THE BARON IS ENERGETIC.
The wonder of the timorous inmates of Montbazon knew no bounds when
they beheld Boulot--once gamekeeper, now formidable and obnoxious
deputy of Blois--careering into their courtyard with a fainting woman
in his arms; and astonishment was merged in dismay when Madame de Vaux
recognzied the Marquise de Gange, who had been stricken down,
according to report, by a virulent and malignant malady.
Since, for some time past, the Seigneurie by common consent had dwelt
in a condition of siege, it was only owing to the lucky circumstance
of its being Angelique's fete-day that Jean found the gate unguarded.
Things having quieted down somewhat--though not for long, as the
Seigneurie knew too well, for public opinion was ever on the ebb and
flow of mischief--it occurred to old De Vaux that this was the
propitious moment to go a hunting. It was on the cards that the noble
pastime of the chase might be stopped altogether shortly, and so he
seized the opportunity to give a little party in his daughter's
honour. Was it not unfeeling, then, to the last degree, that a
neighbour who was not invited because she was infectious, should
choose this precise moment for a morning call? The gentlemen were
away, the ladies were sipping tea, _a l'Anglaise_, and munching
biscuits, discussing the while the all-important topic of dress. Of
course they would not demean themselves by donning the ridiculous
garments of the Republic. The queen, poor martyr, was sitting in
sackcloth and ashes while quaffing the cup of bitterness, and it
behoved faithful subjects to don mourning. But then money was so
dreadfully tight, and nobody had any mourning; and, besides, the
truculent and abominable upstarts who ruled the roast might take
umbrage at such eccentricity and be disagreeable; and when everyone's
tenure of property and even life, was so precarious, it was as well to
wear coats that would turn.
This proposition had been put and unanimously carried, and everyone
was getting on as nicely as possible, when, all of a sudden, killjoy,
Jean Boulot, dropped from the clouds with his unconscious and
fever-stricken burthen.
Too anxious, and too full of contempt for the company to be polite, he
strode sternly into the salon, and gently laying the marquise on the
sofa, took summary possession of the teapot, while the frightened
ladies stared.
"There is charcoal, no doubt, in the kitchen," he said, quietly, "send
for some, please, directly."
Charcoal? Was the man crazy? Infectious, too, perhaps. How shocking!
But it was not politic to offend one of the rising stars. Madame de
Vaux rang the bell for charcoal, and waited for an explanation.
Jean ground a piece of it with a poker, on the hearth, and dribbled
the powder into the tea-pot. What devil's broth was he brewing? The
man must be very mad. If the gentlemen would only return. Having
satisfied himself with regard to the decoction, the deputy, instead of
insisting that the baroness should drink it, carefully poured a few
drops down the throat of the marquise, and presently she sighed deeply
and opened her weary eyes.
"She is saved!" he cried with satisfaction. "Now, ladies, if you can
think of anyone except yourselves, complete the work. Ply her with
draughts of this, and see that she does not sleep. She has been
poisoned by two miscreants; but God has protected the innocent against
their villainy."
"Poisoned!" exclaimed Angelique, interested; "we were told it was a
fever."
"Villains who murder innocent women can also lie," retorted Jean in
scorn. "This lady, I tell you, after undergoing endless outrage at
their hands, which is noted above in detail, has been cruelly poisoned
by the two half-brothers of her husband. Providence, in its
inscrutable wisdom, has chosen me as the humble instrument of
rescue--and also of revenge. As there are stars above us, those
wretches shall be terribly punished. I go now to execute their
sentence."
The habit of leading others had made another man of Jean. He spoke
simply, but with a stern native dignity that enforced respect. The
ladies looked with awe on his tall retreating figure, about which
there were none of the petty airs of courtliness, and never for a
moment doubted that he spoke the truth.
This poor, pitiful, dishevelled heap of soiled clothing was not
infectious. The Marquise de Gange had been singled out as victim of an
appalling tragedy, which, had it been consummated, would have set the
whole province aflame with fury. What was he about to do, this
formidable deputy? Pray Heaven he would not raise such a tornado about
their ears as would bring ruin on an entire class. Given that many of
the class had sinned grievously and often, that was no reason for
confounding the guiltless with the guilty. The peasantry were so
crassly ignorant and so oafishly benighted--so ready in these days to
believe the worst--that they might choose to look on old De Vaux as an
accomplice of the Lorge people, and wreak vengeance on him and his. It
had not been his business to interfere in the private affairs of other
persons, and had, moreover, been deliberately misinformed.
His wife, as she turned it all over, grew very much alarmed and gave
vent to shrillest jeremiads. What a stroke of ill-luck it was that the
baron should have chosen this especial morning to sally forth on a
fool's errand, leaving his family to be fooled by fickle Fortune! The
baroness felt convinced that there was something dreadful imminent,
and there was not a single male upon the premises. Even the tottering
old domestics had gone forth to act as _piqueurs_. If the gentlemen
would only return and settle what was to be done; but if they met with
success in sport they would not be back till nightfall. Meanwhile, it
was evident that the orders of the obnoxious Jean must be obeyed, and
that the ladies must succour the marquise.
Hark! What was that? Voices in altercation in the passage, and a
screaming of terror-stricken maids.
Hatless, with dress disordered and wild mien, Pharamond and Phebus
dashed into the room.
"Where is our darling Gabrielle?" the former cried in agitation,
undisguised. "Poor soul! Poor suffering angel! She has gone mad;
escaped raging through a window, distraught by the delirium of fever."
Madame de Vaux was speechless from fright. The abbe whom she had been
accustomed to see all smiles and compliments, wore the aspect of some
malignant demon, as he eagerly scanned the company. His lips were
bloodless, his pale face convulsed, while his brother mechanically
followed his lead, like one under influence of Mesmer.
Angelique, who was bending with solicitude over Gabrielle, turned on
the pair, no whit afraid. "The Marquise de Gange," she said, "has been
committed to our custody, and for the present will remain under our
care."
"Not so, not so!" replied the abbe, in vehement haste, "We will
bear her home to the chateau. It would be unseemly to permit our
sorely-stricken relative to be looked on by the curiosity of
strangers. The poor soul raves, suffers from distracting delusions.
You can see for yourselves that she is mad."
"Mad or sane," returned Angelique, bluntly, "here the marquise stays
until my father and the gentlemen return. She is exhausted and unfit
to travel."
Prudence! It would not do to offer too obstinate a resistance. Time
must be gained by parley that the potion might do its work. Resuming
with an effort something of his other self, the abbe bowed and bit his
lip and scrutinized the patient.
Why, what was this? The victim exhibited none of the symptoms that
were to be expected. Yet the poison must have circulated long ago.
Surrounded by ministering women, Gabrielle had recovered
consciousness, and lay, clinging for protection to Angelique, gazing
with dread upon her butcher. Inert and numb, her limbs, half
paralysed, were moved with difficulty; but it was plain that the
intellect was clear. Ere now, she should have been foaming in frenzy,
or, that phase past, be plunged in the stertorous slumber from which
she would wake no more.
Intelligence shone from the haggard eyes of the victim. Had Providence
worked a miracle on her behalf? Was she to escape him after all? A
vapour as of blood swam before the sight of Pharamond and drenched his
brain. With a fierce curse he drew a pistol from his breast, The women
shrieked and implored mercy. Angelique, who was nearest to him struck
the weapon up and the bullet lodged in the ceiling. In a whirl of
frantic unreason he unsheathed his sword, and reckless now of
consequences to himself, battled towards the marquise through the
group of cowering women. There was that about him which suggested the
red-eyed rat at bay that springs at the throat of his tormentor,
inflicts what harm he can before he is crushed himself. Pharamond knew
he was undone, and cared not, provided he might hack and slash that
tender body which never might be his. The brave Angelique closed with
him, and her fingers were cut to the bone in the effort to wrest away
the sword. At the sight of her daughter bleeding, her aged mother sent
up a scream and attacked the abbe with her nails.
A hubbub in the courtyard--a clatter of many hoofs--a confused babble
of voices. The hunters had returned in haste, for a rumour was
speeding with swift wings, bearing over the land the fiery cross of
vengeance--shouting of a tragedy at Lorge, which concerned the White
Chatelaine.
A woman's scream of agony--here at quiet Montbazon! What could have
happened. M. de Vaux staggered, and dreading he knew not what, made
for the salon as fast as his old legs would carry him, while a posse
of country gentlemen remained on their horses irresolute. But not for
long. Two frantic men with hair untied and streaming, and bloody
swords in their hands, dashed from the salon window and endeavoured to
escape out of the gate. Though it was hopeless to struggle against
overwhelming numbers, they fought with clenched teeth the fight of
desperation, but speedily found themselves disarmed, tied roughly back
to back.
"Grand Dieu! It must be true then!" exclaimed a booby round-eyed
squire, for here was the suave and polished churchman by whose
condescensions he had been wont to be flattered, torn by the passions
of the beast, soiled with dirt and blood.
The game was up--no doubt of it--but the abbe was not one to bow under
adverse fate and play the penitent. How to explain away an onslaught
upon women. The situation was awkward, but might even yet be brazened
out, if the devil would only help, since, while there is life there is
hope.
"She is mad--quite mad--poor suffering soul," he mechanically
murmured; "we came to take her home."
Danger past, Madame de Vaux did what many a worthy dame has done
before. She sank on a seat and fainted, while Angelique rapidly
related the tragical details of the last half-hour.
The baron's brow grew cloudy as he listened. A terrible scandal this,
such as in more halcyon days would have caused a violent commotion,
but which at a critical moment like the present might start an
overwhelming conflagration.
The hunting party had come upon a howling mob armed with such bucolic
weapons as were handy, running along the road with incoherent threats.
One who lagged behind was stopped, and being questioned, declared that
he knew not what had chanced, but stout Jean Boulot was back again and
furious, and that was enough for him. Under the circumstances it was
prudent to return to Montbazon and resume the state of siege.
M. de Vaux was a gentleman to the backbone, if not endowed with wits,
and could in a moment of peril prove as calmly firm and quietly
undaunted as the procession of Parisian nobles who were wearing out
with steady and unflinching footfall the steps of the guillotine. He
recognized the gravity of his position, but accepted it without a
murmur, for it never should be said that the last baron of the house
of de Vaux had blenched in face of duty. The Marquis de Gange and
his villainous brothers had happily been baulked in an attempted
crime--that the absent marquis was less guilty than the rest he was
not prepared to believe; and if he, the baron, could help it, they
should not escape their punishment.
It was unlucky for him and his that the scene should have been
transferred to his own tranquil hearth, for no good would accrue to
the inhabitants of Montbazon by the sheltering of unsavoury company.
Two of the peccant brothers were here, and here they should remain,
_advienne que pourra_, until their unwilling host could hand them to
the myrmidons of justice. If it could be prevented, there should be no
lynch law at Montbazon. The miscreants had earned their doom, which,
doubtless would be breaking on the wheel; and yet, who could tell what
would be the lot of persons who were reckoned amongst the gangrened,
and who were guilty of such heinous sin?
The mob would learn ere long the facts of the case, and their fury
would not be lessened by the discovery that the one member of the
hated class whom they all revered for her goodness had been chosen as
the intended victim.
There would be a rush to Lorge, which would be found to be an open and
empty cage, and after that there would be a scouring of the country in
all directions in search of the dastardly criminals. They would be
found here at Montbazon; there was no help for it, and the lord of
Montbazon would loyally do his best to protect them from mob violence.
But Montbazon was not a strong fortress like Lorge, which could afford
to smile grimly down on a crowd of excited pigmies. The gates must be
closed, and if the mob did come he would explain his just intentions,
parley with and endeavour to persuade them.
Cheerfully determined to obey orders, the young men of the hunt were
closing the gates when a horseman dashed in at a gallop, and the
exhausted beast sank panting on the stones. M. de Vaux looked up and
sighed, and again commanded that the doors should be closed and
locked.
Here was the missing scoundrel, the marquis himself, as agitated as
the other two. Verily the will of Heaven was startlingly clear, for
the missing culprit had, of his own free will, delivered himself into
the net.
The eyes of Clovis fell on a group in the angle of the courtyard, and,
blushing, he hung his head. His brothers, unkempt and bound, none the
better for rough usage, tied back to back like common malefactors,
while a young seigneur whom all three knew well was mounting guard on
them.
"M. de Vaux," he stammered, "things look black, I know, but I implore
you not to condemn me in your mind unheard. I swear to you that I did
not know of this. I was coming home from an absence due to business,
and was as horrified as you could be when I was informed of the
terrible story."
"You will all three be broken on the wheel," was the pithy answer of
the baron.
The chevalier, with chin sunk upon his breast, saw and heard nothing;
his weak brain was in a daze. But the abbe glanced quickly at the
marquis and smiled with profound disdain. He had always felt for his
elder brother a contempt so deep that it approached near to loathing.
Worldly prudence alone had cloaked his feelings, for he knew him to be
of the mean sort that, too feeble for independent action, will, while
prating virtue, glibly accept the fruit of another's wickedness, or
denounce him in case of failure. The aspect of this sorry apologetic
craven acted on the abbe's nerves like a dash of refreshing spray. The
old gleam glittered for a moment from under half-closed lids. He shook
himself, raised his head proudly, and pointing a finger at Clovis,
harshly laughed aloud--
"Remember that, unluckily, we are related," he sneered; "and spare me
this humiliating spectacle. We have all three played our game and
lost, and must pay the stakes with resignation."
"I assure you, Monsieur le Baron, that he lies malignantly," the
hapless Clovis began; but his words died away in confusion, for his
flesh quivered under the abbe's words and scathing looks as under a
whip.
"Believe him not," scoffed Pharamond. "We are guilty of lamentable
failure, for which I am honestly ashamed, due in part to the
pusillanimity of yonder cur; and failure, as we all know, is the one
sin that never may hope for pardon. He knew perfectly well the
intended programme, and having given his tacit consent was despatched
on a mission, which he apparently has bungled, that we might not be
hampered by his cowardice. We failed, as better and stronger men have
failed, and I am sorry for the mistake. It would have been shorter and
safer to have made away with him as well as his puling wife. Speak,
chevalier--you are a drunken sot, but not a craven--is not this the
truth?"
Urged by the sharp elbow of his brother, lustily applied, Phebus
raised his head and looked dreamily around; then saying simply "Yes;
what you say is truth," relapsed into stupid reverie.
The abbe was growing lively, for now, thanks to Clovis's ineptitude,
he no longer played the ridiculous role. The marquis hoped to
whitewash himself by steady lying at the expense of his more brilliant
confederate. That should never be. None but a fool would have deemed
such a _denouement_ possible. But for the advent of the new-comer,
Pharamond might have stuck to his guns, and have adroitly wriggled out
of the meshes of the law, delightfully pure and unsullied, though for
a moment stained by calumny; for though the marquise had for some
unaccountable reason recovered, there was nothing but her word for the
absurd story of the goblet, sword, and pistol. Even had she died no
trace of the herb would have been found. Mademoiselle Brunelle and the
servants of the chateau would with one accord have sworn--as they
aspired to an edifying end and a cosy seat in Heaven--that madame had
suffered from a serious complaint, accompanied by delirious
hallucination. That she was better now was in the nature of things,
due partly to tenderest solicitude on the part of her affectionate
family, and an additional proof, if any still were wanting, that the
story of the poison was a dream. But Clovis, by his own dastardly and
execrable meanness, had cut the ground from under the feet of the
suspected trio; for the abbe had been goaded for once to forget
himself and his own interests in order, with a pretty display of
scornful protest, to inflict revenge upon another. In sober truth, the
abbe felt outraged in his best feelings by the move of Clovis.
Pharamond had confessed with easy nonchalance to an attempt of
superior wickedness, and was rather flattered than otherwise by the
silent horror depicted on the bovine countenances of the Seigneurie.
They appeared to gaze, face to face, on the Satanic one, and were
abashed by his unexpected propinquity.
It was time the painful scene should end, for nothing could come of it
but unworthy recrimination. Two had freely and publicly confessed, the
third stood cowering like a beaten hound that dares not even whine. In
every curved line of his bent figure there was confession.
The baron observed gravely to the company assembled, "We are
responsible, gentlemen, for the guarding of these persons, till they
can be safely removed to Blois. For the present, if you please, we
will lock them in the dining-hall, as the strongest and safest room."
"By all means," exclaimed the abbe, heartily, "and I hope there will
be something on the board. The good baron was always hospitable. Owing
to press of _business_, hem! I had no time for breakfast, and vow I am
plaguy hungry."
It was a day of ill-luck and penance for our esteemed churchman, for
no single wish of his was to be gratified, even in so small a matter
as a meal. The three brothers were pushed with scant ceremony into the
one imposing chamber of the chateau, whose walls were tolerably thick
and windows placed too high for escape to be possible, and there they
were left, gruesomely to contemplate one another, uncomely spectacle
enough, for in truth, they looked like boon companions, whose night
had been spent in orgies. The abbe was so blythe in the knowledge that
his fate was sealed, and that he had in his recklessness given himself
as it were with his own foot, the final kick out of the world, that he
overflowed with amiability.
To behold Clovis, the selfish and heartless, the superficially
plausible scientific humbug, sobbing like a woman, with tears
showering through dirty fingers, was a joy and a triumph, for whatever
might befall the abbe though only a half brother with no prospect of
ever blossoming into a full-blown marquis, he never, no, never, under
any stress whatever, could fall so low as this grovelling male Niobe,
who had been privileged by Destiny to wear the glittering thing called
coronet. Not that that particular covering was in vogue as a
fashionable hat just now, but the absurd era of topsyturvydom, would
no doubt be smothered shortly by somebody with an uncompromising will
and iron fist, and the saturnalia of plebeian folly be suppressed.
Then coronets would rise in the market again, and this gibbering thing
would come strutting back from exile--a worm on end--with other
emigrants, to enjoy again the sweets of life. He would be free and
rich, while his brothers bore the brunt. He would possibly speak now
and again with reticence of his unfortunately shady family
connections, who had tried to commit murder in his absence, and swear
with seraphic gaze fixed upon aether, that he was well quit of such
surroundings. Ah! It was a satisfaction to think that a sturdy spoke
had been placed in the wheel of the heaven-bound chariot, which had
brought it down to earth with a thump, as helpless as a hamstrung
horse. If the half-brothers were to bear the burthen of their
misdeeds, so should the elder one. He should not escape scot-free.
"If," swore the abbe to himself, "we are to be broken on the wheel, as
de Vaux so genially suggests, the only boon I will crave shall be that
Clovis the coward shall suffer first, and that I may be present as eye
witness." Such being his somewhat decided views with regard to the
head of the family, it was rather odd that he should be so agreeable
and frolicsome and, metaphorically, skip around his brother.
After a while, the contemplation of the weeping Clovis and the dazed
Phebus became irksome, and there being no signs of prospective
breakfast, Pharamond turned his attention to another matter.
"Tell me," he demanded of a sudden, "why did you delay at Blois so
long, and what brought you so quickly home?"
"The testament was useless," answered Clovis, sulkily. "While we were
yet in Paris, she saw through your plans and took measures to render
them abortive. Such plans! We are undone--I, too--through your
presuming and insensate folly."
"She did!" exclaimed Pharamond, clasping his hands in admiration.
"She solemnly declared that she knew her life to be in peril--that if
ever she made another will, it would be under compulsion, and arranged
for some private mark to show that this was so. Justice was put on the
alert, and I came back in hottest haste to stop your action, but
arrived, alas! too late."
"She did that? the crafty, cunning baby-face!" cried Pharamond.
"I ought to have known," growled Clovis, with rueful self-reproach,
"that reserved baby-faced women are always cunning. But I trusted
so much in you as to allow myself to be persuaded, and now I am
undone--undone!"
In spite of his discomfiture, the artistic instinct of the abbe could
not but keenly appreciate the still long-suffering woman who had
braved and circumvented him. And they had all been stupid enough to
look upon her as a foe unworthy of their steel. That they should have
done so was due to one of the many errors in judgment of the
abominable Algae. Well, well--she was a wondrous creature, as well as
a beautiful. Gifted with second sight, had she been able to foresee
what precise poison he would employ and provide herself with an
antidote? Hardly. Therein lay a mystery.
Meanwhile, conjectures fill no stomachs, and nature was beginning to
assert herself aggressively. It was brutal of the baron to starve his
cage-birds. To play with his brother, or to snarl and gird at him was
mighty well as a pastime, but it grew more than annoying that, after
the hints that had been thrown out, the baron should be so
disgustingly inhospitable.
By dint of straining and muscular artfulness, the two, who had been
unwillingly made one with ropes, managed to escape from their bonds;
and the abbe persuasively arguing through the keyhole, endeavoured to
coax the guardian marching without to discuss the question of food. It
was barbarous to lock three men in a room and leave them to starve,
specially when it had been pointed out that there had been no time
that morning to partake of even the lightest refection. Is not
_dejeuner_ the most important meal in France--now as in the past; and
is it not deliberately fiendish to place famishing humanity in a
dining-hall without the necessary and expected adjuncts? It had
nothing to do with the case that the engrossing _business_ which had
engrossed the early hours had been to supply a lady with a special
breakfast for which she had no appetite. At any rate, she had been
provided with a breakfast of a sort, and that she didn't like it was
beside the question, for is it not well known that capricious ladies
affect to live on butterfly wings and flower nectar--rare victuals
that cannot always be supplied--while here were three ravenous men who
had gone through much emotion and were proportionately empty, and who
would be content--nay, grateful--for a commonplace, vulgar,
substantial pate and a bottle of sound Burgundy. Thus the sportive
abbe through the keyhole, whose sallies received no response.
By and by the monotonous tramp in the stone passage ceased; hasty
footsteps hurried away--there were muffled cries and exclamations,
followed by--it could be nothing else--a volley of musketry. There was
something going forward, then, that was serious. The abbes humour
changed from banter to gloomy wrath, and a sensation came over him
akin to that which Gabrielle had experienced in her bedchamber. He
would not die--no--he would live! But how? He ground his teeth and
gnawed his fingers with a baffled sense of degrading helplessness.
Here was he, an unappreciated genius, whose wits were as nimble as
ever, who was prepared to start off at a tangent on any project which
promised to bring grist to his mill, incarcerated in a place intended
for festivity, from which there was no outlet, and in which could be
found no crust of bread or glass of water. The windows were
inaccessible, the oaken door locked without. But the sentry was
withdrawn, which was something; and three men, strong and young,
should shame to lie down content to wallow in the mud and groan.
Something of a serious and important nature was going on outside, as
could be judged by the noise. If the door could be forced in the
confusion, the muffled sounds of which were evident to acute ears,
what should prevent successful evasion even at this eleventh hour?
Clovis was strongly built, the thews and broad shoulders of Phebus had
ofttimes been a subject for sport--and there the two sat like waxen
effigies, both refusing to be roused. In his exasperation Pharamond
seized Phebus by the shoulders and shook him like a sack, but the
latter merely opened his watery eyes for a moment and then blinked
them to again like one who has done with daylight. As for Clovis, the
gorge of his brother rose, and he exhaled himself in ingenious curses.
If there was a hell, to which both were bound, a large item of his
punishment would consist in his brother's presence as a neighbour.
Oh! It was too bad--too bad! There was some commotion going on
outside--a rush of feet, a shouting, a calling out of names--something
or another that occupied the entire attention of the garrison. The
three of them, if they would exert united strength, could, with a
portion of yonder massive dining-table, easily force the door, since
the hubbub outside was sufficient to distract attention from any noise
within. The door forced, they could lose themselves in the crowd. The
smiling world would be open. Life--precious life--would commence
again. And there the two idiots crouched--the one in a daze, the other
drowned in unavailing grief--while the golden moments dripped. At
thought of what ought to be, and that which loomed as more likely to
obtain, Pharamond was devoured by an access of the old frenzy, which
earlier in the day had toppled over reason, and tore in idle impotence
at the ponderous table with his delicate white hands till the blood
gushed from beneath the nails and his lips were white with foam.