A LAST APPEAL
I
Fernande had said nothing to Madame la Marquise of her rencontre with
Ronnay de Maurel. Of a truth, Madame, despite her many promises to
Laurent, had not kept a very close eye on her niece's movements.
Fernande had been away from the château during the best part of the
morning; she came home with tear-stained eyes, and her gown had
obviously trailed in the mud, but Madame apparently noticed nothing. All
the day she wandered about the château in a perfect fever of excitement.
In the afternoon a runner came over from Courson with news from all the
chiefs. The next day was now irrevocably fixed upon for the attack on
the foundries. Leroux was to be given his final instructions, and Madame
herself be prepared to hold the château against any assault delivered
against it by the local peasantry, who no doubt were well armed by de
Maurel and had been drilled against any emergency.
M. de Courson had added a special note to the letter telling Madame,
that the Comte de Puisaye had decided to send his friend Prigent with
forty or fifty men to La Frontenay in case of attack.
"The château can very easily be held," M. de Courson's note went on,
"and we have no fears for you, knowing your energy and resourcefulness.
Give Leroux the fullest instructions possible, then do not send for him
again during the day. I have an idea that he is being watched by spies
of de Maurel's, and he will have to be very circumspect for the next
thirty-six hours. As for us all, we are more full of hope than ever. We
reviewed our men last night in the park. They are marvellously
enthusiastic and firm in the belief that their prowess will rally
thousands of waverers to the Fleur-de-Lis. De Puisaye has recruited a
further two hundred, and hath now a force of over six on the further
side of Mortain. Everything, therefore, is for the best, and nothing but
some absolutely unforeseen accident can now rob us of success. Above
all, I entreat you, my dear sister, be as silent and discreet as the
grave. Remember that walls of French châteaux have oft had ears in the
course of their history. Speak to no one of our plan for to-morrow ...
not to Matthieu Renard, not to his wife. Do not discuss it with Fernande
in the presence of those whom you think most loyal. To-morrow afternoon
at three o'clock see Leroux in your private boudoir. Be sure that door
and windows are closed and that no one lurks behind curtains or screens.
Then tell the man to have everything ready for that night. De Puisaye
will arrive at the foundries soon after midnight, and he will expect to
find arms for six hundred men ready to his hand. After that he will see
to everything himself. Command Leroux to speak to no one, to trust no
one--but to select with the utmost care the fifty men whom he requires
to remain at the factories with him, in order to surprise the watchmen
and prevent the alarm being given. Keep Fernande out of your councils,
my dear Denise, as far as you can. The child appears to me to be
overwrought and might do some act of headstrongness which might ruin
everything. Something seems to have occurred between her and Laurent
just before we left La Frontenay. You will know, no doubt, what it was.
Laurent is a prey to most acute jealousy. He has worried me considerably
since yesterday. He hath need of all his courage and coolness to bear
his share of our work to-morrow night. While I lead the attack on
Mortain it will be his duty to hold up the garrison of Domfront, else
they may fall on de Puisaye and his men, or else on me, when perhaps not
one of us would come out of it alive. I would not wrong Laurent by
suggesting that he is not up to the task, but it were well if Fernande
sent him a loving message by this same runner, in order to reassure him
and to brace him up for his task. Now, my dear sister, I can do nothing
more save commend you and my child to the care of God."
The letter closed with many assurances of affection and a tone of
seriousness, which showed that M. de Courson was not perhaps quite in
such an optimistic frame of mind as were his chiefs.
II
Madame had frowned and uttered an exclamation of impatience when in her
brother's letter she had read the passage about Laurent. The Fates which
are wont to spin the threads of human destinies without heeding the
best-laid plans of men, smiled, no doubt, in their lonely eyrie up on
the summit of the Brocken, when Madame la Marquise de Mortain,
disdaining her brother's advice, chose in her usual dictatorial,
self-willed way to send a message to Laurent herself, rather than ask
Fernande to do so.
She couched her message in loving and reassuring terms, but she said
nothing to Fernande on the subject. Why, she could not herself have
said. There was no reason why the girl should not be told that her
fiancé was in the throes of a maddening attack of jealousy, and that a
word from her might soothe his perturbed spirit and restore to him that
courage of which he would presently be in such sore need. But Madame had
a horror of anything that might present her beloved son in an
unfavourable light. Any failing or weakness of his would, she felt,
redound in a measure to her discredit. That is the only reason why she
said nothing to Fernande, and why she herself sent the message to
Laurent which, as events unfortunately proved subsequently, had not the
effect of reassuring him.
In other matters she acted entirely in accordance with her brother's
orders. Obedience in that case meant military discipline, and rather
flattered Madame's sense of her own importance and responsibility. She
spent the best part of the day in her own room, and, entirely
self-absorbed, she completely ignored Fernande's presence and Fernande's
movements. From the château she could see or hear nothing of the bustle
and movement of the distant factories, but it seemed to her as if their
unheard throbbings found their echo against her heart. To-morrow, she
thought, they would for the last time manufacture engines of war to help
the King's enemies in their disloyalty and their treachery; for the last
time to-morrow would the abominable Corsican upstart look to La
Frontenay for the cementation of his throne. She could not spare a
thought for the son against whom she was intriguing with such ruthless
callousness. A year ago she had planned to win him over to her side. In
this she had signally failed. She might have tried again now, only that
there was no time for protracted diplomacy.
To bring Ronnay de Maurel back to heel was a doubtful proposition; if it
did succeed, it would be months before good results could be hoped for.
In the meanwhile the King could not wait. Ronnay de Maurel stood in his
way: therefore must the loyal adherents of the King sweep the offending
obstacle from his path.
III
Leroux arrived punctually at three o'clock the following afternoon.
Madame la Marquise was in Fernande's room, talking platitudes to the
young girl in a tardy fit of remorse at having neglected her so
completely these past two days.
Fernande appeared more dejected than she had been before, and Madame
had much ado to keep her temper from breaking away against so much
pessimism, which almost amounted to disloyalty.
It was old Annette who announced Leroux, and Madame la Marquise sent a
message down to say that she would see him immediately. As soon as
Annette had gone, Fernande, with one of her sudden, impulsive gestures,
threw her arms round Madame's shoulders.
"Before it is too late, _ma tante_," she cried, with a tone of desperate
entreaty, "will you not think--just once more?"
"Too late for what, child?" retorted Madame impatiently, and she shook
herself free from the young girl's arms which encircled her with a
forceful and passionate grip.
"Too late to avert this appalling calamity," replied Fernande. "That man
Leroux is a criminal, a murderer," she continued with ever-increasing
vehemence. "His greed for the money which has been offered him will
render him utterly unscrupulous. I could see it in his face the other
day ... when he was here ... and M. de Puisaye was speaking to him. He
will stick at nothing, _ma tante_, at nothing in order to gain his ten
thousand francs."
"Well, my dear," rejoined Madame coldly, "we want a man who will stick
at nothing. King Louis hath no use for velvet gloves, for mincing ways,
or for half-hearted cowards these days. We have to fight an unscrupulous
foe, remember. What is Bonaparte, what are these regicides, I'd like to
know, but criminals and murderers! What is Mademoiselle de Courson at
this moment," she added, as with flaming cheeks and glowing eyes she
turned on Fernande and would have smitten her with a look--"what is
Mademoiselle de Courson now save a half-hearted coward, unworthy to
stand shoulder to shoulder with her father, her lover, her kinsfolk in
their homeric struggle for justice and for right?"
But Fernande bore the withering looks and the insult unflinchingly. It
seemed as if in the last two days she had stepped boldly across the
dividing line which separates blind unquestioning childhood from
understanding and reasoning womanhood. All the horror for past crimes
and past excesses committed against her King and against her cause was
still present in her mind; but now she refused to accept the complacent
theory that crime must beget worse crime and that revenge and reprisals,
murder and pillage, would ever help the righteousness of a cause or be
justifiable in the sight of God.
"Bid me fight, _ma tante_," she retorted proudly, "side by side with my
father; bid me meet the enemies of my King in loyal combat, and I'll
warrant you'll not find me weak or cowardly. Fight! Yes, let us
fight--fight as did George Cadoudal and Louis de Frotté and Henri de la
Rochejaquelin--let us fight like men, but not like criminals. In God's
name let us not stoop to murder."
"Murder, child!" exclaimed Madame, "who talked of murder, I should like
to know?"
"Would you swear, _ma tante_," riposted Fernande slowly, "that whilst
you traffic with a man like Leroux, the possibility of an awful,
hideous, horrible murder has never presented itself to your mind? That
you have never envisaged the likelihood of Ronnay de Maurel getting wind
of this affair and of his taking Leroux to task for his proposed
treachery? Have you never thought, _ma tante_, of what would happen if
Leroux thought that his master suspected him, and if he then came face
to face with him--somewhere alone...?"
Just for the space of one second Madame la Marquise de Mortain stood
quite still--rigid almost as a statue--with eyes closed and lips tightly
set. Just for the space of that one second it seemed as if something
human, something womanly, stirred within that heart of stone. Then an
impatient exclamation escaped her lips.
"Tush, child!" she said. "I'll not be taken to task by you. Who are you,
pray, that you should strive to throw your childish sensibilities, your
childish nonsense across the path of your King's destiny? Ronnay de
Maurel must take his chance in this fight," she added, as she threw back
her head with a movement of invincible determination. "He has chosen the
traitor's path; while he and his kind have the power, they stick at
nothing to bring us into subjection. We have the chance now ... one
chance in a thousand--to gain the upper hand of all these regicides and
these minions of Bonaparte. To neglect that chance for the sake of a
craven scruple were now an act of criminal folly. Let that be my last
word, child," continued Madame, as she made for the door; "do not let me
hear any more of your warnings, your prophecies, or your sermons. What
has been decided by our chiefs shall be done--understand?--and what must
be, must be. And when your father returns, after having risked his life
for the cause which you seem to hold so lightly, take care lest the
first word he utters be one of condemnation of a recreant daughter."
IV
Madame la Marquise did not pause to see what effect her last stern words
had upon Fernande. She sailed out of the room with no further thought in
her mind of the passionate appeal which had left her utterly cold. To
her now there existed only one thing in the entire world, and that was
the project for the seizure of the La Frontenay foundries and its
consequent immense effect upon the ultimate triumph of the Royalist
cause. Everything else, every thought, every feeling, every duty she
swept away from her heart and from her mind as petty, irrelevant, and
not worthy to be weighed in the balance with the stupendous issue which
was at stake.
Indeed, as she sped down to the hall for this final momentous interview
with Leroux, she felt greatly thankful that yesterday she had not acted
on her brother's advice, and that she had written to Laurent herself
rather than allowed Fernande to do so. The girl, in writing to her
lover, might have indulged in one of those dithyrambics which were so
unexplainable, and which might still further have upset Laurent. As it
was, everything was for the best, and Madame dismissed any latent fears
from her mind just as readily as she had dismissed any slight twinge of
remorse which Fernande's words might have caused to arise in her heart.
Leroux, gruff and surly as usual, had been shown into a small library
adjoining the great entrance-hall of the château, a room which M. de
Courson had of late used as an office for transacting the correspondence
of his party and receiving any messengers sent to him by one of his
chiefs. Here the man had waited, while Madame was being detained
upstairs by Fernande's last tender appeal.
He greeted Madame la Marquise with a rough and churlish word, and as
soon as she had closed the door behind her he began abruptly:
"We'll have to be very careful," he said; "something of our project is
known to de Maurel. I'd stake my life on it."
The flush of anger of a while ago fled from Madame's cheeks, but
otherwise nothing in her attitude betrayed to this boor the slightest
sign of fear on her part.
"What makes you think that?" she asked coolly, as she took a seat in a
high-backed chair, and graciously waved her hand to Leroux in token that
he, too, might sit down.
"Yesterday I wanted to come here and speak with you about one or two
matters," replied the man, "when I met the Maréchal upon the high road."
"The Maréchal?" queried Madame, with a supercilious lift of the
eyebrows.
"Why, yes! Our General is Marshal of France now," said Leroux with a
sneer. "He gained his baton fighting against the Prussians, so I've been
told."
"All of which is of no consequence, my man," broke in Madame
impatiently. "We have no time to waste this morning, and you were
telling me that you met M. le Comte de Maurel when you were on your way
hither."
"I did," rejoined Leroux sullenly.
"And what did he say?"
"He asked me where I was going."
"And...?"
"I told him that I was free to come and go as I pleased, seeing that I
was chief overseer of the factory now."
"It was very imprudent to give your present master such an impertinent
answer," said Madame peremptorily. "You were expressly ordered to curb
your temper and to gain M. de Maurel's confidence as far as lay in your
power."
"I did curb my temper," rejoined the man. "And I did not give him an
impertinent answer. I spoke as if I had honey in my mouth. I am merely
telling you the drift of what I said. My actual words were cringing
enough."
"Very well, then, what happened after that?"
"The Maréchal told me that though the military representatives had
appointed me chief overseer, he himself had not confirmed that
appointment, nor would he confirm it, he said, till I showed myself
really worthy of his confidence. He didn't say much, for he is never
over talkative with any of us. But he looked me through and through in a
way that I didn't like."
"Never mind how he looked. Did he say anything else?"
"Yes. He told me that he expressly forbade every one of his men to have
any intercourse with the château, and that I was distinctly to
understand that he forbade me most strictly to come to the château, or
to hold converse with any of its inmates."
Madame bit her lip and her slender white fingers beat an impatient
tattoo upon the desk beside her. But she said quite unconcernedly:
"Was that all?"
"Yes, that was all. But I thought it best not to come yesterday. To-day
I had to come, because we absolutely must do the work to-night--even
to-morrow might be too late. I am certain that I am being watched;
every hour's delay means danger of discovery. You should have taken my
advice and done the trick two days ago; it would all be over by now...."
"And it will be done to-night," broke in Madame firmly. "You were told
two days ago that it would be for to-night, and you had no right to
endanger your position at the works by being discovered coming here so
often."
"I was told nothing definite two days ago, and I was on my way here for
the express purpose of warning you."
"In any case, there's not much harm done," rejoined Madame coolly. "Even
if M. de Maurel comes to mistrust you, no change can take place in the
arrangements for to-night. He would not dismiss you at a moment's
notice, would he?"
"He would not dare to do that," retorted Leroux roughly.
"From what I hear," said Madame la Marquise, "there is not much that M.
de Maurel would not dare."
"Well, in any case, he could not turn me out neck and crop from the
Lodge. I am there securely enough, at any rate, until the time when I
hand over the works to your people in consideration of ten thousand
francs for myself and a hundred apiece for my men."
"That is all understood, of course. And you are quite prepared for
to-night?"
"Quite. Fifty of my mates are slackening off already. When I return to
the works I shall give out that those fifty must work overtime to-night.
Don't you be afraid; there's not going to be any hitch."
"Pray God there won't be," murmured Madame fervently.
V
She was about to recapitulate some further instructions to Leroux, when
a timid knock at the door, repeated more insistently a moment or two
later, caused her to order Leroux to stand aside for a moment while she
herself went to the door. She had no premonition of any trouble just
then; long afterwards, when in her mind she lived over again every hour
of that memorable day, she always was quite certain that she went to
open that door without any thought of an approaching calamity.
Old Matthieu Renard was at the door.
"It is M. le Maréchal," he said simply.
Strangely enough, although both he and his wife were firmly attached to
M. de Courson and to Madame la Marquise, they had never thoroughly
imbibed the contempt which all loyal Royalists were compelled to feel
toward the honours and distinctions which were conferred on his
adherents by the usurper Bonaparte.
Madame drew back at his words very suddenly, like someone who, wandering
in a peaceful glade, comes unprepared upon some fearsome thing. She had
certainly this time become white to the lips, and the hand wherewith she
beckoned to Matthieu to enter trembled visibly.
"You mean M. de Maurel?" she queried huskily. "Where is he?"
"Just coming up the perron steps," replied Matthieu, who also appeared
very agitated. "He took his horse round to the stables first. I was in
the garden. I saw him. He called to me and sent me to announce his visit
to Madame."
"I had best go," muttered Leroux hurriedly and shuffled up to the door.
Madame stopped him with a word.
"Impossible," she said. "If M. de Maurel is coming up the perron steps
now, you cannot fail to meet him face to face in the hall."
"I don't want him to see me here."
"Stay where you are, man," commanded Madame imperiously, and Leroux,
whose sallow cheeks were the colour of ashes, muttered something between
his teeth and withdrew into a dark corner of the room. Then Madame
turned once more to old Matthieu.
"You did not think," she said, "of saying to M. de Maurel that I was
from home."
"Yes, I did," replied the man. "I told him you were away."
"And what did he say?"
"That he would wait until your return, and in the meanwhile would speak
with his overseer, Paul Leroux, who he believed was within."
There came a violent oath from Leroux, and Madame put a handkerchief up
to her lips which felt cracked and dry; and during the silence that
ensued there came echoing through the silent house the sound of a
footfall with a curious lilt in it--the unmistakable footsteps of a man
who is lame.
"Stand aside, Matthieu," said Madame, with as much dignity as she could
command, even though her voice sounded raucous and hoarse. "I will go
speak with M. de Maurel. Do you follow me into the hall, and you,
Leroux," she added, once more turning to the craven creature who made no
attempt to disguise his fears, "stay here!"