THE MIDNIGHT ATTACK.
"IT was no bad news that they came to tell you just now, was it, aunt?"
inquired Onésime, as Suzanne reseated herself near him.
"Oh, no; I will tell you what it was presently. Let me go on with my
story. You recollect Thérèse running in to tell us that the stable was
on fire, and that a band of armed men were attacking the house?"
"Yes, yes; what a terrible night it was!"
"I shall never forget the mingled terror and admiration I felt at the
courage you displayed. I can hear you saying now: 'Flight is impossible;
I cannot preserve you from danger, my infirmity, alas! prevents that,
but I can at least make a rampart of my body for your protection;' and,
arming yourself with an iron bar wrenched from one of the shutters, you
rushed to the door, and alone and unaided guarded the entrance to the
room with truly supernatural courage and strength."
"Don't speak of that, my dear aunt. Really, I--"
"What! not speak of it when the recollection of your bravery and
devotion is the only consolation I have when I see you lying here. No,
the most determined resistance I ever read of paled beside yours.
Entrenched in the doorway, the iron bar became a formidable weapon in
your hands, and though your defective vision prevented you from aiming
your blows very accurately, those who came within reach of your arm fell
at your feet, one by one."
"How terrified Mlle. Sabine must have been! Timid as she is, she must
have died a thousand deaths during that brief struggle."
"You are very much mistaken, my friend. The courage and strength of
character she displayed in that trying hour amazed me. I can see her now
standing there pale but resolute. Her first words were: 'Thank God, I
shall die alone, my father is absent.' Then, pointing to you, she said,
exultantly: 'Do you admit that he is brave now? He is confronting death
unflinchingly for our sakes, but we shall at least perish with him.' And
when, overpowered, by numbers, you were at last struck down, and four of
the men, the leader with his arm in a sling, burst into the room, she
showed even greater heroism. 'Onésime is dead!' she exclaimed. 'It is
our turn now! Farewell, Suzanne,' she added, clasping me in her arms,
and murmuring, softly, 'Farewell, dear father, farewell.'"
"Loving and courageous to the last!" exclaimed Onésime, with tears both
in his voice and eyes.
"I felt much less resigned. I had just seen you fall bleeding across the
threshold, and I threw myself at the feet of the leader, begging for
mercy. With a gesture he commanded the men to pause, and then, turning
to me, demanded, in a threatening voice: 'Where is Captain l'Endurci?'"
"Captain l'Endurci?" repeated Onésime, in great surprise. "Why did they
come here to look for Captain l'Endurci? Besides, these men were
Englishmen. I remember now."
"I will explain presently. When the leader of the party asked where
Captain l'Endurci was, I replied: 'This house belongs to M. Cloarek. He
is absent from home. This is his daughter. Have pity on her.'
"'His daughter!' exclaimed the man, with a ferocious laugh. 'So this is
his daughter, is it? So much the better! And you,--are you his wife?'
"'No, I am only the housekeeper.'
"'So this is his daughter,' he repeated again, approaching poor
mademoiselle, whose courage seemed to increase with the danger, for,
with both hands crossed upon her breast, like a saint, she looked the
leader of the bandits straight in the eye.
"'Where is your father?' he demanded.
"'A long way from here, thank God!' replied the poor child, bravely.
"'Your father arrived here yesterday. He can hardly have gone away again
so soon. He must be somewhere about the house. Where is he? Where is he,
I say?'
"And as Sabine remained silent, he continued, with a sardonic smile:
"'I have missed your father, it seems, but, by taking you, I shall get
him sooner or later. You shall write to him from England, telling him
where you are, and he will incur any risk to release you. I shall be
waiting for him, and so capture him sooner or later. Come with me.'
"'Go with you? I would rather die,' exclaimed Sabine.
"'No one has any intention of killing you, but you have got to come, so
you had better do so peaceably, and not compel us to resort to force.'
"'Never!' cried the poor girl.
"The scoundrel turned to his men, and said a few words to them,
whereupon they sprung upon Sabine. I tried to defend her, but they
dragged me away, and, in spite of her tears and cries, she was soon
securely bound. They had scarcely done this before the report of
fire-arms and loud shouts were heard outside. Two men came rushing in,
and said a few words to their leader, who quickly followed them out of
the room. All the men except those who were holding Sabine hurried out
after him. Then, and not until then, was I able to approach you. I
thought at first that you were dead, so, forgetting Sabine and
everything else, I was sobbing over you, when, suddenly--" Suzanne
paused for a moment overcome with emotion.
"Go on! Oh, go on, I beg of you!" exclaimed Onésime.
"Never shall I forget that scene. At the farther end of the room two of
the wretches were trying to drag Sabine along, in spite of her
despairing cries. The other two men, evidently frightened by the
increasing uproar outside, darted to the door, but just as they reached
it both were struck down in turn by a terrific blow from an axe. A
moment afterward Sabine's captors shared the same fate."
"But who struck them down?"
"Who?" exclaimed Suzanne, with a shudder, and lowering her voice. "A man
clad in a strange costume. He wore a long, black jacket and waistcoat, a
broad-brimmed hat, and full, white trousers. Axe in hand, he had just
burst into the room, followed by several sailors."
"It seems to me that I have heard Mlle. Sabine speak of some other man
dressed in a similar manner who, she said, was her mother's murderer."
"Alas! this recollection was only too vivid in her mind," said Suzanne,
sadly.
"But who was the man that came to Mlle. Sabine's assistance, clad in
this way?"
"This man was the famous privateer, Captain l'Endurci,--this man was M.
Cloarek!"
"M. Cloarek! Impossible!" exclaimed Onésime, raising himself up in bed,
in spite of his weakness.
"Yes, he had an axe in his hand. His garments were covered with blood;
his face, never, oh, never, have I beheld a face so terrible. When he
came in, Sabine, not distinguishing his features at first, uttered a cry
of horror, and exclaimed, 'The black man! The black man!' and when M.
Cloarek ran to his daughter, she recoiled in terror, crying, 'Father,
ah, father, then it was you who killed my mother!' and fell apparently
lifeless upon the floor."
"Yes, yes, those words, 'Father, then it was you who killed my mother,'
I heard them vaguely, as life seemed to be deserting me. Oh, this is
frightful, frightful! What a horrible discovery! What misery it entails!
Such a tender father and loving daughter to have such a gulf between
them for ever! You were right, aunt, you were right! It does indeed
require courage to bear such a revelation. And Mlle. Sabine, how has she
been since that time?"
"The unfortunate child lay between life and death for two whole days, as
I told you."
"And M. Cloarek?"
"Alas! we know nothing about him. On hearing his daughter reproach him
for her mother's death, he uttered a loud cry, and rushed out of the
room like one demented, and nothing has been seen of him since."
"How unfortunate! Great Heavens, how unfortunate! But how did M. Cloarek
hear of this intended attack?"
"It seems this party had made two or three similar descents at different
points along the coast; but this attack was unquestionably made in the
hope of capturing M. Cloarek, who, under the name of Captain l'Endurci,
had inflicted such injury upon the British navy."
The nurse, reëntering the room at that moment, said to Suzanne:
"Madame Roberts, M. Segoffin wishes to speak to you, as well as to M.
Onésime, if he feels able to see him."
"Certainly," responded the young man, promptly.
Segoffin entered the room almost immediately. Dame Roberts did not
receive him with ironical words and looks, as she had been wont to do,
however. On the contrary, she advanced to meet him with affectionate
eagerness.
"Well, my dear Segoffin, is your news good or bad?" she exclaimed.
"I hardly know, my dear Suzanne. It will all depend upon this," he
sighed, drawing a bulky envelope from his pocket as he spoke.
"What is that?"
"A letter from M. Cloarek."
"He is alive, then, thank Heaven!"
"Yes, and his only remaining hope is in this letter, and I am to give
the letter to you, M. Onésime."
"To me?"
"And I am to tell you what you are to do with it. But first let me ask
if you feel able to get up?"
"Yes, oh, yes!" exclaimed the young man, making a quick movement.
"And I say you are not. It would be exceedingly imprudent in you,
Onésime," cried his aunt.
"Excuse me, Suzanne," interposed Segoffin. "I am as much opposed to
anything like imprudence as you can possibly be, but (I can confess it
now, you see) as I have had considerable experience in injuries of this
kind during the last twelve years, I am probably much better able to
judge than you are, so I am going to feel your nephew's pulse and note
his symptoms carefully, and if I find him able to go down to the parlour
where Mlle. Sabine is, I--No, no, not so fast!" added Segoffin, laying a
restraining hand on Onésime, who, upon hearing Sabine's name, had
evinced an evident intention of springing out of bed. "I have not made
my diagnosis yet. Do me the favour to keep quiet. If you don't, I will
take the letter away, and lock you up here in your room."
Onésime sighed, but submitted with breathless impatience to Segoffin's
careful examination, made with the aid of a lamp held by Suzanne, an
examination which satisfied him that the young man could sit up an hour
or two without the slightest danger.
"You are positive there is no danger, Segoffin?" asked Dame Roberts,
anxiously.
"None whatever."
"But why not postpone this conference for awhile?"
"Because there is a person counting the hours, nay, the very minutes,
until he hears from us."
"You mean M. Cloarek, do you not?"
"I tell you there is some one not far from here to whom this decision
means life or death," said Segoffin, without answering the question.
"Life or death!" cried Suzanne.
"Or rather hope or despair," added Segoffin, gravely, "and that is why,
Suzanne, I ask your nephew to make the effort to go down-stairs. Now, if
you will go to mademoiselle, I will help M. Onésime dress."
Ten minutes afterward Onésime, leaning on Segoffin's arm, entered the
little parlour where Sabine was awaiting him.