HOW ANNE-HILARION FED THE DUCKS
(1)
It may be judged whether Anne-Hilarion kept silence on his adventures,
either to his grandfather or to his admiring audience of servants.
The chief rôle in his recitals, however, was always assigned to
M. le Chevalier, and endless were the tales of his kindness, his
cleverness, and his strength. Mr. Elphinstone, though he would
not for anything check these outpourings, found means sometimes to
avoid them by diverting his grandson's attention to other subjects,
partly because he did not think it good for the child to dwell too
much on his recent past, partly because he himself found them so
painful. He had latterly lived through a time that he could never
forget, nor would he ever be able to forgive himself for letting
Anne go to Canterbury. But he would not now, thank God, have to
greet his son-in-law, on his return from Verona, with the terrible
news of Anne's disappearance.
As it happened it was Anne himself who conveyed to his father the
first intimation of what had happened during his absence.
The Marquis arrived unexpectedly one afternoon when Mr. Elphinstone
was closeted with his lawyer in the library. Nothing, therefore,
passed between them, for the moment, beyond the usual very cordial
greetings, and de Flavigny had the fancy to surprise his son
unannounced. He went up to the nursery, and, opening the door
noiselessly, became a surprised witness of Anne's powers of narration.
Baptiste was sitting rapt upon a stool, and Anne, perched upon
a window seat, was describing the midnight flight from Abbeville.
To his father, of course, this was merely an exercise in fiction.
"And then we came to water and ships, and M. le Chevalier said I
must be his nephew, and we would go in one of the ships, and the
captain said Yes, though at first I think he said No, and he gave
me that shell I have downstairs, and after quite a long time we
came to--where did I tell you yesterday, Baptiste, that we came to?"
"It would be Caen, I think, M. le Comte," replied the ancient
retainer, devouring the small narrator with his doglike gaze.
("What game is this they are playing?" thought the unseen listener.)
"Yes, that was the name. I liked Caen; it is a fine town, with
many churches. But you know, Baptiste, I think the country of
France round that place, Abbeville, not so pretty as England."
"And pray what do you know of Abbeville, little romancer?" interrupted
his father, coming forward. "Or, for that matter, of any part
of France?"
"M. le Marquis!" exclaimed Baptiste, jumping up from his stool.
"Papa!" screamed Anne-Hilarion, and was off the seat like a flash
and had flung himself at him.
But, embraces over, and Baptiste discreetly vanished, de Flavigny
repeated his question. "What do you know of France, baby?"
"But--a great deal!" responded Anne-Hilarion with dignity. "I
have just been there--did Grandpapa not tell you? I went from the
house of the little old ladies at Canterbury; a horrid man took
me away in the middle of the night, but M. le Chevalier de la
Vireville came after me, and he--well, I do not know what he did
to that man, but we went away in the middle of the night again
from Abbeville, and were in a ship, and a postchaise, and a small
boat, and it was very cold, and a shot hit M. le Chevalier on the
head, and we hid in a cave, and then we were in a forest in
Brittany--there they wear such strange clothes, Papa--and then in
another ship, and at Jersey, and after that----"
"Good God!" exclaimed the Marquis, rather pale. And he sat down
in a chair with the traveller still in his arms. "Now tell me
everything from the beginning, Anne, and not so fast. . . ."
* * * * *
M. de Flavigny heard it all again that evening from a narrator
much more moved than the first had been--principal actor though
that narrator was as well. Mr. Elphinstone was indeed so overcome
with self-condemnation for having allowed himself to be duped,
and the child to depart, that it was his son-in-law who had to
comfort him. In the end the old gentleman registered a firm vow
never to take any more French lads into his household from motives
of charity.
"But I felt so sure that I had heard you mention the name of de
Chaulnes, René," he said in justification. "And she seemed, that
old she-devil, really to have known your family. For you say that
the incident of your being lost in a quarry as a boy is true?"
His son-in-law nodded thoughtfully. "She must have got hold of
it somehow--though one would have thought that some fictitious
adventure of my youth would have served as well. But I never
remember to have heard my parents mention the name."
"M. de la Vireville implied that it was not their own," murmured
the old man.
"I think he knows more about them than I do," said René.
"They were gone, at any rate, by the time I got a warrant out
against them, as he prophesied in his letter that they would be."
"You have heard from him then!" ejaculated the Marquis. "Where
is he, sir? Have I no chance of thanking him in person?"
"I am afraid not," said Mr. Elphinstone. "I would give a thousand
pounds to do it. But, after all, what are thanks?"
"All that Fortuné would accept," said the Marquis quickly. "On
my soul, I don't know which has moved me more, Anne's danger or
_his_ courage, address, and uncalled-for devotion. . . . But where
is he, and what of this letter?"
"I believe," said Mr. Elphinstone, taking a paper from his desk,
"that he is either in Jersey or back among his Chouans in Brittany.
The letter, such as it is, he sent by Mr. Tollemache."
"'I herewith return to you, sir,'" read René de Flavigny, "'my
charming travelling-companion, by the hand of a young man who
is, I suspect, as unused to acting the nursemaid as I was myself
a few days ago. I fear that Anne's apparel is not as Mme.
Saunders would wish to find it, but there was not time for
my mother completely to repair it, as I could see that she
was aching to do. I think that the child is mercifully none
the worse for his experiences, and I, for my part, am eternally
your debtor for allowing me to go after him.
"'I return also, by the kindness of the same gentleman, the
residue of the sum which you entrusted to me for my mission--not
so large a balance as I could wish, but it was not possible to
conduct our tour on less expensive lines.
"'Tell René, when he returns, that I hope to meet him, at no
distant date, with a contingent of the persons whose appearance
and attire has, I believe, made a deep impression upon Anne.
"'I wager that you have already found the nest at Canterbury
empty.--Believe me, sir, yours--and particularly Anne's--always
to command,
"'C. M. TH. F. DE LA VIREVILLE.'"
"I shall meet him, as he says," said René de Flavigny, laying down
the letter, "in France, when the sword is drawn. I went to see Mr.
Windham directly I got back to London this morning. Preparations
for the expedition are already advancing, and it will start in a
few weeks' time."
Mr. Elphinstone looked at the enthusiasm in his face. Once again,
then, that fatal shore was going to take a member of his family
from him. And would it, this time, yield up its prey?
"You are going to enlist in it, I suppose?" he said sadly.
"I have already done so," replied the young man, his eyes shining.
"At least, I have this morning given in my name to the Comte de
Puisaye as a volunteer."
(2)
A few days after his father's return from a mission which did not
seem to have had any very tangible results, Anne-Hilarion, following
the example of his grandfather, definitely decided to write his
memoirs--a project which had been in his head since his own homecoming.
And since Mr. Elphinstone, a good draughtsman, was embellishing his
reminiscences with delicate sepia drawings of Indian scenes and
monuments, from sketches made on the spot, Anne-Hilarion resolved
that his too should have pictures--reconstructed in this case
entirely from memory.
There were other difficult points to be settled. As, were these
annals to be written in a copy-book or upon loose sheets of paper?
The former was finally chosen, owing to the necessity of lines to
one whose pen did not always move in a uniform direction. Then,
were the records to be couched in French or English? After much
thought and discussion the diarist came to the conclusion, probably
unique in the history of autobiography, that the portion dealing
with his adventures in France was to be written in the Gallic
tongue, his doings in England in the English.
Mr. Elphinstone had done all in his power to encourage his small
imitator, and had bought him a box of paints for the purposes
of illustration which, in the first onset of delirious joy, had
caused the child entirely to forsake, for the time being, the
more laborious travail of the pen, and to cover his grandfather's
table with drawings of ships of no known rig, and renderings of La
Vireville's person which his worst enemy would not have recognised.
Mr. Elphinstone's reasons for this course were not far to seek. The
dark day of his son-in-law's departure for the shores of France was
drawing nearer more quickly than the former had at first anticipated,
and the old man hoped that when it had become an accomplished fact,
the new occupation would serve in a measure to absorb and distract
Anne-Hilarion. He and the Marquis alike had forborne to cast a
shadow on the child, so recently restored to them, by telling him
how short a time was his with his father. For René de Flavigny
was to join his regiment on the twelfth of June, and May was now
half over.
* * * * *
And so, as late as June the sixth, a fine warm afternoon, the
diarist, who had not yet been told, was walking in St. James's
Park with his father, discussing the project which, near though
it was to his heart, had not as yet greatly advanced. It was their
last walk together, but only one of them guessed that.
They stood a moment by the lake, where, later on, Anne proposed
to feed the wildfowl. At present literary cares were too absorbing.
"I wish that M. le Chevalier were here, Papa," he observed. "You
see, I cannot remember the days of the month in France."
"Yes," said the Marquis rather absently, "it is a pity he is not
here to help you." For of La Vireville, since the day when he and
Anne had parted at St. Helier, not a sign.
"And then there is another thing, Papa," resumed Anne. "I cannot
remember anything about the time when I was born."
"That is not expected in a memoir, mon enfant," replied his father.
"You state the fact, that is all. You know when your birthday comes."
"Yes," assented Anne. "And that part must be in French, because
I was born in France. 'Je suis né le 14 juillet 1789, au château
de Flavigny.' You will tell me about that, Papa--about the château?"
The young Frenchman did not answer for a moment. In place of the
ordered verdure of the London park, the lake, and the wildfowl,
there rose before his eyes the pointed roofs over the sea, the
fountains, the terraces, and Janet with the sunlight on her hair. . . .
"Yes, I will tell you . . . some day," he said quietly. "Meanwhile
you could begin, could you not? with what you remember in England.
And for the present, don't you think, Anne, that you would like
to feed the ducks?"
Rummaging in a pocket, his small son produced a paper of crumbs,
which, even before he could open it, was espied and loudly commented
upon by one of the denizens of the lake.
"Oh, there's one coming already!" ejaculated Anne. "Do not be
in such a hurry, duck! Papa, I can't get this open. Please!" He
tendered the packet to his father.
However, the expectant Muscovy drake at the edge of the water
was destined to disappointment, for just as de Flavigny took the
little parcel, Anne's attention was diverted to something widely
different. He gave a sudden exclamation of pleasure and surprise.
"Papa, there is M. le Lieutenant coming--who brought me home from
Jersey, you know!" It was so. Along the path, the sun glinting on
his gold lace, accompanied by a fair damsel in cherry-coloured
muslin with a white Leghorn bonnet, Mr. Francis Tollemache of
H.M.S. _Pomone_ advanced towards the same goal.
"May I speak to him, Papa?" inquired Anne earnestly.
"Do, mon fils, and make me acquainted with him," said the Marquis.
"I have much to thank him for."
"Hallo, young 'un!" exclaimed the sailor, as Anne ran towards
the pair. He gravely stooped and shook hands. "Where did you spring
from? Cecilia, let me present the Comte de Flavigny."
Miss Cecilia, with a smile which was advantageous to her dimples,
followed the example of her escort. "I have heard a great deal
about you," she said to the little boy.
"You are M. le Lieutenant's sister?" suggested Anne-Hilarion.
But Miss Cecilia, with a laugh and a blush, shook her head, and
before Mr. Tollemache could define her relationship the Marquis
had come up.
"I must introduce myself," he said with a bow, in English. "I
am Anne's father, Mr. Tollemache, and very glad to have this
opportunity of thanking you for your care of my boy."
"There is really nothing whatever to thank me for, sir," returned
the young man. "Somebody else did the work and I got the credit--that
is what it amounts to."
"On the contrary," said Rene de Flavigny courteously. "I have
cause to be deeply grateful to you for your escort and for your
interest in the child. I can assure you," he added, with a smile,
"that he amply returns the latter. I have learnt much in these
last few weeks about life on board a British frigate."
Mr. Tollemache laughed, and looked at his admirer, to whom his
betrothed was talking a few paces away.
"You will shortly have the opportunity, I fancy, sir, of making
a more personal acquaintance yourself with the frigate in question.
I don't know anything exactly official, and perhaps I should not
even refer to the rumour, but I think we shall leave Portsmouth
in company very soon."
The Marquis, lowering his tone, so that his son should not hear,
asked the sailor a few questions. Meanwhile Anne and Cecilia,
laughing together, threw bread liberally upon the waters, and
caused a hasty navigation of wildfowl from all parts.
A little more conversation, and Mr. Tollemache and his fair one
agreed that they must be going. A dish of tea, it appeared, awaited
their drinking at the house of some elderly aunt in St. James's
Square, and they dared not be late.
"Good-bye, Anne," said Francis Tollemache. "You and I must be
shipmates again some day." And he was, not very wisely, inspired
to add, "I will take good care of your father in France."
* * * * *
"What did M. le Lieutenant mean by saying that he would take care
of you in France, Papa?" came the inevitable question, as de
Flavigny knew it would, directly the pair were out of earshot.
"You are not going away _again_, are you?"
Perhaps, after all, this was as good a moment as another for
telling the child.
"Yes, my pigeon," he replied, trying to keep the sadness in his
heart out of his voice. "Look, you have dropped a large crumb on
the path, and that duck wants it."
But Anne had no thought for ducks now. "Are you going soon?" he
queried, seizing hold of his father's hand.
"Yes, I am afraid so," said René, gripping his fingers.
"Oh, Papa, why?"
De Flavigny went down on one knee and put an arm round him. A
flotilla of disgusted argonauts watched his movements. "Because
it is my duty, Anne. You know that the little King is in prison,
and that wicked men have taken the throne away from him. But we
owe him allegiance just the same. You remember, when you were at
the meeting in April in Grandpapa's dining-room, where you sat on
M. de la Vireville's knee, how we talked about an expedition to
France? This is the expedition, and I must go with it, to fight
for the King--a little boy like you, Anne--and you must let me
go." His voice shook a trifle.
The slow tears gathered in Anne-Hilarion's eyes and coursed down
his cheeks. Dropping his last bit of bread, he laid his head
against his father's breast, as the latter knelt there by the
lake. "Je ne peux pas le supporter," he said.
The Marquis thought that they could both bear it better if he
carried him home, and did so--at least, to nearly the top of
Bond Street.
(3)
"I have had to tell the child," he said to his father-in-law when
they got back.
"I thought you had done so," returned the old gentleman with
melancholy. "Perhaps it is as well. I have a feeling that you
may be summoned even earlier than you think."
He was right. About seven o'clock that evening his son-in-law
came to him in the library, an open missive in his hand.
"It is obvious that you possess the gift of second-sight, sir,"
he said, with a rather forced gaiety. "It has come, as you predicted,
earlier than I expected."
"What, the summons already!" exclaimed Mr. Elphinstone, starting
from his chair.
René nodded. "I must go immediately--to-night, directly I can
get my valise packed. It is almost in readiness," he added.
"But why so suddenly?"
"I look to you, sir, with your gift of prophecy, to tell me that,"
said René, with a smile. "There is no reason given; but I must
be at Southampton to-morrow afternoon."
"You will have time for supper?" queried the old man, his hand
on the bell-pull.
It was a sad, hurried little meal on which Janet Elphinstone and
her deerhound looked down. Neither of the men spoke much, or ate
much either. At last the Marquis, looking at his watch, got up.
"If you will excuse me, sir, I will go and say goodbye to Anne now."
At the sound of his carefully-controlled voice Mr. Elphinstone
almost broke down. "Oh, René, René, if only you need not!"
Very erect, at the other end of the table, the young man wore a
look which was doubtless on the faces of those of his kin who had
mounted the guillotine, as they went to death. He had, indeed,
for what he was about to do, almost as much need of courage as they.
"God knows," he answered, "that I would give everything in the world
not to leave him." He looked up for a moment at the child-portrait
on the wall. "I think Jeannette too knows that. He is all I
have--except my honour."
"And you must sacrifice him to that?"
"Would you have it the other way round, sir?"
"No--no! I don't think so . . ." gulped the old man. "Go, then. . . ."
But as the door shut behind his son-in-law he sank back in his chair
and put his hand over his eyes. First Janet, then Anne-Hilarion,
then René--France had taken them all, and only the child had been
given back. René, he felt sure, would never return.
* * * * *
The night-light was already burning, though there was yet daylight
in the room, when the Marquis came in to take farewell of all he
loved best on earth. He drew back the gay chintz curtains and stood
looking down on the treasure above all treasures which Jeannette
had committed to him, and which now he was going to forsake. For,
like his father-in-law, he felt that he should not return.
Anne-Hilarion was sound asleep, one flushed cheek on his hand,
after his custom, his hair tumbled, and his lips parted in the
utter abandonment of childish slumber. What a pity to wake him!
De Flavigny all but yielded to the impulse just to kiss him and
to steal quietly out of the room. But he knew that the boy would
fret afterwards if he went away without farewell. So with a heavy
heart he stooped over him and spoke his name.
"Is it you, M. le Chevalier?" murmured Anne sleepily. "Oh, I was
dreaming that I was in France. . . . What is it, Papa?"
"Shall I take a message from you to the Chevalier?" suggested
René, catching at this opening and trying to smile.
Anne was still only partially awake. "Yes," he said drowsily.
"Tell him that I want to show him my new goldfish . . . and tell
him to come back soon to England. . . ." The words began to tail
off into sleep again. So much the better. The Marquis knelt down
and gave him a long kiss.
"Good-bye, my darling, my darling!" he whispered.
And instantly Anne was fully aroused. "Papa! you are not going
_now_--to-night?"
"Yes," said his father. "I start for Southampton to-night. Kiss
me, my son, and be a good boy while I am away--and a brave one now!"
But really it was he--as he felt--who had need of courage then,
for next moment, releasing his hold of the child, as he knelt
there, he himself had buried his face in the coverlet.
BOOK THREE
THE ROAD THAT FEW RETURNED ON
"It was mirk, mirk night, there was nae starlight,
They waded through red blude to the knee;
For a' the blude that's shed on the earth
Rins thro' the springs o' that countrie."
_THOMAS THE RHYMER._