THE AGENT DE LA CORRESPONDANCE
(1)
It was not until the _Seaflower's_ boat was actually pulling off
from the shore, and his feet were sunk in the wet sand of Porhoët
Bay, that Fortuné de la Vireville realised how much more serious
than he had imagined might prove the results of the ridiculous
accident which had befallen him a few hours previously at St.
Helier. Embarking, according to arrangement with the Prince de
Bouillon, on the lugger _Seaflower_ with a view to being landed,
not at Kerdronan as usual, but at Porhoët, where Grain d'Orge was
to meet him, he had had the misfortune to receive upon his left
foot the full weight of a refractory water-cask of considerable
size, which, escaping from the hands of a clumsy sailor, had rolled
vehemently down a gang-plank upon him before he could get out of
its way. It is true that when he had finished swearing he had found
the episode rather ludicrous, and had laughed at himself for his
ill-luck, and that on board the lugger, slipping along with an easy
evening breeze from Jersey, the damaged foot, though it had
sufficiently pained, had not greatly incommoded him. But here, at
midnight, alone on the hostile coast of France, he knew for the
first time that he was indeed disabled, and that he could not fully
rely on that vigorous body of his which for thirty odd years had
seldom failed to respond to the often exorbitant demands that he
made upon it. It was not at all a pleasant thought, and, standing
there at the water's edge, La Vireville uttered a final and more
fervent malediction upon the water-cask.
The boat which had landed him, with its muffled oars, was already
out of hearing, though it was still visible, a lessening dark
lump upon the quiet sea. Even the lugger, farther out, could almost
be discerned by one who knew where to look for her, though the moon
which, a week ago, had lighted the way to Jersey for Anne-Hilarion,
was obscured this evening. La Vireville glanced about the beach.
As far as could be ascertained in the dusk, it was quite deserted;
there was no sound but the lap of the incoming tide, and no sign
whatever of Grain d'Orge, who should of course have been there to
meet him. And, since the émigré had no acquaintance with these few
miles of coast, without a guide he was helpless; an attempt to
penetrate inland would probably end in his running into an enemy
patrol--in spite of the truce, the last thing he wished to do--and
even in Porhoët village he had no idea which house he was to make
for. Moreover, he was lame--a great deal more lame than he had had
any idea of, or he would hardly have landed. . . . And, cursing
Grain d'Orge, he began to limp away from the water's edge. In any
case, it would be more prudent to approach the low cliffs, where
it was darker, than to stand where he was; and under the cliffs,
if nothing better offered, he must wait for his dilatory guide.
M. de la Vireville went painfully over the tract of large, rolling
pebbles between him and the cliffs, the sweat breaking out on his
forehead; but, not having 'chouanné' for nothing, he set his teeth
and persevered, throwing his weight as much as possible on his
sound foot and on the stick with which the captain of the _Seaflower_
had furnished him. "Devilish odd I must look from the cliff," he
reflected, "if there's a patrol up there." But, apparently, there was
no patrol, and having pursued his way unmolested up the purgatorial
bank he sat down, with a sigh of relief, his back against the cliff,
and waited, either for discovery or guidance.
"There is at least one thing to be thankful for," he reflected,
"and that is, that I have not the child with me now." But all the
same it seemed strange not to have him, and to know no anxiety
but for his own personal safety--a burden he was so accustomed
to carrying that he scarcely felt its weight.
* * * * *
La Vireville had been there, propped against the cliff, for perhaps
half an hour, before he heard the owl's cry. He answered it faintly
and cautiously, perceiving, to his astonishment, that it came from
seaward, and in a little beheld the dim figure of a man detach
itself from an overturned boat on the shingle. As it came towards
him it looked, by some trick of the faint light, as unreal as the
little bay itself, though it wore the usual peasant's costume,
appropriate enough to the scene, and had over its shoulder a large
net. When this individual was within distance, La Vireville told
him softly what he thought of him, for the apparition was Grain
d'Orge.
"I was under the boat watching the cliff," said the Chouan, undisturbed
by his leader's abuse. "If I had taken Monsieur Augustin up the
cliffs when he landed we might both have been shot--in spite of
the truce. They shot three men yesterday. But now we can go on
to the village."
"I wanted to get farther than that to-night," said La Vireville,
"though the devil knows how I am to manage it now. Is it impossible
to push on to Carhoët at present?"
"There are hussars quartered at Carhoët to-night," answered his
guide. "They leave to-morrow, probably."
La Vireville began to struggle to his feet. "I see. That is sufficient
reason against attempting it. There is another reason, too, why I
should not get so far. You may have to carry me as it is, mon vieux.
I am as lame as a duck. If we should chance to meet a patrol, you
must run for it, and leave me to take my chance. Do you hear?"
The Breton turned a stolid face on him. "Yes, I hear. But I am not
good at running. Is Monsieur Augustin ready?"
"As ready as he is ever like to be. Where are you taking me?"
"To a fisherman's cottage just outside Porhoët. There is no one
there but a woman--Madame Rozel."
"The fisherman's wife?"
"His widow, some say," responded Grain d'Orge. And he then added
the somewhat surprising information: "It is she who has acted as
the agent of the late Monsieur Alexis here."
"Really!" said La Vireville--not that he was particularly surprised
at the choice of a woman for such a post. He put his hand on his
follower's shoulder, and, with Grain d'Orge's arm round him, moved
off towards the cliff path.
(2)
Not a gleam of light came from the solitarily-standing little
cottage when at last they reached it, but after Grain d'Orge had
knocked softly its door opened as though by magic. A whisper, and
the Chouan turned to his disabled leader and helped him into the
blackness within, past a figure of which only the glimmering coif
could be guessed. The door was shut, and then, standing rather dazed
in the dark, La Vireville heard the scrape of flint and steel. In
another moment the occupant of the cottage had lit the lamp that
stood ready on the table, and had turned towards the two men.
The light, seeming by its suddenness more potent than it really
was, showed to the émigré a woman of about thirty, of a face and
figure extraordinarily unlike what he expected, just then, to see.
"Welcome, Monsieur," she said in a low voice, and the purity of
the accent, coming from under the wide peasant's cap, made La
Vireville jump. He stammered out something, staring at her, and
then he found that she was asking him if he would not eat.
He sat down, puzzled, to the bread and meat and wine ready on the
table, and the Breton, after a moment's hesitation, did the same.
As a matter of fact, La Vireville was passably hungry, and not
a little exhausted by his painful walk. But he could scarcely
eat for watching the slim hands that cut the bread and poured his
wine. They were brown enough, but the shape and the well-tended
nails betrayed them. At last he began to feel annoyed with Grain
d'Orge for keeping him in the dark as to the identity of his hostess,
since to believe for a moment that she was a fisherman's wife was
impossible. If not a lady of great quality she was no woman of the
people. And, seizing an opportunity when she was gone from the
room, he addressed his guide.
"What the devil do you mean by foisting me upon a gentlewoman in
this fashion? Who is she?"
Grain d'Orge went on stolidly eating.
"As I told Monsieur Augustin, she is the agent for the Jersey
correspondence of the late M. Alexis. She passes here as Mme.
Rozel, a fisherman's----"
"Fisherman's fiddlestick!" interrupted his leader impatiently.
"Do you think I am as blind as the people of Porhoët?"
"But I do not know her other name, if she have another," said
the Breton. "I do not even know that of the late M. Alexis, but
doubtless Monsieur Augustin knows it."
La Vireville did know it, or thought he did. Under that cognomen,
he believed, had been concealed the identity of a gentleman from
the St. Pol de Léon country, a M. de Kérouan or something of the
sort. This, however, did not help him much, and when Mme. Rozel
came back he found himself observing her for the next few minutes
with an increasing interest. Her face was rather pale, with an
intense clear pallor that was accentuated rather than reduced by
the lamplight, and she had wide, beautiful brows. The mouth was sad
and resolute; her whole expression was sad, but it was resolute
too, and when suddenly she lifted her eyes and looked her guest
full in the face he received, for the second time since his entrance,
an unmistakable shock. They were, unquestionably, the most expressive
eyes he had ever seen in a woman. The Chevalier de la Vireville
divined in his hostess depths which it had been interesting to
explore had not both leisure and inclination been lacking to him.
Mme. Rozel, however, veiled those eyes again and said very little,
and after a time Grain d'Orge rose, wiped his mouth with the back
of his hand, crossed himself, muttered a prayer, and announced that
he was going out to watch the roads and would not be back till
morning. But La Vireville still sat on at the table, the lamplight
beating full on his own lean, strongly-marked features, with their
look of humour and daring, on the cleft in his determined chin,
and on his dark hair, clubbed and ribboned indeed, but somewhat
disordered from the sea-wind. Yet it was curiosity, not hunger,
which kept him there, his half-emptied glass between his fingers,
engaging his hostess in talk almost perceptibly against her will.
Her replies were very brief, and at first he himself made wary
conversational moves; for though he really placed almost absolute
reliance on Grain d'Orge's knowledge and discretion in a matter of
this kind, yet there existed always in this business, a need for
caution, and there was just the hundredth part of a chance that she
was not, after all, what that astute old Chouan asserted her to
be--the agent de la correspondance. But Mme. Rozel's prudence, if
anything, exceeded his own; indeed, after a little fencing on both
sides it began to seem to La Vireville that she was--necessary
circumspection apart--a trifle hostile to him. Possibly she, on her
side, felt that he might not be what Grain d'Orge, when he made
arrangements for her to receive him, had given him out to be. And
yet, from the trend of their guarded converse, it seemed rather
that she tacitly resented his coming to take the dead leader's
place--for so much she allowed him to gather that she knew of
his purpose. But why should she resent it?
He suddenly fired a direct question at her.
"Have you any reason to believe, Madame, that the death of the
late M. Alexis was due to anything other than the fortunes of war?
I have heard a rumour of treachery. It is true, at any rate, is
it not, that he was surprised?"
He saw the swift colour rush over her face, and flee in an instant,
leaving her ivory pallor still more pale. Instead of answering
him she got up, and took the remains of the loaf to put away in
the press against the wall--a pretext, the questioner was sure,
to withdraw her face from his further observation.
"Yes, he was surprised," she said in a low voice, her back to him.
"He was sitting at table in the farm. It was all over very suddenly.
He was . . . he was shot through the head. He did not suffer. . . .
O my God," she burst out suddenly, "if only I _knew_ whether it
was treachery or no--and if so, whose!"
Yes, there were indeed hidden fires there! The vehemence, the
breaking passion in her voice, had somehow jerked La Vireville, lame
as he was, to his feet. The question flashed through him. What then
had been Mme. Rozel's relations with the slain 'Alexis' that she felt
his loss thus acutely? Purely those of political partisanship? Or
had she, perchance, been his mistress? The thing was not unknown
among the Royalist leaders in the West of France, though it was
rare. There was Charles du Boishardy himself as an example--to be,
in fact, in a few weeks a fatal example--of laxity in that respect,
and, to cite a greater name, Charette's reputation was by no means
conformable to that of the unblemished first leaders of the grande
guerre, the Vendée, whose work he carried on.
With that cry, wrung so evidently from a torn heart, M. Alexis'
agent had swung round from the press, and was looking full at
the man who faced her across the table by which he was supporting
himself.
"Que diable!" thought the émigré, "I verily believe she thinks _I_
had something to do with that ball in the head!"
Whether his surmise was painted on his countenance, or for whatever
reason, Mme. Rozel next instant recovered herself, and removed
those accusing eyes--if they were accusing.
"Pardon me, Monsieur," she said hurriedly, "and pray be seated
again. I was so . . . so intimately associated with the plans and
hopes of Monsieur Alexis that I have felt his death, I confess,
very deeply."
"That is easy to understand, Madame," replied her guest, dropping
back, at her bidding, in his chair. "You will perhaps permit me
to offer my most sincere condolences on what is, besides, a very
great loss to our cause. I hope, however, that since I am here by
M. du Boishardy's express wish, and not by any desire of my own,
that I may count on your co-operation?"
She too had sat down again, after that brief outburst, and seemed
to have got rid, perhaps by its means, of some of her latent
hostility. "As long as I can, Monsieur, certainly," she said,
sighing, her cheek on her hand. "But my work here is done, and I
leave in a day or two for the Channel Islands."
And at that piece of information La Vireville no longer felt any
doubts as to the nature of the bond which had united her to the
departed leader. He had another thought, too, about the fundamental
drawback of employing a woman in a position such as hers--a point
on which he kept on other counts an open mind, even recognising
certain advantages in it. "A man," he said to himself now, "would
not resign a post like this just because his superior officer was
killed. A change of leadership is just the time when she could
have proved herself of most use."
"I regret to hear that, Madame," he said aloud, drily.
"It was my--Monsieur Alexis' express wish if anything happened
to him," said she, as if aware of the unspoken criticism, as if
careless, too, what implications of intimacy were contained in
that avowal.