"A WOMAN IS THERE"
Lolling against the doorpost of the yard of "La Tête d'Or" stood
Andrew that evening, watching the sunset, glancing his eye up at the
crimson glow on the top of the mountains behind the village of
Plombières, wishing "Good-night" to any passing peasant who spoke to
him, and occasionally patting some child on the head as it stopped to
gaze at the figure of the great stranger at the inn-yard gate.
His arrival had caused some little commotion an hour or so before,
when he had ridden up to the door--though not, perhaps, as much as it
would have done had the times been more peaceful. For in such a period
a stranger looking like a soldier, though with no particularly
distinctive marks of his calling about him, would indeed have caused a
fluster in the little village, to which none from the outside world
ever came, except some broken-down, gouty Lorrainer from Nancy or
Epinal, to whom the boiling springs of Plombières were known as
health-giving, since they drove out, or were supposed to drive out,
all the evils produced by wine drinking and gluttony, and gave to
those who partook of them a fresh lease of indulgence.
But now the village was full of soldiers, men of Lorraine who, since
the Imperialists were going into winter quarters, were straggling back
to their homes, or to where they were billeted, and who, as Andrew
drew rein in front of the door, were engaged in drinking confusion to
the French King, although he was at that present moment master of the
province. For a strange state of things prevailed all through it just
then. The reigning Duke, Charles IV., hated France, and fought against
her under De Bournonville and Montecuculi, while, at the same time,
Louis called himself King over Lorraine, and, although most of the
nobility followed the Duke with their dependants and threw in their
fortunes with his, there were some who, being discontented, espoused,
and had done so for some time, the cause of France. Amongst these was
De Bois-Vallée, who had been French from interest, if not from
feeling, since 1670, when Louis's proclamation of his sovereignty over
Lorraine had been made. Yet, had Turenne not prevented the
Imperialists from advancing across the Vosges, the French claim to
possess the department would have been even more hollow than it
actually was at the moment, and the local champions of France would
have been in a dangerous position. Indeed, they were in a dangerous
one now, since, should the Austrian allies finally defeat the Marshal,
Charles--who never forgave!--would probably ruin, if he did not
destroy, every subject who had espoused the French cause.
"Is the gallant gentleman on his road home from the campaign?" asked a
gigantic Lorrainer who stood at the entrance to the inn-yard as Andrew
rode up, a man who wore the cognizance of De Vaudemont on breast and
hat. "For sure he is a soldier."
"For sure he is," replied Andrew briefly. "Yet not on his way home at
present," and he dismounted from his horse as he spoke.
"Ay! that I see, or rather hear by your accent. You," said the
soldier, "are no Lorrainer."
"Friend," replied Andrew, facing him, "have I said I am?" while,
with something very like a sneer, he added, "there are other forces
engaged in this campaign, I understand, as well as the inhabitants
of your province. Also Providence--doubtless in a moment of
forgetfulness!--made other countries besides Lorraine. I myself belong
to one almost as small--so small, indeed, that probably you never
heard the name of it."
"I have been to school--what is the name of this little country?"
"England," and, as Andrew answered, he unceremoniously pushed by the
man, who was bigger than himself, and jeopardized his great feet as he
led his horse over them.
"Figure to yourselves," Andrew heard this fellow say to some comrades
half an hour later, as he sat eating a meal the landlord had placed
before him, after providing him with a room in the roof and a stall
for his horse, "figure to yourselves, he is an Englishman, and a
surly one at that." Whereon he narrated his little interview with
Andrew--who calmly went on demolishing part of a pasty and drinking
his wine without glancing at him--and concluded by saying he believed
he had fought on the French side. To all of which the other vouchsafed
no attention until he heard the Lorrainer growl--he being now well in
his cups!--that he was afraid he would have to chastise the
Englishman.
Then Andrew looked over to him across the room, put out his fork
carelessly, and tapped the hilt of his sword with its double prong.
"Thirty-eight inches in length, friend," he said. "What length is
yours?"
Whereon the group to whom the man was talking burst into a roar of
laughter, and, clapping the giant on the shoulder, bade him not be a
fool.
After that, however, they left him alone, perhaps because he looked
dangerous, perhaps because they knew that an assault upon the stranger
might go hard with them if the Syndic or the Prince de Vaudemont heard
of it. Louis--the great King, the man who, although they served him
not, had a terrible reputation amongst them--had been in the
neighbourhood not long before, and had won the hearts of many by his
graciousness. For, contrary to the ways of the Duke, he had told them
that he perfectly well understood that their sympathies were not with
him, and that he would not take it ill if they bestowed their swords
where their consciences prompted them. Also he had bidden the
Marquises de Maraucourt and de Beauvau join the Imperialists since
they desired to do so, and had publicly praised the Prince de
Vaudemont for the manner in which he had defended Besançon against
him.
Therefore they knew that it would go badly with them if De Vaudemont
heard they had outraged in his land--he being the Duke's son--any man
serving the French King. And, later, they were all drinking together,
and paying chopine for chopine as though they had been comrades
fighting side by side, instead of serving against each other--though
Andrew's first acquaintance seemed still a little sore at his
raillery.
But, as the sun dipped towards Le Marne, Andrew, who had kept his head
cool, and whose potations had been of the slightest, put on his
sword-belt and strolled towards the inn door. It was the time when
Jean should be near at hand.
He had not leaned long against the inn door, bidding, as has been
said, good-night to passers-by who spoke civilly to him, when down the
street he perceived the man approaching--on the other side where the
water from the fountain ran. On which he advanced to it, and, as Jean
came up, lifted the iron cup and drank a draught of the cool, fresh
water.
"Well?" he asked, as he handed it afterwards to the other. "Well? What
have you discovered?"
"A woman is there," Jean replied, holding the cup himself in a
nonchalant manner under the spout, as anyone might do who desired to
drink. "Has been there, my cousin says, for more than a year."
"Ha! Is she a prisoner?"
"He thinks so. He has never seen her, yet----"
"Yes!"
"Others have. Have seen her face at a window."
"At what part of the house?"
"The top. On the front. A woman pale as death and sad. They say she
has made signs to those who have approached near, yet has never been
able to communicate with any. Once she threw a paper down, but Armand
Beaujos secured it. He could tell me no more."
"And De Bois-Vallée? Is he there?"
"He does not know. He was a week ago, and my cousin saw him. Since, he
has not seen him."
"Does your cousin know what men there are in or about the house?"
"I know," Jean replied. Whereon, peasant-like, he began to count upon
his fingers.
"First," he said, "the wolf himself, if he is there. Next, Beaujos,
the steward. Then, one, two, three, four serving-men--_ma foi!_ I
cannot think of more. Outside, those who attend to the horses and
dogs, away in the _écurie_."
"Where is this _écurie?_"
"Near the house, to the right of it. There are no more."
"There is your cousin."
"Oh! for him, he counts not. He sleeps not there, but in Remiremont,
to the other side. Also, I have spoken to him. Told him danger
threatens the wolf. He is glad; he hates him, too."
"Is he safe?"
"Safe! _Mon Dieu!_ He is of my blood. We all hate him. He will say no
word."
After that Andrew bade the man good-night, making an appointment with
him for the next evening at the same hour.
But before they parted, he said: "Remember this. If I am not here, if
you can glean no news of me, I shall be dead. Otherwise, I shall
return. And, if I come not back, then you must wreak your vengeance on
him and his house as beseems you all best. Only--remember the woman.
Save her if you can. It will be worth your while. She is of good blood
in my land; if you can restore her to her father you will be made men
for life. I guarantee it. Will you do this?"
"In truth I will. Does monsieur give that message to Laurent and to
Gaspard too!"
"To all who hate him, De Bois-Valle."
"_Ma foi!_ they are many," while, hearing sounds of revelry proceeding
from the inn door and windows, he, glancing over towards the house,
broke off, and said: "Who are inside? They are gay and joyous."
"Men of De Vaudemont's service. Carousing at going into winter
quarters----"
"De Vaudemont's! service De Vaudemont's service!" He repeated, nodding
his head. "So--so!" and again he nodded.
"What strikes you?" Andrew asked. "What is it?"
"He," whispered Jean, "he--the Vicomte--was under De Vaudemont once,
then joined France, and, 'tis thought--we have always thought so
here--gave information that helped the French generals to take many
places round about. _Corbleu!_ If some of De Vaudemont's men could
catch him, they--they--well!" and he laughed and used a local
expression, "they would not kiss him."
"Are they, these men belonging to the Prince, of this neighbourhood?"
asked Andrew, struck by a sudden idea, "or only passing through to
their homes. What think you?"
"How can I tell? I hear their voices all jangling together, but can
distinguish none. They sing," he said, "a song of the _pays_ all the
same--but then we all sing that." And he bent his right ear towards
the Tête d'Or, whence was issuing, amidst the clinking of glasses and
other sounds, the refrain of "_Lorraine, Lorraine, ma douce patrie_."
"Go in and see," said Andrew; "drink a cup with them, you may know
some."
And as Jean, seemingly nothing loth, entered the inn, Andrew strolled
up and down in the darkness that had now set in.
He could not judge from the sounds that arose as the song finished
whether they were applause and excitement at the performance, or a
welcome extended by the returned soldiers to an old friend, but after
waiting a quarter of an hour or, perhaps, less, Jean returned--wiping
his mouth on his sleeve--and instantly said:
"Four are of this neighbourhood. One of Plombières itself, another of
Fougerolles, another of Aillevillers, a fourth from the Val d'Ajol."
"Who is the biggest of all--one bigger than I? With a great beard? Do
you know him?"
"He--he is from Aillevillers, hard by. Pierre Lupin. Ho!
_figurez-vous_, if he thought De Bois-Vallée was here he would spit
him like a lark, or hug him to death in those great arms. Lupin was in
his troop when the Vicomte rode captain under De Vaudemont, and was
badly treated. If he only knew--nay, if all the four only knew."
"Yet," said Andrew, "let them not think so yet. I command you.
Later--if I come not back--then enlist them in the service of
vengeance. And, for this Lupin--tell him that the Englishman who
offended him has been slain by De Bois-Vallée. He and I had a few
words together, yet that passed--is drowned in a cup. And he seems a
brave and honest soldier--he will forget our difference. Remember,
however, tell them nothing as yet."
"I will remember," answered Jean, repeating his lesson; "if you come
not back soon, the wolf's house will meet its fate. Also, we will
remember there is a woman to be saved. Fear not!" Whereon they
separated.
The moon hung rusty in the heavens half an hour later, proclaiming
that there was mist between her and the earth, as Andrew rode slowly
up the ascent of the pass which lay between Plombières and Remiremont.
Yet it was a good night, too, for the errand he was on, one of
inspection of the house of his enemy, into which he meant later to
obtain entrance somehow; a night on which a figure keeping well in the
shadow could be screened from observation. A night in which, he
thought, he might draw near enough to the house to examine the front
and the other two sides he had been unable to see from the summit of
the wall beneath the slope, at the back of the mansion. To examine,
also, if there was any way by which silent entry might be obtained,
though, even as he reflected on this, his mind turned and turned again
to that wall and slope.
"I could make entrance thus I am sure, and doubly sure," he pondered,
"could attain at least that roof. A rope tied round my body and
lowered from the top of the wall until level with the top of the
house, then a lusty thrust with my feet, as a swimmer thrusts against
a bank to propel himself--and I should be there. So! that would be
easy enough. But how to return, and with the burden of a woman--one
who may be small, but, again, may be big? How to do that? 'Tis a
yawning chasm--I should scarce dare look down the height myself!--no
woman, unless she had nerves of brass, would ever consent to pass it.
Yet she may hate her imprisonment so much that even that would not
appal her."
He was armed now to the fullest extent possible; his great sword of
course by his side, his "back-and-breast" on, a pistol in his belt. He
knew the undertaking he was upon was full of danger, and that, from
the moment he entered the estate of Bois-le-Vaux, he would be in
direst peril. For that De Bois-Vallée would cause him to be slain
without giving him any opportunity of defence, and without meeting him
in fair fight, he never doubted; nay, he felt very sure that, if the
chance came in his enemy's way, he would slay him treacherously,
wherever they might meet. How much more certain then his fate if he
should be caught on the villain's own land, and with the villain's own
creatures to do his bidding!
But such reflections as these troubled him not a jot, and when, on
rising the summit of the Little Pass, he saw Remiremont lying under
the clear rays of the moon, which had now freed herself from the mists
below, he gave his horse rein and rode on swiftly to the town.
The town from which a road branched off that, a little further, would
bring him beneath the mountains, and to the spot where the woman was
whom he had vowed to rescue.