"That may be; I remember the crust, which was good, but not you, who are

ugly. But if you have served the good cause, I forgive your chatter."

"And what do you call the good cause now? For you and your like have

changed so many times!"

"Hold your tongue, my dear Bonbec. I don't talk religion with people of

your sort."

"Understand, too," interposed Saccage with a sneer, "that the good cause

is always the one we serve!"

"Is this the time for jabbering," continued Macabre, "when my Proserpine

approaches and I order you to make haste?"

"I cannot work any faster," replied La Pignoux; "why did you call me

upstairs?"

"Because I propose that your husband, who is supposed to be a decent

sort of cook, shall get up, dead or alive, and put his hand to the

dough."

"That is impossible; my man is all twisted up with pain, and hasn't

cooked for a long time."

"You lie, my dear; your man is a tool of old--Enough! I know about you;

my wife has told me----"

"Old who? what do you mean?"

"Methinks you question me, strumpet!" said the captain, with a burlesque

dignity which he assumed in perfect good faith.

"Why not?" retorted the hostess. "And your wife, as you call her,--who

is she, to have kept you so well informed?"

"Hold your tongue, and when my goddess arrives, serve her on your

knees," said Macabre with a fatuous smile in which his crooked mouth

extended to his left eye.

Then, recurring to his fixed idea, which was to feast bountifully and

regale his goddess handsomely, he insisted that the inn-keeper should be

made to get up.

"By hell!" exclaimed Saccage, drawing his sword, "there is no difficulty

about that; I have always heard that you must grease stiff joints to

make them work, and I will find a way to unearth this pretended dying

man whatever hole he may be hiding in! Come with me, scouts! and run

your swords everywhere, whether it's into flesh or marrow."

"That is unnecessary," said Mario, jumping in front of the unsheathed

sword; "I will go and bring him; I know where Master Pignoux is! I know

him, and when I tell him that he has the honor of receiving Captain

Macabre in person, he will come at once."

"That is a pretty boy!" said Macabre, looking after Mario as he left the

room. "I must give him to my wife to wait on her. She asks me every day

for a trim little page."

"You will make nothing of a gypsy," said Saccage. "This imp has an

impudent, sneering air."

"You are mistaken! I consider him very pretty myself!" rejoined the

captain, who did not enjoy being contradicted too much, and with whom

the lieutenant had been a little too outspoken for several days past,

for reasons which we shall soon learn, and which Macabre was beginning

to suspect.

The marquis, being anxious about Mario, was standing in a small

passageway near the _salle d'honneur_ and doing his utmost to hear

everything; but his ear grasped only snatches of the conversation, and

Mario, hurrying out in search of him, hastily told him what had taken

place, in as few words as possible.

He had not time, nor indeed had he the inclination, to tell what was

happening at Briantes; he felt that the marquis already had enough upon

his mind to extricate himself from his present plight, and that he ought

not to disturb him by giving him other motives for apprehension.

The _reitres_ being as ignorant as he of the attack precipitated by the

gypsies, there was no risk that the marquis would learn it from another

mouth than his when the proper moment should arrive.

But would that moment arrive? The present situation would have seemed

desperate to an experienced person, and the marquis, who knew only a

part of it, deemed it very serious. But Mario had the happy faith of

childhood: he saw only half of the danger.

"If we escape from here, as I hope," he thought, "my father and I will

have a hearty laugh at the figure we cut at this moment!"

[Footnote 8: The _reitres_ were still called _lansquenets_ in France,

although they no longer carried lances.]

LIII

In truth, the poor marquis, disguised as a cook, was very laughable.

He had done the work conscientiously. He had taken off his wig and

concealed his bare skull beneath an oilcloth cap shaped like a

cake-mould.

His face, thus bereft of its ebon curls, and smeared with soot, was not

recognizable; nor were his great white hands, which were stained to

correspond with his face.

He had succeeded in hiding his fine white shirt under a countryman's

smock, and was shod in shabby felt slippers; a coarse apron, thrown over

the whole, covered his broadcloth breeches, which were not very

magnificent, for he had attired himself very simply for the projected

nocturnal expedition to Brilbault, which circumstance proved to be very

fortunate in this emergency.

Being informed by Mario that Macabre seemed to be a stupid,

vain-glorious clown, he realized that it was his cue to inspire

confidence in him, and at the outset he saw that no flattery would be

too rank for him to swallow.

"Illustrious and gallant captain," he said, bowing to the ground, "I beg

you to excuse my poor fool of a wife, who did not know what a great

warrior and scholar we had under our roof. It is quite true that I am

ill with the gout, but your affable and martial air would bring the dead

to life, and I remember too well my service under your banner not to be

determined, though I must leave my life in my fires, to serve you to the

extent of such small talents as heaven has given me."

"Good! good!" said Saccage to the captain, "there is nothing like

threatening! They are all claiming to have served under you."

"That's all right," rejoined Macabre, "provided he serves me well now.

And after all, monsieur le lieutenant, it's not impossible that the old

fellow may have known me long ago, during the war in the province. I had

enough share in it for everybody to remember me. Scullion! you may tell

me of your campaigns at dessert, for I see from your manner and your

gait that the gout hasn't spoiled the carriage of a soldier. You have a

curious odor about you," he added, referring to the perfumes with which

the marquis, despite his disguise, was thoroughly impregnated; "it

smells like confectionery! No matter! I will bet that you have been a

lansquenet in your day, eh?"

"I was one for a whole year," replied Bois-Doré, who knew by heart the

whole of Master Pignoux's checkered existence and Macabre's villainous

youth. "Why, I saw you worry the Huguenots of Bourges during the

massacre in the prisons, in company with that terrible vine-dresser who

was called _Le Grand Vinaigrier_."

"Oho!" cried the Italian, glancing at his captain with a mocking air,

"didn't I tell you that you were a great Papist, my captain?"

"Everything in its season!" retorted Macabre, with philosophical

tranquillity; "my father, who was the captain of the great tower of

Bourges with the late Monsieur de Pisseloup, protected the poor heretics

in the province as well as he could. For my part, I fired crooked when I

couldn't do anything better. But I got back into the straight road, and

I am more sincere than you, Monsieur l'Italien, with your relics hidden

under your German breastplate."

The Italian made a sharp retort, and Macabre, angry with him for raising

his voice in presence of his pages and his men-at-arms, although they

understood very little French, bade him be silent, and asked the marquis

what he could give him to eat.

Bois-Doré, who had referred to the incident of the Catholic massacres

only to see in what waters young Macabre was sailing since he had grown

old, felt more at ease.

This leader of partizans could not be acting under the patronage of the

Prince de Condé. The marquis's knowledge was sufficiently extensive to

enable him to talk of culinary matters like a man who knows his ground,

and as, during his stay of two hours at the inn, he had discussed this

momentous question with Madame Pignoux, to pass the time away, he was

quite familiar with the contents of the pantry and the resources of the

cellar.

"We shall have the honor to offer you," he said, "a quarter of wild-boar

seasoned with spices, which will commend itself to you; a fine mess of

Issoudun crabs cooked in beer----"

"And well peppered, I hope," said the captain. "My wife loves

highly-seasoned dishes."

"We will put in a taste of Spanish pimento."

And, having enumerated all the dishes, the marquis added:

"But would not your illustrious lady like some sweet dishes after the

joint?"

"The devil! yes. I had nearly forgotten that she recommended a certain

_omelette au musc_."

"Perhaps your lordship means _aux pistaches_? That is a dish of my own

invention."

"The deuce you say! She told me that it was invented by the old man."

"The old man? Who dares, boast of having discovered before me the

_omelette au riz_ and _aux pistaches_?"

"Faith, old Bois-Doré, if I must mention that idiot of idiots in good

company!"

Bois-Doré bit his lips.

"Who, pray, does the marquis the honor to repeat his absurd boasts?" he

said. "Does madame your wife deign to know him?"

"It would seem so!" retorted Macabre, "and I know, also, my old rascal,

that you are that triple hound of a false marquis's humble servant, and

that he taught you how to cook; but I don't care a straw! You are

watched and your ears will answer to me for your ragouts."

The marquis saw that he had no other resource than to speak ill of

himself, and he did not spare himself, ridiculing his own rank and

character in most amusing terms; but he could not decide to couple with

his accursed and calumniated name the epithet _old_, which his

contemporary Macabre insolently used to decry him.

The captain persisted in a most offensive way.

"That old dyspeptic must be pretty well broken up," he said, "for when I

saw him last he was like a long lath, with no beard on his chin, and I

nearly broke him in two by mistake."

"Indeed?" said Bois-Doré, recalling the youthful adventure which he had

recently related to Adamas; "did you do him the honor of measuring

swords with him?"

"No, my good man, I didn't stoop to that. He was on horseback, carrying

munitions of war to our enemies. I took him by one leg and, stretching

him at my feet, I left him for dead and seized his convoy."

"Which consisted of powder and ball?" queried Bois-Doré, unable to

refrain from laughing inwardly at the absurd boasting of the man whom he

had overturned with a kick, and at the remembrance of that famous stock

of munitions of war, consisting of children's toys.

"It was a good capture!" replied the captain. "But we have talked

enough, old jabberer! Go downstairs and have an eye to everything."

Bois-Doré, relegated to his ovens, was compelled to leave Mario, whom

the captain detained.

As he left the room he cast a glance at his son: a glance of intense

apprehension, which the child returned with one of the utmost

confidence. He felt that Macabre was not ill-disposed toward him.

"Now, my boy," said the captain, "come here and tell me, if you can, who

you are!"

"Faith, I don't know anything about it; captain," replied Mario, who had

not had time as yet to forget the gypsy mode of speech; "I was stolen or

picked up on the road somewhere by the dark-skinned devils called

Egyptians."

"What can you do?"

"Three fine things," replied Mario, opportunely remembering La Flèche's

lofty maxims: "fast, watch, and run; with that we can go a long way and

get out of any scrape."

"He's a sharp boy," said Macabre, glancing at his lieutenant, who, to

display his ill-humor, had turned his back on him, sitting astride his

chair, his head and hands resting on the back, and his side to the fire.

Macabre considered his position disrespectful, and told him so in

cynical terms. Saccage rose without speaking and left the room.

Mario observed everything, and the discord between the two leaders

seemed to him a good omen. He determined to take advantage of it, if

possible, and if opportunity offered.

Macabre resumed the conversation with him.

"How does it happen," he said, "that I didn't see you at Brilbault last

night?"

Mario was not long embarrassed by that question.

"I wasn't there," he said; "I was collecting chickens in the

neighborhood, just to save them from the foxes and the pip."

"Do you know how to steal chickens? Well, that is a natural

accomplishment which may be very useful. But tell me if the Spaniard

finished his dying?"

"Monsieur d'Alvimar?" said Mario, beginning to understand Pilar's story,

and no longer to look upon it as a dream.

"Yes, yes," said Macabre, "that dog of a Papist who turned my stomach

with his prayers!"

"He died this morning."

"He did well, the lunatic! And what about Sancho? He's much more of a

man; bigoted as he is, he understands matters. Where is he now?"

"He is hiding."

"Why doesn't he join me here?"

"As I told you, you are in danger here, and he knows it."

"What danger? Will old Pignoux betray us?"

"No, the poor man doesn't know anything at all about it; what could he

do against you?"

"But from whom are we in danger?"

"A party of gentlemen who are looking for you at Brilbault at this

moment, and who will soon pass here, with a big escort, on their way to

sleep at Briantes."

"Did you see them?"

"Yes."

"How many of them are there?"

"Perhaps two hundred mounted men!" said Mario trying to frighten his

man.

"So the plan is discovered, is it?" said Macabre, evidently shaken.

"It seems so!"

The captain seemed to reflect, in so far as his stony or, more

accurately, his horny face could be said to denote any mental

preoccupation.

Mario's heart beat fast under his rags. For a moment he thought that his

stratagem would be successful and that Macabre would decide to retrace

his steps. But the captain began to talk German with his scouts, who

left the room at once, and Macabre resumed his graceful attitude, one

leg thrown over the andiron, the other across the chair the lieutenant

had left.

Mario ventured to question him.

"Well, captain," he said, "are you going to turn back?"

"To Linières? No, indeed, my little monkey! My horses are tired and my

men too. For my own part I slept so tittle at Brilbault last night that

I propose to make it up here. Woe to the man who disturbs me!"

These plans for slumber aroused hope anew in Mario's heart.

"If these people are very tired," he thought, "a moment will come when

we shall be able to escape."

He did not, as the marquis did, rely upon the arrival of his friends and

servants. Pilar, by advising them of the capture of the _basse-cour_ at

Briantes, would lead them to hurry thither instantly, expecting that the

marquis would take the same direction; for the little gypsy, whose

intellect was shrewd beyond her years, would not fail to tell them that

Mario had started off to warn his father.

As he was making these reflections, Lieutenant Saccage re-entered the

room, and, addressing Macabre, who was dozing before the fire, said in a

half-humble, half-insolent tone:

"Allow me to inform you, captain, that, thanks to your plan of dividing

us up into small parties, we lose much time; your wife and her party

have not arrived, and if you sit a long while at table, as you usually

do, our whole plan may fail. The proper course would be not to have a

feast, but to eat quietly, sleep a couple of hours, and go forward

before the passers-by have time to speed the news of our coming."

"Detain the passers-by!" rejoined Macabre, calmly. "Didn't we agree on

that? You will have no great task, for we didn't meet a cat from

Linières here, and this country's as empty as a church in '62. But

these are useless words. I hear my Proserpine's voice. She comes! Let us

go to meet her!"

As he spoke, Macabre rose with an effort and went down to the kitchen.

"The captain's growing old!" said Saccage, in Italian, to one of the

farriers who stood like statues in front of the door.

"No," was the reply, "he has taken a wife, and that is worse! He thinks

of nothing but carousing, and he doesn't know when it's time to march."

Mario, who was studying Latin with Lucilio, understood the substance of

this colloquy, and followed the lieutenant and the two troopers to the

kitchen.

As soon as he arrived there, paying no heed to the new arrivals who were

crowding through the door, he glided to Bois-Doré's side, who was

cooking for dear life with Madame Pignoux, saying to himself that the

sooner the enemy was at table, the sooner there might be some

opportunity to escape.

"Ah! here you are, my child," said the marquis in an undertone; "have

they maltreated you?"

"No, no," said Mario, "the captain and I are on the best of terms. Let

me help you, father. We can talk while they are not thinking about us."

"Very well, but we must not look at each other; watch me when I speak to

the hostess.--Madame Pignoux, give me the butter!" he called aloud; then

added in an undertone: "What is going on by the door, my good woman?"

"A lady dismounting from her horse. Don't turn round, she may happen to

know you."

"Mustard, boy!" said the marquis, tapping Mario on the shoulder.--"Don't

you turn either," he whispered in his ear.--"Madame Pignoux," leaning

toward the hostess, "try to see her face."

"I don't recognize her," said La Pignoux; "she has a mass of hair and

feathers. She's a powerful woman!"

LIV

Our three friends were standing at the end of the kitchen by the oven,

with their backs to the door and their faces turned toward a window,

through which they could see the figures of the sentinels walking to and

fro outside, carbine in hand.

There were two on each side of the house; an unnecessarily large supply,

for the house had only two doors, one opening on the road, the other of

the pantry, opening on a small garden enclosed by a hedge.

All the windows on the ground-floor and first floor were provided with

stout bars. It was hopeless to think of forcing their way out.

And yet the marquis sighed with impatience.

"Ah! my son, why are you here?" he said to Mario. "With this stout

kitchen knife I could soon get rid of the two sentinels walking back and

forth in front of the pantry door. But with you--I should not dare; I am

a coward."

"And if my man was here," rejoined Madame Pignoux, "old as he is, he and

Jacques would take care of the others. But I am very much afraid they

have killed my poor servant! Good God! there he is! Just see how those

devils have treated him! He's all covered with blood!"

Jacques le Bréchaud, so-called because he was gap-toothed,[9] was ugly,

crafty and bad-tempered, but brave and devoted.

"Don't pay any attention to me," he said, "but give me a dish-clout to

wipe my face."

"Why, they have split your head open, my poor fellow!" said the marquis,

passing him his lace handkerchief, which he found in his breeches,

pocket.

Mario seized the handkerchief, which might have betrayed their identity,

and tossed it into the hot fire, where it disappeared like a match.

Jacques wiped away the blood and bandaged his wound with a napkin.

"Don't be alarmed," he said to Madame Pignoux; "they let me come here to

wait on them. Give me the larding-knife, and the night shall not pass

without my ripping up one or two of them."

"You will get yourself killed," said the hostess. "That's of no

consequence," replied Jacques.

"But you will get us killed too!"

"Jacques," said the marquis, "look at this child, and don't say a word.

Help him to leave this house, if you can, but be prudent if you love

us."

Jacques glanced stealthily at Mario, and, without making any reply, went

several times to the pantry, as if to attend to his duties, but in

reality to examine the men who were pacing back and forth with the

regularity of machines.

"Those German curs!" he said to the marquis, "they don't eat nor drink

nor sleep until they have killed off everybody."

"And they know what discipline means too!" rejoined the marquis, with a

sigh. "Ah! it can't be denied that the _reitres_ are stout soldiers! If

our good Henri had had ten thousand of them, he would have been king ten

years earlier!"

"Cook, father, cook!" said Mario, "the lieutenant is looking at you!"

"He may look at me all he chooses, my son; I know how to handle a

saucepan as well as Master Pignoux himself."

"That's the truth," said the hostess; "anyone would swear that you had

studied cooking!"

"I studied it in the field, Madame Pignoux; I have made a fricassee for

my Henri with my sword at my side and my helmet on my head. Who would

have dreamed that I would ever do the same for a Macabre and his better

half? She is some prostitute, I fancy!"

At that moment Madame Proserpine's voice rose above the others, which

had drowned it thus far.

"Pah! how it smells of burned fat!" she exclaimed; "it is enough to make

one sick! Let's go up; let's go up at once! Come, lieutenant, give me

your hand, _sacrebleu_!"

Monsieur de Bois-Doré and his son glanced at each other then looked

down into their saucepans.

This amazon, who, after conversing confidentially with the captain and

lieutenant at the door of the inn, now strode slowly across the kitchen,

resplendent in her warlike costume, and tossing beneath the multicolored

plumes of her headgear her abundant bright red mane, this Madame

Proserpine, the more or less lawful spouse of Captain Macabre, was the

marquis's former housekeeper, Mario's personal enemy, Guillette Carcat

of La Châtre, Bellinde of Briantes.

"We are lost," thought the marquis; "she will surely recognize us!"

"We are saved," thought Mario; "she does not recognize us!"

And, to make his disguise more complete, he too enveloped himself in an

enormous apron which came to his chin, and passed his little

soot-begrimed hands over his red cheeks.

Bellinde passed on without turning. But it was impossible to think of

flight. _Madame_ desired to be served instantly.

The ex-housekeeper, formerly a prudish and demure damsel, had undergone

a sudden metamorphosis. On becoming the companion of an old

swash-buckler, she had adopted the military manners and the imperious

and shrewish tone which were the natural expression of her real nature,

long held in restraint and glossed over at Briantes. Her person had

developed with corresponding luxuriance. Being no longer obliged to

indulge secretly in stolen liquors and delicacies, she had abandoned

herself greedily to her gluttonous instincts. Being abundantly supplied

with money, provisions and spirits by the forethought of Macabre, who

always appropriated the lion's share of all booty, she drowned each day,

in the fumes of debauchery, the remorse and disgust born of her

subjection to a species of monster.

The pleasure of doing nothing but ride about the country and issue

orders was also some compensation to her. The vicissitudes and excesses

of her new life as an adventuress had speedily altered her features and

almost doubled her size. Her face, naturally high-colored, had already

taken on the blotched, purplish appearance of dissipation and

over-indulgence. Proud of her luxuriant red mane, she allowed it to fall

over her shoulders with absurd ostentation, and bedizened herself,

without a trace of discernment, with all sorts of objects which Master

Macabre had collected, more frequently by treachery than in honorable

warfare.

Madame therefore was in haste to eat and drink, after a long journey in

the saddle, and was overjoyed to think that she was to taste at last the

fine cooking of Master Pignoux, which she had so often heard extolled at

Briantes.

It mattered little to her that five-and-twenty stout troopers--they were

miserable rascals by the way, we must not forget that--were waiting at

the door with empty stomachs. The dissatisfaction which her conduct

caused them did not disturb her in the slightest degree; she had no

suspicion of it, her idiot of a husband having given her the rank of

lieutenant and the command of a portion of his band, with whom she

shared her booty when she was in good humor, and who were devoted to her

from interested motives.

The fifteen brigands whom she had brought, and who took possession of

the kitchen, while the others were relegated to the stables or ordered

to mount guard, displayed at first the greatest eagerness in the

preparation of her supper; they counted upon her leavings, and while

some laid the table, hustling and abusing the inn servants, others

spurred on Bois-Doré the _chef_, his supposed wife and Mario, the

improvised turnspit, to satisfy the lieutenantess's appetite as speedily

as possible.

For this reason they could not think of exchanging a word or looking

toward the door. There was nothing to be done but cook, and cook they

did with might and main.

This was one of the crises in the marquis's life, when he rose to the

occasion.

He made ragouts worthy of a better fate, seasoned and dressed the

dishes, greased the spider and turned the omelet with the graceful ease

of a science which at last imposed respect on those cutthroats, despite

their impatience.

As he was about to serve the soup, the marquis saw Jacques le Bréchaud

put out his hand as if to put in more salt. He instinctively declined

that uncalled-for assistance; but he was surprised to find that Jacques

persisted, and, on taking hold of his hand he saw that the salt had a

peculiar look.

"Let me do it," said Jacques, "they like their soup well-salted."

And his face wore a strange smile which impressed the marquis.

"No poison, Jacques!" he whispered; "that is cowardly, and cowardice

brings bad luck! God alone can save us! Let us not anger God!"

Jacques dropped the rat poison with which he had proposed to season the

soup for the charming guests of the _Geault-Rouge_. The marquis's

generous and sentimental outburst was inexplicable to him; but he

submitted to his ascendancy with a sort of superstitious awe.

Bois-Doré handed the soup and the whole first course to Madame

Proserpine's bearded pages; he breathed a little more freely; they

seemed disposed to give him somewhat more liberty.

Mario went to the door from time to time, indeed he might have made his

escape at that moment by pretending to go out to the shed to fetch wood;

but he was careful not to mention the fact to his father. He would have

insisted upon his taking advantage of it, and not for anything in the

world would the child have parted from him.

"If my father is to be killed," he thought, "I will die with him; but I

shall not abandon the hope of saving him until the last moment."

Madame Pignoux also began to hope. Madame Proserpine's men seemed more

insolent but somewhat less forbidding than those who had been in the

kitchen before.

They were almost all Frenchmen and young. They issued their orders as

cynically as the others; but there was a sort of boisterous gayety in

their manner which might mean that they were good fellows at bottom, or,

at least, that they might forget themselves for a moment.

But an order from the top of the stairs fell like a thunderbolt on the

captives: Madame Proserpine summoned Master Pignoux and his wife to her

presence.

"I will come, I am coming, as fast as I can!" cried the hostess,

hurrying upstairs.

And she appeared before the lieutenantess and respectfully requested to

know her wishes, taking care not to seem to recognize her, or else to

humble herself before her as a personage of vastly greater consequence

than the servant who used to take the marquis's little dogs out to walk.

"My orders were for your husband to appear also," observed La Bellinde,

flattered by Madame Pignoux's submission. "Go and call him, my good

woman."

"Excuse me," said La Pignoux, "my husband is in a terrible heat, and too

much smoked up to appear in a dirty cap and apron before a lady like

you."

"Do you think that you are more enticing, you old gallows-bird?" cried

the captain. "Bah! you can't fool me. I want to see the face of your

donkey of a husband, and no excuse will go down. Look you, rascals," he

said to La Proserpine's attendants, "how happens it that when your

lieutenant gives an order, you make her repeat it? Death of my life!

Must I go myself and fetch that double-dyed traitor?"

At that moment, Bois-Doré, who had been compelled by force to ascend

the staircase, was pushed into the room, and so roughly that he

well-nigh fell on his knees at La Proserpine's feet.

Poor Mario followed, trembling with fear for him and with wrath against

the villainous troopers. If his old father had fallen, the child would

have lost patience and have defended him at the risk of being cut in

pieces.

Luckily for them both, the marquis did not lose his head and determined

to risk everything, staking his fate on the success of his disguise.

As luck would have it, Proserpine paid no heed to his features. She knew

the genuine Pignoux very well; she did not deign to raise her eyes to

his face at once, engrossed as she was by the exceedingly familiar

homage paid to her by Lieutenant Saccage, who, being seated by her side,

made the most of every moment when Macabre was not watching them

closely.

Thus the marquis was able to take his stand behind Proserpine, in the

attitude of a humble retainer awaiting orders; and, with a clever

manœuvre he caused Mario to stand behind him.

"Ah! there you are at last, gallows-bird!" cried the captain, bringing

his fist down on the table. "Your fear betrays your treachery, and I see

through your vile schemes!"

Bois-Doré, believing that he was detected, was on the point of casting

his disguise to the winds and making such use of the carving-knife as to

be sure of dying without ignominy; but Mario was there and paralyzed his

courage. In his uncertainty as to the meaning of the words addressed to

him, he refrained from replying and thus allowing La Proserpine to hear

his voice.

He contented himself by staring at Macabre with a self-possessed air.

That was, although he did not know it, the wisest attitude he could

assume.

"Zounds! will you speak?" roared the captain, who had seemed somewhat

disturbed and was evidently reassured by his innocent air. "You play the

simpleton, you miserable rascal! but you must know that by failing to

come here yourself so that we could pull your ears to bring you to your

senses, you disregarded all the rules and all the proprieties of your

beastly trade."

Bois-Doré, being determined not to speak, made a gesture equivalent to

an interrogation point, with a shake of the head which seemed to say:

"What is all this about?"

"Have you lost your tongue, with which you chattered so fast a little

while ago?" continued Macabre; "or have you never learned, you triple

idiot, that a landlord ought always to be the first to taste the food

and drink he provides? Do you think that I am so sure of you that I am

willing to take the risk of poison? Come, be quick about it, you

infernal beast, swallow what you see on this plate and in this goblet,

or _mordieu_! I'll make you swallow my sword!"

As he spoke he pointed to a plate on which he had placed a portion of

all the dishes on the table and a goblet filled with wine from all the

jars.

The marquis was greatly relieved when he learned why he was wanted,

especially as La Proserpine did not glance at him when he stooped over

the table to take the plate and the glass.

The custom of requiring an inn-keeper to taste his dishes had fallen

into disuse since the close of the great civil wars, in the central

provinces at least; travellers had ceased to exercise that privilege, as

inn-keepers had ceased to require travellers to disarm before entering

their houses.

But Macabre acted as if he were in a conquered province, and it was

useless to argue with the stronger party. So the marquis performed his

task courageously, with a smile of disdain for the affront put upon his

honor. He swallowed the contents of the plate and glass in silence,

bestowing upon Jacques le Bréchaud an eloquent glance, which said:

"Generosity brings good luck, you see, Jacques!" And Jacques, who adored

the marquis, crossed himself and returned to the kitchen.

[Footnote 9: _Brèche-dents._]

LV

Everything went well.

Macabre and his subordinates, crushed by the haughty glance and haughty

silence of the majestic cook, were delighted to be able to do honor to

his toothsome dishes, and perhaps he would not have been required to

appear again; but an unfortunate moment of distraction on his part

spoiled everything.

La Proserpine dropped the feather fan which she carried in her belt,

with a dagger and two pistols; and with the fatal instinct of courtesy

which never failed him, even with respect to his housekeeper, the

marquis stooped to pick up the trinket, which he handed to her with

suppressed excitement, realizing his blunder too late.

There was an expression of surprise and uncertainty in La Proserpine's

eyes for a moment, a moment that seemed as long as a century; at last

the lady cried, putting her hand to her pistols:

"May I die in torment if this is Master Pignoux!"

"What? what does this mean?" cried Macabre in his turn. "Come here, old

turnspit, and show your dirty snout to the company. By the death of the

devil! if there's any trickery, and some scurvy spoil-sauce has usurped

the duties of chief cook, I'll make a skimmer of his hide!"

The marquis did not listen to the brigand's threats; he felt that the

crisis had come, and pushed Mario out of the room, saying:

"Go down stairs, my wife is calling you!"

Then he turned resolutely and faced La Proserpine, and looked her in the

eye with that lofty dignity which only the brave man can summon to his

aid against cowardly adversaries.

Despite her master's burlesque attire, Bellinde could not escape a

sensation of respect and remorse. She held in her hands the life of the

man whom she desired to humble and rob, but not to torture and murder.

She hesitated another moment, then said:

"Faith, Master Pignoux, I do recognize you now! but _mordi_! you are

much changed! Have you been very sick, pray?"

"Yes, madame," replied Bois-Doré, touched by her kindly impulse; "I

have had a fatiguing time in my house since I was compelled to part with

a person who served me well."

"I know whom you mean," rejoined Bellinde. "She was a treasure whom you

didn't appreciate and turned out-of-doors like a dog. Yes, yes, I know

how it happened. You were entirely in the wrong, and now you regret it!

But it's too late, you see! she will never serve you again!"

"She will do well never to serve anyone, if she can do without it; but I

flatter myself that, wherever she may be, she has not forgotten my

generosity to her. I dismissed her without a word of reproach and did

not treat her stingily; she may have told you so."

"Enough; we will speak of this later. Serve us with your best, and now

go back to your work, old man. Go!"

As he went out, he saw her whisper to one of her men.

"We are saved!" he said to Mario in the hall. "She did not betray me,

and she has given orders to let us go."

And the marquis, in his innocence, walked with Mario toward the kitchen

door; but he was much mistaken: La Proserpine had, on the contrary,

issued even stricter orders for the blockade.

So they had no choice but to continue to busy themselves with the

composition of the famous _omelette aux pistaches_.

About an hour passed without any perceptible change in this absurd yet

tragical situation.

There was a great uproar in the dining-room. Macabre was shouting and

swearing and singing. There were alternations of brutal merriment and

brutal rage.

This is what was taking place:

Lieutenant Saccage was as outspoken and concise as his name. It seemed

ridiculous to him to prepare for a sharp and decisive blow, which

demanded a swift and silent march, by a supper which he well knew would

degenerate into a carouse.

Macabre was a desperado addicted to all the excesses which were the real

motive of his expeditions. He had not, like his lieutenant, the

qualities of the shrewd speculator, and, if I were not afraid of

profaning words, I would say that, in his adventurous life, he wallowed

in a sort of drunkenness, which was the poetry, a sombre and brutish

sort of poetry, of that life. He was as much gypsy as thief, squandering

all he acquired, and rich only by fits and starts.

The other amassed wealth in cold blood and put it aside. He understood

business, spent nothing in dissipation, and was hoarding a fortune. In

our day he would have been a sharper in higher station; he would have

cheated in a black coat and lived in good society, instead of scouring

the high roads and stripping wayfarers.

Each century has its own peculiar methods of traffic, and during the

civil wars of the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, brigandage was a

regular branch of industry, conducted on business principles.

Saccage hoped to get rid of Macabre. He would not have dared to attack

him in front; but he did as monsieur le prince did with the King of

France: he urged his master into danger, calculating that a volley of

musketry would carry him off and leave his place empty for him.

Guided by this idea, he strove to make himself agreeable to La

Proserpine, who had charge of the cash-box and the jewel-case; and the

lady, while handling her chance husband with care, did not discourage

the embryo husband whom the chances of war might make useful to her at

any moment.

This system of coquetry was beginning to be manifest to Macabre, and he

was torn between his natural inclination to allow himself to be led by

the nose, and his desire to discipline his goddess in vigorous fashion.

He was sorely tempted too, every moment in the day, to break the pitcher

over his rival's head, but he realized how essential the lieutenant's

activity and never-failing soundness of judgment were to him, who could

never resign himself to the necessity of remaining sober and living on

the alert.

So that, fatigued by this alternation of angry outbreaks and

reconciliations, which was repeated at every halting-place, the captain

adopted the plan of drowning his cares in the vintage of the hills of La

Châtre, and, after talking much nonsense, began to feel an

unconquerable longing to take a nap, with his nose amid the remains of

a pie on his plate.

Not until then could Saccage talk seriously with Proserpine.

"You see, my Bradamante," he said, "that this old sot is good for

nothing, and if you follow my advice we shall leave him here to sleep

off his wine and go on and pillage the château. To-morrow, when we

return, we will pick up our noble commander, who would simply serve to

embarrass our expedition now."

Proserpine was nourishing a newly conceived idea, a bold and

extraordinary idea, which she was careful not to impart to the

lieutenant. She pretended to accede to his wish to make all necessary

preparations for departure.

"Go and see that the whole party have something to eat," she said; "I

will watch this sleeping man, and if he wakes I will give him more drink

so that he will go to sleep again."

Saccage went down to the pantry, demanded that the whole stock of salt

pork and dried meats should be delivered to him, and then went to the

stable where his men and the captain's were quartered.

The provisions and the wine were distributed under his eyes with careful

parsimony; he assured himself that the sentries were at their stations.

Proserpine's men were at table in the kitchen, regaling themselves with

the abundant broken meats from the officers' supper.

Meanwhile the amazon summoned the chief cook, who found her warming her

stout, booted legs, in a masculine attitude. They were alone, for the

captain was snoring in his pie.

"Sit you down, marquis, and let us talk," she said with a laughable air

of condescension. "It is necessary that you should understand your

situation and mine, and I will tell you much in a few words, for time

presses."

The marquis seated himself without speaking.

"I must tell you," continued the lady-brigand, "that when you discharged

me so discourteously from your château, I entered the service of Madame

de Gartempe, who was going away to the Messin country in Lorraine, where

she has large estates."

"I know it," said the marquis, "you were employed by a lady of rank, and

you did not lower yourself. How does it happen----"

"That I left her so soon? I had taken it into my head to be pious when I

was with you, because one likes to do the opposite of what one's masters

do; and that is why, finding my great lady too exacting for my

conscience, I turned to the Reformers, which served to make her dismiss

me, much more harshly than you did, I admit!

"About that time there came to the Messin country a band of adventurers

of all nations, who had served under the gallant captain who is known

thereabout as the Bastard of Mansfeld; they had been beaten by the

Emperor's Catholic troops on the other side of the Rhine and were

seeking their fortune in Alsace and Lorraine.

"Everybody was terribly afraid of those people, I myself with the rest;

but chance brought me in contact with one of them, whom you see here,

who, having saved a tidy sum, had just dismissed his men and was

thinking about returning to Bourges to settle down and end his days in

peace. He remembered Berry so well that we soon became acquainted, and

he offered me his heart and his hand.

"I don't know why I hesitated to bind myself to him; but one thing that

is very certain, my dear marquis, is that your château will be taken

to-night and burned to-morrow morning."

"So that is really the object of your expedition?" said the marquis,

affecting perfect tranquillity. "Was it you who suggested that idea to

Captain Macabre? I cannot believe that you are such a wicked and

revengeful person as that."

"The idea did not come from me; but I unintentionally suggested it to

this rapacious beast, by imprudently mentioning your treasure. He no

sooner found out that you had such a thing than he overwhelmed me with

questions, and I, having no idea what he was coming at, gave him enough

details to satisfy him that it would be easy to seize it. The effect of

my imprudent words was increased by some letters which I was imprudent

enough to show him. One came from Monsieur Poulain, the other from

Sancho. Both of them gave news of Monsieur d'Alvimar; both believed me

to be still devoted to what they call good principles; and as it is a

good thing to have friends everywhere, I took care not to let them know

what company I was in. And so, my dear marquis, Macabre went off to

Alsace one day and hunted up several of his old _reitres_; he enlisted

some others who asked nothing better than to take the field again, and

took for his second in command Lieutenant Saccage, who is a clever and

intelligent man; and, when all that was done, he came to Linières, and

went from there last night, with some of his men, to Brilbault, having

arranged to meet the others to-night at this isolated inn."

Bois-Doré listened with close attention, but succeeded in concealing

the surprise and anxiety which all these disclosures caused him.

Recalling the ghosts at Brilbault, he mechanically looked at the wall of

the room in which he then was, and saw reproduced there the face with

the huge hooked nose and long moustaches, together with the plumed

helmet of Captain Macabre. It was the same profile that he had seen at

Brilbault, and doubtless Poulain the rector, whom he had thought that he

recognized, was also of the party. Moreover had he not heard from

Proserpine's lips that D'Alvimar had survived the duel at La Rochaille?

He abstained from any reflection and confined himself to questioning the

lady, who confirmed all his apprehensions.

D'Alvimar had been horrified beyond measure to find the Huguenot Macabre

by his deathbed. But Sancho had sworn to join the _reitres_, with as

many of the gypsies as would consent to accompany him, as soon as

D'Alvimar had breathed his last.

"Macabre returned to Thevet this morning," added Proserpine, "where

Saccage and I were waiting for him, with our people camped outside the

town, where we were careful not to frighten or injure anybody. In that

way, thanks to the caution and good discipline of our troopers, we have

been able to ride more than a hundred leagues through France without

once having to fight. We passed ourselves off as mercenaries sold to the

king, and exhibited false commissions. By that means, you see, those of

our men who may want to go and seek their fortune in the Huguenot camp

or elsewhere will be able to get to Poitou. Macabre expects to give them

a free rein, reserving the right to decamp with your booty if he sees

that they are getting into any too unsavory business. And so, my dear

marquis, we are in a fair way to ruin you, and, unluckily for you, you

have thrown yourself into the hands of people who are fully determined

to take your life."

"That is to say that my fate is in your hands," replied the marquis,

"and you tell me so to make sure that I understand how grateful I ought

to be to you. Rest assured, Bellinde, that my gratitude will not be

confined to words, and that, if you will abandon the plan of leading

these men to Briantes, it will be more profitable to you than to share

my property with this band of thieves!"

"So far as that goes, I have told you, marquis, that I am not the

leader; but I can assist you to get rid of the captain and make the

lieutenant listen to reason, for he loves money better than fighting."

"So you want a ransom for me and the château, do you? In the first

place, fix the amount for my person, which is, I confess, defenceless

and in your power. As for the château----"

"As for the château, you are thinking that, when you are once free, you

will defend it! So you won't be free until we have got through with it,

unless----"

"Unless I pay?"

"Unless you sign, monsieur le marquis! for your signature is sacred to

anyone who knows, as your faithful Bellinde does, what the honor of a

gentleman like you is worth."

"What do you want me to sign?" said the marquis, readily resigned to his

fate whenever money was in question.

Proserpine kept silence for an instant. Her face assumed an expression

of diabolical malice, mingled nevertheless with a strange perturbation,

as if she were somewhat inclined to blush for her temerity.

"Come, come," said the marquis, "speak, and let us have done with it at

once, before your companion wakes."

"My companion is not my husband, as you must know, monsieur le marquis,"

replied the amazon in a mincing tone. "He is very ugly and very

stupid--and, although you are no younger than he, you still have

attractions--to which I have not always been so insensible as I seemed."

"What nonsense are you talking, my poor Bellinde? Come, a truce to

jesting. Let us have done!"

"I am not jesting, marquis! I have always had an intense longing to be a

woman of quality, and, if I must conclude, this is my last and only

word: Be free! no ransom! Go, hurry home and defend your château, if I

cannot prevent them from attacking it; and whatever the result of the

affair may be, you will keep the promise you are going to put in

writing, to make me your lawful wife and sole legatee."

"My wife, you!" cried the marquis, recoiling in utter stupefaction; "can

you dream of such a thing? My legatee? when Mario----"

"Ah! there we are! the pretty boy is the stumbling-block. But never

fear, I will treat him well if he behaves to me as he ought, and at my

death your property can go back to him, provided that I am satisfied

with him."

"You are mad, Bellinde!" cried the marquis, rising, "unless this is all

a game----"

"It is not a game; and if you don't write at once what I demand," she

said, rising in her turn, "why, death of my life! I will wake the

captain and call my people upstairs!"

"Have me murdered, if you think best," replied Bois-Doré; "I will never

give my consent to your mad whim! But understand that I will not allow

my throat to be cut like a sheep, and that----"

The marquis, unsheathing his knife, had rushed toward the door to

receive the assassins, whom Bellinde, suffocated with anger, was trying

in vain to call, when Macabre suddenly staggered to his feet and threw

at his _wife's_ head a jug which would certainly have killed her if his

hand had been steadier.

"Miserable slut!" he cried, chasing her about the room. "Ah! so you

propose to marry your old marquis, do you? Perhaps you think I am deaf,

and you don't know that Captain Macabre sleeps with one eye and one ear

open! Stay here, marquis! I have nothing against you, for you refused

the offers of this damned Potiphar. Stay here, I say! Help me catch this

she-devil! I propose to wring her neck in proper form and make a

drum-head of her skin!"

Despite these alluring invitations, the marquis, leaving the lovers at

odds, had rushed into the hall, and Mario, terrified at the noise in the

dining-room, had started to go to him. But they could neither go up nor

down. On the one hand, Proserpine, pursued by Macabre, who was

belaboring her with the rung of a chair, tumbled upon them on the

stairs; on the other hand, the amazon's _reitres_ rushed to the spot to

adjust the conjugal dispute.

It was soon done.

La Proserpine, all dishevelled, rose and threw herself into the midst of

them, and they, with no respect for the captain, seized him roughly,

carried him back into the dining-room and locked him in there, laughing

at his outcries and his threats.

Proserpine, accustomed to these tempests, was not long in recovering

herself. She had no sooner swallowed a glass of gin, which one of her

pages handed her, than she looked about with the eye of a bird of prey

for her victim, who had taken refuge in a corner.

"The cook, the cook!" she cried. "Bring the cook before me."

LVI

They dragged forward the marquis and Mario, who clung desperately to

him.

Bellinde recognized the child at the first glance, and her face,

blanched by fear, flushed purple with savage joy.

"My friends," she cried, "we have the wild boar and the shote, and

there's a chance for a handsome ransom for us, for us alone, you

understand! no sharing with the Germans,"--she designated thus the

captain's _reitres_,--"nor with Monsieur Saccage and his Italians! The

Bois-Doré and the young one belong to us alone, and _vive la France,

tudieu_! Pen, paper and ink--and quickly! The marquis must sign his

ransom! I know all about his property, and I warrant you that he'll not

conceal any of it from me! A thousand gold crowns for each of these fine

fellows, do you hear, marquis? and for myself the promise that I asked

of you."

"I will give you my whole fortune, wicked woman, if my son's life is

spared. Give me the pen--give it to me!"

"No," replied Proserpine. "It is not your property alone that I want,

but your name, and you must sign the promise of marriage."

The marquis would not have believed that the termagant would dare to

announce her aspirations before witnesses. But the _reitres_, far from

being scandalized, applauded, as if it were a most excellent trick, and

the blood mounted to Bois-Doré's face in his intense abhorrence of the

abject and absurd rôle assigned to him.

"You ask too much of me, madame," he said, shrugging his shoulders;

"take my gold and my estates, but my honor----"

"Is that your last word, old idiot? Come hither, comrades! a rope, and

string up this brat!"

As she spoke, the degraded creature pointed to a great iron hook

suspended from the ceiling in the kitchen, which was used to support the

weights of the huge spit.

In a twinkling they seized Mario, who exclaimed:

"Refuse! refuse, father! I will endure anything!"

But the marquis could not endure for a second the thought of seeing his

child tortured.

"Give me the pen," he cried; "I consent! I will sign whatever you

choose!"

"Let us give him a jerk or two all the same," said one of the brigands,

beginning to attach the rope to Mario; "it will make the old fellow's

handwriting freer."

"Yes, do so," said Proserpine. "That wicked child well deserves it."

The marquis became frantic; but he soon calmed down when he looked at

his poor child, whose cheeks were white with terror despite his courage.

It was useless to resist. Mario was in their power.

Bois-Doré fell at Proserpine's feet.

"Do not torture my child!" he cried; "I yield, I submit, I will marry

you; what more do you want than my word?"

"I want your hand and seal," was the reply.

The marquis took the pen in his trembling hand, and wrote at the

dictation of that fury:

"I, Sylvain-Jean-Pierre-Louis Bouron du Noyer, Marquis de Bois-Doré, do

promise and swear to Demoiselle Guillette Carcat, _alias_ Bellinde,

_alias_ Proserpine----"

At that point a terrible uproar was heard outside, and Proserpine's men

rushed to the door.

The tumult was caused by the captain's Germans, who, being summoned by

him from the window, hastened to set him free. The guards at the door

were Italians of Saccage's command, and their orders were not to allow

any person to go in or out.

The three troops were constantly quarrelling among themselves, like

their leaders, who upheld their own men while striving to keep them

apart. But this time it was impossible; Saccage, who had also been

attracted by Macabre's outcries, and thought that Proserpine was in the

act of doing away with her tyrant, exerted himself to prevent the

Germans from going to his assistance. As for the lieutenantess's

Frenchmen, they had no love for either of the other factions; and they

all began to attack one another, without resorting to their weapons as

yet, but abusing one another savagely, and fighting with hands and feet.

This uproar was accompanied by the crashing of furniture in the room

above, where Macabre was fighting like a demon to set himself free, and

by the piercing shrieks of La Proserpine encouraging her partizans, for

she was beginning to fear for her own life if they should be worsted.

We may imagine that the marquis did not await the result of the combat

before thinking of flight. In one bound he was at his son's side, trying

to unbind him, but the knot was so artistically tied that, in his

excitement, he was unable to untie it.

"Cut it! cut it!" said Madame Pignoux.

But the old man's hand trembled convulsively. He was afraid of wounding

the child with the knife.

"Let me do it!" said Mario, pushing them both away.

And with perfect self-possession he skilfully untied the knot.

The marquis took him in his arms and followed the landlady and her

maid-servant, whom he saw running toward the pantry.

As he left the house he nearly fell at the threshold. A body lay across

the doorway; it was Jacques le Bréchaud's. He was dead; but beside him

lay the bodies of two _reitres_, one run through with a spit, the other

half beheaded with the larding-knife, Jacques had had his revenge, and

had cleared the path. His ugly but powerful face wore a terrifying

expression; it seemed to be contracted by a triumphant laugh, and the

teeth were parted as if they would bite.

The marquis saw at a glance that there was nothing to be done for the

poor fellow. He held Mario close to his breast and ran as fast as he

could.

"Put me down," said the child, "we can run better. Please put me down!"

But the marquis fancied that he could hear the clicking of the terrible

flint-lock pistols behind him, and he wished to make his body a rampart

for his son.

When he found that he was out of range, he decided to let him run too,

and they hurried toward the thicket where the half-ruined roof of the

former hostelry lay hidden.

As they ran they saw Madame Pignoux and her servant also making their

escape. Those two old women made their hearts ache. But to call them

would be to destroy them and themselves with them. They were running

across the fields, apparently heading for some hiding place known to

them as a place of safety.

The Beaux Messieurs de Bois-Doré leaped upon their horses. They were

very careful not to descend the Terrier by the road, but took one of the

narrow paths, bordered by tall blackthorns, which wind about between the

fields.

The battle of the _reitres_ might end abruptly at any moment. They were

well mounted and able to follow close upon their prey; but the light

gallop of Rosidor and Coquet made little noise on the wet earth, and as

the path they were following was constantly intersected by others, the

pursuers would have to separate to overtake them.

The first and most essential thing was to gain ground; so the

Bois-Dorés thought of nothing at first but throwing the enemy off the

scent by plunging at random into that labyrinth of muddy paths, which

became blinder and blinder as they approached the valley.

After about ten minutes of hard riding, the marquis drew rein and bade

Mario do likewise.

"Halt!" he said, "and open your sharp ears. Are we pursued?"

Mario listened, but the hard breathing of his breathless horse prevented

him from hearing well.

He dismounted, walked away a few steps and returned.

"I can hear nothing," he said.

"So much the worse!" said the marquis; "they have finished fighting and

they must be thinking of us. Mount again quickly, my boy, and let us

ride on. We must succeed in reaching Brilbault, where our friends and

servants are."

"No, father, no," said Mario, who was already in the saddle. "There is

no one left at Brilbault now. We must ride to Briantes by the

cross-road. Oh! please don't hesitate, father, and be sure that I am

right. I am perfectly certain of what I say."

Bois-Doré yielded without understanding. It was no time for discussion.

They rode in a straight line toward the hamlet of Lacs, through the

great grain-growing tract which, as it all belonged to the seignioral

estate of Montlevy, was not, at that time, cut up into many smaller

parcels enclosed by hedges.

Our fugitives rode half the distance without seeing any bands of mounted

men on the road, which they followed on a parallel line at a distance of

two or three gun-shots.

To the marquis's mind this was a bad sign. The quarrel among the

_reitres_ could not have been prolonged until then. As soon as the

Germans discovered that Macabre was not being assassinated, but was

simply locked into the room because of drunkenness, the whole trouble

would subside, and La Proserpine was not the woman to forget the

prisoners, for whom she hoped to obtain a substantial ransom, if nothing

more.

"If they don't come down upon us by the travelled road," thought the

marquis, "it must be because they have seen us crossing the flat, and

are waiting for us by the wood of Veille, in the sunken roads with which

Bellinde is probably familiar. Perhaps the knaves are nearer to us than

we think; for the mist is becoming dense, and I am beginning to be

doubtful whether those figures I see yonder are young oaks or mounted

men waiting for us."

He stopped Mario again to tell him of his apprehensions.

Mario looked at the trees and said:

"Let us go on! there are no mounted men there."

They rode forward. But as they skirted the copse which, at that time,

extended to the farm of Aubiers, they suddenly found themselves at close

quarters with a party of horsemen who were approaching at their right,

and who shouted "Halt!" in resounding tones.

They were French voices, but Bellinde's adventurers were Frenchmen.

The marquis hesitated an instant. It was no easy matter to recognize

those men, who were still in the shadow of the trees, while the

Bois-Dorés were far enough in the open to be fully exposed to them.

"Let us ride straight on!" said Mario. "If they are not enemies, we

shall soon find it out."

"_Vive Dieu_!" replied the marquis, "they must be the _reitres_, for

they are following us! Ride hard, my dear child."

And he thought:

"May God give my poor horses strength of leg!"

But the horses had travelled too far over the heavy ploughed land not to

have lost their first freshness, and the men behind them pressed them so

close that the marquis expected every moment to hear bullets whistling

about his ears. He lost ground by trying, in spite of Mario's

remonstrances, to keep behind him so that he might receive the first

discharge.

One horseman, better mounted than the rest, almost overtook him and

shouted:

"Will you stop, you knave, or must I kill you?"

"God be praised, it is Guillaume!" cried Mario; "I know his voice!"

They turned about and were not a little surprised when Guillaume charged

upon them and threatened to pull the marquis from his horse.

"How now, cousin!" said Bois-Doré; "don't you recognize me?"

"Ah! who in the devil would recognize you in that rig?" replied

Guillaume. "What is that white thing you have on your head, cousin, and

what sort of a petticoat are you wearing floating about your hips? I was

most anxious for news of you; then, when we approached, I thought that I

recognized your horse and Mario's. But I concluded that you were robbers

who had stolen the horses, perhaps after murdering you! Can that be

Mario? Upon my word, you are both arrayed in strange fashion!"

"True," said the marquis, remembering his kitchen apron and his oilcloth

cap, which he had not thought, nor indeed had leisure to remove; "I am

not equipped as a warrior, and you will oblige me, cousin, by supplying

me with a hat and arms, for I have nothing but a kitchen knife at my

side, and we may have a fight on our hands at any moment."

"Here, here," said Guillaume, handing him his own hat, and the weapons

of his most trusty servant; "put them on quickly and let us not delay;

for it seems that your château is in danger."

Bois-Doré thought that Guillaume was ill-informed.

"No," he said, "the _reitres_ were still at Etalié half an hour ago."

"The _reitres_ at Etalié?" exclaimed Guillaume. "In that case we have

nothing to lose by hurrying, unless we want to be caught between two

fires!"

There was no time for explanations; they galloped at full speed toward

Briantes.

On the way Guillaume's troop was increased by Bois-Doré's servants,

who, after a vain search at Brilbault, had received the little gypsy's

warning, and were returning to the château at all risks, not placing

much faith in her message, but believing it to be some ruse on the part

of her comrades to throw them off the scent.

They had decided to return only because Pilar had told them that their

master was warned and was himself returning; having failed to meet him

at the general rendezvous at Brilbault, they had concluded that the

warning, whether true or false, had been conveyed to him, and that it

would be useless to go to Etalié in search of him.

LVII

Monsieur Robin had not believed a word of Pilar's story. He had started

none the less with his escort, but had made no great haste, and it was

to be feared that he had fallen in with the _reitres_, for when the

others came in sight of Briantes he had not overtaken them.

They were anxious too concerning Master Jovelin, who had started first

for Brilbault with five or six of the Briantes men, and whom they were

surprised not to pick up on the road, for they had ridden very fast; so

fast that they had no time to communicate these reflections to one

another.

In many novels I have read of long conversations carried on between the

characters while their horses were cleaving the air and devouring space;

but I have never been able to understand how such a thing could be

possible in real life.

Although it was about one o'clock in the morning, it was as light as at

noon-day when they rode through the village. The farm-buildings were in

flames.

At that sight all doubt was at an end, and they rushed forward to attack

the tower of the _huis_, which was closed and defended by Sancho and a

few gypsies hastily collected by him when he first heard the gallop of

the new-comers.

"What are we doing here, cousin?" said Guillaume to the marquis. "Our

people are too much carried away by their ardor and do not wait for

orders from anyone. We shall lose our best men, and probably gain

nothing! Let us take measures to work in a useful way."

"Yes, to be sure," replied Bois-Doré, "try to keep them back. A moment

more or less will not prevent my barn from burning; I care more for the

lives of those good Christians than for all my crops. Call them back and

calm them! I must attend first of all to this child, who causes me much

anxiety."

As he spoke the marquis led Mario aside.

"My son," he said, "give me your word as a gentleman not to stir until I

call you."

"Why, father!" cried Mario in dismay, "you talk to me just as Aristandre

did a little while ago, and treat me like a baby in arms! Are these the

lessons in honor and gallantry you give me to-day, when you----"

"Silence, monsieur, and obey!" said the marquis, speaking to his beloved

son for the first time in an imperious tone. "You are not old enough yet

to fight, and I forbid it!"

Great tears came to the child's eyes. The marquis looked away to avoid

seeing them, and leaving Mario in charge of a small reserve force of his

faithful servants, he hastened to join Guillaume d'Ars, who had

succeeded in reducing his forces to order and submission.

"It is quite useless," said the marquis, "to try to force the _huis_;

two men can hold it for an hour unless we choose to sacrifice a score of

our own men. Ah! cousin, it is all very well to fortify the _entrances_

to the château, but it is extremely inconvenient when you want to get

in yourself. The moat is fifteen feet deep at this point, and the bank

is so steep, you see, that swimmers cannot land without being shot down

from the _moucharabi_. Do you know what we must do? Look! The barn has

fallen in. Well, it must have fallen into the moat and partly filled it.

That is where we must force our way in. I will go there with my people.

Do you stay here as if you were looking for boards and timbers to

replace the drawbridge, which is hoisted, to mislead the enemy, whom you

will prevent from escaping when we fall upon him. We, my friends," he

said to his servants, "will steal quietly along behind the wall; its

shadow will conceal us, notwithstanding the bright fire that is

consuming our crops."

The marquis's plan was very judicious, and what he foresaw had actually

taken place. The moat was partly filled up and the wall crushed by the

fall of the barn. But it was necessary to pass over blazing débris and

through billows of flame and smoke. The horses recoiled in fright.

"Dismount, my friends, dismount!" cried the marquis, riding forward at a

gallop into that hell.

Rosidor alone plunged fearlessly into it, leaped all the obstacles with

marvellous agility, and, heedless of the risk of scorching his beautiful

mane and the ribbons with which it was tressed, gallantly bore his

master into the centre of the enclosure.

The marquis's luxuriant hair was in no danger. It was still reposing

under the firewood at the _Geault-Rouge_.

His servants, already intensely wrought up by the desire to rejoin and

rescue or else to avenge, their families, were electrified by their

master's courage, and several of them followed him closely enough to

prevent his falling into the hands of the enemy. But just as the bulk of

the party were passing over the red-hot ruins, a shout of alarm uttered

by one of the peasants of whom the party consisted, caused all the rest

to halt and rush back in deadly terror.

The high gable end of the barn, which was still standing, began to crack

under the action of the intense heat, and swayed outward, threatening to

crush anyone who should attempt to pass. If they waited a second it

would fall; then they would pass, however difficult the undertaking.

That is what everyone thought, and they all waited. But seconds and

minutes succeeded one another and the wall did not fall. And those

seconds and minutes were centuries in the plight in which the marquis

was at that instant. With about half a score of his men, he was face to

face with the whole troop of gypsies, still numbering about thirty

combatants.

Four hours had passed since Mario had escaped under the _sarrasine_; and

in those four hours the bandits had not once thought of gorging

themselves again. The first intoxication of their victory and the first

gluttony of their appetite had soon given place to the persistent hope

of obtaining possession of the château. They had tried all methods to

make their way in by surprise. Several of them had fallen, thanks to the

vigilance of Adamas and Aristandre, seconded by the presence of mind,

sound advice and incessant activity of Lauriane and the Moor. Finding

all their efforts unavailing, they had set fire to the barn, hoping to

induce the besieged to make a sortie in order to save the buildings and

crops. Not without expending vast treasures of eloquence did the sage

Adamas succeed in restraining Aristandre, who would have thrown himself

head foremost into the trap. Indeed it was necessary for Lauriane to

exert her authority, and to point out to him that, if he should fall in

his undertaking, all the poor creatures shut up in the château,

beginning with herself, were irrevocably lost.

During the hour that the barn had been burning, Aristandre, in a frenzy

of exasperation, had exhausted all the oaths and imprecations in his

vocabulary. Condemned to inaction, he was fuming and fretting, and even

cursing Adamas and Lauriane, Mercedes and young Clindor, who also

preached patience--in a word all those who prevented him from

acting--when Adamas, who had climbed to the top of the tower-staircase,

shouted to him from the cupola:

"Monsieur is there! monsieur is there! I can't see him, but he is there.

I will swear to it! for they are fighting, and I am sure that I

recognized his voice above all the rest."

"Yes, yes!" cried Mercedes from one of the windows on the courtyard;

"Mario must be there, for little Fleurial is like a mad creature; he has

smelt him. Look! I cannot hold him!"

"Aristandre!" cried Lauriane, "go out! Let us all go out; it is time!"

Aristandre had already gone. Heedless whether anybody followed him or

not, he darted to the marquis's side and delivered him from La Flèche,

who, supple as a snake, had leaped to the saddle behind him, and was

suffocating him in his wiry, muscular arms, but could not succeed in

unhorsing him.

Aristandre seized the gypsy by one leg, at the risk of dragging the

marquis with him. He hurled him to the ground and trampled upon him,

taking care to crush his ribs; then, leaving him there, dead or

unconscious, he threw himself upon the others.

The servants of the château had gone out also, even Clindor, and even

poor little Fleurial, who slipped through the legs of the excited Moor,

ran between the legs of the marquis, who was too much engrossed to

notice him, and at last disappeared in the hurly-burly, to go in search

of Mario.

Lauriane, intensely excited, armed herself and attempted to go out.

"In heaven's name," said Adamas, placing himself in front of her, "do

not do that! If monsieur sees that his dear daughter is in danger, he

will lose his wits, and you will be responsible for his being killed.

And then you see, madame, there is nobody left here to help me close the

gate, which may be the salvation of our friends. Who knows what may

happen? Stay here to help me in case of need."

"But the Moor has gone!" cried Lauriane. "Look, Adamas, look! the dear

creature is looking for Mario! She is following the little dog! Great

heaven! great heaven! Mercedes, come back! you will be killed!"

Mercedes could not hear amid the din of the battle. Indeed, she did not

choose to hear: she was thinking of her child and nothing else. She was

literally passing through fire and steel; she would have passed through

granite.

The marquis and Aristandre, being gallantly supported, were soon masters

of the field, and began to force the gypsies back; a part toward the

ruins of the barn, a part toward the tower of the _huis_. Those who

passed the high wall of the barn, heedless of its impending fall, were

greeted with pikes and clubs by the vassals of Bois-Doré, who had begun

to cross that dreaded strip of territory.

They killed and captured several of them. The others turned back, and

the whole band, now numbering no more than a score, retreated along the

wall and entered the archway of the _huis_.

"Put out the fire!" cried Bois-Doré, seeing that it was spreading to

the other farm buildings, "and leave us to complete the rout of these

curs!"

He addressed the peasants and the women and children who had ventured

forth from the château; then hurried away with his servants to the

vaulted archway, where a strange battle was in progress between the

fleeing bandits and Sancho, the sole guardian of the exit.

Sancho was guided by a single implacable idea. He had seen the marquis

place Mario, with an escort, out of range behind a house in the village.

The child was well sheltered and well guarded. But it was impossible

that he would not, sooner or later, leave that shelter and come within

range of an arquebus.

Sancho was standing there on the watch, his gun-barrel resting on one of

the crenellations of the _moucharabi_, his body well hidden, his eye

fixed on the corner of the wall at which his prey would appear sooner or

later. The dark-browed Spaniard had the incalculable advantage that no

anxiety concerning his own life could turn him aside from his purpose.

He had no thought of the morrow in his mind, nor even of the passing

moment, pregnant with perils. He asked of heaven but a single moment to

gloat over and accomplish his revenge.

And so, when the routed gypsies came and threw themselves, howling with

fear, against the heavy stakes of the _sarrasine_, Sancho moved no more

than the stones of the arch. In vain did frantic, desperate voices shout

to him:

"The bridge! the portcullis! the bridge!"

He was deaf; of what consequence were his confederates in his eyes?

The gypsies were compelled to rush to the _chambre de manœuvre_, in

order to set themselves free. Their wives and children uttered piteous

cries.

It was a counterpart of the scene of terror and confusion that had taken

place on that same spot a few hours earlier, among the bewildered

vassals of the estate.

Bois-Doré, still mounted and surrounded by his men, had all that was

left of that horde of thieves and murderers in a cage. Their women, who

had become veritable furies in defence of their children, turned upon

him in the frenzy of desperation.

"Surrender! surrender all of you!" cried the marquis, seized with

compassion; "I will spare you for the sake of the children!"

But no one surrendered: the miserable wretches did not believe in the

generosity of the victor. They did not understand kindness--a rare

quality among the noblemen of that period, we must agree.

The marquis was compelled to restrain his men, in order, as he said

afterward, to prevent a _massacre of the innocents_, if, indeed, there

were any innocents among those little savages, already trained to all

the wickedness of which they were capable.

At last the _sarrasine_ was raised and the bridge lowered.

Guillaume, who was as generous as the marquis, would have spared the

weak; but, to the great surprise of Bois-Doré, the fugitives passed

unhindered. Guillaume and his force were not there.

"Ten thousand devils!" cried Aristandre, "those demons will escape.

Forward! forward! after them! Ah! monsieur, we ought to have chopped

them up into small pieces while we had them here!"

He hurried away in pursuit, leaving the marquis alone under the archway,

now open and unobstructed. He was very anxious concerning Mario, but

dared not ride across the bridge for fear of riding down his own men,

who were on foot and crowding across that narrow thoroughfare to

overtake the fugitives.

At last the bridge was clear. Victors and vanquished had passed out of

sight. The marquis was able to cross, and saw Mario coming toward him on

his right. The child thought that he might safely leave his place of

shelter now that the affray seemed to be at an end.

So far as the bandits were concerned, there was apparently no further

danger; the fugitives had no thought but to escape as best they could in

any direction; some concealed themselves here and there with much art,

while the pursuers passed on.

A single one of the defeated assailants had not stirred, and no one gave

a thought to him: that one was Sancho, who was still on his knees,

completely hidden, in a corner of the _moucharabi_. From that little

machicolated gallery he could have hurled stones down upon the men of

Briantes, for there was always a supply of them in the _chambre de

manœuvre_, of convenient size in respect to the openings. But Sancho

did not desire to betray his presence. He wished to live a few moments

longer; he was watching Mario approach, and taking aim at his leisure,

when he saw the marquis at the other end of the bridge, much nearer,

almost within reach.

Thereupon a violent conflict took place in his mind. Which victim should

he select? In those days there were no double-barreled guns. The

distance between the father and the child was too short to allow him to

reload.

In his struggle with Aristandre, Sancho had broken one of his pistols,

while the other was snatched from him by that powerful antagonist.

By a refinement of vindictive hatred, Sancho decided to kill Mario. To

see him die would surely be more agonizing to the marquis than to die

himself.

But that moment of hesitation had disturbed the equanimity of that

cold-blooded ferocity. He fired, and the bullet struck a foot below

Mario's breast, who was mounted on his little horse, and pierced the

body of the Moor, who had joined him and was walking by his side.

Mercedes fell without a sound.

[Illustration: _MERCEDES WOUNDED BEFORE THE

CHÂTEAU._

"_Help, help, my friends!" cried Bois-Doré, finding

that he was alone with his son, and exposed to the

assaults of invisible foes._]

"Help, help, my friends!" cried Bois-Doré, finding that he was alone

with his son, and exposed to the assaults of invisible foes.

His call was answered only by Lauriane and Adamas, who, when they saw

the bandits put to flight, had abandoned the tower of the huisset and

had come out to join the others.

While they with the help of the distracted Mario raised the poor Moorish

woman from the ground, the marquis looked up toward the _moucharabi_ and

saw the tall figure of Sancho, who, recognizing the Moor, the original

cause of his master's death, was somewhat consoled for having missed his

aim. With no thought of escaping, he was hurriedly reloading his weapon.

Bois-Doré recognized him at once, although that side of the tower was

only faintly lighted by the conflagration. But he had no loaded weapon,

so he jumped down from his horse and returned to the archway to go up to

the moucharabi, considering with good reason that D'Alvimar's avenger

was the most formidable of all the enemies with whom he had ever had to

deal.

Sancho saw him coming, divined his purpose, and without pausing to hurl

projectiles which might miss him, he darted to the stairs leading to the

_chambre de manœuvre_, determined to stab him, his knife being the only

one of his weapons which was not at that moment useless.

Bois-Doré was about to ascend the stairs, holding his sword over his

head, when he seemed to have a presentiment of the course so treacherous

an adversary was likely to pursue.

He lowered the point of his sword and with it felt each stair in the

darkness, divining that Sancho was crouching somewhere there, on the

alert to pounce upon him and hurl him backward. He clung with one hand

to the rail therefore, but did not protect his body sufficiently.

Sancho, warned by the ringing of the steel on the stairs, sprang to his

feet, leaped down several steps, and fell violently upon Bois-Doré,

whom he threw backward and seized by the throat; then, kneeling upon his

chest, he cried:

"I have you now, accursed Huguenot! expect no mercy, as you had none

for----"

Before concluding his sentence, he felt for the marquis's heart; then,

raising the knife in the other hand, added:

"_For my son's soul_!"

The marquis, stunned by his fall, defended himself but feebly, and it

was apparently all over with him, when Sancho felt upon his face two

tiny, faltering hands, which suddenly tore his flesh savagely, so that

he had to make a movement to rid himself of them.

Instantly a sudden thought led him to relax his hold of the marquis.

"The child first!" he cried.

But the words were forced back into his throat, and the thought

interrupted in his brain by a terrible explosion.

Mario had followed the marquis. He had heard him fall. He had felt in

the darkness Sancho's face. He had known from the feeling that it was

not Bois-Doré's. He had placed against that rough, hairy skull the

muzzle of a pistol snatched from Clindor as he passed, and had fired

point-blank.

He had avenged his fathers death and saved his uncle's life.

LVIII

The marquis did not know at once what rescuing angel had come to his

assistance.

He freed himself from the body of Sancho, whose bent knees were still

pressing upon him. He threw out his arms at random, thinking that he was

attacked by a new enemy, who had missed him.

His arms came in contact with Mario, who was struggling to lift him,

exclaiming in a heart-broken tone:

"Father, my poor father, are you dead?--No, you embrace me. Are you

wounded?"

"No, it is nothing! just a little suffocated, that is all," replied the

marquis. "But what has happened? Where is that infamous knave?"

"I think that I must have killed him," said Mario, "for he doesn't

move."

"Do not trust him, do not trust him!" cried Bois-Doré, rising with an

effort, and dragging his beloved child to the foot of the stairs. "So

long as the serpent breathes, he tries to bite!"

At that moment Clindor arrived with a torch, and they saw Sancho lying

inert and disfigured. He was still breathing, and one of his great

fierce eyes, glaring confusedly through the blood, seemed to say: "I die

twice over since you survive me!"

"What! my poor David, did you kill this Goliath!" cried the marquis, as

soon as he began to collect his thoughts.

"Ah! father, I killed him two minutes too late," replied Mario, who was

like one intoxicated, and whose grief returned with his memory; "I think

that my Mercedes is dead!"

"Poor girl! Let us hope not!" said the marquis with a sigh.

They recrossed the bridge to go to her, while Clindor, who was terribly

afraid that Sancho, contrary to all appearances, would rise again,

pierced the wretched creature's throat with a halberd.

The Moor had risen to her feet. She insisted that they should pay no

heed to her, although she could hardly stand. She was grievously

wounded; the bullet had passed through her right arm, which was about

Mario's waist when the shot was fired; but she was thinking only of

Mario, who was no longer at her side; and when she found him there again

she smiled and lost consciousness.

They carried her to the château, whither Mario and Lauriane accompanied

her, holding her hand and weeping bitterly, for they believed that she

was lost.

The marquis remained outside.

Guillaume's absence seemed to him of evil augury, and he rode forward,

fancying that he heard, on the higher ground, sounds of more serious

import than were likely to be caused simply by the capture or resistance

of a few fugitives.

As he advanced, the sounds became more alarming, and when he emerged

from the ravine he saw a number of men, vassals of Ars and Briantes,

retreating toward him in disorder.

"Halt, my friends!" he cried. "What is going on here, and how happens it

that brave fellows like you seem to be showing your heels?"

"Ah! is it you, monsieur le marquis!" replied one of the demoralized

men. "We must return to the château and fight behind the walls; for the

_reitres_ are coming. Monsieur d'Ars being warned of their approach by

Monsieur Mario, rode back to meet them, and he is engaged with them. But

what can we expect to do against those fellows? They say a _reitre_ is

stronger and crueller than the Christians, and they have cannon too;

they would have used them against us already if they had not been afraid

of hitting their own men, in the confusion into which Monsieur d'Ars has

thrown them."

"Monsieur d'Ars has borne himself gallantly and prudently, my children!"

said the marquis; "and if fear of the _reitres_ made you retreat, you

are not worthy to be in his service or mine. Go and hide behind the

walls; but I warn you that, if I am forced to fall back and shut myself

up in the château, I will turn you out as fellows who eat too much and

do not fight enough."

These reproaches brought several of them to their senses; the rest took

flight; almost all of these were in Guillaume's service. They were not

cowards by any means; but the _reitres_ had left such terrible memories

in the province, and legend had added thereto such appalling and

prodigious details, that one needed to be doubly brave to face them.

The marquis, attended by the stoutest-hearted of them, who already

blushed for their demoralization, soon joined Guillaume, who was leading

a gallant charge upon Captain Macabre.

The darkness, which, however, had become much less dense, enabled

Guillaume to lie in ambush, in order to fall suddenly upon them and

prevent them from going forward to cannonade the château; for they

actually had a small field-piece, of which Bois-Doré, when a prisoner

at Etalié, had not suspected the existence.

Everybody knows that a single paltry cannon would suffice to batter down

those little fortresses, which were skilfully disposed to repel the

assaults of besiegers in the Middle Ages, but utterly helpless in face

of modern siege guns. The most formidable castles of the feudal period,

in Berry, crumbled like card-houses under Richelieu and Louis XIV., when

the royal power undertook to put down the armed nobility; and it is

surprising to find how few soldiers and cannon-balls sufficed for such

great execution.

It was most essential therefore for the marquis to prevent them, at any

cost, from approaching the château, and he dashed forward to support

Guillaume, who bore himself most gallantly despite the desertion of the

greater part of his force.

But he soon had to fall back before the onset of the _reitres_, who had

the advantage of position as well as of numbers, and the battle seemed

lost when they heard the sounds of fighting at the enemy's rear, as if

they were caught between two fires.

Monsieur Robin de Coulogne had come up with his men at the critical

moment. His moderation was providential. If he had followed the

_reitres_ more closely, he would have overtaken them sooner, and

probably would not have found them an easy prey.

Thus hemmed in, the _reitres_ fought desperately, especially Macabre's

stout Germans, and La Proserpine's hot-headed Frenchmen. Saccage's

Italians gave way first, for they detested both Macabre and Proserpine,

and had not the slightest desire to die for them.

They tried to steal away and reach the château by a détour; but they

were met on the road by Aristandre, who, having gone in pursuit of the

gypsies, knew nothing of the attack of the _reitres_, and fell upon them

without any idea as to who or what they were.

As he had quite a numerous party, and as he laid the lieutenant low at

the outset, the others were speedily routed, and, fearing a fresh

display of generosity by Bois-Doré, the coachman lost no time in

despatching those who were taken, Lieutenant Saccage at their head.

The latter's belt proved to be a valuable capture; but Aristandre did

not choose to appropriate it, but reserved it for general distribution.

A moment later, as he was hurrying to join the marquis, he fell in with

one of the men who had accompanied Lucilio to Brilbault.

"Ho! Denison!" he shouted to him, "what have you done with our

bag-piper?"

"Ask me rather," replied Denison, "what those brigands of _reitres_ have

done with him. God knows! We started for Etalié with him to find

monsieur le marquis, but at the foot of the hill we were surrounded by

those devils, who pulled us from our horses and made us prisoners. At

first, they proposed to shoot Master Jovelin on the spot. They were

frantic because he did not reply to them, and they took his silence for

contempt. But there was a lady there who recognized him and said that

monsieur le marquis would pay a very big ransom for him. So they bound

him like the rest of us, and at this moment he and the other four of us

must either be free like me, or have been killed in the battle. As for

the lady, who was dressed like an officer, I don't know who she is; but

may the devil take me if you wouldn't say she was our Demoiselle

Bellinde!"

"Well, Denison, let us go and see," replied Aristandre, "and let us save

all our friends if it can be done!"

The honest coachman, as he ran, collected as many men as he could, and

attacked the flank of the _reitres_ skilfully and most opportunely.

Assailed thus on three sides, and reduced to half their original number,

for Bois-Doré, Guillaume and Monsieur Robin had killed as many as

Saccage had taken away by his defection, the compact little battalion of

_reitres_ devoted their energies to effecting their retreat in good

order. But so small a force was too easily surrounded; their cannon,

which was with the rear-guard, had already fallen into Monsieur Robin's

hands. They could not even disperse. They were forced to surrender at

discretion, with the exception of a few who were blinded with rage and

whom it was necessary to kill, but not until they had inflicted some

damage upon their unmounted adversaries.

Some time, was lost in disarming and binding the prisoners; for they

could hardly trust the promises of _reitres_; and day was breaking when

they all assembled, victors and vanquished, in the courtyard of the

château.

The fire among the farm buildings was extinguished. The damage was

great, doubtless; but the marquis paid little heed to it; he wiped away

the perspiration and the powder which obscured his sight, and looked

about with much emotion in search of the objects of his affection: first

of all, Mario, who was not thereto congratulate him, which fact made him

fear that the Moor was in a bad way; then Lauriane, who made haste to

encourage him concerning Mercedes's condition; then Adamas, who was

kissing his feet in a frenzy of joy; then Jovelin and Aristandre, who

had not yet appeared, and his worthy farmer, whose death they concealed

from him; and lastly all his loyal retainers and vassals, whose number

had diminished during that fatal night.

But, while he was asking for them all in turn, he interrupted himself to

inquire anew for Mario with sudden anxiety.

Two or three times during his desperate combat with the _reitres_, he

had fancied that he saw his child's face hovering about him in the

twilight.

"Ah! at last, Aristandre!" he exclaimed, as he spied the coachman on

horseback by his side; "have you seen my son? Answer me quickly!"

Aristandre stammered some incoherent words. His great face was drawn by

fatigue and confused by inexplicable embarrassment.

The marquis turned as pale as death.

Adamas, who was gazing at him ecstatically, soon perceived his

suffering.

"No, no, monsieur!" he said, as Mario jumped into his arms from

Squilindre's back, where he had been hiding behind the coachman's bulky

figure. "Here he is as fresh and sound as a rose from the Lignon!"

"What were you doing there behind the coachman, monsieur le comte?" said

the marquis after embracing his heir.

"Alas! my kind master, forgive me," said Aristandre, who also had

dismounted. "When I went to the stable to get Squilindre to carry me

against those devils of German horses, I just locked Coquet up so that

monsieur le comte could not ride him; for I had seen your demon--forgive

me! your darling son prowling around there, and I suspected that he

meant to run into danger. But, just as I was in the thick of the fight,

I felt something against my side! I didn't pay much attention to it at

first, it was so light! But lo and behold, I found I had four arms: two

long ones and two short ones. With the two long ones I managed my horse

and struck down the enemy; with the two short ones, I reloaded my

pistols, and handled my pike so quickly that I did the work of two men.

What would you have had me do? I was in a scrimmage where it wouldn't

have been a good thing for my little double to put him down on the

ground, so I kept on and came out of it whole, thank God! after

thrashing the enemy soundly, and riding down more than one villain who

wanted your life, which God preserve, monsieur le marquis! with this

brave old coach horse, who is an excellent war-horse at need, monsieur!

If I did wrong, punish me; but don't blame monsieur le comte; for, by

the name of--, he's a fine little--, who pounded those--Germans like

a--, and who will soon be a--, like you, master!"

"Enough, enough flattery, my good fellow," rejoined Bois-Doré, pressing

the coachman's hand. "If you must teach your young master to disobey, at

all events do not teach him to swear like a heathen."

"Did I disobey you, father?" said Mario; "you forbade me to attack the

gypsies, but you didn't say anything about the _reitres_."

The marquis took his child in his arms, and could not resist the

temptation to exhibit him proudly to his friends, telling them how he

had rescued his uncle from the hands of the terrible Sancho.

"Well, my young hero," he added, embracing him again, "it is useless for

me to try to keep you in leash; you are your own master. At eleven years

of age, you have avenged your father's death with your own hand, and won

your spurs of knighthood. Go and kneel at your lady's feet; for you have

earned the right to hope to win her heart some day."

Lauriane kissed Mario fraternally without hesitation, and Mario returned

her caress without blushing. The moment had not arrived when their holy

friendship was to be changed into a holy love.

They returned together to Mercedes, after relieving the marquis's mind

concerning Lucilio, who was an excellent surgeon and was already in

attendance upon her. Mario had not chosen to boast of having contributed

to the rescue of his friend, who had thereafter fought stoutly at his

side.