The same day, about five in the afternoon the Comte de Bonneville
returned. He had seen five of the principal leaders and they agreed to
be at Souday that night between eight and nine o'clock.
The marquis, always hospitable, ordered his cook to tax the
poultry-yard and the larder to the utmost, and to get ready the most
plentiful supper she could possibly manage.
The five leaders who agreed to assemble that evening were Louis
Renaud, Pascal, C[oe]ur-de-Lion, Gaspard, and Achille. Those of our
readers who are somewhat familiar with the events of 1832 will easily
recognize the personages who concealed their identity under these
_noms de guerre_ for the purpose of throwing the authorities off the
scent in case of intercepted despatches.
By eight o'clock Jean Oullier, to the marquis's deep regret, had not
returned. Consequently, the care of the entrance gates was intrusted
to Mary, who was not to open them unless in reply to a knock given in
a peculiar manner.
The salon, with shutters closed and curtains drawn, was the place
selected for the conference. By seven o'clock four persons were ready
and waiting in this room,--namely, the Marquis de Souday, the Comte de
Bonneville, Petit-Pierre, and Bertha. Mary, as we have said, was
stationed at the gates, in a sort of little lodge, which had an
iron-barred window toward the road, through which it was possible to
see whoever rapped, and so admit none until assured of the visitor's
identity.
Of all those in the salon the most impatient was Petit-Pierre, whose
dominant characteristic did not seem to be calmness. Though the clock
said barely half-past seven, and the meeting was fixed for eight, he
went restlessly to the door again and again to hear if any sounds
along the road announced the expected gentlemen. At last, precisely at
eight o'clock, a knock was heard at the gate, or rather three knocks
separated in a certain manner, which indicated the arrival of a
leader.
"Ah!" exclaimed Petit-Pierre, going eagerly to the door.
But the Comte de Bonneville stopped him with a respectful smile and
gesture.
"You are right," said the young man, and he went back and seated
himself in the darkest corner of the salon. Almost at the same moment
one of the expected leaders appeared in the doorway.
"M. Louis Renaud," said the Comte de Bonneville, loud enough for
Petit-Pierre to hear him, and to recognize the man under the disguise
of the assumed name.
The Marquis de Souday went forward to meet the new-comer, with all the
more eagerness because this young man was one of the few at the
conference of the morning who had favored an immediate call to arms.
"Ah, my dear count," said the marquis, "come in. You are the first to
arrive, and that's a good omen."
"If I am the first, my dear marquis," replied Louis Renaud, "I assure
you it is not that others are less eager; but my home being nearer to
the château I have not so far to come, you know."
So saying, the personage who called himself Louis Renaud, and who was
dressed in the ordinary simple clothes of a Breton peasant, advanced
into the room with such perfect juvenile grace and bowed to Bertha
with an ease so essentially aristocratic, that it was quite evident he
would have found it difficult to assume, even momentarily, the manners
and language of the social caste whose clothes he borrowed.
These social duties duly paid to the marquis and Bertha, the new-comer
turned his attention to the Comte de Bonneville; but the latter,
knowing the impatience of Petit-Pierre, who, though he remained in his
corner, was making his presence known by movements the count alone
could interpret, at once proceeded to open the question.
"My dear count," he said to the so-called Louis Renaud, "you know the
extent of my powers, you have read the letter of her Royal Highness
Madame, and you know that, momentarily at least, I am her intermediary
to you. What is your opinion on the situation?"
"My opinion, my dear count, I may not give precisely as I gave it this
morning. Here, where I know I am among the ardent supporters of
Madame, I shall risk telling the plain truth."
"Yes, the plain truth," said Bonneville; "that is what Madame desires
to know. And whatever you tell me, my dear count, she will know
exactly as if she heard it."
"Well, my opinion is that nothing ought to be done until the arrival
of the maréchal."
"The maréchal!" exclaimed Petit-Pierre. "Is he not at Nantes?"
Louis Renaud, who had not before noticed the young man in his corner,
turned his eyes to him on hearing this question. Then he bowed, and
replied:--
"On reaching home this morning I heard for the first time that the
maréchal had left Nantes as soon as he heard of the failure at
Marseille, and no one knows either the road he has taken or the
purpose that carried him away."
Petit-Pierre stamped his foot with impatience.
"But," he cried, "the maréchal is the soul of the enterprise. His
absence will check the uprising and diminish the confidence of our
men. Unless he commands, all the leaders will be of equal rank, and we
shall see the same rivalries among them that were so fatal to the
royalist party in the old wars of La Vendée."
Seeing that Petit-Pierre assumed the conversation, Bonneville stepped
backward, giving place to the youth, who now advanced into the circle
of light cast by the lamps and candles. Louis Renaud looked with
amazement at a young man, apparently almost a child, who spoke with
such assurance and decision.
"It is a delay, monsieur," he said; "that is all. You may be sure that
as soon as the maréchal knows of the arrival of Madame in La Vendée,
he will instantly return to his post."
"Did not M. de Bonneville tell you that Madame was on the way and
would be speedily among her friends?"
"Yes, he did tell me so; and the news has given me the keenest
satisfaction."
"Delay! delay!" murmured Petit-Pierre. "I have always heard it said
that any uprising in your part of the country ought to take place
during the first two weeks in May. After that the inhabitants are busy
with their agriculture and are not so easily aroused. Here it is the
14th, and we are already late. As for the leaders, they are convoked,
are they not?"
"Yes, monsieur," said Louis Renaud, with a certain sad gravity, "they
are; and I ought to add that you can hardly count on any but the
leaders." Then he added, with a sigh, "And not all of them either, as
M. le Marquis de Souday discovered this morning."
"You surely do not mean to say that, monsieur!" cried Petit-Pierre.
"Lukewarmness in La Vendée! and that too, when our friends in
Marseille--and I can speak confidently, for I have just arrived from
there--are so furious at their failure that they are longing to take
revenge!"
A pale smile crossed the lips of the young leader.
"You are from the South, monsieur," he said, "though you have not the
accent of it."
"You are right; I am," answered Petit-Pierre. "What of it?"
"You must not confound the South with the West, the Marseillais with
the Vendéans. A proclamation may rouse the South, and a check rebuff
it. Not so in La Vendée. When you have been here some time you will
appreciate the truth of what I say. La Vendée is grave, cold, silent.
All projects are discussed slowly, deliberately; the chances of
success and defeat are each considered. Then, if La Vendée sees a
prospect of success she holds out her hand, says _yes_, and dies, if
need be, to fulfil her promise. But as she knows that _yes_ and _no_
are words of life and death to her, she is slow in uttering them."
"You forget enthusiasm, monsieur," said Petit-Pierre.
"Ah, enthusiasm!" he replied; "I heard that talked of in my boyhood.
It is a divinity of a past age which has stepped from its pedestal
since the days when so many pledges were made to our fathers only to
be forgotten. Do you know what passed this morning at Saint-Philbert?"
"In part, yes; the marquis told me."
"But after the marquis left?"
"No; I know nothing."
"Well, out of the twelve leaders present who were appointed to command
the twelve divisions, seven protested in the name of their men, and
they have by this time sent those men back to their homes, all the
while declaring, every one of them, that personally and under all
circumstances, they would shed their blood for Madame; only they would
not, they added, take before God the terrible responsibility of
dragging their peasantry into an enterprise which promised to be
nothing more, so it seemed to them, than a bloody skirmish."
"Then it comes to this," said Petit-Pierre. "Must we renounce all
hope, all effort?"
The same sad smile crossed the lips of the young leader.
"All _hope_, yes, perhaps; all effort, _no_. Madame has written that
she is urged forward by the committee in Paris; Madame assures us that
she has ramifications in the army. Let us therefore make the attempt!
Possibly a riot in Paris, combined with a defection in the army, may
prove her judgment to have been better than ours. If we make no
attempt on her behalf, Madame will always be convinced that had it
been made it would have been successful; and no doubt ought to be left
in Madame's mind."
"But if the attempt fails?" cried Petit-Pierre.
"Five or six hundred men will have been uselessly killed, that is all.
It is well that from time to time a party, even if it fails, should
give such examples, not only to its own country but to neighboring
nations."
"You are not of those who have sent back their men, then?" asked
Petit-Pierre.
"No, monsieur; but I am of those who have sworn to die for her Royal
Highness. Besides," he added, "perhaps the affair has already begun,
and there may be no choice but to follow the movement."
"How so?" asked Petit-Pierre, Bonneville, and the marquis, in one
breath.
"Shots were fired to-day at the fair at Montaigu--"
"And firing is going on now at the fords of the Boulogne," said an
unknown voice from the doorway, on the threshold of which a new
personage now appeared.