HOW ANGELOT KEPT HIS TRYST
For Hélène, the next wonder in that autumn night's dream was the arrival
at Les Chouettes, the mysterious house which bore the character of a den
of Chouans, but the thought of which had always pleased her, as the home
of Angelot's most attractive uncle.
Angelot hurried her through the lanes, almost in silence. At last he
stopped under a tall poplar, which gleamed grey in the starlight among
the other lower trees. It was close to the spot where, coming from Les
Chouettes in the evening, he had been irresistibly drawn by the lights
of Lancilly. Here he took Hélène in his arms and kissed her for the
first time since the Curé had joined their hands.
"Mine!" he said. "My love, Hélène! you are not unhappy, you are not
afraid, my own?"
"I am with you," the girl said, very low.
"Ah! if only--anyhow, I am the happiest man in the world. Come,
dearest!"
Hélène wondered at him a little. He was changed, somehow, her gay,
talkative, light-hearted, single-minded Angelot. He had become grave.
She longed to ask him many things--how had he escaped or been released
from prison?--was it his father's doing?--would his father and mother be
displeased at his marriage?--but in spite of the rapture of knowing that
they belonged to each other, she felt strangely shy of him. In that
silent, hurried walk she dimly realised that her boy friend and lover
had grown suddenly into a man. There was keen anxiety as well as joy in
the quick, passionate embrace he allowed himself before bringing her to
his uncle's hands.
They walked up to the house, over the grass and the spreading sand. All
was silent and dark, except a gleam of light from Monsieur Joseph's
window. A dog came up and jumped on Angelot, with a little whine of
welcome; another pressed up to Hélène and licked her hand. She was
standing between the dog and Angelot when Monsieur Joseph, hearing
footsteps, suddenly opened the window and stepped out with his gun.
He stared a moment in astonished silence--then: "It is you, Anne! He has
been home, then, the good-for-nothing! You have seen your father, Ange?
Well, I told him, and I tell you, that you must go all the same--yes, my
nephew does not break promises, or fail to keep appointments--but come
in, Anne! What is the use of racing about the country all night? How did
you miss him, the worthless fellow?"
"This is not my mother, Uncle Joseph," Angelot said, laughter struggling
with earnestness, while his arm slid round Hélène. "Let me present you
to my wife."
"What are you saying?" cried Monsieur Joseph, very sharply and sternly,
coming a step nearer. "I see now--but who is this lady? None of your
insolent jokes--who is it? Dieu! What have you done!"
"I have been to the ball at Lancilly," said Angelot. "You see, this is
my cousin Hélène. She preferred a walk with me to a dance with other
people. And Uncle Hervé thought--"
"Be silent," said Monsieur Joseph. He walked forward, pushed his nephew
aside--a touch was enough for Angelot--and gently taking Hélène's hand,
drew her into the light that streamed from his window. "Mademoiselle,"
he said, "my nephew is distracted. What truth is there in all this? Are
you here with your father's knowledge. Something extraordinary must have
happened, it seems to me."
"It is true, monsieur," Hélène said, blushing scarlet. "It was my
father's doing. He sent for the Curé, and we were married in the chapel,
not an hour ago. Do not be angry with us, I beg of you, monsieur. He
said he must bring me to you first--and he loves you. My father did it
to save me. Ange will explain. My father sent his compliments to
you--and he said--he said you will see that your nephew's duty lies in
France now."
Hélène was astonished at her own eloquent boldness. Angelot watched
her, smiling, enchanted. Monsieur Joseph listened very gravely, his eyes
upon her troubled face. When she paused, he bent and kissed her hand.
"I do not understand the mystery," he said. "I only see that my nephew
is the most fortunate man in France. But I repeat, that he may hear
me--honour comes before happiness. Go round to the salon, my friends. I
will bring a light and open the door."
"Is it really myself--or am I dreaming?--yes, it must be all a dream!"
Hélène murmured, as she sat alone in Monsieur Joseph's salon, beside a
flaming wood fire that he had lighted with his own hands.
His first shock once over, the little uncle treated his nephew's wife
like a princess. He made her sit in his largest chair, he put a cushion
behind her, a footstool under her feet. With gentle hands he lifted the
cloak that had slipped from her slight shoulders, advising her to keep
it on till the room had grown warm, for she was shivering, though hardly
conscious of it. He went himself to fetch wine and cakes, set them on a
table beside her, tried unsuccessfully to make her eat and drink. Then
he glanced at his watch and turned in his quick way to Angelot, who had
been looking on at these attentions with a smile, almost jealous of the
little uncle, yet happy that he should thus accept the new situation and
take Hélène to his affectionate heart.
"Come with me, Angelot," said Monsieur Joseph. "Excuse us for a few
minutes, my dear niece,"--he bowed to Hélène. "Affairs of state"--he
smiled, dancing on tiptoe with his most birdlike air.
But as Angelot followed him out of the room, his look became as stern
and secret as that of any fierce Chouan among them all.
Hélène waited; the time seemed long; and her situation almost too
strange to be realised. Those small hours of the morning, dark and
weird, brought their own special chill and shiver, both physical and
spiritual; the thought began to trouble her that Angelot's father and
mother would be very angry, perhaps--would not receive them,
possibly--and that Uncle Joseph, in his lonely house, might be their
only refuge; the thought of her own mother's indignation became a
thought of terror, now that Angelot's dear presence was not there to
send it away; all these ghosts crowded alarmingly upon her solitude,
almost driving before them the one great certainty and wonder of the
night. She looked round the shadowy, firelit room; she noticed with
curious attention the quaint coverings of the furniture, the
bright-coloured churches, windmills, farms, peasants at their work, all
on a clear white ground, the ancient _perse_ that had been bought and
arranged by Angelot's grandmother. She thought it much prettier than
anything at Lancilly. It distracted her a little, as the minutes went
on; but surely these affairs took a long time to settle; and the wind
rose higher, and howled in the chimney and whistled in the shutters, and
she saw herself, white and solitary, in a great glass at the end of the
room.
When Angelot at last opened the door, she sprang from the chair and ran
to meet him; the only safe place was in his arms.
"Don't leave me again," she whispered, as soon as it was possible to
speak.
Angelot was very pale, his eyes were burning. With broken words and
passionate kisses he put her back into the chair, and kneeling down
beside her, struggled for calmness to explain.
He was in honour bound to go; he must ride away; the horse was already
saddled, and he had only a few minutes in which to say good-bye. He must
leave her in Uncle Joseph's care till he came back. Uncle Joseph said it
was his duty to go. That very morning he was to have started for
England; his companion would be waiting for him and running a thousand
risks; he must meet him at the appointed place and send him on his way
alone. He did not tell her that Uncle Joseph, after all his chivalrous
kindness to her, had cordially wished women, love affairs, and marriages
at the devil, even when perfectly well aware that it was not only
Hélène, with her soft hands, who was holding his nephew back and keeping
him in Anjou.
"You know my father went to Paris, sweet?" said Angelot. "He has come
back--he has been here this very night, looking for me. He would have
found me at home, if you had not called me across the fields to see you
dancing, you know! He saw all the authorities, even the Emperor himself.
Nobody knew anything about that arrest of mine, and I think a certain
Simon may get into hot water for it--though that is too much to expect,
perhaps. Anyhow, they say it was a mistake."
"Monsieur des Barres told me so. He said he was sure of it," said the
girl.
"Hélène--how beautiful you are!"
She had laid her hand on his head, and was looking down at him, smiling,
though her eyes were wet. He took her hand and held it against his lips.
"How I adore you!" he whispered.
"Then you are free--free to be happy," she said.
"As far as I know--unless that clever father of mine has asked the
Emperor for a commission for me--but I think, for my mother's sake, he
would not do that. He has not told Uncle Joseph so, at any rate; the
dear uncle would not have received an officer of Napoleon's so nicely."
Hélène shuddered; the very word "officer" brought Ratoneau to her mind.
But she felt safe at least, safe for ever now, from _him_.
"I hate soldiers," she said. "Must every one fight and kill?"
Her bridegroom was still kneeling at her feet when Monsieur Joseph came
back, bringing Henriette with him. The child's dark eyes were full of
sleep, her cropped hair stood on end, her small figure was wrapped in
her little flannel gown; she looked a strange and pathetic creature,
roused out of sleep, brought down to take her part in these realities.
But she was equal to the occasion. Riette never failed in the duties of
love; she was never called upon in vain. She went round to the back of
Hélène's chair, took her face in her two small hands, leaned forward and
kissed her forehead under the curls.
"Go, mon petit!" she said to Angelot. "I will keep her safe till you are
back in the morning."
She spoke slowly, sleepily.
"Riette is always my friend," said Angelot.
"I told you long ago," said the child, "that papa and I would help you
to the last drop of our blood."
"Ah! we have not reached that point yet," said Monsieur Joseph, laughing
softly. "Now, my children, say good-bye. After all--for a few hours--it
is not a tragedy."
* * * * *
The Lancilly ball was the most brilliant, the most beautiful, for many
hours the most successful, that had taken place in that country-side
since before the Revolution. Many people arriving late, the crowd of
guests went on increasing, and they danced with so much energy, the
music was so beautiful, the whole affair went with such a swing,
strangely mixed as the company was from a political point of view, that
Madame de Sainfoy in the midst of her duties as hostess had no time to
give more than an occasional thought to her own family. She watched
Georges and his proceedings with satisfaction, but after missing Hélène
and sending Mademoiselle Moineau to look for her, she forgot her again;
and she did not miss her husband till he failed to be in his place at
supper-time, to lead the oldest lady into the dining-room. When time
went on, and he did not appear, she began to be puzzled and anxious,
while exerting herself to the full, in order that no one should be aware
of his absence.
She was passing through the inner salon, alone for the moment, on her
way to find a servant that she might send in search of Monsieur de
Sainfoy, when General Ratoneau, having made his bow to the lady he had
brought back from supper, and who was heartily glad to be rid of him,
came to meet her with a swaggering air, partly owing to champagne.
Smiling, he told her with an oath that her daughter was confoundedly
pretty, the prettiest girl in Anjou, and the wildest and most
unmanageable; that she would not listen to a word of compliment, and had
run away from him when he told her, in plain soldier fashion--"as I
always speak, madame"--that she was to be his wife.
"Ah, Monsieur le Général--you are so certain of that?" murmured
Adélaïde, considering him with her blue eyes a little coldly.
"Certain, madame? I suppose it will not occur to you or to Monsieur de
Sainfoy to disobey the Emperor! Why, the order might have arrived
to-day--it certainly will to-morrow--ah, I mean yesterday or to-day, for
midnight is long passed. Yes, but she is a detestable mixture, that
daughter of yours, Madame la Comtesse, and it would take all my courage
to venture on such a wife, without your encouragement. Cold as ice, as
stately as an old queen of France--upon my soul, it needs a brave man to
face the possibilities of such a ménage. But I suppose she is timid with
it all--eh? I must be firm with her, I must show resolution, n'est-ce
pas?"
"Apparently your compliments frightened her. Yes, she is timid enough,"
said Madame de Sainfoy. "She not only ran away from you, but from the
ball. I understand her now. She is a mere child, Monsieur le Général,
unaccustomed to--to--" Adélaïde broke off, a little absently. "I sent a
person to find her. I will send again, but--if you will forgive me--"
with a dazzling smile--"I would advise you not to say much more to
Hélène till the affair is really decided beyond all question--yes, what
is it?"
A servant came up to her, hesitating, glancing at the General, who said
quickly, his face darkening, "I consider it decided now."
"So do I--so it is, of course," she said quickly. "Well?" to the
servant.
"Monsieur de la Marinière asks if he can see Madame la Comtesse for five
minutes."
"Ask him to wait--" she was beginning, coldly, when Monsieur Urbain came
hurrying impatiently across the room.
"Ah--my very good friend, Monsieur de la Marinière," Ratoneau said with
a grin.
He did not move away. Urbain came up and kissed Adélaïde's hand and
looked at her with an extraordinary expression. He was plainly dressed
for travelling, a strange-looking guest in those rooms. His square face
was drawn into hard lines, his mouth was set, his eyes were staring. She
gazed at him, fascinated, and her lips formed the words, "What is it,
Urbain?" Then she suddenly said, turning white, "Something has happened
to Hervé!"
"To Hervé? I don't know. Yes, he seems to have gone mad," said Urbain.
"You know nothing of it? I thought as much--but I have come straight to
you. Where is Hervé? He is here now, surely? I must speak to him."
"What are you talking about? Are you sure it is not _you_ who have gone
mad? As to Hervé, I have not seen him for the last hour. I was looking
for him."
"He looked devilish queer when I saw him last," muttered the General.
"Mademoiselle ran after him; they are a pretty pair."
Urbain and Adélaïde both looked at him vaguely; then again at each
other.
"Where is he now? Do you know?" she said.
"He left the château, madame, with your daughter and her husband,"
Urbain said, slowly and indistinctly, grinding his teeth as he spoke.
"Urbain!" she cried.
"_What_ are you saying, monsieur?" growled the General, with his hand on
his sword.
"Peace, peace, Monsieur le Général, you will know all presently," Urbain
said more calmly. "Some one has betrayed our plans," he went on, looking
at Adélaïde, who was white and speechless. "These are my adventures. I
went to Paris in search of my son, to find out where he was, and why he
had been arrested. I could hear nothing of him. I saw the Préfet de la
Police, I saw the Duc de Rovigo, I saw Réal and a dozen more officials.
No one knew anything. Finally I saw Duroc, an old acquaintance, and he
introduced me to the Emperor. His Majesty was gracious. He gave me a
free pardon for Angelot, in case he had been mixed up against his will
with any Chouan conspiracies. I pledged my honour for him in the future.
But still the mystery remained--I could not find him."
Adélaïde seemed turned to stone. These two gazed at each other,
speechless, and did not now give a look or a thought to the third person
present. He stood transfixed, listening; the angry blood rushed into his
face, then ebbed as suddenly, leaving him a livid, deathlike yellow.
"But mon Dieu, why all this story?" Adélaïde burst out with almost a
scream. "What is he to me, your silly Angelot? What did you say just
now? My daughter and--I must have heard you wrongly."
Urbain gave a short, crackling laugh. "Nevertheless, I shall go on with
my story. I came home a few hours ago. My wife told me that Angelot was
safe with his uncle at Les Chouettes." The General started violently,
but neither of them noticed him. "We went there together, and found that
the boy was gone to La Marinière, to see his mother--Joseph had planned
to pack him off out of the way of the police--with his usual
discretion--but enough of that."
"Urbain, you will madden me! What do I care for all this?"
Adélaïde made a few steps and let herself fall into a chair.
"Patience!" he said; and there was something solemn, almost awful, in
the way he stretched out his right hand to her. "We hastened back to La
Marinière, and found no Angelot there. Then I began to think that
Joseph's fears of the police might not be exaggerated--Angelot escaped
from them on the very day he was arrested--the man who arrested him,
why, I cannot discover, was that fellow Simon, the spy, and according to
Joseph he has been watching the woods ever since. I went out, for I
could not rest indoors, and as I walked down the road I met Monsieur le
Curé and Martin Joubard, coming from Lancilly. I turned back with the
old man, and he told me his story."
He stopped and drew a long breath.
"I hardly listened to the details," he said. "But by some means Hervé
had heard of the expected order--and--distrusting all the world, it
seems, even you, his wife, he sent for the Curé at midnight and forced
him to celebrate the marriage. Ah, Monsieur le Général, you may well
take it hardly; yet I do not believe you are more angry than I am."
"As to that, monsieur," said Ratoneau, glaring at him with savage fury,
"I believe you have played me false and arranged the whole affair. Your
scamp of a son has escaped the prison he richly deserved, and you have
plotted to marry him to your cousin's daughter. I always thought you as
clever as the devil, monsieur. But look here--and you too, madame,
listen to me. I will ruin the whole set of you--and as to that boy of
yours, let him beware how he meets me. I swear I will be his death."
Urbain shrugged his shoulders and turned from him to Adélaïde, who was
beckoning feebly and could hardly find voice to speak.
"I am very stupid, I suppose," she said. "I cannot understand clearly.
My husband has forced on Hélène's marriage with some one. Who is it,
Urbain? Did the Curé tell you? Do not be afraid to tell me--I can bear
it--you were always my friend."
There was something so unnatural in her manner, so terrible and stony in
her look, that Urbain turned pale and hesitated.
"Mon Dieu!" he murmured. "You do not understand!"
"Mille tonnerres, Madame la Comtesse," roared the General, striding up
to her chair--"they have married this man's son to your daughter. My
congratulations on the splendid match. Ange de la Marinière and Hélène
de Sainfoy--a pretty couple--but by all that's sacred their happiness
shall not last long!"
"Hush, hush! Go away, for God's sake," cried Urbain. "You brute, you are
killing her."
Adélaïde's eyelids had dropped, and she lay back unconscious.
There were people in the room, a confusion of voices, of wondering
exclamations. Then, through the thickening crowd, Hervé de Sainfoy and
Georges pushed their way, white and excited, followed by Mademoiselle
Moineau, whose trembling limbs could hardly carry her.
The Comte de Sainfoy and General Ratoneau met face to face, and
exchanged a few low words as Ratoneau walked out.
"You are a pretty host, Monsieur le Comte!"
"I have taught you a lesson, I hope, Monsieur le Général. I shall have
no more interference with my family affairs."
"Sapristi! it is a new thing for you, is it not, to pose as the head of
your own family? How did His Majesty's intention come to your knowledge?
I am curious to know that."
"Let me ask you to leave my house. You shall hear from me. We will
settle our affairs another day."
"Ah! You had better consult Madame la Comtesse. She is not pleased with
you."
Ratoneau went out, snarling. Scarcely knowing which way he turned, he
found himself in an outer vestibule at the foot of the great staircase.
The autumn wind was blowing in, fresh and cool across the valley; grey
light was beginning to glimmer, a shiver of dawn to pass over the world
outside. A group of men were standing in the doorway, and Ratoneau found
himself surrounded by them. One of them was Simon, with his head bound
up; the others were some of the police employed to watch Chouan
proceedings in the province generally.
"What, fool!" the General began furiously to Simon. "And all this time
you--" he checked himself, remembering the presence of the others, who
were looking at him curiously.
"We have something to report to Monsieur le Général," Simon said
hurriedly, with an eager sign of caution. "To save time--as Monsieur le
Préfet is not here. A new conspiracy has been hatched at Les
Chouettes--_Les Chouettes_, monsieur! Some of the gentlemen are probably
there now. Some are to meet at the Étang des Morts, to start for England
this very morning. They will be caught easily. But Les Chouettes should
be searched, monsieur--important arrests can be made there."
He came forward, almost pushing the General back against the stairs.
"There are enough of us," he said, "but not enough authority. If
Monsieur le Général would go himself"--he came up closer and muttered in
Ratoneau's ear--"I know all--they are there--we can at least arrest the
men--safe this time--the police have real evidence, and I have seen
nightly visitors to Monsieur de la Marinière. But _they are there_,
monsieur--I saw them on their way--I met the priest going back. And on
my word, Monsieur le Comte managed it neatly."
"Did he give you that broken head, fool? And why did you not come to me
sooner?"
"That was a gentleman with a wooden leg. Yes, he delayed me half an
hour."
"More fool you! Come, we must have these Chouans. Say nothing. Get me a
horse--one that will carry double, mind you. Four of you fellows go on
and watch the house. I and Simon will overtake you."
He swore between his teeth as he turned away, "I will be the death of
him, and I will have her yet!"