The person we now introduce, or rather the person who now
introduced himself into the salon of the Marquis de Souday, was the
commissary-general of the future Vendéan army, who had changed his
name, well-known at the bar of Nantes, for that of Pascal.
He had gone several times into foreign lands to confer with Madame,
and knew her personally. It was scarcely two months since he had last
seen her, on which occasion after delivering to her Royal Highness the
news from France, he had received her last instructions in return. It
was he who had come into La Vendée to tell the adherents to hold
themselves in readiness.
"Aha!" exclaimed the Marquis de Souday, with a motion of the lips
which meant that he did not hold lawyers in cherished admiration, "M.
le Commissaire-général Pascal."
"Who brings news, apparently," said Petit-Pierre, with the evident
intention of drawing upon himself the attention of the new-comer. The
latter, when he heard the voice, turned immediately to the young man,
who made him an almost imperceptible sign with lips and eyes, which,
however, sufficed to let him know what was expected of him.
"News? Yes," he said.
"Good or bad?" asked Louis Renaud.
"Mixed. But we'll begin with the good."
"Go on."
"Her Royal Highness has crossed the South successfully, and is now
safe and sound in La Vendée."
"Are you sure of that?" asked the Marquis de Souday and Louis Renaud
in one breath.
"As sure as that I see you all five here in good health," replied
Pascal. "Now let us go to the other news."
"Have you heard anything from Montaigu?" asked Louis Renaud.
"They fought there yesterday," said Pascal; "that is, a few shots were
fired by the National Guard and some peasants were killed and
wounded."
"What occasioned it?" asked Petit-Pierre.
"A dispute at the fair, which became a riot."
"Who commands at Montaigu?" again asked Petit-Pierre.
"A mere captain usually," replied Pascal; "but yesterday, in
consequence of the fair, the sub-prefect and the general commanding
the military sub-division were both there."
"Do you know the general's name?"
"Dermoncourt."
"And pray, who is General Dermoncourt?"
"Under what head do you desire to know of him, monsieur,--man,
opinions, or character?"
"All three heads."
"As a man, he is from sixty to sixty-two years old, and he belongs to
that iron race which fought the wars of the Revolution and the Empire.
He will be night and day in the saddle, and not leave us an instant's
rest."
"Very good," said Louis Renaud, laughing. "Then we'll try to tire him
out; and as we are, none of us, half his age we shall be very unlucky
or very stupid if we fail."
"His opinions?" asked Petit-Pierre.
"At heart I believe him to be a republican."
"In spite of twelve years' service under the Empire! He must have been
dyed in the wool."
"There are many like him. You remember what Henri IV. said of the
Leaguers,--'The barrel smells of the herring.'"
[Illustration: Portrait of Dermoncourt.]
"His character?"
"Oh, as for that, loyalty itself! He is neither an Amadis nor a
Galahad. He's a Ferragus, and if ever Madame had the misfortune to
fall into his hands--"
"What are you talking about, Monsieur Pascal?" exclaimed Petit-Pierre.
"I am a lawyer, monsieur," replied the civil commissary, "and in that
capacity I foresee all the chances of a case. I repeat, therefore,
that if Madame were unfortunately to fall into the hands of General
Dermoncourt she would have full opportunity to recognize his
courtesy."
"Then," said Petit-Pierre, "that is the sort of enemy Madame would
choose for herself,--brave, vigorous, and loyal. Monsieur, we are
fortunate-- But you spoke of shots at the fords of the river?"
"I presume that those I heard on my way came from there."
"Perhaps," said the marquis, "Bertha had better go and reconnoitre.
She will soon let us know what is happening."
Bertha rose.
"What!" exclaimed Petit-Pierre, "do you send mademoiselle?"
"Why not?" asked the marquis.
"I think it is a man's duty, not a woman's."
"My young friend," said the old gentleman, "in such matters I rely
first upon myself, next upon Jean Oullier, and after Jean Oullier on
Bertha and on Mary. I desire the honor of staying here with you; my
fellow, Jean Oullier, is off amusing himself. Consequently, Bertha
must go."
Bertha went toward the door; but on the threshold she met her sister
and exchanged a few words with her in a low voice.
"Here is Mary," she said, turning back.
"Ah!" exclaimed the marquis; "did you hear the firing, my girl?"
"Yes, father," said Mary; "they are fighting."
"Where?"
"At the springs of Baugé."
"You are sure?"
"Yes; the shots came from the marsh."
"You see," said the marquis; "the news is precise. Who keeps the gate
in your absence?"
"Rose Tinguy."
"Listen!" said Petit-Pierre.
Loud raps were heard upon the gate.
"The devil!" cried the marquis; "that's not one of us."
They all listened attentively.
"Open! open!" cried a voice. "There's not an instant to lose!"
"It is his voice!" exclaimed Mary, eagerly.
"His voice?--whose voice?" said the marquis.
"Yes, I recognize it," said Bertha,--"the voice of young Baron
Michel."
"What does that cabbage-grower want here?" said the marquis, making a
step toward the door as if to prevent his entrance.
"Let him come, let him come, marquis!" cried Bonneville. "I'll answer
for him; there's nothing to fear."
He had hardly said the words before the sound of a rapid step was
heard, and the young baron rushed into the salon, pale, breathless,
covered with mud, dripping with perspiration, and with scarcely breath
enough to say:--
"Not a moment to lose! Fly! Escape! They are coming!"
He dropped on one knee, resting one hand on the ground, for his breath
failed him, his strength was exhausted. He had done, as he promised
Jean Oullier, nearly a mile and a half in six minutes.
There was a moment of trouble and confusion in the salon.
"To arms!" cried the marquis. Springing to his own gun, he pointed to
a rack at the corner of the room, where three or four carbines and
fowling-pieces were hanging.
The Comte de Bonneville and Pascal, with one and the same movement,
threw themselves before Petit-Pierre as if to defend him.
Mary sprang to the young baron to raise him and give him what help he
needed, while Bertha ran to a window looking toward the forest and
opened it.
Shots were then heard, evidently coming nearer, though still at some
distance.
"They are on the Viette des Biques," said Bertha.
"Nonsense!" said the marquis; "impossible they should attempt such a
dangerous path!"
"They are there, father," said Bertha.
"Yes, yes," gasped Michel. "I saw them there; they have torches. A
woman is guiding them, marching at their head; the general is second."
"Oh, that cursèd Jean Oullier! Why isn't he here?" said the marquis.
"He is fighting, Monsieur le marquis," said Michel. "He sent me; he
couldn't come himself."
"He!" exclaimed the marquis.
"But I was coming, mademoiselle; I was coming myself. I knew yesterday
the château was to be attacked, but I was a prisoner; I got down from
a second-story window."
"Good God!" cried Mary, turning pale.
"Bravo!" exclaimed Bertha.
"Gentlemen," said Petit-Pierre, tranquilly, "I think we must decide on
a course. Shall we fight? If we do, we must arm ourselves at once, bar
the gates, and take our posts. Shall we escape? If so, there is even
less time to lose."
"Let us fight!" said the marquis.
"No, escape!" cried Bonneville. "When Petit-Pierre is safe we will
fight."
"What is that you say, count?" exclaimed Petit-Pierre.
"I say that nothing is ready; we are not prepared to fight. Are we,
gentlemen?"
"Oh, yes, we can always fight," said the youthful, light-hearted voice
of a new-comer, addressing himself partly to those in the salon, and
partly to two other young men who were following him, and whom, no
doubt, he had met at the gate.
"Ah, Gaspard! Gaspard!" cried Bonneville.
Springing to meet the new arrival, he whispered something in his ear.
"Gentlemen," said Gaspard, turning to the others, "the Comte de
Bonneville is perfectly right; we must retreat." Then addressing the
marquis, he added, "Haven't you some secret door or issue to the
castle, marquis? We have no time to lose; the last shots we heard at
the gate--Achille, C[oe]ur-de-Lion, and I--were not half a mile
distant."
"Gentlemen," said the Marquis de Souday, "you are in my house, and it
is for me to assume the responsibility. Silence! listen to me and obey
me to-night; I will obey you to-morrow."
All were silent.
"Mary," said the marquis, "close the gates, but do not barricade them;
leave them so that they can be opened at the first rap. Bertha, to the
underground passage instantly, and don't lose a moment. My daughters
and I will receive the general and do the honors of the château to
him. To-morrow, wherever you are, we will join you; only, let us know
where that will be."
Mary sprang from the room to execute her father's order, while Bertha,
signing to Petit-Pierre to follow her, went out by the opposite door,
crossed the inner courtyard, entered the chapel, took two wax tapers
from the altar, lighted them, gave one to Bonneville, one to Pascal,
and then, pushing a spring which made the front of the altar turn of
itself, she pointed to a stairway, leading to the vaults in which the
lords of Souday were formerly buried.
"You can't lose your way," she said; "you will find a door at the
farther end, and the key is in it. That door leads into the open
country. These gentlemen all know how to find their way there."
Petit-Pierre took Bertha's hand and pressed it warmly. Then he sprang
down the steps to the vault behind Bonneville and Pascal, who lighted
the way.
Louis Renaud, Achille, C[oe]ur-de-Lion, and Gaspard followed
Petit-Pierre.
Bertha closed the aperture behind them. She noticed that Michel was
not among the fugitives.