AND IS PUT BACK AGAIN
(1)
But on the dining-room wall it was Janet Elphinstone, a fair-haired
child of ten, in a long white dress girt with a blue sash, her arm
over the neck of a deerhound, who looked down at the guests assembled
round her father's table. Not one was of her own nationality, for Mr.
Elphinstone himself had withdrawn after supper, following his custom on
similar occasions, and was by now very tolerably engrossed, as usual,
with his memoirs. His national shrewdness made him perfectly aware
that some of his friends, and probably all of his domestics except
Baptiste, esteemed that in his unfailing hospitality to his son-in-law's
unfortunate compatriots he was allowing himself to be victimised by
a pack of starveling adventurers, as he had once heard them called;
but he considered that his conduct in this regard was no one's affair
but his own, and for several of the Marquis's friends he had a great
respect--they bore misfortune so gallantly. So he scratched away
contentedly in the library, while in the dining-room René talked to
his companions.
For though it was not primarily the personal attraction of the Marquis
de Flavigny which bound together this evening's visitors, but rather
devotion to a common cause, they were all his friends, from the old
Abbé with the kindly, humorous mouth and the snuffy rabat to the tall,
lean man with a scar on his cheek who, at the end of the table, was
lazily drawing devices on a map spread before him on the mahogany,
among the empty glasses. They were talking of the intrigues and
counter-intrigues which ate like a canker into the heart of the
Royalist cause, dividing that never very stable house against itself,
setting the party of the Comte de Provence against that of his younger
brother, the Comte d'Artois, and filling the clear-minded or the
generous with mingled sorrow and disgust.
"I declare," said the gentleman with the scar at the end of the
table, without lifting his eyes from his occupation, "that the behaviour
of the Abbé Brottier, when I think of it, renders me the prey of
indigestion. So I try not to think of it."
"Perhaps you remember, my son," interposed the old priest, "what
Cardinal Maury is reported to have said of him--that he would bring
disunion into the very host of heaven. And we émigrés, alas, are not
angels."
"M. de la Vireville's disgust is natural," observed a middle-aged,
thin-featured man on the other side of the Abbé. "I have no doubt he
finds the atmosphere of London stifling, and is longing to be back in
the broom of Brittany with his Chouans."
"It is my desire, de Soucy," confessed he with the map, briefly.
"But even there one is not safe from the meddling of that intriguer
and the agence de Paris. However, this does seem a chance of moving,
for once, without it, for I understand you to say, René, that Mr.
Windham seriously suggests your going personally to Verona to see
the Regent?"
"He thinks it advisable," answered de Flavigny. "For my part, I would
much rather not put my finger between the trunk and the bark, but it
has been quite clear since last November that the agence de Paris is
trying to get Spanish help instead of accepting that of England, and
therefore someone not under the Abbé Brottier's influence ought to lay
before the Comte de Provence what the English Government is inclined
to do for us--and lay it before him directly, without the intervention
of the Duc de la Vauguyon, who, as you know, is also a partisan of
Madrid. Let me read to you, if I may, the notes of my conversation with
Mr. Windham this morning."
He began to read out what had passed between him and that cultured,
high-minded English gentleman, now Secretary for War, to whom the
French émigrés in general owed so much. But he had not proceeded very
far before the Chevalier de la Vireville, his bright, bold eyes fixed
attentively on him, gave an exclamation:
"Messieurs, a new recruit! Welcome, small conspirator! Come in--but
shut the door!"
And all the rest turned on the instant to look at the little figure,
clad only in a nightshirt, which was visible in the doorway, behind
René de Flavigny's back.
"Anne!" exclaimed the latter. "Whatever are you doing here--and in
that costume!"
A trifle daunted, the child hung back, clutching the door handle,
though he knew all the company, and one of them--he who had hailed
him--had his especial favour. Then he made a dash for his father.
"Papa," he burst out, clinging to him, "do not go to Noroway-over-the-foam!
You know what it says, how the feather-beds floated about in the
waves, and they lost their shoes, and the sea came in, and they were
all drowned fifty fathoms deep!"
"My child," said the young man gently, putting his arm round him,
"what on earth are you talking about? I think you must be walking
in your sleep. Nobody is going to Noroway, so nobody will be drowned.
And you must not interrupt these gentlemen. You see, we are busy.
You must go back to bed, my little one. La Vireville, have the
goodness to ring the bell, will you?"
The tall Chouan leader rose at once from his place, but, instead of
obeying, he snatched the cloth off a neighbouring table, and in a
moment had picked up the intruder and enveloped him in it. "Bed is
not recommended, I think, René, for this parishioner. We cannot,
however, have such a sans-culotte amongst us. That lack being remedied,
I fancy we shall sleep more comfortably here, don't you, Anne?" And
he was back in his place, the boy, wrapped in the red and black
tablecloth, on his knee, before even paternal authority could object.
"I am sure that is the best solution," said the old Abbé, smiling
at the child over his glasses. "Pray proceed, Marquis."
So René de Flavigny finished his notes, and looked round for opinions,
while his son whispered to the Chevalier de la Vireville, "Where
is Verona? Could it be fifty fathoms deep there?" And the Chouan
said softly, "No, foolish one, for it is nowhere near the sea, and
all this talk only means that Papa is going to Italy to see the Regent,
who is a stout, middle-aged gentleman, and not a king's daughter,
so you need not be frightened."
"I am of Mr. Windham's opinion," the Vicomte de Soucy was meanwhile
saying; "and I verily believe that he has our interests at heart,
probably more than Mr. Pitt, certainly more than Mr. Dundas. If the
British Government really means seriously to support an expedition to
France, the Regent should be sounded."
"How much does the Duc d'Harcourt know of the Government's dispositions?"
asked someone, referring to the Regent's accredited representative
in London.
De Flavigny shook his head. "I do not know."
"In any case you must disregard him--go behind him, in fact," observed
the Chevalier de la Vireville, settling Anne-Hilarion in his arms.
"I suppose so," said de Flavigny, with an expression of distaste,
for he did not like the task, as he had said.
"And Monseigneur le Comte d'Artois?" asked the Abbé.
"Of course the Government will acquaint him in good time. Almost
certainly His Royal Highness will wish to lead the expedition. But
since he is so near, at Bremen or thereabouts, there will be little
difficulty in personal communication with him later, if this project
of the Government comes to anything."
"As no doubt it will not," observed La Vireville sceptically.
"If ever it did, _Monsieur Augustin_," remarked M. de Soucy, with an
emphasis on the name, "it would concern you very much, I imagine. For
if, as seems natural, it took place in the West, you could join it
with your Chouans, while we, though we should bring our swords, could
bring nothing else."
La Vireville nodded.
"It goes without question," said a voice, "that any expeditionary
force should be landed in the West; the question is, Where?"
"A port would be needed, of course," said de Flavigny, "and the port
would be best as near M. de Charette as possible, if not actually in
Vendée."
"If the country south of the Loire is suggested," objected La Vireville,
"the expedition will not have any support to speak of from the Chouans.
I know the Breton; he will not willingly leave his province, even
his corner of it. It will be as much as we can do to induce those of
Northern Brittany to go to South Brittany, supposing, for instance, a
landing were effected in the Morbihan, as being near Vendée."
"It was the Morbihan that Mr. Windham had in his mind, I think,"
said the Marquis de Flavigny. "He had even thought of a place, but
he said that if it was finally decided upon, it would have, of course,
to be kept secret till the last moment."
"And what was the place?"
René de Flavigny lowered his voice. "Quiberon Bay."
"Not a name of good omen to a Frenchman," observed the Abbé, thinking
of Hawke's victory of nearly half a century ago.
"Where exactly is Quiberon Bay?" inquired M. de Soucy, who was of
Lorraine.
The Chevalier de la Vireville pushed the map of Brittany towards him,
putting his finger on a long, thin tongue of land at the bottom.
"Permit me to observe, Messieurs," he said, "that we are wandering
from the immediate question, which is, Verona or not Verona? I
cannot see that to approach the Regent can do harm, and so long
as I myself," he smiled, "am not required to undertake diplomatic
service, I am more than willing to push a friend into it. If it be
conceded that one of us should go, then I think that de Flavigny is
the person. He has rank, something of diplomatic training in the
past, and--though I say it to his face--an address likely to commend
itself to Monseigneur. Then, too, René, you were in his household
in old days, were you not?"
"I was one of his pages," assented the Marquis. "Well, gentlemen,
if you wish it, I will go to Verona, and, I suppose, the sooner the
better. Will you drink a glass of wine to my mission? Surely, Fortuné,
that child is a nuisance, and must be asleep by now?"
For Anne-Hilarion, huddled in the tablecloth, was lying as still as a
dormouse, and no longer sitting upright against his friend's breast,
trying to follow the conversation.
"I will take him to bed," announced the émigré, without giving an
opinion on the Comte de Flavigny's condition. "You permit, René?"
(2)
But as the Chouan was replacing him under the parrots and humming-birds,
Anne-Hilarion murmured sleepily, "I am glad that Papa is not going
to fetch the King's daughter; but if he is going to this place--Ver . . .
Verona, will you not come and see me, M. le Chevalier, while he is away?"
"But I am going away too, in a few days," replied his friend. "To
Jersey, and then to France."
"Then will you come and say good-bye to me?"
"Yes, I will do that," assented the émigré. "Now go to sleep. Good-night,
my little cabbage."
Then he too went quickly and quietly out of the room, for neither
had he any desire that the justly scandalised and incensed Elspeth
should fall upon him. But, alas, the dragon was standing outside
the door.
"Eh, sirs!" she ejaculated at sight of him. "'Tis easy tae see ye hae
nae childer o' yer ain! Tae tak' yon bairn oot o' his bed at sic a
time o' nicht!"
M. de la Vireville might have retorted that not only was he innocent
of this crime, but that he had, on the contrary, restored the
wanderer--though not instantly--to that refuge. Also, had he but
known, it was Elspeth, with her rendering of a too-suggestive tale,
who had been at the bottom of Anne's exploit, and was therefore,
partly at least, responsible for the consequences which were to
follow it. But, being French and not Scotch, he had never heard
of Sir Patrick Spens, and could not claim second-sight. He set up
a weak defence by observing that the Marquis knew of the occurrence.
"Indeed, it's a verra gude thing for the bairn that his father _is_
gaein' awa," retorted Elspeth instantly. "'Tis bad eno' wi' Glenauchtie
himsel'" (thus she preferred to speak of Mr. Elphinstone), "but when
there's twa puir misguidit bodies tae----"
La Vireville, who was already a step or two down the staircase,
stopped suddenly.
"How do you know that the Marquis is going away?"
"And hoo should we not ken it, sir?" demanded she, stiffening.
"'Tis common news amangst us in the hoose."
"Indeed? Then, as M. de Flavigny himself has only known it for the
last quarter of an hour or so, I should recommend you, Mrs. Saunders,
to quell this gift of prophecy in your fellow-servants. Above all,
see that it is confined to the house. Do you understand?"
And the Frenchman ran downstairs again, a little frown on his forehead,
leaving Elspeth petrified with indignation on the landing.
(3)
Down in the hall de Flavigny was speeding the last of his guests.
The Chouan went back into the deserted dining-room to wait for him.
Standing in front of Janet de Flavigny's picture he looked up at
her. He had never seen her in life, for his friendship with her husband
was only some two years old, and owed its rapid growth partly, no
doubt, to just the right amount of dissimilarity of character between
them. Of tougher fibre than his friend, and of a disposition less
openly sensitive, Fortuné de la Vireville, who had known more than
his share of knocking about the world, had something of an elder
brother's protective attitude towards him, though de Flavigny was
only three years younger than himself. It was this which was causing
him to wait for the Marquis now.
"Shut the door a moment, René, will you," he said, as his friend
came back. "How is it that the domestics seem to know so much about
your future movements? Mrs. Saunders has just considerably surprised
me by telling me that you are going away."
The Marquis looked at him and bit his lip. "I suppose," he said,
after a moment, "that I must have said something to Baptiste about
preparing my valise in case I went. But Baptiste, of course, is
above suspicion."
"Granted. But he repeated that order, not unnaturally perhaps, to
the other servants."
"There is no great harm in that," replied de Flavigny, with a smile.
"It is not a piece of information of much interest to anyone outside
the house, and is not therefore likely to be conveyed elsewhere."
"Ah, pardon me, mon ami," interposed the Chevalier de la Vireville
quickly, "you underrate your importance. There are people who would
find it quite interesting if they knew of it--our dear compatriots
of the Committee of Public Safety in Paris, for instance. And they
have spies in the most unlikely places."
"But not in this house," said René, throwing himself into a chair.
"Perhaps not," agreed his friend. "I should certainly not suspect
Elspeth or that Indian of M. votre beau-père of selling information.
As to the others, I do not know."
* * * * *
M. de Flavigny was perfectly right; there was no spy in Mr.
Elphinstone's house at the moment. He did not know that the
unsatisfactoriness of the destitute French lad, whom Mr. Elphinstone
(out of the kindness of his heart and on Baptiste's suggestion) had
seen fit to engage for some obscure minor office in the kitchen regions,
had that day reached such a culminating point as to lead to his summary
dismissal, and that he was at that very moment preparing to carry his
unsatisfactoriness and other useful possessions--including a torn-up
letter in de Flavigny's handwriting--to some destination unknown.