A FAMILY SCENE.
In the meanwhile the new arrivals were making a great noise in the
road, and seemed to be growing impatient at the delay in letting them
into the hostelry.
Master Pivois at length decided to open to them, though he was
suffering from a secret apprehension as to the consequences which the
presence of a stranger in the house might have for him.
As soon as a stable-lad had by his orders, drawn back the bolts,
and opened the carriage-gates, several horsemen entered the yard,
accompanied by a coach drawn by four horses.
By the light of the lanthorn held by his lad the landlord perceived
that the travellers were seven in number; three masters, three
servants, and the coachman on the box. All were wrapped up in thick
cloaks, and armed to the teeth.
So soon as the coach had entered the yard, the horsemen dismounted;
one of them, who appeared to exercise a certain authority over his
companions, walked up to the landlord, while the others brought the
coach up to the main entrance of the house, and closed the gates.
"Well, master," said the traveller to whom we allude, with a very
marked foreign accent, although he expressed himself very purely in
French; "have my orders been punctually executed?"
At this question, which was very embarrassing to him, Master Pivois
scratched his head, and then replied like the cunning peasant he was--
"As far as possibly, yes, my lord."
"What do you mean, scoundrel?" the traveller resumed roughly; "Your
instructions were precise enough."
"Yes, my lord," the landlord said humbly; "and I will even add that I
was liberally paid beforehand."
"In that case, what have you to say?"
"That I have done the best I could," Master Pivois replied in growing
confusion.
"Ah! I suppose you mean that you have someone in the house?"
"Alas! yes, my lord," the landlord answered, hanging his head.
The traveller stamped his foot passionately.
"S'blood!" he exclaimed; then, at once resuming an apparent calmness,
he continued, "Who are the persons?"
"There is only one."
"Ah!" said the traveller, with satisfaction, "If there be only one,
nothing is more easy than to dislodge him."
"I fear not," the landlord ventured timidly, "for this traveller, who
is a stranger to me, I swear, looks to me like a rude gentleman, and
not at all inclined to surrender his place."
"Well, well, I will take it on myself," the traveller remarked
carelessly, "where is he?"
"There, in the kitchen, my lord, warming himself at the fire."
"That will do; is the room ready?"
"Yes, my lord."
"Rejoin those gentlemen, and show them the way yourself; none of your
people must know what takes place here."
The landlord, delighted at having got off so cheaply, bowed
respectfully, and hastily retired in the direction of the garden;
as for the traveller, after exchanging a few whispered words with a
footman, who remained with him, he pulled his hat over his eyes, opened
the door, and boldly entered the kitchen.
It was deserted: the stranger had disappeared.
The traveller looked anxiously around him; the waiting men, probably
in obedience to orders previously received from their master, had
withdrawn to their attics.
After a few seconds' hesitation, the traveller returned to the garden.
"Well," the landlord asked, "have you seen him, my lord?"
"No," he replied, "but it is of no consequence; not a word about him to
the persons who accompany me; he has doubtless left, but if that be not
the case, be careful that he does not approach the apartments you have
reserved for us."
"Hum," the landlord muttered to himself, "all this is not clear;" and
he withdrew very pensively.
Truth to tell, the worthy man was frightened. His new customers had
unpleasant faces, and a rough manner, which reassured him but slightly;
and then again he fancied he had seen alarming shadows gliding about
among the trees in his garden, a fact which he had carefully avoided
verifying, but which heightened his secret apprehensions.
Dame Tiphaine, torch in hand, was waiting at the house door, in
readiness to light the travellers, and conduct them to their
apartments. When the coach had been turned and stopped, one of the
travellers went up to it, opened the door, and assisted a lady in
getting out.
This lady, who was magnificently dressed, appeared to be suffering,
and she walked with difficulty. Still, in spite of her weakness, she
declined the arm of one of the travellers offered her in support, and
approached Dame Tiphaine, who, compassionate like all women, hastened
to offer her the service she seemed to request of her, and helped her
to ascend the rather steep staircase that led to the dais room.
The travellers left the driver and a lackey to guard the coach, which
remained horsed, and silently followed the sick lady.
The dais room, the finest in the inn, was spacious and furnished with
a certain amount of luxury; a large fire crackled on the hearth, and
several candles, placed on the furniture, diffused a rather bright
light.
A door half hidden by tapestry communicated with a bedroom, that had a
door opening on the passage, for the convenience of the attendants.
When the lady had entered the room, she sank into a chair, and thanked
the landlady with a bow.
The latter discreetly withdrew, astonished and almost terrified by the
gloomy faces which surrounded her.
"Holy Virgin!" she said to Master Pivois, whom she found walking in
great anxiety along the passage, "What's going to happen here? These
men frighten me; that poor lady is all of a tremble, and the little I
saw of her face behind her mask, is as white as a sheet."
"Alas!" Master Pivois said with a sigh, "I am as frightened as you, my
dear, but we can do nothing; they are too great people for us--friends
of his Eminence. They would crush us without pity; we have only one
thing to do, and that is to retire to our room, as we received orders
to do, and to keep quiet till our services are required; the house is
theirs, at this moment they are the masters."
The landlord and his wife went into their room, and not satisfied with
double locking their door, barricaded it with everything that came to
hand.
As Master Pivois had said to his wife, the travellers were certainly
masters of the inn, or at least believed themselves so.
The stranger, while feigning the deepest indifference, had watched the
landlord's every movement: as soon as the latter left the kitchen to
open the door for the newcomers, he rose, threw a purse of gold to the
scullions, while putting his finger on his lips to recommend silence to
them, and carefully wrapping himself in his mantle, left the kitchen.
The scullions, with the intelligence characteristic of the class,
comprehended that this action of the stranger concealed some plans in
the execution of which it was to their interest not to interfere; they
divided the money so generously given them, and remembering the orders
they had received from their master, they hastily decamped, and went
off to hide themselves.
The stranger, while the landlord was receiving the travellers, had
proceeded to the thickest part of the garden.
On reaching the little gate to which we have referred, he whistled
gently.
Almost immediately two men seemed to rise from the midst of the
darkness, and came up to him.
Each of these men had a long rapier at his side, pistols in his girdle,
and a musketoon in his hand.
"What is there new?" the stranger asked; "Have you seen anything,
Michael?"
"Captain," the man answered, to whom the question was addressed, "I
have seen nothing, but still I fear a trap."
"A trap?" the stranger repeated.
"Yes," Michael continued, "Bowline has taken bearings of several
ill-looking fellows who seem desirous of boarding us."
"Stuff! You are mad, Michael. You have seen the travellers who have
just arrived at the inn."
"No, captain; on the contrary, they exactly resemble the fellows who
have been chasing us ever since the day before yesterday, regular
Cardinal's bloodhounds, I'll wager."
The stranger appeared to reflect. "Are they far off?" he at length
asked.
"Speak, Bowline, my boy," said Michael, turning to his comrade, "and
don't shiver your sails, the captain is hailing you."
"Well, then, Captain," said Bowline, a sturdy Breton, with a crafty
look, "I sighted them over the starboard quarter at about four o'clock;
I spread all my canvas to distance them, and I fancy I have left them
four or five cables length in the rear."
"In that case we have about an hour before us?"
"Yes, about, Captain," Bowline replied.
"That is more than we want; listen, my lads, and swear on your honour
as sailors to obey me."
"You may be quite sure we shan't fail, Captain," they answered.
"I reckon on you."
"Shiver my topsails, we know that," Michael replied.
"Whatever may happen to me," the stranger continued, "leave me to act
alone, unless I give you express orders to come to my assistance. If
the Cardinal's bloodhounds were to arrive while we are up aloft, you
will bolt."
"We bolt!" the two sailors exclaimed.
"You must, lads! Who would deliver me if we were all three prisoners?"
the stranger asked.
"That's true," Michael answered.
"Well then, that's settled, is it not?"
"Yes, Captain."
"Ah! By the way, if I am arrested you will want money to liberate me;
take this."
He placed in their hands a heavy purse, which the sailors accepted
without any remark.
"Now follow me, and keep your weather eye open, my lads."
"All right, Captain," Michael answered, "we are on watch."
The stranger then proceeded towards the house, closely followed by
the two sailors. He reached the passage, at the end of which the
travellers' room was, at the moment when Master Pivois and his wife
were locking themselves in their bedroom.
The coach, guarded by the driver and a footman, was still standing in
front of the principal entrance, but the three men passed unnoticed.
So soon as the landlady had left the room, the traveller who appeared
to have a certain degree of authority over his companions, opened the
bedroom door, doubtless to make certain there was no spy listening;
then he took a chair, sat down by the fire, and made a sign to his
companions to imitate him; the two lackeys alone remained standing near
the door, with their hands resting on the muzzles of their carbines,
butts of which were on the ground.
For some moments there was a funereal silence in this room, although
six persons were assembled in it.
At length the traveller made up his mind to speak, and addressed the
young lady, who was reclining in her chair, with her head bent on her
breast and pendant arms.
"My daughter," he said, in a grave voice, and speaking in Spanish, "the
moment has arrived for a clear and distinct explanation between us,
for we have only four leagues to travel ere we reach the end of our
long journey. I intend to remain twenty-four hours in this hostelry, in
order to give you time to repair your strength, and allow you to appear
in a proper state before the man for whom I destine you."
The young lady only replied to this dry address by a hollow groan.
Her father continued, without appearing to notice the utter state of
prostration in which she was--
"Remember, my daughter, that if, on the entreaty of your brothers here
present, I consented to pardon the fault you have committed, it is on
the express condition that you will obey my orders without hesitation,
and do all I wish."
"My child?" she murmured, in a voice choked by grief--"What have you
done with my child?"
The traveller frowned, and a livid pallor covered his face; but he
immediately recovered himself.
"That question again, unhappy girl?" he said, in a gloomy voice;
"Do not trifle with my wrath by reminding me of your crime, and the
dishonour of my house."
At these words the girl drew herself up suddenly, and with a hurried
gesture pulled off the velvet mask that covered her face.
"I am not guilty," she said, in a haughty voice, and looking her father
in the face; "and you are perfectly aware of it, for it was you who
introduced the Count de Barmont to me. You encouraged our love, and it
was by your orders that we were secretly married. You dare not assert
the contrary."
"Silence, wretch!" the traveller exclaimed, and rose passionately.
"Father!" the two gentlemen, who had hitherto remained motionless and
as if strangers to this stormy interview, exclaimed, as they threw
themselves before him.
"Well," he said, as he resumed his seat, "I will restrain myself: I
will only ask you one further question, Doña Clara--will you obey me?"
She hesitated for a moment, and then appeared to form a supreme
resolution.
"Listen to me, my father," she replied, in a hurried though firm voice;
"you told me yourself that the moment for an explanation between us
had arrived; very well, let us have this explanation. I, too, am your
daughter, and jealous of the honour of our house; that is why I insist
on your answering me without equivocation or deception."
While speaking thus, the young lady, who was only sustained by the
factitious strength sorrow imparted to her, for she was frail and
delicate, was supremely beautiful; with her body bent back, her head
haughtily raised, her long and silky black hair falling in disorder on
her shoulders, and contrasting with the marble pallor of her face; with
her large eyes, inflamed by fever and inundated with tears, that slowly
coursed down her cheeks, and with her bosom heaving from the emotion
that held mastery over her--there was about her whole person something
deathly, which seemed no longer to belong to the earth.
Her father felt involuntarily affected, in spite of his ferocious
pride; and it was with a less rough voice he replied--
"I am listening to you."
"Father," she resumed, leaning her hand on the back of her chair in
order to support herself, "I told you that I am not guilty, and I
repeat that the Count de Barmont and myself were secretly united in
the church of la Merced at Cadiz, and were so by your orders. As you
know it, I will not dwell further on this point; my child is, therefore
legitimate, and I have a right to be proud of it. How is it, then, that
you, the Duke de Peñaflor, belonging to the highest class in Spain,
not satisfied with tearing me on the very day of marriage from the
husband yourself selected, and depriving me of my infant on the day
of its birth, accused me of committing a horrible crime, and insisted
on enchaining me to another husband, while my first is still living?
Answer me, my father, so that I may know the nature of that honour
about which you so often speak to me, and what is the motive that
renders you so cruel to an unfortunate girl, who owes her life to you,
and who, ever since she has been in this world, has only felt love and
respect for you."
"This is too much, unnatural daughter!" the Duke shouted, as he rose
wrathfully--"And as you are not afraid of braving me so unworthily--"
But he suddenly checked himself, and stood motionless, trembling with
fury and horror; the bedroom door had suddenly opened, and a man
appeared in it, upright, haughty, with flashing eye, and hand on his
sword hilt.
"Ludovic, at last!" the young lady shrieked, as she rushed towards him.
But her brothers caught her by the arms, and constrained her to sit
down again.
"The Count de Barmont!" the Duke muttered.
"Myself, my lord Duke de Peñaflor," the stranger replied, with
exquisite politeness--"you did not expect me, it appears to me?"
And, walking a few paces into the room, while the two sailors who had
followed him guarded the door, he proudly put his hat on again, and
folded his arms.
"What is going on here?" he asked, in a haughty voice; "And who dares
to use violence to the Countess de Barmont?"
"The Countess de Barmont?" the Duke repeated, contemptuously.
"It is true," the other remarked, ironically; "I forget that you expect
at any moment a dispensation from the Court of Home, which will declare
my marriage null and void, and allow you to give your daughter to the
man whose credit has caused you to be nominated Viceroy of New Spain."
"Sir!" the Duke exclaimed.
"What, do you pretend I am in error? No, no, my lord Duke, my spies are
as good as yours--I am well served, believe me: thank heaven I have
arrived in time to prevent it. Make way there!" he said, repulsing by a
gesture the two gentlemen who opposed his passage--"I am your husband,
madam; follow me, I shall be able to protect you."
The two young men, leaving their sister, who was in a semi-fainting
state, rushed on the Count, and both buffeted him in the face with
their gloves, while drawing their swords.
The Count turned fearfully pale at this cruel insult; he uttered a wild
beast yell, and unsheathed.
The valets, held in check by the two sailors, had not made a movement.
The Duke rushed between the three men, who were ready for the assault.
"Count," he said, coolly, to the younger of his sons, "leave to your
brother the duty of chastising this man."
"Thanks, father," the elder answered, as he fell on guard, while his
younger brother lowered the point of his sword, and fell back a pace.
Doña Clara was lying motionless on the floor.
At the first attack the two enemies engaged their swords up to their
guard, and then, as if of common accord, each retreated a step.
There was something sinister in the appearance of this inn room at the
moment.
This woman, who lay writhing on the floor, suffering from a horrible
nervous crisis, and no one dreaming of succouring her.
This old man, with frowning brow, and features contracted by pain,
witnessing with apparent stoicism this duel between his elder son and
his son-in-law, while his younger son was biting his lips with fury
because he could not assist his brother; these sailors, with pistols at
the breasts of the lackeys, who were palsied with terror; and in the
centre of the room, scarce lighted by a few smoking candles, these two
men, sword in hand, watching like two tigers the moment to slay each
other.
The combat was not long; too great a hatred animated the two
adversaries for them to lose time in feeling each other's strength.
The Duke's son, more impatient than the Count, made thrust on thrust,
which the other had great difficulty in parrying; at length, the young
man feeling himself too deeply engaged, tried to make a second backward
step, but his foot slipped on the boards, and he involuntarily raised
his sword; at the same moment the Count liberated his blade by a
movement rapid as thought, and his sword entirely disappeared in his
adversary's chest; then he leaped back to avoid the back thrust, and
fell on guard again.
But it was all over with the young man; he rolled his haggard eyes
twice or thrice, stretched out his arms, while letting go his sword,
and fell his whole length on the floor, without uttering a word.
He was dead.
"Assassin!" his brother screamed, as he rushed sword in hand on the
Count.
"Traitor!" the latter replied, as he parried the thrust, and sent the
other's sword flying to the ceiling.
"Stay, stay!" the Duke cried, as he rushed half mad with grief between
the two men, who had seized each other round the waist, and had both
drawn their daggers.
But this tardy interference was useless; the Count, who was endowed
with a far from common strength, had easily succeeded in freeing
himself from the young man's grasp, and had thrown him on the ground,
where he held him by placing his knee on his chest.
All at once a mighty rumour of arms and horses was heard in the house,
and the hurried steps of several men hurrying up the stairs became
audible.
"Ah!" the Duke exclaimed, with a ferocious joy, "I believe my vengeance
is at hand, at last!"
The Count, not deigning to reply to his enemy, turned to the sailors.
"Be off, my lads!" he shouted in a voice of thunder.
They hesitated.
"He goes if you wish to save me," he added.
"Boarders away!" Michael yelled, as he dragged away his comrade; and
the two men seizing their musquetoons by the barrel, as if to use them
as clubs in case of need, and to clear the way, rushed into the passage
when they disappeared.
The Count listened anxiously, he heard oaths and the sound of an
obstinate struggle; then, at the expiration of a moment, a distant cry,
that summons which sailors know so well, reached him.
Then his face grew calmer, he returned his sword to its sheath and
coolly awaited the newcomers, muttering to himself--
"They have escaped, one chance is left me."