In spite of the adornment of wind-galls and spavin, with which age and
toil had favored Maître Courtin's pony, that brave beast showed energy
enough in the amble which served him for a trot to bring Michel into
Nantes before nine o'clock at night. His first stopping-place was to
be the tavern of the Point du Jour.
He had hardly crossed the pont Bousseau before he began to look about
him for the said tavern. Recognizing its sign,--a star lengthened by a
ray of the most beautiful yellow ochre painter ever used,--he stopped
his pony, or rather the pony of Maître Courtin, before a wooden trough
where the horses of the wagoners, who wanted to halt without
unharnessing, were watered.
No one appeared at the door of the inn. Forgetting the humble clothes
which he wore, and remembering only the alacrity with which the
servants at La Logerie welcomed his arrival, Michel rapped impatiently
on the trough with the heavy stick he held in his hand. At the sound a
man in his shirt-sleeves came out of the courtyard and advanced to
Michel; he wore on his head a blue cotton cap pulled down to his eyes.
Michel fancied that what he saw of the face was not unknown to him.
"The devil!" cried the man in a grumbling tone; "are you too much of a
lord, my young _gars_, to take your horse to the stable yourself?
However, no matter; you shall be served as well as any."
"Serve me as you please, but answer a question."
"Ask it," said the man, folding his arms.
"I want to see Père Eustache," added Michel, sinking his voice.
Low as the tone was, the man showed signs of annoyance; he looked
furtively about him, and though there was no one to be seen but a few
children who were gazing with their hands behind their backs in naïve
curiosity at the new-comer, he took the horse hastily by the bridle
and led him into the courtyard.
"I told you I wanted to see Père Eustache," said Michel, getting off
the pony as soon as the man in the blue cap had led him to the shed
which served as stable to the hôtel Point du Jour.
"I know that," said the latter. "I heard it, confound you; but I don't
keep your Père Eustache in my oat-bin. Besides, before I tell you
where to find him I'd like to know where you come from."
"The South."
"Where are you going?"
"To Rosny."
"Very good; then you must go to the church of Saint-Sauveur, and there
you will find the man you want. Go; and try not to speak so loud,
Monsieur de la Logerie, when you talk in the street--if you want to
gain the object of your journey."
"Ah, ha!" cried Michel, somewhat astonished; "so you know me?"
"I should think so!" said the man.
"I must have that horse taken back to its home."
"It shall be done."
Michel put a louis into the man's hand, who seemed delighted with the
fee and made him many offers of service; then he boldly went out into
the town. When he reached the church of Saint-Sauveur the sexton was
in the act of shutting the gates. The lesson the young baron had just
received at the gate of the inn bore fruits; Michel waited cautiously
and looked about him before putting any questions.
Four or five beggars, before leaving the church porch, where they had
asked alms all day of the faithful, were kneeling beneath the organ to
say their evening prayer. No doubt Père Eustache was among them; for
besides two or three women with their cotton capes, patched with
various colors, thrown over their heads, there were three male
beggars, each with a holy-water sprinkler in his hand. Either of the
three might be the man Michel was in search of; luckily he knew the
sign of recognition. He took the branch of holly that was fastened in
his hat, which Bertha had told him was the sign by which Père Eustache
would know him, and let it drop before the door. Two of the beggars
passed without taking the least notice of it; the third, who was a
little old man, thin and weakly, whose enormous nose projected boldly
beyond a black silk cap, stopped when he saw the holly on the
pavement, picked it up, and looked about him uneasily. Michel issued
from behind the pillar which concealed him.
Père Eustache (for it was he) cast a sidelong look at the young man;
then, without a word, he walked toward the cloister. Michel understood
that the holly was not a sufficient sign to the distrustful giver of
holy water; after following for about ten yards, he hastened his steps
and accosted him, saying:--
"I am from the South."
The beggar stopped.
"Where are you going?" he asked.
"To Rosny," replied Michel.
The beggar turned round and retraced his steps; this time he went
toward the town. A look from a corner of his eye told Michel it was
all right. The latter then let his guide pass him and followed him at
a distance of five or six paces. They returned past the portal of the
church, and soon after, having entered a dark and narrow alley, the
beggar stopped for a few seconds before a low door placed in the wall
of a garden; then he continued his way.
Michel was about to follow him; but the beggar made him a sign as if
to point out the little door, and rapidly disappeared. The young man
then saw that Père Eustache had slipped the holly branch he had picked
up through the iron ring that served as a knocker.
So this was the end of his journey. He raised the knocker and let it
fall. At the sound a small wicket made in the door itself opened and a
man's voice was heard asking what was wanted. Michel repeated the
passwords, and he was shown into a room on the ground-floor, where a
gentleman, whom he recognized as having seen at the château de Souday
on the evening when General Dermoncourt ate the supper prepared for
Petit-Pierre, and seen again, gun in hand, before the fight at Chêne,
was quietly reading a newspaper, sitting before a large fire with his
feet on the fender, wrapped in his dressing-gown.
In spite of his very pacific appearance and occupation, a pair of
pistols lay within reach of his hand on a table where there were also,
laid out for use, pens, ink, and paper. The gentleman recognized
Michel at once and rose to receive him.
"I think I have seen you in our ranks, monsieur," he said.
"Yes, monsieur," replied Michel, "the evening before the fight at
Chêne."
"And the day of the fight?" asked he of the dressing-gown, smiling.
"I was fighting at La Pénissière, where I was wounded."
The gentleman bowed.
"Will you have the goodness to tell me your name?" he said.
Michel told his name; the gentleman in the dressing-gown consulted a
pocket-book, gave signs of satisfaction, and turning to the young man
asked:--
"Will you now tell me what has brought you?"
"The wish to see Petit-Pierre, and do her a great service."
"Pardon me, monsieur; but no one can see the person of whom you speak,
at least not so easily. You are indeed one of us; I know that you may
be relied on so far; but you will readily understand that all going
and coming about a retreat which has hitherto been able to keep its
secret successfully, would soon attract the attention of the police.
Have the kindness, therefore, to tell me your plans, and I will see
that you receive an answer."
Michel then related what had passed between himself and his mother;
how she had chartered a vessel for his escape, and how the idea had
occurred to him that it might be used to put Petit-Pierre in safety.
The man in the dressing-gown listened with ever-increasing interest,
and as soon as the young baron had given full information he
exclaimed:--
"It really seems as though Providence had sent you. It is
impossible--no matter what precautions we take to conceal the place
where Petit-Pierre is hidden--it is really impossible to escape the
police investigations much longer. For the good of the cause, for
Petit-Pierre's own sake and for ours, it is much better that she
should leave the country; and as the difficulty of chartering a vessel
is thus removed, I will at once see Petit-Pierre, explain the
circumstances, and receive her orders."
"Shall I go with you?" asked Michel.
"No; your peasant's dress beside me would immediately attract the
attention of the police spies, by whom we are surrounded. What inn are
you stopping at?"
"The Point du Jour."
"That is where Joseph Picaut is hostler; there is nothing to fear
there."
"Ah!" exclaimed Michel, "I knew his face was not unknown to me; but I
thought he lived in the open country between the river Boulogne and
the forest of Machecoul!"
"You were right; he is only a tavern hostler as occasion demands. Wait
there for me. I will go to you in two hours from now,--either alone,
or accompanied by Petit-Pierre,--alone, if Petit-Pierre rejects your
proposal; with her, if she accepts."
"Are you perfectly sure of that man Picaut?" asked Michel.
"Yes, as we are of ourselves. If there is any fault to find with him
it is that he is too zealous. Remember that since Petit-Pierre has
been in La Vendée more than six hundred peasants have known at
different times of her various hiding-places; and the noblest claim of
those poor people to honor, is that not one, poor as he was, thought
of betraying her. Let Joseph know that you expect friends, and that he
must be on the watch for them. If you merely say to him the words,
'Rue du Château, No. 3,' you will obtain from him, and all connected
with the inn, the most absolute and also the most passive obedience."
"Have you any other advice to give me?"
"Perhaps it may be prudent for the persons who will accompany
Petit-Pierre to leave the house where she is hidden singly, and go
singly to the tavern of the Point du Jour. Ask them to give you a room
with a window looking on the quay; have no light in your room, but
keep the window open."
"You have forgotten nothing?"
"Nothing. Adieu, monsieur, or rather, au revoir! If we succeed in
reaching your vessel safely you will have done an immense service to
the cause. As for me, I am in continual fear. They say enormous sums
have been offered for the betrayal of the princess, and I tremble lest
some one may yet be tempted to sacrifice her."
Michel was ushered out; but instead of taking him by the door through
which he had entered, they took him through an entrance which opened
on another street. Thence he rapidly crossed the town and returned to
the quay. When he reached the tavern of the Point du Jour he found
that Joseph Picaut had engaged a boy to take Courtin's pony back to
the farmhouse as Michel had requested.
On entering the stable Michel made Joseph a sign, which the latter
understood perfectly; he sent the boy away, postponing the return of
the horse till the next day.
"You said you knew me," remarked Michel as soon as they were alone.
"I did more, Monsieur de la Logerie; I called you by your name."
"Well, I'm not sorry to know that we have equal advantages in that
respect. I know your name; it is Joseph Picaut."
"I don't say it isn't," said the peasant, with a sly look.
"Are you to be trusted, Joseph?"
"That depends on who trusts me,--blues and reds, no; whites, yes."
"Then you are white?"
Picaut shrugged his shoulders.
"If I were not, should I be here,--I who am condemned to death as you
are? That's so; they have done me the honor of a sentence by default.
Yes, you and I are equal before the law now."
"And you are here--"
"As hostler, neither more nor less."
"Then take me to the master of the inn."
Picaut woke up the inn-keeper, who was in bed. The latter received
Michel with some distrust; and the young man, feeling there was no
time to lose, decided on striking the great blow, and said
deliberately the five words:--
"Rue du Château, No. 3."
The words were scarcely heard by the inn-keeper before his distrust
disappeared and his whole manner changed. From that moment he and his
house were at Michel's disposal. It was now Michel's turn to make
inquiries.
"Have you other travellers in the house?"
"Only one."
"Of what kind?"
"The very worst,--a man to fear."
"You know him, then?"
"It is the mayor of La Logerie, Courtin, a vile cur."
"Courtin!" exclaimed Michel. "Courtin here! Are you sure?"
"I don't know him; but Picaut says it is he."
"When did he get here?"
"About fifteen minutes ago."
"Where is he?"
"He has just gone out. He got something to eat and went off
immediately, telling me he should not be in till late,--not before two
in the morning. He said he had business in Nantes."
"Does he know you knew him?"
"I think not; unless he recognized Joseph Picaut just as Picaut
recognized him. But I doubt if he did, for he stood in the light and
Joseph kept in the shade."
Michel reflected a moment.
"I don't think Courtin is as bad as you suppose him to be," he said;
"but never mind, it is as well to distrust him, and on no account must
he know of my presence in your inn."
Picaut, who had hitherto been standing on the threshold of the door,
here came forward and joined in the conversation.
"Oh!" he said, "if he is likely to trouble you, say so; we can settle
him so that he shall know nothing, or if he does know anything he
shall be made to hold his tongue. I have old scores against him which
I've long wanted a pretext to--"
"No, no!" cried Michel, hastily, "Courtin is my farmer. I am under
obligations to him which make me anxious that no harm shall happen to
him; besides," he hastened to add, seeing the frown on Picaut's brow,
"he is not what you think he is."
Joseph Picaut shook his head; but Michel did not notice the gesture.
"Don't trouble yourself," said the inn-keeper. "If he comes in I'll
look after him."
"Very good. As for you, Joseph, take the horse on which I came. I want
you to do an errand. By the bye, Courtin must not see that horse in
the stable; he would certainly recognize it, inasmuch as it is his own
beast."
"What next?"
"You know the river, don't you?"
"There's not a corner of the left bank I've not shot over. I know less
of the right."
"That's all right; it is the left bank you'll have to follow."
"Follow where?"
"To Couéron. Opposite to the second island, between the two old
wrecks, you will see a vessel called the 'Jeune Charles.' Though at
anchor its foretopsail will be set; you'll know it by that."
"Trust me to know it."
"Take a boat and row out to her. They'll call to you, 'Who's there?'
Answer, 'Belle-Isle en Mer.' Then they'll let you go aboard. You'll
give the captain this handkerchief, just as it is,--that is to say,
knotted at three corners,--and you will tell him to be all ready to
weigh anchor at one o'clock to-night."
"Is that all?"
"Yes--or rather, no, it is not all. If I am satisfied with you,
Picaut, you shall have five pieces of gold such as the one I gave you
to-night."
"Well, well," said Joseph Picaut, "leaving out the chance of being
hung, it is not such a bad business; and if I can only get a shot now
and then at the Blues, or revenge myself on Courtin, I sha'n't regret
Maître Jacques and his burrows. What next?"
"How do you mean?"
"Why, after I have done the errand?"
"Then you will hide somewhere on the bank of the river, and wait for
us; whistle to let us know where you are. If all goes well imitate a
cuckoo; if on the contrary you see anything that ought to make us
uneasy, give the owl's cry."
"Ha! Monsieur de la Logerie," said Joseph, "I see you've been well
trained. All you've ordered is clear, and seems to me well arranged.
It is a pity, though, you haven't a better horse to put between my
legs; otherwise the matter could be quickly done."
Joseph Picaut departed on his mission. The inn-keeper then took Michel
to a poor-looking room on the first floor, which served as an annex to
the dining-room, and had two windows opening on the main-road; then he
put himself on the watch for Courtin.
Michel opened one of the windows as agreed upon with the gentleman in
the dressing-gown; after which he sat down on a stool, placing himself
so that his head could not be seen from the road he was watching.