Pillot to the Rescue.
Every day now the rumour of Mazarin's defeat grew louder, but, knowing
the man well, I doubted if all France could disturb his position. And
though I felt little personal liking for the Cardinal, it seemed to me
that the country was safer in his hands than it would be in the hands
of those opposed to him.
De Retz, a noisy brawler, stirred up the mob in his own interests;
Gaston of Orleans, unstable as water, was a mere shuttle-cock tossed to
and fro by any strong man who chose to make use of him; Conde, though a
brave and skilful general, already grasped more power than a subject
should possess. Between them they had turned Paris into a hot-bed of
rebellion and discontent.
I was musing over these things one evening when a horseman came at
walking pace into the courtyard of the chateau. The animal appeared
tired out, and the man himself was covered with dust and dirt.
"A special messenger from Paris," I muttered, and, going forward,
recognised Pillot, whom I had treated so scurvily at the inn.
The little man displayed no malice, but his eyes twinkled as he slipped
from the back of his exhausted horse.
"You have ridden fast," I remarked, and, calling a servant, ordered him
to give the animal a good feed and a rub down.
"Thanks, monsieur, he deserves it. A plague on these troublesome
journeys. Why do people live outside Paris, I wonder?"
Laughing at the question, I inquired if he had come to see me.
"No, monsieur; this is an unexpected pleasure," and he showed his teeth
in a broad grin. "I have brought a letter certainly, but this time
there can be no mistake, as it is for a lady."
"If it is for Madame Coutance, you had better come to the house."
Madame had just returned from riding with Marie, but she at once
received the messenger, and then sent him to obtain some much-needed
refreshment. Breaking the seal, she read the letter hurriedly, with
flushed cheeks and sparkling eyes.
"It is from Henri!" she exclaimed, excitedly, "and contains startling
news. The old fox is beaten at last! De Retz has declared for Conde,
who will soon take the reins into his own hands."
"Is Gaston left out in the cold?"
"_Pouf!_ Henri doesn't even mention him; he is only a puppet."
"But he has a strong party!"
"Young scatter-brains like Raoul Beauchamp and Armand d'Arcy! Nice
boys, but nothing more. Marie, we must go to the court to congratulate
the Queen on her freedom."
"Or rather on her change of masters!" laughed the girl.
Later in the evening I went to find Pillot. Having eaten and drunk
well, Henri's messenger was in a good temper, and willing to inform me
of the most recent events.
"It is time to make a fresh move, monsieur," he said mockingly. "With
so many brave Frenchmen to lead us we have no need of a beggarly
foreigner. The first step was to join our forces, which made us so
strong that Mazarin fled. By now, no doubt, Conde is out of prison."
"Then you are all friends together! How long will that last?"
"How long, monsieur? What a question!"
"Till you come to divide the spoils, I suppose?"
Pillot's eyes twinkled, and he answered roguishly, "Monsieur has
learned the ways of the world. It is true thieves often quarrel over
their booty, but on the other hand they do not share it with their
victim's friends."
"What does that mean?"
"Simply that Paris at present is not a suitable place for a _Mazarin_.
While dogs are growling over a bone, they are apt to snap at a
passer-by."
"One should wait till they have turned to fighting among themselves," I
remarked.
"If one has the patience, monsieur!"
"Oh, the quarrel soon begins. In less than a month's time you will be
flying at each other's throats, and Mazarin will return with more power
than ever."
"You are mistaken there, monsieur. Whatever else happens, we have
finished with the Italian. Were he to set foot in Paris again, the
people would tear him limb from limb."
"I suppose De Retz pays you well for your services?"
"I have little to do with the Abbe now," he said. "I am in the service
of monsieur's cousin, and a man could have no better master."
That night when the household had retired to rest, I sat at my bedroom
window looking out over the park. It was a beautiful scene; everything
was hushed and still, and the quiet earth lay bathed in silvery
moonlight. Pillot's talk had set me thinking. My wound had completely
healed, and I felt strong enough to take a further part in the
struggle. The situation was, however, puzzling. Mazarin's downfall
had left me without a patron, and I could not join his enemies, most of
whom, utterly and heartlessly selfish, cared for nothing but their own
welfare. Their senseless squabbles were dragging France through the
mire, and I longed to see my country strong and powerful.
From the dwarf's remarks I gathered that Conde intended going to Paris
as the Queen's friend, but this could be nothing more than play-acting
of the flimsiest character. It was as if a housebreaker took it upon
himself to protect the building he had just robbed.
Reflecting calmly on these matters, I saw my duty plain. The Lady Anne
was the natural guardian of the young King, and she required the aid of
every honest Frenchman till her son became of an age to rule for
himself. Reasoning thus, I resolved to set out straightway for Paris,
and, having made up my mind, I closed the window and went to bed.
As soon as Madame Coutance heard of my intention she urged me to stay
longer, but the look of relief in her eyes showed she was really
pleased at my resolve. The country wearied her; she was eager to
return to the old life, and after my departure there would be no
necessity for her to remain at Aunay.
"We must make the most of Albert to-day, _ma chere_," she exclaimed
brightly. "The house will be positively gloomy without him."
"When do you start?" asked Marie.
"To-morrow at day-break. I am strong enough now to use a sword, and
the Queen-Mother has not too many friends around her."
Marie sighed. "I am tired of a contest in which selfishness plays so
large a part," she remarked.
"Yet it is distinctly droll," observed her aunt. "For example, here is
Albert, anxious to serve the Queen, while his cousin does his best for
De Retz. On the other hand I wish to help the prince, while our friend
Raoul takes orders from the King's uncle. Oh, it is a charming play!"
"Meanwhile the people die of starvation!" said Marie.
"That is unfortunate, certainly. But what would you? There must
always be some to suffer."
"It is the people now; it will be the turn of the nobles later. The
peasants won't always stand being ground down and starved," I said.
"Chut! my dear Albert, you talk like a carter. What have the people to
do with us beyond cultivating our land? You should join De Retz, who
intends doing so much for the _canaille_ in the future."
"The very distant future," I said drily, and she laughed.
Personally she cared no more for the people than for the oxen on her
estate, and said so openly.
During the afternoon I went for a turn in the park with Marie, when,
strolling as far as the rivulet, we sat for a while on its bank. It
was good to drink in the calm beauty of this scene, so utterly
different from any Paris could offer; and the memory of it returned to
me long afterwards, when, faint with hunger, and weary with fighting, I
lay amid the dead and dying on a stricken battle-field. In the
lengthening shadows we returned to the house, little dreaming what
strange events would happen before we next wandered together in the
park at Aunay.
It was not a cheerful evening, though madame laughed and said many
smart things, in her brilliant way, to raise our spirits. At length
she rose to retire to her own room.
"I will not say 'good-bye,'" she exclaimed saucily, "as we are certain
to meet again. If you act on my advice it will be in the palace of
Conde. The prince loves a lad of mettle."
"Albert must consult his own honour," said Marie.
"And ruin his prospects for an empty whim! Don't listen to her,
Albert, and above all things, don't let Mazarin drag you down. Keep
constantly in your mind that he has had his day, and will never return
to power. Last of all, remember you are always welcome in the Rue
Crillon, whether fortune treat you well or ill."
When they had gone I sent for Pillot, who was still in the house. Food
and rest had performed wonders for the little man, who looked as jaunty
and self-possessed as ever.
"Has your horse recovered?" I asked.
"Perfectly, monsieur."
"I am starting for the capital at day-break. If you care to ride with
me, I shall be glad of your company."
"Monsieur honours me!" said he, making a bow.
"Then tell the servants to prepare you an early breakfast, and join me
in the courtyard at seven."
"I shall be there, monsieur," and the rascal tripped off smiling, while
I, taking a candle, went to bed, hoping to obtain a good night's rest.
It was a glorious morning when we left Aunay, and Etienne, an old
retainer on the estate, came to the gate to wish us God-speed.
"Give my respects to your mistress and to Mademoiselle de Brione," I
said as we rode away.
The air was fresh and cool; dew-drops gemmed the earth's green carpet,
and hung like pendants of brilliants from the leaves of the trees;
hundreds of songsters poured forth delicious hymns of praise to the
opening day; the rising sun tinted the distant peaks with purple and
gold; the whole earth seemed like fairy-land.
Shaking his handsome mane, my horse, of his own accord, broke into a
canter, while I, almost involuntarily, trolled forth a well-known
hunting song.
Pillot, who rode at my side, was a merry companion, full of quips, and
jests, and odd conceits, which lightened the tedium of the journey.
The fellow was undoubtedly a rogue of the first water, but he possessed
many amiable traits, and had a fine sense of humour.
Not being in a particular hurry, and still feeling the effects of my
recent illness, I resolved to stay for the night at Aviers, a village
about thirty miles from Aunay. The inn was dirty, the accommodation
meagre, and the landlord a surly boor, who behaved as if we had done
him a grievous injury by stopping at his house. After providing a feed
for the horses, his resources appeared to be exhausted, and, but for
Pillot, I should doubtless have gone to bed without supper. He,
however, had a keen appetite, and meant to satisfy it.
"Stay here, monsieur," said he, cheerfully; "if there is anything
eatable in the place we will soon have it on the table. _Peste!_
things are coming to a fine pass when a gentleman cannot be served with
food at an inn!"
He skipped away, and I heard him storming at our host in a high-pitched
voice, threatening all manner of penalties unless supper was
immediately forthcoming. Precisely what arguments he used I cannot
say, but presently he returned in triumph with the surly innkeeper,
carrying bread, butter, cheese, poached eggs, and a bottle of wine.
"There is a fowl cooking on the spit," said he, "but I thought that,
meanwhile, monsieur would not object to begin with this."
He was right, I made no objections whatever, and, having finished the
first course, was equally ready to proceed with the second. The fowl
was done to a turn, and when at length the innkeeper came to clear
away, he looked aghast at the wreck of his provisions.
"An excellent supper, Pillot!" I exclaimed contentedly. "I have no
doubt that my cousin finds your services valuable."
"We all have our gifts," he replied laughing, "and the wise folk are
those who know how to make use of them. But a word in your ear,
monsieur. To-night it will be as well to sleep lightly. These
villagers are hangdog looking fellows, and if they fancy we are worth
plundering, why----" and he finished with a most comical shrug of the
shoulders.
"It is a queer world, Pillot," I remarked. "Here at Aviers you do your
best to keep me from harm; in Paris most likely you will be doing all
in your power to kill me."
"Only in the way of business, monsieur, and for the good of the Cause!"
"What do you call the Cause?"
"The filling of my pocket, monsieur."
He was a thorough rascal, but not a hypocrite, and so far was a better
man than those he served. He marched to battle under the banner of
Pillot, and gathered in the spoils openly. He had a stout heart, too,
and did not whine when the luck was against him, as he had shown at La
Boule d'Or. Altogether, I could not help feeling a sort of liking for
the rogue.
The chamber to which the innkeeper showed me after supper was small,
dark, and low in the ceiling, but, as I have mentioned, the inn itself
was a poor place. I looked to the fastenings of the door; they were
very slight, and completely useless as a protection.
"Take no notice, monsieur," whispered Pillot, rapidly. "The boor has
given me a sleeping place downstairs, but presently I shall return here
quietly, and then--ah well, we shall see."
Then he wished me good-night loudly, and followed the landlord
downstairs, while I, blowing out the light, lay fully dressed on the
bed, and with my weapons close at hand. In spite of Pillot's warning I
fell asleep, but it was still dark when I wakened with a curious
feeling that something was happening. Being unable to see, I lay still
and listened intently.
Creak! Creak! The sound was very low, but I recognised that some one
was opening the door from the outside. Another creak, and then
silence. Very quietly I reached for my sword and prepared to spring
from the bed. Presently, as if satisfied that the sound had not
disturbed me, my uninvited guest pushed the door ajar and slipped into
the room. I could not perceive him, yet I knew he was creeping closer
to my side.
"_Pouf!_" I thought to myself, "there will be an unwelcome surprise for
you in a moment, my friend."
Suddenly the silence was broken by a loud and terrified cry, followed
by a harsh laugh. Then there was a rush of feet towards the door, and,
jumping to the ground, I groped for the tinder-box and procured a
light. Running to the landing and holding up the candle, I was just in
time to behold a most comical sight. One of the villagers was running
down the stairs as fast as his legs would carry him, and screaming with
fright, while Pillot clung firmly to his back.
"Help! help!" shouted the fellow; "help! the Evil One has got me," and
very soon every one in the house was running to discover the cause of
the tumult. At the bottom of the stairs the two passed from sight, but
the screams continued, and presently we heard a smash as if a door had
been burst open.
"What is it?" cried one of the trembling servants.
"It was Pierre Angin who called," said another, "I would swear to his
voice."
The innkeeper turned to me appealingly, and willing to give them a
further fright I said, "It is simple enough. This fellow came to rob,
perhaps to kill me. I heard him in my room. For the rest I do not
think he will turn thief again in a hurry."
In the midst of the hubbub, Pillot came towards us, rubbing his eyes
sleepily, and asking in a cross voice what the mischief was, and why a
man could not be allowed to sleep without all that clatter. So well
did he act that, but for my glimpse of him on the stairs, I should not
have guessed he was the author of the trick.
"If monsieur will lend me the candle," said he, "we will make a
search," and he gravely led the way downstairs.
"This is the way," cried the innkeeper, "see here!" and, perspiring
with excitement, he pointed to the door which led into the stable yard.
In his desperate efforts to escape, the fellow had burst it open at a
blow.
No one in the inn went to sleep again that night. Pillot returned to
my room, and told with evident enjoyment all about his trick. He was
lying in wait when the man first entered, and, as the fellow crouched
to the ground, had sprung lightly on his back.
"He thought the Evil One had him, monsieur, to a certainty, and yelled
loud enough to waken the dead. I do believe that till his dying day
Pierre Angin will be an honest man!"
As soon as it was light the innkeeper, still looking white and scared,
prepared some breakfast, and afterwards ordered our animals to be
brought to the door. From the joyful way he pocketed the coin I gave
him, it was evident he had not counted on payment, which perhaps
explained the surliness of his manners. Might was right in those dark
days of the Fronde, and the folk of the strong hand cared little for
justice. Pillot, I am sure, thought me crazy, to pay this simple boor
in money, when a cut with a whip would, in his opinion, have done just
as well.
The weather remained beautifully fine, and, until near the capital, our
ride was very pleasant. During the last part of the journey, however,
my cheerfulness was dashed by the universal signs of desolation and
decay. The ground lay bare and unfilled, the fat beeves and sturdy
oxen had vanished, to be replaced here and there by a lean scraggy
beast or two, all skin and bone; the yards were destitute of ricks, the
hovels were deserted or inhabited by diseased and half-starved
scarecrows; erstwhile honest villagers, rendered desperate by hunger,
prowled in the woods to pounce on any unwary traveller whom chance
should deliver into their hands.
Pillot saw to his pistols and I loosened my sword, since it was
probable we should have occasion for both. One ragged, unkempt fellow
did take a shot at us from behind a tree, but, missing his aim, he
dashed into the thick wood and was lost to sight.
"_Parbleu!_ these peasants need not talk of the wickedness of Paris!"
exclaimed my companion, "when a peaceful citizen cannot travel in
safety on the king's highway."
"Starving men rarely distinguish between right and wrong, and these
people have been turned into wild beasts. Robbed and beaten as they
are, I don't wonder that they rise against those who oppress them!"
"Ah!" cried Pillot with a grin, "it is all the doing of the wicked
Cardinal, and these poor people perhaps recognise monsieur as his
friend."
"I wonder you are not afraid to ride with me," said I, laughing at his
impudence.
After this trifling adventure we rode warily, keeping a sharp look-out
for any further ambush, but perhaps our display of weapons frightened
the robbers, as no one interfered with us again until we arrived at the
gate of St. Denis just before it closed for the night. Here I parted
with Pillot, who had to make his report to my cousin Henri.
"Till our next merry meeting, monsieur!" cried he heartily. "By that
time I hope we shall both be on the same side. Mazarin is gone for
good, and you cannot do better than join us--we play the winning game."
The rascal bowed low and rode off, while I turned towards the city.