undoubtedly, make his way westward as soon as possible. +He might have got away to the South. Any one of these huddled +human landmarks might be Charles Darragon.</p> +<p>Louis was essentially a thorough man. The sea is a mistress +demanding a whole and concentrated attention—and concentration +soon becomes a habit. Louis did not travel at night, for fear +of passing Charles on the road, alive or dead. He knew his cousin +better than any in the Frauengasse had learnt to know this gay and inconsequent +Frenchman. A certain cunning lay behind the happy laugh—a +great capacity was hidden by the careless manner. If ready wit +could bring man through the dangers of the retreat, Charles had as good +a chance of surviving as any.</p> +<p>Nevertheless, Louis rarely passed a dead man on the road, but drew +up, and quitting his sleigh, turned over the body, which was almost +invariably huddled with its back offered to the deadly, prevailing North +wind. Against each this wind had piled a sloping bank of that +fine snow which, even in the lightest breeze, drifts over the surface +of the land like an ivory mist, waist high, and cakes the clothes. +In a high wind it will rise twenty feet in the air, and blind any who +try to face it.</p> +<p>As often as not a mere glance sufficed to show that this was not +Charles, for few of the bodies were clad. Many had been stripped, +while still living, by their half-frozen comrades. But sometimes +Louis had to dust the snow from strange bearded faces before he could +pass on with a quick sigh of relief.</p> +<p>Beyond Kowno, the country is thinly populated, and spreading pine-forests +bound the horizon. The Cossacks—the wild men of Toula, who +reaped the laurels of the rearguard fighting—were all along the +road. D’Arragon frequently came upon a picket—as often +as not the men were placidly sitting on a frozen corpse, as on a seat—and +stopped to say a few words and gather news.</p> +<p>“You will find your friend at Vilna,” said one young +officer, who had been attached to General Wilson’s staff, and +had many stories to tell of the energetic and indefatigable English +commissioner. “At Vilna we took twenty thousand prisoners—poor +devils who came and asked us for food—and I don’t know how +many officers. And if you see Wilson there, remember me to him. +If Napoleon has need to hate one man more than another for this business, +it is that firebrand, Wilson. Yes, you will assuredly find your +cousin at Vilna among the prisoners. But you must not linger by +the road, for they are being sent back to Moscow to rebuild that which +they have caused to be destroyed.”</p> +<p>He laughed and waved his gloved hand as D’Arragon drove on.</p> +<p>After the broken land and low abrupt hills of Kowno, the country +was flat again until the valley of the Vilia opened out. And here, +almost within sight of Vilna, D’Arragon drove down a short hill +which must ever be historic. He drove slowly, for on either side +were gun-carriages deep sunken in the snow where the French had left +them. This hill marked the final degeneration of the Emperor’s +army into a shapeless rabble hopelessly flying before an exhausted enemy.</p> +<p>Half on the road and half in the ditch were hundreds of carriages +which had been hurriedly smashed up to provide firewood. Carts, +still laden with the booty of Moscow, stood among the trees. Some +of them contained small square boxes of silver coin, brought by Napoleon +to pay his army and here abandoned. Silver coin was too heavy +to carry. The rate of exchange had long been sixty francs in silver +for a gold napoleon or a louis. The cloth coverings of the cushions +had been torn off to shape into rough garments; the straw stuffing had +been eaten by the horses.</p> +<p>Inside the carriages were—crouching on the floor—the +frozen bodies of fugitives too badly wounded or too ill to attempt to +walk. They had sat there till death came to them. Many were +women. In one carriage four women, in silks and fine linen, were +huddled together. Their furs had been dragged from them either +before or after death.</p> +<p>Louis stopped at the bottom and looked back. De Casimir at +all events had succeeded in surmounting this obstacle which had proved +fatal to so many—the grave of so many hopes—God’s +rubbish-heap, where gold and precious stones, silks and priceless furs, +all that greedy men had schemed and striven and fought to get, fell +from their hands at last.</p> +<p>Vilna lies all down a slope—a city built upon several hills—and +the Vilia runs at the bottom. That Way of Sorrow, the Smolensk +Road, runs eastward by the river bank, and here the rearguard held the +Cossacks in check while Murat hastily decamped, after dark, westwards +to Kowno. The King of Naples, to whom Napoleon gave the command +of his broken army quite gaily—“à vous, Roi de Naples,” +he is reported to have said, as he hurried to his carriage—Murat +abandoned his sick and wounded; did not even warn the stragglers.</p> +<p>D’Arragon entered the city by the narrow gate known as the +Town Gate, through which, as through that greater portal of Moscow, +every man must pass bareheaded.</p> +<p>“The Emperor is here,” were the first words spoken to +him by the officer on guard.</p> +<p>But the streets were quiet enough, and the winner in this great game +of chance maintained the same unostentatious silence in victory as that +which, in the hour of humiliation, had baffled Napoleon.</p> +<p>It was almost night, and D’Arragon had been travelling since +daylight. He found a lodging, and, having secured the comfort +of the horse provided by the lame shoemaker of Königsberg, he went +out into the streets in search of information.</p> +<p>Few cities are, to this day, so behind the times as Vilna. +The streets are still narrow, winding, ill-paved, ill-lighted. +When D’Arragon quitted his lodging, he found no lights at all, +for the starving soldiers had climbed to the lamps for the sake of the +oil, which they had greedily drunk. It was a full moon, however, +and the patrols at the street corners were willing to give such information +as they could. They were strangers to Vilna like Louis himself, +and not without suspicion; for this was a city which had bidden the +French welcome. There had been dancing and revelry on the outward +march. The citizens themselves were afraid of the strange, wild-eyed +men who returned to them from Moscow.</p> +<p>At last, in the Episcopal Palace, where head-quarters had been hurriedly +established, Louis found the man he sought, the officer in charge of +the arrangements for despatching prisoners into Russia and to Siberia. +He was a grizzled warrior of the old school, speaking only French and +Russian. He was tired out and hungry, but he listened to Louis’ +story.</p> +<p>“There is the list,” he said, “it is more or less +complete. Many have called themselves officers who never held +a commission from the Emperor Napoleon. But we have done what +we can to sort them out.”</p> +<p>So Louis sat down in the dimly lighted room and deciphered the names +of those officers who had been left behind, detained by illness or wounds +or the lack of spirit to persevere.</p> +<p>“You understand,” said the Russian, returning to his +work, “I cannot afford the time to help you. We have twenty-five +thousand prisoners to feed and keep alive.”</p> +<p>“Yes—I understand,” answered Louis, who had the +seaman’s way of making himself a part of his surroundings.</p> +<p>The old colonel glanced at him across the table with a grim smile.</p> +<p>“The Emperor,” he said, “was sitting in that chair +an hour ago. He may come back at any moment.”</p> +<p>“Ah!” said Louis, following the written lines with a +pencil.</p> +<p>But no interruption came, and at last the list was finished. +Charles was not among the officers taken prisoner at Vilna.</p> +<p>“Well?” inquired the Russian, without looking up.</p> +<p>“Not there.”</p> +<p>The old officer took a sheet of paper and hurriedly wrote a few words +on it.</p> +<p>“Try the Basile Hospital to-morrow morning,” he said. +“That will gain you admittance. It is to be cleared out +by the Emperor’s orders. We have about twenty thousand dead +to dispose of as well—but they are in no hurry.”</p> +<p>He laughed grimly, and bade Louis good night.</p> +<p>“Come to me again,” he called out after him, drawn by +a sudden chord of sympathy to this stranger, who had the rare capacity +of confining himself to the business in hand.</p> +<p>By daybreak the next morning Louis was at the hospital of St. Basile. +It had been prepared by the Duc de Bassano under Napoleon’s orders +when Vilna was selected as the base of the great army. When the +Russians entered Vilna after the retreating remnant of Murat’s +rabble, they found the dead and the dying in the streets and the market-place. +Some had made fires and had lain themselves down around them—to +die. Others were without food or firing, almost without clothes. +Many were barefoot. All, officers and men alike, were in rags. +It was a piteous sight; for half of these men were no longer human. +Some were gnawing at their own limbs. Many were blind, others +had lost their speech or hearing. Nearly all were marred by some +disfigurement—some terrible sore, the result of a frozen wound, +of frostbite, of scurvy, of gangrene.</p> +<p>The Cossacks, half civilized as they were, wild with the excitement +of killing and the chase of a human quarry, stood aghast in the streets +of Vilna.</p> +<p>When the Emperor arrived, he set to work to clear the streets first, +to get these piteous men indoors. There was no question yet of +succouring them. It was not even possible to feed them all. +The only thought was to find them some protection against the ruthless +cold.</p> +<p>The first thought was, of course, directed to the hospitals. +They looked in and saw a storehouse of the dead. The dead could +wait; but the living must be housed.</p> +<p>So the dead waited, and it was their turn now at the St. Basile Hospital, +where Louis presented himself at dawn.</p> +<p>“Looking for some one?” asked a man in uniform, who must +have been inside the hospital, for he hurried down the steps with a +set mouth and quailing eyes.</p> +<p>“Yes.”</p> +<p>“Then don’t go in—wait here.”</p> +<p>Louis looked in and took the doctor’s advice. The dead +were stored in the passages, one on the top of the other, like bales +of goods in a warehouse.</p> +<p>Some attempt seemed to have been made to clear the wards, but those +whose task it had been had not had time to do more than drag the dead +out into the passage.</p> +<p>The soldiers were now at work in the lower passage. Carts began +to arrive. An officer told off to this dread duty came up hurriedly +smoking a cigarette, his high fur collar about his ears. He glanced +at Louis, and bowed to him.</p> +<p>“Looking for some one?” he asked.</p> +<p>“Yes.”</p> +<p>“Then stand here beside me. It is I who have to keep +count. They say there are eight thousand in here. They will +be carried past here to the carts. Have a cigarette.”</p> +<p>It is hard to talk when the thermometer registers more than twenty +degrees of frost, for the lips stiffen and contract into wrinkles like +the lips of a very old woman. Perhaps neither of the watchers +was in the humour to begin an acquaintance.</p> +<p>They stood side by side, stamping their feet to keep the blood going, +without speaking. Once or twice Louis stepped forward, and at +a signal from the officer the bearers stopped. But Louis shook +his head, and they passed on. At midday the officer was relieved, +his place being taken by another, who bowed stiffly to Louis and took +no more notice of him. For war either hardens or softens. +It never leaves a man as it found him.</p> +<p>All day the work was carried on. Through the hours this procession +of the bearded dead went silently by. At the invitation of a sergeant, +Louis took some soup and bread from the soldiers’ table. +The men laughingly apologized for the quality of both.</p> +<p>Towards evening the officer who had first come on duty returned to +his work.</p> +<p>“Not yet?” he asked, offering the inevitable cigarette.</p> +<p>“Not yet,” answered Louis, and even as he spoke he stepped +forward and stopped the bearers. He brushed aside the matted hair +and beard.</p> +<p>“Is that your friend?” asked the officer.</p> +<p>“Yes.”</p> +<p>It was Charles at last.</p> +<p>“The doctor says these have been dead two months,” volunteered +the first bearer, over his shoulder.</p> +<p>“I am glad you have found him,” said the officer, signing +to the men to go on with their burden. “It is better to +know—is it not?”</p> +<p>“Yes,” answered Louis slowly. “It is better +to know.”</p> +<p>And something in his voice made the Russian officer turn and watch +him as he went away.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h2>CHAPTER XXIX. THE BARGAIN.</h2> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p> <i>Like plants in mines which never +saw the sun,<br /> But dream of him and +guess where he may be,<br /> And do their +best to climb and get to him.</i></p> +<p>“Oh yes,” Barlasch was saying, “it is easier to +die—it is that that you are thinking—it is easier to die.”</p> +<p>Désirée did not answer. She was sitting in the +little kitchen at the back of the house in the Frauengasse. For +they had no firing now, and were burning the furniture. Her father +had been buried a week. The siege was drawn closer than ever. +There was nothing to eat, nothing to do, no one to talk to. For +Sebastian’s political friends did not dare to come near his house. +Désirée was alone in this hopeless world with Barlasch, +who was on duty now in one of the trenches near the river. He +went out in the morning, and only returned at night. He had just +come in, and she could see by the light of the single candle that his +face was grey and haggard, with deep lines drawn downwards from eyes +to chin. Désirée’s own face had lost all its +roundness and the bloom of her northern girlhood.</p> +<p>Barlasch glanced at her, and bit his lip. He had brought nothing +with him. At one time he had always managed to bring something +to the house every day—a chicken, or a turnip, or a few carrots. +But to-night there was nothing. And he was tired out. He +did not sit down, however, but stood breathing on his fingers and rubbing +them together to restore circulation. He pushed the candle farther +forward on the table, so that it cast a better light upon her face.</p> +<p>“Yes,” he said, “it is often so. I, who speak +to you, have seen it so a dozen times in my life. When it is easier +to sit down and die. Bah! That is a fine thing to do—a +brave thing—to sit down and die.”</p> +<p>“I am not going to do it, so do not make that mistake,” +said Désirée, with a laugh that had no mirth in it.</p> +<p>“But you would like to. Listen. It is not what +you feel that matters; it is what you do. Remember that.”</p> +<p>There was an unusual vigour in his voice. Of late, since the +death of Sebastian, Barlasch seemed to have fallen victim to the settled +apathy which lives within a prison wall and broods over a besieged city. +It is a sort of silent mourning worn by the soul for a lost liberty. +Dantzig had soon succumbed to it, for the citizens had not even the +satisfaction of being quite sure that they were deserving of the world’s +sympathy. It soon spread to the soldiers who were defending a +Prussian city for a French Emperor who seemed to have forgotten them.</p> +<p>But to-night Barlasch seemed to be more energetic. Désirée +looked round over her shoulder. He had not laid on the table any +contribution to a bare larder; and yet his manner was that of one who +has prepared a surprise and is waiting to enjoy its effect. He +was restless, moving from one foot to another, rubbing together his +crooked fingers and darting sidelong glances at her face.</p> +<p>“What is it?” she asked suddenly, and Barlasch gave a +start as if he had been detected in some deceit. He bustled forward +to the smouldering fire and held his hands over it.</p> +<p>“It is that it is very cold to-night,” he answered, with +that exaggerated ease of manner with which the young and the simple +seek to conceal embarrassment. “Tell me, mademoiselle, what +have we for supper to-night? It is I who will cook it. To-night +we will keep a <i>fête</i>. There is that piece of beef +for you. I know a way to make it appetizing. For me there +is my portion of horse. It is the friend of man—the horse.”</p> +<p>He laughed and made an effort to be gay, which had a poignant pathos +in it that made Désirée bite her lip.</p> +<p>“What <i>fête</i> is it that we are to keep?” she +asked, with a wan smile. Her kind blue eyes had that glitter in +them which is caused by a constant and continuous hunger. Six +months ago they had only been gay and kind, now they saw the world as +it is, as it always must be so long as the human heart is capable of +happiness and the human reason recognizes the rarity of its attainment.</p> +<p>“The <i>fête</i> of St. Matthias—my <i>fête</i>, +mademoiselle.”</p> +<p>“But I thought your name was Jean.”</p> +<p>“So it is. But I keep my <i>fête</i> at St. Matthias, +because on that day we won a battle in Egypt. We will have wine—a +bottle of wine—eh?”</p> +<p>So Barlasch prepared a great feast which was to be celebrated by +Désirée in the dining-room, where he lighted a fire, and +by himself in the kitchen. For he held strongly to a code of social +laws which the great Revolution had not succeeded in breaking. +And one of these laws was that it would be in some way degrading to +Désirée to see him eat.</p> +<p>He was a skilled and delicate cook, only hampered by that insatiable +passion for economy which is the dominant characteristic of the peasant +of Northern France. To-night, however, he was reckless, and Désirée +could hear him searching in his secret hiding-place beneath the floor +for concealed condiments and herbs.</p> +<p>“There,” he said, when he set the dish before her, “eat +it with an easy mind. There is nothing unclean in it. It +is not rat or cat or the liver of a starved horse, such as we others +eat and ask no better. It is all clean meat.”</p> +<p>He poured out wine, and stood in the darkened doorway watching her +drink it. Then he went away to his own meal in the kitchen, leaving +Désirée vaguely uneasy—for he was not himself to-night. +She could hear him muttering as he ate and moved hither and thither +in the kitchen. At short intervals he came and looked in at the +door to make sure that she was doing full honour to St. Matthias. +When she had finished, he came into the room.</p> +<p>“Ah!” he said, glancing at her suspiciously and rubbing +his hands together. “That strengthens, eh?—that strengthens. +We others who lead a rough life—we know that a little food and +a glass of wine fit one out for any enterprise, for—well, any +catastrophe.”</p> +<p>And Désirée knew in a flash of comprehension that the +food and the wine and the forced gaiety were nothing but preliminaries +to bad news.</p> +<p>“What is it?” she asked a second time. “Is +it . . . bombardment?”</p> +<p>“Bombardment,” he laughed, “they cannot shoot, +those Cossacks. It is only the French who understand artillery.”</p> +<p>“Then what is it?—for you have something to tell me, +I know.”</p> +<p>He ruffled his shock-head of white hair, with a grimace of despair.</p> +<p>“Yes,” he admitted, “it is news.”</p> +<p>“From outside?” cried Désirée, with a sudden +break in her voice.</p> +<p>“From Vilna,” answered Barlasch. He came into the +room, and went past her towards the fire, where he put the logs together +carefully.</p> +<p>“It is that he is alive,” said Désirée, +“my husband.”</p> +<p>“No, it is not that,” Barlasch corrected. He stood +with his back to her, vaguely warming his hands. He had no learning, +nor manners, nor any polish: nothing but those instincts of the heart +that teach the head. And his instinct bade him turn his back on +Désirée, and wait in silence until she had understood +his meaning.</p> +<p>“Dead?” she asked, in a whisper.</p> +<p>And, still warming his hands, he nodded his head vigorously. +He waited a long time for her to speak, and at last broke the silence +himself without looking round.</p> +<p>“Troubles,” he said, “troubles for us all. +There is no avoiding them. One can only push against them as against +your cold wind of Dantzig that comes from the sea. One can only +push on. You must push, mademoiselle.”</p> +<p>“When did he die?” asked Désirée; “where?”</p> +<p>“At Vilna, three months ago. He has been dead three months. +I knew he was dead when you came back to the inn at Thorn, and told +me that you had seen De Casimir. De Casimir had left him dying—that +liar. You remember, I met a comrade on the road—one of my +own country—he told me that they had left ten thousand dead at +Vilna, and twenty thousand prisoners little better than dead. +And I knew then that De Casimir had left him there dying, or dead.”</p> +<p>He glanced back at her over his shoulder, and at the sight of her +face made that little click in his throat which, in peasant circles, +denotes a catastrophe. Then he shook his head slowly from side +to side.</p> +<p>“Listen,” he said roughly, “the good God knows +best. I knew when I saw you first, that day in June, in this kitchen, +that you were beginning your troubles; for I knew the reputation of +Monsieur, your husband. He was not what you thought him. +A man is never what a woman thinks him. But he was worse than +most. And this trouble that has come to you is chosen by the good +God—and he has chosen the least in his sack for you. You +will know it some day—as I know it now.”</p> +<p>“You know a great deal,” said Désirée, +who was quick in speech, and he swung round on his heel to meet her +spirit.</p> +<p>“You are right,” he said, pointing his accusatory finger. +“I know a great deal about you—and I am a very old man.”</p> +<p>“How did you learn this news from Vilna?” she asked, +and his hand went up to his mouth as if to hide his thoughts and control +his lips.</p> +<p>“From one who comes straight from there—who buried your +husband there.”</p> +<p>Désirée rose and stood with her hands resting on the +table, looking at the persistent back again turned towards her.</p> +<p>“Who?” she asked, in little more than a whisper.</p> +<p>“The Captain—Louis d’Arragon.”</p> +<p>“And you have spoken to him to-day—here, in Dantzig?”</p> +<p>Barlasch nodded his head.</p> +<p>“Was he well?” asked Désirée, with a spontaneous +anxiety that made Barlasch turn slowly and look at her from beneath +his great brows.</p> +<p>“Oh, he was well enough,” he answered, “he is made +of steel, that gentleman. He was well enough, and he has the courage +of the devil. There are some fishermen who come from Zoppot to +sell their fish. They steal through the Russian lines—on +the ice of the river at night and come to our outposts at daylight. +One of them said my name this morning. I looked at him. +He was wrapped up only to show the eyes. He drew his scarf aside. +It was the Captain d’Arragon.”</p> +<p>“And he was well?” asked Désirée again, +as if nothing else in the world mattered.</p> +<p>“Oh, mon Dieu, yes,” cried Barlasch, impatiently, “he +was well, I tell you. Do you know why he came?”</p> +<p>Désirée had sat down at the table again, where she +leant her arms and rested her chin in the palms of her two hands; for +she was weakened by starvation, and confinement, and sorrow.</p> +<p>“No,” she answered.</p> +<p>“He came because he had learnt that the patron was dead. +It was known in Königsberg a week ago. It is known all over +Germany; that quiet old gentleman who scraped a fiddle here in the Frauengasse. +And it is only I, in all the world, who know that he was a greater man +in Paris than ever he was in Germany—with his Tugendbund—and +I cannot remember his name.”</p> +<p>Barlasch broke off and thumped his brow with his fists, as if to +awaken that dead memory. And all the while he was searching Désirée’s +face, with eyes made brighter and sharper than ever by starvation.</p> +<p>“And do you know what he came for—the Captain—for +he never does anything in idleness? He will run a great risk—but +it is for a great purpose. Do you know what he came for?”</p> +<p>“No.”</p> +<p>Barlasch jerked his head back and laughed.</p> +<p>“For you.”</p> +<p>He turned and looked at her; but she had raised her clasped hands +to her forehead, as if to shield her eyes from the light of the candle, +and he could not see her face.</p> +<p>“Do you remember,” said Barlasch, “that night when +the patron was so angry—on the mat—when Mademoiselle Mathilde +had to make her choice. It is your turn to-night. You have +to make your choice. Will you go?”</p> +<p>“Yes,” answered Désirée, behind her fingers.</p> +<p>“‘If Mademoiselle will come,’ he said to me, ‘bring +her to this place!’ ‘Yes, mon capitaine,’ answered +I. ‘At any cost, Barlasch?’ ‘At any cost, +mon capitaine.’ And we are not men to break our words. +I will take you there—at any cost, mademoiselle. And he +will meet you there—at any cost.”</p> +<p>And Barlasch expectorated emphatically into the fire, after the manner +of low-born men.</p> +<p>“What a pity,” he added reflectively, “that he +is only an Englishman.”</p> +<p>“When are we to go?” asked Désirée, still +behind her barrier of clasped fingers.</p> +<p>“To-morrow night, after midnight. We have arranged it +all—the Captain and I—at the outpost nearest to the river. +He has influence. He has rendered services to the Russians, and +the Russian commander will make a night attack on the outpost. +In the confusion we get through. We arranged it together. +He pays me well. It is a bargain, and I am to have my money. +We shook hands on it, and those who saw us must have thought that I +was buying fish. I, who have no money—and he, who had no +fish.”</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h2>CHAPTER XXX. THE FULFILMENT.</h2> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p> <i>And I have laboured somewhat in +my time<br /> And not been paid profusely.</i></p> +<p>When Désirée came down the next morning, she found +Barlasch talking to himself and laughing as he prepared his breakfast.</p> +<p>He met her with a gay salutation, and seemed unable to control his +hilarity.</p> +<p>“It is,” he explained, “because to-night we shall +be under fire. We shall be in danger. It makes me afraid, +and I laugh. I cannot help it. When I am afraid, I laugh.”</p> +<p>He bustled about the room, and Désirée saw that he +had already opened his secret store beneath the floor, to take from +it such delicacies as remained.</p> +<p>“You slept?” he asked sharply. “Yes, I can +see you did. That is good, for to-night we shall be awake. +And now you must eat.”</p> +<p>For Barlasch was a materialist. He had fought death in one +form or another all his life, and he knew that those who eat and sleep +are better equipped for the battle than those who cherish high ideals +or think great thoughts.</p> +<p>“It is a good thing,” he said, looking at her, “that +you are so slim. In a military coat—if you put on that short +dress in which you skate, and your high boots—you will look like +a soldier. It is a good thing that it is winter, for you can wear +the hood of your military coat over your head, as they all do out in +the trenches to keep their ears from falling. So you need not +cut off your hair—all that golden hair. Name of thunder, +that would be a pity, would it not?”</p> +<p>He turned to the fire and stirred his coffee reflectively.</p> +<p>“In my own country,” he said, “a long time ago, +there was a girl who had hair like yours. That is why we are friends, +perhaps.”</p> +<p>He gave a queer, short laugh, and took up his sheepskin coat preparatory +to going out.</p> +<p>“I have my preparations to make,” he said, with an air +of importance. “There is much to be thought of. We +had not long together, for the others were watching us. But we +understand each other. I go now to give him the signal that it +is for to-night. I have borrowed one of Lisa’s dusters—a +blue one that will show against the snow—with which to give him +the signal. And he is watching from Zoppot with his telescope. +That fat Lisa—if I had held up my finger, she would have fallen +in love with me. It has always been so. These women—”</p> +<p>And he went away muttering.</p> +<p>If he had preparations to make, Désirée had no less. +She could take but little with her, and she was quitting the house which +had always been her home so long as she could remember. Those +trunks which Barlasch had so unhesitatingly recognized as coming from +France were, it seemed, destined never to be used again. Mathilde +had gone, taking with her her few simple possessions; for they had always +been poor in the Frauengasse. Sebastian had departed on that journey +which the traveller must face alone, taking naught with him. And +it was characteristic of the man that he had left nothing behind him—no +papers, no testament, no clue to that other life so different from his +life in the Frauengasse that it must have lapsed into a fleeting, intangible +memory, such as the brain is sometimes allowed to retain of a dream +dreamt in this existence, or perhaps in another. Sebastian was +gone—with his secret.</p> +<p>Désirée, alone with hers, was left in this quiet house +for a few hours longer. Mechanically she set it in order. +What would it matter to-morrow whether it were set in order or not? +Who would come to note the last touches? She worked with that +feverish haste which is responsible for much unnecessary woman’s +work in this world—the haste that owes its existence to the fear +of having time to think. Many talk for the same reason. +What a quiet world, if those who have nothing to say said nothing! +But speech or work must fail at last, and lo! the thoughts are lying +in wait.</p> +<p>Désirée’s thoughts found their opportunity when +she went into the drawing-room upstairs, where her wedding-breakfast +had been set before the guests only eight months ago. The guests—De +Casimir, the Gräfin, Sebastian, Mathilde, Charles!</p> +<p>Désirée stood alone now in the silent room. She +did not look at the table. The guests were all gone. The +dead past had buried its dead. She went to the window and drew +aside the curtain as she had drawn it aside on her wedding-day to look +down into the Frauengasse and see Louis d’Arragon. And again +her heart leapt in her breast with that throb of fear. She turned +where she stood, and looked at the door as if she expected to see Charles +come in at it, laughing and gay, explaining (he was so good at explaining) +his encounter in the street, and stepping aside to allow Louis to come +forward. Louis, who looked at no one but her, and came into the +room and into her life.</p> +<p>She had been afraid of him. She was afraid of him still. +And her heart had leapt at the thought that he had been restlessly, +sleeplessly thinking of her, working for her—had been to Vilna +and back for her, and was now waiting for her beyond the barrier of +Russian camp-fires. The dangers which made Barlasch laugh—and +she knew they were real enough, for it was only a real danger that stirred +something in the old soldier’s blood to make him gay—these +dangers were of no account. She knew, she had known instantly +and for all time when she looked down into the Frauengasse and saw Louis, +that nothing in heaven or earth could keep them apart.</p> +<p>She stood now, looking at the empty doorway. What was the rest +of her life to be?</p> +<p>Barlasch returned in the afternoon. He was leisurely and inclined +to contemplativeness. It would seem that his preparations having +all been completed, he was left with nothing to do. War is a purifier; +it clears the social atmosphere and puts womanly men and manly women +into their right places. It is also a simplifier; it teaches us +to know how little we really require in daily life, and how many of +the environments with which men and women hamper themselves are superfluous +and the fruit of idleness.</p> +<p>“I have nothing to do,” said Barlasch, “I will +cook a careful dinner. All that I have saved in money I cannot +carry away; all that was stored beneath the floor must be left there. +It is often so in war.”</p> +<p>He had told Désirée that they would have to walk twelve +miles across the snow-clad marshes bordering the frozen Vistula, between +midnight and dawn. It needed no telling that they could carry +little with them.</p> +<p>“You will have to make a new beginning in life,” he said +curtly, “with the clothes upon your back. How many times +have I done it—the Saints alone know! But take money, if +you have it in gold or silver. Mine is all in copper gröschen, +and it is too heavy to carry. I have never yet been anywhere that +money was not useful—and name of a dog! I have never had it.”</p> +<p>So Désirée divided what money she possessed with Barlasch, +who added it carefully up and repeated several times for accuracy the +tale of what he had received. For, like many who do not hesitate +to steal, he was very particular in money matters.</p> +<p>“As for me,” he said, “I shall make a new beginning, +too. The Captain will enable me to get back to France, when I +shall go to the Emperor again. It is no place for one of the Old +Guard, here with Rapp. I am getting old, but he will find something +for me to do, that little Emperor.”</p> +<p>At midnight they set out, quitting the house in the Frauengasse noiselessly. +The street was quiet enough, for half the houses were empty now. +Their footsteps were inaudible on the trodden snow. It was a dark +night and not cold; for the great frosts of this terrible winter were +nearly over.</p> +<p>Barlasch carried his musket and bayonet. He had instructed +Désirée to walk in front of him, should they meet a patrol. +But Rapp had no men to spare for patrolling the town. There was +no spirit left in Dantzig; for typhus and starvation patrolled the narrow +streets.</p> +<p>They quitted the town to the north-west, near the Oliva Gate. +There was no guard-house here because Langfuhr was held by the French, +and Rapp’s outposts were three miles out on the road to Zoppot.</p> +<p>“I have played this game for fifty years,” said Barlasch, +with a low laugh, when they reached the earthworks, completed, at such +enormous cost of life and strength, by Rapp; “follow me and do +as I do. When I stoop, stoop; when I crawl, crawl; when I run, +run.”</p> +<p>For he was a soldier now and nothing else. He stood erect, +and looked round him with the air of a young man—ready, keen, +alert. Then he moved forward with confidence towards the high +land which terminates in the Johannesberg, where the peaceful Dantzigers +now repair on a Sunday afternoon to drink thin beer and admire the view.</p> +<p>Below them on the right hand lay the marshes, a white expanse of +snow with a single dark line drawn across it—the Langfuhr road +with its double border of trees.</p> +<p>Barlasch turned once or twice to make sure that Désirée +was following him; but he added nothing to his brief instructions. +When he gained the summit of the tableland which runs parallel with +the coast and the Langfuhr road, he paused for breath.</p> +<p>“When I crawl, crawl. When I run, run,” he whispered +again; and led the way. He went up the bed of a stream, turning +his back to the coast, and at a certain point stopped and by a gesture +of the hand bade Désirée crouch down and wait till he +returned. He came back and signed to her to quit the bed of the +stream and follow him. When she came up to the tableland, she +found that they were quite close to a camp-fire. Through the low +pines she could perceive the dark outline of a house.</p> +<p>“Now run,” whispered Barlasch, leading the way across +an open space which seemed to extend to the line of the horizon. +Without looking back, Désirée ran—her only thought +was a sudden surprise that Barlasch could move so quickly and silently.</p> +<p>When he gained the shelter of some trees, he threw himself down on +the snow, and Désirée coming up to him found him breathlessly +holding his sides and laughing aloud.</p> +<p>“We are through the lines,” he gasped, “name of +a dog, I was so frightened. There they go—pam! pam! +Buz . . z . . z . .”</p> +<p>And he imitated the singing buzz of the bullets humming through the +trees over their heads. For half a dozen shots were fired, while +he was yet speaking, from behind the camp-fires. There were no +more, however, and presently, having recovered his breath, Barlasch +rose.</p> +<p>“Come,” he said, “we have a long walk. <i>En +route</i>.”</p> +<p>They made a great circuit in the pine-woods, through which Barlasch +led the way with an unerring skill, and descending towards the plain +far beyond Langfuhr they came out on to a lower tableland, below which +the great marshes of the Vistula stretched in the darkness, slowly merging +at last into the sea.</p> +<p>“Those,” said Barlasch, pausing at the edge of the slope, +“those are the lights of Oliva, where the Russians are. +That line of lights straight in front is the Russian fleet lying off +Zoppot, and with them are English ships. One of them is the little +ship of Captain d’Arragon. And he will take you home with +him; for the ship is ordered to England, to Plymouth—which is +across the Channel from my own country. Ah—cristi! +I sometimes want to see my own country again—and my own people—mademoiselle.”</p> +<p>He went on a few paces and then stopped again, and in the darkness +held up one hand, commanding silence. It was the churches of Dantzig +striking the hour.</p> +<p>“Six o’clock,” he whispered, “it will soon +be dawn. Yes—we are half an hour too early.”</p> +<p>He sat down, and, by a gesture, bade Désirée sit beside +him.</p> +<p>“Yes,” he said, “the Captain told me that he is +bound for England to convoy larger ships, and you will sail in one of +them. He has a home in the west of England, and he will take you +there—a sister or a mother, I forget which—some woman. +You cannot get on without women—you others. It is there +that you will be happy, as the bon Dieu meant you to be. It is +only in England that no one fears Napoleon. One may have a husband +there and not fear that he will be killed. One may have children +and not tremble for them—and it is that that makes you happy—you +women.”</p> +<p>Presently he rose and led the way down the slope. At the foot +of it, he paused, and pointing out a long line of trees, said in a whisper—</p> +<p>“He is there—where there are three taller trees. +Between us and those trees are the French outposts. At dawn the +Russians attack the outposts, and during the attack we have simply to +go through it to those trees. There is no other way—that +is the rendezvous. Those three tall trees. When I give the +word, you get up and run to those trees—run without pausing, without +looking round. I will follow. It is you he has come for—not +Barlasch. You think I know nothing. Bah! I know everything. +I have always known it—your poor little secret.”</p> +<p>They lay on the snow crouching in a ditch until a grey line appeared +low down in the Eastern sky and the horizon slowly distinguished itself +from the thin thread of cloud that nearly always awaits the rising of +the sun in Northern latitudes.</p> +<p>A minute later the dark group of trees broke into intermittent flame +and the sharp, short “Hurrah!” of the Cossacks, like an +angry bark, came sweeping across the plain on the morning breeze.</p> +<p>“Not yet,” whispered Barlasch, with a gay chuckle of +enjoyment. “Not yet—not yet. Listen, the bullets +are not coming here, but are going past to the right of us. When +you go, keep to the left. Slowly at first—keep a little +breath till the end. Now, up! Mademoiselle, run; name of thunder, +let us run!”</p> +<p>Désirée did not understand which were the French lines +and which the line of Russian attack. But there was a clear way +to the three trees which stood above the rest, and she went towards +them. She knew she could not run so far, so she walked. +Then the bullets, instead of passing to the right, seemed to play round +her—like bees in a garden on a summer day—and she ran until +she was tired.</p> +<p>The trees were quite close now, and the sky was light behind them. +Then she saw Louis coming towards her, and she ran into his arms. +The sound of the humming bullets was still in her dazed brain, and she +touched him all over with her gloved hand as she clung to him, as a +mother touches her child when it has fallen, to see whether it be hurt.</p> +<p>“How was I to know?” she whispered breathlessly. +“How was I to know that you were to come into my life?”</p> +<p>The bullets did not matter, it seemed, nor the roar of the firing +to the right of them. Nothing mattered—except that Louis +must know that she had never loved Charles.</p> +<p>He held her and said nothing. And she wanted him to say nothing. +Then she remembered Barlasch, and looked back over her shoulder.</p> +<p>“Where is Barlasch?” she asked, with a sudden sinking +at her heart.</p> +<p>“He is coming slowly,” replied Louis. “He +came slowly behind you all the time, so as to draw the fire away from +you.”</p> +<p>They turned and waited for Barlasch, who seemed to be going in the +wrong direction with an odd vagueness in his movements. Louis +ran towards him with Désirée at his heels.</p> +<p>“Ça-y-est,” said Barlasch; which cannot be translated, +and yet has many meanings. “Ça-y-est.”</p> +<p>And he sat down slowly on the snow. He sat quite upright and +rigid, and in the cold light of the Baltic dawn they saw the meaning +of his words. One hand was within his fur coat. He drew +it out, and concealed it from Désirée behind his back. +He did not seem to see them, but presently he put out his hand and lightly +touched Désirée. Then he turned to Louis with that +confidential drop of the voice with which he always distinguished his +friends from those who were not his friends.</p> +<p>“What is she doing?” he asked. “I cannot +see in the dark. Is it not dark? I thought it was. +What is she doing? Saying a prayer? What—because I +have my affair? Hey, mademoiselle. You may leave it to me. +I will get in, I tell you that.”</p> +<p>He put his finger to his nose, and then shook it from side to side +with an air of deep cunning.</p> +<p>“Leave it to me. I shall slip in. Who will stop +an old man, who has many wounds? Not St. Peter, assuredly. +Let him try. And if the good God hears a commotion at the gate, +He will only shrug His shoulders. He will say to St. Peter, ‘Let +pass; it is only Papa Barlasch!’”</p> +<p>And then there was silence. For Barlasch had gone to his own +people.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines4"><br /><br /><br /><br /></div> +<p>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK, BARLASCH OF THE GUARD ***</p> +<pre> + +******This file should be named brls10h.htm or brls10h.zip****** +Corrected EDITIONS of our EBooks get a new NUMBER, brls11h.htm +VERSIONS based on separate sources get new LETTER, brls10ah.htm + +Project Gutenberg eBooks are often created from several printed +editions, all of which are confirmed as Public Domain in the US +unless a copyright notice is included. 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