The papers were written in Spanish, in the shape of notes collected for

a memorial, and were held together by a strap. They bore no address, nor

seal, nor signature. The notes were a series of alleged facts, official

or officious, concerning the state of feeling in France; concerning the

disposition, presumed or discovered by stealth, of divers individuals of

more or less consequence from a Spanish standpoint; and concerning

public opinion with respect to the policy of Spain; in a word, a species

of diplomatic production, very well done, although unfinished, and

partly in the shape of a rough draft.

It was very clear that D'Alvimar, whose voluntary seclusion and constant

writing during the few days of his sojourn at Briantes they had not been

able to understand, had been constantly reporting to some prince,

minister or patron, the results of a secret mission; that he was

exceedingly hostile to France, and overflowing with aversion and disdain

for the Frenchmen of all classes with whom he had come in contact.

His minute criticism was not devoid of wit, nor, consequently, of

interest. D'Alvimar had a keen intellect, and was a specious reasoner.

In default of connections as exalted and as intimate as he might have

desired in the interests of his fortune and of the importance of his

rôle, he was very skilful in making the most of trivial incidents, and

in interpreting a word he had surprised or caught on the wing: a chance

remark, a rumor, a reflection let fall by anybody, wherever he happened

to be--everything was turned to some use by him; and one could see in

that treacherous yet trivial labor the irresistible impulse and the

secret gratification of a heart overflowing with bitterness, envy and

distress.

Lucilio, who divined at the first word the marquis's deep interest in

this discovery, turned over the last leaves, and soon found this one,

which Mario translated fluently, almost without hesitation, turning his

beautiful eyes to the beautiful eyes of his teacher at the end of each

sentence, to make sure before continuing that he had made no mistake:

"As to the Pr---- de C----é, I shall find a way to see him personally;

I have received certain information from an intelligent and intriguing

priest, which may be of use.

"Remember the name of Poulain, rector of Briantes. He is from Bourges

and knows many things, notably concerning the said prince, who is very

greedy of money and exceedingly incapable in respect to politics; but he

will go where ambition drives him. He can be led on by great hopes, and

used as the Guises were, for he has nothing of Condé but the name, and

is afraid of everybody and everything.

"He is for that reason more difficult to catch than he appears.

Personally he amounts to nothing. His name is still a host in itself. In

the hope of becoming king, he is prepared to give many pledges to the

most holy I----, reserving the right to retract if his interest demands

it. It is said that he would not shrink from making way with the k----

and his brother, and that, if need were, one could strike high and hard

by means of that paltry mind and that nerveless arm.

"If in your opinion it is wise to encourage him in this ambition, advise

your most humble----"

"Good! good!" cried the marquis. "Here we have the wherewithal to make

trouble between our friend Poulain and monsieur le prince, and between

them both and the memory of dear Monsieur d'Alvimar. God knows that my

choice would be to let that dead man rest in peace; but if they threaten

to avenge him, we will let the kind friends who pity him know him as he

really was."

"That is all very well," said pretty Madame de Beuvre, "on condition

that you can prove that these notes were written by his hand."

"True," replied the marquis, "without that they will not help us. But

doubtless Guillaume will be able to provide us with a letter signed by

him."

"That is probable; and you must look to it at once, my dear marquis!"

"In that case," said the marquis, kissing her hand as he wished her

good-night--for she had risen to retire--"in that case I will return to

Guillaume's to-morrow; meanwhile let us be very careful of our proofs

and our weapons."

On waking the next morning, the marquis found Lucilio in his room, who

handed him a sheet upon which he had written something for him to read.

The poor fellow proposed that he should go away for a time, in order

that the storm which threatened them both might not burst upon his

generous friend more quickly because of his presence.

"No, no!" cried Bois-Doré, deeply touched; "surely you will not wound

me to the heart by leaving me! The danger is postponed, that is clear

enough to all of us; and Monsieur d'Alvimar's notes make me feel

perfectly secure so far as I am concerned. As for yourself, rest assured

that you have nothing to fear from the prince, having so accurately

announced the favorite's death. Moreover, whatever risk you may run by

remaining here, I think that it would be much greater elsewhere, and

only in this province can I protect you effectively or conceal you, as

circumstances require. Let us not worry about the unknown; and if you

are afraid of adding to the embarrassment of my position, think of

this--that without you, Mario's education is a hopeless failure. Think

of the service you render me by transforming a lovable child into a man

of brain and heart, and you will realize that neither my fortune nor my

life can pay my debt to you, for both together are not equivalent to the

learning and virtue which we owe to you."

Having, not without difficulty, extorted from his friend a promise not

to leave Briantes without his assent, the marquis was about to start for

Ars once more, when Guillaume arrived with Monsieur Robin de Coulogne,

the latter greatly surprised by what his farmer Faraudet had told him

that morning, the former surprised that he had not received a visit from

the marquis during the evening, as his servants had led him to expect.

Bois-Doré made his confession and described faithfully the vision he

had had at Brilbault, declaring, however, that, until the appearance of

D'Alvimar's profile on the wall, he would have sworn that he had not

dreamed of the uproar and the shadows, which might well have been

perfectly real.

He had the mortification of detecting an incredulous smile on the faces

of his two auditors; but when he had told them what had happened

previously at the gardener's cottage, and had shown them D'Alvimar's

notes, his friends became grave and attentive once more.

"Cousin," said Guillaume, "so far as these notes are concerned, it will

be easy for me to authenticate them and to furnish you with specimens of

Monsieur d'Alvimar's handwriting and his signature. Meanwhile, I assure

you that these pages are in his hand. Put them with your own papers and

wait, before announcing the traitor's death, until you are officially

called to account therefor."

Such was not Monsieur Robin's advice. He criticised the policy of

keeping the fact secret, the precautions taken to conceal the body, and

the prolongation of the mystery at a time when everybody in the

neighborhood was prepossessed in favor of the lovely Mario, touched by

the story of his adventures, and disposed to curse the cowardly

assassins of his father.

Bois-Doré would have followed this advice instantly, except for his

unwillingness to displease Guillaume, who persisted in his first

opinion.

"My dear neighbor," he said, "I would come over to your views and

retract the advice I have given the marquis, except for one thought

which has occurred to me, and which I beg you to weigh seriously; it is

this: that it is unnecessary for the marquis to accuse himself of

killing a man who may not be dead at all."

Messieurs Robin and Bois-Doré made a gesture of surprise, and Guillaume

continued:

"I have two strong reasons for thinking and saying this: the first is

that a man was carried away from La Caille-Bottée's garden, who,

although run through by a lusty sword-thrust, may not have breathed his

last; the second is that our marquis, whose courage is not of the sort

that anyone can doubt, recognized his enemy's face at Brilbault."

Monsieur Robin reflected in silence; Bois-Doré collected his memories

of the preceding night, and tried to disentangle them from the

bewilderment that had then taken possession of him; then he said:

"If Monsieur d'Alvimar is dead, he did not die on the field of battle at

La Rochaille, nor at the gardener's cottage, but at Brilbault, no later

than last evening. He died in I know not what strange and brutal

company, but attended by a priest who may have been Monsieur Poulain,

and by a servant who must have been old Sancho. There was nothing in the

confused shadows which I saw to contradict these suppositions, and the

one thing that I saw most clearly and distinctly was a crucifix as

sharply outlined as the cross on an escutcheon, and under the right

branch of that crucifix the emaciated, fleshless face of Monsieur

d'Alvimar. The features seemed somewhat agitated at first, while a voice

repeated the prayers for the dying; faint groans, which I had heard

throughout the revel, I continued to hear during the prayer. Then the

groans ceased, the face became like stone; you would have said that the

lines were petrified on the wall which showed me their reflection. The

head was no longer bent forward but thrown back, and then----"

"Then what?" said Guillaume.

"Then," said the marquis, ingenuously, "I became weak and idiotic, and I

fled to avoid seeing anything more."

"Well," said Monsieur Robin, "however it may be, and whatever may be

there, we will go to examine that hovel and ransack it from roof to

cellar, if need be, to see what it conceals, and what sort of people it

shelters."

Guillaume advised waiting until nightfall, and taking all manner of

precautions, in order to make sure of discovering the object of these

mysterious meetings.

Faraudet had given Monsieur Robin precise information as to the hour at

which the tumult began, and the moment that it became certain that those

strange noises were not a pure product of the imagination of terrified

peasants, it was impossible not to see, in their regularity and their

persistent recurrence, a deliberately adopted plan to spread terror

abroad and turn it to advantage in one direction or another.

Monsieur Robin observed moreover that, according to the farmer, this

performance had been going on at Brilbault only about two months, that

is to say since the time fixed by Guillaume and the marquis as the

period of D'Alvimar's death.

"All this," he said, "reminds me that, on the day that I arrived at

Coudray, last week, I met at several places on the road, at varying

intervals, groups of evil-appearing people, who did not look like

peasants or bourgeois or soldiers, and whom I was surprised not to

recognize. Ascertain from your servants whether they have not met

similar folk in your neighborhood of late."

Several servants were summoned. Bois-Doré's and Guillaume's agreed in

saying that, within a few weeks, they had seen many suspicious persons

prowling about in the woods and the unfrequented roads of La Varenne,

and that they had wondered how those strangers could earn a living in

such lonely regions.

Thereupon they remembered numerous thefts that had been committed in

farm-houses and barnyards roundabout; and lastly, La Flèche's face had

reappeared, with other outlandish faces, at fairs and markets in the

towns nearby. At all events they believed that they could swear that a

certain mountebank, an irrepressible chatterer, dressed in various

disguises, was the same fellow who had prowled about between Briantes

and La Motte-Seuilly for several days, at the time of Mario's recovery.

The result of all this information was that they concluded that they had

to deal with the most suspicious and artful genus of vagrants and

bandits, and they took measures to obtain possession of their secret

without giving the alarm.

They agreed to separate at once; for it was very possible that the

wretches might have noticed the marquis's visit to Brilbault, and that

they had spies on the watch behind the bushes on all the roads.

Guillaume was to return home, take a considerable number of his

servants, and pretend to start for Bourges.

Monsieur Robin was to remain at Coudray with his people until the

appointed hour.

Bois-Doré was to lie in ambush in the direction of Thevet, Jovelin

toward Lourouer.

XLVIII

At nightfall, the servants and vassals, led by these four gentlemen,

were to form a large circle around Brilbault and close in rapidly, as in

a _battue_ of wolves, each man reckoning the time required to reach the

ruin from his starting-point, so that they might all arrive at the time

fixed for investing it at close quarters.

That time was ten o'clock. Until then they were to move silently and

keep out of sight as far as possible; they were to allow anyone to pass

who was going toward Brilbault, but, after the stroke of ten, they were

to arrest anyone who should attempt to leave the ruin.

They were strictly forbidden to kill or wound anyone unless they were

seriously attacked, the main object being to take prisoners and obtain

information.

It was also agreed that each man should start alone from his first

position, and the positions were assigned in accordance with the minute

strategic knowledge of the country possessed by Guillaume and the

marquis.

Thus, Guillaume and his men were to separate at La Berthenoux, and

scatter along the Igneraie. Monsieur Robin was to go alone to his

farmer's, while his men were to take a score of different paths from

Coudray to Brilbault, taking care to cover the whole Saint-Chartier

line.

Monsieur de Bois-Doré, meanwhile, was to ride to Montlevic, and thence

start alone for the rendezvous, after scattering his escort in the same

manner, in order to avoid all suspicion on the part of anyone who might

be watching his movements.

When all these arrangements were made, they could count upon bringing

into the field about a hundred stout and cautious men, upon whom they

could rely. Bois-Doré alone supplied almost fifty, and still left half

a score of trusty fellows to guard the château and his lovely guest

Lauriane.

In order that the spies who were presumed to be watching him might not

suspect him of any design upon Brilbault, the marquis took Mario with

him to the château of Montlevic, to pay a visit to his youthful

neighbors.

The D'Orsannes were grandsons of Antoine d'Orsanne, who was

lieutenant-general of Berry and a Calvinist.

The marquis and Mario passed an hour there; after which Bois-Doré told

Aristandre to take the child back to Briantes, while he remounted his

horse to ride alone to Etalié, a hamlet on the road from La Châtre to

Thevet, at the top of a hill called Le Terrier.

When Mario, who was puzzled by all these precautions, asked leave to

accompany him, he replied that he was going to sup with Guillaume d'Ars,

and that he would return early.

The child sighed as he mounted his little horse, for he had a feeling

that something was about to happen, and, by dint of listening to the

conversation of gentlemen, the pretty peasant of the Pyrenees had soon

become a gentleman himself, in the romantic and chivalrous sense still

attributed to that title by the excellent marquis.

Everyone knows how marvellously the child modifies and transforms

himself to adjust himself to the environment to which he is

transplanted. Mario was already dreaming of noble feats of arms, running

giants through and rescuing captive damsels.

He tried to insist after his manner, obeying without a murmur, but

fastening his loving and persuasive eyes upon the old man, who adored

him.

"No, my dear count," replied Bois-Doré, who understood perfectly his

silent prayer; "I cannot leave alone in my château at night the sweet

girl who has been placed in my care. Remember that she is your sister

and your lady, and that, when I am compelled to be absent, your place is

beside her, to serve her, to divert her and, if need be, to defend her."

Mario was vanquished by this exaggerated flattery, and, spurring his

horse, rode away toward Briantes at a gallop.

Aristandre followed him, and was to return to the marquis as soon as he

had escorted the child back to the château.

The night, like the preceding one, was decidedly mild for the season.

The sky, sometimes overcast, sometimes swept clear by gusts of warm air,

was very dark when the young horseman and his attendant galloped into

the ravine and rode under the venerable trees of the village.

As they rapidly ascended one of the narrow undulating roads, lined with

hedges, which served the purposes of streets between the thirty or forty

_firesides_ of which the village consisted, Mario's horse, which was

leading, shied and snorted with terror.

"What is that?" said the child, sitting like a rock in his saddle. "A

drunken man asleep in the road? Pick him up, Aristandre, and take him to

his family."

"Monsieur le comte," replied the coachman, who had instantly dismounted,

"if he is drunk, you might say he is dead drunk, for he doesn't move any

more than a stone."

"Shall I help you?" said the child, dismounting.

He went nearer and tried to distinguish the features of the man, who

answered none of Aristandre's questions.

"He may belong hereabout," said the coachman with his accustomed

stolidity; "I don't know him; but what I do know is that he is dead or

the next thing to it."

"Dead!" cried the child; "right here, in the middle of the village! and

no one thinks of helping him!"

He ran to the nearest house and found it empty; the fire was burning

brightly, and the tea-kettle, abandoned to its fate, was sputtering in

the ashes; the settle was upset across the room.

Mario called in vain, no one answered.

He was about to run to another house, for they were separated from one

another by large enclosures thickly planted with trees, when the report

of firearms and strange rumbling noises, drowning the clatter of his

horse's hoofs on the stones, made him jump and abruptly draw rein.

"Do you hear, monsieur le comte?" cried Aristandre, who had carried the

body to the side of the road, and had remounted to join his young

master; "that comes from the château, and there's something strange

going on there, for sure!"

"Let us hurry!" said Mario, urging his steed to a gallop. "If it's a

fête, they are making a great noise over it!"

"Wait! wait!" cried the coachman, doubling his speed to stop Mario's

horse; "that is no fête! There wouldn't be a fête at the château

without you and monsieur le marquis. They are fighting! Do you hear how

they are yelling and cursing? And see, there's another dead man, or a

horribly wounded Christian, at the foot of the wall! Fly, monsieur;

hide, for the love of God! I will go to see what the matter is, and come

back and tell you."

"You are laughing at me!" cried Mario, tearing himself free; "hide, when

they are attacking my father's château? What about my Lauriane? let us

hasten to her defence!"

He galloped across the drawbridge, which was lowered, a most

extraordinary circumstance after nightfall.

By the light of a stack of straw which was blazing merrily in front of

the farm buildings, Mario obtained a confused view of a most

incomprehensible scene.

The marquis's retainers were engaged in a hand-to-hand conflict with a

numerous band of horned, hairy, shiny creatures, "in every respect more

like devils than men."--Musket or pistol shots rang out from time to

time, but it was not a battle according to rule; it was a mêlée,

following a sudden and unfortunate surprise. They saw frantic groups

writhe and struggle for an instant, then suddenly disappear, when the

flame of the burning straw was obscured by dense clouds of smoke.

The coachman held Mario in his arms, so that he could not rush into the

fray. He struggled in vain, and wept with rage.

At last he was forced to listen to reason.

"You see, monsieur," said honest Aristandre, "you prevent me from going

and taking a hand yonder! And yet my fist is worth four of an ordinary

man's. But the devil could not make me let go my hold of you, for I am

responsible for you; so I won't do it until you swear that you will keep

quiet."

"Go then," replied Mario, "I swear it."

"But if you stay here, some straggler may see you. Come, I'll hide you

in the garden."

And, without awaiting the child's consent, the coachman lifted him from

his horse and carried him into the garden, the gate of which was at the

left, not far from the entrance tower. He locked him in there, and ran

off to throw himself into the mêlée.

Dull and uninteresting as we know mere descriptions of locality to be,

we are compelled, in order to enable the reader to understand what

follows, to remind him of the general arrangement of the small estate of

Briantes. The recollection of many venerable country houses, built upon

the same plan, and still existing with slight changes, will assist him

to form an idea of the one with which we are here concerned.

I will suppose that we enter by the drawbridge which spans the outer

moat; let us pause a moment at that point.

The _sarrasine_ is raised. Let us examine this system of defence.

The _orgue_, or _sarrasine_, or, as it was then called, the

_sarracinesque_, was a sort of portcullis, less expensive and less heavy

than the iron portcullis. It consisted of a series of movable stakes,

independent of one another, and moving up and down, like the portcullis,

in the archway of the gate-tower. More time was required to set in

motion the mechanism of the _sarrasine_ than that of the ordinary

portcullis made in a single piece; but it had this advantage, that a

single person, stationed in the _salle de manœuvre_, or room from which

it was worked, could, if need were, raise one of the stakes and admit a

fugitive, without making too large an opening of which the besiegers

could avail themselves.

This room was a sort of corridor inside the gate-tower and above the

arch, with openings which enabled those on guard there to look down upon

whoever might attempt to go in or out. These openings also enabled them

to fire or hurl projectiles on the besiegers, when they had succeeded in

crossing the moat and destroying the _sarrasine_, and the battle was

renewed under the archway.

This room communicated with the _moucharabi_, a low, crenellated,

_mascherolé_ gallery, which crowned the arch of the portcullis on the

outer face of the tower. From that point bullets and stones could be

rained upon the enemy to prevent their destroying the _sarrasine_.

The gate-tower of Briantes, which contained these defensive appliances,

was a heavy oval mass, built on the edge of the moat. It was called the

tower of the _huis_, to distinguish it from the _huisset_, of which we

shall speak in a moment. The _huis_, or gate, opened into the immense

enclosure which contained the farm buildings, the dove-cote, the

heron-yard, the mall, etc., and which was invariably called the

_basse-cour_, because it was always on a lower level than the courtyard.

On our left is the high garden wall, pierced at regular intervals with

narrow loopholes, from which, in case of surprise, the enemy could be

harassed after making themselves masters of the _basse-cour_.

A paved road ran all the way along this wall to the second line of

defences, where the second moat, supplied with water by the little

stream, extended to the pond at the end of the courtyard.

Over this moat, bordered by its turfed counterscarp, was thrown the

stationary bridge, a bridge built of stone, and very old, as indicated

by the sharp angle which it made with the tower at its inner end.

This was customary in the Middle Ages. Some antiquaries explain the

custom by pointing out that the archers in the assaulting party, when

they raised their arms to fire, laid their sides open to the fire of the

besieged. Others tell us that this angle broke the force of an assault

very materially. It matters little.

The tower of the _huisset_ stood between this stationary bridge and the

courtyard. It contained a small iron portcullis and stout oaken gates

studded with nails with enormous heads.

This tower formed, with the moat, the only defence of the manor,

properly so-called.

When he gratified his own tastes by razing the donjon of his fathers and

replacing it by the pavilion called the _grand'maison_, the marquis had

said to himself, and justly, that, whether in the shape of a castle or a

villa, his country house would not hold out an hour against an attack

with cannon. But, against the paltry means of attack which bandits or

hostile neighbors could command, the broad, deep moat filled with a

swiftly-running stream, the little falconets placed on each side of the

_huisset_, and the loopholes cut diagonally in the wall on the

_basse-cour_ or farmyard side, were capable of holding out a

considerable time. As a matter of comfort and convenience rather than of

prudence, the manor was always well supplied with provisions and forage.

Let us add that walls and moats, always kept in perfect repair, enclosed

the whole domain--even the garden--and that, if Aristandre had taken

time for reflection, he would have carried Mario out of the farmyard,

into the village, and not into the garden, which was as likely to become

a prison for him as a place of safety.

But one never thinks of everything, and Aristandre never dreamed that

the enemy could not be repelled with a turn of the hand.

The honest fellow was not noted for vividness of imagination; it was

fortunate for him that he did not allow himself to be excited by the

fantastic and truly frightful figures which were presented to his

astonished eyes. Being as credulous as other men, he took counsel with

himself as he ran, but without slackening his headlong pace; and, when

he had struck down one or two of them, he made the philosophical

reflection that they were _canaille_, nothing more.

Mario, with his face pressed against the garden gate, throbbing with

ardor and excitement soon lost sight of him.

The burning mill had fallen in; the fighting continued during the

darkness; the child could follow only with his ears the confused sounds

of the changing scenes of the action.

He judged that the arrival of the sturdy and intrepid Aristandre revived

the courage of the defenders, but after a few moments of uncertainty,

which seemed to him like centuries, he thought that the assailants must

be gaining ground, for the shouts and scuffling receded to the second

bridge, and, after a moment of ghastly silence, he heard a pistol shot

and the splash of a body falling into the stream.

A few seconds later the portcullis of the _huisset_ fell with a great

crash, and a volley from the falconets forced the party that had rushed

upon the bridge to fall back with horrible imprecations.

One act of this incomprehensible drama was finished; the besieged had

been driven back and confined in the courtyard; the invaders were

masters of the _basse-cour_.

Mario was alone; Aristandre was probably dead, since he abandoned him in

the midst or at least within reach of enemies who might burst into the

garden at any moment by breaking down the gate, and take him prisoner.

And there was no means of escape for him except to scale that gate at

the risk of falling into the hands of those demons! There was no exit

from the garden except into the _basse-cour_; it had no direct

communication of any sort with the château.

Mario was afraid; and then, too, the thought of the death of Aristandre,

and, perhaps, of other faithful servants equally dear to him, brought

tears to his eyes. Even his poor little horse, whom he had left at the

entrance to the _basse-cour_, with the reins on his neck, came into his

mind and added to his distress.

Lauriane and Mercedes were safe, doubtless, and there were still many

defenders about them, for the deathly silence in the direction of the

village indicated that men and beasts had taken refuge within the

enclosure at the outset, in order to receive the enemy under shelter of

the walls. It was the custom of the period that, at the slightest alarm,

vassals should repair to the seignioral château at once, to seek and

offer aid. They always took their families and cattle with them.

"But if Lauriane and my good Moor have any idea that I am here," thought

poor Mario, "how worried they will be about me! Let us hope that they

don't suspect that I have returned! And dear old Adamas--I am sure he is

like a madman! If only they haven't taken him prisoner!"

His tears flowed silently; crouching in a clump of trimmed yews, he

dared not show himself at the gate, where he might be discovered by the

enemy, nor go farther away and lose sight of what he could still see of

the scene of confusion being enacted in the _basse-cour_.

He heard the howls of those besiegers who were wounded by the shot from

the falconets. They had been taken to the farmhouse, and there were

evidently wounded and dying men there belonging to the besieged force as

well, for Mario could distinguish voices that seemed to be exchanging

reproaches and threats. But it was all very vague; it was a considerable

distance from the garden to the farm-house; moreover, the little stream,

swollen by the winter rains, was making a deal of noise.

The besieged had opened the gates and sluices of the pond to increase

the depth of water in the moat and make it flow more swiftly.

A reddish gleam appeared above the door of the château; doubtless a

fire had been lighted in the courtyard, so that they could see one

another, reckon up their fighting strength and prepare their defence.

The besiegers' fire had ceased to cast more than a sort of ruddy

reflection, by which Mario could see many indistinct shadows moving

rapidly to and fro.

Suddenly he heard footsteps and voices approaching him, and thought that

they were coming to explore the garden.

He kept perfectly still and saw two fantastically arrayed individuals

pass the gate, on the outer side, and go toward the entrance tower.

He held his breath and succeeded in overhearing this fragment of

dialogue:

"The infernal curs will not arrive before him!"

"So much the better I our share will be all the bigger!"

"Idiots, to think that you alone can capture----"

XLIX

The voices died away, but Mario had recognized them. They were the

voices of La Flèche and old Sancho.

His courage suddenly returned, although there was nothing encouraging in

that discovery.

It had been impossible to keep Mario long in ignorance of the affair of

La Rochaille, and he fully realized that his father's murderer,

D'Alvimar's fidus Achates, was thenceforth the deadliest foe of the name

of Bois-Doré; but La Flèche's complicity in this bold stroke led the

child to hope that Sancho's auxiliaries were the band of gypsies who had

been his companions in misery.

He reflected, justly enough, that those vagrants had in all probability

joined forces with other more desperate rascals; but even so, an attack

of that sort seemed to him much less to be dreaded than a regular raid

organized by the provincial authorities, such as they had had reason to

fear; and for a moment he had an idea of trying to win over La Flèche,

if he could obtain an interview with him alone. But his distrust

returned when he remembered the brutal and threatening air with which

the gypsy had talked with him on that same spot months before.

Thereupon he began to reflect on the words he had just heard. He felt

that he needed all his faculties in order to understand them and take

advantage of them at need.

Doubtless the assailants expected reinforcements, whose arrival was

delayed too long to suit Sancho. "They will not arrive before him!"--The

_him_ could be no other than the marquis, whose return they

dreaded.--"So much the better, our share will be all the bigger!"

indicated that La Flèche was impelled by the hope of pillage. "Idiots,

to think that you alone can capture"--the château presumably--was a

confession of the inability of the assailants to maintain a siege of the

manor with any chance of success.

In short, Mario, who had seen the besmeared, masked, ghastly, grotesque

faces,--disguises assumed by the gypsies in all probability to terrify

the peasants of the village and the farm,--and who, despite his courage,

had been himself terrified by them, was immensely relieved when he found

that he had to do with villains of flesh and blood, rather than with

supernatural creatures and mysterious dangers.

Being unable to do anything for the moment except remain in hiding, he

waited until the voices and footsteps had died away, before leaving the

gate himself to seek shelter from the cold night air in one of the

little structures in the garden.

He thought, with good reason, that the labyrinth, with all the windings

of which he was so familiar, would enable him to elude any possible

pursuit for some time, and he entered it, bending his steps without

hesitation toward the little cottage which was metaphorically called the

_Palace of Astrée_.

He was no sooner inside than he fancied that he heard footsteps on the

gravel of the circular path.

He listened.

"It is either the wind blowing the dry leaves about," he thought, "or

some creature from the farm coming here for shelter. But, in that case,

the garden gate must be open! If it is, I am lost! O God! have pity on

me!"

The noise was so faint, however, that Mario made bold to look out

through the curtain of ivy which covered the walls of his retreat, and

he saw a tiny person who was looking all about, in apparent uncertainty,

as if seeking refuge in the same place.

Mario had not had time to close the door of the cottage behind him; the

small being entered, and said in a low voice:

"Are you here, Mario?"

"Why, is it you, Pilar?" said the child, with an involuntary thrill of

pleasure, as he recognized his former little companion, whom he had

believed to be dead.

But he added sadly:

"Are you looking for me, in order to betray me?"

"No, no, Mario!" she replied. "I want to run away from La Flèche. Save

me, my Mario, for I am too unhappy with that accursed man!"

"But how can I save you, when I do not even know how to save

myself?--Either go away from here, or else stay here without me, my poor

Pilar; for those bandits, when they come to look for you, will find me

too."

"No, no; La Flèche thinks that he left me over yonder with the dead

man!"

"What dead man?"

"They called him D'Alvimar. He died the other night, and they buried him

this morning."

"You are dreaming--or else I don't understand. No matter! You ran away?"

"Yes; I knew that they were coming here to take your château and your

treasure; I climbed out of a little bit of a window, like a cat, and I

followed them at a distance. I hoped they would kill La Flèche and

those wicked villains, who have never had any pity on me."

"What villains?"

"The trick-playing gypsies whom you know, and many others whom you don't

know, who have joined them. They made me suffer at Brilbault, I tell

you!"

"Where is Brilbault? Isn't it an old ruin near----"

"I don't know. I never went out. They roamed about all day and left me

with the wounded man, who was always dying, and his old servant, who

hated me because he said I was the one who brought monsieur bad luck and

prevented him from getting well. I would have liked to have him die

sooner; for I hated them, too, the vile Spaniards! and I made lots of

spells against them. At last the youngest one died, in the midst of

those wild men, who drank and sang and yelled all night, and prevented

me from sleeping. So I am sick. I am feverish all the time. Perhaps

that's lucky for me, because it keeps me from being hungry."

"My poor girl, here is all the money I have about me. If you succeed in

escaping, it will be of some use to you; but, although I don't in the

least understand what you tell me, it seems to me that you were crazy to

come here instead of going far away from La Flèche. It makes me afraid

that you are acting in concert with him to----"

"No, no, Mario! keep your money! and, if you think that I mean to betray

you, go and hide somewhere else; I won't follow you. I am not a wicked

girl to you, Mario. You are the only person in the whole world that I

love! I came here thinking that, while they were fighting, I might go

into the château and stay with you. But your peasants were too

frightened; some of them were killed, the others fled into your great

courtyard. Your servants defended themselves bravely; but they weren't

the strongest! I was hidden under some boards on the inside of the

garden wall. I could see everything through a little crack. I saw you

come into the courtyard on your horse: I saw a tall man lock you in

here. I didn't recognize you right off, because of your fine clothes;

but when you started to come to this little house and I saw you walk, I

knew your gait, and I followed you."

"And now what are we going to do? Play at hide and seek, as well as we

can, in this garden, where they will certainly come and search?"

"What do you suppose they will come into a garden for? They know very

well that there's no fruit to steal in winter. Besides the villains have

already found plenty to eat and drink in the big buildings yonder.

That's the farm, isn't it? I know well enough what they do when they get

into a house that isn't defended. I don't need to see them, I tell you!

They kill the cattle and prepare the spit; they knock in the heads of

wine casks; they burst open closets; they fill their pockets, their

wallets and their bellies. In an hour, they will all be mad, they will

fight among themselves and maim each other. Ah! if your stupid servant

hadn't locked us in here, it wouldn't be hard to escape! But of course

there must be a hole that we can crawl through somewhere in this garden

wall! I am a bit of a creature and you are not stout. Sometimes you can

reach the top of a wall by climbing a tree. Do you know how to climb and

jump, Mario?"

"Yes, indeed; but I know that there isn't any hole or any tree that will

help us. There's the pond at the end of the courtyard, but I don't know

how to swim as yet. It has been so cold ever since I have been here that

they couldn't teach me. There's a little boat that they could send us

from the château if they knew we were here. But how are we to make them

see us? it is too dark; and just listen! the water makes too much noise

running over the dam! Ah! my poor Aristandre must be taken or dead,

since----"

"No, my dear little count of the good Lord!" said a hoarse voice

outside, trying to speak low; "Aristandre is here, looking for you and

listening to you."

"Ah! my dear charioteer!" cried Mario, throwing his arms around the

great head which was thrust through the low round window of the little

cottage. "Is it really you! But how wet you are! _Mon Dieu_! is it

blood?"

"No, it's water, thank God!" replied Aristandre, "cold water! But I

didn't drink any of it, luckily for me! I was pushed, pushed, carried

onto the stone bridge in spite of myself, by our devils of peasants as

they fell back on the courtyard. I saw that I was going to be forced

into the courtyard with them, and then I couldn't come out again to find

you. So I fired my last pistol shot and jumped into the stream. Devilish

stream! I thought I never should get out of it, especially as they fired

on me from the château, taking me for an enemy. However, here I am! I

have been looking for you for a quarter of an hour; I had an idea that

you would be in the _affinoire_"--that was Aristandre's name for the

labyrinth--"but, although I've known it ten years, I don't know how to

find my way in it yet. Come! we must get away from here. Let us try! You

must do just as I say. But who in the devil have you there?"

"Someone whom you must save with me, an unfortunate little girl."

"From the village? Faith! never mind, we will save her if we can. You

first! I am going to see what is happening in the _basse-cour_; do you

stay here and talk low."

Aristandre returned in a few moments. He seemed troubled.

"It is no easy matter to go away," he said to the children. "Ah! those

villagers! how they must have bungled to let the farm be taken! And, now

that the hounds are drinking themselves stupid, if they should make a

sortie from the château, they could kill them like swine to the last

man! They think that they have demons to deal with, but I say that they

are human beings in disguise, pure _canaille_! Just hear them yell and

sing!"

"Well, let us make the most of their carousing," said Mario; "let us

cross yonder corner of the _basse-cour_, where there seems to be no one,

and run to the tower of the _huis_."

"Oh! the deuce! to be sure! But the beggars have locked themselves in!

They know well enough that monsieur le marquis may come during the

night, and he will have to lay siege to his own tower."

"Yes," cried Mario, "that is why I saw Sancho go in that direction with

La Flèche."

"Sancho? La Flèche? you recognized them? Ah! I have a mind to go by

myself and fall upon those illustrious captains!"

"No, no!" said Pilar, "they are stronger and wickeder than you think!"

"But, if they have simply locked the gate, we can open it," said Mario,

whose mind worked more quickly than the coachman's. "And if they have

left anybody on guard there, why between us, Aristandre, we can try to

kill them so that we can pass. Do you hesitate? We must do it, you see,

my friend. We must hurry and warn my father. If we don't, our people

here will allow the château to be taken, they are so terrified. When

the villains have finished gorging themselves, they will try to set it

on fire. Who knows what may happen? Come, come, coachman, my good

fellow," added the child, drawing his little rapier, "take a stake, a

club, a tree, no matter what, and let us go!"

"Stay, stay, my dear little master!" rejoined Aristandre, "there are

some tools here; let me look. Good! I have a shovel; no! a spade! I like

that better! Now, I am not afraid of any man! But, listen to me; do you

know where your papa is?"

"No! you must take me to him."

"If I come out all right, yes; if not, you will have to go all alone. Do

you know where Etalié is?"

"Yes, I have been there. I know the way."

"Do you know the _Geault-Rouge_ inn?"

"The _Coq-Rouge_? Yes, I have been there twice. It isn't hard to find,

it's the only house in the place. Well?"

"Your papa will be there until ten o'clock. If you arrive too late, go

to Brilbault; he will be there."

"Brilbault at the foot of Coudray hill?"

"Yes. He will be there with his people. It's a long way; you will never

be able to do it on foot!"

"I will go straight to Brilbault," said Pilar. "I know the way; I have

just come from there!"

"Yes," said the coachman; "go, little one; you can warn Monsieur Robin.

Do you know him? You don't belong about here, do you?"

"No matter, I will find him."

"Or Monsieur d'Ars; will you remember?"

"I know him, I saw him once."

"Off we go, then! Ah! Monsieur Mario, if I could only lay my hand on

your horse! you could go faster and not kill yourself running."

"I know how to run," said Mario; "don't think about the horse, it is out

of the question."

"One minute more," continued Aristandre, "and pay attention. The

drawbridge is raised; you know how to drop it, don't you? It doesn't

weigh much."

"That's very easy!"

"But the _sarrasine_ is down! But don't be alarmed; I will go up into

the room where we work it. If there's anybody there, so much the worse

for them; I'll strike and kill, and raise one of the stakes! Don't lose

time by waiting for me. Pass through, steal away, fly! If the stake

falls on the girl, so much the worse for her; you cannot help it, nor I.

God guard you! Keep on running, I will overtake you."

"But, if you are----"

Mario stopped short; his heart sank.

"If I am laid out, you mean? Well, it will be of no use for you to

grieve, it will not help matters. If you stop to pity me, you will lose

your head and your legs! You must think of nothing but running."

"No, my friend, your risk is too great; let us remain concealed here."

"And suppose, while we are hiding, they burn up Madame Lauriane, your

Mercedes, Adamas--and my poor carriage horses in the stable yonder!

Besides--Look you, I am going alone. When the road is clear you can

pass."

"Come on! come on!" said Mario. "Everything for Lauriane and Mercedes!"

He was about to rush out of the garden, when Pilar detained him.

"Remember that other villains are to come here--I know it. If you meet

them, hide carefully, for your gold buttons gleam in the darkness like

diamonds, and they will kill you just to get your clothes."

"I have an idea!" exclaimed Mario. "I will put on my gypsy rags, which

are right here."

The reader will remember the rustic, sentimental and philosophic trophy,

which had been suspended in the cottage with great pomp.

Mario hastily took it down, and in two minutes, having laid aside silk,

velvet and lace, he was dressed in his former costume; whereupon they

proceeded to the _huis_, walking noiselessly and without speaking.

They had only about fifty paces to walks along the wall outside the

garden. They walked that distance, without hindrance at least, if not

without danger, to the sound of loud laughter, shrieks, blasphemies and

hoarse singing from the farm-house.

The tower of the _huis_ was dark and silent. Aristandre placed the two

children close to the _sarrasine_, Mario in front, almost touching the

first stake at the left. Then he took his hand and placed it on the ring

of the chain which held the drawbridge in the air. There was nothing for

him to do but to take that ring from the hook set in the wall.

They did not venture to exchange another word. All about them, on the

staircase, over their heads, there might be, there undoubtedly were,

sentinels, sleeping or careless.

Mario could not press the coachman's hand in his own, for his were

clinging to the detached ring and the dragging chain. He put his lips to

that rough hand and hurriedly imprinted a silent kiss upon it; perhaps

it was an eternal farewell.

Aristandre, deeply moved, abruptly withdrew his great paw, none the

less, as if to say: "Nonsense! don't think of anything but yourself;"

and, crossing himself fervently in the darkness, he resolutely ascended

the short steep staircase to the _salle de manœuvre_.

"Who goes there?" cried a deep voice which Mario instantly recognized as

Sancho's.

And as the coachman continued to ascend and approached the left side of

the gallery, the voice added:

"Will you answer, blockhead? Are you drunk? Answer, or I fire on you!"

In an instant there was a report; but the stake was raised, Mario let go

the chain, darted across the bridge, and fled without looking back. It

seemed to him that the alarm was given on the _moucharabi_, and that a

bullet whistled by his ears; he did not hear the report, the blood was

making so much noise in his head.

When he was out of range, he paused and leaned against a tree, for his

strength failed him at the thought of what was taking place between

Aristandre and the enemy's sentinels.

He heard a great uproar in the tower, and something that sounded like

the blows of a pickaxe on stone. It was Aristandre's spade, which he

kept whirling about his head in the darkness; but he prudently kept

silent, in order to be taken for a drunken gypsy, and Mario, straining

his ears to hear his loud voice among the others, lost hope, and, with

hope, courage to fly without him.

The poor boy was thinking so little of himself that he did not even

start when he felt a hand on his arm.

It was Pilar, who had run faster than he, and was retracing her steps to

find him.

"Well, well, what are you doing here?" she said. "Come, while they are

killing him! When they have finished killing him, they will chase us!"

The little gypsy's ghastly sang-froid horrified Mario. Reared amid

scenes of violence and bloodshed, she hardly knew what fear meant, and

had not the faintest conception of pity.

But, by virtue of some swift sequence of ideas, Mario thought of

Lauriane, and all the resolution of which a child is capable returned to

his heart.

He ran on once more, and, motioning to Pilar to take the lower road,

turned into the road leading to the plateau of Le Chaumois. A few steps

farther on he stumbled over an object which lay across the road. It was

the second dead body which Aristandre had pointed out to him, but which

they had not had time to examine. Feeling the body under him, Mario was

bathed in cold perspiration; perhaps it was Adamas! He mustered courage

to touch it, and having satisfied himself that the clothes were those of

a peasant, he hurried forward.

The sight of the pale sky over the bare fields made him breathe more

freely; the darkness was stifling him. He took a bee-line across the

fields, but a new terror awaited him there. A pale, indistinct form

seemed to be flitting over the furrows. It came toward him. He tried to

elude it, but it followed him. It was an animal of some sort chasing

him. All the old women's tales about the white greyhound, and the imp

that cries: "_Robert is dead_!" flashed through his mind.

But of a sudden the beast neighed and came near enough to be recognized.

It was Mario's dear little horse, which had scented him from afar and

came to offer him his help.

"Ah! my dear Coquet!" cried the child seizing his mane, "you come in the

nick of time! and did you recognize me, poor fellow, in spite of these

clothes, which you never saw? You were terribly frightened during that

horrid battle, weren't you? You ran off at once, before they raised the

bridge, and you were eating dry thistles here instead of your oats! Let

us be off! we will both of us sup when we have time!"

As he chattered thus to his horse, Mario rearranged the stirrups, which

had suffered somewhat in the bushes. Then, having mounted, he rode away

like an arrow.

We will leave him for the moment and return to Briantes, where the

plight of the besieged garrison causes us some anxiety.

L

When Mario and Aristandre arrived at Briantes, not a quarter of an hour

had elapsed since the bandits had made their sudden appearance there.

Lauriane was about sitting down to supper when she heard confused

outcries and the report of firearms in the direction of the village--we

might say, according to the custom in the province, the _bourg_, since

the little settlement was fortified in very ancient times; but the old

Gallo-Roman stone wall was demolished to the level of the ground in many

places, and it was a long time since the people had ceased to incur the

expense of maintaining gates.

These noises, which the people in the château and those at the

farm-house as well, supposed at first to be caused by villagers turning

out to hunt some creature that had stolen into their enclosures,

speedily assumed a more alarming character.

Everyone seized upon the first weapon that came to hand, and the

farmers, brandishing their flails, hurried to the tower of the _huis_.

But they were instantly forced back and their efforts paralyzed by the

people from the village, who, rushing from all directions, came together

at the approaches to the bridge, and in their terror overturned and

trampled on the men who were running to their assistance.

And yet the attacking party consisted of only about fifty men, followed

by a number of women and children; but it will be remembered that the

marquis had ordered out and despatched to the attack on Brilbault all

the stout and intrepid men in his little fief, so that the population

surprised by the brigands consisted at that moment of women and

children, crippled old men, or weak, half-grown boys.

The sight of the horrible masks worn by the bandits produced the effect

they had anticipated. A general panic seized the peasants, and fear

afforded them only so much strength as was necessary to prevent the

loyal retainers from the château from going forth to meet the foe.

One of the dead bodies that Mario found on the road was that of a

deformed young man who fell and was trampled under foot by the

fugitives; the other, a poor old fellow who alone tried to face the

enemy and was struck down by Sancho with the butt of his gun.

They had barely time to cross the bridge, and could not raise it because

of the stragglers who whined and cried and implored shelter for

themselves and their cattle. The enemy took advantage of the confusion

to overtake them.

Thereupon the battle began under the archway of the _huis_, where the

defenders of the château, surrounded by crying children and animals

that were either inert and stupid or wounded and frantic, were instantly

forced to fall back.

They had no sooner retreated to the _basse-cour_ than the peasants

abandoned them and rushed madly to the stone bridge; so that the brave

fellows, numbering no more than half a score, were surrounded by the

brigands and forced to fall back to the _huisset_, heroically contesting

every inch of the ground.

One of the bravest, Charasson the farmer, was killed; two others were

wounded. They would all have fallen there, for the redoubtable Sancho

fought with the frenzy of desperation, had it not been for the dastardly

behavior of La Flèche and his consorts, "who were eager for pillage,

and in nowise eager for hard knocks."

Reduced to seven, the gallant defenders were obliged to retreat into the

courtyard; the which was no easy matter, because the courtyard was so

crowded. They were so hotly pressed by Sancho that a great number of the

beasts were left outside, or in their excitement plunged into the moat.

During this desperate struggle, which, however, had lasted barely ten

minutes, Lauriane and Mercedes at first stood, silent and trembling, on

the platform of the tower of the _huisset_.

When they saw their people give way, being simultaneously inspired by

the courage which fear imparts to the weak when they are not idiots,

they ran to the falconets, which were always ready to be discharged.

They hurriedly lighted the matches, and held themselves in readiness to

fire, encouraging each other, and trying to remember what they had seen

Mario and the other young men of the household taught to do by way of

practice. But it was not yet possible to fire on the enemy, they were so

inextricably mingled with the defenders of the château.

But what was Adamas doing at that supreme moment? Adamas was in the

bowels of the earth.

The reader will remember hearing of a secret passage, by means of which

Lucilio's escape was to be effected, in case of need. This passage

passed under the moat and led to a sunken road which had been filled

with gravel by the freshets of the last few years. Adamas had imagined

that to clear the opening would require only a few hours' labor on the

part of his ditchers. But the damage was more extensive than he

supposed, and in three days they had not succeeded in making the passage

practicable.

He went every evening to see what had been done during the day, and he

was buried there during the battle, making his daily inspection, taking

measurements, without the slightest suspicion of the tumult that reigned

out-of-doors.

When he emerged from his hole, the entrance to which was under the

staircase in the turret, he was like a drunken man for some moments and

believed that he was dreaming; but, being a man of expedients, he

speedily recovered his presence of mind.

He arrived just at the moment when the besieged fell back into the

courtyard and the enemy were on the point of forcing their way in as

well, everyone having lost his head.

Active and always well shod, like the true _homme de chambre_ that he

was, he gave but one bound to the tower of the _huisset_ and dropped the

portcullis in the face of the assailants, and, in fact, on the backs of

some of them, so that the base of that instrument of exclusion did not

reach the ground. He discovered it in time.

"Clindor!" he shouted to the bewildered page, who was preparing to close

the gates behind the portcullis, "stay, stay! What's the reason that the

portcullis doesn't fall? I still have a foot of it above the groove."

Clindor, who was not very brave, although he did his utmost to be,

looked and recoiled in horror.

"I should think so," he said, "there are three men under it!"

"_Numes célestes_! our men! Look, I say, you triple sucking calf!"

"No, no, theirs."

"So much the better, by Mercury! Come here, quickly, some of you! Get on

top of the portcullis! Bear down! bear down! Don't you see that those

dead bodies will enable the living to crawl under the iron teeth, and

that, when they are once under the archway, they will set fire to our

gates! Down, down, you fellows! Break the heads of anyone who tries to

pass, with hammers or feet or musket-butts. Mow them down with your

scythe, living and dead, good Andoche! And you, Châtaignier, have you

another charge? Have at that red-nose protruding there! So! bravo! by

the god Teutates, that is well! right in the mouth! That makes one less

of them!"

Mingling thus eloquent appeals with colloquial phrases whereby he

deigned to descend to the level of the common herd, Adamas had the

satisfaction of seeing the portcullis flatten the bodies beneath it, and

the assailants fall back to the end of the bridge.

"Now to the falconets!" he cried. "Move quicker than that, my Cupids!

Come, come, ten thousand devils! Aim! aim! Make me a fricassee of these

birds of darkness!"

The miniature artillery of the château disheartened the bandits, who

had nothing with which to reply to it; so they carried away their

wounded and decided, in default of anything better, to go and sack the

abandoned farmhouse and banquet there.

They tossed live calves and sheep into the embers of the burned mill,

whence there soon arose an acrid odor of burning wool. They pushed back

with pitchforks the unfortunate creatures which sought to escape from

that torture. They devoured them half raw, half charred. The casks in

the farm-house cellar were burst in. One and all became more or less

intoxicated, even the children and the wounded. They threw the body of

the ill-fated farmer into the fire, and they would have dealt out the

same treatment to the two servants who were prisoners in their hands,

except for the hope of ransom; and even so they spared them against the

wishes of Sancho, who was unwilling to give quarter to anyone.

The old Spaniard did not think of eating or drinking or stealing. It was

against his will that the Brilbault band had gone before the more useful

auxiliaries whose arrival he awaited with impatience in order to

consummate his vengeance. He was anxious, not lest he should lose his

own life, for he had made up his mind beforehand to sacrifice that, but

lest his undertaking should fail by reason of the haste and greed of the

wretched creatures whom he had enlisted in it.

Being unable to hold them back until the hour at which it was arranged

that his real allies should open the march and lead the expedition, he

had accompanied them in order that no other than himself should have the

privilege of torturing the _beaux messieurs de Bois-Doré_, if they

should have the ill-luck to fall into the hands of those marauders.

In the heat of the battle, he, the only fanatically brave man in the

party, had naturally taken his place at their head. But, when the battle

was won, he ceased to be of any consequence to them; and soon, as we

have seen, he took upon himself the duty of guarding the tower of the

_huis_, where a surprise was to be feared, and whence he watched

anxiously for the arrival of those who were to effect the capture and

sacking of the château, and, as a result, the destruction of all those

who had been concerned in D'Alvimar's death, either as cause or

instrument.

If the people in the château were more prudent than those in the

_basse-cour_, they were no more tranquil, and they hastily took all the

measures necessary to defend themselves against a fresh attack.

They saw and heard the carousing of the bandits, and if they had chosen

to sacrifice the farm-house, it would have been easy enough to dislodge

them with their long muskets.

But not only did they hope for the arrival of reinforcements during the

night, before the wretches should think of setting fire to the buildings

in the _basse-cour_, but they were afraid to fire, because of the

prisoners, the number of whom they did not know, and of the cattle,

which were too large to be taken whole into the stomachs of those

starved creatures.

They counted heads, and the absence of the unfortunate fellows who had

fallen or been taken was discovered.

Adamas ordered all the useless people of the village into the stables.

They gave the poor creatures plenty of fresh straw, bidding them keep

perfectly quiet and lament in whispers, which it was not easy to induce

them to do.

Lauriane and Mercedes busied themselves nursing the wounded and feeding

the children.

Meanwhile Adamas posted his force at all the places exposed to the fire

of the assailants, in such manner that they could neutralize it by their

fire; and to prevent anyone from sleeping on his post, he passed his

time going from one to another, distributing words of praise and

encouragement, exhibiting hope, fear, or absolute confidence in the

result of the siege, according to the temperament of each person he

addressed. The shrewd Adamas, who had never handled any other weapon

than the comb and the curling-iron, manifestly played the rôle of the

fly on the coach, a rôle which he was able to make very useful, and

which those who are familiar with Berrichon moderation and apathy know

to be very necessary.

When everything was arranged, Adamas, worn out with fatigue and

excitement, threw himself on a chair in the kitchen to take breath, were

it for no more than five minutes, and to collect his wits.

His heart was very heavy, and he dared not confide his distress to

anyone. He alone knew that Mario was not to accompany his father to

Brilbault, and that, if he were not already taken, he might arrive at

any moment and fall into the hands of the enemy.

Neither Lauriane nor Mercedes shared his suffering; to avoid worrying

them, the marquis had concealed his plans from them. So far as they

knew, he had simply taken his people out for a _battue_. They had felt

that something more serious was in the air, from his preoccupied manner

and the frequent conferences he had held with his friends and servants

throughout the day; but they were too well aware of his paternal

affection to fear that he would expose Mario to any danger, and they

both imagined that he would pass the night at the château of Ars or of

Coudray.

Adamas was beset by innumerable perplexities, debating within himself

whether he ought not to set everybody at work clearing the secret

passage, in order to go out that way to meet Mario and send word to the

marquis, at the same time enabling the women to escape. But he had

measured the ground so many times that he knew that many hours' work

would still be required, and during that time the château, being no

longer guarded, might well be invaded. Then what would become of them,

confined in that issueless underground passage, the entrance to which

would not be likely to escape the notice of the plunderers?

He was interrupted in his agitated reflections by Clindor, who

approached him on tiptoe.

"What are you doing here, you worthless page?" he demanded angrily.

And, forgetting that he was resting himself, he added:

"Is this a night to rest?"

"No, I know it isn't," replied the page; "but I am looking for----"

"For whom? Tell me quickly!"

"The coachman! haven't you seen him?"

"Aristandre? Have you seen him about here I ask, that you are looking

for him? Answer me!"

"I haven't seen him in the château; but, as sure as you are sitting

there, I saw him on the stone bridge, while they were fighting there."

"Death of my life! he isn't in the château, I will swear to that! But

Mario! he was to bring Mario home! Did you see Mario?"

"No; I thought of him and I looked all about; Mario wasn't there."

"God be praised! If Mario had come with him, you wouldn't have seen one

without the other. He wouldn't have gone a foot away from him. He

wouldn't have taken part in the battle. Doubtless monsieur kept the

child with him and sent the coachman back to tell us. But the poor

coachman! You say that he was fighting?"

"Like thirty devils!"

"I am sure of it! and then what?"

"Then, then--the portcullis fell and I ran to shut the gates."

"Hell fire! perhaps it fell on--Here, take this torch, and come!"

"No, no! I saw the men that were crushed. He wasn't one of them."

"You didn't see clearly, you were frightened!"

"I, frightened! Upon my word!"

"No matter, come, I tell you!"

And Adamas ran and opened the gates and looked in fear and trembling at

the bodies flattened under the iron teeth. They were so crushed and

mutilated, that the ghastly spectacle caused the torch to fall from the

page's hands.

Adamas rose with an oath; but, by the light of the smoking torch,

sputtering and dying in the blood, he saw Aristandre standing beside

him.

"Ah! my friend!" he cried, throwing his arms around his neck. "Mario!

where is Mario?"

"Saved!" said the coachman, "and I too, but not without difficulty! A

glass of gin or brandy, quick! my teeth are chattering and I don't want

to die, _sacrebleu_! I may still be good for something inside here!"

"What a state you are in, my poor friend!" said Adamas, dragging him

away to the kitchen, where Clindor gave him something to drink; "where

the devil have you come from?"

"_Parbleu_! from the pond," replied the coachman, who was covered with

mud; "how else could I have got in? For a quarter of an hour I have been

stamping about in the grass and the mud."

He tore his clothes into strips and planted himself in front of the

fire, saying:

"Look, Adamas, and see if I am not losing too much blood, and stop it

for me, old fellow, for I feel very weak!"

Adamas examined him; he had something like ten wounds and as many

bruises.

"_Numes célestes_!" cried Adamas; "I don't see a single sound spot on

your poor corpse!"

"Corpse yourself!" cried the coachman, tossing off another bumper. "Do

you take me for a ghost? To be sure I have come back from a long

distance; but I'm better now; my hide's as thick as my horses', thank

God! Don't let me bleed, that's all I ask. It's a bad thing for a man to

lose all the blood in his body."

Adamas washed him and dressed his wounds with marvellous skill.

Thanks to the thickness of his skin and the herculean strength of his

muscles, the wounded man had escaped serious injury.

"And the child?" said Adamas, as he dressed him in dry clothes which

Clindor had brought; "was the child in danger?"

Aristandre told everything that had happened down to the time that he

raised the stake of the _sarrasine_.

"The child got through," he said; "the beggars on the _moucharabi_ fired

at him but didn't hit him. I had that hound of a Sancho by the throat at

that moment. I might have strangled him, but I let him go and ran out on

the _moucharabi_, and I saw Mario running like the wind; then I fell on

the other two curs. I had only a spade, but I routed them in fine shape,

I tell you! Sancho came at me again with his broken rapier, and tried to

scratch me with the hilt, I think, for he struck at my head and face

when he couldn't reach my stomach. Ah! the old madman, how hard he

strikes! And then, you see, I was already wounded and had not my

strength! But it warmed me up a little all the same, because I had

already swam across the pond once to join dear little Mario in the

garden, and I was shivering. However, I couldn't make an end of the old

devil, and that is all I regret. When I heard others coming to his

assistance, I slipped down the staircase, and as his legs aren't so

active as his arm is heavy, I succeeded in returning to the garden

without his knowing where I had gone. And from there faith, I had no

other choice than to come back here by way of the pond, and here I am!"

"Coachman!" cried Adamas, who, unlike many men, felt a sincere

admiration for exploits of which he knew that he was incapable, "you are

as great as Monsieur d'Urfé's greatest heroes! and if monsieur takes my

advice, he will have you represented in tapestry in his salon, to

perpetuate the memory of your courage and your stout heart."

"If it's only a question of being great," replied the artless

Aristandre, "I can safely say that I have the size. But I am going to

see my horses; after that, we will think about making a little sortie to

clear the _basse-cour_ of these vermin. What do you say about it, old

fellow?"

The prudent Adamas was not heartily in favor of the plan.

While they are discussing projects of attack and defence, we will join

Mario, who has just arrived in sight of the great tree by which the hill

of Etalié is crowned to this day.

The child looked up at the stars which he had learned to know during his

life among the shepherds: it was about half-past nine.

At that period there was a single house in that solitude; it was an inn

and at the same time a sort of hunting rendezvous.

The hill, situated amid plains of vast extent and teeming with game, was

often honored by the sojourn of noblemen of the province, who assembled

to hunt the hare and to dine or sup at the sign of the _Geault-Rouge_.

This will explain the fact that an inn so small, situated so near a

large town that it could not hope to entertain wealthy travellers,

possessed in the person of Master Pignoux, landlord of the

_Geault-Rouge_, a cook of the rarest excellence.

When the gentlemen of the neighborhood indulged in the sport of fishing

in the ponds of Thevet, they always sent in haste for Master Pignoux,

who would come with his wife, set up his canteen on the water's edge,

and serve them, under some lovely arbor, those marvellous

_matelotes_[6]--they were then called _étuvées_--which had made his

reputation. He also went about to the towns and châteaux near by, for

wedding and other festivals, and, it was said, could have taught

Monsieur le Prince's master cooks a thing or two.

The _Geault-Rouge_ was a solidly built structure, of two high stories,

covered with tiles of a brilliant red which could be seen a league away.

Through the influence of the noblemen of the neighborhood, Master

Pignoux had obtained permission to put a vane on his roof, a privilege

of the nobility to which he declared that he was entitled, as he so

often had occasion to entertain the nobility. The incessant shrill

shrieking of that vane, which seemed to be the objective point of all

the winds of the plain, blended with the perpetual creaking of the great

iron sign representing the _Geault-Rouge_ in its glory, which swung

haughtily at the end of a staff projecting from a window on the second

floor.

Opposite the house, on the other side of the road, was a very large

thatch-covered stable, and long sheds for the accommodation of the

retinues by whom the noble sportsmen were commonly attended. The inn

itself was specially reserved for the nobles themselves.

Everyone knows that in those days inns were distinguished as

_hostelleries_, _gîtes_ and _repues_. The _gîtes_ gave special

attention to providing lodging for the night, the _repues_ to furnishing

dinner for travellers; the latter were wretched taverns where well-to-do

people stopped only in default of some better place, and where they were

sometimes fed upon crow, ass's meat, and _Sancerre eels_, that is to

say, snakes. The _gîtes_, on the contrary, were often very sumptuous.

Inns were also divided into those for people on foot and those for

people on horseback. One could take two meals there. On the sign of the

_Geault-Rouge_ were these words, in huge letters:

HOSTELRY LICENSED BY THE KING

and below:

DINNER FOR MOUNTED TRAVELLERS, 12 SOLS;

LODGING FOR THE SAME, 20 SOLS

The inn-keeper's privilege was confirmed by letters-patent from the

king. Pedestrians could not be entertained at an inn for the

accommodation of mounted travellers, and _vice versa_.

"The French laws prevent the former from spending too much, the latter

from spending too little."[7]

Mario, seeing that the inn was brilliantly lighted, was not surprised to

hear his little horse neigh with pleasure when he was within two hundred

yards. He supposed that he recognized his surroundings.

But he was surprised when he suddenly turned to the left and seemed

unwilling to resume the straight road.

The child, who was on the alert, pricked up his ears. It seemed to him

that he could hear the sound of horses's feet in the direction of the

inn, which the night mist still prevented him from seeing distinctly. He

was overjoyed.

"My father must be here," he said to himself, "with all his people;

perhaps with Monsieur d'Ars and his suite. I will hurry on."

But Coquet required so much urging to go forward, that his young rider

thought that he ought to try to fathom the intelligent creature's idea.

He drew rein, and heard, much nearer at hand than the inn stable, the

familiar neigh of Rosidor, the marquis's faithful palfrey.

"So my father is over there, is he?" he said to himself. "I must be

careful not to pass him on the road."

And as he could distinguish nothing at his left except what seemed to be

dense underbrush, he dropped the reins on Coquet's neck, feeling certain

that he would find a way to join his stable companion.

Coquet entered the underbrush and halted in front of a dilapidated,

tumble-down hovel.

It was the original _Geault-Rouge_ inn, abandoned to its own destruction

twenty years before; Bois-Doré, Guillaume and Monsieur Robin having

cooperated to build the new one and present it to Master Pignoux as a

token of their esteem for his probity and his culinary skill.

[Footnote 6: A dish compounded of several sorts of fish, with an

elaborate sauce.]

[Footnote 7: Monteil, _History of Frenchmen of Various Ranks_.]

LI

Mario entered without difficulty, there being no door.

He put his hand upon Rosidor, whom he recognized by his accoutrements

and his fine coat, as well as by his caressing voice; and the finding of

his father's horse concealed in a ruin caused him to reflect.

He looked about, called his father cautiously, and, having satisfied

himself that he was alone, conceived it to be his duty to imitate the

example which seemed to be given him, by fastening Coquet beside

Rosidor, and proceeding on foot, and as noiselessly as possible, toward

the new inn.

He crept along the bushes and suddenly came upon a party of mounted men,

who seemed to be pitching their camp in that place, some busied about

their horses, which they were taking to the great stable opposite;

others, who had already attended to that duty, stood in the road,

exchanging in undertones and with a mysterious air words which Mario

could not understand.

He glided among them unobserved; but when he stood in the doorway of the

great kitchen of the inn, illuminated by the bright fire on the hearth

which shone through the door, he felt a rough hand seize him by the

collar, and a gruff voice said to him in French, but with a very

pronounced German accent:

"No admittance!"

At the same time he saw two tall dark-skinned men, armed to the teeth,

standing guard on each side of the door.

Thereupon Sancho's words recurred to his memory, and what Pilar had said

of the reinforcement expected by the bandits.

"I have tumbled into a wasp's-nest," he thought; "but I am disguised and

they will take me for a little beggar. I must find out if my father is

here."

So he put out his hand and began to beg, in the piteous tone that he had

heard the gypsies adopt and had sometimes adopted himself, laughing in

his sleeve, during his travels with that honorable company.

They released him at once, but ordered him to go away, and, when he

pretended not to understand, they threatened him by going through the

motions of taking aim at him.

He was about to go, being fully determined to return, when another

voice, coming from the inn, issued an order in German; whereupon,

instead of turning him out-of-doors, they seized him by the collar again

and pushed him into the kitchen.

There, before he had time to collect his thoughts, he found himself

confronted by a tall, thin, dark individual, in military costume, who

said to him with an Italian accent:

"Come here, boy, and if you have a letter, give it to me."

"I haven't any letter," replied Mario, looking the stranger in the face

with perfect self-possession.

"A verbal message then, eh? Speak!"

"Before I speak," said the boy, with great presence of mind, "I must

know to whom I am speaking."

"_Diable_!" said the stranger with a scornful smile, "we are a very wary

youth; that is well enough! This is the countersign: _Saccage_ and

_Macabre_. What name has been given you?"

"La Flèche," replied Mario, at random.

"What? what is that?" said the Italian frowning. "There's no rhyme

there."

"Wait!" cried Mario, inspired by that reply, "that isn't all. Isn't

there a _pillage_ in your countersign?"

"That rhymes better," said the other, smiling dismally; "but that isn't

all yet, you little monkey! Your memory is failing you!"

"Perhaps so," said the child; "there's another word, I know. Isn't it

Sancho?"

"There we are! Now then, stand in this corner and don't stir. I am

Lieutenant Saccage; Captain Macabre will be here in a quarter of an

hour. He's the one to whom you must give your message, which I care very

little about, for my part. I say, you fellows, hold your tongues!" he

shouted to the horsemen, who were going to and fro around the house,

talking a little louder than seemed to be necessary.

Profound silence ensued, and he who styled himself Lieutenant Saccage

said to Mario, who was meditating upon the means of gaining admittance

to another room, to find his father or someone who could give him some

news of him:

"My good friend, it is well that you should know the countersign, for

your protection. We send away or arrest everyone who tries to enter this

house; we fire on everyone who tries to go out. Do you understand that?"

"But I have no reason for trying to go out," replied Mario, cautiously;

"I am looking round to see if there's anything to eat; I am hungry."

"That makes no difference to me, my boy. We are hungry too, and we're

waiting for the captain to give us orders to eat."

Mario was not hungry. He was very anxious. In the room at the rear,

which was a sort of pantry and serving-room, he saw Mistress Pignoux and

her servant bustling about. It seemed to him that the former saw him and

recognized him, and that she even spoke to the servant, as if to warn

her not to mention the discovery.

But all this might well be a delusion, and Mario waited for a moment

when Saccage's back should be turned, to try to exchange a word or a

glance with the hostess. He knew that everybody in the house worshipped

his father and himself.

He adopted the plan of pretending to fall asleep, and Saccage soon went

out to give some order.

Thereupon the child rushed up to Madame Pignoux, saying:

"It is I! not a word! where is my father?"

"Upstairs!" replied Madame Pignoux hastily; although advanced in years,

she was still a robust woman, with a firm foot and a keen eye.

She pointed to the wooden staircase leading to the dining-room, called

the _salle d'honneur_ at the _Geault-Rouge_.

But, as the child was already climbing the stairs, she detained him.

"No!" she said, "they don't know that he is here! Don't stir, my young

master. They would kill him!"

"Who are these men?"

"A wicked lot! Do you know what _arêtes_ are?"

"No! Wait a moment! Perhaps you mean _reitres_?"

"Yes, that's the word. My servant Jacques, who has served in the army,

recognized them. They are brigands who burn and kill wherever they go."

"But they haven't done you any harm, have they?"

"No; they want food and drink; afterwards God only knows whether they

won't burn the house and us with it! That's the way they pay their

reckoning."

"Madame Pignoux, my father must escape from here! How can he do it?"

"Impossible at present! They are guarding all the doors, and your papa

is too old to jump out of a window. Indeed, what would be the use? The

house is surrounded, and they won't even let us go to the hen-coop and

the cellar without following at our heels."

"But you must at least hide my father! Ah! I am very sure now that it's

he they are after! Where is he?"

"In my man's room, who luckily isn't at home! He has gone to cook a

wedding banquet at La Châtre and won't return till to-morrow. They

called for him by name."

"Who? my father?"

"No, my man! I would like to know how it happens that they know him! I

told them he was sick, and I said it very loud so that your papa could

hear it upstairs. I hope that it will occur to him to get into bed."

"But didn't they suggest going upstairs?"

"Yes, indeed; they looked into the _salle d'honneur_, and they said----"

"But they are coming back; we must stop talking," said Mario.

And he hurried back to his corner in the kitchen and resumed his drowsy

attitude.

"Come, old witch, make haste!" cried Saccage, returning with two of his

followers; "lay the table and give us the best you have. Captain Macabre

is here. Do you fellows see that the men observe the order: _Silence and

patience_!" he said to his soldiers. "No one must think of eating before

the captain is at the table. The captain halts here to obtain a good

supper, and doesn't propose to have the pantry ransacked and nothing but

bones left for him and his officers. Remember the fellows who were

hanged at Linières for laying hands on the provisions! Go!--I spoke for

your ears, madame she-ape," he added, addressing the hostess as soon as

the soldiers had gone, "so that you might know that this is no time for

snivelling and heaving sighs. Look alive and put on the spit. To work, I

say! and if the joint is burned by your fault, look out for your old

carcass!"

"How do you expect me to hurry, when I have to do everything almost

alone?" said Madame Pignoux, unmoved by his insults. "There are only us

two old women here. Let them give me back my servant so that he can lay

the table. I can't be upstairs and down at the same time, can I?"

"Your servant is under suspicion, old woman. He acted as if he meant to

run away when he saw us, and then he tried to hide the oats. He has had

a good thrashing and is now working for us."

"Well, how about this urchin?" rejoined the hostess, talking away as she

spitted her chickens; "is he one of your band? couldn't he help me?"

"Help her, good-for-naught," said Saccage to Mario, "and do your work

neatly!"

Mario rose with affected indifference, and asked what he should do.

"What's that? go upstairs with the maid," cried Madame Pignoux, "and lay

the cloth in a hurry."

Mario went up, and said to the servant:

"My father? which room is he in? Tell me quickly!"

She led him up to the second floor and the child scratched gently at the

door, which was locked and bolted inside.

The marquis instantly recognized that little hand, which scratched so

every morning at his bedroom door.

"O God!" he cried, hurriedly opening the door, "you here? But what does

this costume mean? Whom did you come with? how? why?"

"I haven't any time to explain," replied Mario. "I am alone; I want you

to escape from here. Do as I have done, father; disguise yourself."

"Yes, to be sure," said the servant; "here are master's clothes; put

them on, monsieur le mar----"

"No marquises!" said Mario; "leave us, my good girl; and you, father,

shall be Master Pignoux."

"But why show myself?" observed the marquis, as he mechanically

unbuttoned his vest; "I shall not be able to act a part as you do, my

child."

"Yes, you will, yes, you will, my father! But, tell me, don't you know a

_reitre_ named Macabre? It seems to me I have heard you mention that

name."

"Macabre? Yes, to be sure, I know that name and the man too, if it's the

same one who----"

"Is it a long time since he saw you?"

"The devil! yes! something like twenty or thirty years--perhaps more!"

"Well, that is all right! Show yourself without fear; play the

inn-keeper, and we will find a way to escape."

"That will not be possible, my child," said the marquis, continuing to

undress. "We have crafty rascals to deal with. Just fancy that they came

up with no more noise than if it had been a troop of mules going at a

footpace under the charge of a single man. I had no suspicion; the

hostess was asleep in the chimney corner. I was in the living-room,

reading _Astrée_, while waiting until it was time to start."

"Let us hide _Astrée_! Cooks do not read books bound in silk," said

Mario, seizing the volume, which the marquis had instinctively placed

beside his hat when he took possession of the inn-keeper's chamber.

And, as the marquis removed each piece of his clothing, the child

concealed it also under the firewood in a small loft adjoining.

"But did they not recognize you as a gentleman, my poor child?"

continued the marquis, intensely excited as we may believe. "_Mon Dieu_!

have they done you no harm?"

"No, no; let us talk about you, father. Didn't you try to leave the

house before they had stationed their sentinels?"

"No, certainly not. I had no suspicion! They made so little noise that I

thought that some muleteer had stopped here; and not until they had

surrounded the house did they raise their voices slightly, and then I

saw through the window that I was caught in a trap by the worst sort of

cutthroats and villains within my knowledge. I kept perfectly still,

thinking that they would soon go away; but I heard some Italian words,

which I partly understood. They intend, I believe, to stay here until

daybreak. Thereupon I said to myself that my people, finding that I did

not arrive at Brilbault, where I am expected at ten o'clock, would be

anxious about me, and would come during the night to look for me here,

where they know that I was to stop. It would be better to wait for them.

There are only about a dozen of these _reitres_; I was able to count

them pretty accurately, and when our people arrive I shall have no

difficulty in cutting our way to them through these knaves with my

sword."

"Father," said Mario, who was looking out of the window, "there are at

least twenty-five of them! for here is another numerous party just

riding up. Our people are not thinking as yet of coming to look for you,

and at any moment these fellows may search the house from top to bottom

for plunder."

"Well, my child, here I am disguised from top to toe. Stay with me, as

if you were nursing the sick landlord. If they come up here, they will

not disturb us. They maltreat and hold to ransom only well-dressed and

well-mounted people. Ah! by the way, my horse will betray me. They must

have seen him."

"Your horse is hidden, and so is mine."

"Really? Then it must have been that worthy ostler who found a way to

put him out of sight. But what is the matter with the brigands that they

are shouting so? Do you hear them?"

"They are calling me. Stay here, father; don't lock yourself in: that

would arouse suspicion. Hark! they are going into the room below. I must

go! Listen to everything; the partitions are very thin. Try to

understand, and be all ready to come if I call you."

LII

Mario ran like a cat down the narrow staircase leading from the

inn-keeper's chamber to the _salle d'honneur_, and found himself in the

presence of Captain Macabre, who, at the same instant, entered the room

with heavy tread by the staircase leading from the kitchen.

Lieutenant Saccage was also there with two or three other men of no less

hang-dog aspect.

The appearance of the individual who bore the sinister name of Macabre

was less repellent at first glance than his lieutenant's. The latter was

treacherous and cold, with a fiendish laugh. Macabre's face indicated

nothing worse than brutalized roughness, which strove to appear

imposing.

There was no place for a smile upon that face stupefied by fatigue and

dissipation. The muscles seemed to have grown stiff--to have become

ossified; the light eyes had a fixed stare like eyes made of enamel. The

strongly marked features resembled Mr. Punch's, minus the animated, sly

expression. A great scar across the jaw had paralyzed one corner of the

mouth and separated in a curious way the gray and red beard, which

seemed to grow in different directions, and, as to part of it, against

the grain. A great hairy mole emphasized the hump on his protuberant

nose. His fingers bristled with gray hair to the roots of the nails.

He was short and thin, but broad-shouldered, and as compactly built as a

wild-boar, with tawny coat and head set close to the shoulders, like

that beast. He seemed quite old, but his appearance still indicated

herculean strength. His rasping voice, still maintained at the high

pitch of the military officer in the mouth of a fool, sounded like a

peal of thunder with the influenza, and made the glasses on the table

rattle.

He was dressed after the fashion of the _reitres_, in doublet and

tassets of buffalo hide, with a helmet and breastplate of burnished

iron. A wretched stripped black feather adorned that black and gleaming

helmet. He carried the stout, broad German sword, against which the

glistening lances of the French gendarmerie were easily shattered;

flint-lock pistols, to which our soldiers foolishly preferred the old

match-lock weapons; a short musket, and a bandoleer with little black

leather compartments containing charges of powder and ball, completed

this individual's campaign equipment.

His private escort, or, as was still said at this time, his _lance_,

consisted of two carbineers for scouting purposes, and two

_coutilliers_, who performed the twofold functions of pages and

farriers.

He had also seven soldiers, well-armed and mounted as light-horse, who

never left him, and who were the cream of his _cornette_, or troop of

picked men. We may translate, in this way, by equivalent terms to those

in use at this time, the titles and different grades of this tribe of

foreign adventurers, whose organization, equipment and staff each leader

modified, according to his whim or his power.

Mario had not erred in estimating at twenty-five men the band

accompanying the captain, added to that already at the inn under his

lieutenant's command.

"Here's a filthy tavern!" cried the captain in a disdainful tone,

scraping the heavy soles of his great muddy boots on the clean and

glistening rungs of a walnut chair. "What sort of a fire is that for

travellers by night? Are you short of wood in this barrack?"

"Alas! monsieur," said the servant, tossing an armful of wood on the

fire, which was already burning brightly, "we can do no better; this is

a flat country and wood is scarce."

[Illustration: _MACABRE AND HIS BAND AT

THE INN._

"_Look you, my toothless beauty; this is the way

we warm ourselves when wood is dear!_"

_And he tossed the chair on which he had just

wiped his feet into the fire._]

"There's a stupid girl, and uglier, if possible, than her mistress!"

rejoined the courteous Macabre. "Look you, my toothless beauty; this is

the way we warm ourselves when wood is dear!"

And he tossed the chair on which he had just wiped his feet into the

fire.

"And now, lieutenant," he continued coolly, turning to Saccage, "you say

there's a little ragamuffin here, sent by those----"

"Here you are at last!" replied Saccage, raising his foot to impel Mario

more rapidly toward the venerable captain.

Mario eluded the outrage by darting nimbly under the _reitre's_ foot,

and, standing in front of the other brute, said to him coolly:

"I am here, and this is my message; for I gave your lieutenant the

countersign. You cannot stay in this inn, because a large body of armed

men is coming here to-night. You cannot attack the château, which is

well guarded. You must go back where you came from, or you will get into

trouble; Sancho sends this message to you."

"Your Sancho is truly an old ass," retorted the captain.

And he added, accompanying each word with an oath which it is hardly

worth while to repeat in order to convey an idea of the charm of his

conversation:

"I haven't travelled a hundred leagues through a hostile country to go

back empty-handed. Go and tell the man who sent you that Captain Macabre

knows the country better than he does and cares devilish little about a

well-guarded château! Tell him that I have forty horsemen, for there

are fifteen more behind me, who are coming on in charge of _my wife_,

and that forty _reitres_ are as good as an army. Come, off with you, and

go to the devil, gypsy!"

"Don't send him away, captain," said Saccage, who seemed the more

judicious member of the council; "it's of no use for us to have anything

more to do with that Spanish lunatic and that gypsy scum. It is quite

unnecessary to send this sharp young messenger to say that you are going

on. They would follow us and would simply embarrass us and burn and rob

all around us. Do what your wife told you. Stay here till midnight, and

then you will arrive long before daybreak, for it's only two leagues

from here to Briantes. So don't let this little fellow go. I'll throw

him out of the window, if you choose; that will prevent his running."

"No! no unnecessary severity," bleated the captain in falsetto. "I have

become a humane and gentle man since I have had a tender-hearted spouse.

Is the house properly guarded?"

"A fly could not get in without my permission."

"Then let us sup in peace, as soon as my Proserpine arrives. Have you

given orders?"

"Yes; but in spite of Madame Proserpine's fine promises about the

comforts of this inn, we shall sup but poorly here, I am afraid. The

wonderful cook of whom she said so much is in bed, at the point of

death, and the woman is losing her wits. The servant is a traitor whom

we have to watch, and the maid is a frightened old fool who breaks

everything she touches and doesn't forward matters."

"That's because you speak harshly to them, my friend! You always have

insults and threats on your lips! Ten thousand devils! as my wife has

often told you, you lack tact. Where is this damned hostess? summon her,

and let me restore courage to her belly with a cuff or two!"

Walking heavily to the stairs, he called Madame Pignoux, heaping the

coarsest epithets upon her, apparently to set his lieutenant an example

of mildness and courtesy.

This whole conversation was carried on in French.

Macabre, who was of German descent, was born at Bourges and had passed

his early youth in Berry. Except for a somewhat extended vocabulary for

use in his military capacity, he spoke the language of his fathers with

difficulty and without pleasure. The Italian Saccage murdered French

with more facility than German. Thus they had difficulty in

understanding each other when they spoke the latter tongue, and moreover

they considered themselves so entirely masters of the situation that

they scorned to take any precautions before Mario and the people of the

house. Mario, who had taken a great risk when he tried to make the

_reitres_ retrace their steps, and who was likely to be contradicted at

any moment by some genuine messenger from Sancho or La Flèche, realized

that it would be too audacious for him to insist for the moment. He

feigned indifference and preoccupation as he laid the table, but did not

lose a word of what the two adventurers said to each other.

It was quite true that Sancho had promised to send a messenger to

Etalié, which he had designated as the last halting-place of the

_reitres_. But that messenger, who was a gypsy like the rest, and who

hoped that the château of Briantes might be taken and pillaged without

the aid of the Germans, had no idea of doing the errand, but went in

search of plunder in the deserted village, pending the time fixed for

the assault upon the manor by his companions.

The hostess, in obedience to Macabre's polite summons, came upstairs and

faced him bravely.

"What is the use of big words, Captain Macabre?" said she, putting her

arms akimbo. "We know each other of old, and I know very well that you

will pay your reckoning and that of your devils of _lansquenets_[8] with

oaths and destruction of property. I don't receive you for my own

pleasure, and I know very well that it is more likely to be for my ruin.

But I am a reasonable woman and no more foolish than another. So I face

ill fortune with a stout heart and serve you to the best of my ability,

in order to escape bad treatment and be rid of your faces the sooner. If

you are at all reasonable yourself, captain, you will say to yourself

that you had better not injure me to no purpose, but let me alone, and

remember that I know how to fry and roast as well as another."

"In God's name, who are you, old chatterbox?" said the captain, trying

to turn his stiff neck in its iron gorget, in order to look at Madame

Pignoux.

"My maiden name was Marie Mouton, and I was your cantinière during the

siege of Sancerre; and one day I fricasseed a stale crust for you and

you smacked your lips over it."