"I was saying to you, Monsieur le marquis, when these young ladies did
me the honor to introduce us, that you seem to be one of those who
desire an immediate call to arms."
"I should think so! parbleu! and I am willing to say so to you,
monsieur, who, as I see, are one of us--"
Petit-Pierre nodded in affirmation.
"Yes, that is my desire," continued the marquis; "but no matter what I
say and do, I can't get any one to believe an old man who scorched his
skin in the terrible fire which laid waste the country from 1793 to
1797. No! they listen to a pack of gabblers, lawyers without a brief,
fine dandies who dare not sleep in the open air for fear of spoiling
their clothes, milk-sops, fellows," added the marquis, kicking at
the logs, which revenged themselves by showering his boots with
sparks,--"fellows who--"
"Papa!" said Mary, gently, observing a furtive smile on Petit-Pierre's
face. "Papa, do be calm!"
"No, I shall not be calm," continued the fiery old gentleman.
"Everything was ready. Jean Oullier assured me that my division was
boiling over with enthusiasm; and now the affair is adjourned over
from the 14th of May to the Greek Calends!"
"Patience, Monsieur le marquis," said Petit-Pierre, "the time will
soon be here."
"Patience! patience! that's easy for you to say," replied the marquis,
sighing. "You are young, and you have time enough to wait; but I-- Who
knows if God will grant me days enough to unfurl the good old flag I
fought under so gayly once upon a time?"
Petit-Pierre was touched by the old man's regret.
"But have you not heard, Monsieur le marquis, for I have," he said,
"that the call to arms was only postponed because of the uncertainty
that exists as to the arrival of the princess?"
This speech seemed to increase the marquis's ill-humor.
"Let me alone, young man," he said, in an angry tone. "Don't I know
the meaning of that old joke? During the five years that I fought to
the death in La Vendée were not they always telling us that a royal
personage would draw his sword and rally all ambitions round him?
Didn't I myself, with many others, wait for the Comte d'Artois to land
on the shores of the Île Dieu on the 2d of October? We shall no more
see the Duchesse de Berry in 1832 than we saw the Comte d'Artois in
1796. That, however, will not prevent me from getting myself killed on
their behalf, as becomes a loyal gentleman."
"Monsieur le Marquis de Souday," said Petit-Pierre, in a voice of
strange emotion, "I swear to you, myself, that if the Duchesse de
Berry had nothing more than a nutshell at her command she would cross
the seas and place herself under Charette's banner, borne by a hand so
valiant and so noble. I swear to you that she will come now, if not to
conquer, at least to die with those who have risen to defend the
rights of her son."
There was such energy and determination in the tone with which he
spoke, and it seemed so extraordinary that such words should issue
from the lips of a little lad of sixteen, that the marquis looked him
in the face with extreme surprise.
"Who are you?" he said, giving way to his astonishment. "By what right
do you speak thus of the intentions of her Royal Highness, and pledge
your word for her, young man--or rather, child?"
"I think, Monsieur le marquis, that Mademoiselle de Souday did me the
honor to mention my name when she presented me to you."
"True, Monsieur Petit-Pierre," replied the marquis, confused at his
outburst. "I beg your pardon. But," he added conjecturing the youth to
be the son of some great personage, "is it indiscreet to ask your
opinion as to the present likelihood of a call to arms? Young as you
are, you speak with such excellent sense that I do not conceal from
you my desire for your opinion."
"My opinion, Monsieur le marquis, can be all the more readily given
because I see plainly that it is much the same as yours."
"Really?"
"My opinion--if I may permit myself to give one--"
"Heavens! after the pitiful creatures I heard talk to-night you seem to
me as wise as the seven sages of Greece."
"You are too kind. It is my opinion, Monsieur le marquis, that it was
most unfortunate we could not rise, as agreed upon, on the night of
the 13th and 14th of May."
"That's just what I told them. May I ask your reasons, monsieur?"
"My reasons are these: The soldiers were at that time quartered in the
villages, among the inhabitants, scattered here and there, without
object and without a flag. Nothing was easier than to surprise and
disarm them in a sudden attack."
"Most true; whereas now--"
"Now the order has been given to break up the small encampments and
draw into a focus all the scattered military forces and bodies,--not
of mere companies and detachments, but of battalions and regiments. We
shall now need a pitched battle to reach the results we might have
gained by the cost of that one night's sleep."
"That's conclusive!" cried the marquis, enthusiastically, "and I am
dreadfully distressed that out of the forty and one reasons I gave my
opponents to-night I never thought of that. But," he continued, "that
order which you say has been sent to the troops, are you quite sure it
has been actually issued?"
"Quite sure," said Petit-Pierre, with the most modest and deferential
look he could put upon his face.
The marquis looked at him in stupefaction.
"It is a pity," he went on, "a great pity! However, as you say, my
young friend,--you will permit me to give you that title,--it is
better to have patience and wait till our new Maria Theresa comes into
the midst of her new Hungarians, and meantime to drink to the health
of her royal son and his spotless banner. That reminds me that these
young ladies must deign to get our breakfast ready, for Jean Oullier
has gone off, as some one," he added, with a half-angry look at his
daughters, "has taken upon herself to allow him to go to Montaigu
without my orders."
"That some one was I, Monsieur le marquis," said Petit-Pierre, whose
courteous tone was not quite free from command. "I beg your pardon for
having thus employed one of your men; but you were absent, and it was
most urgent that we should judge exactly what we had to expect from
the temper of the peasantry assembled at Montaigu for the fair."
There was a tone of such easy and natural assurance in that soft,
sweet voice, such a consciousness of authority in the person who
spoke, that the marquis was speechless. He ran over in his mind the
various great personages he could think of who might have a son of
this age, and all he managed to say in reply were a few stammered
words of acquiescence.
The Comte de Bonneville entered the room at this moment. Petit-Pierre,
as the older acquaintance of the two, presented him to the marquis.
The open countenance and frank, joyous manner of the count immediately
won upon the old gentleman, already delighted with Petit-Pierre. He
dismissed his ill-humor, and vowed not to think any more of the cold
hearts and backwardness of his late companions; and he inwardly
resolved, as he led his guests to the dining-room, to use all his wit
to extract from the Comte de Bonneville the real name of the youth who
now chose to pass under the incognito of Petit-Pierre.