Our young hero must have slept soundly, for he did not awake when,
in the dusk of the evening, Dame Moret and her daughter entered the
room, quietly laid a cloth, put some cold fowl and ham upon the table,
and finally lighted a lamp, which aroused him. He started up in great
surprise, and seeing Dame Moret, said—
“I was so overpowered with sleep that I could really not resist
indulging. I fear I am putting you to a great deal of trouble.”
“Oh no, monsieur, that you are not. I know how madame would have me act
if she knew you were here; and now I know who you are, I am as anxious
to serve you as madame herself. But I pray you take some supper; I have
given your man his in the kitchen; he seems a very kind, simple-hearted
creature, anxious to do anything; and after you have supped we will
have half-an-hour’s conversation.”
“It will afford me much pleasure, my good dame,” said our hero, “for I
long to ask a great many questions.”
“Very well; now pray take your supper, and I will come up by-and-by,
when I have put some things to rights for your man. It’s a pity he does
not understand our language.”
“Oh, he will pick it up very soon, Dame Moret,” said Lieutenant
Thornton, with a smile, “for he is inclined to go to the fountain head
for instruction.”
The good dame laughed, and hoping he would make a good meal, retired.
Our hero did eat heartily, for he was but one-and-twenty, and of a high
and fearless disposition, and his critical situation did not trouble
him; he scarcely bestowed a thought upon it. The loss of his time from
his profession was the only thing that vexed him, and he resolved in a
day or two to make an attempt to get off in a boat, and take his chance
of reaching England, or some vessel of war.
When Dame Moret thought he had finished his supper, she and her
daughter Annette re-entered the room. The latter removed the things,
and the dame sat down, first putting a bottle of excellent Burgundy
before our hero.
“You will find that very good wine, sir, for Monsieur l’Intendant loves
a bottle of good Burgundy, and madame sent a good store here from
Paris.”
“I am astonished at this place being called Coulancourt,” said our
hero, “and at hearing that madame is living in Paris, and restored to
her estates, for I feared she was in the power of her enemies.”
“I am so anxious to ask after her daughter, Mademoiselle Mabel,” said
Dame Moret; “she was but a child, I may say, when she was here—six
years old, I think—but she was as lovely, engaging a little girl as
ever eyes beheld; and her little brother, Julian—alas! what a fate was
his, so young, and such a noble boy!”
“Well, dame, I will tell you all about Mabel, and you shall tell me
about Madame Coulancourt. How I should like to see her, and tell her
how tenderly her daughter loves and remembers her.”
Lieutenant Thornton then told the attentive dame all his adventures,
from the period Mabel was placed under his care till their arrival
in England, and the singular abduction of the papers and jewels
from the casket entrusted to him; and how Mabel was placed in a
highly-respectable school, and under the care of a most kind French
lady, the widow of Admiral Volney; finishing with an account of his
mishap on board the Vengeance, and the cruel conduct of Captain Gaudet.
“Ah!” said the old dame, with a sigh, “he’s a sad, sad man!—as fierce
and cruel as a wild beast when he drinks, and latterly he drinks very
hard. He was not always so; before he became a privateer’s man he was
very well; but I believe, sir, privateering makes a man very reckless
and careless about shedding blood—they become very hardened.”
“It is often the case, dame; they know they seldom get quarter from
their opponents, and that renders them reckless and savage. Then the
love of plunder increases, they become little better than pirates.”
“You mentioned,” he continued, a moment after, “that Madame
Coulancourt was residing in Paris, and that her estates were restored
to her. How did she escape from her enemies?”
“By their being guillotined, monsieur; but I will tell you all the
particulars.
“I was, you must know, nurse to the Count de Coulancourt, who was born
in this château. He became duke on his elder brother’s death, and,
alas! was beheaded in his forty-eighth year; and I am now seventy-four
years of age myself. When Monsieur de Coulancourt became duke, he
bestowed upon me and my husband the farm and land we now hold; but we
have added to it since. Fourteen years ago I lost my poor man, but the
bon Dieu was good to me; I had kind and good children, and our farm
prospered. When the duke married our kind and beautiful mistress, at
Lyons, he took her to Paris, with her two handsome children, and, after
a time, he came here. At this period the revolution had not yet shown
itself formidable; nobody looked for the dethronement of their king,
much less his cruel murder. Still the land was troubled, and people
were unsettled, and at times riotous, and fiercely denouncing the
nobility and clergy.
“The duke and duchess remained here in tranquillity, greatly beloved
by all their dependents; and here was born an heir to the duke—as fine
a baby as you ever beheld. Alas! it lived but three months, and was
unfortunately, to the deep grief of its parents, carried off by the
small-pox, then raging fearfully in this district. A summons from our
ill-fated King called the duke to his council.
“We never saw our beloved master again. The whole country became
convulsed, father rose against son, and son against father. Thank
God! we all survived the convulsion here, except our poor priest and
one or two of the small gentry. The former was killed in the streets
of Havre—but you know enough of the horrors that took place. Years
rolled by, and the estate of the Coulancourts fell to the nation, for
they said the duke was a malignant and an aristocrat, and it went into
neglect, for no one came near it. In these remote parts, we could not
hear what had become of the duchess and her children. People were
afraid to speak during the Reign of Terror. At length that ended, and
we thanked God that we were spared. Time went on, and at last, to our
intense joy, we had a message from Paris sent down to us to say that
the duchess—or rather, madame, for titles were all extinguished in
France—had been tried in Paris, and was declared innocent of every
crime against the state; the rulers restored to her Coulancourt and
some other property, but the great bulk of the duke’s estates the
nation still retained. This was a relief to us all. Workmen were
employed to restore the château, and madame expressed a wish that I
would travel up to Paris to see her, and I did. Oh, mon Dieu! monsieur,
how we wept when we saw each other! Ah! she was still beautiful,
though thin and careworn. She was ignorant whether her child had
reached England, and she dared not communicate with that country. She
told me how she confided her daughter to a young and gallant lad, and
that he had safely got her on board ship, for that good Monsieur Jean
Plessis—no better man living—watched over her and madame with unceasing
care. She told me that the officer’s name was Thornton, and that in the
casket there were jewels of value, and nearly twenty thousand francs in
gold, besides certificates of Mabel’s birth, her brother’s also, and of
her own marriage with her first husband.
“I stayed nearly a month in Paris with my mistress; she could scarcely
bear to part with me, but said, when she could get leave, she would
come and live in Coulancourt. She ordered her intendant, Monsieur Jean
Plessis——”
“Jean Plessis,” inquired our hero; “was he a married man?”
“Yes, monsieur, and a very nice, pretty, good lady his wife is; and
his daughter, she is nearly eighteen, is a remarkably pretty, clever
demoiselle—plays the great piano in the saloon so nicely. She and her
mother remain six months of the year here, and we keep up the place
just as if madame herself was expected.”
“Do you think a letter could be got safely to Madame Coulancourt?”
asked our hero, anxiously.
“Oh dear yes, monsieur, quite easily. My son writes to Monsieur Jean
Plessis constantly; he could enclose one for madame.”
“Then I will write this night. It will so ease her mind to hear all
about Mabel; though it will grieve her to hear of the loss of the
contents of the casket.”
“Oh, the joy of knowing her beloved child is safe and well,” said the
dame, “will render her grief for the loss of the casket trifling.”
“Do not you think, dame, that we might get a boat in this navigable
creek, and be able to put to sea?”
“Not for a little while, monsieur; quite impossible. I have not yet
told you about the Vengeance. Captain Gaudet, with the help of my son’s
lugger and another craft from Havre, have floated the hull of the
Vengeance, and towed her inside of the creek and stranded her. One of
my son’s crew came back to tell us the news; and, besides, they have
sent out two coast-guard boats to watch the coast. They say there is a
corvette or a frigate off and on, as if with the intention of landing,
or looking out for some of the crew of the ship that thought to cut out
the Vengeance; so you had better stay quiet for a few days. It would be
terrible to arouse suspicion. My son-in-law, Captain Gaudet, you may be
sure, will watch the creek.”
Lieutenant Thornton thought for a moment, and then said—
“Well, Dame Moret, I should be sorry to do anything rash, and perhaps
bring trouble on those who have so kindly assisted me. I will write to
Madame Coulancourt to-night. How long do you suppose it would take to
have an answer from Madame Coulancourt?”
“Not more than five or six days, monsieur. I will send the letters from
Havre by the post.”
“Well, then I will wait till I hear from madame before I attempt my
escape, and when I do make an effort for freedom I shall not, I trust,
involve any one in my mishap should I fail.”
“Ah! mon Dieu! you must be guided,” said Dame Moret; “you are young
and sanguine; but to try to get out of the country now will be a very
hazardous attempt.”
“I should like,” said our hero, “to obtain a change of garments for
several reasons.”
“They may easily be procured,” said Dame Moret. “My son will get you
a plain country gentleman’s sporting costume. I will give out that
a young friend of Monsieur l’Intendant is coming here for a week’s
fishing in our trout streams; as you speak the language so well you may
amuse yourself in that way without creating any suspicion, but your man
must change his dress also, and he can then pass for your servant.”
Lieutenant Thornton was pleased with this arrangement; as he would
thus avoid confinement, a thing he detested, and he was fond of
trout-fishing.
“I have quite funds enough, dame,” said our hero, taking out from
his belt some gold pieces, to the amount of ten pounds. “These will
purchase most of the articles I require.”
“You had better keep them, monsieur,” said the dame, “for a time of
need. We will get you whatever you require. Madame would be very angry
indeed if we did not.”
In vain our hero insisted; the dame was obstinate, so he allowed her to
have her own way, resolving to have his another time.
After some further conversation Dame Moret rose to retire, telling the
gentleman he would find his room ready, and that one of her daughters
would be in attendance morning and evening. Our hero insisted that
she should not take that trouble, as Bill was an excellent cook, as
most seamen are, and that a few simple necessaries was all that they
required, and it would attract less observation.
Dame Moret smiled.
“Oh, as to that, monsieur, there is no fear, for every day some of my
family come here to dust the furniture and keep things neat; besides,
they all know the intendant is expected in a few days, and may bring
visitors with him.”
After Dame Moret had retired, our hero sat down, taking paper, pens,
and ink from an open desk the old dame showed him, and spent an hour or
two writing to Madame Coulancourt the full particulars of everything
that had occurred to Mabel and himself since their parting from her.
He also mentioned the discovery he had made, through Madame Volney’s
communication, with respect to her brother, and the finding of the
portrait, asking if she thought it were possible to trace the papers
and effects lost by Madame Volney when forced to fly from Paris.
This detail committed to paper, he resolved to await the return of an
answer to his letter before he made any attempt at an escape. He had a
great desire to hear what became of his commander, Sir Sidney Smith,
whether he remained at Havre, or was sent further into the interior.
The next day Rose, the youngest daughter of Dame Moret, the damsel he
had first spoken to, and who had so kindly and fortunately directed
him to her mother’s, came to the château to take his letter, and to
provide for their wants for the day. She brought in her basket coffee,
eggs, and poultry. Rose was a very pretty modest girl of seventeen, and
looked quite pleased at being of service to our hero, who, not being in
love, could see that Rose had a pair of very bright and sparkling eyes,
and as neat a foot and ankle as any maiden in the province.
“I have brought you the key of the saloon, monsieur,” said Rose; “you
may like to look at the pictures; and there is a piano and harp there.
They belonged to Madame Coulancourt, she played so beautifully; but
I was only a child in those days. But Mademoiselle Plessis plays the
piano; they will be here in a few days, and then it will not be so
lonely for you.”
“I shall not be lonely,” replied our hero, helping Rose to unlock the
door of the grand saloon, “if you will pay me a visit daily. Your
pretty face will drive away all my gloomy thoughts.”
Rose blushed, but laughing, said—
“You will have Mademoiselle Julia to chat with. She is so pretty and
lively, that you cannot be dull where she is.”
“Did you hear anything at Havre yesterday, Rose,” questioned our
hero, as they opened the shutters to admit the light, which before
only entered from loopholes left in the shutters, “anything about the
English prisoners taken on board the Vengeance, I mean?”
“Yes, monsieur; my sister told me they had been marched to Rouen, and
that the Commander and the young officer with him were to be sent to
Paris.”
“To Paris!” repeated Lieutenant Thornton, in a tone of regret; “I am
sorry for that. I fear they will endure a long captivity.”
Our hero now looked round the noble saloon, full sixty feet in length,
and hung round with pictures in antique frames.
“That is, I suppose, the late Duke de Coulancourt?” he inquired,
looking at a half-length portrait, suspended over the lofty white
marble chimney-piece.
“Yes, monsieur, that is his picture; he was a young man when that was
taken, in the Royal Guards of Louis XVI. There, on the wall opposite,
is his grandfather, who commanded the famous Musketeers. I will go now,
monsieur, because your letter must be enclosed, and sent from Havre
before night.”
“I am giving you and all your family a great deal of trouble, and they
and you may incur some risk from protecting me and my comrade.”
“Not at all, monsieur; especially as Captain Gaudet has got plenty
of employment. He is going to repair the Vengeance, and he thinks
of nothing else. He fancies also that you and your man were either
drowned or burned in the vessel; for my brother, who was with my mother
this morning, says he does not seem to trouble about anything but the
repairs of the craft.”
After the departure of Rose, Lieutenant Thornton spent some time in
examining the pictures and the saloon itself, which was finished in
the costly but heavy style of the preceding century. The late duke’s
portrait was that of a remarkably handsome man of some five-and-twenty
years, but there was an expression of great melancholy over the
features, which our hero judged was habitual to them and not the fault
of the artist, for the portrait was beautifully and artistically
painted. He took a survey of every article in the saloon, which,
however, created a painful sensation, as they recalled those that were
gone, and the melancholy fate of those whom neither rank, wealth,
virtue, nor position, could save from the doom of the criminal.
Several days passed over, somewhat tedious, it is true, to our hero,
though he chatted for an hour or two daily with pretty Rose Moret, who
did all she could to please her handsome and rather dangerous guest.
She showed him the gardens, gathered him the choicest flowers for his
chamber, and told him all the news. William Thornton was grateful,
kind, and attentive to his engaging companion, and his heart and
principles were too good and upright to take any undue advantage of
Rose’s innocence and naïvetê.
Bill Saunders smoked, and cooked, and feasted, and made love to
Rose’s sister when she came. And she appeared to enjoy Bill’s method
of learning French, for many a cheerful laugh did our hero hear from
below, and an incessant clatter of tongues; how they understood one
another he could not say, but they seemed remarkably pleasant together.
At length, on the tenth day, Dame Moret made her appearance, with a
letter and a huge bundle of garments.
“A letter from madame at last, monsieur. I have had one also, and here
is a bundle of clothes made as if for my son, who is a tall man like
yourself. In these garments you may walk about the country and fish to
amuse yourself, for madame says you must not on any account think of
escaping till you see Monsieur Plessis, who will bring a passport all
ready for your use to travel into Flanders. But what an old gossip I
am; you are dying to read your letter, which will of course tell you a
great deal more, and better than I can.”
“You are as kind to me as if I were one of your own family; and,
believe me, I shall never forget in after years, if I am spared, Dame
Moret and her kind daughters.”
“You are a brave, handsome garçon, and God will restore you to your
own country. And perhaps some of these days you may marry Mademoiselle
Mabel; and if there is peace soon, I may live to see you both, and my
dear mistress in this old château.”
The young man felt his cheeks flush, for the dame’s words struck a
chord in his heart. Might he ever feel sufficient love for Mabel Arden
to make her his wife, provided her feelings for him were reciprocal?
was a question he had often asked himself. He, however, replied—
“She will not probably remember me when we meet again. She was very
little more than thirteen when last I saw her; indeed, I was not more
than seventeen myself. I doubt if we should recognise each other.”
“I do not think so,” said the dame, thoughtfully; “she may have changed
considerably, for a young girl springing into womanhood does change
much; but you, I should say, have altered but little in features; you
have gained height and strength, it may be; but she would know you, I
feel satisfied, for Mademoiselle Mabel was no common child, even when
only six years old. The memory of early years will cling to her as the
ivy to the oak. But excuse me, monsieur, I will leave you to read your
letter.”
Lieutenant Thornton was very thoughtful as he broke the seal of Madame
Coulancourt’s letter. We shall merely touch upon certain points that
deeply interested and strongly affected himself. The part that he felt
most keenly was Madame Coulancourt’s explanation having reference to
the death of her beloved brother, Sir Oscar de Bracy, whom she felt
quite satisfied was his father. For a time he could scarcely proceed.
This intelligence, though he had not the happiness of remembering his
parents, made him feel acutely this cruel disappointment, for he had
hoped that he would have lived to reach England, and acknowledge him as
his son. It was some balm to his grieved heart to learn that Sir Oscar
had received Mr. Stanmore’s letters, and fully acknowledged him and
his niece Mabel in his will, and before witnesses. Madame Coulancourt
begged him not to grieve over the loss of the papers in the casket, as
she was fully confident of being able, through the agency of Monsieur
Jean Plessis, to obtain duplicates of them, which would do equally
as well. She also stated that she had every reason to hope that her
son Julian had not perished at the time of his separation from her at
Lyons, but was, with many others, forced to serve the Republic, in
either the army or the navy, and that she was exerting herself to trace
him. She also entreated him not to attempt an escape from the country
till he had seen Jean Plessis, who, with his wife and daughter, and a
young friend, were, in a week or so, to leave Paris for Coulancourt.
There was a slight rumour of peace with Great Britain, which she
ardently prayed for, as she longed to return to her native land. The
intelligence she was able to give him was told her by a Madame de
Fenuille, a great friend of Madame Volney’s, who had lately returned
to France from England, viâ Hamburg. She also sincerely congratulated
him upon the singular discovery of his birth, and consequent connection
with her by ties of blood, and this unexpected discovery accounted for
the affection she had so unaccountably felt for him from the very first
and only interview they ever had. She was at the time struck with his
features, which seemed to recall the long past, though she could not,
so troubled as she then was, tax her memory; but now she felt satisfied
it was his resemblance to a beloved brother.
Our hero read the kind and affectionate letter of his aunt with deep
emotion; it contained much besides, bearing proof the writer was
depressed at the death of a brother she had fondly hoped to have seen
once more.
That night the young sailor slept but little. He felt deeply grieved at
his father’s death; for, like Madame Coulancourt, he had looked forward
to Sir Oscar’s return to Europe, and that any mystery yet attached to
his birth would be cleared up; he was of course not acquainted with the
ample details in Sir Oscar’s will and papers, all of which Mr. Stanmore
possessed, and which awaited his return to England.
Besides having his thoughts bent upon the loss he had thus incurred,
with a very serious feeling, they also rested upon Mabel Arden.
Hitherto he had only remembered her as an endearing child—as a sister.
She was now, he was assured, a fair and beautiful girl; would she be
so changed by the lapse of five years, as to baffle his memory of her
features? Then it occurred to him that, from untoward circumstances,
years might elapse before his foot would again rest on England’s soil.