"TRUTH IS STRANGER THAN FICTION."
"Fire--kill me!" exclaimed the chevalier, proudly and fiercely; "I
have no desire to live after the degradation to which you have
subjected me--I, an officer of the Queen's Hussars, and a chevalier
of the order. _Ah, sacré!_ perfidious English--you know not how to
make war."
"Monsieur de Boisguiller, have you already forgot me--and our
meetings in the chateau of Bourgneuf, and the forest of St. Aubin du
Cormier?"
His expression changed on recognising me; but perceiving my
epaulettes, gorget, and sash--
"_Pardieu!_" he exclaimed, with a grimace on his lip, and fire
flashing in his eyes; "we seem to have changed places with a
vengeance, Monsieur l'Ecossais!"
He said something more, but his voice was rendered incoherent by the
shame and passion, pride and mortification, which almost made him
weep.
I turned to Lieutenant I----, of the _Alceste_, and inquired how it
came to pass that the chevalier, whom I knew to be a brave and
honourable French officer, should be found in a plight so deplorable,
and thrust among such associates.
"He was sent on board here for attempting to kill the captain of one
of our privateers," replied the naval officer briefly, and with a
contemptuous glance at the Frenchman.
"I shall tell you how it came to pass, monsieur; _you_ will believe
me?" said the chevalier, turning to me earnestly.
"Assuredly, monsieur."
"Our fleet is still shut up in Brest by yours; so a large privateer
of Bristol made a dash into the harbour of Cherbourg last week, to
pick up anything milord Howe had left behind him. Among other things
they unluckily picked up me, when on my way to Erville to keep an
appointment with a little _paysanne_, who, like the rest, preferred a
Parisian hussar to a Breton woodcutter. The privateer put to sea; I
was refused my parole of honour, and placed on board this floating
pandemonium three days before she was stranded in Rye Harbour,
because in resenting some insolence of the privateer captain, I
knocked him down and jumped overboard. He jumped after me, and we
fought in the water till a boat's-crew picked us up. _Pardieu_ that
is all, _mon camerade_."
I begged the officer in command of the _Alceste_ to accept the parole
of the chevalier, to which he at once agreed, and removed him to one
of the after cabins, where he was supplied with clothes to replace
his hussar uniform, which was now in rags, the ruffians of the
prison-ship having torn every shred of lace from it, to exchange for
grog with bumboat women who paddled about the frigate.
We had a bottle of wine together, and under its influence the
Frenchman's natural gaiety soon resumed its wonted sway, his
annoyance and anger disappeared, and as we conversed his voice
brought back, as in a mental panorama, the old chateau on the road to
Rennes, with its reedy lake and flower-enamelled lawn--the woods, the
hills, and rockbound shores of Brittany, with softer thoughts of a
time that would never come again--thoughts, however, that he was
singularly fated to dispel.
"The story of your encounter with Hautois, and your casting him into
the Black Torrent, where doubtless he has thrown many an unfortunate
devil, will form one of the best legends in Brittany," said he,
laughing.
"The old Countess Ninon?"
"Is well--though less blooming than her namesake, De l'Enclos."
"And Urbain--and old Bertrand?"
"All well, when I saw them last, about ten days ago. _Peste!_ what a
number of things have happened to me since then."
"And pretty Angelique?"
"Is now the happy wife of Jacquot Triquot, coachman to M. le Curé of
St. Solidore. The countess punished her thus for her remarkable
trick of turning you into a soubrette, my friend, which might have
been a very serious joke!"
I smiled mournfully and muttered--
"Poor--poor Jacqueline!"
"_Parbleu!_ how is it that you do not ask for her?"
"Ask for _her_?" I repeated, with sorrowful surprise; "ask for one
who is dead and buried?"
"Who _was_ half dead and half buried, you mean. She was only stunned
by a blow, and half-smothered among leaves and grass. She is alive
and well, _Dieu merci!_ and by this time will be in Paris with her
cousin, Comte Bourgneuf."
I remained for some moments in doubt of my senses on hearing this;
but there was an imperturbable smile on Boisguiller's face, as he sat
twirling each moustache alternately.
"Chevalier, you assure me of this on your honour," said I, hoarsely.
"On my honour as an officer wearing the cross of St. Louis. It was a
mere case of suspended animation--nothing more. You would have seen
this yourself had you not left us with the bloodhound in such a devil
of a hurry to follow the track of Hautois. In fact, she spoke to us
all quite rationally in about half an hour after you disappeared."
"Chevalier, you saw how I suffered," said I, with grave reproach,
"and yet you permitted me to leave the province in the belief that
Jacqueline de Broglie was indeed dead. Was this fair of you?"
"In love as in war, my dear fellow, all things are fair, so far as
strategy will go. Had I told you that she was merely in a
swoon--_lethargique_--you might have been prompted to commit some new
extravagance; thus we all thought that the sooner you were
comfortably out of France the better. She is now in Paris, and--" he
added rather spitefully, for my manner piqued him, "and will soon be
married--most suitably married."
"Married to whom?" I asked fiercely. But he still smiled
complacently, and continued to curl his confounded moustache. "In
Paris--ah, there she may soon forget _me_," I added, sadly.
"Forget you! _Ouf, mon camarade!_ what would you have? You don't
know my cousin Jacqueline. In that huge old barrack, the lonely
chateau, you were a brother, a companion, a little bit of romance
such as we may find in Marivaux--nothing more. In Paris, the memory
of all that will soon be effaced. Monsieur, she cannot come
here--you cannot go there--so this is the end of the matter." And he
burst out into a fit of laughter.
As a sequel to this conversation, my mind became oppressed by
emotions of a very mingled cast indeed, and so little desire had I
for the stinging communications of my friend the chevalier, that my
whole wish was to get rid of him handsomely as soon as possible.
I wrote to Captain Douglas and to Lieutenant Keith to inform them how
and where I had found the brave officer who had commanded in the
redoubt at Cancalle Bay, and had led those hussars whom we had met
hand to hand and bridle to bridle in Brittany.
They used their influence with old Colonel Preston, and through him
the chevalier in a short time effected an exchange with an officer of
equal rank, and was sent home to France by cartel.
Prior to this, a subdivision of marines having been placed on board
the _Alceste_, my party gladly marched back to headquarters at
Wadhurst, about twenty-five miles from Rye.