On reaching the mansion, Monsieur Gramont’s first interview was with
Sergeant Perrin in the lower hall.
“So you missed seizing the person of Louis Lebeau?” said the Maire to
the sergeant.
“Yes, Monsieur Gramont, we did; he was certainly not in the château,
and you did not give us further instructions than to search the house,
and keep a careful guard, which we did.”
“Till you heard the firing, sergeant, down at Palos Creek, and then you
left only two of the men to keep watch—eh, mon ami?”
“Well, Monsieur le Maire, I thought I ought, under the circumstances,
to see if we could be of any service in driving off those diables
Anglais, but they had a heavy gun loaded with grape.”
“Never mind, sergeant; I am aware that grape is not easy of digestion,
so you prudently retired.”
“Non, ma foi, monsieur, not till the Vengeance was fairly out of the
creek. The coast-guard would not face the gun, and three men were
killed and a great many wounded amongst the soldiers.”
“Bien, as that cannot be remedied, let us talk of what we have on
hand; send one of your men for a lad called Joseph, belonging to this
establishment.”
In a few minutes one of the men returned with the gardener’s grandson,
who looked very frightened.
“Where did you go, my lad,” inquired Monsieur Gramont, “yesterday
evening, just after dusk?”
The boy looked all round him for help, he grew pale, and remained
silent.
“Oh!” said Monsieur Gramont, “are you another dummy? Do you know, if
you do not find your tongue, I will find a most effectual restorer of
speech.”
A friend stepped into the chamber to the great relief of the culprit,
with an easy, unembarrassed countenance, and faced Monsieur Gramont
without flinching; this friend to Joseph was pretty Julia Plessis.
“You frighten the lad, Monsieur Gramont,” said Julia, patting the boy’s
head; “don’t be alarmed, Joseph, tell Monsieur le Maire that you did
what you were told to do, and obeyed your mistress.”
“I should be sorry, mademoiselle,” said Bertram Gramont, “to do
anything displeasing to Madame Coulancourt. So I will let this lad go
about his business, as it matters very little his confirmation of a
fact. I am aware he went to guide or bring back a pony, one on which
Louis Lebeau left this château. Perhaps, mademoiselle, you could tell
me where the said Louis Lebeau went to.”
“Really, Monsieur Gramont,” returned Julia demurely, “you seem so very
well informed of the movements of all here, that any information from
me would be idle.”
“Well, then, mademoiselle, I will not trouble you, except with a
message to Madame Coulancourt. Will you be so good as to say I shall
feel gratified if she will favour me with an interview? I request this
as a favour, not as a duty that I have to perform.”
“Certainly, Monsieur Gramont,” said Julia; “if you will please to come
into the saloon I will inform madame of your request.”
“Is your father in the château, mademoiselle?” said Monsieur le Maire,
as Julia ushered him into the principal saloon.
“No, monsieur; he went early this morning to Havre;” so saying she
retired.
Monsieur Gramont stood facing the portrait of the late Duke de
Coulancourt with a thoughtful and serious expression on his features;
he was not at all repenting the injustice he contemplated, far from
it; but he was thinking, at the moment, that it was very possible
that France might return at no distant time to a monarchical form of
government; and if so, would it not be possible to gain the defunct
title as well as the estate? Monsieur Gramont was fond of “castle
building;” it is very pleasant at times, but, unfortunately, we are apt
to be recalled rather suddenly and disagreeably to this dull earth and
its sad realities. Monsieur Gramont was startled out of his day dreams
by the entrance of Madame Coulancourt.
Now that it was come to the point to carry out his intended project, he
felt somewhat embarrassed; there was a conscious dignity, a stately and
impressive loftiness of character visible in every word and movement
of the ex-Duchesse de Coulancourt that had its effect upon him, and
after the first formal words had passed and both were seated, it all at
once struck the Maire, as he looked into the still beautiful and calm
features of Madame Coulancourt, that what he had to say was by no means
so easily said as he had imagined. However, it was necessary to make
a beginning, so after a little pause of embarrassment on the part of
Monsieur Gramont, he said—
“A very unpleasant duty, madame, has fallen to my lot to execute.”
“Then, monsieur,” said Madame, “the sooner an unpleasant duty is
brought to a close the better; therefore pray do not hesitate, for
suspense is oftentimes more trying than the reality.”
“True, madame, so it is,” returned Bertram Gramont; “I perfectly agree
with you. You came, madame, to this château with a Mademoiselle de
Tourville; her brother had been residing here before your arrival;
indeed, I met that gentleman myself. It has reached the ears of
Monsieur Fouché, the Minister of Police, that this Mademoiselle de
Tourville is your own daughter, and that the person who represented her
brother is an English naval officer.”
Monsieur le Maire looked up into madame’s countenance, but though pale,
there was no alteration in its expression.
“Well, Monsieur Gramont,” said Madame Coulancourt, “what is the
consequence of this discovery of yours or Monsieur Fouché’s?”
“It was my discovery, madame,” said Monsieur Gramont, a little roused;
“it was my bounden duty to have made it. However, as you request to
know what may be the consequences, I must inform you that I have
received an official order to arrest you and your daughter, and to send
you both under escort to Paris, to answer to the charge of harbouring
the enemies of the Republic in your château, knowing them to be such.
These, madame, are my instructions,” taking, as he spoke, from his
pocket-book a parchment, with a portentous looking seal on it, and the
signature of Fouché, the future Duke of Oranto, affixed to it.
“I do not mean to doubt or dispute your instructions, Monsieur
Gramont,” replied Madame Coulancourt, with but a slight agitation of
manner, “and will reserve anything I may have to say till confronted
with my accusers.”
Rather disappointed in the degree of emotion betrayed by Mabel’s
mother, Bertram Gramont resolved to inflict a further blow on his
intended victim.
“Besides this charge against you, Madame Coulancourt, which seems
greatly increased by the events of last night, which will exasperate
the Government beyond measure, I find that a young man calling himself
Louis Lebeau has been secreted in this château for several days—is not
this the case, madame?”
“I deny nothing, monsieur,” said Madame Coulancourt, calmly and coldly.
“Pray let me know the extent of the accusations against me, and what it
is your pleasure to do.”
“Madame, you mistake my motives altogether,” returned the gentleman,
with a flushed cheek, for he was getting heated, seeing the coolness
of Madame Coulancourt. “It is not my pleasure to injure or disturb
you or your family—if possible, to avoid it. I wish to show you your
situation, and then propose a remedy. Therefore, with respect to the
pretended Louis Lebeau, I am aware that he is your son, Julian Arden.”
Madame Coulancourt, at these words, felt a pang shoot through her
heart. She had no idea that any one could have betrayed that secret.
Monsieur Gramont exulted; he plainly perceived he had now laid his hand
on a chord that vibrated to the touch. He perceived she felt no fear
for herself and Mabel, but she dreaded, and with reason, her son’s
falling into the power of Fouché.
“Your son, madame, left the château yesterday evening with a boy named
Joseph. Before this time he is safely arrested, and it remains with
me to consign him to a prison, perhaps for years. He, you know, is an
Englishman by birth, and I am aware and have proof of his interviews
with Lieutenant Thornton, who is one of the most determined officers
in the navy of England, and the same who, with Sir Sidney Smith,
attempted to cut out the famous privateer, Vengeance, and again last
night did actually carry her and an armed brig off, in which act your
son was to have been an accomplice.”
This was in truth a severe trial for Madame Coulancourt: of all things
she had dreaded her son’s recognition, and his falling into the hands
of her enemies. From his having served, though against his will, in
the French naval service, and his desertion from it, which was quite
natural, his sentence, if it depended on the Government, might be death.
Madame Coulancourt very plainly perceived that all the movements in the
château were betrayed; that there was a concealed enemy amongst them,
or a bribed spy.
Seeing, by madame’s pale, expressive features, that his last untrue
assertion had greatly alarmed her, inwardly exulting, Gramont observed,
with apparent calmness and kindness of tone—
“You see, madame, the position in which I stand as maire of this
arrondissement. It is my bounden duty to preserve the district from the
insidious and piratical designs of the English who infest our coast;
destroying our ships even in our harbours; and the very men who commit
these acts have been protected in this very château more than a month.
What would be said of my conduct and vigilance if these facts were
brought against me? On one condition I can release your son, allow his
escape to England, and destroy the accusations against yourself; and,
if you desire it, aid and ensure your own escape to England with your
son.”
“And what, Monsieur Gramont,” said Madame Coulancourt, eagerly, her
heart beating with anxiety for her children, “what do you require of me
for such services?”
“Plainly, then, madame, the hand of your daughter, Mabel Arden.”
The astonished mother started from her chair with an agonised look; her
lips pale with the agitation she experienced.
Before she could utter a word the door of the adjoining room opened,
and Mabel Arden entered the saloon; her beautiful features calm and
self-possessed, with her fine and graceful figure erect, she passed
before the startled Monsieur Gramont, who instantly rose from his
chair, making a confused salutation at the same time. The mother also
looked at her daughter, for she was not aware that Mabel had been in
the library.
“Monsieur Gramont,” said Mabel, looking him steadily and unflinchingly
in the face, “I have heard every word of the artful and cowardly
insinuations and threats with which you have assailed my beloved
mother, creating a feeling of agony for the safety of her children, for
the purpose of gaining your own ends.”
“Mademoiselle,” interrupted Bertram Gramont, his face flushed with
suppressed rage, and excited by the look of scorn and detestation that
Mabel made no effort to conceal, “you are severe and unjust. Admiration
of your beauty——”
“Monsieur,” hastily interrupted Mabel, “let us end this scene, and
take your answer from me. To save my mother or my brother’s life I
would sacrifice my own at any time. But none of their lives are at all
endangered, and your assertion of my brother’s arrest is false. But
supposing all that you have said to be true, in answer to your proposal
of uniting your destiny to mine, I now tell you, that sooner than do so
I would cheerfully submit to lay my head beneath the axe.”
There were tears in the mother’s eyes as Mabel turned to her and threw
her arms round her neck, and said—
“Dear mother, do not give way to fear or agitation; the same Providence
that has hitherto protected and shielded us will not now desert us. We
have braved greater dangers than this. The monsters that disgraced this
ill-starred land no longer exist; we shall have justice, and whatever
our doom may be, we shall still be together.”
“Very well, mademoiselle,” said Bertram Gramont, giving way to his
passion, “so you despise and scorn me. I will now prove to you that
your words are nought, and that you may yet sue for that which you have
despised.”
He was turning to the door, when it opened and Monsieur Plessis entered
the room. He and his wife had a few minutes before returned from Havre.
Monsieur Gramont paused, and so did Jean Plessis.
After civilly saluting the maire, he said—
“How is it that I see Madame Coulancourt weeping? has anything occurred
to distress you, madame?”
“Monsieur Plessis,” said Bertram Gramont, “you appear to me to be
blessed, not only with immense assurance, but also to have a happy
knack of keeping your head upon your shoulders. Now, it appears to me
this time you have placed it in jeopardy.”
“Pardon, Monsieur le Maire,” interrupted Jean Plessis with a smile,
“you must be joking. For years I never felt my head so safe as at this
moment. I wished much to see you to speak on the subject of the attempt
made to rob me on my journey here.”
Monsieur Gramont visibly started, and at once fiercely said—
“What do you mean, sir? what have I to do with that affair? It was
investigated, as far as it was in my power, at the time.”
“True, monsieur,” returned Jean Plessis, calmly, “but I have this day
learned that one of the robbers is actually in your château, lying
wounded; his eye being knocked out by a splinter of rock, in the affair
on Lyon Point.”
Bertram Gramont grew livid with rage.
“Where did you pick up that infamous lie? You forget, Jean Plessis, to
whom you are talking. Where, I say, did you hear this falsehood?”
“This is no place, monsieur, neither must Madame Coulancourt be
incommoded by our controversy on this subject; I will attend you in
another chamber.”
“Let it be understood, Monsieur Plessis,” returned the Maire, making
an effort to regain his composure, “that Madame Coulancourt and
her daughter are under arrest, and from this moment I forbid all
communication with any person from without. Sergeant Perrin and his men
must be answerable to me for their safe guardianship, as they shall be
escorted to Paris to-morrow.”
“By whose orders, Monsieur Gramont,” inquired Jean Plessis, “is this
harsh measure put in force?”
“I do not see that I am bound to enlighten you, Monsieur Plessis,” said
the Maire, with a sneer. “However, you will, I suppose, acknowledge
this authority,” and he opened his pocket-book, and displayed the order
of arrest, signed by Fouché.
Jean Plessis looked at the already much dreaded signature of Fouché
very calmly.
“Ah!” said he, “I see, this is dated the 16th of June.”
“Well,” said Bertram Gramont, impatiently; “what has that to do with
the validity of the document?”
“Nothing whatever, monsieur,” returned Jean Plessis; “if it had been
executed after the twenty-first. But,” taking a very large memorandum
book from his pocket, opening it, and selecting a document very similar
to the one held by Monsieur Gramont, “here is an order, signed not
only by Monsieur Fouché, but by the most powerful and influential
of the directors of France—Monsieur Barras; it is as recent as the
twenty-second, and if you will cast your eye over it you will perceive
it cancels all previous documents, and especially directs the various
authorities here, and on the road to Paris, to show particular
attention to Madame Coulancourt and her daughter, Mademoiselle Arden.”
Bertram Gramont fell back perfectly annihilated, whilst Mabel, kissing
her mother’s cheek, exclaimed—
“Did I not say, dear mother, that a beneficent Providence would yet
shield us from the evil designs of our enemies!”
Bertram Gramont bit his lip, and with a look of rage and vexation at
Mabel, turned and left the room, saying to Jean Plessis—
“I have not done with you yet, monsieur; follow me into another
apartment.”
“This way, then, Monsieur le Maire,” said the intendant, passing along
the corridor, and throwing open the door of the small saloon into which
our hero was first shown when he entered the Château Coulancourt.
“I see through your designs, Monsieur Plessis,” cried Bertram Gramont,
slamming the door after him as they entered the room; “you think you
can elude justice, and purchase permission to become a traitor.”
“Take care, Bertram Gramont,” said Jean Plessis sternly, “how you
accuse Monsieur Barras of such a crime.”
“Who dares say I accused Monsieur Barras?” hastily interrupted the
maire, turning pale, for in his passion he had allowed his thoughts
utterance, and he well knew what a terrible power the said Monsieur
Barras wielded. “I did not speak of any one in particular; I knew you
to have harboured enemies to your country. You cannot deny but that you
knew that an English officer and one of his men were in this house,
under the assumed names of De Tourville and Bompart, and also that
Madame de Coulancourt had her son concealed here. Do not think that
even Monsieur Barras’ power can shield culprits, against whom such
charges can be fully proven.”
“It will be time enough, Monsieur Gramont,” returned Jean Plessis,
recovering his usual calmness, “to argue this point when Madame
Coulancourt arrives in Paris; she will not shrink from investigation.
At the same time, others will have to answer grave charges. Antoine
Dubois” (the maire started) “declares that the man now lying wounded
in your house was one of the party who, in the disguise of Chouans,
attempted to rob me of important papers, and that his name is
Vadier—Augustine Vadier, once a galley slave, afterwards one of the
monster Robespierre’s diables.”
“Where is that villain? Dubois,” furiously interrupted Bertram Gramont;
“he shall pay dearly for his lies. It was only this morning that I
turned the wretch from my house for insolence and drunkenness.”
“He says, monsieur,” returned Jean Plessis, “that he was turned away
because he demanded five hundred francs of this robber, Vadier, for
inducing a girl in this house, called Dedan, to be a spy upon her
mistress and all in the house.”
Bertram Gramont was completely taken aback; he stamped with rage, only
repeating—
“I demand, as maire of this district, to know where is this cursed liar
and villain?”
“He is not far from Havre at this moment, monsieur,” said Jean Plessis.
“I met him on the road, and he confessed the whole to me, and that
Dedan was his accomplice. When I returned and taxed the girl, she burst
into tears, and did not deny it. She, too, has left the house.”
“I will not leave an inch of skin on that lying villain’s back,” said
the maire, turning towards the door. “There is no use, Jean Plessis,
in our bandying words; we know each other, we shall meet in Paris;
and depend upon it, you have not triumphed over me, or accomplished
your project yet. I shall not, of course, dispute Monsieur Barras’ and
Monsieur Fouché’s right to grant Madame Coulancourt and her daughter,
and yourself and family, safe conduct to Paris; but your passport does
not extend to her son, Julian Arden! Ah! you start, the game is equal
still, we shall see who wins;” and passing into the lower hall, he
remained some minutes conversing with Sergeant Perrin; then mounting
his horse, rode at a sharp pace from the château.
Ten minutes afterwards, Sergeant Perrin and his men also left the
château.