HISTORY OF A SCAR
(1)
The gods, however, had not finished amusing themselves with the
situation they had brought about, and planned an improvement on
it. The very next day La Vireville was summoned to d'Hervilly's
headquarters.
He found the general alone, in a room in a little house in Quiberon
village, whose comfortable furniture, of English make, had obviously
appeared there synchronously with its present occupant. The walls
were impressively studded with maps, plans, and diagrams; the
greatest military leader could not have got more of these into a
smaller space. Unfortunately, La Vireville knew that M. d'Hervilly
had never seen a shot fired until he came to Quiberon.
"I have sent for you, Monsieur," said the general, with the English
accent that he always affected, "because I have come to the conclusion
that the Chouan commanders who remain on the peninsula must have
an officer from one of the émigré regiments attached to their corps
to act as aide-de-camp, and, if necessary, as officier de liaison.
I conceive that this plan will give more homogeneity to our forces,
especially in view of the attack we shall shortly be making on the
Republican position at Ste. Barbe."
He looked at the Chouan commander in question with angry eyes, as
though both anticipating a criticism he would instantly resent, and
demanding an approval he would consider impertinent. La Vireville
lifted his eyebrows a trifle, and said nothing, but amid the surprise
and distaste which this announcement roused in him he was visited
by a consoling thought. The general could impose one of his nominees
on him, but could not ensure his making use of that nominee unless
he wished. Perhaps, too, he could ask for de Flavigny in that
capacity.
"I have naturally selected for this post," went on d'Hervilly,
"gentlemen who have some acquaintance with the Chouan methods of
warfare. As you may imagine, this considerably restricts my choice.
Your aide-de-camp, as we may call him, will be"--he turned to a
list on the table--"an officer who has spent some weeks with the
Chouans of the Morbihan--M. de St. Four of the régiment d'Hector."
His hearer suddenly clenched his hands.
"Well, M. de la Vireville?"
"You cannot, I suppose, mon général," said the émigré, speaking with
great deliberation, "consider individual preferences in this matter?"
"Certainly not, sir," snapped d'Hervilly. And he added, not
unreasonably, "For one thing, I have no more suitable candidates
available." With a tapping forefinger he drew the objector's
attention to the scored-out list, whereon his name and his worst
enemy's figured alone, the last of their respective columns.
"Very good, mon général," said La Vireville impassively. "And what
do you want me to do with this gentleman who has spent some weeks
in the Morbihan when I have got him?"
D'Hervilly glanced at him sharply, but except that the tone was
certainly not obsequious he could find nothing to take hold of.
"I will tell you," he said; and proceeded to give a short summary
of the duties which he expected the Chouan to assign to this new
subordinate, ending by saying pompously, "And in view of the fact
that when we attack Ste. Barbe I shall probably put most of the
Chouan troops with Hector on the right wing, it will be very valuable
to you to have an officer of Hector as your aide-de-camp."
"Certainly," agreed La Vireville. "And I am sure that I shall
find M. de St. Four's services valuable in every respect. As soon,
therefore, as you see fit to send him to me, mon général, I shall
be ready to give him his instructions. May I ask if you have
already informed him of his appointment?"
"No, not yet," replied d'Hervilly, running a pen through the two
names. "That will do, M. de la Vireville."
But, happening to look up as La Vireville was saluting and turning
away, he suddenly thumped the table and demanded in a furious voice,
"What are you smiling like that for, sir?"
La Vireville committed the military and social breach of going
out without answering.
(2)
About two hours afterwards, Charles le Goffic, former law-student,
clad, as usual, in Breton costume, with an officer in English
uniform behind him, knocked upon the door of a shed in the Chouan
cantonments at St. Pierre, at the lower end of the peninsula, and,
receiving a command to enter, did so. Inside were a trestle table,
a couple of chairs, a bed of dried seaweed, and La Vireville.
"Monsieur Augustin," said Le Goffic, "here is M. le Capitaine de
St. Four, sent by the Général Comte d'Hervilly."
His leader, seated at the table in this his headquarters, looked
up from his writing.
"I will see him at once," said he. "Be sure that the door is shut,
Charles, and put a sentry outside."
And so Fortuné de la Vireville's one-time best friend, who had done
him the worst injury, almost, that one man can do another, came in
and saluted him, and they confronted one another as they had done
ten years ago, when the scar on La Vireville's face was a bright
wound. But if the thought of that meeting was in both their minds,
La Vireville at least gave no sign of it. Standing by the table he
punctiliously returned the newcomer's salute.
"I am glad to see you, M. de St. Four," he said, in level tones, "so
that we can settle the little matter of our relations to each other
at the outset, and have done with it. We shall almost certainly be
attacking the Republican position in a day or two, therefore it is
as well to have them defined, if only for that reason."
"You can disembarrass yourself of me then," said the other, in a
scarcely audible voice.
La Vireville shook his head. "If you are going to have those ideas
we shall never get on. As you may imagine, this situation is none
of my seeking, as I am sure it is none of yours. But since we are
now in an official relation to each other, I should wish, for the
sake of our common aim, to behave to you exactly as I should to
any other officer who had been assigned to me in this capacity.
If I am always to feel that you are expecting to be treated as
Uriah was treated by David, the state of affairs will become very
difficult. Of course, I quite understand that you suspect me of
such a design . . . though you must admit that I should not stand
to gain, now, what David gained by it." A flash of bitter mockery
passed over his face, and, brief as it was, seemed to sear the
other's into agony.
"Yes!" he broke out passionately, "if you lost, I lost too! A
year was all I had--and for that I threw away my honour--and your
friendship. And then I in my turn was thrown away. God! God!" He
turned away, shaking.
La Vireville stood like a statue, as he had stood all along, his
finger-tips just resting on the table. His eyes indeed followed
St. Four, who went at last to the little window, and stood by it
with his back to him, pulling at a piece of loose planking. But
the life in them was of an icy quality, and when he spoke it was
as if the other man's outburst had never been.
"I am making for you, Monsieur," he said, "a memorandum of what
the general tells me I may expect of you. I regret that it is not
ready, but M. d'Hervilly somewhat sprang this upon me. My lieutenant,
Le Goffic, will show you your quarters. That is all for the present."
He sat down again at the table, and pulling his papers towards
him bent over them.
St. Four stopped fidgetting with the woodwork and turned round.
But he did not go. On the contrary, he came a little nearer, and
spoke, not without dignity. "La Vireville, you were generous once.
I acknowledge it. You gave me my life. . . . Is it any solace to
you to know that I have often wished you had not made me that gift?
I am not surprised that you would not take my hand. But is it
possible that some day . . . for the sake of the cause, and because,
as you know, I have suffered too . . . horribly . . . you might
be able to forgive me, Fortuné?"
"I am not aware, Monsieur," returned La Vireville without looking
up, "that I have authorised you to use my Christian name. There
is, however, no objection to your calling me Augustin, as my men do.
You will find Le Goffic outside."
And St. Four, making a hopeless gesture, turned and went out without
a word. La Vireville looked after him a moment, dipped his pen in
the ink, and resumed his writing.
(3)
That evening, as he was eating his solitary meal by the light
of a candle stuck in a bottle, René de Flavigny suddenly appeared
in the doorway of the shed.
"Come in, my friend," cried the Chouan cheerfully. "Are you proposing
to share my modest repast?"
"No," replied the Marquis, entering. "I only came to ask you if
this extraordinary report is true, and that the general has given
you M. de St. Four, of all men, as an aide-de-camp?"
"Yes, it is quite true," replied La Vireville composedly. "I have
seen M. d'Hervilly and I have seen St. Four--quite a peaceable
interview, the latter, on my honour. Have some of this cheese,
Marquis!"
"But--but it is intolerable!" stammered de Flavigny, sinking into
the other chair.
"What--the cheese? Not at all; it is English. Try it!"
René looked at him, but could gather nothing. The single candle
by his friend's elbow, ineffectual at its best in that dark place,
flickered woefully in the strong draught. The Marquis had left the
door of the shed ajar, and through it came, on the wind that smelt
of seaweed, the sound that day and night was ever in their ears--the
eternal recurrent plunge and retreat of the tide--and the glint of
stars. He got up, shut it, and came back.
"Fortuné, what are you going to do with him?"
"Set him in the forefront of the battle, of course!"
This statement was to de Flavigny not susceptible of belief, though
the speaker's smile in the now steadied candlelight was enough to
give it credibility.
"At least, that is what he seems to expect," went on La Vireville,
proceeding also with his meal. "And surely I could not do better
than emulate the Psalmist King. I am sorry I have no wine to offer
you, mon ami. Perhaps you have already supped, however. By the
way, have you heard anything about the approaching arrival of a
fresh division of émigré troops--Sombreuil's?"
"Yes, I have heard something," answered the Marquis absently. "I
see that you do not want to speak of this business, Fortuné; you
must forgive me for having referred to it."
La Vireville laid down his knife. "On the contrary, I am minded to
tell you once for all why I do not find M. de St. Four's company
congenial. Figure to yourself, my dear René, that ten years ago
he ran off with my affianced wife."
"Bon Dieu!"
"It has occurred before in the history of the world," said La
Vireville coolly and with a curling lip--sneering at himself, so
de Flavigny thought. "Only he happened to be my best friend. That,
as you may guess, made it much more . . . interesting. Also, it
was but the day before my marriage. Now you know why I did not fall
into his arms a short time ago when you wanted me to."
Beyond the fact that he was unusually pale, one thing alone betrayed
that he was on the rack--his voice. Not that it was unsteady. René
was almost as much in torture as he, but it seemed best to follow
his lead and avoid at least the expression of emotion.
"You called him out?" he hazarded after a moment, thinking of the
scar whose half-revealed history was now clear to him.
La Vireville nodded. "He gave me this memento, as I told you the
other day." He poured out some cider, and added, "As for me, I was
fool enough to fire in the air."
"You loved--_her_--as much as that!" cried the Marquis before he
could stop himself.
The little remaining colour ebbed slowly from La Vireville's face,
and, like a palimpsest, all the suffering written below its sardonic
gaiety was abruptly visible. He did not answer, and René, ashamed
to have unveiled it, put his own hand over his eyes as if to shade
them from the candle. "He loves her still," he said to himself.
La Vireville suddenly laughed, and the sound made his companion jump.
"I might as well have shot him after all," he said, with cold levity.
"Why?"
"She left him after a year for another man. Dramatic justice, was
it not?--and a lesson to me always to follow my first impulses!
But I have bored you with my affairs long enough. As I have no
wine, will you drink a glass of cider? There is little variety of
vintage on this damned peninsula."
But René de Flavigny refused and, rising, flung his cloak about
him. La Vireville surely was better alone. He longed to ask if
the woman were still alive, but dared not.
La Vireville's face, however, was an enigma once more. He took the
Marquis's outstretched hand across the table.
"You, at least, cannot betray me in that way. I am not affianced
now!" he said; and with that bitter jest, which René pardoned for
the pain still alive in the speaker's eyes, they parted.
* * * * *
Going back in the summer starlight, thinking of what had just
passed, he overtook another officer of the régiment du Dresnay,
also returning from St. Pierre.
"Have you heard," asked the latter, "that the attack is fixed for
the night of the fifteenth?"
"But there is a fresh division on its way," objected de Flavigny--"the
regiments with the black cockade. D'Hervilly will wait for them, of
course."
His companion put his hand on his arm. "Young Sombreuil, who is
in command, is senior in the English service to d'Hervilly."
"Well?"
"D'Hervilly will find that he cannot wait for them!"
"I cannot believe that!" exclaimed the Marquis, shocked.
"You will see," said his brother officer.