NOBLESSE OBLIGE.
The baron's apprehensions were soon justified. Having placed his
prisoners under lock and key, he hastily assembled the gentlemen in a
council of war, explaining his fears and difficulties. The peasantry
would, of course, be wild with indignation, and, all things
considered, there was plenty of excuse for excess. It was as though
some one had deliberately flung a lighted fuse into an open barrel of
gunpowder. Montbazon could not withstand a serious assault, for it
consisted of an agglomeration of clustering rooms, chiefly built of
wood and plaster around a small stone pleasure house in the centre. Of
course, there was a courtyard with imposing gates, necessary adjuncts
to the dignity of a dwelling that called itself a chateau, but, in
sooth, the walls were thin and tottery--more suitable for the support
of pear trees _en espalier_ than for withstanding an armed attack.
Duty must be done, however. The Seigneurie of Touraine would one and
all be smirched with the disgrace, if members of their order were
handed over without a struggle to the vengeance of bucolic bumpkins.
No doubt, no doubt--all the gentlemen agreed, but those who had
brought their womenfolk over with them to enjoy this ill-omened fete
day were unable to mask their anxiety. The peasantry all over France
had, during the last few years, been guilty of raids upon the
chateaux, had pillaged some, burnt others, inflicted outrages on the
inhabitants. Was it likely that, though their province had hitherto
been quieter than most, the people, justly exasperated by a dreadful
crime, would hearken to the voice of reason? It was, of course,
right and proper that the marquis and his brethren should be fairly
tried and sentenced, but really---at least, so thought one of the
assembly--it would be better to abandon them to their fate than risk
the safety of the ladies.
His neighbour, who was given to seeing things in an unpleasant light,
shook his pate and sighed. "You forget," he said, "that these
mooncalves neither think nor reason. They are buffeted by impulse, led
by the nose by the first comer. Whether we give up the culprits or no,
they will want to retaliate on all of us. It is class against class,
and has been all along." This was true enough, and gloom descended on
the company.
"What they will do," suggested one of the party, "will depend upon the
man who is their leader."
There was the case in a nutshell. When the people arrived at
Montbazon, the Baron de Vaux must interpellate the leader, and be
guided by that person's attitude.
The distance between the two dwellings was so short; the rustics had
spread helter-skelter in so many directions, that the movements of
their betters were rapidly ascertained. One party, which had made for
Lorge, found the gates wide open, the mansion apparently deserted, and
were about to prosecute the search elsewhere, when Jean Boulot
appeared upon the scene, declaring that his love was a prisoner. A
further search was made, and lying in her bed they found Toinon, a
prey to stony despair. Brave girl as she was, she had given way to
despondency, for what could two women do against such a close and
small-meshed network of foes--absolutely friendless and forlorn?
But here was Jean at last, faithful and true, at the head of a
rabblement. With a cry she fell upon his breast, and sobbed there as
if her heart were broken, while he thanked Heaven for her safety.
The servants had one and all decamped with such valuables as were
easily carried. There was no sign of Mademoiselle Brunelle. To linger
here was wasting time. Somebody had seen the abbe and the chevalier
spurring like maniacs in the direction of Montbazon. "To Montbazon--to
Montbazon," was the general shout, and as the crowd moved rapidly
thitherward, its numbers were each moment augmented by newcomers armed
with scythes and staves, who each had something to tell. The Marquis
de Gange had been seen galloping to Montbazon, the baron and many of
the Seigneurie also. Montbazon, by will of avenging Providence, had
become a vermin trap which was full, and, please Heaven, not one
should escape.
Deputy Jean Boulot did not approve of such sentiments. To yell "Ca
Ira" in discordant chorus--to gambol in the mazes of a dance which
bore some distorted rustic resemblance to the Carmagnole--these were
safe and harmless outlets for feverish activity. But honest Jean had
the cause of the people too deeply at heart to allow his adherents to
disgrace it. Before reaching Montbazon, therefore, he got on a great
stone in the middle of a field, and harangued his little army. He
would have no unnecessary violence, he roundly declared. Whatever the
conduct of the towns had been, the country parts of Touraine had been
conspicuous for decency. Unless his hearers promised to obey, he would
shake the dust from off his feet and leave them. The three wretches
had been delivered by God into their hands. The sovereign people
should do what they chose with the at-present-offending vermin, but
the innocent should be protected. The de Vaux family knew nothing of
the tragedy, had instantly succoured the suffering marquise, when he,
Jean, had placed her under their protection, and it would be an evil
and disgraceful thing if their reward was to be the destruction of
their property. The people hearkened and applauded. Brave Jean, honest
clearheaded Jean, an honour to the province, and to France! Of course
he should be obeyed, provided he did not strive to shelter his late
master. "Ca ira, Ca ira! Quick, quick, no more delay." Jean looking
round was satisfied, for with Heaven's help, he saw his way to save
Montbazon from pillage.
It was with some relief that on mounting by means of a ladder to the
top of the gateway, and surveying the vast seething sea of heads
below, and the forest of glinting scythes, the baron beheld a man come
forward whom he had personally known for years. He had disliked the
man, and somewhat dreaded him for his treasonable preachings to the
rustics. "A dangerous firebrand," he had always declared, "who will do
a deal of mischief;" but as the sanguinary chronicle of history
unrolled itself, marked with many smears, he had been compelled to
admit that the whilom gamekeeper in authority at Blois had shown both
discretion and forbearance. A Collot d'Herbois or a Marat might have
headed this vast concourse. There was hope in the fact that the
presiding chief was one who could listen to reason.
"I am sorry to see you, Jean Boulot," the baron began, curtly, "at the
head of a menacing throng. Are you here as a patron of grave-diggers?"
"You know what we are here for, and what we justly demand," returned
Boulot, as shortly.
The sturdy knave! A queer dignity sat upon him like that which is worn
by a successful general who has risen from the ranks.
"Demand! H'm!" echoed the baron. "A strange word as addressed by you
to me."
"Citizen! You are foolishly playing with the lives of all within your
walls," Jean said, earnestly. "Do you think to terrify us by striking
an attitude draped in the ragged frippery of your rank? A word from
me, and a thousand scythes will cut your baron's robe to ribbons. Look
around. The news is still spreading. The indignant people are rushing
hitherward. If in your folly you delay too long, they may pass beyond
control."
"Do you war with your thousand scythes against a bevy of innocent
women?"
"No. We protect them when we can against the wickedness of the
Touraine nobility."
The baron bit his lip. He was not gaining ground.
"Speak plainly. Tell me what you want."
"I demand the instant delivery to me of the three miscreants you are
harbouring."
Some of the gentlemen who had crowded up the ladder to hear the
colloquy began to shift uneasily and murmur. "The man is right," one
whispered--"far more sensible than I expected."
But the baron had no intention of giving way--of bending before a
rustic.
"You ask what I cannot grant," he replied, haughtily. "I cannot
deliver nobles to the canaille."
The clustering throng that pressed about Boulot were losing patience.
"These aristos are infatuated," one yelled, with threatening fist.
"You are wasting breath, Boulot. The vile insects must be crushed
wholesale."
"Have a care!" Jean cried, in warning. "If innocent blood is spilled,
Baron de Vaux, the crime will be on your head. Insolent vaunting words
fall back on those who launch them. We are honest men, and----"
"Are you?" scoffed the baron. "You said just now that you protected
women. You prate now of innocent blood; the blood of our ladies is
destined, I presume, to join that of the Princesse de Lamballe and the
rest?"
"I did not think that even the Seigneurie would seek to shelter behind
petticoats!" cried Jean, with rising choler.
"Impudent varlet!" cried the baron, losing temper. "I would fain
shield a bevy of women from massacre. Does the canaille decree their
slaughter?"
Toinon had kept close to Jean, at whom she gazed with gladsome eyes,
and a hectic spot of excitement upon either cheek.
"If you love me, Jean," she whispered, "let the women pass. Our
chatelaine, remember, is among them."
Boulot reflected for a moment, and the advice seemed good. "I made a
demand just now," he said, "which I see that those behind you consider
just, and you treat me and this assembly with insult. Learn that the
canaille can teach such as you a salutory lesson in behaviour. That
the lives of many ladies are at stake gives us an immense advantage,
but more generous than you we are prepared to waive it. Bring forth
your women folk. Under my own charge they shall be conducted to a
place of safety, the chateau of Lorge hard by. After that I will
return, and man to man, repeat my just demand. If you then persist in
refusing it, I shall wash my hands of the results."
An important point was gained, and there was a movement of relief
among the gentlemen. But stiff-necked old De Vaux could not bring
himself civilly to accept a boon from what he considered the low scum.
"I rejoice," he said, gruffly, "that you should save yourself from the
stigma of slaying women. We take your word that your mob will remain
without and that the ladies shall pass unharmed. But I suppose you are
not such a fool as to expect that I shall give up the marquis and his
brothers?"
"This man who stands beside me, alas, is right," Jean replied,
sternly. "Your vulture class is infatuated and doomed to ruin, and
calls down its own destruction. The besotted arrogant nobles must
indeed be crushed--trodden down wholesale."
"Sir, you forget yourself," stiffly remarked the baron.
"A last warning! You are playing with both property and life."
"Advice from you? Merci! A peasant Jack in office!"
"I would save you if I could, but you are as vapouring and saucy as
the rest."
The gentlemen within disapproved highly of the conduct of old De Vaux.
What he deemed heroic--worthy of a Bayard or a Conde--they considered
stupid and imprudent. What was to be gained by angering this man with
so vast a concourse at his back? Some of the country squires, audibly
expostulating, pulled at his legs and coat tails, to end a foolish
colloquy.
The baron, therefore, brought his ill-timed taunts to an undignified
conclusion, and declared that if the mob would make a way the ladies
were ready to come forth.
Boulot removed his hat and bowed, and the baron, not to be outdone in
the outward forms of courtesy, removed his own with a flourish and
performed a low obeisance.
Meanwhile those at the back of the far-spreading throng who, unable to
hear, considered that there was too much parleying, waxed savage. Was
an hour to be wasted over a simple negociation which should not occupy
six minutes? The deputy from Blois was being cozened, was not
displaying sufficient firmness, was reprehensively lacking in
decision. The women backed up the men, and, convinced by their own
cackle, were garrulous. They were unanimous as to storming the place,
displaying to the world by a signal example that the people were the
real masters whose will was to be obeyed. Then there was a sway, and a
scuffle, and a hubbub, as those in front were pushed back as those
behind, and the wooden gates revolved upon their hinges. The
miscreants at last! Ah! Now for it! Every hand was eager to take part
in the coming vengeance--the trio should be torn into such tiny shreds
that they should seem to have vanished into air. There was a forward
rush which recoiled upon itself. Those who pushed behind could not
comprehend what was passing. Some twenty trembling women of the
superior class, judging by their flaunting garments, were being
marshalled two and two, and Jean Boulot at their head on horseback was
exhorting the people to make way. A long, low, growl of angry
disappointment swept like a wind over the concourse, which might have
swelled into a menacing roar, followed by the mischief of a hurricane,
if a diversion had not been caused by the forlorn appearance of the
White Chatelaine of Lorge, moving with obvious effort supported by her
faithful foster-sister. How changed she was--how sadly wrecked her
beauty. Her big long-lashed blue eyes wore the startled look of one
who has seen a horror--the pupils were prominent and fixed--her motion
was that of an old old woman partly paralysed. Her haggard features
bore an eloquent impress of what she had undergone, and there was a
pathos in her wandering groping movement that drew sobs from many a
breast.
"There she is--there she is," passed from one to another in an
awe-stricken whisper. "God bless her, poor martyr! The kindest,
noblest woman in all the country round!"
Some, remembering kindly acts, stooped to kiss her robe as she
tottered by--a mother whose dying infant she had saved by timely
help--a wife whose husband she had tended.
It was well that Jean headed the cortege, exerting all his wit and his
authority to force a safe passage for the timid cohort. There was a
rough fellow with a cart of firewood, who, from his eminence,
contemplated the spectacle, broadly grinning. He and his cart Jean
requisitioned, and packed the more weakly in it, for it occurred to
him that the progress to Lorge would be far from rapid, and that he
was leaving a dangerous element behind.
What an odd scene the open space in front of Montbazon presented when
Jean and his cortege were out of sight.
Being fairly pulled down from his heroic eminence by disapproving
hands, De Vaux had mopped his brow, though the weather was chilly,
observing, "For a peasant, he's remarkably advanced. If all were so
reasonable--but no--that is ridiculous."
The ladies gone, their husbands and brothers asked their host what he
proposed to do. Sentiment was sentiment, and all that, and duty,
doubtless, was duty; but then there are a variety of ways of reading
duty, which is not to be confounded with Quixotism.
Stout-souled De Vaux, who, in his excitement, felt quite young--wholly
oblivious of a sciatic nerve--declared doggedly that he would not give
up the miscreants. That peasant fellow was so amenable to argument on
the part of a superior, that, on his return, he, the superior, would
condescend to illuminate the situation. He would affably deign to
explain that he could not for a moment pretend to approve of the trio.
The point of their dreadful wickedness was conceded. But he, De Vaux,
could not, and would not, hand them over to lynch law, and it was,
without a shadow of doubt, the duty of the Deputy of Blois to assist
him in upholding the law. He, Jean Boulot, being so amenable to
sensible argument, would at once fall in with his views. As he had
escorted the ladies to Lorge, so would he succeed in piloting the
baron and his prisoners to Blois, where, with decorum and order, the
latter would be delivered to the authorities, that Justice might
fulfil her office. To the baron it was as clear as ditchwater, and he
was as steadfast as obstinacy could make him, ignoring the remark of a
seigneur that this particularly enlightened peasant had made it a
_sine qua non_ that the culprits should be handed to him.
"Oh, pooh! pooh!" laughed De Vaux, quite enchanted with the success of
his diplomacy. "When I insisted that the women should go out, he gave
way at once, and will again."
It did not occur to him that the idea was Toinon's, and that Jean had
given way to her.
"It may be necessary," went on the baron, "to make a show of force--to
make it understood, I mean, that we are not to be terrorised by
that useful implement, the scythe. You will please load your
fowling-pieces, gentlemen, and we will let them understand that we
have gunpowder."
And so it came about that when the doors opened for the ladies'
exodus, a glint was seen of muskets which fairly exasperated the
crowd. If muskets, why not concealed cannon? The firebrands who had
stood near to him during the colloquy, were dissatisfied by Jean's
moderate tone and perfect temper. He had said a harsh thing or two,
certainly; but should not have allowed that pouter-pigeon fool to
suppose that he had made a score. The latter had retired in somewhat
undignified fashion, pulled by leg and coat; but his feathers were all
out notwithstanding, and he assumed the airs of a cock that was master
of his dunghill. Now this was manifestly absurd. The mob had but to
raise its myriad horny hands, and over would go the dunghill burying
the cock. Why that display of firearms? The baron had without a doubt
got the better of honest Jean; he had cheated him and achieved thereby
an invaluable period of delay, during which his domestics were
probably throwing up earthworks or doing something nefarious to baulk
the sovereign people.
If this was the feeling in the front how much more did it dominate the
rear. Jean's strong personality withdrawn--the White Chatelaine's
piteous figure gone--those who had wept tears became the most frantic
for vengeance.
The females became m[oe]nads, and loudly taunted the males. Reports
filtered from the front with the usual distortion, to the effect that
the garrison had gained time by shrewd diplomacy, for running up works
of defence; that Jean on his return would be laughed at; that the wily
baron would snap his fingers in his face. A rumour even rose, nobody
knew how, that there was a secret subway leading somewhere, and that
the miscreants were at this very moment effecting an escape, laughing
in their sleeves at the pursuers. And the sovereign people was to
remain inactive to be fooled before all Europe? How the fugitive
_emigres_ would laugh when the three ruffians joined them, and
explained their clever ruse!
"Jean Boulot is too straight and upright," some one declared "to deal
with such slippery cattle. When he returns anon, let him find the work
accomplished. If he does not approve, he can say with truth, that he
had nothing to do with the matter; but, if I mistake not, right sorry
will he be to be deprived of his share of vengeance."
A squire was unlucky enough at this juncture to crawl up to the
ladder-top, drawn thither by idle curiosity, and to miss his footing
there. The fowling-piece in his hand struck the coping of the gateway
and went off. A yell as of two thousand maniacs pealed heavenward.
"They have fired on the sovereign people," rose in a mighty shout; and
with one accord the sea that had been lashing quietly towered in a
huge wave, encompassed the chateau and overwhelmed it. It was one of
those sudden things which, like the phenomena of earth, strangles the
breath and leaves men palsied. When the ground rocks and yawns in
fissures, and the mountains tumble and the forests fall in heaps,
lookers on can only marvel. The luckless denizens of Montbazon had
scarcely time for that. The gun discharged by accident acted as a
signal. For an instant the gates groaned and rattled under a rain of
missiles. The walls were black with human atoms who swarmed and buzzed
like flies, coming on and on in myriads. The seigneurs huddled
mechanically together in a small knot, and fired one futile volley ere
they were trodden under foot. A young fellow, bleeding from a deep
gash inflicted by a scythe, leaned for support against an angle, and
in answer to a question as to the brothers' whereabouts, pointed in
the direction of the dining-hall. Ere his life-blood ebbed away, he
saw with dimmed sight three wavering figures tossed hither and
thither, like corks upon a boiling stream--was aware of a whirl of
feet ascending a winding stair, amid yells of "a la lanterne,"--of
three writhing human creatures dangling at the ends of ropes.
Jean Boulot, hieing back from Lorge, was alarmed by a strange light
and a curious sound of menace like the distant shouting of vast
crowds. When he reached the open, from whence the chateau was visible,
he pulled his horse up sharply. The concourse he had left so
quiescent, were dancing like fiends around a mighty bonfire. Montbazon
was aflame from end to end. Its wooden tenements had caught, and
blazed like touchwood. As he gazed tranquilly upon the lurid
spectacle, the ropes that held three black masses swinging aloft in
space were licked by forked flames and parted, and the figures dropped
into the furnace that seethed white hot below.
"God's will be done!" Jean muttered. "They have well merited their
fate."
Winter and spring went by. The king was dead; the queen lingered yet
in the Conciergerie. Jocund summer-time had come round again, and a
quiet group clad in deep mourning enjoyed the balmy air in the
secluded moat-garden of Lorge.
A tall lady on whose still beautiful face were ploughed hard lines of
suffering, was contemplating with a subdued smile of settled sadness,
the romps of two children on the green.
"Angelique!" she called in mild reproof, "you must not let them tire
you;" whereupon an old lady sitting close at hand leaning on an ebony
crutch said, "Let be. It does me good to hear Angelique laugh again
after that awful day."
"Hush!" replied Madame de Gange, "you must not brood over that
misfortune. The baron died as a French noble should, in doing what he
believed to be his duty. Montbazon is rising from its ashes, a much
more commodious dwelling."
"Thanks to your liberality," sighed Madame de Vaux, "but I can never
endure to live in it."
"Nor shall you," returned Gabrielle, quickly. "We settled long ago
that you and Angelique were to make your home with me."
There was a silence, while the ladies reviewed the past, which had
been so terrible a nightmare to both. Then Madame de Vaux, drying her
eyes, observed, "How strange it is that the baleful woman was never
after heard of."
"Nor my jewel-case," replied Gabrielle, slyly. "I doubt if those
stolen gems will bring good fortune to the thief!"
THE END.
* * * * *
SIMMONS & BOTTEN, PRINTERS, LONDON. _G. C. & Co_.