"JE SUIS LE GÉNÉRAL BIM-BAM-BOUM!"
All the men rose to their feet, except the elder d'Ombré, who had taken
a very long draught of his host's good wine, and now stared stupidly at
the others. César d'Ombré's eyes flamed with excitement. He seized the
arm of Angelot, who was next to him, in such a grip that the young
fellow flinched and frowned.
"It is our moment!" he cried. "Six to two"--then savagely, and
tightening his grasp--"unless we are betrayed--"
"What do you mean, sir?" cried Angelot, his uncle, and Monsieur de
Bourmont, all in a breath.
Monsieur des Barres laughed as he looked at Henriette.
"The idea is absurd," he said--"and yet," in a lower tone--"mademoiselle
has proved herself an amazingly true prophetess. However, it is
absurd--"
There was a moment or two of uproar. Angelot, having impatiently shaken
off the Baron's hand, was demanding that he should withdraw his words.
He, having apparently at once forgotten them, was insisting that now
indeed was the time to prove a man's loyalty, that they must stand all
together and dare all things, that the Prefect and the General, once at
Les Chouettes, must never leave it but as prisoners, that the Government
would be instantly demoralised, and the insurrection would catch and
flame like a fire in dry grass--
"And be put out as easily," shouted Monsieur de Bourmont. "Madness,
madness! Mere midsummer foolery. Go and hide yourself, firebrand!"
"Shoot them on the spot! Where are my pistols?" stammered the old Comte,
beginning to understand the situation.
Monsieur des Barres laughed till he held his sides. Henriette gave him
one or two angry and scornful glances, while Gigot, under her orders,
whisked glasses and plates and dishes into a cupboard, pushed back
chairs against the wall, took away every sign of the good meal just
begun. In the midst of all this clatter Monsieur Joseph said a few words
with eager nods and signs to Monsieur de Bourmont, and they two, taking
the old man by each arm, led him forcibly out towards the west side of
the house.
"Bring the others!" said Monsieur Joseph to his nephew, who was
listening as if fascinated to César d'Ombré's ravings.
The little uncle was angry, Angelot perceived. He stamped his foot, as
if he meant to be obeyed. Angelot had never seen him in such a state of
anxiety and excitement, or heard such words as his sincerely pious mouth
had let fall two minutes before--in Riette's presence, too! Old Joubard
was wrong: these plots were not exactly to be laughed at. Angelot,
realising that the Prefect and the General were really in danger of
their lives from men like the Messieurs d'Ombré, thought rather
seriously of his own father. At the same time, he longed to punish César
for what he had dared to say about betrayal. Yes, he was his father's
son; and so the sight of him was enough to make these wild Chouans
suspect far better Royalists than themselves. There was an account to
settle with Monsieur des Barres, too. His polite manners were all very
well, but his words to Henriette just now were insulting. Angelot was
angry with his uncle's guests, and not particularly inclined to help
them out of their present predicament. He stood gloomily, without
attempting to obey his uncle, till Henriette came up to him suddenly.
"Ange--the horses into the hiding-place! Do you hear--quick, quick!"
It might be possible to hesitate in obeying Uncle Joseph, but Cousin
Henriette was a far more autocratic person. And then her good sense
never failed, and was always convincing; she was never in doubt as to
her own right course or other people's: and Angelot, who had no
sisters, loved her like a little sister, and accepted her tyrannous
ways joyfully.
She had hardly spoken when he was out of the window, and with a few
strides across the sunshine had disappeared into the dark and cavernous
archway of the stables.
Henriette turned to the two remaining guests, César d'Ombré still
arguing in favour of instant action with Monsieur des Barres, who looked
serious enough now, and stood shrugging his shoulders.
"Follow me, gentlemen," said the child. "I know where my papa is waiting
for you."
"Mademoiselle, we are in your hands," said the Vicomte, bowing. "We have
never for an instant lost confidence in you."
She bent her head, with the air and smile of a woman who rather
scornfully accepts an apology. She went out of the dining-room and along
the hall, the two men following her. César d'Ombré lingered as far as he
dared, and grumbled between his teeth.
At that very moment the Prefect of the department, with the newly
appointed General in command of the troops stationed there, only
escorted by three men in the dress of gendarmes, rode slowly and gently
round the back of the kitchen into the sandy courtyard of Les Chouettes.
"Monsieur de la Marinière's hermitage," said the Prefect to his
companion.
"It looks like one, sapristi!" said the General.
Nothing could seem stiller, more fast asleep, than Les Chouettes in the
approaching noon of that hot September day. The dogs barked and growled,
it was true, but only one of them, the youngest, troubled himself to get
up from where he lay in the warm sand. No human creature was to be seen
about the house or buildings; the silence of the woods lay all around;
the dry air smelt delicately of wood smoke and fir trees; the shadows
were very deep, cutting across the broad belts of glowing sunshine.
"Every one is asleep," said the Prefect. "I am afraid breakfast is over;
we ought to have arrived an hour ago."
"Caught them napping!" chuckled the General.
The voices, and the clinking of bridles, as the little cavalcade passed
towards the house at a walking pace, brought the cook to the kitchen
door. She stared in consternation. She was a pretty woman, Gigot's wife,
with a pale complexion and black hair; her provincial cap was very
becoming. But she now turned as red as a turkey-cock and her jaw
dropped, as she stared after the horsemen. No one had warned her: there
had not been time or opportunity. She was just dishing up the roast meat
for the hungry appetites of Messieurs les Chouans, when behold, the
gendarmes! Who the gentlemen were, she did not know; but imperial
gendarmes were never a welcome sight to Monsieur Joseph's household.
"The place is like a city of the dead," said the Prefect, drawing rein
in front of the salon windows. "See if you can find any one, Simon, and
ask for Monsieur de la Marinière."
One of the gendarmes dismounted. Wearing the ordinary dress of these
civil soldiers, he yet differed in some indefinable way from his two
companions. He had the keen and wary look of a clever dog; his eyes were
everywhere.
"City of the dead, eh! Plenty of footprints of the living!" he muttered,
as he turned back towards the outbuildings and noticed the trampled
sand.
Marie Gigot saw him coming, and dived back into her kitchen.
"Ah! it is that demon!" she said to herself. "Holy Virgin, defend us! I
thought that wretch was gone. All of them in the dining-room--the stable
full of their horses, and no one there but that ignorant Tobie! We are
done for at last, that's sure. Eh! there's Monsieur Angelot talking to
him. But of course it is hopeless. That must be the Prefect. To be sure
they say he is better than the last--and it may be only a friendly
visit--and why should not my master have his friends to breakfast? But
then, again, what brings that Simon, that Chouan-catcher, as they call
him! Why, Gigot told me of half-a-dozen fellows who had sworn to shoot
him, and not a hundred miles from here."
She ran to the door again and looked out. Angelot, cool and quiet, had
come out of the stable and met the gendarme face to face, returning his
salutation with indifference.
"It is Monsieur le Préfet? Certainly, my uncle is at home," he said. "I
am not sure that he is in the house," and he walked on towards the group
of horsemen.
"Not in the house!" breathed the cook. "They are hiding, then! They must
have heard or seen them coming--ah, how stupid I am! I saw mademoiselle
run past the window."
Angelot came bareheaded, smiling, to represent his uncle in welcoming
the Prefect to Les Chouettes. He would not have been his father's son if
the droll side of the situation had not struck him. He thought it
exquisite, though he was sorry for his uncle's annoyance. The Chouan
guests had irritated him, and that they should lose their breakfast
seemed a happy retribution, though he would have done all he could to
save them from further penalties. Angelot looked up at the Prefect, his
handsome sleepy eyes alight with laughter.
"Do my uncle the pleasure of coming in, monsieur," he said. "He will be
here immediately; he has been out shooting. It is exactly breakfast
time."
"We shall be very grateful for your uncle's hospitality; we have had a
long ride in the heat," said the Prefect.
His eyes as they met Angelot's were very keen, as well as very kind and
gentle. He was a singularly good-looking man, and sat his horse
gracefully. His manners were those of the great world; he was one of the
noblest and most popular of the men of old family who had rallied to the
Empire, believing that Napoleon's genius and the glory of France were
one.
"Monsieur le Général," he said, turning to his companion, "let me
present Monsieur Ange de la Marinière, the son of Monsieur Urbain de la
Marinière, one of my truest friends in the department."
The rough and mocking voice that answered--"Happy to make his
acquaintance"--brought the colour into Angelot's face as he bowed.
The Prefect, who for reasons of his own watched the lad curiously, saw
the change, the cloud that darkened those frank looks suddenly, and
understood it pretty well. The new military commander, risen from the
ranks in every sense, had nothing to justify his position except
courage, a talent for commanding, and devotion to the Emperor. That he
was not now fighting in Spain was due partly to quarrels with other
generals, partly to wounds received in the last Austrian campaign, which
unfitted him for the time for active service. In sending him to this
Royalist province of the West, Napoleon might have aimed at providing
the Prefect with an effective foil to his own character and connections.
The great Emperor by no means despised the trick of setting his
servants to watch one another.
One personal peculiarity this General possessed, which had both helped
and hindered him in his career. As Monsieur des Barres said, he was
exceedingly like his master. A taller, heavier man, his face and head
were a coarse likeness of Napoleon's. There were the lines of beauty
without the sweetness, the strength without the genius, the ingrained
selfishness unveiled by any mask, even of policy. General Ratoneau was
repulsive where Napoleon was attractive. He had fought under Napoleon
from the beginning, and had risen by his own efforts, disliked by all
his superiors, even by the Emperor, to whom the strange likeness did not
recommend him. But it had a great effect on the men who fought under
him. Though he was a brutal leader, they were ready to follow him
anywhere, and had been known to call him _le gros caporal_, so strong
and obvious was this likeness. He was a splendid soldier, though
ill-tempered, cruel, and overbearing. He was a man to be reckoned with,
and so the amiable Prefect found. Having himself plenty of scruples,
plenty of humanity, and a horror of civil war, he found a colleague with
none of these difficult to manage. Nothing, for instance, was further
from the Prefect's wish than to spy upon his Royalist neighbours and to
drive them to desperation. The very word _Chouan_ represented to General
Ratoneau a wild beast to be trapped or hunted.
Angelot looked at this man, and from the first glance hated him. There
was something insolent in the stare of those bold dark eyes, which were
bloodshot, too, matching the redness and coarseness of the face;
something mocking, threatening, as much as to say: "Very fine, young
fellow, but I don't believe a word of it. I believe you, baby as you
are, and your father, and your uncle, and the whole boiling of you, are
a set of traitors to the Emperor and ought to be hanged in a row on
those trees of yours. So take care how you behave, young man!"
The Prefect read Angelot's looks, and saw what kind of instant
impression the General had made. No girl, at the moment, could have
shown her feelings more plainly. Angelot might have said aloud, "What
odious wretch is this!" such proud disgust was written on his face. But
he recovered himself instantly, and again laughter was very near the
surface as he begged these new guests to dismount. For the outwitting
and disappointing of such a horrible official was even a richer piece of
fun than the disturbance of the poor Chouans at their breakfast table.
Nothing could have been more agreeable than the manner in which Monsieur
Joseph received his unexpected visitors. They were hardly in the salon
when he came lightly along the hall, step and air those of a much
younger man. All smiles, he shook hands affectionately with the Prefect
and bowed ceremoniously to the General. They had done him the greatest
honour, caused him the keenest delight, by this friendly visit of
surprise. Only he must beg them to pardon the deficiencies of his
household. He really could not say what sort of breakfast they were
likely to find. Plenty, he hoped--for his nephew had come in from a long
morning's sport, half-an-hour ago, and the cook knew how to a measure a
young man's appetite. But as to quality--he could only throw himself on
the kind indulgence of his friends.
"As for me," said the General, "I am as hungry as a wolf, and I could
eat a lump of brown bread, and wash it down with a quart of sour wine."
"Ah, ah! a true soldier, monsieur!" said Monsieur Joseph, and clapped
his hands gently.
"My uncle's wine is not sour, as Monsieur le Général will find," said
Angelot.
The General replied, with a scowl and a shrug, "I don't suppose you mean
to compare your wine from this poor soil with the wine of the South, for
instance."
"Ah, pardon, but I do!" cried the boy. "This very morning, our farmer on
the _landes_ gave me a glass of wine, white sparkling wine, which you
would hardly match in France, except, of course, in the real champagne
country. And even as to that, our wine is purer. It tastes of sunshine
and of the white grapes of the vineyard. There is nothing better."
"Nothing better for children, I dare say," said General Ratoneau, with
a laugh. "Men like something stronger than sunshine and grapes. So will
you, one of these days."
Angelot looked hard at the man for a moment. He sat squarely, twisting
his whip in his hands, on one of Monsieur Joseph's old Louis Quinze
chairs, which seemed hardly fit to bear his weight. The delicate
atmosphere of old France was all about him. Angelot and his uncle were
incarnations of it, even in their plain shooting clothes; and the
Prefect, the Baron de Mauves, was worthy in looks and manners of the old
régime from which he sprang. The other man was a son of the Revolution
and of a butcher at Marseilles. With his glittering uniform, his look of
a coarse Roman, he was the very type of military tyranny at its worst,
without even the good manners of past days to soften the frank insolence
of a soldier.
"Voilà l'Empire! I wish my father could see him!" Angelot thought.
Monsieur Joseph looked at his nephew. His sweet smile had faded, a
sudden shadow of anxiety taking its place. How would Angelot bear with
this man? Would he remember that in spite of all provocation he must be
treated civilly? The Prefect also glanced up a little nervously at
Angelot as he stood. Had the handsome, attractive boy any share at all
of his father's wisdom and faultless temper?
Angelot was conscious of both these warnings. He answered the little
uncle's with a smile, and said easily--"It is possible--I cannot tell.
As to the wine--I will ask your opinion after breakfast, monsieur."
The Prefect's face cleared up suddenly. Angelot was a worthy son of his
father.
"It is quite unnecessary, my dear friend," he said to Monsieur Joseph,
"for you to attempt to alarm us about our breakfast. Your cook can work
miracles. This is not the first time, remember, that I have taken you by
surprise."
"And you are always welcome, my dear Baron," Monsieur Joseph answered
gently, but a little dreamily.
"I shall now have a fresh attraction in this country," the Prefect said.
"With your cousin, De Sainfoy, at Lancilly, your neighbourhood will
indeed leave nothing to be desired."
"Hervé is an agreeable man," said Monsieur Joseph. "I have not seen him
for many years; I do not know his wife and family. My brother is charmed
to welcome them all."
"Of course, and they must feel that they owe everything to him. Monsieur
your brother is a benefactor to his country and species," said the
Prefect, with a smile at Angelot. "Madame de Sainfoy is an exceedingly
pretty woman. She made quite a sensation at Court in the spring, and I
should think there will not be much difficulty in her getting the
appointment I understand she wishes--lady in waiting to the Empress.
Only they say that the Emperor does not quite trust De Sainfoy--finds
him a little half-hearted."
"That is possible," said Monsieur Joseph, gently.
"Well, it is a pity," said the Prefect. "If you accept the new régime at
all, you should do it loyally."
"My cousin has a son fighting in Spain. That ought to be placed to his
credit."
"And no doubt it is. His daughter, too, may do something. There is only
one grown up, and she has not been brought much into society--her
father's fault, they say; he has ideas of his own about marrying her.
But I am telling you what you know already?"
"Not at all, monsieur. I have heard nothing of it. When my cousins live
at Lancilly, the family councils may include me; so far they have not
done so. I did not even realise that Mademoiselle Hélène was old enough
to be married. And what match is arranged for her?"
"None that I know of. Her father's action has been negative, not
positive, I understand. He has simply refused to consider one or two
suggested marriages, either of which would have been good politically."
"Reasons of birth, I suppose," said Monsieur Joseph. "He has my cordial
sympathy."
The Prefect coughed; the General scraped his chair; Angelot nearly
laughed aloud.
"You will find it very agreeable to have your cousins at Lancilly," the
Prefect said, looking at him kindly.
"I don't know, monsieur," Angelot answered. "Young girls are hardly
companions for me."
"Indeed! As to that--" began the Prefect, still smiling as he looked at
the lad; but his remark was cut short and his attention pleasantly
distracted.
Gigot, with unshaken solemnity, set open the doors for the second time
that morning.
"Monsieur est servi!"