HOW MONSIEUR JOSEPH WENT OUT INTO THE DAWN
At Les Chouettes, in those early hours of the morning, they were waiting
for Angelot's return. Monsieur Joseph, the softest-hearted, most
open-natured man who ever posed as a dark and hard conspirator, could
not now forgive himself for having sent the boy away. "Why did I not go
myself?" he muttered. Faithfulness to the cause, honour towards César
d'Ombré, a touch of severity, really born of love, towards Angelot's
light-hearted indifference; these had led him into something like
cruelty towards the girl who had been thrown with such wild and
passionate haste into Angelot's arms. Monsieur Joseph regarded Hervé de
Sainfoy's sudden action as a great embarrassment for the family, though
he himself had once suggested such a marriage, out of indulgence for his
nephew. He saw that the situation would be terribly awkward for Urbain
and Anne, that they would hardly welcome such a daughter-in-law; yet,
though he said sharp words about women to Angelot, he was heartily sorry
for Hélène.
"Pauvre petite!" he said to himself. "No, it was not right of Hervé.
Ange is too young for such responsibility; there might have been other
ways of saving her. But in the meanwhile, she is dreadfully frightened
and lonely, and I have sent her little lover away. God grant he fall
into no traps--but the police may be anywhere. Well, Riette must do her
best--the woman-child--she seemed to me just now older than Angelot's
wife--Angelot's wife--what an absurdity!"
The child had led the girl away to her own room above; the house was
still. Monsieur Joseph went back to his room, walked up and down its
length, from the west to the east window and back again; rather
nervously examined his arms, and laid a sword and a pair of pistols on
the table. He knew of no special danger; but for the last fortnight he
had been living in a state of watchfulness which had sharpened all his
senses and kept him unusually sleepless. Now he longed for the night to
be over; for his present charge weighed upon him heavily. It was certain
that in sending Angelot away to keep the tryst with César he had made
himself responsible for Hélène. He thought over all the foolish little
love-story, in which at first he had had some part, though nobody was
more angry with Angelot when he took things into his own hands and
climbed the old ivy-tree to visit his love.
"And now--is the fellow rewarded or punished? we shall see!" he
thought. "In any case, I must stand by him now. He has not always been
grateful or wise--but there, he is young, and I love the boy. Riette
talks of 'the last drop of our blood.' Verily, I believe she would give
it for Angelot--and I--well, I told Hervé and his mother that I would
cut off my right hand for him. That was saying something! But Anne knew
I meant it--and God knows the same."
Monsieur Joseph glanced up at the Crucifix hanging over his bed, and,
presently, seeing a glimmer of dawn through the shutters, knelt down and
said his morning prayers.
He had scarcely finished when all the dogs began to bark, and there was
a frightful growling and snarling outside his window. He opened it, and
pushed back the shutters. The woods were grey and misty in a pale,
unearthly dawn, and the house threw a shadow from the waning moon, which
had risen behind the buildings and trees to the east. The howling wind
of the night had gone down; the air was cold and still.
Monsieur Joseph saw a man with his head tied up, armed with a police
carbine, making a short cut over the grass from the western wood. It was
this man, Simon, whom the dogs were welcoming after their manner.
Monsieur Joseph's voice silenced them. He stepped out, unarmed as he
was, and met Simon in the sandy square.
"Ah no, no, my friend!" he said. "Your tricks are over, your work is
done."
"Pardon, monsieur!" said Simon, respectfully enough.
"Do you understand me? Come, now, what authority had you for arresting
my nephew? You are going to find it was a serious mistake. Be off with
you, and let him alone in the future."
"I know all about that, monsieur," Simon answered coolly. "Your nephew
is lucky enough to have a loyal father, who can pull him out of his
scrapes. Your nephew has plenty of friends--but even his connections
won't save him, I think, if he is mixed up in this new plot of yours. I
must search your house at once, if you please."
"What do you mean, you scoundrel? You will not search my house," said
Monsieur Joseph, fiercely.
"By order, monsieur."
"Whose order? The Prefect's? Show it me."
"Pardon! There has not been time to apply to Monsieur le Préfet. We have
intelligence of a plot, hatched here in your house, a plan for a rising.
We know that certain gentlemen are starting this very morning on a
mission to England, to bring back arms and men. They will be caught--are
caught already, no doubt--at their rendezvous. There was not time to go
to Sonnay for orders and warrants; we had to strike while the iron was
hot. We applied to General Ratoneau, who was at the ball at Lancilly. He
not only gave us authority to search your house for arms and
conspirators--he accompanied us himself. He is there, beyond the wood,
with enough men to enter your house by force, if you refuse to let us
enter peaceably."
For a moment Monsieur Joseph said nothing. Simon grinned as well as his
stiff and aching head would let him, as he watched the little
gentleman's expressive face.
"We have got them, Monsieur le Général!" he said to himself. He added
aloud and insolently: "An unpleasant experience for the young gentleman,
so soon after his wedding, but a final warning, I imagine. If he comes
free and happy out of this, he will have done with Chouannerie!"
"Silence!" said Monsieur Joseph. "If you want conspirators, there is one
here, and that is myself. I will go to Sonnay with you--though your
accusations are ridiculous, and there is no plan for a rising. But I
will not allow you to search my house, if there were ten generals and an
army behind the wood there. I will shoot down any one who attempts it."
"So much the worse for you, monsieur," said Simon.
"Go back to General Ratoneau and tell him what I say," said Monsieur
Joseph. "He will not doubt my word. Wait. I will speak to him myself.
Tell him I will meet him in ten minutes under the old oaks up there. I
wish for a private word with him."
"Ten minutes, monsieur,"--Simon hesitated.
"Do as you are told," said Monsieur Joseph; and he stepped back into his
room, pulled the shutters sharply to, and shut the window.
Simon lingered a minute or two, looking round the house, giving the
growling dogs a wide berth, then went back with his message to the wood,
and took the precaution of sending a man to watch the lanes on the other
side. He did not, of course, for a moment suppose that there was any one
there, except, most probably, Ange de la Marinière and his bride; but it
would not do to let him once again escape the General. What his plans
might be, Simon only half guessed; but he knew they were desperate, and
he knew that the man who balked him would repent it. And besides all
this, he had not yet received a sou for all the dirty work he had lately
done. But in the bitter depths of his discontented mind, Simon began to
suspect that he had made a mistake in committing himself, body and soul,
to General Ratoneau.
Monsieur Joseph took a small pistol from a cabinet, loaded it, then ran
lightly upstairs and called Riette, who came flying to meet him. He took
her in his arms and kissed her shaggy pate.
"Your hair wants brushing, mademoiselle," he said. "You are a contrast
to your beautiful cousin."
"Oh, papa, isn't it glorious to think that Hélène has married Angelot?
They do love each other so. She has been telling me that if only he
were back safe from the Étang des Morts, she would be the very happiest
woman in the world."
"I hope she will be, and soon," said Monsieur Joseph. But he trembled as
he spoke, for if Simon was right, Angelot and César might be even now in
the hands of the police.
"Listen, Riette," he said. "There are some men outside, police and
officials--General Ratoneau is with them. Once again there are fancies
in these people's heads about me and my friends. They want to search the
house. There is no reason for it, and I will not have it done. I am
going out now to speak to the General. Look at the clock. If I am not
back in ten minutes, go out at the back with your cousin, take the path
behind the stables, and make all the haste you can to La Marinière. It
will be light, you cannot lose your way. Only keep in the shelter of the
trees, that those people over in the wood may not see you."
Riette gazed at him with dark large eyes which seemed to read something
behind his words.
"Why do you think you will not come back, papa? Because General Ratoneau
is a wicked man?"
"Because Imperial justice may carry me to Sonnay. But the Prefect is my
friend," said Monsieur Joseph, gravely. "Go back, and do as I tell you.
Remember, Angelot's wife is in your care. Take this pistol, and defend
her if necessary."
He left her without another word and ran downstairs. In the ground-floor
rooms he found the servants waiting, the two men armed, Marie wildly
excited, all talking at once, for they had heard from an upper window
their master's conversation with Simon.
Before he could give them any orders, two tall shadows came across the
white sand in that unearthly light of moon and dawn, and old Joubard and
his son, pushing at the window, were immediately let in by Gigot. They
explained that Monsieur Angelot, on his way to the Étang des Morts, had
stopped at La Joubardière. He had found Martin, not long returned from
Lancilly, busy telling his father the events of the night. He had begged
them both to go down to Les Chouettes, to watch quietly about there till
his return. They understood very well that his greatest treasure in life
was there, and they had started off, Joubard with his gun, not intending
to go to the house or disturb Monsieur Joseph. But coming down they
found the man Simon had just sent to keep the eastern road, who told
them the place was besieged by police and the house to be searched
immediately. They took the liberty of depriving him of his carbine,
tying him to a tree, and setting a dog to watch him there. Old Joubard
explained this to Monsieur Joseph with an air of apology.
"Thank you. You could not have done better, Joubard. Listen, I am going
out to speak to General Ratoneau. I have told Mademoiselle Henriette, if
I am not back in ten minutes, to take Madame Ange to La Marinière. If
the General insists on my going off to Sonnay, this will not be a place
for ladies. Perhaps, Marie, you had better go with them. The police will
try to insist on searching the house. I will not have it searched,
without a warrant from Monsieur le Préfet. You four men, I leave it in
your care. Defend the house, as you know I should defend it."
Tobie chuckled. "Spoil their beauty, eh!" and went on loading his gun.
Old Joubard's face had lengthened slightly. "Anything within the law,"
he muttered. "But I am not a Chouan, dear little monsieur, nor is
Martin--no!"
"Chouan or not, you are my friends, all of you," said Monsieur Joseph;
and he turned and left them.
He went back to his room, wrote a short letter to his brother Urbain,
and left it on the table. Then he took his sword, crossed himself, and
went out into the slowly lightening day.
Ratoneau was waiting for him under the trees, just out of sight of the
house, and they were practically alone. A groom held the General's horse
at some little distance; Simon waited in the background, skulking behind
the trees, and the other men were watching the house from various
points. The road which passed Les Chouettes on the north crept on
westward, and skirted that same wood of tall oaks, chestnuts, and firs
where Monsieur Joseph's Chouan friends had been hidden from the Prefect
and the General. The wood, with little undergrowth, but thickly carpeted
with dead leaves, sloped down to the south; on its highest edge a line
of old oaks, hollow and enormous, stood like grim sentinels. It was
under one of these, hidden from the house by a corner of the wood, that
Monsieur Joseph met the General.
Ratoneau was considerably cooler than when he had left Lancilly. His
manner was less violent, but even more insolent than usual. He looked at
his watch as Monsieur Joseph came up, walking over the rough grass with
the light step of a boy.
"What do you mean, monsieur, by keeping an Imperial officer waiting?" he
said. "Ten minutes? I have been standing here twenty, and you had no
right to ask for one. You forget who you are, monsieur, and who I am."
"Kindly enlighten me on these points, Monsieur le Général," said
Monsieur Joseph, smiling cheerfully.
"I will enlighten you so far--that you are twice a traitor, and the
worst of a whole band of traitors."
"Et puis, monsieur? Once--it is possible from your point of view, but
how twice?" said Monsieur Joseph, with that air of happy curiosity
which had often, in earlier years, misled his enemies to their undoing.
Ratoneau stared at him, muttered an oath, and stammered out: "Not
content with plotting against His Majesty's government--why you--you,
monsieur--are aiding and abetting that nephew of yours in this
scandalous affair of his marriage. Sapristi! you look as innocent as a
new-born child! You laugh, monsieur! Do you suppose the Emperor will not
learn the truth about this marriage? Yes, I can tell you, you will
bitterly repent this night's work--Monsieur de Sainfoy and all of you.
And to begin with, that accursed nephew of yours will spend his
honeymoon in prison. I have not yet seen my way through the ins and outs
of the affair--I do not know how Monsieur de Sainfoy heard of the
Emperor's intention--but at least I can have my revenge on your nephew
and I will--I will!"
"Ah!" Monsieur Joseph laughed slightly. "I would not be too sure,
monsieur. You can prove nothing against Ange. His father, let me tell
you, has set him right with the Emperor. He is in no danger at all,
unless from your personal malice. The prize you intended to have has
been given to him. It is no doing of his family. I do not believe the
Emperor will punish him or them. And--unless he values your services
more highly than I should think probable, I fancy he will see excuses
for Monsieur de Sainfoy!"
"No doing of his family! The intrigue has been going on for weeks,"
cried Ratoneau. "When have I not seen that odious boy pushing himself at
Lancilly? Detestable little hound! as insolent as yourself, and far more
of a fool. I have always hated him--always--since the day I first saw
him in your house, the day when we met a herd of cattle in the lane, and
he dared to laugh at my horse's misbehaviour. Little scum of the earth!
if I had him under my heel--What are we losing time for? What do you
want to say to me? It is my duty to arrest you, and to search your house
for conspirators and arms, in the name of the Emperor."
"Yes; I know all that," said Monsieur Joseph, gently, with his head a
little on one side.
He was wondering, as he wondered on first acquaintance with this man,
for how long he would be able to refrain from striking him in the face.
He was afraid that it would not, at this juncture, be a wise thing to
do. The two girls in the house were much on his mind; perhaps a
presentiment of something of this sort had made him arrange for their
escape.
"I told that police fellow," he went on very mildly, "that I was ready
to go with you to Sonnay, where the Prefect, of course, is the right
person to deal with any suspected conspiracy. I also told him, and I
tell you, that I will not have my house searched without the Prefect's
warrant."
"And pray, how are you going to prevent it?" said Ratoneau, staring at
him.
"Try it, and you will see," said Monsieur Joseph.
"Your nephew is shut up there, I know. He is taking care of his bride,
and is afraid to come out and face me," said Ratoneau, with a frightful
grin. "He will not dare to resist by force--miserable little coward!"
"All this shall be paid for by and by," Monsieur Joseph said to himself,
consolingly. Aloud he said, "It happens that my nephew is not there,
Monsieur le Général."
"Not there! where are they gone then? I believe that is a lie."
Monsieur Joseph bowed politely, with his hand on his sword.
"Allow me to remark, Monsieur le Général Ratoneau, that you are a cheat
and a coward."
Ratoneau turned purple, and almost choked.
"Monsieur! You dare to use such words to me! I shall call my men up,
and--"
"Call the whole of the usurper's army," said Monsieur Joseph, with
unearthly coolness. "As they follow him they may follow you, his
pasteboard image. But I am quite of your opinion, my words need
explanation. I see through you, Monsieur le Général. You tried to cheat
the Comte de Sainfoy out of his daughter, whom he had refused you. And I
am sure now, that my nephew's arrest the other day was a scoundrelly
piece of cheating, a satisfaction of your private spite, a means of
getting him out of your way. Yes, I see through you now. A fine specimen
of an Imperial officer, bribing police spies to carry out his private
malice. Coward and cheat! Defend yourself!"
Both swords were out, and the fight began instantly. The steel clashed
and darted lightly, flashing back the rising day. It was no ordinary
duel, no mere satisfaction of honour, though each might have had the
right to demand this of the other. It was a quarrel of life and death,
personal hatred that must slay or be slain.
Monsieur Joseph, with all his grace and amiability, had the passionate
nature of old France; his instincts were primitive and simple; he
longed, and his longing had become irresistible, to send a villain out
of the world. Perhaps, too, in Ratoneau's overbearing swagger, he saw
and felt an incarnation of that Empire which had crushed his native
country under its iron feet. But all mixed motives were fused together
and flamed up in the fighting rage that drew that slight hand to the
sword-hilt, and darted like lightning along the living blade.
Monsieur Joseph was a splendid swordsman. But Ratoneau, too, had perfect
command of his weapon; and besides this, he was a taller and heavier
man. And the fury of disappointment, of revenge, the dread of being
found out, of probable disgrace, if Joseph de la Marinière could prove
his keen suspicions true; all this added to his caution, while he never
lacked the bull-dog courage of a fighting soldier. Though foaming with
rage, he was at that moment the cooler, the more self-possessed of the
two.
Simon tried at first to interfere. He stepped out from among the trees,
exclaiming, "Messieurs--messieurs!" but then withdrew again, for the
very sight of the two men's faces, the sound of their breath, the quick
clash of the swords, showed that this was a quarrel past mending. Simon
watched. He was conscious, in the depths of his mind, of a knowledge
that he would not mourn very deeply if General Ratoneau should be the
one to fall. He hastily made his own plans. In that case he would slip
away behind the trees, take the horse from the groom without a word, and
ride away to Paris, trusting that he might never be called to account
for any dark doings in Anjou. For there was not only the false arrest of
Angelot; there were also certain dealings with the Prefect's secretary;
there were tamperings with papers and seals, all to set forward that
marriage affair that had failed so dismally, he hardly understood how.
But he had hoped that the Prefect would die, and the news of his rapid
recovery seemed strangely inopportune. It appeared to Simon that General
Ratoneau's star was on the wane; and so, for those entangled in his
rascally deeds, a lucky thrust of Monsieur de la Marinière's swiftly
flashing sword--Ah, no! the fortune of war was on the wrong side that
morning. A few passes; a fight three or four minutes long; a low cry,
then silence, and the slipping down of a light body on the grass.
General Ratoneau had run his adversary through the heart, had withdrawn
his sword and stood, white but unmoved, looking at him as he lay.
[Illustration: "MONSIEUR LE GÉNÉRAL, YOU HAVE KILLED HIM!"]
Monsieur Joseph turned himself once, and stretched his slight limbs, as
if composing himself to sleep. His face was towards his house and the
rising dawn, and he gazed that way with dark eyes wide open. His lips
moved, but no one heard what he said. All the fighting fury was gone
from his face, and as a thin thread of blood trickled down from his side
and began to redden the grass beneath, his look, at first startled and
painful, became every moment more peaceful, more satisfied. His eyelids
slowly drooped and fell; he died smiling, his whole attitude and
expression so lifelike that the two witnesses, Ratoneau and Simon, could
scarcely believe that he was dead.
The General stood immovable. Simon, after a minute, knelt down and felt
the pulse and examined the wound. It had been almost instantly fatal,
the pulse was still.
"Mon Dieu, Monsieur le Général, you have killed him!" Simon said, under
his breath.
Ratoneau glared at him for a moment before he spoke.
"He tried to kill me," he said. "You were there, you can bear witness,
he challenged and attacked me, the little fighting-cock. I wish it had
been his nephew. But now for him! Come, leave the body there; the
servants will fetch it in presently."
He started to walk towards the house, carrying his drawn sword in his
hand. In the middle of the slope he turned round with a furious look to
his follower.
"Those who insult me, and stand in my way--you see the lessons I teach
them!" he said hoarsely, and walked on.
The western front of Les Chouettes, the tower rising into the slowly
lightening sky, presented a lifeless face to the woods where its master
lay. All the windows were closed and shuttered; dead silence reigned.
When the General shouted an order to open, beating with his sword-hilt
at a window, he was only answered by the growling and barking of the
dogs, whom the defenders had called in. He walked round by the south to
the east front; the same chorus accompanied him, but of human voices
there were none. He whistled up the rest of the gendarmes, and ordered
them to force the dining-room window. Then the shutters of a window
above it were pushed open, and a white-haired man looked out into the
court.
"Now, old Chouan, do you hear me?" shouted Ratoneau, in his most
overbearing tones. "Come down and open some of these windows."
"Pardon, monsieur," old Joubard answered quietly. "I have Monsieur de
la Marinière's orders to keep them shut."
"Have you, indeed? Well, it makes no difference to him whether they are
shut or open. Tell his nephew, Monsieur Ange, with my compliments, to
come down and speak to me. Tell him I want to see his pretty wife, and
to congratulate him on his marriage. Tell him to bring a sword, if he
knows how to use one, and to revenge his uncle."
There was a dead pause. The two Joubards and the servants, all together
in that upper room, looked strangely at each other.
"Tiens, Maître Joubard, let me come to the window and I'll shoot that
man dead!" groaned Tobie in the background.
"No, you fool, Tobie," Joubard said angrily. "Do you want us all to be
massacred? Anyhow, let us first know what he means."
"I wonder where the master is!" said Gigot, and his teeth chattered.
"He has killed him," Martin whispered, looking at his father.
"This will be the ruin of us all," said old Joubard aside to him. "You,
at least, keep out of the way. Those men have carbines. You have not
come home from Spain to be shot by mistake for a Chouan. I will try to
speak civilly. Monsieur le Général," he said, leaning out of the window,
"your worship is mistaken. There are no Chouans here, and no ladies. And
Monsieur Angelot is not here. Only we, a few harmless servants and
neighbours, taking care of the house, left in charge while Monsieur de
la Marinière went to speak to you, waiting till he comes back. We can do
nothing without his orders, Monsieur le Général."
"Then you will do nothing till doomsday," said Ratoneau. "Don't you
understand that he is dead, old fool, whoever you may be?"
"Dead! Impossible!" old Joubard stammered. "Monsieur Joseph
dead--murdered! And the gendarmes on your side, monsieur! Why, he was
here giving us our orders, a quarter of an hour ago."
In the horrified look he turned on Martin, there was yet the shadow of a
smile. For Martin's eager persuasions had sent Hélène and Riette away
with Marie Gigot through the woods to La Marinière, almost before
Monsieur Joseph's appointed time.
Joubard leaned again out of the window, his rugged face in the full
light of the morning.
"This is a bad business, Monsieur le Général," he said. "If it is true
that you have killed Monsieur Joseph, you have done enough for one day.
Take my advice, draw your men off and go away. Justice will follow you;
and you have no right here. I am not a Chouan. I am Joubard, of La
Joubardière, Monsieur Urbain de la Marinière's best tenant, and my only
son lost his limbs fighting for the Emperor."
Simon drew near, with his bandaged head, and looked up at the window.
"Ah! He has limbs enough left to do some mischief," he growled savagely.
"Is he there, your precious cripple of a son? I shall have something to
say to him, one of these days."
"Begone with you all," cried old Joubard, "for a pack of thieves and
murderers! You are a disgrace to the Emperor, his police and his army!"
"Silence, old fool!" shouted Ratoneau. "What do you say about murder,
you idiot? Did you never hear of a man being killed in a duel? Come
down, some of you, I say, or I force my way in."
He would have done so, and easily, but for a sudden interruption.
There was a wild howl of pain from among the trees beyond the kitchen,
where one of Monsieur Joseph's faithful dogs followed him to the land
where all faithfulness is perhaps rewarded; and then the gendarme whom
Joubard had tied to a tree came running down to the house with the
comrade who had freed him and killed his guard. He was eager to tell the
General what he had seen while every one but himself was away in the
western wood. He had seen two women and a child escape from the house,
and hurry away by the footpath under the trees towards La Marinière. One
of the women was dressed in white; he could see it under her cloak; she
spoke, and it was a lady's voice; they had passed quite near him. How
long ago? Well, perhaps a quarter of an hour. General Ratoneau stamped
his foot and ground his teeth.
"Bring my horse!" he said; and then he looked up again at the window, at
old Joubard's stern face watching him.
"Monsieur Ange de la Marinière!" he shouted in tones of thunder. "Come
out of your hole, little coward, if you are there. I will teach you to
marry against the Emperor's commands! You shall meet me before you see
your wife again. I will give account of you, and I will have what is my
own. What! you dare not come out? Then follow me to Sonnay, monsieur, by
way of La Marinière."
He flung himself into the saddle and rode off at a furious pace, turning
round to shout back to Simon, "I shall overtake her! Go on--shoot them
all--burn the house, if you must."
His horse plunged down into the shadows of the narrow lane, and they
heard the heavy thud of its hoofs as it galloped away.