CHAPTER IV

THE EMPRESS' MILLIONS

I

De Marmont, having successfully shot his poisoned arrow and brought down

his enemy, had no longer any ill-feeling against Clyffurde. His jealousy

had been short-lived; it was set at rest by the brief episode which had

culminated in the Englishman's final exit from the Castle of Brestalou.

Not a single detail of that moving little episode had escaped de

Marmont's keen eyes: he had seen Crystal's look of positive abhorrence

wherewith she had regarded Clyffurde, he had seen the gathering up of

her skirts away--as it were--from the contaminating propinquity of the

"English spy."

And de Marmont was satisfied.

He was perfectly ready to pick up the strained strands of friendship

with the Englishman and affected not to notice the latter's absorption

and moodiness.

"Can I drive you into Grenoble, my good Clyffurde?" he asked airily as

he paused on the top of the perron steps, waiting for the hackney coach.

"I thank you," replied Clyffurde; "I prefer to walk."

"It is eight kilometres and a pitch-dark night."

"I know my way, I thank you."

"Just as you like."

He paused a moment, and began humming the "Marseillaise." Clyffurde

started walking down the monumental steps.

"Well, I'll say 'good-night,' de Marmont," he said coldly. "And

'good-bye,' too."

"You are not going away?" queried the other.

"As soon as I can get the means of going."

"Troops will be on the move all over the country soon. Foreigners will

be interned. You will have some difficulty in getting away."

"I know that. That's why I want to make arrangements as early as

possible."

"Where will you stay in the meanwhile?"

"Possibly at the 'Trois-Dauphins' if I can get a room."

"I shall see you again then. The Emperor will stay there while he is in

Grenoble. Well, good-night, my dear friend," said de Marmont, as he

extended a cordial hand to Clyffurde, who, in the dark, evidently failed

to see it. "And don't take the insults of all these fools too much to

heart." And he gave an expressive nod in the direction of the stately

castle behind him.

"They are dolts," he continued airily; "if they possessed a grain of

sense they would have kept on friendly terms with me. As that old fool's

son-in-law I could have saved him from all the reprisals which will

inevitably fall on all these royalist traitors, now that the Emperor has

come into his own again."

Clyffurde was half-way down the stone steps when these words of de

Marmont struck upon his ear. Instinctively he retraced his steps. There

was a suggestion of impending danger to Crystal in what the young man

had said.

"What do you mean by talking about reprisals?" he asked.

"Oh! . . . only the inevitable," replied de Marmont. "The people of the

Dauphiné never cared for these royalists, you know . . . and didn't

learn to like them any better in these past eleven months since the

Restoration. M. le Comte de Cambray has been very high and mighty since

his return from exile. He may yet come to wish that he had never quitted

the comfortable little provincial town in England where he gave drawing

lessons and French lessons to some very bourgeois boys. . . . But here's

that coach at last!" he continued with that jaunty air which he had

assumed since turning his back upon the reception halls of Brestalou.

"Are you sure that you would rather walk than drive with me?"

"No," replied Clyffurde abruptly, "I am not sure. Thank you very much. I

think that if you don't object to my somewhat morose company I would

like a lift as far as Grenoble."

He wanted to make de Marmont talk, to hear what the young man had to

say. From it he thought that he could learn more accurately what danger

would threaten Brestalou in the event of Napoleon's successful march to

Paris.

That the great adventurer's triumph would be short-lived Clyffurde was

perfectly sure. He knew the temper of England and believed in the

military genius of Wellington. England would never tolerate for a moment

longer than she could help that the firebrand of Europe should once more

sit upon the throne of France, and unless the allies had greatly altered

their policy in the past ten months and refused England the necessary

support, Wellington would be more than a match for the decimated army of

Bonaparte.

But a few weeks--months, perhaps, might elapse before Napoleon was once

again put entirely out of action--and this time more completely and more

effectually than with a small kingdom wherein to dream again of European

conquests; during those weeks and months Brestalou and its inhabitants

would be at the mercy of the man from Corsica--the island of unrest and

of never sleeping vendetta.

De Marmont was ready enough to talk. He knew nothing, of course, of

Napoleon's plans and ideas save what Emery had told him. But what he

lacked in knowledge he more than made up in imagination. Excitement too

had made him voluble. He talked freely and incessantly: "The Emperor

would do this. . . . The Emperor will never tolerate that . . ." was all

the time on his lips.

He bragged and he swaggered, launched into passionate eulogies of the

Emperor, and fiery denunciations of his enemies. Berthier, Clark,

Foucher, de Marmont, they all deserved death. Ney alone was to be

pardoned, for Ney was a fine soldier--always supposing that Ney would

repent. But men like the Comte de Cambray were a pest in any

country--mischief-making and intriguing. Bah! the Emperor will never

tolerate them.

Suddenly Clyffurde--who had become half-drowsy, lulled to somnolence by

de Marmont's incessant chatter and the monotonous jog-trot of the

horses--woke to complete consciousness. He pricked his ears and in a

moment was all attention.

"They think that they can deceive me," de Marmont was saying airily.

"They think that I am as great a fool as they are, with their talk of

Mme. la Duchesse's journey north, directly after the wedding! Bah! any

dolt can put two and two together: the Comte tells me in one breath that

he had a visit from Fourier in the afternoon, and that the Duchesse--who

only arrived in Brestalou yesterday--would leave again for Paris on the

day after to-morrow, and he tells it me with a mysterious air, and adds

a knowing wink, and a promise that he would explain himself more fully

later on. I could have laughed--if it were not all so miserably stupid."

He paused for want of breath and tried to peer through the window of the

coach.

"It is pitch-dark," he said, "but we can't be very far from the city

now."

"I don't see," rejoined Clyffurde, ostentatiously smothering a yawn,

"what M. le préfet's visit to Brestalou had to do with the Duchesse's

journey to the north. You have got intrigues on the brain, my good de

Marmont."

And with well-feigned indifference, he settled himself more cosily into

the dark corner of the carriage.

De Marmont laughed. "What Fourier's afternoon visit has to do with Mme.

d'Agen's journey?" he retorted, "I'll tell you, my good Clyffurde.

Fourier went to see M. le Comte de Cambray this afternoon because he is

a poltroon. He is terrified at the thought that the unfortunate Empress'

money and treasure are still lying in the cellars of the Hôtel de Ville

and he went out to Brestalou in order to consult with the Comte what had

best be done with the money."

"I didn't know the ex-Empress' money was lying in the cellar of the

Hôtel de Ville," remarked Clyffurde with well-assumed indifference.

"Nor did I until Emery told me," rejoined de Marmont. "The money is

there though: stolen from the Empress Marie Louise by that

arch-intriguer Talleyrand. Twenty-five millions in notes and drafts! the

Emperor reckons on it for current expenses until he has reached Paris

and taken over the Treasury."

"Even then I don't see what Mme. la Duchesse d'Agen has to do with it."

"You don't," said de Marmont drily: "but I did in a moment. Fourier

wouldn't keep the money at the Hôtel de Ville: the Comte de Cambray

would not allow it to be deposited in his house. They both want the

Bourbon to have it. So--in order to lull suspicion--they have decided

that Madame la Duchesse shall take the money to Paris."

"Well!--perhaps!--" said Clyffurde with a yawn. "But are we not in

Grenoble yet?"

Once more he lapsed into silence, closed his eyes and to all intents and

purposes fell asleep, for never another word did de Marmont get out of

him, until Grenoble was reached and the rue Montorge.

Here de Marmont had his lodgings, three doors from the "Hôtel des

Trois-Dauphins," where fortunately Clyffurde managed to secure a

comfortable room for himself.

He parted quite amicably from de Marmont, promising to call in upon him

in the morning. It would be foolish to quarrel with that young wind-bag

now. He knew some things, and talked of a great many more.

II

Preparations against the arrival of the Corsican ogre were proceeding

apace. Général Marchand had been overconfident throughout the day--which

was the 5th of March: "The troops," he said, "were loyal to a man. They

were coming in fast from Chambéry and Vienne; the garrison would and

could repulse that band of pirates, and take upon itself to fulfil the

promise which Ney had made to the King--namely to bring the ogre to His

Majesty bound and gagged in an iron cage."

But the following day, which was the 6th, many things occurred to shake

the Commandant's confidence: Napoleon's proclamation was not only posted

up all over the town, but the citizens were distributing the printed

leaflets among themselves: one of the officers on the staff pointed out

to Général Marchand that the 4th regiment of artillery quartered in

Grenoble was the one in which Bonaparte had served as a lieutenant

during the Revolution--the men, it was argued, would never turn their

arms against one whom they had never ceased to idolize: it would not be

safe to march out into the open with men whose loyalty was so very

doubtful.

There was a rumour current in the town that when the men of the 5th

regiment of engineers and the 4th of artillery were told that Napoleon

had only eleven hundred men with him, they all murmured with one accord:

"And what about us?"

Therefore Général Marchand, taking all these facts into consideration,

made up his mind to await the ogre inside the walls of Grenoble. Here at

any rate defections and desertions would be less likely to occur than in

the field. He set to work to organise the city into a state of defence;

forty-seven guns were put in position upon the ramparts which dominate

the road to the south, and he sent a company of engineers and a

battalion of infantry to blow up the bridge of Ponthaut at La Mure.

The royalists in the city, who were beginning to feel very anxious, had

assembled in force to cheer these troops as they marched out of the

city. But the attitude of the sapeurs created a very unpleasant

impression: they marched out in disorder, some of them tore the white

cockade from their shakos, and one or two cries of "Vive l'Empereur!"

were distinctly heard in their ranks.

At La Mure, M. le Maire argued very strongly against the destruction of

the bridge of Ponthaut: "It would be absurd," he said, "to blow up a

valuable bridge, since not one kilometre away there was an excellent

ford across which Napoleon could march his troops with perfect ease."

The sapeurs murmured an assent, and their officer, Colonel Delessart,

feeling the temper of his men, did not dare insist.

He quartered them at La Mure to await the arrival of the infantry, and

further orders from Général Marchand. When the 5th regiment of infantry

was reported to have reached Laffray, Delessart had the sapeurs out and

marched out to meet them, although it was then close upon midnight.

While Delessart and his troops encamped at Laffray, Cambronne--who was

in command of Napoleon's vanguard--himself occupied La Mure. This was on

the 7th. The Mayor--who had so strongly protested against the

destruction of the bridge of Ponthaut--gathered the population around

him, and in a body men, women and children marched out of the borough

along the Corps-Sisteron road in order to give "the Emperor" a rousing

welcome.

It was still early morning. Napoleon at the head of his Old Guard

entered La Mure; a veritable ovation greeted him, everyone pressed round

him to see him or touch his horse, his coat, his stirrups; he spoke to

the people and held the Mayor and municipal officials in long

conversation.

Just as practically everywhere else on his route, he had won over every

heart; but his small column which had been eleven hundred strong when he

landed at Jouan, was still only eleven hundred strong: he had only

rallied four recruits to his standard. True, he had met with no

opposition, true that the peasantry of the Dauphiné had loudly acclaimed

him, had listened to his harangues and presented him with flowers, but

he had not had a single encounter with any garrison on his way, nor

could he boast of any defections in his favour; now he was nearing

Grenoble--Grenoble, which was strongly fortified and well

garrisoned--and Grenoble would be the winning or losing cast of this

great gamble for the sovereignty of France.

It was close on eleven when the great adventurer set out upon this

momentous stage of his journey: the Polish Lancers leading, then the

chasseurs of his Old Guard with their time-worn grey coats and heavy

bear-skins; some of them were on foot, others packed closely together in

wagons and carts which the enthusiastic agriculturists of La Mure had

placed at the disposal of "the Emperor."

Napoleon himself followed in his coach, his horse being led along.

Amidst thundering cries of "God speed" the small column started on its

way.

As for the rest, 'tis in the domain of history; every phase of it has

been put on record:--Delessart--worried in his mind that he had not been

able to obey Général Marchand's orders and destroy the bridge of

Ponthaut--his desire to communicate once more with the General; his

decision to await further orders and in the meanwhile to occupy the

narrow defile of Laffray as being an advantageous position wherein to

oppose the advance of the ogre: all this on the one side.

On the other, the advance of the Polish Lancers, of the carts and wagons

wherein are crowded the soldiers of the Old Guard, and Napoleon himself,

the great gambler, sitting in his coach gazing out through the open

windows at the fair land of France, the peaceful valley on his left, the

chain of ice-covered lakes and the turbulent Drac; on his right beyond

the hills frowning Taillefer, snow-capped and pine-clad, and far ahead

Grenoble still hidden from his view as the future too was still

hidden--the mysterious gate beyond which lay glory and an Empire or the

ignominy of irretrievable failure.

History has made a record of it all, and it is not the purpose of this

true chronicle to do more than recall with utmost brevity the chief

incident of that memorable encounter, the Polish Lancers galloping back

with the report that the narrow pass was held against them in strong

force: the Old Guard climbing helter-skelter out of carts and wagons,

examining their arms, making ready: Napoleon stepping quickly out of his

coach and mounting his charger.

On the other side Delessart holding hurried consultation with the

Vicomte de St. Genis whom Général Marchand has despatched to him with

orders to shoot the brigand and his horde as he would a pack of wolves.

Napoleon is easily recognisable in the distance, with his grey overcoat,

his white horse and his bicorne hat; presently he dismounts and walks up

and down across the narrow road, evidently in a state of great mental

agitation.

Delessart's men are sullen and silent; a crowd of men and women from

Grenoble have followed them up thus far; they work their way in and out

among the infantrymen: they have printed leaflets in their hands which

they cram one by one into the hands or pockets of the soldiers--copies

of Napoleon's proclamation.

Now an officer of the Old Guard is seen to ride up the pass. Delessart

recognises him. They were brothers in arms two years ago and served

together under the greatest military genius the world has ever known.

Napoleon has sent the man on as an emissary, but Delessart will not

allow him to speak.

"I mean to do my duty," he declares.

But in his voice too there has already crept that note of sullenness

which characterised the sapeurs from the first.

Then Captain Raoul, own aide-de-camp to Napoleon, comes up at full

gallop: nor does he draw rein till he is up with the entire front of

Delessart's battalion.

"Your Emperor is coming," he shouts to the soldiers, "if you fire, the

first shot will reach him: and France will make you answerable for this

outrage!"

While he shouts and harangues the men are still sullen and silent. And

in the distance the lances of the Polish cavalry gleam in the sun, and

the shaggy bear-skins of the Old Guard are seen to move forward up the

pass. Delessart casts a rapid piercing glance over his men. Sullenness

had given place to obvious terror.

"Right about turn! . . . Quick! . . . March!" he commands.

Resistance obviously would be useless with these men, who are on the

verge of laying down their arms. He forces on a quick march, but the

Polish Lancers are already gaining ground: the sound of their horses'

hoofs stamping the frozen ground, the snorting, the clanging of arms is

distinctly heard. Delessart now has no option. He must make his men turn

once more and face the ogre and his battalion before they are attacked

in the rear.

As soon as the order is given and the two little armies stand face to

face the Polish Lancers halt and the Old Guard stand still.

And it almost seems for the moment as if Nature herself stood still and

listened, and looked on. The genial midday sun is slowly melting the

snow on pine trees and rocks; one by one the glistening tiny crystals

blink and vanish under the warmth of the kiss; the hard, white road

darkens under the thaw and slowly a thin covering of water spreads over

the icy crust of the lakes.

Napoleon tells Colonel Mallet to order the men to lower their arms.

Mallet protests, but Napoleon reiterates the command, more peremptorily

this time, and Mallet must obey. Then at the head of his old chasseurs,

thus practically disarmed, the Emperor--and he is every inch an Emperor

now--walks straight up to Delessart's opposing troops.

Hot-headed St. Genis cries: "Here he is!--Fire, in Heaven's name!"

But the sapeurs--the old regiment in which Napoleon had served as a

young lieutenant in those glorious olden days--are now as pale as death,

their knees shake under them, their arms tremble in their hands.

At ten paces away from the foremost ranks Napoleon halts:

"Soldiers," he cries loudly. "Here I am! your Emperor, do you know me?"

Again he advances and with a calm gesture throws open his well-worn grey

redingote.

"Fire!" cries St. Genis in mad exasperation.

"Fire!" commands Delessart in a voice rendered shaky with overmastering

emotion.

Silence reigns supreme. Napoleon still advances, step by step, his

redingote thrown open, his broad chest challenging the first bullet

which would dare to end the bold, adventurous, daring life.

"Is there one of you soldiers here who wants to shoot his Emperor? If

there is, here I am! Fire!"

Which of these soldiers who have served under him at Jena and Austerlitz

could resist such a call. His voice has lost nothing yet of its charm,

his personality nothing of its magic. Ambitious, ruthless, selfish he

may be, but to the army, a friend, a comrade as well as a god.

Suddenly the silence is broken. Shouts of "Vive l'Empereur!" rend the

air, they echo down the narrow valley, re-echo from hill to hill and

reverberate upon the pine-clad heights of Taillefer. Broken are the

ranks, white cockades fly in every direction, tricolours appear in their

hundreds everywhere. Shakos are waved on the points of the bayonets, and

always, always that cry: "Vive l'Empereur!"

Sapeurs and infantrymen crowd around the little man in the worn grey

redingote, and he with that rough familiarity which bound all soldiers'

hearts to him, seizes an old sergeant by the ends of his long moustache:

"So, you old dog," he says, "you were going to shoot your Emperor, were

you?"

"Not me," replies the man with a growl. "Look at our guns. Not one of

them was loaded."

Delessart, in despair yet shaken to the heart, his eyes swimming in

tears, offers his sword to Napoleon, whereupon the Emperor grasps his

hand in friendship and comforts him with a few inspiring words.

Only St. Genis has looked on all this scene with horror and contempt.

His royalist opinions are well known, his urgent appeal to Delessart a

while ago to "shoot the brigand and his hordes" still rings in every

soldier's ear. He is half-crazy with rage and there is quite an element

of terror in the confused thoughts which crowd in upon his brain.

Already the sapeurs and infantrymen have joined the ranks of the Old

Guard, and Napoleon, with that inimitable verve and inspiring eloquence

of which he was pastmaster, was haranguing his troops. Just then three

horsemen, dressed in the uniform of officers of the National Guard and

wearing enormous tricolour cockades as large as soup-plates on their

shakos, are seen to arrive at a break-neck gallop down the pass from

Grenoble.

St. Genis recognised them at a glance: they were Victor de Marmont,

Surgeon-Captain Emery and their friend the glovemaker, Dumoulin. The

next moment these three men were at the feet of their beloved hero.

"Sire," said Dumoulin the glovemaker, "in the name of the citizens of

Grenoble we hereby offer you our services and one hundred thousand

francs collected in the last twenty-four hours for your use."

"I accept both," replied the Emperor, while he grasped vigorously the

hands of his three most devoted friends.

St. Genis uttered a loud and comprehensive curse: then he pulled his

horse abruptly round and with such a jerk that it reared and plunged

madly forward ere it started galloping away with its frantic rider in

the direction of Grenoble.

III

And Grenoble itself was in a turmoil.

In the barracks the cries of "Vive l'Empereur!" were incessant; Général

Marchand was indefatigable in his efforts to still that cry, to rouse in

the hearts of the soldiers a sense of loyalty to the King.

"Your country and your King," he shouted from barrack-room to

barrack-room.

"Our country and our Emperor!" responded the soldiers with ever-growing

enthusiasm.

The spirit of the army and of the people were Bonapartist to the core.

They had never trusted either Marchand or préfet Fourier, who had turned

their coats so readily at the Restoration: they hated the émigrés--the

Comte de Cambray, the Vicomte de St. Genis, the Duc d'Embrun--with their

old-fashioned ideas of the semi-divine rights of the nobility second

only to the godlike ones of the King. They thought them arrogant and

untamed, over-ready to grab once more all the privileges which a bloody

Revolution had swept away.

To them Napoleon, despite the brilliant days of the Empire, despite his

autocracy, his militarism and his arrogance, represented "the people,"

the advanced spirit of the Revolution; his downfall had meant a return

to the old regime--the regime of feudal rights, of farmers general, of

heavy taxation and dear bread.

"Vive l'Empereur!" was cried in the barracks and "Vive l'Empereur!" at

the street corners.

A squadron of Hussars had marched into Grenoble from Vienne just before

noon: the same squadron which a few months ago at a revue by the Comte

d'Artois in the presence of the King had shouted "Vive l'Empereur!" What

faith could be put in their loyalty now?

But two infantry regiments came in at the same time from Chambéry and on

these Général Marchand hoped to be able to reckon. The Comte Charles de

la Bédoyère was in command of the 7th regiment, and though he had served

in Prussia under Napoleon he had tendered his oath loyally to Louis

XVIII. at the Restoration. He was a tried and able soldier and Marchand

believed in him. The General himself reviewed both infantry regiments on

the Place d'Armes on their arrival, and then posted them upon the

ramparts of the city, facing direct to the southeast and dominating the

road to La Mure.

De la Bédoyère remained in command of the 7th.

For two hours he paced the ramparts in a state of the greatest possible

agitation. The nearness of Napoleon, of the man who had been his comrade

in arms first and his leader afterwards, had a terribly disturbing

effect upon his spirit. From below in the city the people's mutterings,

their grumbling, their sullen excitement seemed to rise upwards like an

intoxicating incense. The attitude of the troops, of the gunners, as

well as of the garrison and of his own regiment, worked more potently

still upon the Colonel's already shaken loyalty.

Then suddenly his mind is made up. He draws his sword and shouts: "Vive

l'Empereur!"

"Soldiers!" he calls. "Follow me! I will show you the way to duty!

Follow me! Vive l'Empereur!"

"Vive l'Empereur!" vociferate the troops.

"After me, my men! to the Bonne Gate! After me!" cries De la Bédoyère.

And to the shouts of "Vive l'Empereur!" the 7th regiment of infantry

passes through the gate and marches along the streets of the suburb on

towards La Mure.

Général Marchand, hastily apprised of the wholesale defection, sends

Colonel Villiers in hot haste in the wake of De la Bédoyère. Villiers

comes up with the latter two kilomètres outside Grenoble. He talks, he

persuades, he admonishes, he scolds, De la Bédoyère and his men are

firm.

"Your country and your king!" shouts Villiers.

"Our country and our Emperor!" respond the men. And they go to join the

Old Guard at Laffray while Villiers in despair rides back into Grenoble.

In the town the desertion of the 7th has had a very serious effect. The

muttered cries of "Vive l'Empereur!" are open shouts now. Général

Marchand is at his wits' ends. He has ordered the closing of every city

gate, and still the soldiers in batches of tens and twenties at a time

contrive to escape out of the town carrying their arms and in many cases

baggage with them. The royalist faction--the women as well as the

men--spend the whole day in and out of the barrack-rooms talking to the

men, trying to infuse into them loyalty to the King, and to cheer them

up by bringing them wine and provisions.

In the afternoon the Vicomte de St. Genis, sick, exhausted, his horse

covered with lather, comes back with the story of the pass of Laffray,

and Napoleon's triumphant march toward Grenoble. Marchand seriously

contemplates evacuating the city in order to save the garrison and his

stores.

Préfet Fourier congratulates himself on his foresight and on that he has

transferred the twenty-five million francs from the cellars of the Hôtel

de Ville into the safe keeping of M. le Comte de Cambray. He and Général

Marchand both hope and think that "the brigand and his horde" cannot

possibly be at the gates of Grenoble before the morrow, and that Mme. la

Duchesse d'Agen would be well on her way to Paris with the money by that

time.

Marchand in the meanwhile has made up his mind to retire from the city

with his troops. It is only a strategical measure, he argues, to save

bloodshed and to save his stores, pending the arrival of the Comte

d'Artois at Lyons, with the army corps. He gives the order for the

general retreat to commence at two o'clock in the morning.

Satisfied that he has done the right thing, he finally goes back to his

quarters in the Hotel du Dauphiné close to the ramparts. The Comte de

Cambray is his guest at dinner, and toward seven o'clock the two men at

last sit down to a hurried meal, both their minds filled with

apprehension and not a little fear as to what the next few days will

bring.

"It is, of course, only a question of time," says the Comte de Cambray

airily. "Monseigneur le Comte d'Artois will be at Lyons directly with

forty thousand men, and he will easily crush that marauding band of

pirates. But this time the Corsican after his defeat must be put more

effectually out of harm's way. I, personally, was never much in favour

of Elba."

"The English have some islands out in the Atlantic or the Pacific,"

responds Général Marchand with firm decision. "It would be safest to

shoot the brigand, but failing that, let the English send him to one of

those islands, and undertake to guard him well."

"Let us drink to that proposition, my dear Marchand," concludes M. le

Comte with a smile.

Hardly had the two men concluded this toast, when a fearful din is

heard, "regular howls" proceeding from the suburb of Bonne. The windows

of the hotel give on the ramparts and the house itself dominates the

Bonne Gate and the military ground beyond it. Hastily Marchand jumps up

from the table and throws open the window. He and the Comte step out

upon the balcony.

The din has become deafening: with a hand that slightly trembles now

Général Marchand points to the extensive grounds that lie beyond the

city gate, and M. le Comte quickly smothers an exclamation of terror.

A huge crowd of peasants armed with scythes and carrying torches which

flicker in the frosty air have invaded the slopes and flats of the

military zone. They are yelling "Vive l'Empereur!" at the top of their

voices, and from walls and bastions reverberates the answering cry "Vive

l'Empereur!" vociferated by infantrymen and gunners and sapeurs, and

echoed and re-echoed with passionate enthusiasm by the people of

Grenoble assembled in their thousands in the narrow streets which abut

upon the ramparts.

And in the midst of the peasantry, surrounded by them as by a cordon,

Napoleon and his small army, just reinforced by the 7th regiment of

infantry, have halted--expectant.

Napoleon's aide-de-camp, Capitaine Raoul, accompanied by half a dozen

lancers, comes up to the palisade which bars the immediate approach to

the city gates.

"Open!" he cries loudly, so loudly that his young, firm voice rises

above the tumult around. "Open! in the name of the Emperor!"

Marchand sees it all, he hears the commanding summons, hears the

thunderous and enthusiastic cheers which greet Captain Raoul's call to

surrender. He and the Comte de Cambray are still standing upon the

balcony of the hotel that faces the gate of Bonne and dominates from its

high ground the ramparts opposite. White-cheeked and silent the two men

have gazed before them and have understood. To attempt to stem this tide

of popular enthusiasm would inevitably be fatal. The troops inside

Grenoble were as ready to cross over to "the brigand's" standard as was

Colonel de la Bédoyère's regiment of infantry.

The ramparts and the surrounding military zone were lit up by hundreds

of torches; by their flickering light the two men on the balcony could

see the faces of the people, and those of the soldiers who were even now

being ordered to fire upon Raoul and the Lancers.

Colonel Roussille, who is in command of the troops at the gate, sends a

hasty messenger to Général Marchand: "The brigand demands that we open

the gate!" reports the messenger breathlessly.

"Tell the Colonel to give the order to fire," is Marchand's peremptory

response.

"Are you coming with me, M. le Comte?" he asks hurriedly. But he does

not wait for a reply. Wrapping his cloak around him, he goes in the wake

of the messenger. M. le Comte de Cambray is close on his heels.

Five minutes later the General is up on the ramparts. He has thrown a

quick, piercing glance round him. There are two thousand men up here,

twenty guns, ammunition in plenty. Out there only peasants and a

heterogeneous band of some fifteen hundred men. One shot from a gun

perhaps would send all that crowd flying, the first fusillade might

scatter "the band of brigands," but Marchand cannot, dare not give the

positive order to fire; he knows that rank insubordination, positive

refusal to obey would follow.

He talks to the men, he harangues, he begs them to defend their city

against this "horde of Corsican pirates."

To every word he says, the men but oppose the one cry: "Vive

l'Empereur!"

The Comte de Cambray turns in despair to M. de St. Genis, who is a

captain of artillery and whose men had hitherto been supposed to be

tried and loyal royalists.

"If the men won't fire, Maurice," asks the Comte in despair, "cannot the

officers at least fire the first shot?"

"M. le Comte," replies St. Genis through set teeth, for his heart was

filled with wrath and shame at the defection of his men, "the gunners

have declared that if the officers shoot, the men will shatter them to

pieces with their own batteries."

The crowds outside the gate itself are swelling visibly. They press in

from every side toward the city loudly demanding the surrender of the

town. "Open the gates! open!" they shout, and their clamour becomes more

insistent every moment. Already they have broken down the palisades

which surround the military zone, they pour down the slopes against the

gate. But the latter is heavy, and massive, studded with iron, stoutly

resisting axe or pick.

"Open!" they cry. "Open! in the Emperor's name!"

They are within hailing distance of the soldiers on the ramparts: "What

price your plums?" they shout gaily to the gunners.

"Quite cheap," retort the latter with equal gaiety, "but there's no

danger of the Emperor getting any."

The women sing the old couplet:

"Bon! Bon! Napoléon

Va rentrer dans sa maison!"

and the soldiers on the ramparts take up the refrain:

"Nous allons voir le grand Napoléon

Le vainqueur de toutes les nations!"

"What can we do, M. le Comte?" says Général Marchand at last. "We shall

have to give in."

"I'll not stay and see it," replies the Comte. "I should die of shame."

Even while the two men are talking and discussing the possibilities of

an early surrender, Napoleon himself has forced his way through the

tumultuous throng of his supporters, and accompanied by Victor de

Marmont and Colonel de la Bédoyère he advances as far as the gate which

still stands barred defiantly against him.

"I command you to open this gate!" he cries aloud.

Colonel Roussille, who is in command, replies defiantly: "I only take

orders from the General himself."

"He is relieved of his command," retorts Napoleon.

"I know my duty," insists Roussille. "I only take orders from the

General."

Victor de Marmont, intoxicated with his own enthusiasm, maddened with

rage at sight of St. Genis, whose face is just then thrown into vivid

light by the glare of the torches, cries wildly: "Soldiers of the

Emperor, who are being forced to resist him, turn on those treacherous

officers of yours, tear off their epaulettes, I say!"

His shrill and frantic cries seem to precipitate the inevitable climax.

The tumult has become absolutely delirious. The soldiers on the ramparts

tumble over one another in a mad rush for the gate, which they try to

break open with the butt-end of their rifles; but they dare not actually

attack their own officers, and in any case they know that the keys of

the city are still in the hands of Général Marchand, and Général

Marchand has suddenly disappeared.

Feeling the hopelessness and futility of further resistance, he has gone

back to his hotel, and is even now giving orders and making preparations

for leaving Grenoble. Préfet Fourier, hastily summoned, is with him, and

the Comte de Cambray is preparing to return immediately to Brestalou.

"We shall all leave for Paris to-morrow, as early as possible," he says,

as he finally takes leave of the General and the préfet, "and take the

money with us, of course. If the King--which God forbid!--is obliged to

leave Paris, it will be most acceptable to him, until the day when the

allies are once more in the field and ready to crush, irretrievably this

time, this Corsican scourge of Europe."

One or two of the royalist officers have succeeded in massing together

some two or three hundred men out of several regiments who appear to be

determined to remain loyal.

St. Genis is not among these: his men had been among the first to cry

"Vive l'Empereur!" when ordered to fire on the brigand and his hordes.

They had even gone so far as to threaten their officers' lives.

Now, covered with shame, and boiling with wrath at the defection, St.

Genis asks leave of the General to escort M. le Comte de Cambray and his

party to Paris.

"We shall be better off for extra protection," urges M. le Comte de

Cambray in support of St. Genis' plea for leave. "I shall only have the

coachman and two postillions with me. M. de St. Genis would be of

immense assistance in case of footpads."

"The road to Paris is quite safe, I believe," says Général Marchand,

"and at Lyons you will meet the army of M. le Comte d'Artois. But

perhaps M. de St. Genis had better accompany you as far as there, at any

rate. He can then report himself at Lyons. Twenty-five millions is a

large sum, of course, but the purpose of your journey has remained a

secret, has it not?"

"Of course," says M. le Comte unhesitatingly, for he has completely

erased Victor de Marmont from his mind.

"Well then, all you need fear is an attack from footpads--and even that

is unlikely," concludes Général Marchand, who by now is in a great hurry

to go. "But M. de St. Genis has my permission to escort you."

The General entrusts the keys of the Bonne Gate to Colonel Roussille. He

has barely time to execute his hasty flight, having arranged to escape

out of Grenoble by the St. Laurent Gate on the north of the town. In the

meanwhile a carter from the suburb of St. Joseph outside the Bonne Gate

has harnessed a team of horses to one of his wagons and brought along a

huge joist: twenty pairs of willing and stout arms are already

manipulating this powerful engine for the breaking open of the resisting

gate. Already the doors are giving way, the hinges creak; and while

Général Marchand and préfet Fourier with their small body of faithful

soldiers rush precipitately across the deserted streets of the town,

Colonel Roussille makes ready to open the Gate of Bonne to the Emperor

and to his soldiers.

"My regiment was prepared to turn against me," he says to his men, "but

I shall not turn against them."

Then he formally throws open the gate.

Ecstatic delight, joyful enthusiasm, succeeds the frantic cries of a

while ago. Napoleon entering the city of Grenoble was nearly crushed to

death by the frenzy of the crowd. Cheered to the echoes, surrounded by

a delirious populace which hardly allowed him to move, it was hours

before he succeeded in reaching the Hôtel des Trois-Dauphins, where he

was resolved to spend the night, since it was kept by an ex-soldier, one

of his own Old Guard of the Italian campaign.

The enthusiasm was kept up all night. The town was illuminated. Until

dawn men and women paraded the streets singing the "Marseillaise" and

shouting "Vive l'Empereur!"

In a small room, simply furnished but cosy and comfortable, the great

adventurer, who had conquered half the world and lost it and had now set

out to conquer it again, sat with half a dozen of his most faithful

friends: Cambronne and Raoul, Victor de Marmont and Emery.

On the table spread out before him was an ordnance map of the province;

his clenched hand rested upon it; his eyes, those eagle-like, piercing

eyes which had so often called his soldiers to victory, gazed out

straight before him, as if through the bare, white-washed walls of this

humble hotel room he saw the vision of the brilliant halls of the

Tuileries, the imperial throne, the Empress beside him, all her

faithlessness and pusillanimity forgiven, his son whom he worshipped,

his marshals grouped around him; and with a gesture of proud defiance he

threw back his head and said loudly:

"Until to-day I was only an adventurer. To-night I am a prince once

more."

IV

It was the next morning in that same sparsely-furnished and uncarpeted

room of the Hôtel des Trois-Dauphins that Napoleon spoke to Victor de

Marmont, to Emery and Dumoulin about the money which had been stolen

last year from the Empress and which he understood had been deposited

in the cellars of the Hôtel de Ville.

"I am not going," he said, "to levy a war tax on my good city of

Grenoble, but my good and faithful soldiers must be paid, and I must

provision my army in case I encounter stronger resistance at Lyons than

I can cope with, and am forced to make a détour. I want the money--the

Empress' money, which that infamous Talleyrand stole from her. So you,

de Marmont, had best go straight away to the Hôtel de Ville and in my

name summon the préfet to appear before me. You can tell him at once

that it is on account of the money."

"I will go at once, Sire," replied de Marmont with a regretful sigh,

"but I fear me that it is too late."

"Too late?" snapped out the Emperor with a frown, "what do you mean by

too late?"

"I mean that Fourier has left Grenoble in the trail of Marchand, and

that two days ago--unless I'm very much mistaken--he disposed of the

money."

"Disposed of the money? You are mad, de Marmont."

"Not altogether, Sire. When I say that Fourier disposed of the Empress'

money I only mean that he deposited it in what he would deem a safe

place."

"The cur!" exclaimed Napoleon with a yet tighter clenching of his hand

and mighty fist, "turning against the hand that fed him and made him

what he is. Well!" he added impatiently, "where is the money now?"

"In the keeping of M. le Comte de Cambray at Brestalou," replied de

Marmont without hesitation.

"Very well," said the Emperor, "take a company of the 7th regiment with

you to Brestalou and requisition the money at once."

"If--as I believe--the Comte no longer has the money by him?----"

"Make him tell you where it is."

"I mean, Sire, that it is my belief that M. le Comte's sister and

daughter will undertake to take the money to Paris, hoping by their sex

and general air of innocence to escape suspicion in connection with the

money."

"Don't worry me with all these details, de Marmont," broke in Napoleon

with a frown of impatience. "I told you to take a company with you and

to get me the Empress' money. See to it that this is done and leave me

in peace."

He hated arguing, hated opposition, the very suggestion of any

difficulty. His followers and intimates knew that; already de Marmont

had repented that he had allowed his tongue to ramble on quite so much.

Now he felt that silence must redeem his blunder--silence now and

success in his undertaking.

He bent the knee, for this homage the great Corsican adventurer and

one-time dictator of civilised Europe loved to receive: he kissed the

hand which had once wielded the sceptre of a mighty Empire and was ready

now to grasp it again. Then he rose and gave the military salute.

"It shall be done, Sire," was all that he said.

His heart was full of enthusiasm, and the task allotted to him was a

congenial one: the baffling and discomfiture of those who had insulted

him. If--as he believed--Crystal would be accompanying her aunt on the

journey toward Paris, then indeed would his own longing for some sort of

revenge for the humiliation which he had endured on that memorable

Sunday evening be fully gratified.

It was with a light and swinging step that he ran down the narrow stairs

of the hotel. In the little entrance hall below he met Clyffurde.

In his usual impulsive way, without thought of what had gone before or

was likely to happen in the future, he went up to the Englishman with

outstretched hand.

"My dear Clyffurde," he said with unaffected cordiality, "I am glad to

see you! I have been wondering what had become of you since we parted on

Sunday last. My dear friend," he added ecstatically, "what glorious

events, eh?"

He did not wait for Clyffurde's reply, nor did he appear to notice the

latter's obvious coldness of manner, but went prattling on with great

volubility.

"What a man!" he exclaimed, nodding significantly in the direction

whence he had just come. "A six days' march--mostly on foot and along

steep mountain paths! and to-day as fresh and vigorous as if he had just

spent a month's holiday at some pleasant watering place! What luck to be

serving such a man! And what luck to be able to render him really useful

service! The tables will be turned, eh, my dear Clyffurde?" he added,

giving his taciturn friend a jovial dig in the ribs, "and what lovely

discomfiture for our proud aristocrats, eh? They will be sorry to have

made an enemy of Victor de Marmont, what?"

Whereupon Clyffurde made a violent effort to appear friendly and jovial

too.

"Why," he said with a pleasant laugh, "what madcap ideas are floating

through your head now?"

"Madcap schemes?" ejaculated de Marmont. "Nothing more or less, my dear

Clyffurde, than complete revenge for the humiliation those de Cambrays

put upon me last Sunday."

"Revenge? That sounds exciting," said Clyffurde with a smile, even while

his palm itched to slap the young braggart's face.

"Exciting, _par Dieu!_ Of course it will be exciting. They have no idea

that I guessed their little machinations. Mme. la Duchesse d'Agen

travelling to Paris forsooth! Aye! but with five and twenty millions

sewn somewhere inside her petticoats. Well! the Emperor happens to want

his own five and twenty millions, if you please. So Mme. la Duchesse or

M. le Comte will have to disgorge. And I shall have the pleasing task

of _making_ them disgorge. What say you to that, friend Clyffurde?"

"That I am sorry for you," replied the other drily.

"Sorry for me? Why?"

"Because it is never a pleasing task to bully a defenceless woman--and

an old one at that."

De Marmont laughed aloud. "Bully Mme. la Duchesse d'Agen?" he exclaimed.

"_Sacré tonnerre!_ what do you take me for. I shall not bully her. Fifty

soldiers don't bully a defenceless woman. We shall treat Mme. la

Duchesse with every consideration: we shall only remove five and twenty

millions of stolen money from her carriage, that is all."

"You may be mistaken about the money, de Marmont. It may be anywhere

except in the keeping of Mme. la Duchesse."

"It may be at the Château de Brestalou in the keeping of M. le Comte de

Cambray: and this I shall find out first of all. But I must not stand

gossiping any longer. I must see Colonel de la Bédoyère and get the men

I want. What are your plans, my dear Clyffurde?"

"The same as before," replied Bobby quietly. "I shall leave Grenoble as

soon as I can."

"Let the Emperor send you on a special mission to Lord Grenville, in

London, to urge England to remain neutral in the coming struggle."

"I think not," said Clyffurde enigmatically.

De Marmont did not wait to ask him to what this brief remark had

applied; he bade his friend a hasty farewell, then he turned on his

heel, and gaily whistling the refrain of the "Marseillaise," stalked out

of the hotel.

Clyffurde remained standing in the narrow panelled hall, which just then

reeked strongly of stewed onions and of hot coffee; he never moved a

muscle, but remained absolutely quiet for the space of exactly two

minutes; then he consulted his watch--it was then close on midday--and

finally went back to his room.

V

An hour after dawn that self-same morning the travelling coach of M. le

Comte de Cambray was at the perron of the Château de Brestalou.

At the last moment, when M. le Comte, hopelessly discouraged by the

surrender of Grenoble to the usurper, came home at a late hour of the

night, he decided that he too would journey to Paris with his sister and

daughter, taking the money with him to His Majesty, who indeed would

soon be in sore need of funds.

At that same late hour of the night M. le Comte discovered that with the

exception of faithful Hector and one or two scullions in the kitchen his

male servants both indoor and out had wandered in a body out to Grenoble

to witness "the Emperor's" entry into the city. They had marched out of

the château to the cry of "Vive l'Empereur!" and outside the gates had

joined a number of villagers of Brestalou who were bent on the same

errand.

Fortunately one of the coachmen and two of the older grooms from the

stables returned in the early dawn after the street demonstrations

outside the Emperor's windows had somewhat calmed down, and with the

routine of many years of domestic service had promptly and without

murmurings set to to obey the orders given to them the day before: to

have the travelling berline ready with four horses by seven o'clock.

It was very cold: the coachman and postillions shivered under their

threadbare liveries. The coachman had wrapped a woollen comforter round

his neck and pulled his white beaver broad-brimmed hat well over his

brows, as the northeast wind was keen and would blow into his face all

the way to Lyons, where the party would halt for the night. He had

thick woollen gloves on and of his entire burly person only the tip of

his nose could be seen between his muffler and the brim of his hat. The

postillions, whip in hand, could not wrap themselves up quite so snugly:

they were trying to keep themselves warm by beating their arms against

their chest.

M. le Comte, aided by Hector, was arranging for the disposal of leather

wallets underneath the cushions of the carriage. The wallets contained

the money--twenty-five millions in notes and drafts--a godsend to the

King if the usurper did succeed in driving him out of the Tuileries.

Presently the ladies came down the perron steps with faithful Jeanne in

attendance, who carried small bags and dressing-cases. Both the ladies

were wrapped in long fur-lined cloaks and Mme. la Duchesse d'Agen had

drawn a hood closely round her face; but Crystal de Cambray stood

bareheaded in the cold frosty air, the hood of her cloak thrown back,

her own fair hair, dressed high, forming the only covering for her head.

Her face looked grave and even anxious, but wonderfully serene. This

should have been her wedding morning, the bells of old Brestalou church

should even now have been ringing out their first joyous peal to

announce the great event. Often and often in the past few weeks, ever

since her father had formally betrothed her to Victor de Marmont, she

had thought of this coming morning, and steeled herself to be brave

against the fateful day. She had been resigned to the decree of the

father and to the necessities of family and name--resigned but terribly

heartsore. She was obeying of her own free will but not blindly. She

knew that her marriage to a man whom she did not love was a sacrifice on

her part of every hope of future happiness. Her girlish love for St.

Genis had opened her eyes to the possibilities of happiness; she knew

that Life could hold out a veritable cornucopia of delight and joy in a

union which was hallowed by Love, and her ready sacrifice was therefore

all the greater, all the more sublime, because it was not offered up in

ignorance.

But all that now was changed. She was once more free to indulge in those

dreams which had gladdened the days and nights of her lonely girlhood

out in far-off England: dreams which somehow had not even found their

culmination when St. Genis first told her of his love for her. They had

always been golden dreams which had haunted her in those distant days,

dreams of future happiness and of love which are seldom absent from a

young girl's mind, especially if she is a little lonely, has few

pleasures and is surrounded with an atmosphere of sadness.

Crystal de Cambray, standing on the perron of her stately home, felt but

little sorrow at leaving it to-day: she had hardly had the time in one

brief year to get very much attached to it: the sense of unreality which

had been born in her when her father led her through its vast halls and

stately parks had never entirely left her. The little home in England,

the tiny sitting-room with its bow window, and small front garden edged

with dusty evergreens, was far more real to her even now. She felt as if

the last year with its pomp and gloomy magnificence was all a dream and

that she was once more on the threshold of reality now, on the point of

waking, when she would find herself once more in her narrow iron bed and

see the patched and darned muslin curtains gently waving in the draught.

But for the moment she was glad enough to give herself to the delight of

this sudden consciousness of freedom. She sniffed the sharp, frosty air

with dilated nostrils like a young Arab filly that scents the

illimitable vastness of meadowland around her. The excitement of the

coming adventure thrilled her: she watched with glowing eyes the

preparations for the journey, the bestowal under the cushions of the

carriage of the money which was to help King Louis to preserve his

throne.

In a sense she was sorry that her father and her aunt were coming too.

She would have loved to fly across country as a trusted servant of her

King; but when the time came to make a start she took her place in the

big travelling coach with a light heart and a merry face. She was so

sure of the justice of the King's cause, so convinced of God's wrath

against the usurper, that she had no room in her thoughts for

apprehension or sadness.

The Comte de Cambray on the other hand was grave and taciturn. He had

spent hours last evening on the ramparts of Grenoble. He had watched the

dissatisfaction of the troops grow into open rebellion and from that to

burning enthusiasm for the Corsican ogre. St. Genis had given him a

vivid account of the encounter at Laffray, and his ears were still

ringing with the cries of "Vive l'Empereur!" which had filled the

streets and ramparts of Grenoble until he himself fled back to his own

château, sickened at all that he had seen and heard.

He knew that the King's own brother, M. le Comte d'Artois, was at Lyons

even now with forty thousand men who were reputed to be loyal, but were

not the troops of Grenoble reputed to be loyal too? and was it likely

that the regiments at Lyons would behave so very differently to those at

Grenoble?

Thus the wearisome journey northwards in the lumbering carriage

proceeded mostly in silence. None of the occupants seemed to have much

to say. Mme. la Duchesse d'Agen and M. le Comte sat on the back seats

leaning against the cushions; Crystal de Cambray and ever-faithful

Jeanne sat in front, making themselves as comfortable as they could.

There was a halt for _déjeuner_ and change of horses at Rives, and here

Maurice de St. Genis overtook the party. He proposed to continue the

journey as far as Lyons on horseback, riding close by the off side of

the carriage. Here as well as at the next halt, at St. André-le-Gaz,

Maurice tried to get speech with Crystal, but she seemed cold in manner

and unresponsive to his whispered words. He tried to approach her, but

she pleaded fatigue and anxiety, and he was glad then that he had made

arrangements not to travel beside her in the lumbering coach. His

position on horseback beside the carriage would, he felt, be a more

romantic one, and he half-hoped that some enterprising footpad would

give him a chance of displaying his pluck and his devotion.

A start was made from St. André-le-Gaz at six o'clock in the afternoon.

Crystal was getting very cramped and tired, even the fine views over the

range of the Grande Chartreuse and the long white plateau of the Dent de

Crolles, with the wintry sunset behind it, failed to enchain her

attention. Her father and her aunt slept most of the time each in a

corner of the carriage, and after the start from St. André-le-Gaz,

comforted with hot coffee and fresh bread and the prospect of Lyons now

only some sixty kilomètres away, Crystal settled herself against the

cushions and tried to get some sleep.

The incessant shaking of the carriage, the rattle of harness and wheels,

the cracking of the postillions' whips, all contributed to making her

head ache, and to chase slumber away. But gradually her thoughts became

more confused, as the dim winter twilight gradually faded into night and

a veil of impenetrable blackness spread itself outside the windows of

the coach.

The northeasterly wind had not abated: it whistled mournfully through

the cracks in the woodwork of the carriage and made the windows rattle

in their framework. On the box the coachman had much ado to see well

ahead of him, as the vapour which rose from the flanks and shoulders of

his steaming horses effectually blurred every outline on the road. The

carriage lanthorns threw a weird and feeble light upon the ever-growing

darkness. To right and left the bare and frozen common land stretched

its lonely vastness to some distant horizon unseen.

VI

Suddenly the cumbrous vehicle gave a terrific lurch, which sent the

unsuspecting Jeanne flying into Mme. la Duchesse's lap and threw Crystal

with equal violence against her father's knees. There was much cracking

of whips, loud calls and louder oaths from coachman and postillions,

much creaking and groaning of wheels, another lurch--more feeble this

time--more groaning, more creaking, more oaths and finally the coach

with a final quivering as it were of all its parts settled down to an

ominous standstill.

Whereafter the oaths sounded more muffled, while there was a scampering

down from the high altitude of the coachman's box and a confused murmur

of voices.

It was then close on eight o'clock: Lyons was distant still some dozen

miles or so--and the night by now was darker than pitch.

M. le Comte, roused from fitful slumbers and trying to gather his

wandering wits, put his head out of the window: "What is it, Pierre?" he

called out loudly. "What has happened?"

"It's this confounded ditch, M. le Comte," came in a gruff voice from

out the darkness. "I didn't know the bridge had entirely broken down.

This sacré government will not look after the roads properly."

"Are you there, Maurice?" called the Comte.

But strangely enough there came no answer to his call. M. de St. Genis

must have fallen back some little distance in the rear, else he surely

would have heard something of the clatter, the shouts and the swearing

which were attending the present unfortunate contretemps.

"Maurice! where are you?" called the Comte again. And still no answer.

Pierre was continuing his audible mutterings. "Darkness as black

as----": then he shouted with a yet more forcible volley of oaths:

"Jean! you oaf! get hold of the off mare, can't you? And you, what's

your name, you fool? ease the near gelding. Heavens above, what dolts!"

"Stop a moment," cried M. le Comte, "wait till the ladies can get out.

This pulling and lurching is unbearable."

"Ease a moment," commanded Pierre stolidly. "Go to the near door, Jean,

and help the master out of the carriage."

"Hark! what was that?" It was M. le Comte who spoke. There had been a

momentary lull in the creaking and groaning of the wheels, while the two

young postillions obeyed the coachman's orders to "ease a moment," and

one of them came round to help the ladies and his master out of the

lurching vehicle; only the horses' snorting, the champing of their bits

and pawing of the hard ground broke the silence of the night.

M. le Comte had opened the near door and was half out of the carriage

when a sound caught his ear which was in no way connected with the

stranded vehicle and its team of snorting horses. Yet the sound came

from horses--horses which were on the move not very far away and which

even now seemed to be coming nearer.

"Who goes there? Maurice, is that you?" called M. le Comte more loudly.

"Stand and deliver!" came the peremptory response.

"Stand yourself or I fire," retorted the Comte, who was already groping

for the pistol which he kept inside the carriage.

"You murderous villain!" came with the inevitable string of oaths from

Pierre the coachman. "You . . ."

The rest of this forceful expletive was broken and muffled. Evidently

Pierre had been summarily gagged. There was a short, sharp scuffle

somewhere on ahead; cries for help from the two postillions which were

equally sharply smothered. The horses began rearing and plunging.

"One of you at the leaders' heads," came in a clear voice which in this

impenetrable darkness sounded weirdly familiar to the occupants of the

carriage, who awed, terrified by this unforeseen attack sat motionless,

clinging to one another inside the vehicle.

Alone the Comte had not lost his presence of mind. Already he had jumped

out of the carriage, banging the door to behind him, despite feeble

protests from his sister; pistol in hand he tried with anxious eyes to

pierce the inky blackness around him.

A muffled groan on his right caused him to turn in that direction.

"Release my coachman," he called peremptorily, "or I fire."

"Easy, M. le Comte," came as a sharp warning out of the night, in those

same weirdly familiar tones; "as like as not you would be shooting your

own men in this infernal darkness."

"Who is it?" whispered Crystal hoarsely. "I seem to know that voice."

"God protect us," murmured Jeanne. "It's the devil's voice,

Mademoiselle."

Mme. la Duchesse said nothing. No doubt she was too frightened to speak.

Her thin, bony fingers were clasped tightly round her niece's hands.

Suddenly there was another scuffle by the door, the sharp report of a

pistol and then that strangely familiar voice called out again:

"Merely as a matter of form, M. le Comte!"

"You will hang for this, you rogue," came in response from the Comte.

But already Crystal had torn her hands out of Mme. la Duchesse's grasp

and now was struggling to free herself from Jeanne's terrified and

clinging embrace.

"Father!" she cried wildly. "Maurice! Maurice! Help! Let me go, Jeanne!

They are hurting him!"

She had succeeded in pushing Jeanne roughly away and already had her

hand on the door, when it was opened from the outside, and the

flickering light of a carriage lanthorn fell full on the interior of the

vehicle. Neither Crystal nor Mme. la Duchesse could effectually suppress

a sudden gasp of terror, whilst Jeanne threw her shawl right over her

head, for of a truth she thought that here was the devil himself.

The light illumined the lanthorn-bearer only fitfully, but to the

terror-stricken women he appeared to be preternaturally tall and broad,

with wide caped coat pulled up to his ears and an old-fashioned tricorne

hat on his head; his face was entirely hidden by a black mask, and his

hands by black kid gloves.

"I pray you ladies," he said quietly, and this time the voice was

obviously disguised and quite unrecognisable. "I pray you have no fear.

Neither I nor my men will do you or yours the slightest harm, if you

will allow me without any molestation on your part to make an

examination of the interior of your carriage."

Mme. la Duchesse and Jeanne remained silent: the one from fear, the

other from dignity. But it was not in Crystal's nature to submit quietly

to any unlawful coercion.

"This is an infamy," she protested loudly, "and you, my man, will swing

on the nearest gallows for it."

"No doubt I should if I were found out," said the man imperturbably,

"but the military patrols of M. le Comte d'Artois don't come out as far

as this: nevertheless I must ask you ladies not to detain me on my

business any longer. My men are at the door and it is over a quarter of

an hour ago since we placed M. de St. Genis temporarily yet effectually

hors de combat. I pray you, therefore, step out without delay so that I

may proceed to ascertain whether there is anything in this carriage

likely to suit my requirements."

"You must be a madman as well as a thief," retorted Crystal loudly, "to

imagine that we would submit to such an outrage."

"If you do not submit, Madame," said the man calmly, "I will order my

man to shoot M. le Comte in the right leg."

"You would not dare. . . ."

But the miscreant turned his head slowly round and called over his

shoulder into the night:

"Attention, my men! M. le Comte de Cambray!--have you got him?"

"Aye! aye, sir!" came from out the darkness.

Crystal gave a wild scream, and with an agonised gesture of terror

clutched the highway robber by the coat.

"No! no!" she cried. "Stop! stop! no! Father! Help!"

"Mademoiselle," said the man, quietly releasing his coat from her

clinging hands, "remember that M. le Comte is perfectly safe if you will

deign to step out of the carriage without further delay."

He held the lanthorn in one hand, the other was suddenly imprisoned by

Crystal's trembling fingers.

"Sir," she pleaded in a voice broken by terror and anxiety, "we are

helpless travellers on our way to Paris, driven out of our home by the

advancing horde of Corsican brigands. Our little all we have with us.

You cannot take that all from us. Let us give you some money of our own

free will, then the shame of robbing women who have in the darkness of

the night been rendered helpless will not rest upon you. Oh! have pity

upon us. Your voice is so gentle you must be good and kind. You will let

us proceed on our way, will you not? and we'll take a solemn oath that

we'll not attempt to put any one on your track. You will, won't you? I

swear to you that you will be doing a far finer deed thereby than you

can possibly dream of."

"I have some jewelry about my person," here interposed Madame's sharp

voice drily, "also some gold. I agree to what my niece says. We'll swear

to do nothing against you when we reach Lyons, if you will be content

with what we give you of our own free will and let us go in peace."

The man allowed both ladies to speak without any interruption on his

part. He even allowed Crystal's dainty fingers to cling around his

gloved hand for as long as she chose: no doubt he found some pleasure in

this tearful appeal from such beautiful lips, for Crystal looked

divinely pretty just then, with the flickering light of the lanthorn

throwing her fair head into bold relief against the surrounding gloom.

Her blue eyes were shining with unshed tears, her delicate mouth was

quivering with the piteousness of her appeal.

But when Mme. la Duchesse had finished speaking and began to divest

herself of her rings he released his hand very gently and said in his

even, quiet voice:

"Your pardon, Madame; but as it happens I have no use for ladies'

trinkets, while all that you have been good enough to tell me only makes

me the more eager to examine the contents of this carriage."

"But there's nothing of value in it," asserted Madame unblushingly,

"except what we are offering you now."

"That is as may be, Madame. I would wish to ascertain."

"You impious malapert!" she cried out wrathfully, "would you dare lay

hands upon a woman?"

"No, Madame, certainly not," he replied. "I will merely, as I have had

the honour to tell you, order my men to shoot M. le Comte de Cambray in

the right leg."

"You vagabond! you thief! you wouldn't dare," expostulated Madame, who

seemed now on the verge of hysteria.

"Attention, my men!" he called once more over his left shoulder.

"It is no use, _ma tante_," here interposed Crystal with sudden calm.

"We must yield to brute force. Let us get out and allow this abominable

thief to wreak his impious will with us, else we lay ourselves open to

further outrage at his hands. Be sure that retribution, swift and

certain, will overtake him in the end."

"Come! that's wisely spoken," said the man, who seemed in no way

perturbed by the scornful glances which Crystal and Madame now freely

darted upon him. He stood a little aside, holding the door open for them

to step out of the carriage.

"Where is M. le Comte de Cambray?" queried Crystal as she brushed past

him.

"Close by," he replied, "to your right now, Mademoiselle, and perfectly

safe, and M. le Marquis de St. Genis is not two hundred mètres away,

equally secure and equally safe. Here, le Bossu," he added, calling out

into the night, "ease the gag round your prisoner's mouth a little so

that he may speak to the ladies."

While Madame la Duchesse groped her way along in the direction whence

came sounds of stirring, groaning and not a little cursing which

proclaimed the presence of some men held captive by others, Crystal

remained beside the carriage door as if rooted to the spot. The feeble

light of the lanthorn had shown her at a glance that the masked

miscreant had taken every precaution for the success of his nefarious

purpose. How many men he had with him altogether, she could not of

course ascertain: half a dozen perhaps, seeing that her father, the

coachman and two postillions had been overpowered and were being closely

guarded, whilst she distinctly saw that two men at least were standing

behind their chief at this moment in order to ward off any possible

attack against him from the rear, while he himself was engaged in the

infamous task of robbing the coach of its contents.

Crystal saw him start to work in a most methodical manner. He had stood

the lanthorn on the floor of the carriage and was turning over every

cushion and ransacking every pocket. The leather wallets which he found,

he examined with utmost coolness, seeing indeed that they were stuffed

full of banknotes and drafts. His huge caped coat appeared to have

immense pockets, into which those precious wallets disappeared one by

one.

She knew of course that resistance was useless: the occasional glint of

the feeble lanthorn light upon the pistols held by the men close beside

her taught her the salutary lesson of silence and dignity. She clenched

her hands until her nails were almost driven into the flesh of her

palms, and her face now glowed with a fierce and passionate resentment.

This money which might have saved the King and France from the immediate

effects of the usurper's invasion was now the booty of a common thief!

Wild thoughts of vengeance coursed through her brain: she felt like a

tiger-cat that was being robbed of its young. Once--unable to control

herself--she made a wild dash forward, determined to fight for her

treasure, to scratch or to bite--to do anything in fact rather than

stand by and see this infamous spoliation. But immediately her hands

were seized, and an ominous word of command rang out weirdly through the

night.

"Resistance here! Attention over there!"

Her father's safety was a guarantee of her own acquiescence. Struggling,

fighting was useless! the abominable thief must be left to do his work

in peace.

It did not take long. A minute or two later he too had stepped out of

the carriage. He ordered one of his followers to hold the lanthorn and

then quietly took up his stand beside the open door.

"Now, ladies, an you desire it," he said calmly, "you may continue your

journey. Your coachman and your men are close here, on the road,

securely bound. M. de St. Genis is not far off--straight up the

road--you cannot miss him. We leave you free to loosen their bonds. To

horse, my men!" he added in a loud, commanding voice. "Le Bossu, hold my

horse a moment! and you ladies, I pray you accept my humble apologies

that I do not stop to see you safely installed."

As in a dream Crystal heard the bustle incident on a number of men

getting to horse: in the gloom she saw vague forms moving about

hurriedly, she heard the champing of bits, the clatter of stirrup and

bridle. The masked man was the last to move. After he had given the

order to mount he stood for nearly a minute by the carriage door,

exactly facing Crystal, not five paces away.

His companion had put the lanthorn down on the step, and by its light

she could see him distinctly: a mysterious, masked figure who, with

wanton infamy, had placed the satisfaction of his dishonesty and of his

greed athwart the destiny of the King of France.

Crystal knew that through the peep-holes of his mask, the man's eyes

were fixed intently upon her and the knowledge caused a blush of

mortification and of shame to flood her cheeks and throat. At that

moment she would gladly have given her life for the power to turn the

tables upon that abominable rogue, to filch from him that precious

treasure which she had hoped to deposit at the feet of the King for the

ultimate success of his cause: and she would have given much for the

power to tear off that concealing mask, so that for the rest of her life

she might be able to visualise that face which she would always

execrate.

Something of what she felt and thought must have been apparent in her

expressive eyes, for presently it seemed to her as if beneath the narrow

curtain that concealed the lower part of the man's face there hovered

the shadow of a smile.

The next moment he had the audacity slightly to raise his hat and to

make her a bow before he finally turned to go. Crystal had taken one

step backward just then, whether because she was afraid that the man

would try and approach her, or because of a mere sense of dignity, she

could not herself have said. Certain it is that she did move back and

that in so doing her foot came in contact with an object lying on the

ground. The shape and size of it were unmistakable, it was the pistol

which the Comte must have dropped when first he stepped out of the

carriage, and was seized upon by this band of thieves. Guided by that

same strange and wonderful instinct which has so often caused women in

times of war to turn against the assailants of their men or devastation

of their homes, Crystal picked up the weapon without a moment's

hesitation; she knew that it was loaded, and she knew how to use it.

Even as the masked man moved away into the darkness, she fired in the

direction whence his firm footsteps still sent their repeated echo.

The short, sharp report died out in the still, frosty air; Crystal

vainly strained her ears to catch the sound of a fall or a groan. But in

the confusion that ensued she could not distinguish any individual

sound. She knew that Mme. la Duchesse and Jeanne had screamed, she heard

a few loud curses, the clatter of bits and bridles, the snorting of

horses and presently the noise of several horses galloping away, out in

the direction of Chambéry.

Then nothing more.

VII

M. le Comte as well as the coachman and postillions were lying helpless

and bound somewhere in the darkness. It took the three women some time

to find them first and then to release them.

Crystal with great presence of mind had run to the horses' heads,

directly after she had fired that random shot. The poor, frightened

animals had reared and plunged, and had thereby succeeded in dragging

the heavy carriage out of the ditch. After which they had stopped, rigid

for a moment and trembling as horses will sometimes when they are

terrified, before they start running away for dear life. That moment was

Crystal's opportunity and fortunately she took it at the right time and

in the right way.

A hand on the leaders' bridles, a soothing voice, the absence of further

alarming noises tended at once to quieten the team--a set of good steady

Normandy draft-horses with none too much corn in their bellies to heat

their sluggish blood.

While Crystal stood at her post, Mme. la Duchesse--cool and

practical--found her way firstly to M. le Comte, then to the coachman

and postillions, and ordering Jeanne to help her, she succeeded in

freeing the men from their bonds.

Then calling to one of them to precede her with a lanthorn, she started

on the quest for Maurice de St. Genis. He was found--as that abominable

thief had said--some two hundred yards up the road, very securely bound

and with his own handkerchief tied round his mouth, but otherwise

comfortably laid on a dry bit of roadside grass.

Mme. la Duchesse would not reply to his questions, but after he was

released and able to stand up she made him give her a brief account of

his adventure. It had all been so sudden and so quick--he had fallen

back a little behind the carriage as soon as the night had set in, as he

thought it safer to keep along the edge of the road. He was feeling

tired and drowsy, and allowing his horse to amble along in the slow

jog-trot peculiar to its race. No doubt his attention had for some time

been on the wander, when, all at once, in the darkness someone seized

hold of his horse by the bridle and forced it back upon its haunches.

The next moment Maurice felt himself grabbed by the leg, and dragged off

his horse: he shouted for help, but the carriage was on ahead and its

own rattle prevented the shouts from being heard. After which he was

bound and gagged and summarily left to lie by the roadside. He had had

no chance against the ruffians, as they were numerous, but they did not

attempt to ill-use him in any way.

Slowly hobbling towards the carriage beside Mme. la Duchesse, for he was

cramped and stiff, Maurice told her all there was to tell. He had heard

the distant scuffle, the shouts and calls, also one pistol-shot at the

end, but he had been rendered helpless even before the carriage had come

to a halt in the ditch.

It was M. le Comte who in his accustomed measured tones now gave Maurice

de St. Genis the details of this awful adventure: the ransacking of the

carriage by the mysterious miscreant--the loss of the twenty-five

millions, the complete shattering of all hope to help the King with this

money in the hour of his need, and finally Crystal's desperate act of

revenge, as she shot the pistol off into the darkness, hoping at least

to disable the impudent rogue who had done them and the King such a

fatal injury.

St. Genis listened to it all with lips held tightly pressed together,

firm determination causing every muscle in his body to grow taut and

firm with the earnestness of his resolve.

When M. le Comte had finished speaking, and with a sigh of

discouragement had suggested an immediate continuation of his journey,

Maurice said resolutely:

"Do you go on straightway to Lyons with the ladies, my dear Comte, but I

shall not leave this neighbourhood till by some means or other I find

those miscreants and lay their infamous leader by the heel."

"Well spoken, Maurice," said the Comte guardedly, "but how will you do

it?--it is late and the night darker than ever."

"You must spare me one of your horses, my dear Comte," replied the young

man, "as mine apparently has been stolen by those abominable thieves,

and I'll ride back to the nearest village--you remember we passed it not

half an hour ago. I'll get lodgings there and get some information. In

the meanwhile perhaps you will see M. le Comte d'Artois immediately,

tell him all that has happened and beg him to send me as early in the

morning as possible a dozen cavalrymen or so, to help me scour the

country. I'll be on the look-out for them on this road by six o'clock,

and, please God! the day shall not go by before we have those infamous

marauders by the heels. Twenty-five millions, remember, are not dragged

about open country quite so easily as those thieves imagine. They are

bound to leave some trace of their whereabouts sometimes."

He appeared so confident and so cheerful that some of his optimism

infected M. le Comte too. The latter promised to get an audience of M.

le Comte d'Artois that very evening, and of course the necessary cavalry

patrol would at once be forthcoming.

"God grant you success, Maurice," he added fervently, and the young

man's energy and enthusiasm were also rewarded by a warm, glowing look

from Crystal.

A quarter of an hour afterwards, M. le Comte's travelling coach was once

more ready for departure. Pierre had been given his orders to make due

haste for Lyons, and to drive a unicorn team of three horses instead of

a regulation four, whereupon he had muttered a string of oaths which

would have caused a Paris wine-shop loafer to blush.

One of the horses thereupon was detached from the team for Maurice's use

and made ready with one of the postillions' saddles; the other

postillion had to climb up to the seat next to the coachman: all three

men were feeling not a little shamed at the sorry rôle which they had

just played, and they vowed revenge against the mysterious thieves who

had sprung upon them unawares and in the dark, or Mordieu! they would

have suffered severely for their impudence.

In silence M. le Comte, Mme. la Duchesse and Crystal, followed by

faithful Jeanne, re-entered the carriage. No one had been hurt. M. le

Comte's arms felt a little stiff from the cords which had bound them

behind his back and Jeanne was inclined to be hysterical, but Crystal

felt a fierce resentment burning in her heart. Somehow she had no hope

that Maurice would succeed, even though she threw him at the last a

kindly and encouraging smile. Her one hope was that she had inflicted a

painful if not a deadly wound upon the shameless robber of the King's

money.

Soon the party was once more comfortably settled and the cumbrous

vehicle, after another violent lurch, was once more on its way.

"Farewell, Maurice! good luck!" called M. le Comte at the last.

The young man waited until the heavy carriage swung more easily upon its

springs, then he mounted his horse, turned its head in the opposite

direction and rode slowly back up the road.

Inside the vehicle all was silent for a while, then M. le Comte asked

quietly:

"Did he find everything?"

"Everything," replied Crystal.

"I put in five wallets."

"Yes. He took them all."

"It is curious they should have fallen on us just by that broken

bridge."

"They were lying in wait for us, of course."

"Knowing that we had the money, do you think?" asked the Comte.

"Of course," replied Crystal with still that note of bitter resentment

in her voice.

"But who, besides ourselves and the préfet? . . ." began the Comte, who

clearly was very puzzled.

"Victor de Marmont for one . . ." retorted the girl.

"Surely you don't suppose that he would play the rôle of a highwayman

and . . ."

"No, I don't," she broke in somewhat impatiently, "he wouldn't have the

pluck for one thing, and moreover the masked man was considerably taller

than Victor."

"Well, then?"

"It is only an idea, father, dear," she said more gently, "but somehow I

cannot believe that this was just ordinary highway robbery. This road is

supposed to be quite safe: travellers are not warned against armed

highwaymen, and marauders wouldn't be so well horsed and clothed. My

belief is that it was a paid gang stationed at the broken bridge on

purpose to rob us and no one else."

"Maurice will soon be after them to-morrow, and I'll see M. le Comte

d'Artois directly we get to Lyons," said the Comte after a slight pause,

during which he was obviously pondering over his daughter's suggestion.

"It won't be any use, father," Crystal said with a sigh. "The whole

thing has been organised, I feel sure, and the head that planned this

abominable robbery will know how to place his booty in safety."

Whereupon the Comte sighed, for he was too well-bred to curse in the

presence of his daughter and his sister, Mme. la Duchesse had said

nothing all this while: nor did she offer any comment upon the

mysterious occurrence all the time that the next stage of the wearisome

journey proceeded.

VIII

Less than an hour later the coach came to a halt once more.

M. le Comte woke up with a start.

"My God!" he exclaimed, "what is it now?"

Crystal had not been asleep: her thoughts were too busy, her brain too

much tormented with trying to find some plausible answer to the riddle

which agitated her: "Who had planned this abominable robbery? Was it

indeed Victor de Marmont himself? or had a greater, a mightier mind than

his discovered the secret of this swift journey to Paris and ordered the

clever raid upon the treasure?"

The rumble of the wheels had--though she was awake--prevented her from

hearing the rapid approach of a number of horses in the wake of the

coach, until a peremptory: "Halt! in the name of the Emperor!" suddenly

chased every other thought away; like her father she murmured: "My God!

what is it now?"

This time there was no mystery, there would be no puzzlement as to the

meaning of this fresh attack. The air was full of those sounds that

denote the presence of many horses and of many men; there was, too, the

clinking of metal, the champing of steel bits, the brief words of

command which proclaimed the men to be soldiers.

They appeared to be all round the coach, for the noise of their presence

came from everywhere at once.

Already the Comte had put his head out of the window: "What is it now?"

he asked again, more peremptorily this time.

"In the name of the Emperor!" was the loud reply.

"We do not halt in the name of an usurper," said the Comte. "En avant,

Pierre!"

"You urge those horses on at your peril, coachman," was the defiant

retort.

A quick word of command was given, there was more clanking of metal,

snorting of horses, loud curses from Pierre on the box, and the

commanding voice spoke again:

"M. le Comte de Cambray!"

"That is my name!" replied the Comte. "And who is it, pray, who dares

impede peaceful travellers on their way?"

"By order of the Emperor," was the curt reply.

"I know of no such person in France!"

"Vive l'Empereur!" was shouted defiantly in response.

Whereupon M. le Comte de Cambray--proud, disdainful and determined to

show no fear or concern, withdrew from the window and threw himself back

against the cushions of the carriage.

"What in the Virgin's name is the meaning of this?" murmured Mme. la

Duchesse.

"God in heaven only knows," sighed the Comte.

But obviously the coach had not been stopped by a troop of mounted

soldiers for the mere purpose of proclaiming the Emperor's name on the

high road in the dark. The same commanding voice which had answered the

Comte's challenge was giving rapid orders to dismount and to bring along

one of the carriage lanthorns.

The next moment the door of the coach was opened from without, and the

light of the lanthorn held up by a man in uniform fell full on the

figure and on the profile of Victor de Marmont.

"M. le Comte, I regret," he said coldly, "in the name of the Emperor I

must demand from you the restitution of his property."

The Comte shrugged his shoulders and vouchsafed no reply.

"M. le Comte," said de Marmont, more peremptorily this time, "I have

twenty-four men with me, who will seize by force if necessary that which

I herewith command you to give up voluntarily."

Still no reply. M. le Comte de Cambray would think himself bemeaned were

he to parley with a traitor.

"As you will, M. le Comte," was de Marmont's calm comment on the old

man's attitude. "Sergeant!" he commanded, "seize the four persons in

this coach. Three of them are women, so be as gentle as you can. Go

round to the other door first."

"Father," now urged Crystal gently, "do you think that this is wise--or

dignified?"

"Wisely spoken, Mlle. Crystal," rejoined de Marmont. "Have I not said

that I have two dozen soldiers with me--all trained to do their duty?

Why should M. le Comte allow them to lay hands upon you and on Mme. la

Duchesse?"

"It is an outrage," broke in the Comte savagely. "You and your soldiers

are traitors, rebels and deserters."

"But we are in superior numbers, M. le Comte," said de Marmont with a

sneer. "Would it not be wiser to yield with a good grace? Mme. la

Duchesse," he added with an attempt at geniality, "yours was always the

wise head, I am told, that guided the affairs of M. le Comte de Cambray

in the past. Will you not advise him now?"

"I would, my good man," retorted the Duchesse, "but my wise counsels

would benefit no one now, seeing that you have been sent on a fool's

errand."

De Marmont laughed.

"Does Mme. la Duchesse mean to deny that twenty-five million francs

belonging to the Emperor are hidden at this moment inside this coach?"

"I deny, Monsieur de Marmont, that any twenty-five million francs belong

to the son of an impecunious Corsican attorney--and I also deny that any

twenty-five million francs are in this coach at the present moment."

"That is exactly what I desire to ascertain, Madame."

"Ascertain by all means then," quoth Madame impatiently, "the other

thief ascertained the same thing an hour ago, and I must confess that he

did so more profitably than you are like to do."

"The other thief?" exclaimed de Marmont, greatly puzzled.

"It is as Mme. la Duchesse has deigned to tell you," here interposed the

Comte coolly. "I have no objection to your knowing that I had intended

to convey to His Majesty the King--its rightful owner--a sum of

money--originally stolen by the Corsican usurper from France--but that

an hour ago a party of armed thieves--just like yourself--attacked us,

bound and gagged me and my men, ransacked my coach and made off with the

booty."

"And I thank God now," murmured Crystal involuntarily, "that the money

has fallen into the hands of a common highwayman rather than in those of

the scourge of mankind."

"M. le Comte . . ." stammered de Marmont, who, still incredulous, yet

vaguely alarmed, was nevertheless determined not to accept this

extraordinary narrative with blind confidence.

But M. le Comte de Cambray's dignity rose at last to the occasion: "You

choose to disbelieve me, Monsieur?" he asked quietly.

De Marmont made no reply.

"Will my word of honour not suffice?"

"My orders, M. le Comte," said de Marmont gruffly, "are that I bring

back to my Emperor the money that is his. I will not leave one stone

unturned . . ."

"Enough, Monsieur," broke in the Comte with calm dignity. "We will

alight now, if your soldiers will stand aside."

And for the second time on this eventful night, Mme. la Duchesse d'Agen

and Mlle. Crystal de Cambray, together with faithful Jeanne, were forced

to alight from the coach and to stand by while the cushions of the

carriage were being turned over by the light of a flickering lanthorn

and every corner of the interior ransacked for the elusive treasure.

"There is nothing here, mon Colonel," said a gruff voice out of the

darkness, after a while.

A loud curse broke from de Marmont's lips.

"You are satisfied?" asked the Comte coldly, "that I have told you the

truth?"

"Search the luggage in the boot," cried de Marmont savagely, without

heeding him, "search the men on the box! bring more light here! That

money is somewhere in this coach, I'll swear. If I do not find it I'll

take every one here back a prisoner to Grenoble . . . or . . ."

He paused, himself ashamed of what he had been about to say.

"Or you will order your soldiers to lay hands upon our persons, is that

it, M. de Marmont?" broke in Crystal coldly.

He made no reply, for of a truth that had been his thought: foiled in

his hope of rendering his beloved Emperor so signal a service, he had

lost all sense of chivalry in this overwhelming feeling of baffled rage.

Crystal's cold challenge recalled him to himself, and now he felt

ashamed of what he had just contemplated, ashamed, too, of what he had

done. He hated the Comte . . . he hated all royalists and all enemies of

the Emperor . . . but he hated the Comte doubly because of the insults

which he (de Marmont) had had to endure that evening at Brestalou. He

had looked upon this expedition as a means of vengeance for those

insults, a means, too, of showing his power and his worth before Crystal

and of winning her through that power which the Emperor had given him,

and through that worth which the Emperor had recognised.

But, though he hated the Comte he knew him to be absolutely incapable of

telling a deliberate lie, and absolutely incapable of bartering his word

of honour for the sake of his own safety.

Crystal's words brought this knowledge back to his mind; and now the

desire seized him to prove himself as chivalrous as he was powerful. He

was one of those men who are so absolutely ignorant of a woman's nature

that they believe that a woman's love can be won by deeds as apart from

personality, and that a woman's dislike and contempt can be changed into

love. He loved Crystal more absolutely now than he had ever done in the

days when he was practically her accepted suitor: his unbridled and

capricious nature clung desperately to that which he could not hold, and

since he had felt--that evening at Brestalou--that his political

convictions had placed an insuperable barrier between himself and

Crystal de Cambray, he felt that no woman on earth could ever be quite

so desirable.

His mistake lay in this: that he believed that it was his political

convictions alone which had turned Crystal away from him: he felt that

he could have won her love through her submission once she was his wife,

now he found that he would have to win her love first and her wifely

submission would only follow afterwards.

Just now--though in the gloom he could only see the vague outline of her

graceful form, and only heard her voice as through a veil of

darkness--he had the longing to prove himself at once worthy of her

regard and deserving of her gratitude.

Without replying to her direct challenge, he made a vigorous effort to

curb his rage, and to master his disappointment. Then he gave a few

brief commands to his sergeant, ordering him to repair the disorder

inside the coach, and to stop all further searching both of the vehicle

and of the men.

Finally he said with calm dignity: "M. le Comte, I must offer you my

humble apologies for the inconvenience to which you have been subjected.

I humbly beg Mme. la Duchesse and Mademoiselle Crystal to accept these

expressions of my profound regret. A soldier's life and a soldier's duty

must be my excuse for the part I was forced to take in this untoward

happening. Mme. la Duchesse, I pray you deign to re-enter your carriage.

M. le Comte, if there is aught I can do for you, I pray you command me.

. . ."

Neither the Duchesse nor the Comte, however, deigned to take the

slightest notice of the abominable traitor and of his long tirade.

Madame was shivering with cold and yawning with fatigue, and in her

heart consigned the young brute to everlasting torments.

The Comte would have thought it beneath his dignity to accept any

explanation from a follower of the Corsican usurper. Without a word he

was now helping his sister into the carriage.

Jeanne, of course, hardly counted--she was dazed into semi-imbecility by

the renewed terrors she had just gone through: so for the moment Victor

felt that Crystal was isolated from the others. She stood a little to

one side--he could only just see her, as the sergeant was holding up the

lanthorn for Mme. la Duchesse to see her way into the coach. M. le Comte

went on to give a few directions to the coachman.

"Mademoiselle Crystal!" murmured Victor softly.

And he made a step forward so that now she could not move toward the

carriage without brushing against him. But she made no reply.

"Mademoiselle Crystal," he said again, "have you not one single kind

word for me?"

"A kind word?" she retorted almost involuntarily, "after such an

outrage?"

"I am a soldier," he urged, "and had to do my duty."

"You were a soldier once, M. de Marmont--a soldier of the King. Now you

are only a deserter."

"A soldier of the Emperor, Mademoiselle, of the man who led France to

victory and to glory, and will do so again, now that he has come back

into his own once more."

"You and I, M. de Marmont," she said coldly, "look at France from

different points of view. This is neither the hour nor the place to

discuss our respective sentiments. I pray you, allow me to join my aunt

in the carriage. I am cold and tired, and she will be anxious for me."

"Will you at least give me one word of encouragement, Mademoiselle?" he

urged. "As you say, our points of view are very different. But I am on

the high road to fortune. The Emperor is back in France, the army flocks

to his eagles as one man. He trusts me and I shall rise to greatness

under his wing. Mademoiselle Crystal, you promised me your hand, I have

not released you from that promise yet. I will come and claim it soon."

"Excitement seems to have turned your brain, M. de Marmont," was all

that Crystal said, and she walked straight past him to the carriage

door.

Victor smothered a curse. These aristos were as arrogant as ever. What

lesson had the revolution and the guillotine taught them? None. This

girl who had spent her whole life in poverty and exile, and was

like--after a brief interregnum--to return to exile and poverty again,

was not a whit less proud than her kindred had been when they walked in

their hundreds up the steps of the guillotine with a smile of lofty

disdain upon their lips.

Victor de Marmont was a son of the people--of those who had made the

revolution and had fought the whole of Europe in order to establish

their right to govern themselves as they thought best, and he hated all

these aristos--the men who had fled from their country and abandoned it

when she needed her sons' help more than she had ever done before.

The aristocrat was for him synonymous with the émigré--with the man who

had raised a foreign army to fight against France, who had brought the

foreigner marching triumphantly into Paris. He hated the aristocrat, but

he loved Crystal, the one desirable product of that old regime system

which he abhorred.

But with him a woman's love meant a woman's submission. He was more

determined than ever now to win her, but he wanted to win her through

her humiliation and his triumph--excitement had turned his brain? Well!

so be it, fear and oppression would turn her heart and crush her pride.

He made no further attempt to detain her: he had asked for a kind word

and she had given him withering scorn. Excitement had turned his brain

. . . he was not even worthy of parley--not even worthy of a formal

refusal!

To his credit be it said that the thought of immediate revenge did not

enter his mind then. He might have subjected her then and there to

deadly outrage--he might have had her personal effects searched, her

person touched by the rough hands of his soldiers. But though his

estimate of a woman's love was a low one, it was not so base as to

imagine that Crystal de Cambray would ever forgive so dastardly an

insult.

As she walked past him to the door, however, he said under his breath:

"Remember, Mademoiselle, that you and your family at this moment are

absolutely in my power, and that it is only because of my regard for you

that I let you all now depart from here in peace."

Whether she heard or not, he could not say; certain it is that she made

no reply, nor did she turn toward him at all. The light of the lanthorn

lit up her delicate profile, pale and drawn, her tightly pressed lips,

the look of utter contempt in her eyes, which even the fitful shadow

cast by her hair over her brows could not altogether conceal.

The Comte had given what instructions he wished to Pierre. He stood by

the carriage door waiting for his daughter: no doubt he had heard what

went on between her and de Marmont, and was content to leave her to deal

what scorn was necessary for the humiliation of the traitor.

He helped Crystal into the carriage, and also the unfortunate Jeanne;

finally he too followed, and pulled the door to behind him.

Victor did not wait to see the coach make a start. He gave the order to

remount.

"How far are we from St. Priest?" he asked.

"Not eight kilomètres, mon Colonel," was the reply.

"En avant then, ventre-à-terre!" he commanded, as he swung himself into

the saddle.

The great high road between Grenoble and Lyons is very wide, and Pierre

had no need to draw his horses to one side, as de Marmont and his troop,

after much scrambling, champing of bits and clanking of metal, rode at a

sharp trot past the coach and him.

For some few moments the sound of the horses' hoofs on the hard road

kept the echoes of the night busy with their resonance, but soon that

sound grew fainter and fainter still--after five minutes it died away

altogether.

M. de Comte put his head out of the window.

"Eh bien, Pierre," he called, "why don't we start?"

The postillion cracked his whip; Pierre shouted to his horses; the heavy

coach groaned and creaked and was once more on its way.

In the interior no one spoke. Jeanne's terror had melted in a silent

flow of tears.

Lyons was reached shortly before midnight. M. le Comte's carriage had

some difficulty in entering the town, as by orders of M. le Comte

d'Artois it had already been placed in a state of defence against the

possible advance of the "band of pirates from Corsica." The bridge of La

Guillotière had been strongly barricaded and it took M. le Comte de

Cambray some little time to establish his identity before the officer in

command of the post allowed him to proceed on his way.

The town was fairly full owing to the presence of M. le Comte d'Artois,

who had taken up his quarters at the archiepiscopal palace, and of his

staff, who were scattered in various houses about the town. Nevertheless

M. le Comte and his family were fortunate enough in obtaining

comfortable accommodation at the Hotel Bourbon.

The party was very tired, and after a light supper retired to bed.

But not before M. le Comte de Cambray had sent a special autographed

message to Monseigneur le Comte d'Artois explaining to him under what

tragic circumstances the sum of twenty-five million francs destined to

reach His Majesty the King had fallen into a common highwayman's hands

and begging that a posse of cavalry be sent out on the road after the

marauders and be placed under the orders of M. le Marquis de St. Genis,

who would be on the look-out for their arrival. He begged that the posse

should consist of not less than thirty men, seeing that some armed

followers of the Corsican brigand were also somewhere on the way.