EQUALLY SURPRISING CONDUCT OF "MONSIEUR AUGUSTIN"
(1)
Five seconds, no more, did Fortuné de la Vireville allow himself
wherein to reflect that he found himself, as the door was shut and
the bolt slid into place, in one of the most unpleasant situations of
his life; ten to formulate a plan--a very precarious and weak-kneed
plan--of escape therefrom, and about a minute and a half to scramble
into the rest of his clothes. He could have done this quicker but
for his foot, which hampered him at every turn. Then, kneeling on
the bed, he pushed the little casement wide, tore off the sheets,
knotted them together, twisted them round into the semblance of a
rope, made one end fast to the head of the bed, and threw the slack
out of the window. But he did not climb down it. Nor did he attempt
to break open the door, which he could probably have done with ease.
To escape in either of those ways before the house was surrounded
would necessitate running, and, unfortunately he could not run. But
he trusted that the sheet hanging out of the window would convince
the National Guard that he _had_ run. . . . He thrust his pistols
into his belt, picked up his hunting-knife--a smile flitted across
his face as he touched it--and limped across the room to his chosen
refuge.
If it was a refuge! For his life depended at that moment on what
Mme. de Guéfontaine, the 'fisherman's widow,' had a habit of storing
in the large press built into the side of the little room. If it
were linen, or anything that required the presence of shelves,
then--"Good-night, my friend!" said La Vireville to himself.
"But no!--one enters!" he finished, when the door stood wide. There
was nothing at all in the cupboard but a row of pegs, from one of
which depended, oddly enough, a tricolour sash. So he went in.
The place had a strange, stuffy smell. Light, but not much air,
came under the flimsy double doors, and between them. "And if I
am to stay here long," thought La Vireville, "a chair would be very
acceptable;" for it was tiring to stand, as he was doing, practically
on one leg. If he sat upon the floor he could not make much of a
fight of it, supposing the necessity arose. He was beginning
seriously to contemplate emerging to fetch the chair when he heard
numerous and hurried steps on the steep stairway outside. "This
cannot, surely, be the National Guard already," thought their quarry.
"The vindictive lady has not had the time to summon them!" For he
remembered noticing last night that Mme. Rozel's cottage stood at
a little distance from Porhoët itself.
Nevertheless the visitors' method of procedure pointed to a raid.
Some form of battering ram, presumably the butt of a musket, was
hastily applied to the door of the room. A very little hammering,
and the portal fell inwards with a crash. As it was fastened on
the outside only, the refugee was tickled at this evidence of local
zeal. "If these individuals look into this cupboard I fear they
will be very ungentle with me," he reflected, a pistol in either
hand. "Let me see to it, in that case, that their numbers are
somewhat reduced."
But he had no need of his weapons; his ruse had been enough for
these simple and enthusiastic souls. La Vireville heard a wild
rush to the window and the (as he had hoped) convincing sheet;
thereafter cries, stampings, curses, and voices proclaiming that
the Chouan had escaped by the window, and that the woman Rozel,
in league with him, had warned him.
"Hardly the way that I should have put it!" thought the fugitive.
And from that indictment of complicity to avenging action was but
a step. "Arrest her! arrest her!" shouted several voices. And with
a fresh rush down the stairs, with noise and loud talking from below,
and what La Vireville half took to be a stifled scream, this was
evidently accomplished. Five minutes had seen the development of
the whole drama.
(2)
With the loud banging of the cottage door a great and signal silence
fell upon the dwelling of the 'fisherman's widow,' even upon the
cupboard upstairs and its occupant. For La Vireville was filled
in the first place with an access of prudence which urged him to
make no sound until he was tolerably sure that the house was really
empty; in the second with a certain ironical satisfaction. Into
a memory not over well stored with such literature had come the
words of the Psalmist concerning such as dug a pit and fell into
the midst of it themselves, and he stayed to savour them. Poor Mme.
de Guéfontaine! she had paid dearly for her vengeful instincts.
Moreover, in spite of the poetical justice which had overtaken
her, she might have that revenge even yet. La Vireville was helpless,
even in the empty house. Grain d'Orge would certainly not come till
dusk, always supposing that he were free to come at all. Before
his advent, too, the village authorities might return to search
the house; it seemed strange, indeed, that they had not already
done so.
But, however precarious one's position, it is impossible to live
without food. La Vireville hobbled downstairs and found a loaf of
bread and some sour milk, with which he clambered back to his little
room. Eating the bread thoughtfully, as he sat on his devastated
bed, he considered the case of Mme. de Guéfontaine. So 'Alexis' had
been the unfortunate du Coudrais, the victim of an odious charge
made against him (whether in good faith or for some ulterior object
Fortuné had never felt quite sure) by a near kinsman of La Vireville's
own, the Marquis of that name! La Vireville himself had only arrived
at Coblentz a few days after the duel which ensued upon the Marquis's
denunciation of du Coudrais at the Three Crowns, to which Mme. de
Guéfontaine had made hot reference; but émigré circles were still
ringing with the scandal, and the Marquis de la Vireville, his own
arm in a sling, was better able to explain to his cousin how he
had run du Coudrais through the lungs than to satisfy him--or
anybody else--of the ill-starred gentleman's dishonour. But du
Coudrais, when he recovered from his wound, had to leave Coblentz
nevertheless . . . and, having left it, was abundantly cleared,
too late, of the charge against him by the dramatic unmasking of
another man as a professional sharper. And for this affair, in
which ironically enough, La Vireville had by no means supported
his cousin, of whose past record he knew too much, he had been
himself within an ace of paying the penalty--might, indeed, yet
pay it.
It was quite clear to him why Mme. de Guéfontaine had taken him
for her late brother's aggressor. He had confessed to his name,
he had mentioned having been at Coblentz at the time, and he bore
a close family resemblance to his kinsman--close enough, at least,
to deceive anyone who relied merely on a verbal description; for
it was tolerably certain that Mme. de Guéfontaine had never seen
the Marquis de la Vireville. Evidently she had been devotedly
attached to her brother; had shared in his schemes, worked and
plotted for him here at Porhoët, in a position of no small danger,
and then, fresh from the shock of that brother's violent death,
was called upon--so she thought--to shelter and to help to install
in his place the man who had been his worst enemy! She was a woman
of strong feelings; she had found the situation, as she had declared
to him, intolerable, and in a moment of wild impulse she had
resolved to put a term to it and to avenge her brother in one and
the same act. And, reviewing the episode dispassionately, La
Vireville found he could not blame her overmuch . . . especially
as she had failed. True, there was always something of a nauseous
flavour about delation, but the matter of the cold steel had a
primitive and heroic touch--Jael and Sisera. "And if," he said to
himself, "if I had given her a minute longer she need not have
been put to the shift of betraying me to the authorities!" . . .
Yet, after all, he doubted whether she would have had the nerve
to use the knife. And, whatever her intentions with regard to the
National Guard, it was by no means certain that she had carried
them out. He did not see how she could have done so in the time.
And because he found himself oddly reluctant to associate her with
the idea of just that form of treachery, he settled that she had
_not_ had time. . . . But she was, no doubt of it, a remarkable woman!
And so, commending her spirit, as though he had not nearly been
its victim, La Vireville arrived, as the long, featureless day
was beginning to close in, at a certain decision.
When the dusk had quite fallen the owl's cry, as he had expected,
came prudently to his ears. He answered it, and in a little while
the countenance of Grain d'Orge was visible at the window, whence
the misleading sheet still trailed into the garden.
"Come in," said his leader, without moving from the chair whereon
he sat, with his legs extended on another. "A pretty sort of refuge
you selected for me!"
The Chouan scrambled over the sill on to the bed, and broke into
violent and ashamed protestations, mingled with horrible curses on
the unknown informer. It was plain that he did not suspect where
the guilt really lay.
"Never mind," remarked La Vireville carelessly. "I have fallen
upon circumstances which you could not possibly have foreseen,
and I harbour no grudge against you, mon gars. But have you any
plan for getting me away?"
"There will be two horses to-night at the cross-roads, a quarter
of a mile away, if you think you can get so far, Monsieur Augustin,
and if we have the luck not to be seen."
"I can get there," said La Vireville. "Repose has benefited my
foot. But we have a little matter that demands our attention in
Porhoët first. You know that Mme. Rozel has been arrested?"
"Yes, the poor woman!"
"The poor woman, as you say. Well, before we leave this place I
am minded to repay her hospitality. We must remember, too, that
she was the defunct M. Alexis' agent here, and has deserved well
of the King's cause. It will therefore be our business, before
proceeding to Carhoët, to set her at liberty."
"Monsieur is joking!" said the Chouan, his jaw dropped.
And it took La Vireville, with all his authority, quite twenty
minutes to extract from his horrified follower what he knew of
the conditions of Mme. Rozel's captivity, and to reduce him, on
the point of an attempt at rescue, to an incredibly sulky submission.
"I am about to become a Republican to that end," announced the
émigré when this result had at last been attained. "Do you fancy
me in the rôle, Grain d'Orge?" And, limping to the cupboard, he
snatched the tricolour sash off the peg, wound it twice round his
waist and tied a flamboyant bow at the left side.
Mingled horror and disgust strove in the Breton's face.
"For God's sake, Monsieur Augustin!" he protested.
"Citizen Augustin, if you please," corrected La Vireville with
dignity. "I have, unfortunately, no cockade. Never mind; it is
dark. But we want some little scrap of writing on official paper--just
to make an effect. . . . I have it!" and he took from the breast
of his coat the Government proclamation for his own head.
"With a trifle of manipulation . . ." said he. "Grain d'Orge, descend
into our parlour and bring me the pen and ink that is there."
Unspeakably sullen, the Chouan obeyed, and when La Vireville had,
by doubling up the paper, secured a blank space under the "In the
name of the Republic one and indivisible," he executed thereon
a few specious forgeries and waved the paper about to dry it.
"Observe, my good Grain d'Orge," he said, "to what virtuous use
can things evil be put. This paper, instead of being a brave man's
death-warrant, shall bring liberty to a woman . . . who very little
deserves it," he added to himself. "More, my faithful follower,"
he pursued impressively, "if you understood better what I was
doing, you would be lost in admiration at the nobility of my
character. I own that I am myself so lost."
"I understand this, M. le Chevalier," retorted the Breton with
passion, "that you are mad, stark mad, to go playing your head
like this! The woman Rozel has bewitched you."
"I believe you are right," answered his leader. "And she did it
with a knife--my own! It is a potent spell, if an unusual. But you
surely would not have a gentleman leave a woman to her fate, be she
enchantress or no? . . . Well, we must have our horses before we
can pay our visit to the Citizen Botidoux--that, I think you said,
was the mayor's name. You can go first down the sheet and steady
it for me."
It is not altogether surprising that Grain d'Orge, when his master slid
to earth beside him, was muttering mingled prayers and imprecations.
La Vireville smiled to himself as he leant his weight on that
faithful arm, and the two moved off into the darkness.
(3)
About a quarter after midnight, M. Jacques-Pierre Botidoux, grocer
and mayor, sleeping peacefully beside his wife, was aware of a
very persistent knocking upon the door of his little shop below
him. Arising, not without lamentation, and thrusting a night-capped
head out of the window, he was astounded to see in the street two
shadowy figures on horseback.
"What do you want?" he shouted ill-temperedly.
The taller figure lifted a dim face. "Silence!" it said in a low,
rapid, and singularly impressive voice. "Silence, Citizen, and
come down to the door!"
And at M. Botidoux, when, dazed, cross, and sleepy, he finally
unfastened his shop door, was launched an imperative demand for
the key of the village lock-up. As he gaped at the mandate the
tall rider bent from the saddle; a vast tricolour sash showed
indistinctly round his middle as he moved his arm under his cloak.
"Citizen, I am from the quarters at Carhoët, but I carry orders
from the Convention itself. You are to deliver to me without delay
the person of the woman Rozel, arrested by you this morning. You
did well and wisely in so arresting her, but higher powers than
you have need of her, and at once. A conspiracy of great extent
. . . the State . . . information . . . you understand?"
"But . . . but . . ." began M. Botidoux, who did not understand
at all.
The emissary of the Convention changed his tone. "Eh?" he said
sharply. "Will not this satisfy you?" He flapped some kind of
paper in the startled face. "Must I bring in my escort to convince
you?"
"No, no!" stammered Botidoux. "No, Citizen Commissary, I will get
the key, I will come at once!"
"That is well," responded the cloaked figure. "But, look you, not
a word! It is of the utmost importance that no one in the village
knows of this transfer of a prisoner of State. Others are not to
be trusted as the Convention trusts you, Citizen! That is why I
left my escort at the cross-roads, and came with only this good
fellow to guide me."
"But the woman----"
"Do you think two able men cannot manage one woman, Mr. Mayor?"
Very soon the short, stout, and rattled Botidoux was trotting by
the side of the silent horsemen, was leading them towards the little
house standing back from the street which served as a lock-up for
drunkards. Porhoët was not of sufficient importance for a jail.
Towards this Botidoux vanished, important, if puzzled, and in a
little while reappeared, bringing by the wrist the figure of a
woman. Some other man was vaguely discernible in the background.
"Put her up in front of the guide," ordered the Commissary, who
seemed to have no wish to dismount.
Mme. Rozel must have recognised his voice, for she gave a faint
scream, which Botidoux had the wit to smother ere he lifted her
into Grain d'Orge's unwilling arms. But once there the captive
began a fresh protest.
"Where are you taking me--who is it?" she cried, struggling. But,
since expostulations were only to be expected in her situation,
M. Botidoux was not at all perturbed.
"Be silent, woman!" he urged; and as the riders, turning their
steeds, began to move down the street, he added, "I think your
escort has come to look for you, M. le Commissaire."
"What!" exclaimed La Vireville, startled out of his sangfroid. "By
God, it's true!" For he had heard the jingle of bits at the end of
the street. It could be nothing else but the cavalry detachment
from Carhoët out to hunt for him.
He uttered a very pretty and comprehensive curse, and turned his
horse's head in the opposite direction. "Come on, we must ride
for it! Come on, I say!" Grain d'Orge's mount--a grey--sprang
forward, and Mme. Rozel screamed again. A shout answered her from
a point nearer than the oncoming hussars--from another little group
of horses, imperfectly seen, on the left, whose riders were mounting
in haste.
"Madame, you have lost us all!" said La Vireville furiously. "Ride
like the devil, Grain d'Orge; straight on--straight on, I tell
you! I'm going back; they will come after me!" He tugged at his
bewildered steed, brought it slithering to its haunches, swung
round yet again, and set off in the direction of the hussars at
the end of the street.
As he had hoped, the mounting men on their left, confused, hesitated
a moment, then decided to follow him and not the doubly-burdened
grey. In front was the stationary, or almost stationary, cavalry,
as yet only one vague bunch on the road. But, much as La Vireville
would have liked to try it, he could scarcely venture to ride past
or through them. He checked his horse, hoping that what he took to
be a hedge on his left hand was really a hedge, and put the animal
at it, somewhat expecting to land in a garden or an orchard. But,
apparently, he was in a field, and a large one at that. On the
grass he urged his excited horse into a frantic gallop, his blood
racing not unpleasantly. Shouts told him that other horsemen had
also cleared the hedge and were after him. "I wonder what I shall
ride into in this cursed darkness?" he thought. And he thought
also, "I did not expect she would be a woman to scream. . . ."
Something black rose before him--the usual Breton field hedge, a
six-foot bank with forest trees atop, impossible to negotiate on
horseback. Should he then abandon his mount? He had but a second in
which to make up his mind, for his pursuers, better horsed, were
inevitably gaining on him. No, he would go on, and, trusting to
find the échalier--the low, ladder-like gate of those parts--he
cantered for a moment alongside the bank.
Here, judging by the cessation of the dark mound and its crown of
trees, was what he sought. He put his horse at the gap. As he
rose, a spattering fire rang out; a bullet sang past his cheek,
there was a most unpleasant sensation of a jerking fall, and he
found himself among a great deal of wet grass, with his injured
foot excruciatingly pinned beneath the weight of his struggling
horse. La Vireville instinctively stuffed the back of his hand into
his mouth to prevent himself from screaming out, saw all the stars
of the dark heaven swoop down on him, and incontinently fainted.