UNDER WHICH FLAG?
As the three men came out into the corridor, the large outer door opened
and a sergeant of artillery stepped over the threshold, saluted the
colonel, and stood awaiting orders. The fine snow drifted past him into
the hall, stinging the faces of von Waldenmeer and his two prisoners.
The colonel turned toward the Frenchmen, and addressing them in his
quick way, said:--
"It is a vile night. Give me your word not to leave the quarters to
which I assign you until sent for, and I will permit you to pass the
night more in comfort under this roof."
Tournay gladly assented, the young von Waldenmeer spoke a few words of
command to the sergeant, who turned on his heel and repeated the order
in guttural tones to some snow-covered figures behind him. The door
closed with a loud bang and the escort was heard marching away.
Colonel Karl then led the way up a broad oaken staircase to a room at
the end of a long corridor on the upper floor.
"My own room is just opposite," said he with a gesture of the head, as
he threw open the door. "You will be more comfortable here than in the
guard-house."
The house which General von Waldenmeer had chosen for his headquarters
at Falzenberg was a commodious one, built around an open court, where in
summer a fountain played in the centre of a green grass plot. Tournay
stepped to one of the windows and looked out upon the scene. The bronze
figure in the fountain was draped with ice, and a great mound of snow
filled the centre of the square, where the soldiers had cleared a
passage for themselves. On the opposite side were the stables, and from
the neighing and stamping of hoofs, Tournay judged more than a dozen
horses were kept there. Lights flashed here and there as a subaltern or
private moved about in the performance of the night's duties.
The first thing which had struck Gaillard's eye on entering was a large
canopied bed. This reminded him too forcibly of his fatigue to be
resisted. He threw himself down upon it, boots and all, and was asleep
as soon as his head touched the pillow.
Von Waldenmeer stood in the centre of the room, slapping his hessians
with a little flexible riding-whip. Tournay began to thank him for the
courtesy he had shown them, when the latter stopped him in his abrupt
way, saying:--
"I was watching the Marquis de Lacheville's face while he was denouncing
Mademoiselle de Rochefort, and if ever I saw liar written upon a man's
countenance it was on his then. I wish that he had lied when he accused
you of being a colonel in the Republican army." And Colonel Karl strode
toward the door impatiently.
"Why should you have wished that?" demanded Tournay. "I am proud of my
position."
"Bah!" exclaimed the German, with his hand on the latch, "you should be
in the Prussian army. It is an honor to serve in the army that was built
up by the great Frederick. A man of your courage should not be content
to serve among those Republican brigands. Good-night,"--and he
disappeared rapidly through the door, slamming it behind him.
Tournay roused Gaillard from his slumber. Both men were numb with
fatigue. They had not taken off their clothes and slept in a bed since
leaving Paris, and five minutes later they had thrown off their garments
and sunk into a deep sleep in the large, white bed.
For ten hours Tournay slept without moving. Then he yawned, threw out
both arms, opened his eyes a little, and was preparing to sleep again
when he became conscious that a man was standing beside the bed. Opening
his heavy eyes a little further, he recognized Gaillard and said to him
drowsily:--
"Well! What is it, Gaillard? Can't I get a few minutes' sleep
undisturbed?"
"The forenoon is half gone," replied Gaillard; "you've slept enough for
one man."
"You don't mean to say that it's morning already!" exclaimed Tournay,
leaning on one elbow and blinking at the light.
"Morning! The finest kind of a morning," replied Gaillard gayly. "I've
been up these two hours. I gained permission to go to our carriage, and
I have taken out a change of linen from our equipment in the boot."
Tournay sprang from the bed and looked out of the window. The sun was
high in the heaven, and the day was bright and cold.
"That Lieutenant Sauerkraut, or whatever his name may be," said
Gaillard, "has just come up to say that the general would like to see
you at your convenience. The lieutenant was particularly civil, for him,
so I surmise nothing will interfere with our early departure. It's
astonishing how quickly an underling takes his tone from his superior
officer. I suppose it will be better for you to wait upon the general at
once, while the old gentleman is in a good humor," continued Gaillard,
"and as I have been given the liberty of the courtyard, I will employ
the time in looking after our horses."
"Very well," said Tournay. "I will go to General von Waldenmeer. I hope
nothing will interfere with our immediate departure."
General von Waldenmeer was seated at his table with a pile of maps and
papers before him. At Tournay's entrance the two officers who were
standing at the general's side withdrew to the further end of the room.
It was the same room in which the scene of the previous evening had
taken place. On the table at the general's elbow stood his beer-mug,
filled with his morning draught. The old soldier was evidently very much
absorbed in the work before him, for his heavy brows were drawn over
his eyes and his lips were moving as he studied the papers. From time to
time he reached out his left hand mechanically and took up the beer-mug,
refreshing himself with a long pull. With the exception of the two
officers, there were no other occupants of the room.
The picture of Mademoiselle Edme, as she had appeared when pleading to
the general in his behalf, was so vivid in Tournay's mind that he stood
silently before the table, oblivious to his surroundings. He remained in
this position for some minutes when the general, upon one of his
searches for inspiration at the bottom of the beer-mug, glanced over the
rim and saw the Frenchman standing like a statue before him.
"_Potstausend!_" he exclaimed, as soon as he had set down the mug and
wiped the white froth from his mustache. "You were so quiet that I
forgot your existence and have been studying out a plan of campaign
against General Hoche under your very nose. He's a clever little man, is
Hoche," continued the old German musingly. "There is some sport in
beating him."
Tournay smiled quietly at hearing his idol patronizingly spoken of by an
officer who had not won half his fame.
"I wish you better success than your predecessor in the attempt, General
von Waldenmeer," he said.
The general smiled grimly at this hit and then changed the subject by
saying:--
"Last evening I told you that I would send you back to France with an
escort to the frontier."
Tournay bowed affirmatively.
"Since then, Mademoiselle de Rochefort has told me in full the story of
her escape from Tours, recounting your part in it, and dwelling most
flatteringly upon your bravery and discretion."
Tournay bowed again in acknowledgment.
"The service you have rendered the daughter of my old friend, by
effecting her rescue and bringing her here in spite of such great
obstacles, makes my obligation to you deep, very deep. My honor and my
inclinations are one, when they move me to accord you, not only your
freedom, but to offer you a commission in my son's regiment, the Tenth
Prussian heavy artillery."
If the general had ordered him out to instant execution or conferred
upon him in marriage the hand of his daughter Gretchen, Tournay could
not have felt more surprise. For a few moments he could find no words in
which to answer, and the general turned to the papers he had just laid
down.
"Is my entry into your service made a condition of my freedom?" he
finally found breath to inquire.
The Prussian general looked up from the map he had been studying,
pressing his fat finger upon it to mark the place.
"Certainly not," he replied, "I make no conditions in paying a debt."
"Then I will take my liberty, which you have promised to restore to me,"
answered Tournay, "and return to France."
It was now the general's turn to be surprised.
"You mean to say that you will go back to Paris?"
"I shall return to the French army at--It is needless to tell you where,
as you have been studying the map so attentively."
"But," interrupted General von Waldenmeer, "within six months our allied
armies will be in Paris. There will be no more Republic, and every one
who has been instrumental in the death of King Louis XVI. and the
destruction of the monarchy will have to pay the penalty. You are a
young man. You have been led into this republicanism by older heads. I
offer you an opportunity--not only of escaping the consequences of your
folly but the chance of redeeming yourself by fighting on the right
side--and you refuse?" and the general reached out for the beer-mug to
sustain himself in his disappointment. He was so sincere in his offer
and in his amazement at its refusal that the angry color on Tournay's
cheek faded away and a smile crept to his lips.
"Come," said the old general, putting down his mug after an unusually
long pull at the contents, "you are thinking better of it. I can
understand a soldier's disinclination to desert his colors, but this is
not as if I were asking you to be a traitor to your country. A von
Waldenmeer would cut out his own tongue rather than propose that to any
other soldier. I am putting it in your way to leave the service of a
faction who by anarchy and rebellion have gained control of France.
Under the banner of the allies are the true patriots of your country.
You have only to throw off that red, white, and blue uniform and put on
the colors of Prussia and you are one of them."
Again the flush of resentment rose to Tournay's cheek, but as he looked
down upon the German general who in perfect good faith and seriousness
made him such a proposal, and as he realized the utter impossibility of
either of them ever seeing the subject in the same light, his look of
anger changed to one of amusement, and a grim smile twitched at the
corners of his mustache.
"I appreciate the honor you would do me, General von Waldenmeer, but I
prefer to pay the penalty of my folly and remain loyal to the French
Republic."
The general took up his papers again. "Very well," he said gruffly. "I
will provide you with an escort over the frontier. It will be ready to
start within the hour." His eyebrows came down and he became deeply
immersed in the study of the map.
Tournay stood for a few moments looking at the fat forefinger of the old
soldier as it traced its way over the surface of the map. His thoughts
were of Mademoiselle de Rochefort. He wondered whether she had set out
on her way to Hagenhof. He almost hoped that she had left and that he
would be spared the pain of parting from her. Yet if she were still at
Falzenberg he knew he never could force himself to leave and not make an
attempt to bid her good-by.
It was with these conflicting emotions, mingled with a reluctance to
mention her name to the gruff old general, that he said in a low
voice:--
"Has Mademoiselle de Rochefort started on her journey to Hagenhof?"
He received no answer.
There had been a slight tremor in his voice as he spoke Edme's name.
Hesitating for a moment, he stepped to the table and placing one hand on
it he asked again in a steady tone, "When does Mademoiselle de Rochefort
go to Hagenhof?"
The one word "To-morrow" came abruptly out of the large head buried in
the papers before him.
Tournay drew a sigh of relief. If she had gone away, leaving him no
word, he would have been the most miserable of men. Without further
words with the general he turned and left the room.
As he went along the hallway be heard the rustle of a woman's gown
behind him, and turning, saw to his great satisfaction the figure of
Agatha hurrying toward him.
"Agatha," he exclaimed, as she came up to him, "where is mademoiselle?
Can I see her?"
"Mademoiselle is in Frau Krieger's apartment at the further end of the
east wing. If you will come with me I will show you where it is. It is
fortunate that I have met you as I do, else it would have been difficult
to find you in this large place."
"Then you were sent to fetch me?" inquired Tournay eagerly.
"I did not say that," replied Agatha with a quiet smile.
"But you evidently were in search of me," persisted Tournay.
"I have no time to answer questions now," she replied, with a laugh.
"Here is the room," and she ushered him into a long old-fashioned salon,
whose uncomfortable pieces of furniture looked as if they had stood for
generations staring at their own ugly reflections in the polished
surface of the floor.
At one end of the room stood a porcelain stove in which a fire was
burning; but the large white sepulchral object seemed to chill the
atmosphere more than the fire could warm it. Two high windows hung with
heavy curtains faced the square in front of the house, while in the rear
two other windows looked out upon the courtyard.
Frau Krieger, the widow of a Prussian officer of high rank, had reserved
the salon and one or two adjoining rooms for her own use, and saw with
pride the remainder of her domicile turned into barracks by General von
Waldenmeer and his staff.
"Wait here a moment and I will tell mademoiselle," said Agatha,
traversing the salon and disappearing through a door in the further
side. Tournay walked to the front window and glanced out on the street.
The sentinel at the porte-cochere was on the point of presenting arms to
Ludwig von Waldenmeer, who rode out; and two of the general's staff
officers stood smoking and chatting in front of the building. Tournay's
alert ear caught the sound of light footsteps, and he turned just as
Edme crossed the threshold from the inner room.
He had told himself many times within the last few minutes that the
interview must be a brief one if he were to retain complete mastery over
his feelings. As he approached her, his face, in spite of his efforts to
control it, expressed some of the emotions which the sight of her
awakened.
She extended her hand to him in her graceful, natural way, and he bent
over it, mechanically uttering the words he had been repeating over and
over to himself.
"I have come, mademoiselle, to say adieu."
At this, the color which had mantled her cheek as he touched her fingers
disappeared.
"You have not seen General von Waldenmeer, then?" she asked quickly.
"Yes, mademoiselle, and because I have seen him I intend to start at
once."
"General von Waldenmeer says that in less than three months' time the
Prussian army will be in Paris," said Edme.
A slight smile of incredulity was Tournay's only reply.
"The monarchy will be restored," she continued; "little mercy will be
shown the Republicans. They will have justice meted out to them by their
conquerors."
"The allied armies will never reach Paris, mademoiselle, and before they
restore the monarchy they must kill every Republican who stands between
them and the throne."
"I do not want them to kill you," she said simply.
His heart beat wildly. For an instant he did not speak. When he could
trust his voice to answer he said:--
"I thank you deeply for your solicitude, mademoiselle, but whatever
happens I must go back to my duty."
Edme hesitated a moment, then spoke, at first with evident effort; then
warming into a tone of almost passionate entreaty.
"You have done much for an unhappy woman, Robert Tournay. The
remembrance of the loyalty and devotion with which you watched over and
protected me shall never pass out of my memory. The de Rocheforts do not
easily forget such a debt as I owe you. In an attempt to repay it in
some measure, I persuaded General von Waldenmeer to offer you an
honorable position in his service. I am a proud woman, Monsieur Tournay,
and it cost me something to make such an appeal to the Prussian officer,
and now you reject his offer and present yourself before me so coolly
and say carelessly, 'I have come, mademoiselle, to bid you adieu.'"
"You think it easy for me to say those words?" replied Tournay
vehemently.
She did not wait for him to finish, but went on:--
"I place it in your power to serve the rightful cause, honorably and
loyally,--the cause of the king; _my_ cause, Robert Tournay, and you
refuse to do so."
"Do you not see that what you propose would be my dishonor?" he asked
gently.
"No," answered Edme firmly. "You are a brave but obstinate man, who
madly pursues a wicked course; because, having once espoused it, you
think to desert it would be disloyal. You are mad, Robert Tournay, but I
will rescue you from your folly. I will save you in spite of yourself. I
command you to stay here!" and with the same imperious gesture which he
knew so well of old, she stood before him, her dark blue eyes, as was
their wont under stress of excitement, flashing almost black. The tone
was one of command, but there was in it a note of entreaty that went to
his heart. He caught the hand which she held out to him, and exclaimed
fervently:--
"I would give ten years of life to be able to obey you, but it cannot
be. You do not know what you are asking of me or you would not put my
honor thus upon the rack. It is cruel of you, mademoiselle, but I
forgive you. You cannot understand. How should you--you are of the
Monarchy, and I am of the Republic. The Republic calls me and I must
go."
"The Republic!" repeated Edme, "Oh! execrable Republic! It has robbed me
of everything in the world--family, estate, friends, and now"--She
paused, the sentence incomplete upon her lips, and looked at him with an
expression of pain upon her face as if some violent struggle were
taking place within her. "And now you are going back to it. You may
become its victim; you, who are so brave and strong and noble. Yes," she
continued, "I will give the word its full meaning, Robert Tournay, you
are noble--too noble to become a martyr in such a cause. I entreat you
not to go. I fear for your safety."
Tournay's head swam. For a moment he felt that he must fold her in his
arms and tell her that for her sake he would give up everything in the
world for which he had striven,--country, liberty, and honor; the
Republic itself.
With a mighty effort he threw off the feeling of weakness, passionately
crying, "For God's sake, mademoiselle, do not speak to me like that. You
will make me forget my manhood. You will make me act so that your
respect, which I have been so fortunate as to win, will turn to
contempt. You could almost make me turn traitor to the Republic."
"What is this Republic? this creature of the imagination which you place
above all else in the world?" she asked impetuously. "What has it done
for France? What has it done for you?"
Before Tournay could answer, the sound of martial music was heard
outside, and the measured tread of passing troops shook the room. He
stepped to the window and drawing aside the curtains motioned Edme to
come to his side.
Wonderingly she approached and saw a brigade of infantry passing in
review of the general of division. They marched with absolute
precision, the sun reflecting on the polished barrels of their guns as
on a solid wall.
"There go the best troops in the world," said Tournay. Edme looked up in
his face with surprise at his sudden change of manner.
"The soldiers of Prussia: at the command of their officers they will
march like that to the batteries' mouth, closing up the gap of the
fallen men with clock-work movements. There are two hundred thousand of
them, and they are preparing to attack France. Joined with them are the
tried veterans of Austria. On the sea," he continued, "the fleets of
England are bearing down upon the ports of France. In the south, Spain
is pouring her soldiers over the Pyrenees. These allied armies have
banded together to destroy France. Yet we shall throw them back again,
as we did at Wattignes and at Jemappes. There the flower of the European
armies was scattered by our raw French troops. Although outnumbered and
outmanoeuvred, the _men_ of France hurled back their foes in broken
and disordered array. And why? Because in the heart of every Frenchman
burns the new-born fire of liberty. He is fighting for the freedom he
has bought so dearly. He is fighting for that Republic which has made
him what he is--a _man_! It is France against the world! and by the
Republic alone will she triumph over her enemies. That is my answer,
mademoiselle. The Republic has made a new France, and _I_ am part of it.
At her call I must leave everything and go to her defense."
While he spoke thus, Edme saw his face animated with a light she had
learned to know so well,--the same light that had shone from his eyes
when he confronted the mob in her chateau; the same fire that flashed as
he defended himself before General von Waldenmeer.
"You say I place my duty to the Republic above any earthly
consideration," he said. "Let me tell you that I hold your respect still
dearer. If I should desert my cause, the cause for which I have lived,
should I not lose that respect? Ask your own heart, mademoiselle, would
it not be so?"
She stood in silence. Then her eyes met his. He read her answer there
before she spoke, and in the look she gave him he thought he read still
more--something he dared not believe, scarcely dared hope.
"You are right," she replied, speaking slowly and distinctly. "Go back
to France! It is I who bid you go."
"I knew you would tell me to go," he replied.
The sound of voices in the corridor outside fell upon their ears.
"There are Gaillard and the escort," said Tournay, sadly. "Mademoiselle,
good-by! I may never see you again. But I thank God that you are here in
safety, and I shall find some happiness in the thought that I have been
an instrument in your deliverance."
She did not answer, but stretched out her hand to him. He took it, and
dropping on one knee, put it to his lips. "It is for the last time," he
said, looking up at her. His face was deadly pale, and there was a look
of pleading in his brown eyes.
She placed her other hand upon his head. It was but the slightest touch,
as if she yielded to a sudden impulse, and then with the same swift
movement she drew away from him.
"As it _must_ be, I pray you to go quickly," she said, and without
waiting for a reply she turned and left him.
Tournay rose to his feet,--"I swear to you now, mademoiselle, that some
day I shall see you again," and he rushed from the room to the courtyard
below.
"Are the horses ready?" he whispered hoarsely, grasping Gaillard by the
arm.
"At the door with an escort of Prussian officers," was the reply.
"What time is it?"
"Three hours before dark."
"We must be over the frontier and well into France by to-night," was
Tournay's rejoinder. "Come!"
Standing by the window, Edme saw him leap into the saddle. He gave one
look in her direction, but could not see her, concealed as she was by
the heavy curtains.
She heard the officers laughing and talking among themselves. She saw
one of the men jump from his horse, tighten a saddle girth, and remount
with an agile spring. Then Colonel von Waldenmeer approached and
addressed some remark to Robert Tournay. The latter, who had been
sitting erect and motionless upon his horse, turned slightly in the
saddle to answer the Prussian officer.
Edme could see that his features were set and their expression stern.
Colonel von Waldenmeer mounted his own horse, gave a word of command,
and the party started forward.
Edme watched them as they went up the road. Ten horses riding two
abreast, the snow flying out from under the heels of the galloping
hoofs. She watched them until the square shoulders of Colonel Tournay
were hardly distinguishable from those of Colonel Karl who rode beside
him. The cavalcade disappeared around a bend in the road, and Edme
turned from the wintry aspect without to the dreary salon with a heavy
heart.