see me? I managed to get in--I--as a military doctor! I heard of this
by chance at Arbelles two days ago . . . so I knew that I should find
him here. And now I've listened to it all . . . mon Dieu, what a story!
What a brute and fool I was! Will he see me? I want to ask his pardon.
Do you think he will give it me? Or perhaps he never realized that----"
"Oh, did he not!" returned Laurent. "But he owes you far too much to
refuse it . . . and in any case . . . Go up; there's the door."
And he watched the little doctor mount the stairs, already taking out
his pocket-handkerchief, heard him open the door, and say in husky
tones, "My dearest boy, can you ever----" Then the door shut.
"Well," thought the young man, leaning against the foot of the stairs
and feeling a kind of pleasant moisture about his own eyelids, "at
least _I_ have never claimed not to be a sentimentalist. How long shall
I give them?"
M. Perrelet stayed to supper, which his presence somehow enlivened into
quite a cheerful meal. He was very hopeful, on what grounds could
hardly be discovered. I wonder, thought Laurent once more, that he
doesn't say, "I'm no optimist," and shortly afterwards, to his delight,
the old surgeon did remark, "Of course I'm not one to take an unduly
rosy view of things!" And Laurent himself again besought Aymar to call
him as a witness, and when Aymar enquired "as a witness to what?"
asseverated anew that he should not be contented till du Tremblay knew
what he owed him over the cipher business--till they all knew it.
"My dear Laurent," observed L'Oiseleur a little drily, "you surely do
not expect me to bring it forward as a merit that I did not betray a
comrade's plans when it was suggested to me to do so!"
"Of course you would never have done it voluntarily! But I wonder how
many people, in your condition, could to the very last have kept their
heads sufficiently not to show so much as assent or dissent when that
blackguard narrowed the issue down to a single question--that vital
question of the crossing of the river?"
"Nobody who had not a will of steel," pronounced M. Perrelet.
"There you are!" cried Laurent. "There is evidence--indirect, if you
like--as to intention and character. Oh, I could make it very plain to
those gentlemen if I had the chance!"
Aymar shrugged his shoulders. "I am afraid your desire will not be
gratified, mon cher; and I am afraid that I don't want it gratified so
publicly."
"It's a great waste," sighed the champion stubbornly. "And it is of no
good to depreciate testimony of that kind, because you see that it is
'without a shred of real evidence,' as M. de la Boëssière would say,
that you have converted"--he grinned--"a hard-headed, unemotional,
scientific man like M. Perrelet from his temporary unbelief!"
(7)
The scientific man in question becoming very high-handed after supper,
and ordering his ex-patient to bed, Laurent went forth to hunt up a
couple of acquaintances whom he had seen as they came back from the
Hôtel de Ville. He found them, as he expected, at the Hôtel de
l'Ecusson and, knowing Aymar to be in excellent hands, went in with
them and called for wine.
In the room he entered, which was full of officers, the enquiry seemed
to be the sole topic of conversation, and the only point on which there
appeared to be general agreement was that those who had not attended it
that afternoon would be there next morning. Some stared at Laurent,
recognizing him, and he felt that it was not a bad move to have put in
an appearance, just to show that one had a clear conscience. His own
friends were fortunately _bien pensants_, one of them enthusiastically
so, and the other said that he thought La Rocheterie must be innocent,
or he would never have had the courage to bring all this upon himself.
With them, too, surmises were not wanting as to the "cousin" and her
relations with L'Oiseleur, but Laurent purposely avoided throwing any
light upon the subject.
Presently, lo, through the clouds of tobacco-smoke a face appeared for a
moment and vanished again. Laurent made one of his swift sallies.
"Monsieur Perrelet, come in, come in! Are you looking for me--how
charming of you! Come and have a glass of wine with me! I have some
friends here; you can tell us the latest news from Arbelles."
M. Perrelet, chuckling, protesting and pleased, suffered the young man
to drag him in and make presentations.
"Well, yes, perhaps one glass of cognac," he said. "I left him in bed,"
he announced behind his hand to Laurent, "in fact, I gave him a
sleeping-draught (though he was not aware of it). . . . There is
something I want to ask you presently. . . . Oh, thank you, Monsieur,
you are too kind!"
So there the good doctor sat, smoking a cheroot, and very happy in the
consciousness that he was "seeing life"--in the Royalist camp this
time; at least that was how Laurent read his amused and contented and
observant expression, and he was probably not far wrong. But half of
Laurent himself, though he continued to chat, was gauging with a rather
too acute sensitiveness the current of feeling in the room about the
one thing which mattered to him. After the tension of the afternoon the
wine he had taken, though without affecting his head in the ordinary
sense, made him conscious of a desire to get up and say something,
publicly, on Aymar's behalf. But his better sense warned him against
it. However, he ended by engaging in something a great deal more
sensational than oratory.
For at a table close by had now been sitting for a little while, with a
friend, the very officer whose behaviour had displeased him in the
audience at the Hôtel de Ville. Laurent could not help hearing their
conversation. The two amused themselves for some time by half-whispered
witticisms about "la belle cousine," and though Laurent's brow grew
darker and darker his good sense again warned him not to bring this
topic into more prominence by taking notice of it.
But suddenly he heard, so clearly spoken that others must have heard it,
too:
"Pretty brazen, to base your main defence on an invented conversation
with two men of whom one is dead and the other cannot be found!"
The other man assented, and Laurent, angry as he was, realized what a
specious appearance of truth there was in this criticism.
"Yet," went on the voice of his bête noire, "in spite of the fact that
he has not, as La Boëssière said, a shred of real evidence to bring
forward, I am afraid that he will never get what he deserves now."
"No," responded the other. "It is curious, the impression he seems to
have made on some of the Court."
"Cannot you see that it is this pose of complete honesty and telling the
whole truth that is doing it! It was an idea little short of genius. Of
course one must be a good actor to carry it out . . . but that is just
what the man is!"
"--Whatever is the matter, my dear boy?" exclaimed M. Perrelet. The dear
boy did move sometimes with such disconcerting suddenness.
As for the individual who had so appraised L'Oiseleur's histrionic
abilities, he had now in front of him to his exceeding surprise, a fair
young man in the Vendean uniform, who was saying, with a very deadly
intensity, "You will kindly take back every word of what you have just
said, Monsieur, and apologize for having said it!"
"What! I'll be damned if I will!" cried the critic, jumping to his feet.
So Laurent, exclaiming, "Espèce de Guitton!" knocked him down.
"Aha, la boxe Anglaise!" said M. Perrelet, craning forward, like
everyone else. But the combat was not destined to proceed on pugilistic
lines. Amid terrific clamour the victim rose to his feet, tugging at
his sword, while some threw themselves on him, and Laurent's two
friends tried to drag him away. M. de Courtomer himself appeared quite
calm, though he was really tingling with the liveliest wrath.
"Satisfaction? Certainly!" M. Perrelet heard him say, amid the babel.
"Also, instantly. Montbrillais, you'll see fair play for me, won't
you?"
"But you can't fight here!" several voices assured him, and his friends,
too, spoke of next morning.
"I regret that I am engaged to-morrow morning," quoth Laurent, and
proceeded to remove his sword-belt. "Lucky I had my sword on this
time!" he told himself.
"Engaged? Ah, yes, with the play-actor!" sneered his opponent, whose lip
was already swelling.
"No," retorted Laurent, throwing back his head and speaking very clearly
and deliberately, "with my friend, M. le Vicomte de la Rocheterie,
Chevalier de St. Louis--he who held the Moulin Brûlé, L'Oiseleur!"
"Bravo!" cried several voices to this.
"And I will either give you satisfaction here and now or not at all,"
resumed Laurent. "You need have no fear on the score of the medical
attendance; I have an excellent surgeon with me"--he slightly indicated
M. Perrelet--"and though he, too, happens to be a friend of M. de la
Rocheterie's, I am sure he will do his best for you."
There were not only cheers, but laughter now. The general opinion also
was with Laurent on the desirability of settling the affair on the
spot, and his foe was too angry to wish to postpone shedding his blood.
So the company pushed back the tables with alacrity, and Laurent
stripped off his coat and gave it to one of his friends. At that point
M. Perrelet came and caught him by the arm.
"Laurent," he said in a low voice, agitated and yet pleasurably
agitated, and unaware that he had used his Christian name, "Laurent, my
dear boy, are you au fait at this sort of thing?"
"Do you mean," enquired Laurent coolly, as he rolled up his shirt
sleeve, "have I ever fought before? No, I have not. But between foils
and singlestick, I know quite enough to settle M. Guitton cadet."
M. Perrelet could not restrain a chuckle of appreciation. But he
whispered, "Do, pray, be careful!"
"Of him? Oh, yes . . . up to a point."
How all too short are moments of ecstasy! This one only lasted, from
the--"On guard!" and the loosing of the crossed blades, fifty-six
seconds exactly--seconds in which the younger gentleman at the end of
one of those blades was blissfully, unimaginably happy. He knew that he
was no brilliant swordsman, but he knew, too, that he had a steady
hand, a quick eye, and a very good balance . . . and he was fighting
for Aymar. Yes, it was a pity that this man, ten years his senior and
with more experience, no doubt, behind him, was so angry, because
otherwise he might have prolonged the bout instead of exposing himself
in that crazy fashion.
A queer sensation, that, of the point going in! Queer evidently for
Guitton cadet also. There was surprise on his face as well as pain and
fury as he recoiled, run very creditably through the top of the right
shoulder.
(8)
About a quarter of an hour afterwards Laurent found himself arm-in-arm
under the stars with M. Perrelet, his purpose being to escort that
excellent gentleman back to his inn. Prudence had dictated to all in
the coffee-room of the Hôtel de l'Ecusson who were amenable to military
discipline a quiet and speedy dispersal, and Laurent himself had only
waited till M. Perrelet had finished with his victim. The wound was not
dangerous, but it was painful; on hearing which its author had
expressed the most unchivalrous gratification.
The couple were now in unfeelingly good spirits as they picked their way
in the darkness over gutters.
"I wish I could scold you as you deserve to be scolded, mauvais sujet!"
said M. Perrelet, pressing the arm under his. "But I am incapable of
it. And it was so neat--so clever, even, considering that you can know
nothing of anatomy! . . . And your success, your championship of La
Rocheterie, had an extraordinary effect--I felt it."
"Do you really think so?" asked Laurent, soaring into a still higher
heaven.
"I am sure of it. It was almost a pity that none of the----"
"That none of the Nine Muses were there," finished the young man,
laughing. "Yes, that is my pretty name for the gentlemen of the Court
of Enquiry. But on the whole, it's a good thing they were not.--By the
way, Monsieur Perrelet, did you ever get that letter I wrote you?"
M. Perrelet stopped on the brink of a dark streamlet. "I did, my child,
and thankful I was to get it, though it made me more than ever
distressed and ashamed about that incident at La Baussaine. But what he
said that night was really most damning. (No, I shall not tell you what
it was.) Still, I shall never forgive myself for acting as I did. . . .
And how much more trying that shooting business, too, must have been
for the poor boy than I realized."
"Yes," said Laurent rather sadly, "and the worst of it is, that to have
gone through all that suffering and shame only leaves him in a more
critical position than he was before. You heard this afternoon how it
was cast up against him, and to what cruel allegations it led. As for
to-morrow----"
"Oh, to-morrow will be all right, you will see," announced M. Perrelet,
resuming his advance. "--If he can hold out till the end, that is. He
is not really in the least fit for this affair, of course.--Ah, this
was what I wanted to ask you--round this corner is my way--what in the
name of fortune made those marks on his arm which he tried, too late,
to conceal from me when I was examining him after you left? They are
burns, and he says he did them himself, by accident--and expects me, a
doctor, to believe him!"
This time it was Laurent who stopped, and under a convenient street
lamp. "Ah, he said that, did he? Of course he would! Accident, indeed!"
He made one of his hot, boyish gestures. "It was the most deliberate,
cold-blooded----"
He never reached his noun. A gesture was made behind him; a hand fell on
his shoulder. "I regret to have to demand your sword, Monsieur," said
an abrupt military voice. "You are placed under arrest. Kindly follow
me at once!"
It is hard to know which of the couple was the more thunderstruck. Words
were completely smitten from both of them. On the very threshold of his
thrilling revelation Laurent was plucked away, vanishing like a dream
from the eyes of M. Perrelet, who, a moment later was left, a stout and
bewildered little civilian, in the light of the convenient street lamp,
while the footsteps of the patrol and the captured duellist died away
round the corner. Elijah and Elisha had not a more dramatic parting.
The threads of events lay thereafter in M. Perrelet's hands. After a
short period of dismayed reflection he hurried back to Aymar's lodging.
But that young man lay relaxed in the profound and beneficent slumber
of his physician's own procuring, and it would have been a crime to
wake him. So, except that the hazard of sleep afforded M. Perrelet an
uninterrupted view of the branded arm, he gained little by his visit,
and hastened off to M. de Fresne, conceiving that there was nothing
criminal in waking him with the news.
M. de Fresne was hardly of that opinion. By the time his nocturnal
caller had introduced himself and explained his errand he was, and
perhaps justifiably, in a thoroughly bad temper. "Poor boy, indeed!
Feather-brained young scamp! Let him cool his heels--it won't hurt him.
And I can do nothing; the only possible course is for La Rocheterie, if
he can, to get permission in the morning for him to attend the Court
under open arrest, as a witness. A nice witness for a case where
already the testimony is so short of the mark!"
M. Perrelet shook his head at the irate gentleman sitting up in his bed.
"I consider that he acted very properly, Monsieur. And as for being
feather-brained, let me tell you, in all seriousness, that but for him
there would be no La Rocheterie here to-day at all!"
"Humph!" said M. de Fresne, and laying down, turned over on his other
side. "Well, I will come and see La Rocheterie about it at half-past
six. Good-night."
A little before that hour, therefore, M. Perrelet was on foot once more,
and having obtained admission, peeped in on his patient.
The russet head moved at once on the pillow. "You are up early, Monsieur
Perrelet!"
"Have you slept, my dear boy?" enquired the doctor, coming in.
"I have not had a night like this," replied Aymar, "for weeks! It is
fortunate . . . but mysterious! . . . Why, is that de Fresne up early,
too?"
M. Perrelet glanced behind him. "M. de Fresne wants you to write a
letter for him to take to the General," he observed casually. "Just a
line to request formally that one of your witnesses may be released
from arrest in order to attend the Court this morning."
"One of my witnesses arrested!" exclaimed Aymar, raising himself on an
elbow. "You don't mean to say that they have arrested Colonel
Richard!--his coming here was all arranged with the General-in-Chief."
"No, not Richard, I am glad to say," replied his lieutenant. "But your
friend, M. de Courtomer, made the devil of a disturbance in my hotel
last night, and he is now in custody."
"Laurent--Laurent made a disturbance!"
"I should rather say--and _I_ was present," put in M. Perrelet, "that he
made an impression, and a very gallant one. But as he also made an
incision in a member of the party----"
"You mean he fought someone!" exclaimed Aymar, starting up in bed. "And
in my quarrel--I can guess it! My God, he's not hurt--don't tell me he
is hurt!" he cried, clutching hold of M. Perrelet.
"No, my dear boy, he is not--he had not a scratch. It is the other who
is hors de combat, and he is not seriously damaged, either. But Laurent
is laid by the heels--I do not even know where, it happened so suddenly
. . . in the street as we were coming home."
De Fresne, meanwhile, had got paper and ink and brought them to the
bedside. "Why did you not wake me last night?" cried Aymar, seizing
them. "He has been a whole night, then, under arrest--in discomfort and
anxiety."
(9)
Laurent indeed had been in both, to a high degree, in the cell of the
disused convent to which he had been conducted. The discomfort, the
fact of arrest itself, could have been light payment for his "moment
exquis" . . . in other circumstances. But in these his loss of liberty
was calamitous. His evidence (that precious evidence, to the hope of
giving which he still clung), his presence itself in the Court next
morning at the verdict, all hung by a hair. He tried to bribe the
sentries, he cast wildly about for means of escape . . . till it came
to him crushingly that even if he did escape he could not present
himself in Court without being instantly rearrested--and damaging
Aymar. It was, therefore, to a very subdued and uneffervescent young
man that it was announced, about eight in the morning, that he could
regard himself as under open arrest for the day in order to attend the
Court of Enquiry.
He walked out, dazed but thankful, to find M. de Fresne waiting for him
in the street.
"I owe this to you, then, Monsieur!" he exclaimed gratefully. "How good
of you! You cannot realize what it means to me!"
"You owe it to M. de la Rocheterie," responded de Fresne with no grace
of manner. "He had to be roused from sleep early this morning to
request your release. I could not have done anything." (Nor, his tone
added, should I have done anything if I could.)
Laurent hung his head.
"Well," continued de Fresne, surveying him, "if you are going into Court
you had better come back with me to my hotel and make yourself a little
more presentable."
"I can go to my room at Mme Leblanc's," said Laurent meekly. "I suppose
I do look rather disreputable," he added, trying to laugh, as they
turned together along the street.
But as they walked de Fresne was sufficiently human and unwise to try to
improve the occasion a little further. "I cannot help wondering,
Monsieur de Courtomer," he remarked, "what benefit you imagined you
were doing La Rocheterie by running the risk of being brought back last
night to his lodging on a shutter, as you might so easily have been."
Laurent was silent.
"Nor," pursued the elder man, "what support you fancied you were giving
to his cause by brawling. Obviously it can have done it nothing but
harm."
"There you are wrong," replied Laurent rather shortly. "Ask M.
Perrelet."
"I am astonished that M. Perrelet did not use his influence to prevent
the disturbance."
"He didn't want to," replied the duellist. "He enjoyed it--nearly as
much as I did." He sighed reminiscently, almost tenderly.
"And now," continued his mentor, disregarding this, "if you do give
evidence on any point, everybody in Court will see that you are without
your sword."
"But so I was yesterday. You did not notice that? No, you were rather
occupied yourself."
De Fresne glanced sharply at him. They were nearly at the hotel by now.
"I am older than you, Monsieur de Courtomer, and therefore I permit
myself to regret that you did not think more carefully of the
consequences of your behaviour to other people--to one person, in
particular."
There was now a wicked light in Laurent's eyes. "I am so sorry," he
exclaimed, with what sounded the most genuine regret in his voice. "You
mean that you were waked up over this scandalous escapade of mine! I
had not realized that! Do, Monsieur, receive my most profound
apologies!"
"Pshaw!" said de Fresne angrily. They had stopped at the entry of the
hotel, scene of last night's drama. "You know I mean La Rocheterie,
whom you might have spared an added anxiety!"
"But it is so hard," said the young man gently, his eyes on the
cobblestones, "so hard to know beforehand the consequences of an action
even of an entirely justifiable action like mine! For instance, even
you yourself, Monsieur de Fresne, must have felt sometimes that if you
had not brought back that letter of yours to the Bois des
Fauvettes----" He stopped, raised his eyes, and saw from de Fresne's
face that he had planted his counterthrust almost too well. The elder
man turned his back and disappeared without a word into the hotel.
"Well, he should not have lectured me!" thought Laurent rather
uncomfortably as he sped to Mme Leblanc's. And he burst in upon Aymar,
who was finishing his breakfast, crying, "Return of the prodigal, who
badly needs a wash! Oh, mon cher, I am at least a penitent prodigal--I
am, indeed!"
"But are you really an unhurt one?" asked Aymar, springing up and
seizing him. "M. Perrelet swears it, but----"
"But you think that I, too, might have been hiding an injury from him
and telling him a cock-and-bull story about it?--No, Aymar," he added
more seriously, "I have not received--I could wish I had--the poorest
equivalent of what you carry for me. . . . On the contrary, I hear that
you had to be waked up this morning on my account, wretch that I am!"
"Who told you that, Laurent? I was already awake, after a night in a
thousand."
But a little later, when, having washed and shaved, the prodigal was
eating, Aymar said in a low voice, "You understand me when I say I hope
it _was_ for me that you fought, Laurent? Not that I wish a hundred
times you had not exposed yourself in a quarrel that was not worth it!
But it was my quarrel, was it not? I dared not ask M. Perrelet."
"Entirely and absolutely your quarrel," replied Laurent, looking him in
the face, and thanking his stars that he had not taken any notice of
the remarks about Mme de Villecresne. "--And mine," he added, finishing
his coffee.
Aymar had laid his watch on the table. He pointed to it now and got up.
"Time to start. It is odd to think, isn't it, that when the hour hand
gets round to this spot again it will all be over?"
Laurent fixed his eyes on the watch, suddenly miserable and afraid.
"They can't proclaim you guilty, Aymar!"
"They won't proclaim me innocent. It will just be not proven. I do not
know whether they will deprive me of my commission, but I shall resign
it, of course."
"But there is your reputation--there is the Moulin Brûlé and all the
rest."
"Nobody is concerned with my reputation of last year, Laurent."
"That's just it!" cried Laurent angrily. "Oh, if only I were defending
you!--Why is no one defending you, so that he could bring it forward,
since you are so damnably proud that you will not do it yourself? All
the time yesterday one could watch points that ought to have been made
in your favour going unheeded, just because to emphasize them involved
a little blowing of your own trumpet. And I suppose it will be the same
to-day! Others may think it modesty--perhaps you think so yourself--but
I tell you it is pride, rank, ineradicable pride! You are as proud as
Lucifer!"
After which outburst, almost in tears, he put his head down on his arms
on the breakfast-table. Aymar stood and looked at him.
"I did not know you had such powers of denunciation, Laurent."
"It is of no use denouncing you," said the muffled voice. "You will not
do any differently." He lifted his head. "The only thing that would be
of the slightest benefit to-day would be for _me_ to change--to become,
if only I could, Saint-Etienne for an hour."
"Do you think I want you changed, even for poor Saint-Etienne?" asked
Aymar gently, laying a hand on his shoulder. "I don't want you to be
anybody but yourself, Laurent.--Come we must start. You have no need to
pretend to forget your sword to-day, my poor knight-errant!"
(10)
Just outside the Hôtel de Ville Laurent saw de Fresne. He went straight
up to him.
"I want to beg your pardon, Monsieur de Fresne, for what I said to you a
little while ago about that letter. It was cruel and unjust."
De Fresne looked at him with those hard blue eyes of his. "It was
certainly cruel. Do you think I have never said that same thing to
myself these three months?" He began to pale under his tan. "I have
said it a hundred times. But, as you pointed out----"
"Oh, I am sorry!" broke in Laurent impulsively. "And in honour you could
have done nothing else. Do forget it! I was annoyed when I spoke."
"I think you had cause," said the elder man suddenly. "I had no right to
read you a homily." He held out his hand. Then Laurent was back in the
place which would shortly see the scales dip to one side or the other
with his dearest friend's honour in the balance--the place which he
hated and which, at the same time, he was only too thankful to set eyes
on again. For he had had a horrible fright. But a precious grain of
consolation was that among the more than doubled number of faces in the
audience this morning one was missing. It would grin here no more and
was almost certainly not grinning where it was now. The President began
by saying that he had an announcement to make. Since M. le Général
d'Andigné, now military governor of Maine-et-Loire was staying a couple
of nights in the neighbourhood, he himself had so far presumed on their
very old acquaintance as to ask him, with the approval of the Court, to
give them the benefit of his ripe experience in this difficult and
delicate case . . . that was, subject to M. de la Rocheterie's having
no objection. M. de la Rocheterie here signifying that he had none--on
the contrary--Sol de Grisolles intimated that he had sent M. d'Andigné
a short summary of the case as far as it had gone yesterday, so that if
he came, he would be au courant. Meanwhile, they had better proceed
from the point at which they left off yesterday.
So the hapless de Fresne took his stand once more at the witness-table.
Laurent tried not to listen. "Fouquier-Tinville" and the stout officer
between them seemed determined to probe into every minute of the
interval before de Fresne's return to the wood; hence Aymar also was on
his feet most of the time. Laurent began to foresee that every detail
of the shooting, too, would have to be gone over again, perhaps more
fully. And all to what purpose? There was nothing to discover.
Oh, what would happen if they could not see their way to clearing Aymar?
It began to be torture to him to look at the figure in front of him,
especially when the bronze head turned a little, and he caught the
outline of the sunken cheek.
"I can't stand much more of this!" he whispered at last to M. Perrelet.
"They will not go on at it forever," the optimist whispered back, and he
laid his hand over the young man's and gave it a squeeze.
"But there's nothing else to go on to!" replied Laurent miserably.
Why could they not believe Aymar's word when he said that he had all but
arranged the plan with Saint-Etienne? How was it possible to look at
him and think him capable of infamy? Were they all blind? And why did
M. d'Andigné delay? Perhaps he was not coming, after all? He was a
great man, just about to be made a peer of France, and very busy at the
moment settling the King's peace in Brittany But, if he did come,
surely he, the Vendean general of so much experience, he, the
phenomenally cool-headed and resourceful, the hero of the incredible
escapes from the Fort de Joux and the citadel of Besançon, the man of
untarnished integrity and honour, _he_ would recognize that Aymar was
telling the truth!
Or, suppose that he did not!
The accursed stout officer seemed now to be criticizing Aymar's
intentions and dispositions during those three days in the wood, and as
it went on Laurent wondered at Aymar's patience under it. The
inquisitor had just ascertained that the nearest Bonapartist troops
were no more than eight miles away, at Arbelles.
"Only eight miles!" he exclaimed. "I am surprised, Monsieur de la
Rocheterie, that you did not try to withdraw to a safer position!
Surely you must have known that you were very dangerously placed, and
that you could not hope to do anything there with ninety men!"
And Aymar said nothing.
Suddenly M. du Tremblay leant forward and addressed the speaker.
"Not do anything with ninety men, Monsieur de Noirlieu? Why not? Have
you forgotten that M. de la Rocheterie held the famous Moulin Brûlé for
four and a half hours against five hundred regulars with--how many men
precisely had you with you at Penescouët, Monsieur de la Rocheterie?"
"Eighteen," replied Aymar.
Something hardly distinguishable from applause ran round the audience.
And du Tremblay went on quickly, addressing the President, "I trust,
mon Général, that I am in order in laying stress on the necessity of
remembering and allowing weight to those brilliant services in the past
of which M. de la Rocheterie himself is careful not to remind us. As
regards the handling of irregular levies, has not L'Oiseleur, young as
he is, had more experience and successful experience than any one here
except yourself?"
Sol de Grisolles nodded, and the Marquis de la Boëssière remarked,
"Certainly more than I have had. I am glad that you have said what you
have said, Monsieur du Tremblay."
So was Laurent. He would have bestowed a decoration on M. du Tremblay.
"Yes," said M. de Noirlieu obstinately, "and that past experience is
just why M. de la Rocheterie's remaining so near the enemy at Arbelles
is so inexplicable."
There was nothing to be done with that man but drown him! Surely Aymar
was going to give the very good reason he had for staying in the Bois
des Fauvettes as long as he could! But in any case he had not the
chance, for "Fouquier-Tinville" observed quickly,
"It is explicable enough on a certain hypothesis--which I do not wish to
press. But I should be greatly obliged if M. de la Rocheterie would
give us the reason for another delay of his which also needs
explanation. I only trust they are not susceptible of the same."
Aymar's head went up. "To what delay are you referring, Monsieur?"
"To the very considerable one which you have shown in courting this
enquiry. You were released on the 16th of June. Even if your health was
not then sufficiently re-established for you to go to the
General-in-Chief in person, why did you not at least communicate with
him if, as you assure us, you were so anxious to clear yourself? You
made no move whatever for a month, until the middle of July. Is that
not true?"
"Yes, it is quite true," said Aymar steadily. He drew a long breath, and
Laurent saw his fingers tighten on the paper he was holding.
"I suggest that the month's inaction, then, needs some justification,"
observed "Fouquier-Tinville" suavely.
In the silence that followed Laurent said to himself, "He was ill, unfit
for it, you bully!" But would Aymar say that, since it was not the real
reason? No, of course he would not! He replied at last, very coldly and
quietly, looking down a little, "The reason for the delay was a purely
private one."
"A reason that you would prefer not to give the Court?" suggested
"Fouquier-Tinville" with a twist of the lips.
"A reason," retorted Aymar, not without a measure of defiance, "that I
am not called upon to give the Court!"
At last something had been found which L'Oiseleur would not answer.
"It had nothing in common, then," demanded the inquisitor meaningly,
"with your reason for remaining so long near the enemy in the Bois des
Fauvettes?"
Aymar started. "Certainly not. The one was purely military; the other,
as I have said, was personal."
"And you refuse to----" But a stir arose at the end of the hall, and he
broke off. Laurent turned his head, and saw a glitter of staff
uniforms. General d'Andigné had come!
He walked alertly to the dais, while the whole audience rose to their
feet, he saluted the Court, who had also risen, was on the platform
shaking hands, and, in a very short time indeed, having swept a keen
glance round, was reading the notes of the morning's proceedings.
And Laurent, studying him, saw a blue-eyed man in the fifties, of no
great height, with a fine, almost leonine head from whose brow the
silvering fair hair was receding, and a slightly prominent underlip--a
man who gave the impression of exceptional humour and vitality allied
to a rare imperturbability. . . . But Laurent's deep interest in him
was abruptly diverted. What had happened to Aymar? He was leaning with
both hands on the little table before him almost as if he were
physically overcome. Then he suddenly sat down, and, supporting his
head on his hand, pulled his notes towards him. Laurent could see how
deadly pale he was, and that the hand with which he was turning over
the papers was shaking. "It's the strain," he thought desperately.
"It's telling at last; he won't get through!"
D'Andigné suddenly raised his fine head. "Monsieur le Président, I
should like to make a remark. With regard to the suppositions raised by
this shooting, surely the very fact that the men immediately suspected
M. de Fresne on his return entirely disposes of the theory that in the
three preceding days they had discovered some proof of M. de la
Rocheterie's guilt?--I might go further, and point out that it was
solely to save M. de Fresne from those unjust suspicions that M. de la
Rocheterie showed his men the letter . . . with the consequences to
himself of which we know. Is that not so?"
"That is most certainly so, mon Général," responded de Fresne warmly.
"M. de la Rocheterie undoubtedly sacrificed himself to save me."
"But, in the circumstances, could any honourable man have done less?"
enquired M. de Margadel.
"No, he certainly could not," responded d'Andigné like a flash. "But
then you are trying to show that he is not an honourable man. . . . And
may I not also point out that, so far from his suppressing witnesses
(which I see that some of you gentlemen are inclined to suspect) he
here lost an unrivalled opportunity of allowing the most formidable
witness against him to be suppressed by other hands. Had he let things
take their course, and allowed M. de Fresne to be shot instead of
him--which seems quite a likely thing to have happened--he would have
got rid of the odium of the charge as well as of an adverse witness,
for the man who had paid the penalty would have carried the guilt also
with him to his grave. His execution would probably have cleared M. de
la Rocheterie in popular opinion. Surely these considerations must have
occurred to you?"
"I knew he would see things in a proper light!" said Laurent, whose
spirits had gone up like a balloon, to M. Perrelet, while the Court
conferred over this, and M. d'Andigné, his chin propped on his fist,
darted glance after glance at L'Oiseleur's bent head.
"I think," announced the President at length, "that the Court does not
wish to ask M. de Fresne any further questions. Have you any more
witnesses to call, Monsieur de la Rocheterie?"
"Yes, two!" ejaculated Laurent under his breath.
And Aymar stood up--but it was not to call him. He threw back his head.
"I call Monsieur le Général d'Andigné," he said in a clear voice. "That
is, if he has not forgotten," he finished a little breathlessly.
Laurent fell back in his chair.
Amid the universal sensation M. d'Andigné got briskly to his feet. "I
was hoping that I should not have to be so pushing as to call myself,"
he remarked pleasantly. "Will you question me, Monsieur de la
Rocheterie--I am entirely at your service--or shall I have the honour
of myself giving the Court an account of our last--our first--meeting
at the _Abeille d'Or_ at Keraven on the afternoon of April the 27th?"
"The latter, if you please, General," answered Aymar.
(11)
When Laurent was in an argumentative mood he would assert that it was
very wrong of M. d'Andigné, even if he were organizing with great
secrecy, not so much to have gone about under an assumed name (since
under his own he would have been far too dangerous to be left at large)
but to have kept up his incognito in front of L'Oiseleur that day at
Keraven when Saint-Etienne, being from his own province of Anjou, knew
all the time who "M. du Parc" really was. However, he would acknowledge
that on this occasion M. d'Andigné made what amends he could by the
declaration with which he ended his short and convincing narrative. For
he said, with emphasis, that it was he who ought to be exculpating
himself. "I ought to have known better what attractions a risk holds
for a young and ardent fighter, when I presented M. de la Rocheterie
with the idea of the mouse and the two cats, and even illustrated it
from a little piece of good fortune of my own in the old days. Had I
not been all these weeks, as you know, engaged in military operations
elsewhere, I should have heard of Pont-aux-Rochers before, and I could
have taken some steps to mitigate the terrible consequences which an
ill-timed suggestion of mine has brought on a gallant and honourable
man. I am at least thankful that Fate has given me this belated
opportunity for testimony."
He sat down again. Aymar, his hands clenched, tried to thank him, but
his words were scarcely audible. As for Laurent, he was so radiant that
it was all he could do to prevent himself darting forward to his
friend, and, though he knew it not, M. d'Andigné, whom little escaped,
was smiling at his very patent exultation.
"Well, gentlemen," said Sol de Grisolles, looking round with a satisfied
air, "this puts a very different complexion on affairs. I little
thought I was summoning the missing witness when I invited M. d'Andigné
to attend as an assessor. As the Court has felt all along, the great
weakness of M. de la Rocheterie's case has been the lack of conclusive
evidence that his plan was already all but settled upon. But now we
have impeccable testimony to that fact." He looked round the table once
more. "I suggest, therefore . . . Yes, Monsieur de Noirlieu?"
"In spite of what M. le Général d'Andigné has pointed out to us," said
that persistent investigator, "there is still one more point which I
emphatically feel should be cleared up. What happened after M. de la
Rocheterie was found shot, in the--how many weeks was it?--that he was
at the château d'Arbelles? Might it not be said that it was because he
had rendered a great service to the Imperialists that they rescued him,
nursed him, and released him of their own free will . . . that he was,
in short, less their prisoner than . . . their guest?"
Laurent, bristling, gave a kind of snort, and Aymar raised his head
sharply. D'Andigné's face was a study in expression. The Court
themselves seemed a little taken aback, then someone remarked, "Yes, if
any evidence is available, it might be as well to know what were M. de
la Rocheterie's relations with the Imperialists during his captivity,
and the reason for his release."
"Perhaps M. de la Rocheterie will enlighten us," said Sol de Grisolles.
"I can do better, mon Général," responded Aymar rather grimly. "As it
happens I can produce two witnesses as to the terms on which I was with
the occupants of Arbelles. I will call first M. le Comte de Courtomer,
late aide-de-camp to M. d'Autichamp, who was imprisoned in the same
room with me for the whole time, excepting the first night. Monsieur de
Courtomer!"
At last! Had Laurent not been so furious with M. de Noirlieu at that
moment he might have been grateful to him for procuring him this
chance. But--Aymar a guest at Arbelles! He could hear for once in his
friend's voice his deep and justifiable indignation. But it was M. de
Noirlieu who was going to be annoyed before he, Laurent, had finished,
for he would look the fool he was.
He was excited but fairly self-possessed as he stood at the little
table, and began with reasonable lucidity to tell the story of those
weeks at Arbelles. The early days came back to him so clearly as he
spoke that, when he got to the happenings of "Friday," the memory of
that scene, bubbling up fresh like lava, led him into an account of it
more vivid than Aymar appeared to appreciate, as he sat there with his
head between his fists, enduring it as best he might.
At any rate, Laurent made abundantly clear the point he had so desired
at supper last night to emphasize--that Aymar, fighting with his last
conscious breath that nothing should escape his lips, had nearly given
his life for his comrade's victory. . . . Du Tremblay had his hand over
his eyes as Laurent went on to testify that for the remaining weeks
there were no relations whatever between the Bonapartists and their
prisoner, and to detail what occurred on Colonel Guitton's return. "And
that is how and for what reason," he concluded, "M. de la Rocheterie
was released--or, as some might say, turned out--from Arbelles."
"Thank you, Monsieur de Courtomer," said the President out of the
ensuing silence, and Laurent turned and went to his place. He had not
been asked a single question; and, as nobody seemed disposed to put
one, Aymar observed that, since this evidence did not cover the first
hours of his sojourn at Arbelles, and it might be supposed that he had
had friendly relations with the Bonapartists on the day of his arrival,
if on no other, he would call the doctor who attended him to prove that
that was impossible.
M. Perrelet, looking very rotund as he stood forth, was extremely
business-like and medical. He described in technical language M. de la
Rocheterie's very critical condition when he was summoned to him, and
during the whole of that first night; while Laurent behind whispered
delightedly to de Fresne, "That will knock that idiot into a cocked
hat! Listen to the long words and the Latin rolling out!"
"My patient," pronounced the little doctor, "was profoundly unconscious
from the moment of his arrival. In any case a man so near death as he
from haemorrhage is not capable of having relations with any one,
friend or foe. . . . And since I am here," he went on unasked, but
unchecked, "you will like to know, gentlemen, that I can more than
corroborate what M. de Courtomer has said of the disastrous effects of
Colonel Guitton's inquisition a few days later. As to the turning out,
which was done in my absence, I was thunderstruck when I heard of it,
and not in the least surprised that in consequence I had to attend M.
de la Rocheterie for a threatened attack of pneumonia. He had a very
narrow escape of it. Hardly the treatment, altogether, that one accords
to a 'guest'!"
M. de Noirlieu, to Laurent's joy, was looking sour enough now. He
fidgeted with some papers for an instant and then said: "Yes, that's
very convincing--medically. One cannot argue with a doctor. . . . You
were not present, I understand, at the interview with the Colonel over
those cipher notes?"
"No, but I came in the moment afterwards, to find M. de la Rocheterie
almost _in extremis_," replied M. Perrelet rather snappily.
"I should like M. de Courtomer recalled," said M. de Noirlieu.
Laurent came back, full of fight, but wondering what the stout imbecile
wanted now.
"M. de la Rocheterie was, I presume, aware of your presence in the room,
Monsieur de Courtomer, throughout this . . . unpleasant scene with the
Colonel?"
"I should imagine he had something else to think about!" retorted
Laurent with hostility. In a flash he saw what he was after--the man
was a second Guitton!
"He must have known that you were present. Did you, Monsieur de la
Rocheterie?"
"I did," said Aymar curtly.
"And you were aware that he was a Royalist officer--one of your own
side?"
"I was aware of it."
M. de Noirlieu lifted his shoulders. "I think, gentlemen, that
significant fact considerably detracts from the value of M. de la
Rocheterie's refusal to give information--viewed as evidence to
character, that is. Is it likely that he would have given it in front
of a fellow-officer?"
"May I speak, Monsieur le Président?" burst out the witness.
Sol de Grisolles nodded.
"That--that . . ." (he managed to swallow the qualification) "point of
view was precisely Colonel Guitton's when he had failed. I should have
thought that this Court . . ." (again he struggled with himself and
abandoned the sentence). "Gentlemen, as this last interpretation has
been launched, you ought in justice to know that when, later on,
Colonel Guitton--for it was by his connivance--resorted to other means
to make M. de la Rocheterie betray a comrade, and there was nobody
there but the----"
Aymar made a little gesture, and said in a low, quick voice, "For
Heaven's sake, stop, Laurent! That is not relevant!"
But Laurent took no notice, and went on as fast as he could, "--He
opposed precisely the same refusal to that different method. You see,
mon Général, I was safely hidden, but when the search-party found M. de
la Rocheterie ill at the farm----"
He was interrupted again. "One moment, please," said the Marquis de la
Boëssière. "This is a little too elliptical for us to follow. Are we to
understand that you were released at the same time as M. de la
Rocheterie, or what?"
And Aymar seized the opportunity to rise and say with authority, "That
will do, thank you, Monsieur de Courtomer. We need not trouble the
Court with totally irrelevant matter. You can stand down."
But a distinct murmur of "No, no!" went round. Laurent glanced at Aymar;
he meant what he said, no doubt of it. Then he hesitated and looked at
the tribunal.
"--But we should like to hear it, irrelevant or no," said the President.
Aymar was obliged to give in. He sat down. Laurent did not look at him.
He answered the previous question. "No, I was not released, sir. I
escaped the same evening and joined M. de la Rocheterie. We went to a
farm, and, as you have heard, he was ill from the exposure, and it was
then that a party from the château came to search for me; and when they
could not find me, but had M. de la Rocheterie at their mercy, _alone_,
they tried just as vainly to make him betray me by----"
But here Laurent came to an abrupt stop.
"Well, Monsieur de Courtomer?" asked the President after a moment.
Awful and surprising finish! Laurent had so ached to tell this story of
heroism and endurance, and now he could not. His own sensations of the
time came back too vividly, and closed up his throat, precluding
speech. Besides, his tongue did not seem able to find a way of uttering
the thing. He stood there, mute and agonized, with everyone--save
Aymar--gazing at him.
"Do you mean that they threatened him?" suggested the Marquis de la
Boëssière.
And as the hitherto voluble witness shook his head he said almost
impatiently,
"What were the means they used, then?"
At that Laurent managed--but only just--to bring it out.
"They used . . . a red-hot ramrod!" he gasped; and fled the table.
(12)
There was an instant's electric silence. "_What!_" exclaimed several
incredulous and horrified voices from the dais, M. d'Andigné's among
them. "Good--God!" said the Marquis de la Boëssière slowly.
But Laurent, without waiting for permission, was already back in his
place, his elbows on his knees, his head between his fists, heedless of
what, under cover of the general sensation, M. Perrelet on the one side
was disjointedly asking him, and of de Fresne swearing below his breath
on the other. "Ought I to have done it? ought I to have done it?" he
was saying to himself. "And will he forgive me?"
And all through the low-voiced conference among the Court which
followed, and the subdued hum of the audience, he was more and more
conscious (though he dared only glance at it) of the back of that
figure in front of him. At first Aymar had covered his face. Suppose he
did not forgive him!
Ah, here was Sol de Grisolles getting to his feet at last.
"I think, gentlemen, that we do not need any more testimony as to M. de
la Rocheterie's conduct after the disaster, and as we now have M.
d'Andigné's evidence as to the _bona fides_ of the scheme he used, the
case is practically at an end. None of the Court has any further
questions to ask, since we do not propose to enquire into this last
shocking episode. Have you yourself, Monsieur de la Rocheterie,
anything more that you wish to say?"
Aymar lifted his head from his hands and stood up. "Nothing, thank you,
mon Général."
"Then I declare the case closed, and I will ask all present to withdraw
while the Court deliberates."
They followed the orderly to a little room opening off the hall.
Directly the door was closed Colonel Richard went up to Aymar.
"I am more horrified than I can say at hearing of your treatment at
Arbelles," he said, in a voice which indeed showed his strong emotion.
"And as for this last outrage--torture--I have no words for it!"
Aymar flushed. "Oh, that was nothing. And I had no intention whatever of
having it brought out in Court--I never dreamt of such a thing."
Laurent could not bear the sensation of estrangement (and at this
juncture, too) a moment longer. He turned round. "Aymar!" he began
imploringly . . . but the Imperialist had not finished.
"I have been deeply shocked also to hear in detail what my own action
led to. Had I not surrendered that letter----"
"And if I, still more, had not taken it back to the wood!" put in de
Fresne.
"Gentlemen," said M. Perrelet, also intervening, and plucking the last
two speakers by the arm, "I think that if M. de la Rocheterie--you will
remember that he has been very ill--were to sit down quietly
now. . . ."
"Of course," said Colonel Richard instantly, and he and de Fresne
withdrew themselves, while M. Perrelet shepherded his ex-patient to a
bench in the corner, and sat down in silence beside him, with a hand on
his wrist.
Near Laurent, Colonel Richard and de Fresne were now commenting
optimistically on d'Andigné's extraordinarily opportune appearance. But
Laurent had no eyes for any one save Aymar, sitting there silent with
closed eyes, his head against the wall. His face was like a cameo, as
drained of colour and as passionless, too; he gave the impression of
having passed beyond suspense, but of being nearly slain with fatigue.
But as the offender miserably studied him the closed eyes opened. Aymar
looked across at him and smiled. Then he made a little motion with his
other hand. Laurent went, hesitatingly, and sat down by him (the
guardian on the other side not attempting to say him nay), and though
Aymar did not stir and had shut his eyes again, the hand which had
beckoned Laurent there closed on his. He was forgiven--without a word.
And in the odd silence which now fell on all of them he, holding that
hand, had to force himself to realize that this was the crisis, the
dividing line, that Aymar's whole future hung on what those men in
there (how could he so flippantly have called them the Nine Muses?)
were deciding. They could not now find him guilty, after M. d'Andigné's
evidence. But suppose they were not sufficiently agreed to acquit him?
There was "Fouquier-Tinville" and that stubborn de Noirlieu. Oh, that
was inconceivable! A fit of bitter revolt seized him. Why had Aymar
submitted himself into their hands? As if their opinion mattered!
But it did matter, now! Involuntarily, he clutched the cold hand
tighter. De Fresne had begun to walk nervously up and down, but Colonel
Richard was still leaning against the wall with his arms folded; the
doctor was watching Aymar attentively. . . .
Steps outside--the orderly at last. There was nothing to be learnt from
his face. "If you will come back now, gentlemen?"
Their hands fell apart. Aymar got up instantly. Without a look, even at
Laurent, he walked to the door, and the others followed him in silence.
It came to Laurent, as they went through, that by the position of the
sword on the table they would know his fate. So, not very sensibly, he
shut his eyes for a second. . . . Then the blood rushed to his head.
The hilt of Aymar's sword was towards him. . . . Somehow he was back in
his place, standing as they all were, his attention divided between the
President risen to address the acquitted, and Aymar's motionless figure
in front of him. Why had the old Chouan put on spectacles to deliver
judgment, since he was looking over, not through them? His voice came,
relieved and kindly:
"I have great pleasure in announcing to you, Monsieur de la Rocheterie,
that the Court unanimously finds you innocent of the slightest
intention of treachery when you sent your subordinate's letter to the
Imperialists, and holds that you had sufficient grounds for considering
your preconceived plan feasible. It does not, therefore, blame you, in
the exceptional circumstances, for attempting to carry it out. For your
efforts to prevent the disaster and your whole conduct afterwards we
have nothing but praise, and not least for your courage in voluntarily
submitting to a very painful ordeal. And if you will come forward,
Monsieur, I shall most gladly restore to you your sword . . .
untarnished."
There was an uncontrollable burst of applause from the audience, through
which Laurent heard M. Perrelet beside him sniffing audibly. Aymar
moved; took two steps forward, and then put his hand to his head and
hesitated. Laurent was conscious of a violent nudge from M. Perrelet,
and his voice saying in a loud whisper, "Go with him; he's pretty well
finished!" So he took L'Oiseleur by the arm from behind and steered him
forward to the dais, and was thankful to see that the President,
realizing the state of affairs, was not waiting for him to mount the
steps to the table, but was coming round to the top of them with the
sword. And here, with a word or two of congratulation, he laid the
weapon in its owner's hands. Aymar lifted it to his lips, tried to say
something . . . then, clutching it to his breast, reeled suddenly
backwards into the arms of Laurent and du Tremblay, who already on the
watch, had jumped down from his place at the end of the table.
He was indeed "finished"; but they kept him on his feet until, someone
producing a chair, they lowered him into it, and Laurent, kneeling by
him with his arm round him, disengaged the sword from his grasp. In
another moment M. Perrelet was bending over him.
"Give him time, gentlemen! . . . Unfit for this . . . a great strain.
But he will be himself again in a little." Nevertheless, he had thrust
his hand inside the breast of Aymar's uniform. "Water?--yes, thank
you!"
And Aymar's head lay against Laurent's shoulder, and Laurent, who rather
thought he was crying himself, and didn't care, was battling with a
most unseasonable desire to kiss it there, before everyone; and would
very likely have succumbed only that he was sure Aymar had not quite
lost consciousness.
Meanwhile, the Court had broken up into little groups; the audience,
though deeply interested, and disposed to quit their seats, kept their
distance. And in a short while, after a period of being finely confused
at what had happened, Aymar had recovered, and stood up, and Laurent,
with shaking fingers, fastened on his sword--he and no other. No other
save he had even touched it.
And, nursing that smaller joy amid the greater, he stood away watching
the little scene of congratulation that ensued, members of the Court
and of the audience alike crowding round that central figure to shake
hands. So he witnessed the long grip, the long wordless look, which du
Tremblay gave.
Last of all came d'Andigné, with that fine smile, and said something in
a low voice which Laurent could not catch; but he saw Aymar flush, and
knew that it was with pleasure. But he did hear the General say, "Then
you will give me the pleasure of your company at supper to-night . . .
as a proof that you bear me no ill-will, Monsieur de la Rocheterie? I
would suggest, in order to spare you the fatigue of the return journey
from Kermelven, where I am staying, that you spend the night at my
château; and I shall give myself the privilege of sending the carriage
for you. I should like also," he went on, "to extend the invitation to
your friend M. de Courtomer, whose acquaintance I am anxious to make."
Aymar turned and beckoned, and Laurent, as he was presented, braced
himself for the ignominy of confessing that he was not in a position to
accept this glorious invitation. Aymar would not remember his
disability . . . . But what was he saying? "I am afraid, General, that
M. de Courtomer will be unable to have the honour of supping with you,
unless you can put in a word for him in the proper quarter. I regret to
say that he is under arrest."
M. d'Andigné's keen gaze turned on the culprit. "Dear me, what for?"
"Because," said Aymar, half smiling, "he had a difference of opinion
with an officer of M. de Margadel's last night, and as the officer is
in bed this morning, and likely to remain there. . . ."
"I see," said the Chevalier d'Andigné with a twinkle. "Oh, I think that
can be arranged, Monsieur de la Rocheterie . . . yes, I think I can
take that on myself. Our little festival would be very incomplete
without M. de Courtomer. Of course, he will honour me by staying the
night also." He turned directly to Laurent. "I think I can guess what
the difference of opinion was about, can I not?" and as Laurent did not
answer, he put his hand for a moment on his shoulder and gave it a
little pressure. After which he asked Aymar if he would be so obliging
as to make him acquainted with Colonel Richard, with whose general he
had been having some correspondence about combining to keep the
unnecessary Prussians out of Brittany. So Aymar crossed the hall with
him.
Meanwhile, M. Perrelet had requested de Fresne to procure a carriage.
"We will drive him home," he said to Laurent and, drawing him aside,
"Oh, my dear boy, that ramrod story! And I had deserted him; you had no
doctor for those burns!" There were tears in the little man's eyes.
"Oh, come," responded Laurent, "Mme Allard and I did not do so badly,
doctor. I shall set up in your line some day." He spoke thus
hilariously because, really, his eyes were in much the same state as M.
Perrelet's. It was so wonderful, so adorable of Aymar, in the midst of
his own triumph and relief, to remember his plight, and to be collected
enough to seize the one available opportunity of getting him out of it.
De Fresne here came back and reported that there was a large and
enthusiastic crowd gathered about the steps outside.
"There is no doubt," he added in a satisfied tone, "that the finding of
the Court is popular." As he said it d'Andigné, Colonel Richard, and
Aymar all returned their way, talking together.
"I should be most willing, Monsieur," came the Imperialist's voice. "If
we combine, foes though we have been, it could be done. We are all
Frenchmen. I know that General Lamarque is most anxious to do it."
"We will enlist L'Oiseleur also in the task," said General d'Andigné.
"But I . . . I have no men now," said Aymar, colouring.
"You have--what I once wished you, Monsieur, if you remember--your sword
again," said Colonel Richard.
"It's your brains, your advice that I want, Monsieur de la Rocheterie,"
said the Royalist. "It will be a matter of arrangement with our allies,
after we have come to an understanding with our compatriots. We can
talk about it this evening. And if only you had the famous _jartier_
back we could try the effects of that on the Prussians."
"But I have got it back," confessed Aymar, "and it is mended, and I am
wearing it at this moment. It is at your service."
"Mended, eh?" said d'Andigné. "Magically, no doubt?"
Aymar suddenly wheeled round and put his hand on Laurent's shoulder.
"Yes, magically," he said. "_He_ mended it . . . like a good many other
things."
His smile pretty well finished Laurent.
To cover his confusion he went out to the steps. His appearance was the
signal for a burst of cheering which very quickly drove him in again.
The crowd was much larger and more expectant than he had realized. He
clutched Aymar, just turning away from du Tremblay, by the arm. "Can
you hear them?" he asked. "In England, you know, we should take the
horses out and drag the carriage. I wonder if MM. de Fresne and
Perrelet are game?"
"I am," observed the little doctor gaily, but Aymar, beginning to move
rather unwillingly towards the door, observed that for nothing on earth
would he trust himself behind Laurent as a horse in his present frame
of mind. "You might take the bit between your teeth and bolt again," he
added with a meaning smile. And he put a hand on the culprit's shoulder
and gave him a little shake. "I don't believe you are an atom penitent,
either. And what was so unpardonable, Laurent, was the inexactitude! I
had told you so many times that it was _not_ red-hot!"
Laurent choked back a queer sound. "Aymar, you really are impayable!
. . . What's the matter?"
Aymar had caught sight of the crowd. "Must I go through that? I would
rather face the ramrod again."
"I'm afraid you must," said Laurent, and seeing that de Fresne and M.
Perrelet and du Tremblay were close behind L'Oiseleur, he darted down
the steps to open the carriage door. So, without meaning to, but with
delight, he saw the picture he should unendingly possess for his
own--Aymar coming down the steps after his ordeal, neither triumphant
nor abashed, but just his own quiet and gallant self.
He had so much eyes only for that descending figure in its beautiful and
unconscious perfection of poise, that it was not till afterwards that
there came to him out of memory the stored scraps he had heard from the
populace as he waited there--among people who wanted to shake hands
with him, too, which rather bored him. "He would not tell--he saved M.
du Tremblay--that's M. du Tremblay himself--they say he was actually
tortured--how pale he looks--I knew a man who was with him in the
Moulin Brûlé----" and the only other actual visual impression he
retained, that of a middle-aged Breton with a firelock slung across his
goatskin, reverently removing his broad-brimmed hat as Aymar
passed--the Chouan who had spat at him yesterday.
(13)
Laurent was in crazy spirits during the meal which followed at Mme
Leblanc's. Particularly did the good M. Perrelet appreciate his
sallies; and even de Fresne, who made the fourth, relaxed into
amusement. "I shall no longer be a 'guest' at that disgusting convent;
to-night we shall both be M. d'Andigné's 'prisoners.'--Do you imagine,
Aymar, that old de Noirlieu will be there--a 'prisoner,' too? I wish
Guitton cadet could be . . . as a footman! I shall go and serenade him
with the news this afternoon; and I shall write to Rigault, and he can
tell them all at Arbelles. Oh, I forgot, Arbelles is evacuated."
"And in any case," observed Aymar, "they would only say that Saint
Sebastian----"
Laurent dropped his knife and fork. His jaw dropped also. "Where on
earth . . . I always hoped that you never knew. . . ."
"My dear Laurent," replied L'Oiseleur, smiling, "your walks on the
terrace did not give you the monopoly of the bons mots of Arbelles. I
also had the privilege of hearing them during my one visit to the
library."
"Of course," said Laurent, when he had got over this, "it was really M.
Perrelet who turned the scale, not M. d'Andigné at all. Imagine being
able to hurl about missiles like 'ecchymosis' and 'haemorrhage'! I am
considering adopting the first as an oath."
"I think," observed M. Perrelet, wiping his eyes (for his was not an
exacting sense of humour), "that you had better go and work this off
outside, my boy. I cannot allow you to remain in the house, because
Aymar" (he made no bones about the Christian name) "is going to bed
this afternoon so as to be in trim for the evening."
So a little later Aymar, lying on his bed, looked up at the young man
and the old and remarked that they were both of them nothing but
tyrants at bottom, and that when they got together one was simply
crushed. "Not," he added, shutting his eyes, "that the process is
altogether repugnant."
"I wish, my poor boy," said M. Perrelet softly, "that I had been there
to tyrannize over this!" And he gently drew his hand down his right
arm. Before Aymar could answer he had left the little room.
Laurent stood a moment longer. Then he suddenly dropped on his knees and
hid his face against the bed.
"Oh, Aymar, at last . . . at last!"
Aymar gave a long, deep, tired sigh. "It was wonderful. . . . And _his_
coming like that--a miracle. . . ."
"_You_ were wonderful!" said Laurent unsteadily.
Perhaps that evening was the most wonderful of all. No more efficacious
method of rehabilitation could probably have been devised than that
supper with General d'Andigné and his staff, where L'Oiseleur was
plainly the guest of the evening, and where yet the host, with
exquisite tact, so arranged matters that it seemed the most natural
thing in the world that he should be there, and not a festivity with an
object. And, in Laurent's eyes, the unanswering patience, courage, and
dignity which Aymar had displayed throughout the enquiry, against
perpetual odds both of bodily weakness and of circumstance, found here
something of their fitting recognition. In the seventh heaven himself,
he thought that, despite the marks of strain, of illness, and of
fatigue, there was no one in the room (except possibly M. d'Andigné
himself) who could hold a candle to him for distinction. And there were
moments when he looked as he had done before the catastrophe, when he
might indeed have been the Aymar of the Paris reception. But he would
never be quite the same again. To Laurent, at least, he was even more
admirable.
Yes, he had come through the sombre forest at last, he had everything
back again now . . . all but one thing, probably, to him, the most
precious of all.
Very late that night, after the guests had dispersed, Laurent went into
the room near his which had been assigned to his friend. It was a room
so large that two candles had little effect on it, but the moon was
streaming in also through the uncurtained window. And across the
majestic fourposter he perceived, by the gleam of his shirt in the
moonlight, that Aymar was sitting on the window-seat, partially
undressed. But his head was down upon his arms on the sill.
Laurent hesitated. He had not meant to intrude on this. Perhaps,
however, he was asleep. Not liking to turn back, either, he went slowly
on past the column of the bed, and by the time he had got round the
foot L'Oiseleur had lifted his head and was looking at him with a
little smile.
"Not in bed, Laurent?" he asked lightly.
"And you?" retorted Laurent. "Think of what M. Perrelet would say after
such a day! It must be about two in the morning, I fancy."
"It has been an evening, certainly. Did you enjoy it?"
"What do you suppose?" inquired Laurent. "--But, Aymar, it was
indescribably mean of you to tell them about that silly dungeon and my
going back for M. Perrelet. You must have known that I was trying to
stop you!"
Aymar made no reply. His smile, however, was sufficient commentary.
"Oh, confound you!" cried Laurent, laughing.
"Well, now you know what it feels like! And _I_ got it over quickly!"
"Really, Aymar, I had no idea you were so vindictive!"
"I am a mine of evil qualities," announced Aymar. "You ought to know
that from Arbelles. How long ago that seems, now. . . . You remind me,
standing there with your candle, Laurent, of further back still, of the
night I spent under your roof in Devonshire, centuries ago, when you
were so polite. You hoped I would sleep well--which I did."
"And I could not believe I was not dreaming, to have you there. It was
then I saw the swan and the motto on your watch. And, Aymar," his voice
shook a trifle and he sat down suddenly on the window-seat, "your motto
is true. You are _'sans tache'_--you always have been!"
Aymar shook his head, smiling a little sadly. But he looked at him with
great affection.
Now, if ever, was the chance to say something about Mme de Villecresne.
"How pleased they will be at Sessignes," remarked the diplomatist,
looking carefully out of the window. The observation sounded inane to
him directly he had uttered it, particularly as Aymar made no reply. It
was no use trying to work round tactfully to the subject, and there was
always the picture of Mme de Villecresne eating her heart out there now
that she was enlightened. Besides, what of Aymar's own tell-tale
attitude when he came in? . . . So he next said boldly, "I suppose you
will go home now?"
"No, I am not going home," replied Aymar; and he also looked out of the
window.
After a moment he turned his head. His pallor was accentuated almost to
ghastliness in the moonlight. "I cannot very well do so. I told my
cousin when I wrote about the enquiry that whether I were cleared or no
I should not come back, and that I hoped she would continue to make
Sessignes her home. I should not trouble her."
Laurent was now terribly bothered. What was the right thing to do? "Oh,
but don't you think----" he began, and then floundered desperately.
"Aymar, I think I ought to tell you . . . yet I don't know whether I
had better . . . I . . . I really wish you would advise me whether to
tell you . . ." and unconscious of the absurdity he was uttering, he
caught hold of Aymar's coat, which lay on the window-seat, and began to
wring a button round and round.
A little smile dawned on Aymar's mouth as he looked at his occupation.
"Better tell me . . . before you have them all off!"
"I . . . I talked to Mme de Villecresne after you left. I . . . I had no
choice--I had to make things clear. She . . . she had not understood,
Aymar--she really had not."
"Sometimes," said Aymar very slowly, and dropping out each word
separately, "I have hoped that, since."
"Yes," responded Laurent eagerly. "You see, when you explained to her
there was so little time--it was so sudden . . . all so horrible and
you never do yourself justice. . . . So I--she asked me, you know, and
I could not go away like that, before she did understand--I explained."
"So you explained," repeated his friend. "That was . . . like you,
Laurent." He put his hand abruptly to his throat, got up with equal
abruptness, and walked away out of the wash of moonlight.
He had told him! Now that Aymar knew that she knew the truth--now,
surely. . . .
Aymar reappeared with startling suddenness, like a ghost.
"Hadn't we better go to bed?" he said in a dry voice.
Laurent jumped up and held out his hands to the ghost.
"Aymar, if you blame me----"
"Blame you? how could you think such a thing! Don't I know that you
would make out a case for me a thousand times better than I could
myself, and that you would do it so that it must be believed--if any
truth in this world is to be believed! And that is just why . . . Never
mind. Why talk of it to-night? Let us go to bed."
But Laurent had laid hold of him. "Aymar--I'm so stupid--for pity's sake
tell me what you mean!"
"Why," answered Aymar, very quietly standing still in his grip, "just
this: she understands _now_ . . . and it has made no difference."
Laurent loosed him, aghast. By telling him what he had done he had taken
away his friend's last hope. He dropped back on to the window-seat.
Aymar sat down there, too, and leant his head against a mullion. "You
see," he said evenly, "that this is a just inference, for she has had
plenty of time to write to me, even if it were only to wish me good
success . . . and I have not had a word. She cannot be ill, or my
grandmother would have mentioned it. So it is not my ineradicable pride
as you call it, Laurent. I am certain that you put things better for me
than I could ever have done myself. Another debt--the deepest, it might
have been, of all I owe you. But it only shows that she has washed her
hands of me. I dare say she has cause."
The moonlight enshrined the two silent figures. Aymar had his chin
cupped on his hand as he looked out of the window into the warm night.
But before Laurent's eyes was the rose-garden at Sessignes, the little
white-clad figure, the misty eyes, the trembling voice. . . . Yet
nothing had come of that emotion, after all.
Aymar turned at last and put a hand on his. "My dear Laurent, one cannot
have everything. Don't, don't look like that! It is not for me to show
myself ungrateful for this wonderful day. I don't think that I quite
realize myself yet that I am no longer an outcast, and that must be my
excuse."
Laurent gripped the hand very hard. "I knew the luck would turn," he
observed rather huskily. "No one could go on having such appalling bad
fortune as you since you lost the _jartier_."
"I suppose," said Aymar softly, "that it has never occurred to you in
your imaginative moments--no, I'm certain it has not--that all the time
I had something a thousand times better than the _jartier_ . . . a
piece of such transcendent good fortune that I might well spend the
rest of my life thanking God for it!"
"What do you mean?" exclaimed Laurent. "No, certainly it has not. . . .
Still, of course you were very lucky in having an opponent of the type
of Colonel Richard, and again in coming across him as you did at----"
He stopped, because Aymar was gently shaking him.
"Is it nature or art, Laurent, that has made you so thick-headed? You
don't know what I mean? Well, go and stand in front of your
looking-glass, and perhaps it will dawn upon you!"
But it dawned then and there, for as he stared at him Laurent slowly
began to turn crimson.