“Bill,” said Lieutenant Thornton, one morning after breakfast, as,
habited in a very unpretending shooting-dress of dark green cloth,
which fitted him well, “Bill, did you ever go out trout-fishing?”
“Trout-fishing, sir,” repeated Bill, who was also equipped in a
somewhat similar dress, and whose whiskers and moustachios had grown
into formidable dimensions; “no, sir, I can’t say as how I ever seed a
trout. I’ve speared and harpooned many a shark; if he’s anything like
one of them ere beggars, I’m blowed, your honour, but we’ll have some
fun with him.”
“Well, I confess, Bill, a trout is not exactly a shark; but there’s
some sport in catching him, and he makes a capital fry; so strap that
basket on you,” taking down, as he spoke, a trout rod, several of
which were suspended on hooks, in a chamber devoted to articles for
the chase, and various other amusements that men call sport. “At all
events, Bill,” continued our hero, preparing to sally forth, “if we
catch no fish, we shall have air and exercise, and that’s something. If
we meet any one, do not speak a word; and, above all things, leave off
kissing the girls; it’s a bad habit.”
Bill rubbed his left ear, with a very comical expression of
countenance, and turned a very doubtful look at his master.
“Your honour can parley vous with the women,” said Bill, “but, lord,
sir, I’m high and dry, brought up on a sand-bank; but, howsomever, I
will do my best, and steer clear; hope your honour will give ’em a wide
berth also, seeing that they are a kind of craft that loves hugging;
which is somewhat dangerous, when the wind’s right on the shore.”
“I will set you a good example, Bill, depend upon it; for if we expect
to get out of this country, we must make sail without a craft in tow.”
Bill smiled, and commenced practising silence, though his thoughts were
busy.
Leaving the château by the back entrance, and locking the door after
them, they proceeded to find their way to the trout stream they could
see in the distance from the upper windows of the château, winding
through the fields and vineyards about half a mile from the house. It
was very picturesque scenery surrounding the Château de Coulancourt; a
bend of the river Seine, of a noble breadth, came within less than a
mile of the mansion, and a splendid trout stream emptied itself into
its broader waters. The country was also well timbered, and here and
there were scattered several well-kept farms, considering the neglected
way in which farming in general was attended to in France; the culture
of the vine being a principal feature in all farms in that vicinity.
The vine was as yet scarcely showing symptoms of vegetation; not that
French vineyards in general are an object of either interest or beauty,
the grape only growing to the height of four feet, and trained to a
single stick.
The Englishmen confined their rambles the first day merely to the trout
stream, which was a remarkably picturesque one, and about five miles
from the château, sometimes tumbling in rapid runs, at other times
gliding along under steep banks overgrown with flowering plants, and
wild cactus. Our hero was not a practised trout deceiver, but he could
throw a fly sufficiently well to coax a middling-sized fish to make
a fool of himself, to Bill’s surprise, who had watched his master’s
proceedings with considerable amazement, having never seen a trout
fly in his life, and had an idea in his head that his master must be
a little cracked on the subject of catching fish, if he expected to
entrap one with such a rum concern as an artificial fly seemed to him.
To his astonishment, however, the Lieutenant sung out—
“Now, Bill, I have him; make haste with the landing net, he’s over
three pound weight.”
“My eyes, where is he, sir?” exclaimed Bill, seeing the rod bent
double, and no signs of a fish.
“I am playing him a bit, Bill; he’s rather lively yet.”
“Lord love your honour! Heave him out, I’ll take the liveliness out of
him.”
As he uttered the words, there was the report of a pistol and the
prolonged scream of a female voice, which appeared to come out from a
thicket near them, and through which they had observed ran a carriage
road.
Dropping his rod, regardless of the trout, who was, no doubt,
exceedingly obliged, our hero ran towards the wood, followed by Bill
with the landing net in his hand, wondering what sort of fish his
master was now going to catch.
Leaping a stile, that delayed Bill a minute to get over, Lieutenant
Thornton reached the main road after a run of three minutes, and soon
beheld the cause of the pistol-shot and the shriek of the female. In
the road stood a travelling Berlin, with one horse still attached, the
other lying dead entangled in its harness. Two men in very peculiar
costumes were struggling to hold a tall, strong man, another clutched a
young female by the arm, preventing her flight, whilst two others were
deliberately rifling the carriage.
Such a proceeding in broad daylight, and in, as he thought, a peaceable
country, naturally astounded our hero, who, nevertheless, drew his
couteau de chasse, without which no gentleman stirred abroad in those
days, and made a spring at the powerful-looking ruffian dragging back
the young female. The man with a curse drew a pistol, and fired full in
William Thornton’s face; and as he did so a scream of agony escaped the
young girl’s lips, but the ball only knocked off the Lieutenant’s hat,
and the next instant his knife passed through the villain with such
force that the hilt striking against his chest drove him to the ground,
quite dead; he was dragging the fainting female down with him, but our
hero caught her round the waist, and held her up.
Short as was his glance of her pale face, he saw that she was young
and singularly beautiful; he had no time to see more, for the second
man, with a fearful execration, rushed upon the Lieutenant with a drawn
knife of formidable dimensions, but Bill Saunders, who had by this
time arrived on the scene of action, with only his landing-net for a
weapon, just as the ruffian was about to strike at his commander with
his knife, popped the net over his head, giving it such a powerful pull
back that he half-strangled the man by tightening the iron rim against
his throat, bringing him to the ground.
“Blow me,” chuckled Bill, “if here aint a fish of another sort! How are
you, my hearty, after that?” administering, as he spoke, a kick that
turned the man over on his face.
In the meantime the stranger, struggling with the two other ruffians,
who were startled by the sudden onset of the Englishman and his
companion, got free, and instantly pulling a pistol from his breast,
shot the nearest to him; whilst our hero, having laid the female, who
had fainted, on the bank, rushed up to assist the stranger, another
female in the carriage shrieking out that the robbers would murder her
father.
Two of the men lying dead, one disabled, and held in Bill’s grasp like
a vice, so terrified the other two that they took to their heels,
plunging into the wood, and getting lost in its intricacies.
The stranger ran at once to the bank, where the female our hero had
rescued lay prostrate, and raising her tenderly in his arms, called out—
“Julia, Julia, make haste, and come here.”
Our hero was turning to assist, when a young girl leaped from the
voiture, and ran eagerly towards the stranger, casting a look at
Lieutenant Thornton as she passed, of great curiosity. She was very
pale, and very frightened; but our hero could perceive she was a
remarkably pretty girl, but very different in manners and appearance
from her companion.
“This must be the intendant, Jean Plessis,” thought our hero, “though
I do not remember him.” Turning to Bill, who was still grasping his
captive, and giving him an angry shake now and then, he said—“Let him
go, Bill, as if accidentally. It will not do in our situation to have
to confront the authorities against this fellow. The other two are
dead. Just slacken your hold, and come with me. I see the rascally
postillion coming along the road with several persons following. I dare
say he ran away.”
The stranger having restored the young lady to consciousness, for she
had fainted, now came towards our hero, and, holding out his hand,
said, in an agitated voice—
“I feel certain we owe our preservation to Monsieur Thornton; you do
not, I fear, remember me. I am Jean Plessis.”
Our hero shook the hand held out to him warmly, saying—
“I guessed as much, Monsieur Plessis, and now that I hear the tone of
your voice, my recollection returns; but how came you to recognise me?”
“Oh, monsieur, only because I knew you were at the château, and hearing
you speak, satisfied me you were Lieutenant Thornton. It was most
providential that you were on the spot, otherwise those ruffians would
have grossly ill-used my daughter and Mademoiselle de Tourville, and
plundered us of everything. Ah, you were right,” he added, in a low
voice, looking round; “I see your man has let the ruffian he held steal
away. No doubt you ordered him to do so.”
“I did,” returned our hero; “I thought he would be a useless
incumbrance to us.”
“You are quite right; but one word more for the present, for I see
several people of the vicinity coming across the fields. Recollect
you must take the name of Tourville—Philip de Tourville—brother to
this young lady under my care. We shall have more time to talk of this
when we get to the château; but let me introduce you to Mademoiselle
Tourville; she is a young lady of good family, but, unfortunately, a
sufferer during the terrible Reign of Terror.”
Both the females were standing at some little distance, leaning on each
other, and conversing in a low voice. As Jean Plessis and our hero
approached, they turned round, and Lieutenant Thornton could perceive
that the taller of the two, a graceful and very lovely girl, trembled
exceedingly and was as pale as death.
“Mademoiselle de Tourville,” said Jean Plessis, “to this gallant
gentleman we owe our rescue; this is Monsieur Thornton, that for a
time takes your name, and will pass as your brother; and this is my
daughter, monsieur,” motioning with his hand to the other young lady,
who appeared infinitely more self-possessed, and, as our hero thought,
much less frightened.
“I will go and speak to those men coming up,” continued Jean Plessis,
“and prevent them addressing your man, and will send for another horse
to take us to the château;” so saying he left the lieutenant with the
two maidens.
Our hero, though exceedingly puzzled, and, indeed, somewhat bewildered
by the whole affair, but particularly by his having to take the name of
Tourville, and to pass for the brother of the beautiful girl who stood
before him, advanced, and looking Mademoiselle de Tourville in the
face, said—
“You are still, I fear, mademoiselle, much frightened; I wish I had
been so fortunate as to have been nearer, I might have prevented those
rascals altogether from frightening and insulting you.”
Mademoiselle de Tourville made an attempt to reply, but the words died
away on her lips, and with difficulty she kept from giving way to tears.
Seeing the distress of her companion, Mademoiselle Plessis at once said—
“I am sure, monsieur, we are deeply grateful for the assistance you so
very opportunely rendered us. My friend was terrified perhaps more than
she otherwise would have been by the man who held her, firing a pistol
full in your face.”
“That was certainly the case,” added Mademoiselle de Tourville,
in a trembling voice, and her eyes resting for an instant on the
Lieutenant’s features. It was but for a second, yet the look of those
full, dark, and wonderfully expressive eyes, created a strange and
undefined feeling in our hero’s breast. He bowed, and replied, he felt
proud of her interest in his safety, and hoped in a very short time she
would feel quite restored; and then added, with a smile—
“According to Monsieur Plessis, I am to sustain the part of a brother,
so that I only acted, as if by intuition, the character I was to
perform. But who were those villains? were they mere robbers?”
“We cannot tell, monsieur,” said Mademoiselle Plessis. “We never heard
of robbers in these parts. We came down the Seine from Arlet to Rouen,
and then my father, having to visit one or two farms on the way, hired
this berlin to take us to the château, and to show the country to my
friend. My mother and our female domestics went on in the barge to
Havre, and I dare say are at the château by this time.”
Jean Plessis here joined them, saying—
“You had better, young ladies, walk on with monsieur a little way. I
will overtake you with the voiture. I shall have a horse here in a few
minutes. I must have the two villains, who have suffered the penalty of
their crime, carried to the village and buried.”
Mademoiselle de Tourville shuddered, but Lieutenant Thornton said—
“Were they robbers, Monsieur Plessis?”
“Not common robbers, certainly,” returned the intendant, “for I am
told there are none in these parts; but we shall hear more about them
by-and-by.”
The two young girls then walked gently on, our hero keeping by the side
of Mademoiselle Tourville.
“You selected a very pleasant mode of travelling, ladies,” remarked
our hero, breaking the silence; “I have heard that the windings of
the Seine, and the banks of the country on each side are extremely
beautiful.”
“We enjoyed the sailing part of our journey very much,” replied the
daughter of the Intendant, “but we did not travel all the way from
Paris by water; Madame Coulancourt’s carriage took us to Morlins, and
thence we travelled to Rouen.”
“I trust you left Madame Coulancourt quite well,” said the Lieutenant.
“Thank you; quite well,” returned Mademoiselle Tourville, with a voice
less agitated; and looking up, the extreme paleness of her countenance
passing off, a slight tinge of returning colour was visible on her
cheek. “We have letters and a parcel for you, Monsieur Thornton.”
“You forget,” said the Lieutenant—struck by the tone of her voice, and
the different accent in which she spoke the French language from her
friend—“you forget I must accustom myself to the name of Tourville, and
that I am your brother. May I ask, have you a brother?”
“I hope so,” returned the young girl, with a good deal of emotion;
“but I can only say I trust Providence has preserved him. The terrible
Revolution separated us, and since then we have had no certain
information concerning him.”
“Such has been the lot of many a brother and sister, mademoiselle,”
said the Lieutenant. “Madame Coulancourt must have told you that she
lost a beloved son, and was forced to separate, also, from a daughter
she dearly loved.”
“We heard of that event,” returned Mademoiselle de Tourville, and, in a
voice tremulous with emotion, and letting her eyes, in which there were
tears, rest upon the ground—“and how you, monsieur, though merely a
youth, bravely protected madame’s little girl, and took her safely to
England.”
“What is it,” said our hero, communing with his own thoughts, “that
so strangely stirs up recollections of the past, and makes me feel so
agitated when I hear the sound of this girl’s voice, and gaze into her
beautiful eyes? Mabel was but a child, and yet those large eyes of hers
spoke to the heart even then.”
“You seem very thoughtful, Monsieur de Tourville,” said Mademoiselle
Plessis, with a curious smile upon her short, pretty lip. “Are you
thinking of Madame de Coulancourt’s beautiful daughter, for a letter
was read to us from a Madame Volney, which stated that Mademoiselle
Mabel, from being only a ‘pale, thin, interesting child, had grown into
a lovely young woman?’”
The young man started, and flushed in the cheek. “Pale, thin,
interesting child!” Those were his own words! He looked at Mademoiselle
Plessis, but she was quite demure; and her friend was gazing at the
road. The sound of carriage-wheels caused them to turn round, and then
they beheld the berlin coming towards them, to which two horses were
harnessed.
“Ah! there is our voiture, and our cowardly postillion,” said
Mademoiselle Plessis; “I do hate a coward: the handsomest man in the
world would be contemptible in my eyes if he showed the white feather.
But it is pardonable in our sex,” she added, with a gay laugh; “is it
not, Monsieur de Tourville?”
“It becomes an attraction,” said the Lieutenant, gaily; “it ensures our
sex the attention which we might not otherwise be favoured with.”
“You do us wrong there, monsieur,” said Mademoiselle de Tourville, in a
low voice.
The carriage stopped beside them, and Monsieur Plessis jumped out.
Lieutenant Thornton assisted the two girls into the vehicle, and then,
when Monsieur Plessis wished him to get in, he declined, saying he
would walk, as Bill Saunders was with him, and he wished to go back for
the fishing-rod he had left on the side of the stream.
Monsieur Plessis considered a moment, and then replied—
“You are right; so farewell, monsieur, for an hour or two.”
As the Lieutenant was closing the door, his eyes met those of
Mademoiselle de Tourville, who observed, with no little agitation—
“Indeed, monsieur, you incur a risk: suppose those horrid men still
lurk in the wood!”
“There is no fear of that,” said Jean Plessis; “the peasantry are
roused, and these villains will either be taken or get out of the
country as fast as they can.”