ST. ARNAUD and Gavin travelled all that day through a scene of
desolation, but the sun shone, and they were approaching a part of
the country where at least food could be had, and their circumstances
seemed so much improved, that all at once the world took on an
altogether different aspect. No man could long endure, and live, the
hideous depression from which St. Arnaud had suffered since Rosbach;
and when his soul made a final rally, it was to perch upon heights of
hope and joy. He felt sure they would beat Frederick of Prussia, and
one short month would see a revival of the fortunes of the Empress
Queen. He so expressed himself to Gavin, who had never suffered any
depression whatever. And each found a source of vivid interest in the
other’s personality. St. Arnaud had never met a man in the least like
this young French-Englishman, and the story of the mother, the woman
who was Lady Hamilton by right, starving and freezing with her child,
but always working in her miserable attic in a great foreign city, was
moving to him. He saw that the son of such a mother would be of tough
fibre. As for Gavin, St. Arnaud’s beauty, grace, and superior knowledge
of the world were so captivating, that the riding by his side in an
officer’s uniform was an intoxicating pleasure.
“Often,” thought Gavin to himself, looking sidewise at St. Arnaud’s
clear and handsome profile, “have I watched you at parade, and
longed--oh, how I have longed--to be on equal terms with you. I shall
be yet, because I am resolved, if a man has any share in his own
destiny, to be one day a sublieutenant; and then--pouf! the rest is
easy.” He would have dearly liked to ask St. Arnaud questions, but
he remembered that, although they rode side by side, he was still a
private soldier. St. Arnaud, however, took the privilege of an officer,
and questioned Gavin freely.
“Can you read and write?” he asked.
“Like a notary,” replied Gavin promptly. “My mother took good care
to give me an excellent English education herself, and she was well
qualified, too. Often has she taught me out of her head when she would
be working at her needle for a living, for to that has Sir Gavin
Hamilton reduced my mother; and he wanted me to go home and live with
him--may the devil take him now and forever! My mother taught me also
a little Latin, a little Spanish, and I myself learned a good deal of
German from those Austrian allies of ours.”
“You far excel me,” responded St. Arnaud, “and yet I had the best
teachers in France.”
At which Gavin replied proudly: “I can ask for wine in four languages.”
“I only wish you had a chance to ask for it in one--to make signs, for
that matter.”
They rode on in silence for a few moments, when Gavin spoke again.
“My Captain,” he said in a coaxing voice, “I have something to ask of
you--a favour--such a favour as a man asks but once in a lifetime.”
“Considering that my meeting you last night saved my life, I should
feel a little awkward in refusing you anything I could grant.”
“It is this, then. You see, I have on this uniform. As long as I wear
it the world thinks me an officer. Let me wear it, and let me dream
myself a lieutenant until we reach the army of Prince Charles! Our
regiment is scattered; it may never be reorganized; and as soon as we
join Prince Charles there will be fighting, and what glorious chances
has a soldier then! Give me but one chance under fire, and I promise
you I will come out of it so that I will be made an officer in truth.”
St. Arnaud stopped, amazed at Gavin’s presumption; but one look at his
face, his eyes glowing with furious entreaty, checked the peremptory
refusal upon his lips. Instead he said:
“You will be discovered.”
“Certainly; but a general who discovers a private soldier, by birth
a gentleman, who is known to be brave and loyal--for that I am, and
challenge any man to say nay--wishing and deserving to be an officer,
will make him one. The French army is not like the Austrian, or even
these pigs of Prussians.”
“You will discover yourself--betray yourself, in short, in whatever
society you find yourself. No one will take you for an officer.”
“I think I told you I was the son of Lady Hamilton,” responded Gavin
coldly.
St. Arnaud hesitated for a moment or two; then, with a brilliant smile,
holding out his hand to Gavin, he said:
“Every word I have spoken was against the impulse of my heart. You are
an officer now, as far as I can make you; and trust me, when we reach
Prince Charles, he shall hear your story first from me.”
Gavin, who was usually glib of speech, became silent under the
influence of strong emotion. He only held St. Arnaud’s hand in a grip
that was like steel. Presently releasing it, he said:
“My life is yours--I have nothing more now to offer.” Then, suddenly
recovering himself, he cried joyfully: “Oh, that my mother could see
me now! It fretted her proud soul to see me a private soldier, but she
said no word. And if I only remember all she told me, I will prove
myself a gentleman. She was, as I told you last night, always preparing
me for something higher. She made me learn English table manners even
when we had precious little to eat. And wash! Those English are mad
about soap and water. My mother has washed me when I was a little lad
until I shrieked for mercy; but scrub, wash, wash, scrub, every day,
and twice a day. Illness, cold, nothing excused me from that infernal
tub. But at last I got to like it; and now I like cold water as well as
any whale that swims the Arctic seas. Here is the proof.”
Gavin produced with great pride a small, round lump tied with strings,
and on the strings being cut, it expanded into a huge sponge.
“And this--and this--and this--” he added, handing out some coarse
soap, a comb, and a razor.
For reply, St. Arnaud produced not only a sponge, but a small towel, a
cake of scented soap, a silver comb, and a pearl-handled razor. Gavin’s
eyes gleamed. “These will I have when I am an officer!” he cried.
They resumed their way. The joy that shone in Gavin’s face was
contagious. St. Arnaud smiled at the thought that a suit of clothes and
the hope of a sublieutenancy could give so much happiness to any one;
but he did not know that it meant all which the young soldier coveted
in life.
That day they entered a tract of country where an occasional house
still stood; and they even found an inn, soon after midday, where they
got a coarse but abundant meal. After that the aspect of the country
steadily improved, and in the early winter dusk they found themselves
approaching a comfortable country mansion with pleasure grounds around
it. The windows were tightly barred, but smoke was pouring from one of
the chimneys.
“Now, my young sublieutenant,” cried St. Arnaud, laughing, “we will
find gentlepeople in this pleasant bivouac; and, remember, you are an
officer. Don’t call me ‘my Captain,’ and whatever you do, don’t show
any subservience to me. Contradict me occasionally, and when I say it
is a certain time by my watch, say my watch is fast or slow--anything
to show we are on an equality.”
“I will remember,” answered Gavin gravely.
Dismounting before the door, Gavin began a rat-tat-tat which sounded
like an earthquake. There was no response, and after banging at the
door for five minutes he walked around the corner of the house. There
was a door leading into the kitchen quarters, but it, too, was closely
fastened. The cold was becoming intense, and Gavin was about to return
to St. Arnaud and discuss the propriety of breaking a window, when a
man-servant appeared upon the scene. He did not observe Gavin in the
half darkness, and, on hearing the heavy clump of the rustic’s shoes,
the kitchen door opened an inch or two, and a maid, with a foolish,
frightened face, whispered:
“Get the other one to help you with the wood-basket; we must have the
wood in the house at once. But be quiet about it, for there has been a
great pounding at the front door, and we don’t wish to let any one in.”
Gavin then noticed a great, two-handled basket piled with wood such as
the huge stoves of the region required. The man went off to get help
in lifting it, and an idea jumped into Gavin’s mind. “I’ll get in the
house and open the door for St. Arnaud,” thought he; and as soon as the
man’s back was turned he went to the basket, softly removed some of the
wood, crawled in, and, artistically arranging a few sticks so as to
conceal himself, waited some minutes. Then the servant, with another
one, approached; a stout pole was run between the two handles, and the
basket, with Gavin and the logs, was picked up, carried through the
kitchen, then into a long corridor, and finally to the main entrance
hall, where there was a vast porcelain stove. At that moment Gavin
heard a light step descending the stairs, and an exquisitely sweet
voice say:
“How can you let those poor creatures outside suffer in this cold? I
order you to open the door immediately.”
“But, madame,” said the maid, who had followed, “we had express orders
from the master and mistress to let no one in.”
At this moment the basket was let down, and in another instant Gavin,
having disengaged himself with quiet dexterity from the wood, stepped
out of the basket, and making his best bow, said in his best German:
“Madame, I will obey your orders, if these louts will not,” and running
to the door, drew the bolt, and in walked Captain St. Arnaud.
The two men-servants gaped in grotesque horror at the load they had
brought in; the maid began to scream violently; only the lady retained
her self-possession.
“To whom am I indebted,” she asked of Gavin with perfect composure,
“for carrying out my orders with such unexpected promptness?”
“To Sublieutenant Gavin Hamilton, of Dufour’s regiment of dragoons,
in the service of His Majesty of France,” replied Gavin with equal
coolness, saying to himself meanwhile, “Aha! St. Arnaud will see that I
have the composure of a gentleman.” Then he said, “Permit me, madame,
to present Captain St. Arnaud of my regiment.”
St. Arnaud bowed with the utmost gravity, although immensely tickled
at Gavin, and the three gentlepeople stood entirely at ease, while the
three servants were completely disconcerted.
“I am Madame Ziska,” said the lady of the charming voice, speaking in
French. “I am running away from the Prussians toward Vienna. This house
belongs to acquaintances of mine, who have left it. The servants in
charge, knowing me, gave me permission to remain the night here; and
although I had no authority to let any one else in, I certainly should
have opened the door had not Lieutenant Hamilton done so for me.”
Neither cold nor hunger nor flight had dulled either St. Arnaud’s or
Gavin’s appreciation of beauty and charm. There was no great beauty
in Madame Ziska, but an exquisite grace of bearing, a face full of
expression, and a beautiful figure. She was one of those women whose
age it was impossible to tell. She was, in truth, thirty, but she
might have been twenty-five or thirty-five. Nor was her nationality
apparent either in her appearance or her language, for her French was
immaculate; and neither St. Arnaud nor Gavin Hamilton knew enough of
the German language to judge of how she spoke it when she addressed the
servants. St. Arnaud thought first of the poor beasts outside, and said
to the men-servants: “Have our horses attended to at once, and look for
either money or kicks, according to how you do it.”
The two men disappeared, and the maid, apparently profiting by the
suggestion of money, said very respectfully:
“Supper is not yet ready, madame; and I will add something for these
gentlemen,” and disappeared.
Madame Ziska then led the way to a small sitting-room, where a stove
glowed, candles gleamed, and a table was set with linen and plate. She
seated herself before the stove, and not until then did St. Arnaud and
Gavin proceed to warm their chilled bodies. St. Arnaud watched Gavin
closely, but with amusement, as if he were assisting at the first
production of a new comedy, when he saw this young private soldier of
nineteen masquerading as a gentleman. Gavin himself saw the joke, and
St. Arnaud could not refrain from bursting out laughing when Gavin,
surveying himself coolly in a mirror on the wall, remarked:
“Madame, I am indebted to my brother officer for these clothes--it is
quite a story--and, _sacre!_ I hardly know myself in this rig.”
“But,” thought St. Arnaud, “wait until supper is served. The table is a
place to tell a man’s up-bringing.”
The door opened, and the servants entered, bringing with them a very
good supper. Gavin rose instantly, and forestalled St. Arnaud in
placing a chair for Madame Ziska, at which the captain’s heretofore
smiling face assumed a scowl. There is such a thing as learning a
lesson too well and too promptly. They seated themselves, and a very
jolly supper party they made. Madame Ziska’s conversation proved
as charming as her appearance. She talked with the utmost ease and
apparent frankness, but of her own condition in life she said not a
word. Yet, there was something convincingly honest about her; and St.
Arnaud, who knew the world thoroughly, felt as much confidence in her
as did the unsophisticated Gavin. He shrewdly suspected her to be a
professional artist of some description, who possessed, by some chance,
a higher degree of education and breeding than was usual in those
times. He treated her, however, as if she had been a princess in her
own right, and Madame Ziska accepted it with perfect dignity, as her
just due.
Gavin had never before sat at table with an officer, and he watched
St. Arnaud quite as closely as St. Arnaud watched him. He carried off
his part wonderfully well, but it was not quite perfection. He laughed
and talked too much, airing his sentiments in the four languages
he claimed to know, which, except English and French, he spoke very
ungrammatically. St. Arnaud, pleasant but critical, noticed all, while
Madame Ziska’s sweet, inscrutable smile revealed nothing. There was
a harpsichord in the room, and as soon as they had finished supper
St. Arnaud jumped up and, opening it, burst into a sentimental song,
accompanying himself brilliantly. This was too much for Gavin, who
was so charmed that he altogether forgot the part he was playing, and
also the training his mother had given him, and acted as he would at a
bivouac when a comrade sang a good song. In the excess of his enjoyment
he sat down on the floor, close to the glowing stove, and after a while
established himself comfortably at full length, his head resting on his
elbows, which he dug into the carpet. St. Arnaud saw it all out of the
tail of his eye, until Gavin, suddenly catching St. Arnaud’s amused
glance fixed on him, jumped up, red and embarrassed.
“That is for not remembering what my mother told me,” he thought, with
the deepest vexation. “However,” he reflected again, “I shall soon
overcome the demoralization of camp manners in company like this,” and
he demurely seated himself on a sofa. The song closed in a beautiful
cadenza, but it was drowned in a tremendous tramping of hoofs, and the
maid-servants rushed in, bawling:
“The Prussians! The Prussians!”
St. Arnaud’s and Gavin’s first sensation was one of stupid surprise.
They had not thought a Prussian to be within fifty miles. Madame Ziska,
however, showed not an instant’s discomposure. She at once opened the
door of a closet in the room, saying, “It is strategy, not rashness,
which is wanted now;” and almost pushing them in, she took the key out
of the lock, and passed it to them in the inside. Then, seating herself
nonchalantly, she trimmed the candles and took up a book to read.
It was so quickly done that neither St. Arnaud nor Gavin had a
connected thought until they found themselves in the closet, nor could
they recall which one locked the door. They gazed stupidly at each
other in the half light which filtered through the glass doors lined
with green silk; and then they found that, although concealed from
sight themselves, they could yet see any one in the room through little
holes in the moth-eaten silk behind the glass.
The sound of many feet entering the house was now heard, and in a
moment more the door was opened, and a Prussian officer ushered in, a
short, slender man, wearing a shabby surtout and nondescript uniform.
Several other officers followed; but from the moment the short, slender
man entered, neither one of the prisoners in the closet, nor had Madame
Ziska, eyes for any one but him.
His face was wan and weather-beaten, his nose high and prominent, and
his brow and mouth rather unpleasing. But his gray-blue eyes redeemed
an otherwise sinister face. They were exquisitely clear, soft yet
sparkling, and their mild expression flatly contradicted the hardness
and even cruelty of his other features.
He advanced to the stove, slightly and negligently saluting Madame
Ziska, who rose and bowed. As he addressed no word to her, after
standing a moment she quietly reseated herself. The other officers
remained standing, and a shiver seemed to run through them at Madame
Ziska’s action. The man in the nondescript uniform noticed it, and
smiled faintly. He sat down, warmed his hands at the stove, while the
officers stood rigidly at attention. Madame Ziska read diligently, and
St. Arnaud and Gavin in the closet scarcely dared to breathe.
After five minutes of this the shabby man looked around him, made a
slight motion with his hand, and every officer, saluting, filed out of
the door, and he was left alone with Madame Ziska.
Madame Ziska continued to read. Presently the strange personage spoke
to her in French, and in the clearest and sweetest voice imaginable.
“You have a great deal of _sang froid_, madame.”
“One needs it in this bustling world,” replied Madame Ziska calmly,
withdrawing her eyes for a moment from her book.
“Ahem!” A pause. “Your French is very good.”
“So is yours, monsieur.”
“It is the only language, after all.”
“You must be well up in the graces of His Majesty, the King of Prussia,
who loves everything French, although he fights France.”
“Well, yes. You think me a major, or a colonel, perhaps, in the King’s
body-guard.”
“Majors and colonels do not have the staff that came with you into this
room just now. You are a general at least.”
“No. Higher.”
“A field-marshal?”
“Higher still.”
“Prince Henry of Prussia?”
“Prince Henry rises when I speak to him.”
Madame Ziska rose and made him a profound courtesy.
“Sire, you are the King of Prussia.”