SERIGNY'S DEPARTURE
The clocks were striking, one after the other in monotonous imitative
fashion, the hour of nine when I delivered my horse to a sleepy groom
at the little tavern just outside the Versailles gate.
Serigny was already in his rooms, intent on some business, and opened
his door himself. There was no need for concealing his gratification
and the intense impatience he felt to know results, nor did he make any
attempt at concealment. On the contrary, he was as urgent as a school
child. Everything about him, packed in boxes and traveling bags,
seemed prepared for instant journey. Upon his table a few disarranged
papers were scattered beside a leathern portfolio, through which he had
evidently been looking when I arrived. Without stopping to replace any
of the documents he hastened me to a seat, and drawing his chair close,
commanded me to begin. My coming had been so sudden I had given no
consideration to the nature of my report to Serigny, and found some
difficulty in gathering ideas together in such shape they would be
understood. I had hardly begun my statement when quick steps sounded
along the outer passage followed by an almost imperative knock on the
door. Jerome, I thought. So it was. Jerome, bespattered and soiled
from his hard ride, a raw bruise across his cheek, his clothing awry.
He was pale and determined, yet quiet withal.
I instinctively rose and laid my hand to my hilt. A glance reassured
me. His purpose, lying deeper, I could not divine; it was plain though
he brooded not that kind of quarrel. Nor do I to this day know what he
intended when he first entered Serigny's room that night.
"I rode after you in all haste, Captain."
"Indeed you did," I mentally agreed.
"And met a fall, which, as you see, has somewhat disfigured me," and he
laughed, while I agreed with him again.
Serigny, being so intent on the important transactions of the hour,
accepted his explanation without question. The welcome, though
cordial, was brief, Serigny being a man of no unnecessary words.
"Go on, Captain," and I picked up the broken thread of my narrative
where Jerome had interrupted.
As I went on obediently, Jerome would now and again supply some link
wherein my memory failed, or suggest something I had left unsaid, until
having so much the nimbler tongue he took the telling out of my mouth
entirely. I could not complain, for he detailed the various adventures
far better than I, and gave me more of the credit than I would have
claimed for myself. We had, by common consent, forgotten our late
strife, and becoming much interested I broke in upon a glowing account
of my heroism:
"Hold, Jerome, by my faith, you grow more garrulous than a fish-wife of
the barriers; tell but a plain, straight tale, and leave off all that
romantic garniture of thine," and thence I reclaimed my straggling
story and brought it to a conclusion. All this while the dispatches
for which we had risked so much lay safe in my breast. I rather
hesitated to produce them, dreading what the hot-headed fellow might do
to get a hold upon that which peradventure would cause trouble to his
lady love. I could not decline when Serigny asked for them, but hauled
out both packets, one taken from Yvard, the other from Broussard,
casting them upon the table. Jerome eyed them so I that knew from the
look his late fury was not yet dead, and I watched him in readiness for
any move he might make to repossess them.
He sat as unconcerned as if the whole affair interested him no further,
now that the main object of his solicitude was safe in the keeping of
his superior. I misdoubted whether this was not all a sham, and could
hardly believe him the same frenzied Jerome who had pleaded so hard,
and fought so desperately for this self-same packet of Yvard's, which
at this time reposed within easy reach of his hand. Once he reached
out and took it up negligently, inspected the seals and marks, then
replaced it. His examination seemed one of mere idle curiosity, or
would have so appeared had I not known that he was already perfectly
acquainted with every mark borne by our charge. The eyes, half closed
in dreamy contemplation, spoke apparently of a man who has been
relieved of some grave responsibility and enjoys the relaxation, yet,
for all of that, he was listening most intently to what Serigny and I
were talking of. Serigny was now fondling the instruments which were
to be the restoration of his own and his brother's influence. His
words were addressed to neither of us in particular.
"Here is the seal of Spain. Cellemare again, Egad! They are bold, or
must have great confidence in their emissaries. Here, too, is Madame.
Ah, my clever little lady, you have outdone your own cleverness at
last. I fancy even the King's old love for his son's mother will not
save you now. I would I knew what was in them."
"We can easily see, and close them snug again," ventured Jerome, but
noting Serigny's frown, he turned it off with a laugh, "or so our
friend Madame would advise."
It thus became manifest he had not abandoned his idea of intercepting
whatever might compromise Madame de Chartrain.
Serigny continued: "These must be placed before the King unopened by
any of us. Yes, it's a risk," he caught Jerome's knotted brow of
indecision, "I grant you it is a risk, for I know not what
complications are here contained. I will myself seek the King, and
with these am sure to gain his own ear."
Jerome all this while uttered no other word, nervously flicking the mud
splotches off his boots, and lifting an earnest look now and anon to
Serigny.
My own mind was busy devising means to foil any contemplated treachery
upon his part, and wondering whether it was not my duty to acquaint
Serigny with the whole truth of the matter. The test came when I least
expected it. When all our adventures had been detailed again and
again, his dozens of incisive questions answered, our conversation
naturally drifted toward the future. My mission in France completed,
there was nothing now but a return to the colonies, and the
uncertainties of a campaign which I no longer doubted was imminent.
Somehow the thought of a great and glorious war did not appeal to me so
forcibly as such a prospect would have done some few weeks agone.
There was ever a shy little face, a brave girlish figure which stood
resolute and trembling before me in the park, that intruded between me
and the barbaric splendor of our western wars. Nor did I raise a hand
to brush the vision aside. It toned down the innate savagery of man,
softened the stern, callous impulses of the soldier, and all the
currents of my being trickled through quieter, sweeter channels of life
and love. Even the shame of it made not the thought less sweet.
There was but trifling period to spare for such gentler musings, for
Serigny, by a gesture, called attention to his well packed luggage.
"See, I am ready. I only waited your coming and report to put out at
once for le Dauphin. My people have already gone forward to arm and
provision her for the struggle. We must be prompt. There is much to
lose in a day. I myself will go on to-morrow and have all in complete
readiness for the voyage, and, who knows, for the fighting on the other
side. Now give heed Placide--Captain de Mouret," for he was always
particular to distinguish the man from the soldier, and in giving
orders to address me by my proper title. "The war has been decided
upon; you will remain here and watch developments"--he was proceeding
to acquaint me with what was expected of me. I knew not what he might
say, but felt impelled to throw out a silent warning, which even though
he understood it not, he was quick enough to take. He paused and
looked me inquisitively in the face. I glanced awkwardly from him to
Jerome and back again.
The thought then dominant was a growing distrust of Jerome, and the
desire to have our movements secret. I remembered Bienville's words
"We know not who to trust," and being ignorant of what orders Serigny
meant to give, or how much information they would convey to Jerome,
deemed it best to let all the occurrences of the day come out. I could
not forget the lad's gallantry, nor must I lose sight of the fact that
as affairs now were, he might very well have gone over to the other
side for the sake of Madame; things stranger than that took place every
day, and I had learned to be discreet. He might thus come into
valuable hints and afterward cast them into the scale against
Bienville, for every means good or bad would be used by them to save
their own influence, to uplift the Duke of Maine. If Bienville were
involved in the general ruin, why, what mattered it to them?
While I remained hesitating for a word, Jerome's ready wit had already
comprehended my purpose. He took the words from my lips. His
countenance first flushed, then became hard and fixed, compelling me
for the time into silence.
"Monsieur de Serigny, I perhaps can speak you better our good Captain's
mind. He mistrusts me--."
"You?" burst out Serigny greatly surprised. "Why you have ever been
our staunch and loyal friend. What is this, Captain de Mouret, surely
you are above a young man's jealousy?"
Jerome gave me no time to explain.
"Softly, softly, sir. The Captain has good cause. Give me heed, my
friends. To you, M. de Serigny, I will say upon my honor, which until
this day was never stained by thought or deed, I will say,--this day I
would have betrayed you. Nay, do not look so pained and unbelieving;
all men are mortal, and passions stronger even than duty, stronger than
loyalty, yea, stronger than honor itself, may tyrannize over the best
of us. I repeat, this day would I gladly have betrayed you, betrayed
my friends to save--well it boots not whom, but a woman. For the woman
I love may lose her liberty if not her life when those accursed papers
reach the hands of the King. I was mad, and at this moment doubt and
fear myself. It is better not to trust me with your plans; the Captain
is right. Jerome de Greville never yet deceived a friend, but for the
love of God, Messires, do not tempt him now," and he faced about with
unsteady step and started toward the door. Before we could detain him
he was gone, leaving Serigny staring in the most unbelieving and
bewildered fashion at me.
"In God's name, Captain, what piece of folly is this? Tell me all, for
ofttimes the success of the most careful plans is governed by just such
undercurrents as this, of man's love or woman's spite. Go on, I
listen."
I explained briefly Madame's position, Serigny nodding his
acquiescence; it was an old tale to him, except he did not know
Jerome's relations with Madame. Of her domination over the Duke of
Maine he was well aware. When my story was fully done he pondered for
a long while in silence. His sorrow was deep and sincere.
"Poor fellow; poor fellow; as noble a lad as ever drew a sword, but in
his present frame of mind it is safer not to trust him; he is capable
of any act of desperation. We will do our best to protect his lady,
though. Where was I? This matter has disturbed me-- Oh, yes, about
to give your orders. You see I am all ready to leave. I have but
waited your return. The war has been decided on and the news needs
only to be given out. The King hesitates and wavers; Chamillard is a
mere reflection of the royal whim. If we do not attack the Spaniard he
will attack us; it is simply a question of whether we want the war at
Biloxi or Havana. For my part I would rather see Havana in siege than
Biloxi. This matter can not be long delayed, a few days more at most.
These dispatches may decide. With these before the King he will no
longer doubt my brother, but will place the blame where it most
properly belongs--for in the main, Louis is just. I would not desire
any greater pleasure than to see the gibbet whereon these traitors of
the itching palms, these thieves who sell their King for Spanish gold,
will take their last dance. Do you remain here for as many as six
days, this room is at your disposal. Be quiet and discreet; learn all
and tell nothing. A still tongue is the safest in these times. The
moment war is declared make all speed for Dieppe and we will up anchor
and away."
Serigny was as happy as a boy at the prospect of action; the atmosphere
of court ill agreed with his fiery temper. This was the gist of our
plan of operations, and it was so arranged in detail.
In a few moments Serigny left me, taking the packet with him, and I in
excess of caution followed him at a little distance, locking the door
behind me and keeping the key in my pocket. I bore his tall figure
well in sight until he passed out of the unfrequented halls into that
portion of the palace where the many shuttlecocks of fortune
congregated to laugh and talk and plot and lie. Not long after he came
back, sorely nettled and disappointed.
"It is done; the King has them in his own hands; yet he does not talk;
promises nothing; is closeted with his ministers; they must be of
considerable importance. It is all secure for us, for I told him of my
departure in the morning to the colonies, and he assented. I judge,
then, it is something of a very delicate nature, touching the royal
honor of the King's own blood. Besides much is in cipher which it will
take time to read. Louis, you know, would not admit, save to those
nearest his throne, the possession of the secret Spanish cipher."
The night passed by dismal and uncertain enough. I must confess to a
great sinking of the heart when I saw Serigny's carriage roll away in
the gray of the early morning, leaving me absolutely alone in my
father's land of France, where in the short space of two weeks so much
had transpired; much to be ever remembered, much I would have given
worlds to forget.
It must have been a most forlorn and dejected looking creature that
stood in the great square that sunless morning, peering into the mists
which had absorbed the carriage. The solitude of vast untrodden
forests breeds not that vacant sense of desolation which we children of
nature feel in the crowded haunts of men. Face after face, form after
form, voice after voice, yet not one familiar countenance, not one
remembered tone, not the glance of a kindly eye; all is new, all is
strange, all at seeming enmity. The defection of Jerome, my only
comrade, was indeed a cup of bitterness. I dreaded to meet him, not
knowing what tack he might cut away on. Yet I could not blame him; it
was more of pity I felt.
I recall with great delight some of the minor occurrences of the next
three or four days. After Serigny's departure, every afternoon at
imminent risk I would take horse to Sceaux, and pursuing a by-way
through the forests and fields, through which a wood-cutter first led
me, ride hard to catch a glimpse of her who now occupied all my
thoughts. I wonder at this time how I then held so firm by the duty of
returning to the colonies, when the very thought of war and turmoil was
so distasteful to me. When I rode to Paris and clothed myself once
more in my own proper garments, their friendly folds gave me a new
courage to meet whatever Fate might send.
It may be pertinent to chronicle here, what history has already
recorded, the result of placing those dispatches in the King's hands.
The Duke of Maine, as all the world knows, disavowed his wife's act in
treating with Spain, and thus saved his own dainty carcass from sharing
her captivity in the Bastille. But both he and Madame were imprisoned
until he made most abject submission and apology to Orleans.
Madame de Chartrain was sent to a provincial fortress, and bore her
incarceration with great fortitude, winning even from her enemies the
admiration always accorded to firmness and virtue.
Philip of Orleans being once firmly established in the Regency, changed
his usual course, and pardoned many of those who had conspired against
him. Their prison doors were opened, and the Duke of Maine, becoming
reconciled to his haughty lady, forgave her and gained great credit
thereby in the vulgar mind. They spent their lives quietly at Sceaux
during the Regency, and naught else of them concerns this history.
Philip of Orleans possessed some of the virtues of a great man, and
many of a good man, but these he kept ever locked within his own bosom.
His mother, the rigid and austere Madame, said once of him:
"Though good fairies have gifted my son at his birth with numerous
noble qualities, one envious member of the sisterhood spitefully
decreed that he should never know how to use any of these gifts." Such
was the character of the Regent.
Of Jerome and Madame de Chartrain I would fain tell more, but during
the troubled times in America I completely lost sight of them, and my
inquiries developed nothing of sufficient verity to give credence to
here.
All Frenchmen know of Jerome's gallant death at Malplaquet. It is a
fireside legend now, and young French lads turn their moistened eyes
away at the hearing. Marshal Villars being sorely hurt and in peril of
capture, there fought beside his litter an unknown gentleman who,
without name or rank, yet bore himself so commandingly, the discouraged
guard rallied again and gave him willing obedience. Arrived at a
narrow bridge he urged the litter-bearers safely across, and fighting
at the rear to be himself the last to reach a place of safety, he was
struck and fell. Prince Eugene, the courteous enemy, who had himself
witnessed the incident, sent a guard of honor to the Marshal at
Valenciennes the next day with the body, deeming it that of a man of
consequence. His letter congratulated the defeated Villars upon having
such chivalric friends.
It was poor Jerome, and no one knew him then. He rests now with his
fathers.
I loved the lad truly. As knightly a gentleman as ever died for his
King, or lied for his lady.