"THE ROAD TO PARIS."
Dick descended first, then came Catherine, Gretel next, Antoine last.
While the four were speeding, in the darkness, from the open grounds of
the palace, Antoine bethought him that he had not yet dismissed the
horse on which he had come from Spangenberg. He therefore went and got
the animal, in sight of the guards at one of the doors, who supposed he
had left the palace by another exit. He then rode boldly out of the
town, crossing the bridge to take the Melsungen road. As he not only
knew the password for all guards and patrols, but was also known to have
been riding on the Landgrave's business, he was not detained a moment on
the bridge. He rode on to a place that Dick had named as a rendezvous.
Meanwhile, Dick and the two women joined Romberg at the riverside,
silently got aboard the boat, and rowed up the Fulda to a point some
distance out of the city. Here they disembarked and found the two horses
where the gentlemen had left them. In a few minutes they, too, were
pressing forward on the Melsungen road, Catherine mounted behind Dick,
Gretel behind Romberg.
"What road is this?" asked Catherine, whose sense of locality and
direction had been confused by the darkness and the haste.
"It leads first to Melsungen," said Dick, "but for us it is merely the
first stage of the road to Paris; we shall not stop, except to eat and
sleep and change horses, till we arrive there."
Dick felt certain he could now return to Paris without incurring danger
there. He would make himself known at once to the American
commissioners, and so establish connections that would not allow of his
being imprisoned again without inquiry. As a citizen of a country now
France's ally in war, he would have little, if anything, to fear from
Necker, as long as he should act prudently. As for the secret
Brotherhood, perhaps it no longer existed. Now that he had not four
armed men at his elbows, he felt he could take care of himself. But he
trusted most to the likelihood of his being unrecognized after such a
lapse of time.
Meanwhile, he was yet several days' journey from Paris, and far from
being out of the dominion of his friend, Frederick II. of Hesse-Cassel.
When the four riders, on the two horses, neared the place where Antoine
was to have waited, they heard a horse coming towards them from ahead,
and soon the dark figure that loomed up on its back proved to be his.
"Monsieur," he said to Dick, "there is a body of horsemen approaching
from the direction of Melsungen. They must be the troops that the
Landgrave sent in search of you after your escape yesterday." Antoine
had been informed of recent occurrences by the messenger whom he had
accompanied to Spangenberg.
"Shall we turn back and take the by-road we passed awhile ago?" asked
Dick, of Romberg, who was better acquainted with the country.
"It is the only thing to do," said Romberg, suiting action to the word
by turning his horse.
When the party had moved a few rods back towards Cassel, there came from
the direction of the city a sullen boom, breaking with startling effect
the silence of the night.
"The alarm-gun," said Romberg, checking his horse.
"That is fired for deserters, is it not?" said Dick, following his
example.
"But deserters might have robbed gentlemen, and taken their clothes and
horses, with which to escape," said Romberg. "That gun warns the country
to look out for fugitives of any kind."
"The Landgrave must have awakened too soon and given the alarm," said
Dick. "I let him off with too small a dose."
At that instant there was heard a distant hollow sound like thunder, but
less uneven.
"Horsemen galloping over the bridge at Cassel," said Romberg.
"A pursuing party, without any doubt," said Dick. "Hang my
thoughtlessness! The guards saw which way Antoine came. Well, we must
reach the by-road before they do."
"That is impossible," said Romberg. "We should meet them before we
arrived there."
"But if we wait here they will be upon us in a few minutes. And, if we
resume our way towards Melsungen, we shall meet the party that Antoine
discovered. Hark, I can hear that party now!"
Romberg looked around, scanning the dark country on both sides of the
road. Here the land was quite clear of trees, and every object was now
and then made visible by the appearance of the moon through cloud-rifts.
"There is a ruined abbey, at the head of that short lane," said Romberg.
"Perhaps if we should hide there till these two parties meet,--"
"As neither party would have come upon us on the way," said Dick, "they
might suppose we had taken some other road, after all. Come, then. 'Tis
our only chance."
The three horses were instantly turned into the lane. The abbey was now
used as a barn. The wide door was barred on the outside with a piece of
wood, merely to keep it from being opened by the wind. The men
dismounted and led the horses into the dark interior, which smelled of
hay and grain. They closed the door, but there was no way of bolting it
on the inside. The women now dismounted, and the party stood in silence,
trusting that their horses would not in any way betray their presence.
As fate would have it, the two forces of horsemen--the one commanded by
the officer who had let Dick escape, the other by the Baron von
Sungen--met near the mouth of the lane leading to the barn. Torches were
lighted, and the two leaders conferred for some time. Then Von Sungen,
who was not only the superior in rank but was also the more recently
from Cassel and had the Landgrave's latest orders, got off his horse,
seized a torch from one of the bearers, and started up the lane,
followed afoot by six of his men.
The gentlemen in the barn saw this movement through chinks of the door.
"It is Von Sungen," said Romberg. "He must have a strong personal
interest in your capture, that he should come to search with his own
eyes."
He and Dick drew their swords. Antoine held ready a pistol, which he had
carried in his saddle-bag on his Spangenberg journey.
Von Sungen's concern seemed indeed very great, for so rapidly he strode
that he reached the barn a dozen feet ahead of his men. He opened the
door, and thrust in his head, preceding it with his torch.
Before any one could make a movement, the attention of all was drawn by
Catherine, who said to Dick and Romberg:
"Flee for your lives, gentlemen! Don't heed me. I shall be dead before
he can lay a hand upon me."
And she held to her lips the phial that Dick had left on her table in
the palace.
Dick ran to grasp her hand, and Von Sungen cried out to her, in the
utmost alarm, "For God's sake, not that, mademoiselle!" He, too, would
have rushed in to prevent her, but his breast was menaced by the sword
of Romberg.
Meanwhile the dismounted men who had accompanied Von Sungen from the
road, had halted at a respectful distance from him, and they now stood
awaiting orders, which he was too much occupied with Catherine's
movements to give. The men could not see the inside of the barn, or hear
what was said there.
"Oho!" said Romberg to Von Sungen. "Your interest in mademoiselle's
welfare betrays you. You have orders to take her back alive."
"You have the gift of second sight, my dear Romberg," said Von Sungen,
watching Catherine, who still held the phial to her lips, although
Dick's hand upon her wrist could have dashed it from her at any moment.
"Then," said she to Von Sungen, "the instant your men approach, I will
take this poison, I swear!"
"Therefore, Baron," put in Dick, "to prevent accident, you would better
order your men away, while we discuss matters."
"If your frame of mind is for discussion, I am quite willing to do
that," said Von Sungen, who himself feared that some sudden movement of
his men might precipitate Catherine's threatened action. He turned and
spoke a few words to the six, who thereupon faced about and marched back
to the road, where the two mounted forces waited. Only Von Sungen as yet
knew who were in the barn. He had given his followers the impression
that his talk was with peasants who might put him on the track of the
fugitives.
"And now, mademoiselle and messieurs," said Von Sungen, "will you listen
to reason? You cannot fail to see how impossible is your escape from
this place, with all those horse-guards watching from the road. Even if
you could kill me--"
"We have no desire to do that," said Dick. "God knows there are few
enough kind hearts and cheerful faces in the world, as it is. But we are
as determined to escape, or all to die together, as you probably are to
capture us."
Von Sungen here stepped into the barn, but the look on Catherine's face
promptly checked him from going any nearer to her.
"My orders are," he said, "to bring back Monsieur Wetheral and
Mademoiselle de St. Valier, both alive, if possible; or, if need be, the
gentleman dead, but the lady alive in any event. Nothing was said of
Captain von Romberg."
"Nevertheless," put in that gentleman, "Captain von Romberg joins his
fate with theirs, until all are safe or dead."
"You are sure to fail of carrying out your orders, Baron," said
Catherine. "I will never go back to Cassel alive."
"Not even if I take on myself the risk of letting Monsieur Wetheral go
free? In that case you will save his life, as well as that of Captain
von Romberg, who seems determined to die with his friend. Moreover, you
will be saving your own life as well," said Von Sungen.
"A man of honor like the Baron von Sungen," said Dick, with the gentlest
shade of scorn and reproach, "must have a very strong motive for
proposing that two other men of honor should accept their lives on the
terms given."
"It is true," replied Von Sungen, "I have a large stake in this night's
business,--as great a one as yours, monsieur."
"How can that be possible?" said Dick.
"I will prove it to you," said Von Sungen. "I infer that you love this
lady, and that your greatest wish is to preserve her from the purposes
of the Landgrave. Well, I love a lady, and my dearest desire is to save
her from a marriage that would be for her a degradation as great as any
woman could feel in becoming the Landgrave's favorite. Don't tell me,
monsieur, that marriage would lessen the horror of a virtuous woman's
union with old Rothenstein. Well, the Baroness's hand is at the disposal
of the Landgrave. He has hesitated whether to favor Rothenstein or yield
to my entreaties. To-night, when his highness sent me to seek you, he
said, 'Bring Mademoiselle de St. Valier back alive, and you shall marry
the Baroness von Luderwaldt when you please. Come back without
mademoiselle alive, and Rothenstein shall marry your Baroness
to-morrow.'"
"My poor Von Sungen!" said Dick, his ready imagination putting himself
for the moment in the place of the other, with whom his own case enabled
him perfectly to sympathize.
"Well, monsieur," said Von Sungen, "it seems that both of us must lose
our sweethearts and our lives, for if mademoiselle will not save your
life, and enable me to save my sweetheart, I will kill myself. I would
no more live to see her wedded to that vile old wretch, Rothenstein,
than you would live to see your beloved possessed by the Landgrave. But,
mademoiselle, will you not save your lover's life in spite of himself?"
"I will not go back to the Landgrave," she said, with calm resolution.
Her agreement for the saving of her brother had been made on the belief
that her lover was dead, and before she had experienced the horrible
emotions that came with a later conception of what that agreement would
require of her.
The Baron sighed in despair. Suddenly he uttered an exclamation:
"Ach! Since for each of us it is all or death, let at least one of us
have all! You must admit, our stakes are equal or nearly so. I repeat, I
should suffer as much from the Baroness's marriage to Rothenstein as you
would from mademoiselle's falling into the hands of the Landgrave. So
let us appeal to chance. If you win the throw, you shall both go free,
you and the lady; I will go back without her, and take the consequences.
But if I win, the lady shall go back with me."
"You consider," said Dick, with a faint smile, "that even chances are
preferable to the certainty of mademoiselle's taking the poison."
"Good God, monsieur, do you not consider likewise? Come. If you lose,
you can at least die, as I shall do if I lose. It is the honor and
happiness of your sweetheart against the self-respect and happiness of
mine, the life and happiness of yourself against the life and happiness
of myself. Why, if you lose, mademoiselle, too, can die, if she wishes,
after I have taken her back to the Landgrave. So you are no worse off
for abandoning your position of certain destruction for us all, and for
allowing chance to save one of us for happiness."
"The issue is too important to leave to chance," said Dick, quietly.
"Let us determine it by skill."
"Very well; but what game of skill have we here the means of playing?"
"There is a game of skill that gentlemen play with swords," said Dick.
"Excellent!" cried Von Sungen, understanding. "And the game in our case
has this advantage, it can be so played that the loser need not survive
his loss. Let it be a duel to the death, monsieur, so that the
unfortunate one shall not be under the necessity of killing himself."
"Agreed," said Dick.
"But I will not consent," cried Catherine. "Even if you fight and lose,
I will not go back to the Landgrave; I will take the poison."
"In this cause I cannot possibly lose," said Dick, pressing her hand.
"Give your consent, dearest."
She looked at his calm eyes, his unmoved countenance, his steady hands,
and said, after a moment:
"Very well."
"Then, Baron," said Dick, "you may take measures, regarding the troops
out there, to enable us to depart unhindered when you are dead."
"If I send them away--" Von Sungen began, but paused.
"We give you our word of honor, we will not escape from you otherwise
than by my killing you in this fight," said Dick.
"Captain von Romberg will not interfere?" said the Baron.
"Not unless to prevent the intrusion of some possible third party,"
answered Romberg.
"I will return in a minute," then said Von Sungen. "You may wish to have
a light while I am gone," and he handed his torch to Antoine.
He walked down the lane to the waiting horsemen, and ordered the second
in command to lead the two forces back to a certain junction of roads.
"I am making some inquiries," he added, "that may help us in this
search. Meanwhile, keep close watch on the by-road till I join you."
The troops, puzzled but not permitted to question, rode off in the
direction of Cassel. Von Sungen, who had taken from one of them a second
torch, now strode back to the barn with it. He found Dick ready for the
contest, for which the barn floor presented a sufficient arena. The
baron handed the second torch to Romberg, and silently made his
preparations. The four who were to be spectators moved to where Antoine
had already led the horses, at one end of the barn floor. The torches
threw an uneven red light on the scene, leaving the surroundings, here
obscure, and there entirely lost in shadow.
Dick and Von Sungen faced each other, without the least hatred, indeed
with great esteem, but each determined to kill the other. The swords
clashed. The advantage in duelling experience lay strongly with Von
Sungen. Dick had fought only one duel, but he had recently resumed
practice with the foils under a French fencing-master at Cassel.
Moreover, Von Sungen was still fully under the excitement with which he
had started on the pursuit, while with Dick this incident had been
immediately preceded by so many scenes of danger that he could now face
anything with calmness. So he fought cautiously, at first only guarding
against the other's impetuous attack.
Finally the Baron's exertions began to tell upon him, and a wild thrust
betrayed either that his eye was no longer true, or that his brain had
lost perfect control of his arm. Dick felt it was now but a matter of
time that the Baron should lay himself open to a decisive lunge.
Suddenly the barn door was flung open from the outside, and two men
stepped unceremoniously in, armed with swords and pistols, and the
second one bearing a torch.
"Aha!" cried the first, flashing up his sword. "I thought you might be
in danger!" And he ran to the aid of Von Sungen.
"Curse you for meddling against orders!" cried the Baron, enraged at
this assistance. "Don't interfere, I command you!"
And the fight went on, between Von Sungen and Wetheral. The Baron's
officer, who had come back with one of the horse-guards,--on what
pretext was never known,--stepped aside, amazed. But in a few moments
this officer whispered something to the horse-guard with him, and the
latter started for the door. By this time Romberg and Antoine had both
run past the fighters and neared the door. Antoine, unwilling to make a
noise by firing a shot, thrust his torch into the departing soldier's
face, and then felled the suddenly blinded man to the floor with a blow
of his pistol. The interfering officer, with a fierce oath, instantly
ran his sword through Antoine's body, drawing it immediately out to
defend himself against Romberg, who had lost time in finding a place for
his torch. The old servant fell dead across the soldier he had knocked
senseless, and the torches of the two blazed up from the ground. Romberg
and the officer now had a rapid exchange of thrusts, the two being
evenly matched. But a sharp cry, from a few feet away, drew for an
instant the attention of the officer, and Romberg's sword, piercing his
lung, stretched him on the floor near the other two prostrate bodies.
The cry that the officer had heard was the death cry of Von Sungen, who
now lay silent and motionless at Dick's feet.
"Poor Baroness von Luderwaldt!" said Dick, gently, wiping his sword with
a wisp of hay.
Catherine seized Dick's hand, and pressed it in silence, then ran over
towards Antoine.
"He is quite dead," said Romberg, rising from a brief examination of the
old servant's body.
Catherine gazed at the prostrate figure a moment, with sorrowful but
tearless face, and then allowed Dick to lead her to a horse.
When Dick and Romberg, having assisted Catherine to mount, went to help
Gretel, the girl refused, saying she had thought to be of assistance to
mademoiselle, but had found herself only an encumbrance. Therefore, in
order that the flight should be no more delayed on her account, she
would not accompany the fugitives further, but would walk to her home
near Homberg, where she would be safe from the inquiries of the
Landgrave and his officers. As the girl's resolution was not to be
overcome, and as time was precious, the three went forth without her,
there being now a horse for each. Catherine rode on a man's saddle, of
which the gentlemen hastily readjusted the stirrups so that she might
sit in feminine fashion. In leaving the barn, the men put out the
torches, and Dick possessed himself of old Antoine's loaded pistol, as
well as of his cloak, in place of which he left the scarlet one.
The fugitives avoided, by a detour through fields, the bridge that
crossed to Melsungen; and they continued southward along the right bank
of the Fulda. Now and then they stopped to rest their horses. Dawn found
them suffering from fatigue, but they rode on. At a farmhouse they
stopped and fed their horses, also refreshing themselves with milk and
eggs. At noon they arrived at the town of Fulda, having covered the
sixty miles from Cassel, without change of horses and over bad roads, in
eleven hours.
On entering Fulda they gave the officer of the guard false names and a
prepared story. They learned that a close watch was being kept for an
officer in a scarlet cloak; so Dick was thankful for having exchanged
with poor Antoine. The search begun yesterday had, thus, evidently
extended as far as to Fulda. With the discovery of Von Sungen's fate,
new parties would be sent in every direction. Dick was loath to lose
time, but the fatigue of all three was so great that dinner and a few
hours of sleep were taken at the inn at Fulda. Four o'clock in the
afternoon saw the fugitives again on the road.
The shortest route to France was by way of Frankfort, for which city
they now made, intending to travel by night, and to give a wide berth to
whatever walled towns might lie in the way. Fortunately, their horses
were of a stock characterized by great endurance.
They had been about two hours out of Fulda, when they saw a horseman
galloping up behind them. As this cavalier himself looked back
frequently, it appeared more likely that he feared pursuit than that he
was to be feared as a pursuer. When he was quite near, Romberg cried
out:
"By God's thunder, it is the traitor, Mesmer! So they have let him
escape, after all!"
"Escape?" said Dick, with a grim kind of smile. "Do you call his falling
into our hands an escape?" And Dick turned to go and meet the newcomer.
But Catherine caught his arm, so that he had to rein up to avoid
dragging her from her horse.
"Let this be my affair," said Romberg, and immediately rode towards
Mesmer, drawing his sword as he did so.
Mesmer suddenly recognized the two gentlemen and divined Romberg's
purpose. Bringing his horse to an abrupt stop, he drew a pistol, with
which he had in some way provided himself, and fired straight at Romberg
as the latter came up. Romberg instantly tumbled from the horse to the
road, and lay still, retaining his sword in the rigid grasp of death.
Dick gave a cry of grief and wrath, tore his arm from Catherine's hold,
and galloped towards Mesmer, drawing his own pistol and firing as he
went. A shriek cleft the air, and the traitor rolled on the earth, close
to the body that he himself had bereft of life a moment ago.
Dick quickly ascertained that both were dead, then remounted his horse,
seized the bridle of Catherine's, and spurred forward. Not a word passed
for some time, both indulging in silence the emotions produced by this
latest swift tragedy. Presently Dick said, "If we should report to the
next town's authorities that those two bodies are back there in the
road, we should doubtless be detained, and all would be lost. So I shall
merely tell the first honest-looking man we meet, where the bodies lie
and whose they are. My poor Romberg!"
This plan Dick soon carried out, and, as in this case his judgment of a
face was correct, the two bodies were subjected neither to robbery nor
to final consignment to unknown graves.
At nightfall Dick and Catherine gave their horses rest and food at a
village hostelry, and then resumed their journey, pretending they had
little farther to go. But they rode all night, making what battle they
could against fatigue, and what defence their cloaks enabled them to
maintain against the cold.
They entered Frankfort a few minutes after the gates were opened for the
day. As this was a free city, it seemed likely that they were out of
danger, although it might turn out that the Landgrave's arm could reach
them here, through his resident, as the arm of Frederick of Prussia had
reached Voltaire twenty-five years before. But it was absolutely
necessary that they should have sleep, so Dick took the risk of riding
at once to the inn called the Emperor, and ordering rooms and breakfast.
As they dropped into chairs in the dining-parlor, more dead than alive,
they heard an exclamation of surprise from a man they had vaguely
perceived across the table. Both, looking up at the same moment,
recognized Gerard de St. Valier.
This meeting revived the worn-out energies of Dick and Catherine, and
explanations were quickly made. Gerard, having been released from
Spangenberg some hours before the other two had left Cassel, and having
taken at Melsungen a shorter route than that by way of Fulda, had
arrived in Frankfort late the previous night. And, a few minutes after
his arrival, a great event had occurred. He had met at this inn a
lawyer's clerk, on the way from Paris to Cassel, with papers awarding
at last to the St. Valiers the bequest that had been disputed in the
courts. This news made the future look rosy. It assured the St. Valiers
of a moderate competency, and would make it possible for Dick to marry
Catherine without fear of her being tied to destitution through any
failure of his own to find fortune.
It was agreed to remain at the Emperor until noon, that some hours of
sleep might be had. Then the three were to start Parisward on their
horses, this mode of travel--no longer a common one for ladies--being
retained because it was by far the most rapid.
When Dick and Catherine reappeared from their rooms, at the time set for
taking horse again, they met Gerard, whose face wore a look of
disquietude.
"I have paid the bills, and the horses are ready," he said to Dick, in a
low tone. "Let us lose no time in getting out of the city and territory
of Frankfort."
"What is the matter?" asked Dick.
"In the street, awhile ago, I saw Wedeker, who always bears the
Landgrave's important despatches, ride up, on a foaming horse, to a
house that he almost broke his way into, he was in so great a hurry. I
asked a passer-by what house it was. It was that of the Landgrave's
Frankfort resident. Wedeker is doubtless straight from Cassel, with
orders to have you held in Frankfort; and in a very short time, if the
resident can have his way with the authorities, the city guard will be
on the hunt for us."
"Let us go, then. This running away from authorities seems to have
become a fixed habit of mine," said Dick, giving his hand to Catherine.
In a few minutes the three fugitives rode westward through the Mainz
gate, Dick giving a sigh of relief as they emerged to the open suburb
bordering the river Main.
"Evidently no orders concerning us have yet reached the gates," he said,
looking back at the stolid guard they had just passed.
"We are not yet out of the territory appertaining to the city of
Frankfort," said Gerard.
"And if we get out of it," said Dick, "we shall have to look out for
this Wedeker, I suppose, until the last foot of German soil is behind
us."
"Probably," replied Gerard, "but we have the start of Wedeker, and, as
the local authorities will nowhere send their troops or police out of
their own territory, he must travel alone much of the time. If he should
come up to us alone, between one town and another--"
"Some one else would subsequently have the honor of carrying the
Landgrave's important despatches," put in Dick. "We ought to have taken
fresh horses, Gerard. Catherine's and mine are almost run out. They
have done incredible service already."
A quarter of an hour later Catherine's mount staggered, stumbled, and
lay panting on its side. Its rider slid from the saddle in time to
escape injury.
Gerard and Dick came to a quick stop. "My beast is fresh," said Gerard.
"You'd best ride behind me."
Dick got off his own horse, and assisted Catherine upon Gerard's. Then
he remounted his own; but he had no sooner done so than the animal sank
under him, the last bit of strength having passed from its trembling
limbs.
"The deuce!" exclaimed Dick. "I imagine your beast is hardly fresh
enough to carry three, Gerard?"
Gerard laughed, in spite of this setback, at the droll manner in which
Dick asked this question.
Then Dick turned his eyes back towards Frankfort, took on a peculiar
smile, and said, in the coolest and mildest of voices:
"It is a pity,--because I see a number of soldiers or police riding out
of the gate we rode through a few minutes ago."
Gerard looked around, and turned pale. "My God!" said he. "It is the
city guard! And don't you recognize Wedeker by his uniform, with the
officer at their head?"
Dick heaved a gentle sigh, then looked at his empty pistol and his
sword. "This is an occasion for horses, not for weapons," he said, with
his former quietness. "To think that, after all the flying, the
fighting, and the killing, a man should be nabbed at last, merely for
want of a fresh horse. Why do you wait, Gerard? You can easily escape
with Catherine. You must save her."
"And leave you? Never!"
"Well said, my brother," whispered Catherine.
"I see yonder a kind of country inn, to judge from the horse-shed near
it," said Dick, indicating a low building a short distance ahead on
their road.
He started towards it afoot, followed by the two who were mounted. When
he reached the shed, he saw therein, to his amazement, two horses. A
peasant was in the act of giving them grain.
"Whose animals are these, my friend?" queried Dick.
"They belong to a soldier, mein herr, who arrived last night with the
black, and won the gray from another guest, at cards."
"And where is this fortunate person to be found?"
"In the house, mein herr; in the first room at the head of the stairs."
"I'll go and try to make a bargain with him," said Dick.
"No," said Gerard, "let me go. I am now better able to make bargains
than you are." And he leaped off his horse and ran to the house. He
desired that he, not Dick, should be at the expense of the purchase.
Dick stood waiting beside Catherine, looking now into her anxious eyes
with a reassuring smile, now towards the distant troops that were
steadily drawing nearer on the road.
Soon Gerard reappeared from the house, with a dejected face. "The fellow
refuses to sell," he said. "He sat playing a violin, and blamed me for
interrupting his music. I think we should be justified in taking one of
his horses, in spite of him."
"You cannot do that, mein herr," said the peasant, looking towards the
inn, from which came the sounds of men gambling and drinking.
"What sort of a man is this horse-owner?" asked Dick, not as if with any
hope, but as if duty required the last possible effort.
"A gaunt rascal," said Gerard, "who began to answer me in French, and
then veered into a kind of Scotch-English, with an Irish phrase or two."
A strange, wondering look came over Dick's face. "Let me try," he said,
in a barely audible voice, and made hastily for the house.
He flung open the door, rushed up the rickety stairs, and stopped before
a chamber at their head. From within came the sound of a fiddle scraping
out the tune of "Over the hills and far away."
Dick burst into the room, crying out, "Tom MacAlister, dear old Tom, _I_
am the man that wants to buy your horse!"
* * * * *
"'Tis no sic a vast warld, they that do a mickle travelling will
discover," said MacAlister, as he and the three fugitives cantered
westward towards Mayence, having left the Frankfort territory, and,
consequently, the Frankfort city guard, far behind them.
The two St. Valiers rode one of Tom's horses, which were both stronger
and fresher than the animal on which Gerard had come out of Frankfort.
The latter beast now carried MacAlister, who had nothing to fear from
being overtaken, and whose second horse was ridden by Wetheral. The
piper's son had not expressed any great surprise at seeing Dick, a fact
explained by him in the words already quoted.
"I mak' nae doot your ain presence in these parts was brought aboot in
the most likely way," he continued; "and, sure, there's devil a bit
extraordinary in my being here."
He then gave account of his movements since the attack on Quebec.
Exchanged, with Morgan and the other prisoners, he served under that
gallant commander in the glorious campaign of Saratoga. His term of
enlistment expiring on the very day of Burgoyne's surrender, he
voluntarily accompanied the troops that escorted the defeated British
and Hessian army to Boston. In that town he met a Virginia Scotchman,
whose people he had known in Scotland. This man, who had added the name
of Jones to that of John Paul, held the rank of captain in the newly
projected navy of the United States of America, and was on the very eve
of sailing from Portsmouth, New Hampshire, in a vessel called the
_Ranger_. Love of diversity impelled Tom to ship for the cruise across
the Atlantic. Sailing November 1, 1777, the _Ranger_ captured two
prizes, sent them to the port of Malaga, and arrived on the second of
December at Nantes, in the harbor of which Captain Jones caused the new
flag of the United States to receive its first salute in European
waters, as its white stars set in blue and its red and white stripes
fluttered high above the _Ranger's_ deck. MacAlister accompanied Jones
to Paris, where he grew weary of inaction while the captain was trying,
with the aid of the American commissioners, to obtain a certain fine
frigate for the new navy. So Tom, in whom a returning inclination for
some more European service had begun to assert itself, started for
Germany, with a thought of finding employment in the war that Frederick
of Prussia had been conducting against Austria, since the first of the
present year of 1778, over the Bavarian succession.
"But now that I've met you," MacAlister said to Dick, "it's devil an
inch further I'll gang eastward. Sure, 'tis nae self-sacrifice to turn
aboot and trot back to Paris, for that war has been plodding along sin'
'most a year agone, and never a battle yet, for whilk I should think the
King of Prussia, auld as he is, would be ashamed,--as nae doot he is.
Weel, weel, so 'tis the young lady of Quebec ye are, miss! Sure, Dickie,
lad, do ye mind what I tauld ye once, aboot the wind of circumstance?"
"Ay, Tom, but if we had left all to the wind of circumstance, we should
not be this moment riding free towards Paris."
"No more ye should, lad. 'Tis one part circumstance, and three parts
wark and fight, that lands a man safe and sound in the snug harbors of
this warld."
They tarried briefly at Mayence, keeping the while an eye on the gate by
which Wedeker would enter if he should continue his efforts. But, if
Wedeker entered at all, it was after the four travellers had departed
from the city of priests and were on their way to Birkenfeld.
From Birkenfeld they went to Metz, where they disposed of their horses
and hired a coach and four to convey them onward by easy stages. Once on
French ground, they breathed with perfect freedom.
"And when ye do get to Paris, lad," asked Tom, "what then? If ye have a
mind to serve your country in the way of sea-fighting, we can do nae
better than seek out Captain Jones."
"I think," was the answer, "after I see Paris,--for I never have seen
it, though I have passed through it,--I would like to have a look at my
own country again. But it is for others to say."
"No," said Catherine, gently. "It is for you to say. Is it not, Gerard?"
"When my affairs in France are settled," replied Gerard, "I am sure the
other side of the Atlantic will be good enough for me."
Verdun, Chalons, Epernay, one after another, were left behind; then
Meaux, and, at last, one cold but sunny afternoon late in December, the
coach rolled through a faubourg, passed under an arch, and rumbled along
the Rue St. Martin, whence it was to take its passengers to a hotel in
the Rue St. Honore. But, at Dick's desire, the coachman drove first to
the Pont Neuf, and there stopped. Through the right-hand window the four
passengers could see the Louvre and the Tuileries, as well as the
buildings at the opposite side of the Seine; through the left-hand
window they could see, above the mass of roofs and spires, the towers of
Notre Dame, flashing back the horizontal sun-rays.
"It is like in the picture-book," said Dick, softly,--for his fancy had
long since transfigured the stiff engravings he had studied in his
childhood. Then he turned and looked at the friendly faces within the
coach,--Gerard's, old Tom's; last of all, the face beside him, whose
dark eyes met his.
"Do you know, I was always sure," he said, "that the road to Paris was
to be my road to happiness."
THE END.
_SELECTIONS FROM
L. C. PAGE AND COMPANY'S
LIST OF NEW FICTION._
[Illustration]
Selections from
L. C. Page and Company's
List of New Fiction.
=An Enemy to the King.=
From the Recently Discovered Memoirs of the Sieur de la Tournoire.
By ROBERT NEILSON STEPHENS. Illustrated by H. De M. Young.
1 vol., library 12mo, cloth =$1.25=
An historical romance of the sixteenth century, describing the
adventures of a young French nobleman at the Court of Henry IV.,
and on the field with Henry of Navarre.
=The Continental Dragoon.=
A Romance of Philipse Manor House, in 1778. By ROBERT NEILSON
STEPHENS, author of "An Enemy to the King." Illustrated by H. C.
Edwards.
1 vol., library 12mo, cloth =$1.50=
A stirring romance of the Revolution, the scene being laid in and
around the old Philipse Manor House, near Yonkers, which at the
time of the story was the central point of the so-called "neutral
territory" between the two armies.
=Muriella; or, Le Selve.=
By OUIDA. Illustrated by M. B. Prendergast.
1 vol., library 12mo, cloth =$1.25=
This is the latest work from the pen of the brilliant author of
"Under Two Flags," "Moths," etc., etc. It is the story of the
love and sacrifice of a young peasant girl, told in the absorbing
style peculiar to the author.
=The Road to Paris.=
By ROBERT NEILSON STEPHENS, author of "An Enemy to the King," "The
Continental Dragoon," etc. Illustrated by H. C. Edwards.
1 vol., library 12mo, cloth =$1.50=
An historical romance, being an account of the life of an
American gentleman adventurer of Jacobite ancestry, whose family
early settled in the colony of Pennsylvania. The scene shifts
from the unsettled forests of the then West to Philadelphia, New
York, London, Paris, and, in fact, wherever a love of adventure
and a roving fancy can lead a soldier of fortune. The story is
written in Mr. Stephens's best style, and is of absorbing
interest.
=Rose a Charlitte.=
An Acadien Romance. By MARSHALL SAUNDERS, author of "Beautiful
Joe," etc. Illustrated by H. De M. Young.
1 vol., library 12 mo, cloth =$1.50=
In this novel, the scene of which is laid principally in the land
of Evangeline, Marshall Saunders has made a departure from the
style of her earlier successes. The historical and descriptive
setting of the novel is accurate, the plot is well conceived and
executed, the characters are drawn with a firm and delightful
touch, and the fortunes of the heroine, Rose a Charlitte, a
descendant of an old Acadien family, will be followed with
eagerness by the author's host of admirers.
=Bobbie McDuff.=
By CLINTON ROSS, author of "The Scarlet Coat," "Zuleika," etc.
Illustrated by B. West Clinedinst.
1 vol., large 16mo, cloth =$1.00=
Clinton Ross is well known as one of the most promising of recent
American writers of fiction, and in the description of the
adventures of his latest hero, Bobbie McDuff, he has repeated his
earlier successes. Mr. Ross has made good use of the wealth of
material at his command. New York furnishes him the hero, sunny
Italy a heroine, grim Russia the villain of the story, while the
requirements of the exciting plot shift the scene from Paris to
New York, and back again to a remote, almost feudal villa on the
southern coast of Italy.
=In Kings' Houses.=
A Romance of the Reign of Queen Anne. By JULIA C. R. DORR, author
of "A Cathedral Pilgrimage," etc. Illustrated by Frank T. Merrill.
1 vol., library 12mo, cloth =$1.50=
Mrs. Dorr's poems and travel sketches have earned for her a
distinct place in American literature, and her romance, "In
Kings' Houses," is written with all the charm of her earlier
works. The story deals with one of the most romantic episodes in
English history. Queen Anne, the last of the reigning Stuarts, is
described with a strong, yet sympathetic touch, and the young
Duke of Gloster, the "little lady," and the hero of the tale,
Robin Sandys, are delightful characterizations.
=Sons of Adversity.=
A Romance of Queen Elizabeth's Time. By L. COPE CONFORD, author of
"Captain Jacobus," etc. Illustrated by J. W. Kennedy.
1 vol., library 12mo, cloth =$1.25=
A tale of adventure on land and sea at the time when Protestant
England and Catholic Spain were struggling for naval supremacy.
Spanish conspiracies against the peace of good Queen Bess, a
vivid description of the raise of the Spanish siege of Leyden by
the combined Dutch and English forces, sea fights, the recovery
of stolen treasure, are all skilfully woven elements in a plot of
unusual strength.
=The Count of Nideck.=
From the French of Erckman-Chatrian, translated and adapted by
RALPH BROWNING FISKE. Illustrated by Victor A. Searles.
1 vol., library 12mo, cloth =$1.25=
A romance of the Black Forest, woven around the mysterious legend
of the Wehr Wolf. The plot has to do with the later German feudal
times, is brisk in action, and moves spiritedly from start to
finish. Mr. Fiske deserves a great deal of credit for the
excellence of his work. No more interesting romance has appeared
recently.
=The Making of a Saint.=
By W. SOMERSET MAUGHAM. Illustrated by Gilbert James.
1 vol., library 12mo, cloth =$1.50=
"The Making of a Saint" is a romance of Mediaeval Italy, the scene
being laid in the 15th century. It relates the life of a young
leader of Free Companions who, at the close of one of the many
petty Italian wars, returns to his native city. There he becomes
involved in its politics, intrigues, and feuds, and finally joins
an uprising of the townspeople against their lord. None can
resent the frankness and apparent brutality of the scenes through
which the hero and his companions of both sexes are made to pass,
and many will yield ungrudging praise to the author's vital
handling of the truth. In the characters are mirrored the life of
the Italy of their day. The book will confirm Mr. Maugham's
reputation as a strong and original writer.
=Omar the Tentmaker.=
A Romance of Old Persia. By NATHAN HASKELL DOLE. Illustrated by F.
T. Merrill.
1 vol., library 12mo, cloth =$1.50=
Mr. Dole's study of Persian literature and history admirably
equips him to enter into the life and spirit of the time of the
romance, and the hosts of admirers of the inimitable quatrains of
Omar Khayyam, made famous by Fitzgerald, will be deeply
interested in a tale based on authentic facts in the career of
the famous Persian poet. The three chief characters are Omar
Khayyam, Nizam-ul-Mulk, the generous and high-minded Vizier of
the Tartar Sultan Malik Shah of Mero, and Hassan ibu Sabbah, the
ambitious and revengeful founder of the sect of the Assassins.
The scene is laid partly at Naishapur, in the Province of
Khorasan, which about the period of the First Crusade was at its
acme of civilization and refinement, and partly in the mountain
fortress of Alamut, south of the Caspian Sea, where the
Ismailians under Hassan established themselves towards the close
of the 11th century. Human nature is always the same, and the
passions of love and ambition, of religion and fanaticism, of
friendship and jealousy, are admirably contrasted in the fortunes
of these three able and remarkable characters as well as in those
of the minor personages of the story.
=Captain Fracasse.=
A new translation from the French by Gautier. Illustrated by
Victor A. Searles.
1 vol., library 12mo, cloth =$1.25=
This famous romance has been out of print for some time, and a
new translation is sure to appeal to its many admirers, who have
never yet had any edition worthy of the story.
=The Rejuvenation of Miss Semaphore.=
A farcical novel. By HAL GODFREY. Illustrated by Etheldred B.
Barry.
1 vol., library 12mo, cloth =$1.25=
A fanciful, laughable tale of two maiden sisters of uncertain age
who are induced, by their natural longing for a return to youth
and its blessings, to pay a large sum for a mystical water which
possesses the value of setting backwards the hands of time. No
more delightfully fresh and original book has appeared since
"Vice Versa" charmed an amused world. It is well written, drawn
to the life, and full of the most enjoyable humor.
=Midst the Wild Carpathians.=
By MAURUS JOKAI, author of "Black Diamonds," "The Lion of Janina,"
etc. Authorized translation by R. Nisbet Bain. Illustrated by J.
W. Kennedy.
1 vol., library 12mo, cloth =$1.25=
A thrilling, historical, Hungarian novel, in which the
extraordinary dramatic and descriptive powers of the great Magyar
writer have full play. As a picture of feudal life in Hungary it
has never been surpassed for fidelity and vividness. The
translation is exceedingly well done.
=The Golden Dog.=
A Romance of Quebec. By WILLIAM KIRBY. New authorized edition.
Illustrated by J. W. Kennedy.
1 vol., library 12mo, cloth =$1.25=
A powerful romance of love, intrigue, and adventure in the time
of Louis XV. and Mme. de Pompadour, when the French colonies were
making their great struggle to retain for an ungrateful court the
fairest jewels in the colonial diadem of France.
=Bijli the Dancer.=
By JAMES BLYTHE PATTON. Illustrated by Horace Van Rinth.
1 vol., library 12mo, cloth =$1.50=
A novel of Modern India. The fortunes of the heroine, an Indian
Naucht girl, are told with a vigor, pathos, and a wealth of
poetic sympathy that makes the book admirable from first to last.
="To Arms!"=
Being Some Passages from the Early Life of Allan Oliphant,
Chirurgeon, Written by Himself, and now Set Forth for the First
Time. By ANDREW BALFOUR. Illustrated by F. W. Glover.
1 vol., library 12mo, cloth =$1.50=
A romance dealing with an interesting phase of Scottish and
English history, the Jacobite Insurrection of 1715, which will
appeal strongly to the great number of admirers of historical
fiction. The story is splendidly told, the magic circle which the
author draws about the reader compelling a complete forgetfulness
of prosaic nineteenth century life.
=Friendship and Folly.=
A novel. By MARIA LOUISE POOLE, author of "In a Dike Shanty," etc.
Illustrated by J. W. Kennedy.
1 vol., library 12mo, cloth =$1.25=
An extremely well-written story of modern life. The interest
centres in the development of the character of the heroine, a New
England girl, whose high-strung temperament is in constant revolt
against the confining limitations of nineteenth century
surroundings. The reader's interest is held to the end, and the
book will take high rank among American psychological novels.
=A Hypocritical Romance= and other stories.
By CAROLINE TICKNOR. Illustrated by J. W. Kennedy.
1 vol., large 16mo, cloth =$1.00=
Miss Ticknor, well known as one of the most promising of the
younger school of American writers, has never done better work
than in the majority of these clever stories, written in a
delightful comedy vein.
=Cross Trails.=
By VICTOR WAITE. Illustrated by J. W. Kennedy.
1 vol., library 12mo, cloth =$1.50=
A Spanish-American novel of unusual interest, a brilliant,
dashing, and stirring story, teeming with humanity and life. Mr.
Waite is to be congratulated upon the strength with which he has
drawn his characters.
=A Mad Madonna= and other stories.
By L. CLARKSON WHITELOCK, with eight half-tone
illustrations. 1 vol., large 16mo, cloth =$1.00=
A half dozen remarkable psychological stories, delicate in color
and conception. Each of the six has a touch of the supernatural,
a quick suggestion, a vivid intensity, and a dreamy realism that
is matchless in its forceful execution.
=On the Point.=
A Summer Idyl. By NATHAN HASKELL DOLE, author of "Not Angels
Quite," with dainty half-tone illustrations as chapter headings.
1 vol., large 16mo, cloth =$1.00=
A bright and clever story of a summer on the coast of Maine,
fresh, breezy, and readable from the first to the last page. The
narrative describes the summer outing of a Mr. Merrithew and his
family. The characters are all honest, pleasant people, whom we
are glad to know. We part from them with the same regret with
which we leave a congenial party of friends.
=Cavalleria Rusticana; or, Under the Shadow of Etna.=
Translated from the Italian of Giovanni Verga, by
NATHAN HASKELL DOLE. Illustrated by Etheldred
B. Barry. 1 vol., 16mo, cloth =$0.50=
Giovanni Verga stands at present as unquestionably the most
prominent of the Italian novelists. His supremacy in the domain
of the short story and in the wider range of the romance is
recognized both at home and abroad. The present volume contains a
selection from the most dramatic and characteristic of his
Sicilian tales. Verga is himself a native of Sicily, and his
knowledge of that wonderful country, with its poetic and yet
superstitious peasantry, is absolute. Such pathos, humor,
variety, and dramatic quality are rarely met in a single volume.
TRANSCRIBER'S NOTES:
Alternate and archaic spellings have been retained.
page 411, "postillion" changed to "postilion" (I will not drive
one step!" said the postillion,)
End of Project Gutenberg's The Road to Paris, by Robert Neilson Stephens