"But in my terms of honour
I stand aloof, and will no reconcilement,
Till by some elder masters of known honour
I have a voice and precedent of peace,
To keep my name ungored."
_Hamlet_, Act. v. Sc. 2.
"'Sir,' said he, 'it is very fortunate for you that your face
is so strong a letter of recommendation. Here am I, a tough old
practitioner, mixing myself up with your very distressing
business . . . and here is this lad . . . all, I take it, on
the strength of your appearance. I wish I could imagine how
it would impress a jury,' said he."
Stevenson, _St. Ives._
"But, Sir, for the care and love I have for you, whilst I can bear a
sword in my hand I will venture for you."
Thomas Burton to Thomas Coke, June 5, 1703.
(1)
The owls were hooting round the little manoir at dusk almost loudly
enough to disturb M. Nicolas de Fresne, as he sat at his monthly
accounts, once more the country gentleman. Only a sword that was not
his own, wrapped away in a press, and a certain very haunting memory,
which some times followed him even into sleep, remained to mark his
lieutenancy of the now extinct Eperviers. But Mademoiselle Berthe, the
old lame sister who kept house for him, thought that he had aged during
the last two months of inactivity.
She came halting in now with a lamp, and set it down by him on the
table.
"You will ruin your eyes, mon frère."
"It is dark early this evening--early for the middle of July, that is,"
he said, looking up.
"It is raining," answered Mlle de Fresne. "--Dear me, was that a knock
at the front door? Jeanne has gone to bed."
She went out, but was back in a moment. "It is a gentleman to see you on
affairs, Nicolas. He did not give his name."
"Ask him to come in, then," said her brother, and, shuffling his papers
together, went to put them in his desk. He had his back turned, the
door was already ajar, and the lid of his desk, escaping at that moment
from his hold with a bang, prevented his hearing it close.
"De Fresne!" said a well-known voice.
He jumped round as if he had been struck. "Great God!"
A gaunt young man in a cloak was standing just inside the door, the
lamplight and the dark panelling behind him conspiring to accentuate
his pallor and the ruddy gleam of his hair--a young man whom de Fresne
had last seen (and felt he should always see) motionless against a grey
tree trunk, ropes across him and a canopy of bright leaves above his
bowed head. He was bereft of speech; a hand even sought the support of
the desk behind him.
"I am afraid I have startled you," said Aymar gravely. "I am very
sorry."
"I . . . I heard that you were dying . . . and therefore released,"
faltered the elder man. "But once I heard . . . I did not know what to
believe . . ."
A brief, unmirthful smile flickered for an instant over the visitor's
face. "I _was_ released, but not because I was dying. I should like to
speak to you, if I may."
De Fresne had pulled himself together. "Of course. Let me take off your
cloak. Have you supped?"
"Yes, thank you. I have a room at the inn." He who had been L'Oiseleur
was unfastening the cloak. "I must apologize for coming so late, but I
was anxious to find you at home."
De Fresne took the cloak from him. "It is not late. It is only this
cloak that is wet, I trust? You do not look . . ." He touched his arm.
"Are you really flesh and blood, La Rocheterie?" he asked almost
timidly.
"Well . . .flesh," responded Aymar, with the same little smile. "The
other ingredient is somewhat to seek yet, I believe."
"I'll get you some wine," murmured his lieutenant. "Meanwhile, pray sit
down--here."
"No wine, thank you," said Aymar, obeying him. "I shall not detain you
long."
"But you must let me give you a bed to-night! I'll tell my sister at
once."
"Thank you, but I am staying at the inn," replied his visitor for the
second time, in a tone which did not admit of the renewal of the
invitation.
De Fresne came slowly and sat down opposite him on the other side of the
fireless hearth and felt uncomfortable. Although La Rocheterie's
extremely quiet manner was free from any trace of hostility, it
conveyed somehow a feeling of immense distance, as though he really
were the ghost he looked like. And why would he not drink with him?
"I am sure," he burst out, "that you blame me--that cursed letter! And
God knows I have blamed myself . . . bitterly, bitterly!"
"But why?" asked his guest calmly. "Surely I said to you in the wood
that I did not blame you in the least, that you could have done no
otherwise but bring back the letter and confront me with it. And as we
neither of us had reason to suppose that I was not speaking _in
articulo mortis_, that declaration should have had weight with you."
The faint flavour of irony, or imagined irony, and his own memories made
his hearer turn his head away. "If you knew how it has haunted me," he
groaned. "Surely I might somehow have prevented . . . what happened. At
any rate, I swear to you, La Rocheterie, that I have not known a day's
peace of mind since!"
"Then I am very sorry to hear it," replied Aymar. "Your unnecessary
remorse only adds another item to the account against me. Yes," he
added, with more warmth in his voice, "it _is_ unnecessary, de Fresne.
I give you my word of honour--if you will take it--that I have
absolutely no condemnatory thoughts towards you. But, not having passed
through purgatory yet, I am less charitably disposed towards--others.
Tell me, what became of Magloire and Company?"
But de Fresne had dropped his head on to his hands. "It is no good," he
said hoarsely. "You cannot really absolve me . . . for I cannot absolve
myself. You saved me, and I let that happen to you."
Aymar sat up in his chair. His face softened. "My dear de Fresne! Will
you accept my hand on it? Come--and think no more of it!"
He held it out; no handshake had passed between them as yet. De Fresne
looked up and saw it, outstretched so far that a dull red weal was
visible above the wrist. He took the hand.
"Now please let there be no more talk of haunting," said L'Oiseleur with
a smile. "And tell me what you did with the remnants."
"I disbanded them. There was nothing else to be done. After . . . after
the Bois des Fauvettes they turned against Magloire and Hervé, but they
would not follow me. . . . I debated a long time, La Rocheterie, about
having those two brought to justice, but at the moment the report was
that you had died in the hands of the Imperialists. I may have been
wrong, but it seemed to me that to rake up a scandal when you were not
alive to defend yourself, and when, with the best will in the world, I
could not properly defend you because I did not know the nature of your
bargain with Colonel Richard, was not the happiest thing for your
memory."
"I dare say you were right not to press for justice," said Aymar.
"Indeed, as it happens, I am glad that you did not. For I have come to
ask you a favour."
De Fresne got up. "I think I can guess what it is, and I shall do it
with all my heart, and at once." He went to the black oak press, deeply
carved with figures of saints, that stood against the wall, and
returned with a long object wrapped in a strip of brocade.
"You want this back again. I have kept it carefully, you see. It is
yours, L'Oiseleur." And across his guest's knees he laid his
surrendered sword.
But Aymar shook his head and held it out to him again. "Not in that way,
my friend! And what has happened that you should now restore it to me?
The day I gave it up you said you could not serve under me if I
retained it."
De Fresne flushed. "But since that interview----"
"Since that interview--what?" Aymar took him up. "I am further from
being cleared than ever. You told me then, most truly, that I stood in
a terrible situation. Do I stand in one less terrible now, with the
scars of my own men's bullets on me?" And, seeing that de Fresne had
nothing to answer he got up, laid the sword on the table, and went on:
"Only one hand can give that back to me, and it must first be delivered
to that hand. Yes, I am going to press for an enquiry, as you advised
me. In a sense, therefore, you were right in thinking that I had come
for my sword. I am here to ask you if you will assist me in the
endeavour to regain it--but if I ask too much----"
"Too much! I am entirely at your service!"
"You mean that? Thank you. I want you then, if the General will give me
a court of enquiry, to accuse me before it."
"What!" cried his lieutenant. "That! Never, never!"
"But it is what you would have had to do last May!"
De Fresne sat down again and ran his hands through his hair. "I would do
anything to help you, La Rocheterie. But I cannot do that. You offered
your life for mine--yes, I know that the circumstances demanded it, and
I should, I hope, have done it as unhesitatingly myself in your place.
But you did offer it. . . . No, nothing would bring me to it."
Aymar considered him. "Then I shall have to accuse myself," he said
reflectively. "Or perhaps the General will appoint an accuser. Perhaps
he will make a regular court-martial of it, and arrest me; or I can
give myself up. But I have not thought out any details; I came to you
first. And I should have liked the letter to produce. But I suppose
Magloire----"
"The letter!" exclaimed de Fresne. "No, Magloire has not got it. _You
wish you could produce it!_ Are you mad?"
"I don't think so," said Aymar rather painfully. "But I wish to keep
nothing back. Did you get possession of it again then?"
"I did," replied his lieutenant. "But I am thankful to say that you
cannot possibly do anything so crazy as to produce it against yourself.
I destroyed it that very night. I only wish I had done so a few hours
earlier."
The faint colour crept over Aymar's lips again. "You destroyed it--for
my sake! My dear de Fresne, that was very good of you! But, had it
still been procurable, I should have felt in honour bound to lay it
before the Court."
"Well, I am thankful to say that you cannot!" retorted de Fresne. "The
only written evidence against you exists no longer. And if you will
take my advice, La Rocheterie, you will leave the whole matter alone
now. It's too risky. Think of the time that has elapsed--not, God
knows, through any fault of yours!--Tell me, how long were you against
that damned tree before the Bonapartists found you? When I came back
you were gone; but that was some three hours afterwards."
"You came back!"
"Did you suppose I was going to leave you there, alive or dead? Were you
. . . but perhaps you would rather not talk about it. . . . At any
rate, let us settle this question first. I do implore you to give up
the whole idea."
Aymar looked at the wrist of the hand which lay on his knee. "Do you
know what people all over the district--all over Brittany, perhaps--are
saying about me? Just what you prophesied, of course. Could I be worse
off if the Court did not clear me?"
"Yes, indeed you could," said de Fresne earnestly. "The story would be
even wider spread; you would be branded for ever. Whereas now it is
always possible for it to be said that you disdain to take any notice
of it. And there are always men who never will believe you capable of
such a thing. I know there are; I have met them. I met a man the other
day who knew you slightly, and he laughed at the idea; said that those
who believed the charge did so from personal jealousy. If you go before
a court and are not completely cleared, to all intents and purposes you
will have done--what you did--with the worst of intentions. You will be
utterly ruined."
Aymar shook his head and caressed de Fresne's sleepy spaniel. "Not more
ruined than I am now."
De Fresne got up and took a turn distractedly about the room. "I don't
think you look at all the possibilities of what might happen if you
were not acquitted. You wear uniform; you hold the King's commission,
if only for form's sake. They might degrade you; take away your cross.
For the love of God, L'Oiseleur, don't run that risk!"
But Aymar was unmoved. He sat very still, as he had sat all the time;
now he was plaiting the spaniel's silky ear.
"Our positions are indeed strangely reversed, my dear de Fresne, since
that day! You were horrified then at my inclination to let things take
their course." He stopped playing with the dog, least back in his
chair, and looked straight up at him. "I can see why you are now
opposed to my taking action; it is because you think my position so
much more hopeless."
And once again de Fresne did not answer.
"I have been trying for some weeks," went on Aymar quietly, "merely to
live down the charge. I had a good reason. That reason exists no longer
. . . and the charge is not being lived down. I am going to take the
other course now . . . even if it kills me."
"I should say it very probably would, then," commented the elder man,
looking down at him. "I think it's crazy . . . but you always would
take risks. . . . I will do what I can, however, so long as you do not
require me to accuse you."
"You are not so Roman as I thought you were," murmured Aymar with a
smile.
"I am not going to accuse you," repeated de Fresne doggedly. "For the
rest, it is of no use appealing to you?"
"It is of no use."
"Then I will give evidence for you--anything you wish but bring an
accusation."
"I do not know that you will be able entirely to avoid it," said Aymar
with a faint suspicion of amusement. "But you shall not be a formal
accuser; I promise you that.--Now I will tell you the true nature of my
bargain with Colonel Richard."
(2)
"Undoubtedly," said Tante Clotilde dogmatically, "Laurent is in love;
and I only pray, Virginia, that the object of his passion may be found
to be suitable, for I have observed in our great-nephew a regrettable
fund of obstinacy. But the head of the house of Courtomer cannot follow
his own choice in marriage, irrespective of other considerations, as is
so lightly done in the country where he has had the misfortune to be
brought up."
"And as his father did," said Mme de Courtomer rather maliciously.
"Nonsense!" retorted the old lady. "As a Seymour, you were a perfectly
suitable match for Henri."
"You are too good, ma tante," replied Virginia de Courtomer. "But Henri
did follow his own choice, all the same. And why you should fear that
Laurent's should fall on a soubrette or something of the kind I do not
know. Moreover, I very much doubt if he _is_ in love."
Mlle de Courtomer heaved in her armchair. "You will allow me, with a
vastly longer experience of life than yours, Virginia, to differ from
you! A young man who has fought and endured captivity for his King
comes back to find that King replaced on the throne by a glorious
victory, Paris in festive humour, himself not uncongratulated for
having drawn the sword . . . and what is he like? Restless, moody,
almost uninterested in the consummation towards which he has the honour
of having contributed, wanting in the petits soins towards my sisters
and myself in which, I will say, he has never yet failed, and--always
anxious for the visit of the postman! There is only one inference to be
drawn. He is in love, or entangled, with some woman he has met in the
west. Odile thinks, and I agree with her, that it is probably this Mme
de Villecresne at Sessignes, because he will not speak much of her and
because he stayed on there unnecessarily long after his escape. And I
only hope that his infatuation may not, in consequence, have led to a
difference of opinion with her cousin, the Vicomte de la Rocheterie;
for in spite of the admiration which Laurent has--which we must all
have--for the hero of Penescouët, I have observed that he suffers, at
times, from a considerable gêne in speaking of him."
To this summary of her son's condition, no count of which she could
deny, Mme de Courtomer made no answer. She had observed all these
symptoms herself. Certainly Laurent was not happy. Moreover, she knew
something which, luckily, the old ladies did not--namely, that since
his return he had withdrawn a large sum of money from his bankers . . .
for an excellent object, he had assured her. She did not doubt his
assurance, and sometimes she thought he was going to tell her what was
troubling him, but, just because of the great confidence between them,
she would not ask. Yes, the change in him was marked; she could hardly
wonder, even if she resented it, that his great-aunts should talk him
over in this fashion. He had become so pensive, and certainly did
display an extraordinary interest in the postman.
That afternoon an old friend of her husband's, a general of distinction,
called upon her. Laurent came in at the end of his visit.
"Ah, here is our captive hero!" observed the visitor as he shook hands.
"You do not look any the worse for your imprisonment, so I hope that it
was not rigorous. More boring, probably--eh, young man?"
"I do not fancy that Laurent found it exactly boring, General," said his
mother, smiling. "He had a wounded companion whom he helped to nurse;
that gave him employment. He has the happiness of having contributed to
the Vicomte de la Rocheterie's restoration to health--L'Oiseleur, you
know."
The old soldier stiffened curiously. "Ah--really!" he remarked, and
looked hard at Laurent for a moment. Then he changed the subject.
But as he was taking his leave he held Mme de Courtomer's hand and said
gravely, "My dear lady, if a very old friend may venture on a word of
advice, I think it would be as well if you kept silence as to your
son's charity in imprisonment."
"Mon Dieu, why?" exclaimed the Comtesse in astonishment.
"Because," said the General still more gravely, "I grieve to say that it
was mistaken charity."
"--Monsieur----" began Laurent hotly, but the guest went on, unheeding.
"--Since it was bestowed on an unworthy object. And, in point of fact,
it was no charity at all. It would have been a thousand times better to
have allowed that--that incredibly treacherous young man to die. But
your son, no doubt, did not know what he was doing."
"I did know!" said Laurent, white, his head flung back. "I knew all the
time of the abominable slander on a man as honourable as you or I!
. . . My God! my God! and now it is going about Paris!"
The distinguished soldier looked at him and was perhaps a little moved
by his distress. But he spoke no less sternly, "Can you wonder,
Monsieur de Courtomer? What steps have been taken to check it? An
innocent man must have cleared himself by now of a charge so
infamous.--La Rocheterie betrayed . . . sold . . . his own men to the
enemy," he explained to his hostess. "You did not know, of course. I am
sorry to have shocked you, but you see why I counsel you, Madame, in
your son's best interests, to be discreet." He looked once more towards
that son, who had turned his back and laid his head against the
mantelshelf--and he forbore to utter a farewell which would obviously
have gone unreciprocated.
And when Mme de Courtomer came back across the great salon Laurent had
flung himself down in an armchair and buried his head at the side.
Herself rather pale, she put her arms about him. "My dearest boy, this
is what has been troubling you, then! Tell me, my darling, if you can!"
But all that Laurent could get out for a long time was: "It's not
true--it's not true!" And later the cry changed to, "If only he could
do something--if only I knew where he was now--his last letter said so
little . . . and there were such difficulties."
It was therefore quite in accordance with probability that there was
borne in to Laurent next morning, with his coffee and roll, a letter
sealed with a swan. He tore it open, and read, in the handwriting which
he hardly yet knew, these words:
_"MY DEAR LAURENT,--Since I last wrote the difficulties which Sol de
Grisolles saw in the way of granting my request for a court of enquiry
have disappeared, and the Court will sit to investigate my case at
Aurannes on August 12th. I shall have de Fresne, Colonel Richard, and
Saint-Etienne to give evidence on my behalf, and through the latter I
have hopes of getting that M. du Parc who was present, as you may
remember, at my meeting with him at Keraven._
_"I do not think that you can bring evidence on any point which is
likely to arise, or I should not hesitate to call you as a witness,
though I am summoning as few as possible, not wishing to involve them
in an unpleasant business. As things stand, therefore, it is quite
unnecessary for you to take the tiresome journey to Aurannes. But I
know that I can count on your good wishes. I shall need them._
_"I will let you know the finding of the Court, though you will probably
learn it from other sources. Should it be unfavourable I see nothing
before me but to leave France. I might go to the United States
perhaps."_
"Thank God!" said Laurent aloud, laying down the letter on the bed. And
indeed his first feeling was one of unmitigated relief. This was the
only door. But that thankfulness was succeeded by a deep
disappointment. Why had Aymar in the past said those things about his
friendship if he could thus easily dispense with it in this most
critical hour? He read the letter, so brief and restrained, again. No,
he did not seem to want him to come--he who would almost give his own
good name to clear his friend's. Or was the desire for his presence
there, kept with difficulty in leash, in the words which looked so
colourless? Aymar had given him date and place . . . though with only
just time enough to get there.
The letter, which occupied only one page (for Aymar wrote a very small
hand) had fallen open as it lay, and . . . yes, there _was_ something
added on the inner page! Laurent snatched it up, and read these words,
in marked contrast, even in the handwriting, to the composure of the
rest:
_"I doubt if I can face it, when the time comes, without you, Laurent!"_
Two minutes later, gulping his coffee, he was thus addressing his
hastily summoned valet: "I want my valise packed immediately--put my
uniform in--and find out the Brittany diligences . . . and get hold of
Mme la Comtesse's maid, and ask her how soon my mother can receive me.
I am going away at once."
(3)
It was quite dusk when Laurent rode into Aurannes, but the little Breton
town was stirred by the presence of troops into an animation which it
could never have known in ordinary times at that hour. He put up his
hired horse at the Hôtel de l'Ecusson, was told there where to find the
little house where M. de la Rocheterie was believed to be lodging,
enquired of the old woman who owned it in what room he should find her
guest, and went up unannounced. Only, outside the door, he paused a
moment as once at La Baussaine; then he opened it and went in.
Aymar was sitting at the table facing him, under the lamp, the dear and
well-known head bent over some papers. He did not instantly look up,
and Laurent had time to take in the rather comfortless little room, the
remains of a meal of cheerless aspect at one end of the table, and the
fact that there were at least three grey hairs in the bright, lamplit
bronze. Then L'Oiseleur abstractedly raised his head.
And all that Laurent had ever done or suffered for him was trebly repaid
in that one moment of time when he saw the sudden incredulous joy on
his face. The papers went to the floor.
"You, Laurent, you!"
"Who else?" asked Laurent. "Didn't you mean me to see that postscript?"
"I was only afraid that you wouldn't," said Aymar, half laughing, half
choking, as they embraced. "Have you really forgiven me, then, for
leaving you in that abominable fashion at Sessignes?"
"I forgive you nothing," responded Laurent ambiguously, and, holding him
at arm's length, surveyed him with critical eyes. Aymar was very thin,
but there was a trace of colour in his lips if nowhere else. He was in
uniform, the very uniform in which Laurent had so admired him in Paris,
and once more he was wearing the Cross of St. Louis on his breast. But
he had no sword.
"I do not think much of your choice of lodging," observed the newcomer
after a little, looking round the room. "Could you not have found
something more comfortable?"
"Very likely," responded Aymar, unperturbed. "But the first
consideration was to find someone who would take me in without demur.
And I knew that Mme Leblanc would do that."
Laurent opened his lips to say something, and thought better of it. But
it seemed horrible that L'Oiseleur should make this statement without a
shadow of his old bitterness, as if it were the most natural thing in
the world for his presence to be objected to.
"I did not, however, propose to condemn you to Mme Leblanc's cooking if
you did come," went on his friend. "De Fresne tells me that there is
still a room or two at the Hôtel de l'Ecusson."
Laurent shrugged his shoulders. "I shall stay here--if there is a corner
anywhere. You won't say, 'If you do, I shall not sleep under this
roof,' will you?"
Aymar gave him a strange, sweet little smile, and put his hand for a
moment over his. "I know better now than to argue with you, mon ami;
but I would like to make one appeal to you, on the score of your own
reputation. It will not do you any good, and it might do you untold
harm, to be seen with me, to lodge with me. You know----"
"Is that why M. de Fresne has so carefully installed himself at the
Hôtel de l'Ecusson?" broke in Laurent hotly. "And your friend
Saint-Etienne, where is he? Has he been equally prudent?"
Aymar looked at him rather oddly. "Saint-Etienne is . . . much further
away," he said, with what seemed an effort. "And I implore you,
Laurent, not to harbour a grudge against the excellent de Fresne. He
does so hate this whole affair; it is against his better judgment, he
puts himself in rather an unpleasant position, and yet he is giving
evidence at my request."
"It is the least he can do," retorted the implacable Laurent. "But what
about Saint-Etienne, your most important witness, it seems to
me--unless you have secured that M. du Parc. Why do you say he is far
away? I hope you have both of them?"
Aymar looked down at the floor. "Laurent, I ought not to have allowed
you to come here--I ought not, indeed! I did try in my letter not to
let you see how much I wanted you, but it was too strong for me. Yet at
least I did not know the worst when I wrote. . . . I have neither of
those two as witnesses; Saint-Etienne I can never have."
"Good God! why not? Aymar, your whole case----"
"Saint-Etienne is dead," answered Aymar gravely. And he told his stunned
hearer how, when he made up his mind to court enquiry, he had written
to Saint-Etienne to ask him if he would give evidence on his behalf,
and where M. du Parc could be found. No answer came. Meanwhile, Sol de
Grisolles made arrangements and fixed the date. Then came a letter from
Saint-Etienne's relatives telling Aymar of his death from wounds
received in a skirmish in July. Of M. du Parc they knew nothing
whatever; and the name was so little uncommon that to trace him--Aymar
had already tried--was hopeless.
"But, Laurent," he concluded, "I could not draw back now. Think of
inviting an enquiry and then, on the eve, withdrawing from it! Sol de
Grisolles could not give me any longer because he is disbanding. And in
any case I think the result was doubtful. Only, for the sake of the
name I bear, I felt that I must face it. I came to that resolve at
Eveno's, but it was a struggle; it took three days to bring me to it."
He smiled. "And now it seems hopeless. But I shall make a fight for it,
though, as far as direct testimony goes, I am now empty-handed My only
chance is that what testimony I can bring will produce a favourable
general impression. Several people here have personally assured me that
they would believe me on my bare word. Perhaps the Court also may have
an inclination to believe me because of my former reputation. I had one
once."
Again he spoke without bitterness; but Laurent shivered. The new Aymar
discomposed, a little frightened him. He asked of whom the Court
consisted.
Aymar told him. And when he came to one name, Laurent gave a joyful
exclamation.
"Du Tremblay! Du Tremblay himself! Oh, luck at last! I overheard him
speak so warmly of you in Paris, and when he learns what he owes
you----"
"Owes me? Oh, you mean that cipher business. But he will not hear
anything about that, my dear Laurent. The only evidence which I might
call on you to give would be why I was unable to court enquiry earlier,
if the point were brought up against me. My story, as I shall give it,
will end with the last bullet. I am afraid that they are sure to want
to hear something about that affair, and I should prefer to tell them
details rather than to have them dragged out. But you need not fear
that I shall dilate upon it."
How, feeling about it as he did, he could face the prospect of having
that horrible business in the wood gone into at all, Laurent could not
conceive. If he were of less sensitive fibre . . . but then, perhaps,
he would not have also "the ice-brook's temper."
But he had already become aware of a singular and subtle change in
Aymar, the advent of a strange kind of calm, as if a man should come
out of very deep waters with something of himself washed away, yet with
something added. His composure seemed perfectly natural and effortless,
but, considering what he had to face to-morrow, and what hung on the
results of that ordeal, Laurent could not believe that it had been
achieved, was being maintained now, without heavy cost. And had it to
do with that last, that cruellest hurt of all? He thought so. But
perhaps the hand which gave the wound had already tried to heal it?
"Does Mme de . . . de la Rocheterie know of the enquiry?" he asked
suddenly.
"Yes. But she does not realize how serious it is for me, because when I
wrote a few days ago I merely told her that I had asked for an
investigation into the rumours of treachery at Pont-aux-Rochers. I have
had a line in return, approving of my action." He smiled, a little
ironically. "And I hope that, whatever the verdict, she may never learn
the details of the evidence."
Laurent knew what he meant by that phrase. After a moment Aymar added,
"I wrote to my cousin also, saying that I hoped at least to keep her
name out. That _is_ my hope."
But had he heard from her? Presumably not, since he immediately changed
the conversation, and began to talk about the way in which he was
laying out the first instalment of Laurent's money on the disabled and
widows. After which he got up and took something off the mantelpiece.
"Such an extraordinary coincidence, Laurent! I threw this away, as you
know. When I put on my uniform, for which I had sent to Sessignes,
there was the _jartier_ in a pocket!
"Well, don't throw it away again!" said Laurent. "It must mean that the
luck has turned.--Aymar, wear it to-morrow! To please me, let me see if
I cannot somehow fasten it on to your arm again! It's nonsense, I know
. . . but just to please me!"
And, to please him, his friend consented. Moreover, so thin was his arm
now that, with the aid of needle and thread from Mme Leblanc, Laurent
did succeed in fastening the rush bracelet in its place once more.
"I have only recently learnt from Eveno," said Aymar as Laurent put in
the last stitch, "of another legend which seems much truer than the
story about running water. If you are fortunate in . . . if you have
obtained or are about to obtain your heart's desire, the _jartier_ will
leave you." He pulled down his sleeve. "And apparently," he added,
trying to smile, "when that is lost for ever the _jartier_ comes back.
It has already found me--remember when?"
An immense pity for him invaded Laurent. He was rather staggered, too.
"But this return must mean that you have your luck again--that you are
going to come through to-morrow."
"Perhaps. I admit that I need something to counteract----Come in! . . .
Ah, de Fresne, let me make known to you my friend Monsieur de
Courtomer, of whom I have told you."
The two men bowed, a little stiffly. "Well, Monsieur de Courtomer," said
the newcomer starkly, "if you have heard the last piece of news, I
think you will admit that we are here on a fool's errand."
Laurent fired up. "As M. de la Rocheterie is now irrevocably committed
to this enterprise, Monsieur," he retorted, "that is hardly an
encouraging view of the situation to put before him!"
"M. de la Rocheterie does not need that view to be put before him,"
interposed Aymar. "It is already his own.--Sit down, de Fresne."
Laurent moved away. That was the man who with his own eyes had seen the
outrage wrought on Aymar, who in addition to his own indirect share in
bringing it about had not even got himself scratched in trying to
prevent it! And yet he surprised on this man's face, as he spoke in low
tones with L'Oiseleur, an anxiety much more selfless and acute than his
rough and untactful words had suggested.
It was late when de Fresne left. Laurent's sleep was heavy but broken,
and he spent a large portion of it in giving evidence of the most
ridiculous and disconnected order.
He was glad, therefore, when morning came, for he had yet to realize how
its hours were going to drag--since the enquiry did not begin till two
o'clock in the afternoon. The only event of importance was the arrival
of Colonel Richard for consultation with Aymar. His dismay when he
heard of the disastrous gap in the evidence was obvious, though not so
nakedly displayed as de Fresne's, but he dismissed the idea of turning
back, which, indeed, Aymar had never seriously contemplated. "When a
man has courage of your type," were his parting words, "circumstances
themselves crumble before him. In any case, you have taken the right
course."
"And without you I could not have taken it," responded Aymar warmly. "I
only hope that you will have no cause to regret your great generosity
in coming here on my account."
With a meal, at which Laurent ate even less than Aymar, the interminable
morning did come at last to an end, but when half-past one sounded from
a clock outside, and Aymar put his notes in his pocket and rose,
Laurent heartily wished it were nine o'clock again. The enquiry was to
be held in the Hôtel de Ville, and Aymar had refused to drive the short
distance thither. Moreover, since he equally refused to have his actual
witnesses go with him, if Laurent had not joined him he would
apparently have set forth entirely alone for the place of ordeal--and
that through what might possibly be itself an ordeal. Neither of them
knew how the feeling went in Aurannes.
At the last moment Laurent, unobserved, divested himself of his recently
assumed sword. Aymar de la Rocheterie should not be the only man to
walk through the streets that afternoon in uniform but disarmed. They
set forth side by side.
It was a hot day, and the streets in their afternoon shadelessness were
not very full. For that reason the figure of L'Oiseleur was all the
more conspicuous, and Laurent felt it. Only a faint hope sustained him
that a spectator might wonder which of the two swordless officers was
he whose once brilliant name was so tarnished. But though everyone
within sight stared or turned to look, there was no demonstration; a
few passing officers even saluted him, though a couple very obviously
crossed the street to avoid him. Only, in traversing the market-place,
they came full on a Chouan of Gamber's legion, and he, as they passed,
looked full at the two young men, and then deliberately spat on the
ground at Aymar's feet.
"--Don't, Laurent!" said Aymar in a low voice, clutching his arm and
pulling him on, turning on him meanwhile a face for the moment like a
dead man's. "Remember, for God's sake, that I have my own temper to
keep!"
Only a few scarcely interested spectators lounged round the semicircular
steps of the Hôtel de Ville. At the top Aymar suddenly caught his
friend's arm again.
"What have you done with your sword?"
Laurent, whose teeth were still clenched, glanced down at his side. Why
was Aymar so observant! "Ass that I am, I must have forgotten it! But
it is of no consequence; I am not here on duty."
"Forgotten it--when you had it on five minutes before we started!" The
grasp tightened. "Laurent, who but you would have thought of such a
thing!" He gave him a long look, removed his hand with a rather shaken
little laugh, and they went in.
(4)
The hall of the Hôtel de Ville at Aurannes was a good deal too large for
the purpose to which it was now being put, for the proceedings were not
really public, only the military being admitted. Yet at first there
seemed to Laurent to be a crowd of faces; afterwards they resolved
themselves into those of about thirty or forty officers, ranged fanwise
on either side of the dais on which, at a long table, sat the Court
itself.
But, after the first slight shock of dismay on finding that the audience
was not directly behind Aymar but facing him, the young man had eyes
for the Court only. There were nine of them, all of superior rank. In
the middle sat Sol de Grisolles, the General-in-Chief of Brittany, the
man who had been Cadoudal's lieutenant sixteen years before, and who,
being implicated in his subsequent conspiracy, had suffered an
imprisonment of ten years in surroundings so horrible that his health
and vigour were gone, his eyesight almost ruined, and that he was an
old man at fifty-four. There was his major-general, the Marquis de la
Boëssière, on whom the King had actually bestowed full powers of
leadership for the province, but who, on finding Sol de Grisolles
already in command, had voluntarily subordinated himself to him, the
abler to the less able; and there were the Chevaliers de Sécillon and
de Margadel. The others Laurent could not identify . . . save one,
indeed, the man who owed so much to his disgraced comrade, and who
probably did not know it--M. du Tremblay, seen previously in such
different surroundings.
An orderly showed them their places. In front of the dais, but at some
distance from it, a table and a chair had been set for Aymar. Behind
him, seats were to accommodate his witnesses, but they were apparently
to give their evidence from another table, placed in a line with his.
Laurent wondered if he would ever succeed in standing at it. But no one
challenged his right to sit with de Fresne and Colonel Richard and an
unknown man whom he guessed to be the landlord of the _Abeille d'Or_.
Then, after a pause which seemed interminable, after some consultation
among the nine officers enthroned there, whispered comments from the
onlookers and a steady fire of glances directed at the pale, uniformed,
swordless young man seated alone at the little table, the General rose
in his place.
"I wish to remind you, gentlemen," he said, as emphatically as his
broken voice would permit, "that this is not a court-martial. Though
the Vicomte de la Rocheterie's sword lies before us on the table
(having originally been surrendered in circumstances about which we
shall shortly hear) he is in no sense under arrest. He is here of his
own free will, having asked for an investigation into his recent
conduct, about which, as you are doubtless aware, very damaging rumours
are in circulation, although no formal charge has been preferred
against him. You, his fellow officers, are accordingly met here to give
him an opportunity of clearing himself from the very grave imputation
under which he rests of having betrayed his own men to the enemy on the
night of the 27th of April last." He paused a moment and cleared his
throat. "The procedure which we shall follow is that M. de la
Rocheterie will first give us in outline his account of what occurred,
and will then go over it in detail, producing his witnesses and
answering any question which the Court may put to him. And, since there
is no accuser, we are ready for him to begin at once."
So the lists were fairly set for what Aymar had said last night was a
hopeless fight. He got to his feet, and, after a few words of thanks to
the General-in-Chief and the Court for consenting to hear him,
electrified everybody--and Laurent not least--by saying, firmly and
quietly:
"I wish to begin by stating that I do not deny having sent certain
information to the enemy on the night of 27th April, nor that my action
was the cause of the disaster at Pont-aux-Rochers, nor that my men,
believing me to have purposely betrayed them, shot me for it."
So strong a sensation here went round Court and audience alike that
Aymar was obliged to pause. "Good Lord!" thought Laurent to himself,
"what a way to open . . . and how like him!"
"But," went on Aymar, standing like a statue, "I emphatically deny the
motive assigned to my action. I shall hope to prove to the Court that
the disaster was the result, in reality, of a scheme which went wrong,
that no treachery was intended for a moment, and that my men acted as
they did under a misapprehension."
He began without more ado to read his summary, a short, lucid statement,
making no appeal for mercy but laying a certain stress, as it
proceeded, on the points which were undoubtedly in his favour. Such
were, the important conversation with Saint-Etienne and M. du Parc at
Keraven, showing that the whole scheme had been worked out beforehand,
and that he could reasonably rely on Saint-Etienne's collaboration; his
immediate return to his own men and the frantic haste he made to warn
them; and his agreeing to give up his sword and court an
enquiry--which, however, the precipitate action of his followers put
for the time out of the question.
He then started to take his points in more detail. With regard to the
conversation at the _Abeille d'Or_, the General or the Marquis de la
Boëssière could bear out his statement that Colonel de Saint-Etienne
and his regiment were at Keraven on April 27th. Of what passed at his
interview with him, however, he had to acknowledge that he could not
produce evidence, since M. de Saint-Etienne was dead, and he had failed
to trace M. du Parc. He was perfectly aware how unfortunate this was
for his case.
The Court concurred, and found voice in a member who remarked somewhat
gratuitously that M. de la Rocheterie had then nothing to prove that
the story of his "plan" was not concocted afterwards.
"That," responded Aymar a trifle drily, "is exactly the inference which
may be drawn. But I can at least prove that I _had_ an interview with
those two gentlemen at the _Abeille d'Or_ on that date. I will call the
innkeeper himself for that purpose."
The questioning of that worthy over, Aymar proceeded with his narrative,
and soon came (with what inward shrinking Laurent guessed) to the
arrival at Sessignes of the Marquis--he did not name him--with news of
grave peril to "a lady" who had rendered a service to the cause in
1813, and might therefore well stand in danger from the Imperialists
now; and how, rejecting his impulse to give himself up in her stead, he
decided to offer the Bonapartists his lieutenant's letter in exchange
for her--with the fixed intention, however, of carrying out the rest of
the plan exactly as sketched.
And then, as Laurent anticipated, the questions began.
"Who was the lady, Monsieur?"
"Is it not immaterial what her name was?" asked Aymar.
"No," replied the officer who had put the question, "not if we are to
believe that she was in danger because of past services."
"You cannot take my word for those services?"
They shook their heads. Then someone said, "We quite appreciate that you
want to keep her name out of this business, Monsieur de la Rocheterie,
but we must know what those services were--and we must have some proof
that the detained lady was really she who rendered them."
Aymar thereupon detailed Mme de Villecresne's exploit at Chalais, the
results of which were highly beneficial to "a certain leader." And the
Chevalier de Sécillon, suddenly declaring that he knew the story, and
the name of its heroine, it was finally agreed that if a responsible
witness wrote down the name of the lady detained by the Bonapartists
and sent it up to the Court, and it proved to be the same, he would
have established his point. But what witness could do this?
L'Oiseleur turned and exchanged a look with Colonel Richard, who nodded.
So he announced that the witness whom he was about to call in any case
would do this for him, since it was he who had had the lady in his
hands. And, not a little to the general surprise, Colonel Richard,
lately in command of the Imperialist troops at Saint-Goazec, was cited
to give evidence for his defeated opponent.
He got up very impassively, writing down the name as he did so. It was
passed up, and found satisfactory.
"I will now ask you, Colonel Richard," said Aymar, addressing him, "to
tell the story of your receipt of M. de Fresne's letter, in order to
show that no more was asked of you than this lady's safety--and that in
actual fact even that bargain could not be carried out, because the
lady was never really in danger."
At which revelation even members of the Court were observed to hold
their heads.
(5)
Laurent began by listening with avidity to the story of the coming of M.
de Vaubernier that night to the presbytère of Saint-Goazec with the
letter, and his interview with Colonel Richard; but as the latter's
evidence went on, he listened with inward maledictions also. How was it
possible for any one to be such a fool as that old gentleman--not only,
in a sense, to have originated the whole situation in his turnip of a
brain, but also to have played, in such a preposterous manner, right
into the hands of this intelligent colonel of engineers by revealing
that the enemy proposed a bargain with him before finding out whether a
bargain were called for at all! How could he not have seen from Colonel
Richard's manner that night that there was no question of shooting
anybody--even though the Imperialist had, as now appeared, been too
astute to display his entire ignorance of the lady's presence at the
inn! Laurent's disgust got the better of his interest.
He heard, however, at one point, questions eliciting exactly what was in
the letter, and also a sharp query as to why it had not been laid
before the Court, to which Aymar briefly replied that it had
subsequently been destroyed by a third person. He heard, too, the
Imperialist being asked what his thoughts were at the moment of the
letter's reception, and his frank response, that as it appeared to be
genuine he was driven to one of two suppositions: either that
L'Oiseleur was a traitor, and was deliberately selling his men for the
safety of a woman whom he believed to be in mortal peril, or that the
whole thing was a trap. He therefore went over to the _Cheval Blanc_ to
find out what possible grounds L'Oiseleur could have for believing the
lady to be in such a situation, and got on the track of the truth,
though he did not run the culprit to ground till after the fight.
"And what was the truth, Colonel?" asked a voice as he paused.
Laurent put his hands over his ears. But he heard--or seemed to
hear--all the same. . . . He certainly heard the sonorous voice of the
Chevalier de Margadel exclaiming, with astonishment, "Then do you mean
to tell us that the whole question of the lady's danger, and all that
hung on it, rested on no more solid basis than a practical joke?"
"I am ashamed to say that it is so," replied Colonel Richard.
Aymar, sitting at his table, had his head on his hand. Laurent knew how
bitter this must taste--how the shadow of ridicule, hardest of all to
face, must seem to be hovering near him, though really it was engulfed
in the shadow of tragedy. None of the Court, at least, appeared to find
this revelation amusing, and Laurent was grateful to them. He was not
so sure about one or two of the younger officers in the audience. As he
scanned in particular one whose demeanour did not please him, he heard
Colonel Richard resuming his evidence, and saying how he considered the
letter worth acting on--with precautions, as he thought that a leader
with the experience and antecedents of M. de la Rocheterie had probably
taken steps to nullify the information he had sent; nor, as between one
soldier and another, did he consider that unfair . . . merely a move in
the game. "So I took every precaution that I could think of," he
concluded, "and the result you know; but I desire, gentlemen, to make
it very plain that if Colonel de Saint-Etienne's regiment had not been
ordered away from Keraven when it was, I, not knowing at the moment of
his presence in the neighbourhood, might well have been the victim of
disaster instead of M. de la Rocheterie."
Laurent could see that this testimony had made rather a strong
impression. The Court conferred together. Then the Marquis de la
Boëssière observed, "In fact, you are convinced that M. de la
Rocheterie is speaking the truth?"
"I am, absolutely. I should hardly have agreed to come and give evidence
at the request of a former adversary if I thought him a traitor.
Perhaps," said Colonel Richard, drawing himself up a little, "I may be
allowed to say that I think too much of my own reputation for that."
He returned to his place, and Aymar stood up again.
"It seems pretty well proved, Monsieur de la Rocheterie," said M. de la
Boëssière, looking at his notes, "that you had sufficient grounds for
thinking the lady to be in danger, but do you consider that you were
justified in taking such a risk for the sake of any individual, of
whatever sex or services?"
"But I have already stated, mon Général," replied Aymar steadily, "for
what reasons I considered that there was practically no risk." And he
rehearsed them once more.
"You had then no scruples about sending the letter?"
"I had scruples because I disliked the whole idea--but not on the score
of risk."
"Your perceptions must have been singularly clouded at the time,
Monsieur de la Rocheterie," observed a dry voice. "The risk appears, to
me at any rate, to have been more than obvious!"
The shaft drew blood; Laurent saw it. Whose perceptions would not have
been clouded at that dizzy moment in the orchard, the meeting-place of
rapture and despair? But after a second Aymar recovered himself and
said gravely, "I am not speaking of how it appears to me now, Monsieur,
but giving evidence as to how it appeared to me then."
"I think we should remember," said the General-in-Chief, suddenly
interposing, "that M. de la Rocheterie's whole military career has been
one of taking risks, and very successful ones, and that familiarity is
apt to breed contempt."
Someone here observed that it would certainly be very hard, too, for a
gentleman to leave a lady in such a situation, particularly when he had
the means of saving her to his hand.
"Or a man either, if it comes to that," murmured a voice.
And on this M. de Sécillon, who knew the identity of the lady, remarked,
presumably with the idea of giving Aymar some support, "Moreover, as it
was for M. de la Rocheterie himself that the lady had obtained that
military information, it is easy to understand that he felt under a
special obligation to her."
("Oh, you fool!" said Laurent to himself.)
The Marquis de la Boëssière looked at the speaker. "Oh, M. de la
Rocheterie himself was the leader in question, was he? Then she was
personally known to him? Is that so, Monsieur de la Rocheterie? I do
not think we had gathered that."
Laurent would not even look at his friend's back here; he looked
(against his will) at the deeply interested audience.
"Yes," said Aymar briefly.
"How well? You must pardon the question."
A tiny pause. "She was my cousin."
"Ah, I see," said M. de la Boëssière. He might not have meant his tone
to sound significant; it could hardly avoid doing so. Among the
audience there was an undoubted and rather pleasurable stir, and on the
face which Laurent had already singled out for dislike a grin which
made the young man clench his hands.
However, the Court intimated that Aymar should proceed with his
narrative. He did so. He recalled the innkeeper to prove that he
arrived at three in the morning at Keraven, was greatly distressed at
finding the troops gone, and set off at once on a fresh horse. And he
had carried his recital as far as the Bois des Fauvettes when an
objection occurred from the dark, thin-faced officer who had made the
observation about "clouded perceptions." This individual suggested that
L'Oiseleur should produce some witness to prove that he really did his
best after he left Keraven to arrive in time to prevent a disaster.
"Otherwise," he observed, "you might have planned to arrive too late."
"Oh, bosh!" cried Laurent internally, now fixing this objector with a
hostile eye.
Aymar replied that he could hardly prove that; the only witness to his
haste (failing the dead body of the horse which he had killed by it,
and the quarryman whom he had intimidated into selling him another)
would again be the innkeeper to whom he had paid the value of the
first. "But," he added, "if I had really intended to be too late,
should I have rejoined my men at all the same morning?"
"That ought to settle him," thought Laurent. But instead he found that
this keen-witted person was landing his friend in a new and unforeseen
difficulty, for, having elicited that de Fresne, the next witness, had
not appeared in the Bois des Fauvettes till the afternoon of Monday,
May 1st, he pointed out that there was no evidence to show that he
_did_ rejoin his force the same morning.
For a moment Aymar seemed taken aback. Then he rallied. "I can produce
it indirectly, Monsieur," he returned. "If M. du Tremblay will be so
obliging, he can tell you that I despatched one of my officers to him
early on the morning of April 29th to warn him that I could not now
coöperate with him. This officer, M. de Soulanges, no doubt gave him an
account of my return; even if he did not, his mission itself was a
proof of it." He looked towards his one-time ally.
Now M. du Tremblay was sitting at the extreme left-hand of the table,
and round the corner of it. He was not, therefore, directly facing
Aymar, like the majority of the Court; and all along, it seemed to
Laurent, he had taken advantage of his position not to look at him. All
through the business about the "lady," of whose identity and
antecedents he certainly knew as much as M. de Sécillon, he had never
given a sign. And when he addressed the President now his tone was
curt.
"I can perfectly well corroborate that," he said. And indeed he went on
to relate how M. de Soulanges had given him a circumstantial account of
L'Oiseleur's return, in haste and fatigue, just after the disaster.
Laurent was puzzled by his manner, but it dawned upon him that he was
probably deeply distressed at seeing L'Oiseleur at the bar before him.
At least, this seemed likely from his next words. "May I take this
opportunity of pointing out to the Court," he went on, "though it is
not exactly the question at issue now, that a traitor would never have
sent that message? He would, on the contrary, have seized the
opportunity of letting me blunder into disaster, too, by keeping
silence. Through M. de la Rocheterie's timely warning I was able to
alter my plans a little, and, as you know, I was fortunate enough to
bring off one of the successes of the campaign. Further, if M. de la
Rocheterie had had treacherous intentions he would undoubtedly have
made use of the intimate knowledge of our joint plans which he
possessed--and this, it is clear, he did not do." (_No, he most
certainly did not_, observed Laurent, sotto voce.)
A murmur, almost of applause, went round. Aymar thanked the speaker and
resumed his narrative, carrying it up to the unexpected arrival of de
Fresne in the wood, at which point he called M. de Fresne himself.
"Please tell the Court, Monsieur de Fresne," he said, turning to him,
"how you knew of the step I had taken and how you represented to me the
only way out."
So Nicolas de Fresne, standing at the witness-table with an expression
of concentrated distaste about his whole person, cleared his throat and
began abruptly:
"I was taken prisoner at the bridge--knocked on the head. When I was
sufficiently recovered Colonel Richard sent for me--it was at
Saint-Goazec--showed me my own letter to M. de la Rocheterie, and told
how it had come into his hands. Being rather . . . startled I asked him
to let me have it back, and I had it on me when I escaped during the
night of April 30th. When I reached the----"
M. de la Boëssière leant forward. "One moment, please. We must go back a
little. Colonel Richard presumably told you that M. de la Rocheterie
had himself sent your letter to him. Did you immediately believe that?"
"No, certainly not," responded de Fresne.
"But he succeeded in convincing you?"
"No, I was not convinced."
"But you were shaken?"
"Yes," muttered the witness.
"Why?"
De Fresne did not answer for a moment. Then he said slowly, "Because M.
de la Rocheterie had written something on the letter, and I knew his
hand."
"What was it?"
Since his lieutenant seemed to find a difficulty in replying, Aymar
hereupon got up himself and said rather drily, "M. de Fresne had
written part of his letter in cipher, so I deciphered that portion
before sending it. It was of no use trying to drive a bargain with the
letter at all unless the information it contained was quite clear." As
he sat down again Laurent reflected, "Of course that is perfectly
logical, but it does not sound well, and de Fresne has not done any
good by being unable to get it out; it merely puts the dot on the i."
Indeed the raising of eyebrows and compressing of lips in the Court
showed that he was right.
De Fresne, however, was allowed to resume, and related how, returning,
he asked his leader for an explanation, and how the latter told him
that he had sent the letter as a ruse, but that the scheme had
miscarried, and how.
"And what did you think of this explanation?" asked M. de la Boëssière.
"I must admit that I found it inadequate."
"And yet M. de la Rocheterie has been at such pains to prove that the
plan was so complete and void of risk that he very nearly carried it
out with no other motive than a desire to trap the Bonapartists!"
De Fresne shifted uneasily.
"Why did you not accept this explanation?"
"It was after the disaster had occurred, and the risk then, naturally,
seemed indefensible."
The unknown dark officer whom Laurent had already christened
"Fouquier-Tinville" leant forward.
"Your two replies do not tally, Monsieur de Fresne. If you found the
explanation inadequate, as you admit, it must be that you had some
other reason than that you considered the risk indefensible. The latter
would be merely a case of condemning your leader's judgment. Which
reply are we to accept?"
"I suppose," replied de Fresne reluctantly, "I must say that I
considered the explanation inadequate."
"And why?"
A slight pause. "Because I knew from what Colonel Richard had said that
there was a bargain of some sort."
"And had not M. de la Rocheterie told you that?"
"No."
"Did you ask him anything about it, as you knew of its existence?"
"Yes. And he admitted it. But he would not tell me what it was."
"The inference being," remarked "Fouquier-Tinville," "that he was
ashamed of it."
"I . . . I did not know what to think," admitted de Fresne unhappily.
M. de Margadel here said in his great voice, "Why on earth should he not
have told you what the bargain was, if there was nothing to be ashamed
of?"
"Because," said Aymar, suddenly rising to his feet, "seeing what had
happened, I was ashamed of it."
There was a sensation. A large, stout, heavy-faced officer at the end of
the table said, in an annoyed voice, "I should like to know at this
point what M. de la Rocheterie is driving at? His witnesses seem to do
nothing but bring out damaging admissions, and then he makes them
himself, gratuitously." And his mumble to himself of "There's something
behind all this!" was distinctly audible.
Aymar was rather stung; Laurent could see it from the poise of his head.
"My object, Monsieur," he retorted, "is merely to tell the exact truth,
in the hope of clearing myself; I have no other aim."
Once more de Fresne was requested to proceed. This time he got almost
without interruption to the crisis, which he managed to represent as a
few of the men leaving the wood in panic, shooting at and wounding
their leader, on whom they had previously laid hands. But at that point
he was not unnaturally questioned.
"You could not stop all this insubordination?"
"I did my best, but since M. de la Rocheterie himself could not control
the men----"
"What was M. de la Rocheterie doing all this time, then?"
"I told you," answered de Fresne hurriedly. "They had disarmed him, and
were holding him. He could do nothing."
"Then when the alarm came they let him go?"
"N . . . no."
"But they could hardly have shot him while some of their accomplices
were holding him."
De Fresne looked at the floor. "By that time they had tied him to a
tree."
It was out at last, pronounced in words . . . and caused a silence--but
hardly a merciful one. And the eyes, the eyes on Aymar! If Laurent
could only have shielded him from them. . . . The questioner's voice
took up again:
"And he was found like that by the Imperialists?"
"Yes," answered de Fresne sullenly. "It could not be helped."
Aymar, horribly pale, got up, as if he feared his subordinate was going
to be blamed, and corroborated this, adding that M. de Fresne did his
best to free him. He sat down again in the same tingling silence.
It was the stout officer who broke it. "Did M. de la Rocheterie," he
asked, addressing the witness, "let his men proceed to such an
extremity without any attempt to defend himself? It looks as if his
followers were so convinced of something against him that no
explanations of his were of any avail. Surely the Chouan, of whom we
all have experience, will accept anything so long as his faith in a
leader is unshaken?"
But to this de Fresne replied that their faith was badly shaken, both by
the disaster and the loss of the _jartier_; and that in addition Le
Bihan, the ringleader, was nursing a grudge.
Now came endless questions about the _jartier_; how, when, and why lost,
and then about Magloire, through all which Laurent's heart was slowly
descending to the region of the floor, reaching it completely when the
theory was finally evolved between "Fouquier-Tinville," the stout
officer, and one other, that something pointing to deliberate treachery
must have come out in the unaccounted-for three days, between Aymar's
return and de Fresne's escape. And why had M. de la Rocheterie brought
no evidence to cover those three days? Was he refraining from producing
the only people who could tell why they did shoot him? Aymar, whose
voice, to Laurent's ear, was beginning to show the first signs of the
strain on him, admitted that he had not thought of it, considering that
the testimony of M. de Fresne, who had been present throughout the
episode, was sufficient to show on what grounds his men had turned
against him.
And then the stout officer said, "We must hear something more about this
shooting itself, and how deliberate it was. That is very important. Was
it as hurried and casual as you seem to imply, Monsieur de Fresne? It
can hardly have been if M. de la Rocheterie was _tied to a tree!_ . . .
Did they proceed to do that only just before they shot him?"
"No, not exactly," admitted de Fresne unwillingly.
"How long before, then?"
"It must have been . . . between half an hour and three quarters."
"And in all that time nobody protested?"
"Yes, a good many, but they were not so strong as the other party."
"And did not M. de la Rocheterie himself protest?"
"Once; but when Le Bihan gave him the opportunity of justifying himself
he refused to say a word--as I should have done in his place."
"Then they never got the explanation, such as it was?"
"Yes; I gave it them myself in the hope of saving him."
"Without the 'bargain'?"
"Naturally, since I did not know what it was."
"And the 'explanation' was still, presumably, unconvincing to you when
you gave it?"
"I was beginning to waver."
"So you were able to tell them that it had convinced you?"
"I could not quite say that."
"How many men precisely took part in shooting M. de la Rocheterie--how
many shots were fired?"
De Fresne looked harassed. Once more Aymar came to his assistance.
"As M. de Fresne was trying at considerable risk to cut me free, and had
also to rally the men against the Bonapartists, he can hardly have been
engaged in computation. I can satisfy the Court, up to a point. I was
fired at twice by Le Bihan; his first shot struck me, the second
missed; and by another man, who also hit me . . . and by at least one
more, as I afterwards discovered. That makes a minimum of three men and
four shots; there may have been more. I do not know, because I lost
consciousness after the second. But I imagine that they had not much
more leisure." He sat down again; it was beyond Laurent how he could
have steeled himself to get up.
Sol de Grisolles, intervening here, observed, "Well, I think we can now
leave this part of the subject. It is obvious that hasty shots by three
or four men cannot be said to constitute an execution."
But the stout officer said stubbornly, "Yes, General, but if he was
fastened to a tree the intention at least of an execution seems
obvious; and since it was nothing short of murder of a commanding
officer, I cannot believe that even irregular troops would be guilty of
such an unprecedented act without more reason than the showing of this
letter.--And, by the way, who destroyed that letter, and why?"
"I destroyed it," replied de Fresne briefly. "And I did so because I
believed M. de la Rocheterie to have died in the hands of the enemy,
and I saw no purpose to be served by keeping a piece of evidence which
he was not alive to refute."
"In fact," put in "Fouquier-Tinville," "you tried to hush up the whole
matter! Was it for the same reason that you never attempted to have any
of these men brought to justice? Did you continue to command them, by
the way? What happened to them?"
De Fresne told him.
"Then you took no steps to have even Le Bihan brought to trial--you
preferred the matter to go by default, even when these rumours began to
get about, rather than give the men a chance of stating their case. In
fact, you acted then just as M. de la Rocheterie is acting now--either
from design or carelessness keeping out the men's evidence."
"I protest against that inference," said de Fresne angrily, "both for
myself and M. de la Rocheterie. Monsieur le Président----"
"Yes, I think it is quite unfounded." Sol de Grisolles looked at
Fouquier-Tinville."
"Then I withdraw it," said the latter. "But I do submit that, either in
those three days in the wood, or in the destroyed letter, there was
some more damning proof of treachery than appears."
Aymar was on his feet in an instant. "Will you stand down, Monsieur de
Fresne? I call Colonel Richard as a witness that there was nothing
extraneous in the letter but my deciphering of a portion of it and his
subsequent endorsement."
"There was nothing more--not a syllable," said the Imperialist.
"Then it was the unaccounted-for three days," pronounced the stout
officer.
Aymar drew himself up. His temper was roused, but no one save Laurent
would have known it. "I can only assure the Court once more," he said,
"that nothing was further from my thoughts than to keep back any
evidence. But the Court must admit that I could hardly have induced any
of the men who shot me to come willingly before this tribunal and
confess to what has already been qualified as murder . . . whether
justifiable or no."
The President nodded, as if in appreciation of this point, and the
Marquis de la Boëssière, addressing him, remarked: "It scarcely seems
to me, Monsieur le Président, that we need distress ourselves over the
supposition that adverse evidence is being suppressed. What is far more
serious, in my view, is of quite an opposite nature--M. de la
Rocheterie's entire failure to bring conclusive testimony to support
his main contention. We may believe that he is speaking the truth when
he says that he acted in good faith--but not because he has _proved_
that he did. If I may put it rather harshly, there has not this
afternoon been one shred of real evidence to prove that he did not
deliberately sacrifice his troops to save his cousin."
If Aymar did not flush, Laurent did; he almost ground his teeth.
"I think, Monsieur de la Boëssière," said the President, "that that
undoubtedly _is_ to put it rather harshly. We must hope that M. de la
Rocheterie can bring some more convincing testimony on that point
to-morrow, since I think we must now adjourn for to-day."
(6)
All the way back to Aymar's lodging those words were vibrating through
Laurent's whole being: "not a shred of real evidence to show that he
did not deliberately sacrifice his men to save his cousin." Yet when
they got into the little room, and de Fresne, who had accompanied them,
revealed the depth of his gloom and of his irritation, Laurent, from
pure antagonism, began to cheer up.
"I told you so!" lamented the poor gentleman. "I told you from the
beginning, La Rocheterie, that it was a mistake to court enquiry now
. . . and after failing to produce your two chief witnesses still more
so! And what is going to happen to-morrow? We have no more evidence;
the thing will become a farce!"
"I will tell you what will happen to-morrow, Monsieur," remarked Laurent
rather maliciously. "You will go on giving your testimony, perhaps for
hours, with that fat old fellow asking question after question about
those three days in the Bois des Fauvettes which intrigue him so--the
Three Days of Creation."
Aymar, who looked like a ghost, smiled in spite of himself. "That event
occupied six, you will remember, Laurent." And the unfortunate de
Fresne said tartly that, with such a prospect in front of him, he would
betake himself to his inn and go to bed early.
As he closed the door behind his lieutenant Aymar shook his head at the
tormentor.
"You are really rather unkind, Laurent!" And, as Laurent made a grimace
intended to show at once a sense of self-justification and a measure of
penitence, he went on gravely, "And you know, mon ami, de Fresne is
quite justified in his view. I have not really any chance now . . . of
being cleared, that is. Indeed, I was very strongly tempted to tell the
General at the close of to-day's proceedings that it was hardly worth
while wasting the time of the Court any more. But then it came to me
that perhaps it was cowardly, and perhaps it was rash . . . and I have
had enough of being both."
"The first you have never been!" retorted Laurent. "Moreover, I feel
that the luck will turn yet. Remember that you have the _jartier_ back!
Now, you are tired to death; lie down on this horrible sofa and try to
rest a little. No, you do not need to go through those notes any more."
"That is true," agreed Aymar as he obeyed him. "There is nothing more to
say now." And as Laurent spread a covering over him he added, with a
smile, "But I did not mean you to come here to begin Arbelles over
again!"
"What did you mean me to come for, then, since you will not let me give
evidence now that I am here?"
Aymar made no reply in words; he merely pressed his hand. And a few
minutes later, sheer fatigue overriding the nervous tension, he was
sleeping like a child. But, in spite of his own brave words, Laurent's
heart ached as he sat beside him and thought of the morrow. . . . And
to-day? In some ways Aymar had got through better than he probably
looked for--in the matter of keeping out Mme de Villecresne's name, for
instance. On the other hand, they neither of them anticipated that the
Court would want to burrow so deeply into that intensely painful
episode of the shooting. Oh, what would be the outcome of the whole
business--what, indeed, would an impartial observer have said was the
real outcome of to-day's proceedings?
But in Mme Leblanc's little sitting-room no such person existed; there
was only one very anxious young man watching another.
More than half an hour had passed thus when there came a knock at the
door, and Laurent, tiptoeing over, was presented by Mme Leblanc with a
large visiting card, and the information that there was "a gentleman
downstairs asking to see M. de la Rocheterie."
Laurent gave an exclamation. "What is it?" asked Aymar, rousing.
"You would never guess!" cried Laurent in high glee. "Our dear Père
Perrelet, come, I am sure, to make amends, though dropped from Heaven
knows where, and on your track Heaven knows how! You'll see him, Aymar,
of course?"
And, pelting down the narrow stairs, he almost fell into the arms of M.
le docteur J.-M.-P. Perrelet, in all his Sunday clothes, at the bottom.
Indeed M. le docteur soundly embraced him.