The Flight.
The sensation caused by the startling failure and embezzlement of the
wealthy banker had scarcely subsided when the city rang with the news
of his clever disguise and daring escape. Angry Justice, foiled in her
revenge, lashed herself to rage, and moaned her defeat like the forest
queen robbed of her young. The Government feared the popular cry,
and proved its zeal by offering immense rewards for the arrest of the
delinquent banker. The country around the city was guarded, every
suspicious vehicle examined, and strangers ran the risk of being mobbed
before they could prove their identity. False rumors now and then ran
through the city, raising and quelling the passions like a tide. At
one time the culprit is caught and safely lodged in the Bastile; at
another he is as free as the deer on the plains. Cassier did escape,
but some incidents of the chase were perilous and exciting.
Travelling in those days was slow and difficult. The giant steam-engines
that now sweep over hills and torrents with a speed that rivals the
swoop of the sea-bird were unknown. The rickety old diligence or
stage-coach was only found on the principal thoroughfares between the
large cities.
Cassier knew these roads would be the first taken in pursuit, and
carefully avoided them. Seeking a destination where the chances of
detection would be lessened, he was attracted towards Geneva, already
famous as the hot-bed of secret societies and the rallying-point of
infidelity. He would reach it by a circuitous route. From Paris to
the historic old capital of Switzerland, in the centre of mountains
and the heart of Europe, was a herculean journey for the fugitives.
On they went for two and three days' journey, stopping at humble inns
on the roadside where the news of the capital had not reached. Time
inured them to danger and calmed the fever of anxiety consequent upon
their hurried and hazardous flight.
But the avenging law had followed in close pursuit. The officers of the
Government were directed from village to village; they found themselves
on the track of an old man and two beardless youths in naval cadet
costume. The chase became exciting. Wealth and fame awaited their
capture.
One evening, in the glow of a magnificent sunset, Cassier and his
daughters were wending their way along one of the picturesque roads
of the Cote d'Or. They were on the slope of a shady mountain, and
through a vista of green foliage they could see the road they had
passed for miles in the distance. The silence of the mountainside
was unbroken, save by the music of wild birds and the roar of a torrent
that leaped through the moss-covered rocks towards the valley. The
wild flowers gave aromatic sweetness to the mountain-breeze, and the
orb of day, slowly sinking in a bank of luminous crimson clouds in the
distant horizon, made the scene all that could be painted by the most
brilliant fancy. Our young heroines gave frequent expression to their
delight, but their aged sire was silent and watchful. He frequently
took long and piercing looks on the road he had passed. Anxiety
mantled on his wrinkled brow; a foreboding of danger cast its prophetic
gloom over his spirits.
Suddenly he turned from a long, fixed look through the trees, and with
a thrill of alarm cried out: "They are coming!"
For a moment he gave the jaded horses the whip. He refused any further
information to the terrified girls; he bit his lip, drew his sword
close to him, and prepared for a struggle; for he had resolved to die
rather than go back a prisoner to Paris.
The pursuers were each moment gaining ground; the costume of the
gendarmes was discernible as they galloped in a cloud of dust along
the plain. The hill was long and heavy before the wearied horses of
Cassier. He saw flight was vain; stratagem must come to his aid in
the emergency.
At this moment he came to a turn in the mountain road where the trees
were thicker and the shade more dense. Like a skilful general in the
critical moment when victory and defeat hang, as it were, on the cast
of a die, he conceived instantaneously the plan of a desperate
expedient. He drew up his horses and bade his trembling children await
his return.
Returning a few paces he secreted himself behind an oak-tree and calmly
awaited the arrival of the Government officers.
Soon the clatter of the galloping horses was heard in the distance.
The wild scream of startled birds resounded through the groves; the
sun seemed to glow in a deeper crimson, the breezes sighed a mournful
cadence through the waving foliage. On the troopers came up the side
of the hill. Cassier had counted them--they are but two; despair has
lent courage to his heart, and will give a giant stroke to his aged
arm.
At the sight of the suspected caleche drawn up in the shady road, one
of the pursuing officers gave spurs to his horse, and flew out before
his companion to seize the prey--to be the first captor of the
delinquent fugitive. Fatal indiscretion! Plunging along at desperate
speed, and dreaming of gold and renown, the burnished sword of Cassier
took his horse on the flank. Its rider fell to the earth; before he
had seen his enemy, the sword of Cassier had pierced his heart.
A scream from the carriage announced that the scene had been witnessed
by tender girls who had not been accustomed to deeds of violence and
bloodshed. But the combat has now but commenced. The battle of the
Horatii and Curatii, on which an empire depended, was not more fierce.
The second gendarme saw the fate of his companion; he reined his horse,
dismounted, and came with drawn sword to meet the Parisian banker, who
had now become a mountain bandit.
When Greek met Greek in the days of old, the earth trembled. Never
was more equal or deadly fight. Cassier had learned the sword exercise
in his youth as a useful art; the police officer was a swordsman from
profession. For a moment sparks flew from the whirling, burnished
blades. The silence of deep resolve wrapt the features of the
combatant in fierce rigidity. Again and again they struck and parried,
struck and parried, until wearied nature gave feeble response to the
maddened soul. The aged Cassier felt, from his age and fatigue, about
to succumb; gathering all his strength for a desperate effort, he
threw his weight into a well-measured shoulder stroke, when, lo! his
antagonist's sword flew in pieces--the brave gendarme fell weltering
in the blood of his murdered companion.
All is still again. The sun has gone down in murky splendor, the birds
are silent, and the solitude of the wild mountain-pass is like the
night, that is darker after the flash of the meteor. The hapless but
brave soldiers of justice lie in their armor on the field of battle;
the fresh blood gurgles from the gaping wounds, and the madness of
defeat is fiercely stamped on their bronzed features; one holds in
death-grasp the unsheathed sword he had not time to wield, the other
sill stares with open eye on the broken blade that proved his ruin.
A heavy splash and a crimson streak in the foam announce that the
torrent has become the grave of the fallen police; the road, steeped
with blood, is covered with fresh earth; the scene that witnessed the
tragedy is fair and beautiful as before. Cassier, reassured, with
bold step and pulse of pride, turns towards his conveyance to resume
his journey.
Aloysia was just recovering from a fainting fit, and her sister had
labored to restore her during the exciting moments of the deadly strife
that had just been concluded. Neither of them saw the perilous
situation of their father, and were thus saved the shock the extremity
of his peril was calculated to have produced.
A few days found them safely across the frontiers of France, threading
the passes of the Alps, and away from the grasp of justice, that pursued
them in vain.