THE CHEVALIER DE LA VIREVILLE MEETS "MONSIEUR AUGUSTIN"
When the Chevalier de la Vireville, wet and draggled from his long
ride, flung himself off his horse at the gate, and knocked on
the door of the little house at Canterbury, that door was not very
speedily opened. Yet the occupants of Rose Cottage were not engaged
in anything visibly nefarious: Mme. de Chaulnes was merely copying
a paper, in her regular pointed writing, at the table in the little
hall, and, after exchanging a glance with her sister-in-law, she
quite unhurriedly sanded over what she had written and, putting it
away in a drawer, took up some embroidery. Mlle. Angèle, equally
unhurried, rose and opened.
So La Vireville saw, through the frame of the door, an idyllic picture
of a beautiful and serene old age bent over fine needlework. His
mouth tightened a little as he took off his dripping hat to Mlle.
de Chaulnes.
"Mesdames will permit that I enter?" he asked in his own tongue.
"If you have business with us, certainly, Monsieur," replied Mlle.
Angèle, standing back, and the very steadiness of her tone, its
absence of surprise, seemed to hint that she knew what he had come
about. He threw a look down the path at his horse, standing, too
spent to move, at the gate, and stepped in, uttering apologies for
his wet and muddy condition.
"Monsieur appears indeed to have ridden far, and in haste," remarked
Mme. de Chaulnes, responding to his salute with an inclination of
the head, but still continuing her embroidery. "Pray give yourself
the trouble to hang your cloak by the fire. Angèle, perhaps Monsieur
will partake of some refreshment?"
But Monsieur declined. "I am in haste, Mesdames. I think you can
guess why. I have come, on the part of his grandfather, to take away
the little boy whom you have with you--Anne-Hilarion de Flavigny."
Mme. de Chaulnes raised her still beautifully-marked eyebrows. "What
a singular hour to arrive, Monsieur! But you are forestalled. The
little boy went back with his nurse this afternoon--no, not by the
stage-coach, in a postchaise. They must be at Rochester by now; you
will have passed them on the road."
The émigré's face grew dark. "Madame, would not truth be better? I
am not a very credulous person. It will be quite easy for me to
procure a magistrate's warrant against you. I have the written
authority of the boy's grandfather."
Mme. de Chaulnes looked at him with a very finished composure. "I am
afraid that I do not quite follow you, Monsieur. I have already had
the honour to tell you that the child was sent back this afternoon.
. . . Ah, I see--you do not believe me! Well, it will no doubt be
quite easy to procure a warrant; we are only two women in a strange
country; but I think it would advantage you very little, since no
amount of search warrants--if that is what you are threatening--will
produce what is not there. Pray examine our poor house yourself,
if that will give you satisfaction; you are at perfect liberty to
do so. Angèle, light a candle and conduct Monsieur."
It was on the tip of La Vireville's tongue to refuse, for he was
convinced that the offer would never have been made if the boy were
still there. In that respect at least the truth had probably been
spoken. But the operation would give him time for thought. "Yes,
if you please, I will do so," he said, and while the younger lady
lighted a candle, stood silent, looking at the elder, as she calmly
threaded a needle. Of how many lives like his had not those fragile
old fingers lately held and twisted the thread!
Mlle. Angèle preceded him up the stairs.
"See," she said, throwing open a door, "here is my sister's bedroom;
pray do not hesitate to enter! There is a cupboard on that side;
he might be hidden there, might he not? Here is my own room; let
me light the candles for you. There is no cupboard in this room--one
of its disadvantages. And this is the room the child had; as you
see, it could hardly be emptier."
The exquisitely-ordered room certainly bore no sign of recent
occupation nor of hurried flight. The spotless bed, new clothed,
looked as if no one had ever slept therein; every chair was in
its place, and the dimity-hung dressing-table, whose glass had
reflected--how short a time ago?--Anne's childish countenance,
seemed primly to reproach the intruder for his suspicions. Yet
a chill despair invaded the Frenchman's heart. All had been indeed
well planned!
Mlle. Angèle stood regarding him with a curious smile on her round,
comfortable face as he walked mechanically to the bow-window in
which, with a little space round it, stood the dressing-table. And
La Vireville was there almost a score of seconds, looking down at
the polished boards at something half hidden by the folds of dimity,
before he realised at what he was staring--at a goldfish slowly
swimming round and round in a glass bowl.
He stooped and picked it up, and, without speaking, faced Mlle.
de Chaulnes, holding it out a little towards her. Then, still
silent, he went past her and downstairs, the glass dangling from
his hand, and water and fish swinging violently in their prison.
Mme. de Chaulnes was still bent over her needlework as he set his
discovery down in front of her.
"A sign of a somewhat hurried departure, Madame, I think," he said
quietly. "I conceive the child would hardly be likely to leave this
willingly behind, nor would there be any reason why he should--if
he were returning to his grandfather's house, as you allege."
"You should be in the secret service, Monsieur,' was all that Mme.
de Chaulnes vouchsafed, but she looked at the little captive and
compressed her lips.
"Thank you, Madame," retorted the émigré, seating himself at a
little distance. "I leave that trade henceforward to your sex. It
is only recently that one has become aware of your talents in that
direction--talents rather unusual in one of your birth."
The old lady was quite unruffled. "If it is your intention, Monsieur,
to remain here to insult us, of course you can do so with impunity.
We cannot eject you. Otherwise I would suggest your returning
to London, if you wish to see the little boy . . . or else continuing
your interrupted journey to Jersey, and relieving the impatience of
the Prince de Bouillon."
La Vireville, though he received this stroke with a steady bearing,
had nevertheless a somewhat numb sensation, for of course her
knowledge of his destination almost certainly meant that Anne
had been talking.
"Ah, you know me?" he asked carelessly.
"You could not expect our little visitor to be tongue-tied, especially
on a subject so interesting to him as M. le Chevalier de la Vireville."
Probably the worst was coming now. But, at all events, it was
something that she should let him see how much she knew.
"Yes," went on Mme. de Chaulnes, "he gave us a very agreeable and
lifelike picture of his doings in Cavendish Square, and of his many
French friends, so that it was not hard to recognise you, Monsieur
. . . _Augustin_!"
The name was merely breathed. La Vireville was only just able to
check an exclamation. Anne had indeed, poor innocent, betrayed him!
But how did he know his nom de guerre? Then he remembered that
it had been used in the child's presence when he sat on his lap
that night in Mr. Elphinstone's dining-room. . . . Well, it was
his own doing, for it was he who had retained him there. Perhaps
it did not very much matter after all; it was quite conceivable
that these old plotters, with the sources of information which
had in the past been only too open to them, had found out his
identity by other means. But, remembering that meeting, a very
disquieting fear suddenly came over him. How much of another matter
had Anne heard and understood?
Mme. de Chaulnes looked at his face and openly laughed.
"You are wondering. M. le Chevalier . . . M. Augustin--which do
you prefer?--how much the child remembered of the conversation
you held about the proposed Government expedition? But, you see,
we know all about that--from other sources. Only the place--the
suggested place of landing. . . . Unfortunately, Anne was not
able at first to recall the name."
"Why do you say 'at first'?" broke in La Vireville.
"Because it is the truth. By now he may have remembered."
"Where is he?" demanded the Chouan, who was holding himself in
with difficulty.
Mme. de Chaulnes shrugged her shoulders. "I have told you. Somewhere
between here and Rochester."
"Madame, you are lying!" said La Vireville. "Between here and
Paris would be nearer the mark. You have sent him over to France
because you think he knows a thing which, if he did know it, is
not of the slightest importance."
"Your assurance on that point, Monsieur, is naturally most valuable!
What he told us about yourself, for instance, was of so little
moment, was it not?"
"Of very little," returned La Vireville hardily. "You probably
knew it already. . . . Come, Madame, let us play with our cards
on the table. I know yours, even if you do not display them, and
you, I fancy, know mine now. Do not think to keep up any longer
this farce of having sent the child home. You have shipped him
over to France. God knows of what use the revelations of a child
of five or six can be to the Committee of Public Safety, even if
he do reveal anything to them, and that I am certain he would
never do unless he were tricked into it, as you tricked him."
"Ah, Monsieur," said the old lady, smiling, "you speak as a man,
and a strong man. It is not so difficult to make a small boy
speak--or remember!"
A thrill of fear and abhorrence ran down La Vireville's spine,
and he drew back from the table on which he was leaning.
"No, no!" said Mme. de Chaulnes, putting up a delicate mittened
hand. "No, nothing of that sort was necessary. Angèle here can
testify to that. We were old friends of his father's, devoted
Royalists--what need for more? But if he were obstinate, I could
not answer . . ."
The mask was off now. They _had_ sent him to France, then.
"Madame, where is he?" asked La Vireville sternly. "It is I who
can put force in motion here, remember!"
"You threaten us with those same repugnant methods, then, Monsieur?"
"God forbid! I merely want to come to terms. If the child has
already reached France----"
"Then neither you, Monsieur, whatever power you may command here,
nor his grandfather, nor all the magistrates' warrants in England
will get him out again--no, not the whole British Army!"
La Vireville made no reply to this unpleasant truth. "What I cannot
understand," he said, "is your motive for sending him there--unless
it be sheer cruelty. You cannot seriously regard him as a source
of information; moreover, you have, apparently, already pumped
him dry."
Mme. de Chaulnes smiled a little. "He is an intelligent child,
and an attractive. His father no doubt adores him--motherless
only son as he is."
And on that, in a flash, La Vireville saw the whole thing. They
were going to use Anne as a bait. They hoped his father, that
adversary of parts, would follow him into the jaws of destruction.
"As you are no doubt aware," he said slowly, "the Marquis de
Flavigny is little likely to hear of his son's kidnapping for
some time to come. Your acquaintance, however procured, with the
family affairs will tell you that he is not in England at present."
"Measures will be taken to inform him during the course of his
travels on the Continent," replied Mme. de Chaulnes with calm.
"If the information does not reach him, well----"
She left the sentence unfinished, her needle pursuing its unfaltering
course. La Vireville watched it, his brain busy with all sorts
of desperate schemes.
"I have almost the feelings of a father for Anne myself," he
remarked at length.
"That is most creditable to you, Monsieur."
"Would it not be possible for _me_ to play the part designed for
the Marquis de Flavigny, or is he irreplaceable?"
Mme. de Chaulnes put down her needle and looked her compatriot in
the face. In those old clear eyes, wells of falsehood, he could
read nothing save an implacable will.
"You would do . . . better," she said.
"Faith, I am flattered!" cried La Vireville gaily, though, to tell
the truth, he felt a little cold. "Will you instruct me how to
play the part?"
"It is simple. Fired with this quasi-paternal anxiety, you go to
France after the child and attempt to recover him."
The Chevalier de la Vireville laughed. "A fine 'attempt'! Do you
think, Madame, that I am fool enough to venture my head for no
better a chance than that? After all, I am _not_ his father."
"No," said Mme. de Chaulnes cooly, "naturally you could never
recover him that way. But, of course, there is another method."
"You mean . . . exchange?"
"Precisely."
There was a pregnant silence. The goldfish suddenly ceased swimming,
and gaped at the Frenchman through its prison walls.
"But you are not his father, one sees," resumed the old lady, and
took up her embroidery again. "So why consider it? He will forget
England and his surroundings--in time. I do not suppose he will
be unkindly used; someone will probably adopt him and bring him
up to a useful trade."
"Some foster-father like Simon, no doubt," commented the émigré
bitterly. In his mind was the little prisoner of the Temple, so
soon, had La Vireville known it, to be free of his captivity for
ever. The thought of that martyred innocence pierced him as nothing
else could have done, and he went straight to the point. "How could
I possible have any guarantee that, if I gave myself up, the bargain
would be respected, and the boy sent back unharmed?"
For the second time the old lady looked at him long and steadily.
Then she opened a drawer in the table and took out a paper which
she laid before him.
"That has been arranged for," said she. "Here is the child's passport
out of France all ready. You have only to convey it to him."
"Parbleu!" exclaimed the émigré, "this has all been very prettily
planned! I can scarcely flatter myself that it was entirely for
my benefit, since it was by mere chance that I came upon this
errand."
Again Mme. de Chaulnes smiled that wintry smile. "Do not seek to
probe too deeply, Monsieur. Yet, since you spoke of playing with
the cards on the table, the Convention would, perhaps, rather see
your band of Chouans leaderless, Monsieur Augustin, than possess
themselves of the person of M. de Flavigny, who, after all, has
no such forces at his disposal. 'Tout étant fait pour une fin, tout
est nécessairement pour la meilleure fin.' You know your _Candide_,
no doubt. . . . But to return to business. Does this safe-conduct
convince you?"
"Only tolerably," answered La Vireville, as he examined it. "It
would convey to me much more conviction if there were ever any
chance of its reaching the child. You know as well as I, Madame,
that I should be apprehended as an émigré the moment I set foot
at Calais or Boulogne. No doubt that would suit the Convention
just as well--better, in fact--but you can scarce expect it to
make much appeal to me. I shall never have a second head; I do not
propose to make those gentlemen a present of it for nothing. I
also must have some kind of a safe-conduct, to protect me till
my business is done."
"Really, Monsieur Augustin, you are very exacting," observed Mme.
de Chaulnes. "Yet there is sense in what you say."
"I dare say that you, in your providence, have already such a
safe-conduct made out for me?" hazarded he.
"Not altogether fully," said his adversary, and again she put her
hand into the drawer. "It is blank, for we did not know who might
be fired by the idea of rescue--though, to tell the truth, from
what the boy said of your relations with him, we began to hope
that we might have the pleasure of seeing you. . . . Shall we
fill it in?"
La Vireville looked at her steadily as she faced him, the embroidery
still in one frail, blue-veined hand, mockery round her mouth. It
was sheer insanity. He had no right to do it, for he knew his life
to be a hundred times more valuable than a child's happiness. He
could be very ill-spared in Northern Brittany, in Jersey. . . . And
though his real intention was not merely to cross the Channel and
deliver himself up as a hostage, but by hook or by crook to get
Anne out of France and himself into the bargain, the chances were
quite fifty to one against his succeeding, and he knew it. It was
just the knowledge that he was acting against all the canons of
common sense and perhaps even of duty that decided La Vireville--that,
and an intolerable picture of a little boy who had never known an
unkind word being "brought up to some useful trade."
He nodded. "Yes, if you please."
"Angèle, ma chérie," said Mme. de Chaulnes, putting down the
embroidery, "you can pen M. le Chevalier's description better than
I. Have the goodness, Monsieur, to tell my sister your height and
your age; the rest she can see for herself."
Mlle Angèle got pen and ink, while La Vireville, not unamused, gave
her the required information. Then, looking up at him from time to
time as he sat there, she wrote much more, and he knew that such
a description of his personal appearance, drawn from the life,
must almost inevitably, in the end, be his ruin, for in sitting
for his own portrait he was also sitting for that of 'Monsieur
Augustin.' And he wondered whether the picture now taking shape
under her pen were flattering or the reverse. Some of the Government
'signalements' which he had seen posted up in Brittany were remarkable
for their fidelity to detail. . . . At any rate, he was not forced
to reveal to this artist, now accumulating unimpeachable material,
what other scars he carried besides that, only too obvious, on
his cheek.
"It will be best, Angèle," said Mme. de Chaulnes as the writer
finished, "to put, not Monsieur's name, which for this purpose he
might find inconvenient, but 'the person recommended by' and then
the cypher signature. It will be best also to fill in the route to
be taken, lest a fancy should seize Monsieur Augustin to go by
way of Brittany, for example."
The émigré was about to protest, when it occurred to him that she
might conceivably indicate the same route as that taken by Anne
and his escort, which it would be a great convenience to know,
since his mind was entirely set on overtaking them before they
got to Paris. It need hardly be said that he had no intention of
putting foot in that city if he could possibly avoid it.
Mlle. de Chaulnes passed the document to her sister-in-law, who
read it through carefully.
"Excellent," she said. "I fear, M. Augustin, that you will not
henceforward derive much immunity from the inaccuracy of the
Convention's previous description of your person. You have taken
a copy, Angèle?"
"Yes," said the younger lady.
Mme. de Chaulnes folded the passport, and gave it, together with
Anne-Hilarion's safe-conduct back to England, to the prospective
rescuer. "Voilà, Monsieur!" she said. "Take that to the Committee
of Public Safety and you will find that it will do what you wish
for the child. You need have no fear that it will not, for the
Committee is something in our debt. But I take leave to doubt if
your intentions are quite as heroic as they appear."
"I lay claim to no heroism of any kind," said La Vireville shortly,
and, putting the papers in his breast, he took up his wet cloak.
Mme. de Chaulnes meanwhile had, for the first time, got to her
feet, and stood leaning upon her stick. "Of course, M. le Chevalier,
you do not think we are so blind as not to know what you mean to
do. But, believe me, you will never be able to do it. For one
thing, you will not be able to overtake them before Paris. They
have twenty-four hours' start of you."
"Madame," retorted Fortuné de la Vireville, his hand on the latch
of the door, "some have thought that children are peculiarly the
objects of angelic protection. We shall see about that twenty-four
hours' start!"
As he shut the door he was aware of a little laugh, and the words,
in a voice of mock surprise, "Monsieur est donc dévot?"
* * * * *
Dévot indeed La Vireville was not, and no real confidence in
celestial intervention, but wrath and dismay filled his heart as
he rode off in the rain and the darkness. But it was not in him
to show other than a bold front to an enemy, whatever his secret
apprehensions. It was not very likely that he would be able to get
the boy out of the hands of his captors without, himself, paying
the ultimate penalty. Still, there was a chance, and he meant to
stake everything upon it. Only, as he hastened to the _Rose and
Crown_ to change his horse, it occurred to him most unpleasantly
that perhaps he was being utterly duped; that Anne-Hilarion had,
perhaps, never been taken to France after all, and that he was
going to put his head into the lion's mouth for nothing. And he
cursed the maddening uncertainty of the whole affair, where the
only fact that stood out with real clearness was the jeopardy
in which he was about to place his own neck.
In the midst of the business of hiring another horse, he suddenly
remembered Elspeth, and wondered that he had not thought of her
before. She must know something. But where was she? Had they shipped
her off too? It seemed unlikely--yet equally unlikely was it that
they had either left her free to hurry back to London with her
tale, or had made away with her. They had probably arranged for
a temporary disappearance. If he looked for her he would waste
the time on which so much depended, and even if he found her she
would not, probably, be able to tell him a great deal. And so La
Vireville, whose life of late years had taught him the faculty of
quick decision, resolved not to pursue that trail.
He wrote at the inn a letter to Mr. Elphinstone, explaining what
he was about to do, made arrangements for it to be taken by special
messenger to London, and, in a quarter of an hour or so, on a fresh
horse, was galloping through the rainy night along the Dover road.
BOOK TWO
THE ROAD TO ENGLAND
"O they rade on, and farther on,
And they waded rivers abune the knee;
And they saw neither sun nor moon,
But they heard the roaring of the sea."
_THOMAS THE RHYMER._