At nine o’clock I was waiting by the window, and even as a bugle sounded
“lights out” in the barracks and change of guard, I let the string down.
Mr. Stevens shot round the corner of the chateau, just as the departing
sentinel disappeared, and attached a bundle to the string, and I drew it
up.
“Is all well?” I called softly down.
“All well,” said Mr. Stevens, and, hugging the wall of the chateau, he
sped away. In another moment a new sentinel began pacing up and down,
and I shut the window and untied my bundle. All that I had asked for was
there. I hid the things away in the alcove and went to bed at once, for
I knew that I should have no sleep on the following night.
I did not leave my bed till the morning was well advanced. Once or twice
during the day I brought my guards in with fear on their faces, the
large fat man more distorted than his fellow, by the lamentable sounds I
made with my willow toys. They crossed themselves again and again, and
I myself appeared devout and troubled. When we walked abroad during
the afternoon, I chose to saunter by the river rather than walk, for I
wished to conserve my strength, which was now vastly increased, though,
to mislead my watchers and the authorities, I assumed the delicacy of an
invalid, and appeared unfit for any enterprise--no hard task, for I was
still very thin and worn.
So I sat upon a favourite seat on the cliff, set against a solitary
tree, fixed in the rocks. I gazed long on the river, and my guards,
stoutly armed, stood near, watching me, and talking in low tones. Eager
to hear their gossip, I appeared to sleep. They came nearer, and, facing
me, sat upon a large stone, and gossiped freely concerning the strange
sounds heard in my room at the chateau.
“See you, my Bamboir,” said the lean to the fat soldier, “the British
captain, he is to be carried off in burning flames by that La Jongleuse.
We shall come in one morning and find a smell of sulphur only, and a
circle of red on the floor where the imps danced before La Jongleuse
said to them, ‘Up with him, darlings, and away!’”
At this Bamboir shook his head, and answered, “To-morrow I’ll to the
Governor, and tell him what’s coming. My wife, she falls upon my neck
this morning. ‘Argose,’ she says, ‘‘twill need the bishop and his
college to drive La Jongleuse out of the grand chateau.’”
“No less,” replied the other. “A deacon and sacred palm and sprinkle
of holy water would do for a cottage, or even for a little manor house,
with twelve candles burning, and a hymn to the Virgin. But in a king’s
house--”
“It’s not the King’s house.”
“But yes, it is the King’s house, though his Most Christian Majesty
lives in France. The Marquis de Vaudreuil stands for the King, and we
are sentinels in the King’s house. But, my faith, I’d rather be
fighting against Frederick, the Prussian boar, than watching this mad
Englishman.”
“But see you, my brother, that Englishman’s a devil. Else how has he not
been hanged long ago? He has vile arts to blind all, or he would not be
sitting there. It is well known that M’sieu’ Doltaire, even the King’s
son--his mother worked in the fields like your Nanette, Bamboir--”
“Or your Lablanche, my friend. She has hard hands, with warts, and red
knuckles therefrom--”
“Or your Nanette, Bamboir, with nose that blisters in the summer, as she
goes swingeing flax, and swelling feet that sweat in sabots, and chin
thrust out from carrying pails upon her head--”
“Ay, like Nanette and like Lablanche, this peasant mother of M’sieu’
Doltaire, and maybe no such firm breasts like Nanette--”
“Nor such an eye as has Lablanche. Well, M’sieu’ Doltaire, who could
override them all, he could not kill this barbarian. And Gabord--you
know well how they fought, and the black horse and his rider came and
carried him away. Why, the young M’sieu’ Duvarney had him on his knees,
the blade at his throat, and a sword flashed out from the dark--they say
it was the devil’s--and took him in the ribs and well-nigh killed him.”
“But what say you to Ma’m’selle Duvarney coming to him that day, and
again yesterday with Gabord?”
“Well, well, who knows, Bamboir? This morning I said to Nanette, ‘Why
is’t, all in one moment, you send me to the devil, and pray to meet me
in Abraham’s bosom too?’ What think you she answered me? Why, this, my
Bamboir: ‘Why is’t Adam loved his wife and swore her down before the
Lord also, all in one moment?’ Why Ma’m’selle Duvarney does this or
that is not for muddy brains like ours. It is some whimsy. They say that
women are more curious about the devil than about St. Jean Baptiste.
Perhaps she got of him a magic book.”
“No, no! If he had the magic Petit Albert, he would have turned us into
dogs long ago. But I do not like him. He is but thirty years, they say,
and yet his hair is white as a pigeon’s wing. It is not natural. Nor did
he ever, says Gabord, do aught but laugh at everything they did to him.
The chains they put would not stay, and when he was set against the wall
to be shot, the watches stopped--the minute of his shooting passed. Then
M’sieu’ Doltaire came, and said a man that could do a trick like that
should live to do another. And he did it, for M’sieu’ Doltaire is gone
to the Bastile. Voyez, this Englishman is a damned heretic, and has the
wicked arts.”
“But see, Bamboir, do you think he can cast spells?”
“What mean those sounds from his room?”
“So, so. But if he be a friend of the devil, La Jongleuse would not come
for him, but--”
Startled and excited, they grasped each other’s arms. “But for us--for
us!”
“It would be a work of God to send him to the devil,” said Bamboir in a
loud whisper. “He has given us trouble enough. Who can tell what comes
next? Those damned noises in his room, eh--eh?”
Then they whispered together, and presently I caught a fragment, by
which I understood that, as we walked near the edge of the cliff, I
should be pushed over, and they would make it appear that I had drowned
myself.
They talked in low tones again, but soon got louder, and presently
I knew that they were speaking of La Jongleuse; and Bamboir--the fat
Bamboir, who the surgeon had said would some day die of apoplexy--was
rash enough to say that he had seen her. He described her accurately,
with the spirit of the born raconteur:
“Hair so black as the feather in the Governor’s hat, and green eyes
that flash fire, and a brown face with skin all scales. Oh, my saints of
Heaven, when she pass I hide my head, and I go cold like stone. She is
all covered with long reeds and lilies about her head and shoulders, and
blue-red sparks fly up at every step. Flames go round her, and she burns
not her robe--not at all. And as she go, I hear cries that make me sick,
for it is, I said, some poor man in torture, and I think, perhaps it is
Jacques Villon, perhaps Jean Rivas, perhaps Angele Damgoche. But no, it
is a young priest of St. Clair, for he is never seen again--never!”
In my mind I commended this fat Bamboir as an excellent story-teller,
and thanked him for his true picture of La Jongleuse, whom, to my
regret, I had never seen. I would not forget his stirring description,
as he should see. I gave point to the tale by squeezing an inflated toy
in my pocket, with my arm, while my hands remained folded in front of
me; and it was as good as a play to see the faces of these soldiers, as
they sprang to their feet, staring round in dismay. I myself seemed to
wake with a start, and, rising to my feet, I asked what meant the noise
and their amazement. We were in a spot where we could not easily be seen
from any distance, and no one was in sight, nor were we to be remarked
from the fort. They exchanged looks, as I started back towards the
chateau, walking very near the edge of the cliff. A spirit of bravado
came on me, and I said musingly to them as we walked:
“It would be easy to throw you both over the cliff, but I love you too
well. I have proved that by making toys for your children.”
It was as cordial to me to watch their faces. They both drew away from
the cliff, and grasped their firearms apprehensively.
“My God,” said Bamboir, “those toys shall be burned to-night. Alphonse
has the smallpox and Susanne the croup--damned devil!” he added
furiously, stepping forward to me with gun raised, “I’ll--”
I believe he would have shot me, but that I said quickly, “If you did
harm to me you’d come to the rope. The Governor would rather lose a hand
than my life.”
I pushed his musket down. “Why should you fret? I am leaving the
chateau to-morrow for another prison. You fools, d’ye think I’d harm the
children? I know as little of the devil or La Jongleuse as do you. We’ll
solve the witcheries of these sounds, you and I, to-night. If they come,
we’ll say the Lord’s Prayer, and make the sacred gesture, and if it goes
not, we will have one of your good priests to drive out this whining
spirit.”
This quieted them much, and I was glad of it, for they had looked
bloodthirsty enough, and though I had a weapon on me, there was little
use in seeking fighting or flight till the auspicious moment. They were
not satisfied, however, and they watched me diligently as we came on to
the chateau.
I could not bear that they should be frightened about their children, so
I said:
“Make for me a sacred oath, and I will swear by it that those toys will
do your children no harm.”
I drew out the little wooden cross that Mathilde had given me, and held
it up. They looked at me astonished. What should I, a heretic and a
Protestant, do with this sacred emblem? “This never leaves me,” said I;
“it was a pious gift.”