THE CRASH OF THE STORM
I
He wore his working blouse and a cap upon his head. In addition to the
safety lanthorn he carried a bundle tied up in a handkerchief.
He hailed Leroux as soon as he came near.
"So now, my man," he said quietly, "'tis time you went."
Leroux did not move. He stood with legs wide apart, his hands buried in
the pockets of his breeches. The light from the clock-tower above lit up
the top of his shaggy head, his wide shoulders and the tip of his nose.
De Maurel had approached, quite unconscious apparently of the glowering
looks which Leroux cast upon him.
"You had best get to the compound," he added, "before the rain comes
down."
And quite unconcernedly he walked past Leroux and continued to advance
toward the Lodge. The man watched him from over his shoulder, and when
de Maurel had reached the steps of the Lodge, he said sullenly:
"I am not going."
De Maurel calmly shrugged his shoulders.
"What is the use of all that obstinacy?" he said. "We argued everything
out this afternoon. You had best go quietly now, my man ... or there'll
be trouble."
"Trouble?" riposted Leroux with a sneer. "I doubt not but that there
will be trouble this night, M. le Maréchal...."
His first instinctive terror at sight of the man whom he feared above
all others was gradually falling away from him. He had turned on his
heel and was now facing the open window of the Lodge, through which he
could feel, even if he could not see, his mates, who were there ready to
stand by him, if necessary, if it came to an open conflict between
himself and the employer whom he was pledged to betray. The sense of
their presence close by gave him a measure of defiance and of courage.
De Maurel stood quite still for a moment or two, then he retraced his
steps and came back to within a mètre or so of where the man was
standing.
"You are contemplating mischief, Leroux," he said with his accustomed
calm. "Someone has been egging you on to one of your attacks of futile
rebellion, which you must know by now, invariably lead to more severe
measures being taken against you. You know how lenient I can be, but
also how severe. This night's work can only end in disaster for you ...
the gallows probably, unless you realize that submission even at this
eleventh hour will be your best policy."
"Very well spoken, M. le Maréchal," retorted Leroux, with a sneer; "but
let me tell you that the hour has gone by when your arrogance and your
threats had the power to cow me. To-day I am a desperate man, and
desperate men are not apt to count the costs of their actions. I will
not vacate the Lodge to-night, and unless...."
He paused and shrugged his shoulders. De Maurel had thrown down his
bundle and transferred the lanthorn to his left hand, whilst with his
right he drew a pistol from beneath his blouse.
"Put away that weapon, M. le Maréchal," said Leroux, "it will avail you
nothing. There are twenty of us inside the Lodge, all well armed. Twenty
others overpowered your night-watchmen half an hour ago. We are
expecting a fresh contingent of our mates from the compound at any
moment. Resistance or bluster on your part were, indeed, worse than
futile. You have run your head into a noose this time, my fine
gentleman, and your threats are about as useful as the pistol which you
have in your hand. And if it comes to that," he added with a savage
oath, "I, too, of late have learned how to shoot."
With a rapid movement he drew a pistol from his belt; but before he had
time to level it, de Maurel had fired. The man uttered a convulsive cry
of rage; his left hand grabbed at his shoulder, while his weapon fell
with a clatter to the ground.
"You have shot me, you devil!" he shouted hoarsely. "_A moi_, my mates!"
The pistol shot and Leroux' raucous cry had drowned a woman's call--a
call of warning and of agonized terror: "Take care!" but not before de
Maurel's keen ear had perceived it, and even while an evil-looking
rabble came pouring out from the Lodge the call was repeated, and the
next moment a woman's slender form was interposed between him and the
foremost group among the crowd.
"In God's name, save yourself," came in a frenzied murmur in his ear,
and a pair of hands clung to his arm with the strength of unspoken
anguish. "Into the shadow ... quick ... they'll not touch me ... only
save yourself!"
The voice, the touch, sent a tumultuous flood of passion seething
through de Maurel's veins. Overhead the thunder crashed and a vivid
streak of lightning showed him a brutish, menacing gang of miscreants
advancing towards him, their faces misshapen and distorted with the
fulsomeness of their own savagery and malignant anticipation of triumph.
There was a score or so of them, and the light from the clock-tower
glinted on the steel of muskets.
"_A moi_, my mates!" shouted Leroux once again at the top of his voice,
and in response there came from left and right the sound of tramping of
many feet; and within a few seconds the open space in front of the great
storehouse was filled with a moving, oscillating crowd, the numbers of
which could only be vaguely guessed at in the gloom. The light from
above caught the outline here of a face, there of a square shoulder,
always of a musket, a pistol, or even a knife held tightly in a rough,
grimy hand.
II
Instinctively de Maurel had stepped back into the shadow. Perfect calm
had immediately followed that sudden hot wave of passion which had
filled his heart and brain at the moment that he became conscious of
Fernande's presence so close to him.
He had but a few seconds wherein to act, wherein to disengage himself
with almost savage violence from her dear clinging arms, and to force
her into the shadow behind him. A few seconds wherein to whisper to her
in desperate tones of appeal and of command: "While I parley with them,
run to the gate ... they'll not see you.... Fernande, in the name of
God, go!..."
He placed himself in front of her, his back to the storehouse; he had
her life and his own to guard or to sell as dearly as he could.
"Go, Fernande," he commanded once again. He would have picked her up in
his arms and run with her into safety had he dared. But the brutes were
armed with muskets, and a stray shot meant for him might easily have
reached her. He covered her with his body, praying with all his might
that she might obey and seek safety while there was yet time, yet
knowing all the while, with an intuitive conviction born of his own
tumultuous passion, that she was resolved to remain by his side.
"Go, Fernande," he implored.
"I'll not go," she replied quietly; and he, feeling her so near him,
hearing her voice quivering with emotion, with anguish for him, counted
life well lost for these few rapturous seconds.
"Can I do anything?" she asked with perfect calm.
"Nothing," he replied. "There are at least a hundred against us, and
the alarm bell is above the Lodge, the chain-handle just by the door....
Those cowardly brutes have cut us off from any chance of help."
Indeed, the crowd was pressing closer round him now; wherever he looked
he could see faces on which the lamp from above cast a lurid glow--faces
rendered grotesque by the flickering light and the dense shadows which
hid eyes and mouth and accentuated nose and chin--faces in which menace
and hatred had been fanned into open revolt by bribery and greed, and
execration of all discipline and authority. De Maurel knew them all
individually. Even through the gloom he could distinguish the
ringleaders--the malcontents with whom last year he had had many a
tussle--whom the more iron rule of the military representatives had
goaded into this senseless and abominable treachery.
De Maurel's quick eye had soon enough measured the odds that were
against him; of a truth, they were overwhelming. Nothing but a miracle
could save him if these men did, indeed, contemplate murder, of which he
had little doubt. The great question was how to save Fernande--his
brave, beautiful, exquisite Fernande, who was standing so magnificently
by him, whose heroism and courage filled him with as much wonder as her
beauty and tenderness had filled his heart with love. Forgotten were the
humiliation and the bitterness of a twelve-month ago; forgotten was her
cruelty, the hurt she had done to him; she was standing by him
now--shoulder to shoulder--his friend in this hour of difficulty, his
comrade at the moment of peril.
Oh! if he only had the strength, the wits to keep those maddened wolves
at bay, the whole world would not wrench the memory of this blissful
night from out his heart again.
But there was no time even to think of happiness or of the future; the
present lay there before him, grim and hand in hand with death. The few
seconds' respite while he stood facing the murderous crowd--eye to eye
and silently--were already gone; the men were gathering more menacingly
around him. What their ultimate purpose was he had as yet only vaguely
guessed. On this, before everything, he wanted to be quite
clear--definite knowledge on the point would then help him how to act.
"So that's it, my men, is it?" he said coolly. "Open mutiny, eh?"
"You may call it that, an it please you," said one of the men.
"Hatched during my absence--ready against my home-coming ere I had time
to realize the treachery that was brewing. I ought to have guessed, I
suppose."
Leroux, with a wound in his shoulder that was bleeding profusely, was in
the forefront of the pack, supported on either side by one of his mates.
"Yes," he said huskily, "you might have guessed that men would not put
up indefinitely with tyranny and oppression. We are not dogs, nor yet
savage brutes to be kept to our task with threats of punishment. Those
men who were here, who went two days ago--curse them!--were ready to use
the lash on us had they dared!"
"And you dared not rebel while they were here! Were you frightened of
the lash?" retorted de Maurel contemptuously. "You waited for my return.
Did you think I should be a weaker fool than they?"
"We were not ready then. We are ready now," came from one of the men.
"Ready for what?" queried de Maurel. "What do you hope to gain by this
senseless mutiny? To overpower the watchmen for one night and run riot
through the factories? To-morrow must bring reprisals. Ye know that well
enough."
"To-morrow you'll no longer be here, M. le Maréchal," sneered Leroux,
who, though losing blood freely, had still sufficient strength left to
maintain his position as ringleader of the gang. "To-morrow you'll not
be here," he reiterated roughly, "to browbeat and threaten us."
"You mean to kill me, I know," rejoined de Maurel coolly. "But my death
will avail you little. Reprisals will be all the more severe. Think you
the law will let you escape? I am not a man who can be assassinated and
then thrown into a ditch without causing some stir. Where will you hide
when your Emperor himself will demand from you an account of what you
have done with me?"
"Bah! when we have done with you, my fine Marshal of France," replied
Leroux, with an insolent laugh, "there will be no Emperor. We are
working for the King--not for Bonaparte ... and when we hold the
factories and foundries in the name of the King ... why, there's little
we'll have to fear from the Emperor; and, moreover...."
A terrific clash of thunder drowned the rest of his words, while the
lightning literally tore the dark clouds asunder. Some of the men--more
superstitious than the rest--instinctively crouched back, muttering
blasphemies--pushing those behind them back, too, so that the entire
human mass seemed suddenly to be heaving and then receding like the scum
of sea-waves upon the ebbing tide; a gust of wind swept across the
quadrangle, driving dust and dried leaves before it. Some of the men
cursed, others hastily crossed themselves, with a vague remembrance of
past devotions long buried beneath the dark mantle of crime.
The silence which ensued was absolute. It lasted less than ten seconds,
perhaps, during which hardly a man dared to breathe--so absolute was it,
that the click of every firearm striking against its neighbour was
distinctly audible, as was the soughing of the wind in the silver
birches on the wooded heights behind the factory. Something of a
nameless terror had crept into the bones of these godless miscreants. By
that vivid flash of lightning they had seen their master standing alone
unflinching before them--against the background of the huge
storehouse--his massive figure appearing preternaturally tall, his face
pale and determined. His head was bare to the winds and the storm, and
it was turned full upon them, and neither in the dark, deep-set eyes nor
round the firm mouth was there the slightest sign of fear. And they had
caught sight of the slim silhouette of Fernande de Courson standing
behind him, her graceful form seeming ethereal, like that of a
protecting angel.
And for the space of those ten seconds de Maurel had just time to look
on the situation squarely and with a clearer understanding than before.
With his clumsy words, Leroux had in an instant revealed to him
something of the dark treachery which had brought this mutinous crowd
together--something of the murky undercurrent of intrigue which was
driving the torrent of discontent to the flood of open rebellion. So
this was the history of Leroux' defiance? this was the key to the riddle
which had puzzled de Maurel when first he realized that these senseless
brutes were actually not only in organized rebellion against him, but
intent on murder--a stupid, purposeless and useless murder, which in
itself would carry immediate discovery in its train, and with it the
absolute certainty of terrible reprisals and penalties.
But now the whole thing became clear. It was his mother and her party
who had engineered this trickery, and Heaven alone knew how near they
were to succeed in the abominable project!
And in a flash he seemed to see every phase of the intrigue: his
factories and foundries in the hands of these dastards, whilst the
Royalist bands marched on La Frontenay. There were other details, of
course--plots and counterplots--at which it was impossible to guess.
Only the facts remained--the facts which confronted him now, together
with this murderous pack of hungry wolves and the muskets which were
levelled against him.
For his own life he cared less than nothing; many a time had he faced
Prussian muskets as he faced those of a set of mutinous ruffians now. A
few minutes ago he had felt one thrill of exultant happiness when
Fernande's arms clung around his shoulders, and her sweet body lay
against his breast in her endeavour to shield him against his
aggressors. He was more than content that that one supreme moment of
delight should be the last which this world held for him--more than
content to go to his eternal sleep with the sweet memory of her last
caress to be his lullaby.
But his life had suddenly assumed an importance which he himself never
granted it before. He alone, at this moment stood for the protection of
these mighty engines of warfare around him, of the materials which his
Emperor needed for overcoming the enemies of France. The very instant
that he--Ronnay de Maurel--fell, they would become the prey of traitors,
the prey of those who concerted with the foreigner against their
country, who trafficked with Prussia, with Austria, with Russia, in
order to force upon the people of France a government and a King whom
they abhorred. At this very hour, perhaps, a band of Royalists was on
its way to La Frontenay. It was all so simple--so absolutely, so
perfectly, so hellishly simple! If he fell, they would reach the
factories and the foundries, and these murderous traitors here would
deliver his patrimony into their hands--the patrimony which he devoted
to the service of France--the new guns, the small-arms, the explosives,
the stores ... everything. If anon he lay with shattered head or breast
on the threshold of this precious storehouse, which he had been
powerless to protect, the cause of freedom, of the Emperor and of his
armies, would receive a blow from which it could only recover after
years more of fratricidal combat and more streams yet of bloodshed.
This he owed to his mother, to his brother, to his kindred, who had
fanned the flame of hatred and rebellion against him, whose hands were
raised against their country, whom they professed to love, and who had
coolly and callously decreed his death because he stood in their way.
With the very wealth which he had placed at his mother's disposal, she
had paid these brutes to betray and to murder him.
And Fernande?
At Leroux' words he had felt her quivering behind him; he had heard the
moan which escaped from her lips. Fernande knew of the treachery as she
had known of his danger, and, knowing of his deadly peril, she had come
here in order to share it with him. That thought, as it flashed before
him, lent de Maurel's entire soul a courage and an exultation which was
almost superhuman. As the thunder clashed above him, and the lightning
tore the dark clouds asunder, it seemed to him as if God Himself, in His
glory, had deigned to reveal Himself, to give him the strength and the
power that he needed, the guidance which comes as a divine breath from
Heaven in the supreme hour of a man's life, when Death and Duty and Love
stand at the parting of the ways and beckon with unseen hands.
III
The silence that ensued had only lasted a moment. Already the men were
recovering from their brief access of terror; some of them were shaking
themselves like curs after a douche. They all drew nearer to one
another, satisfied to feel one another's support and grasping their
muskets more determinedly in their hands.
De Maurel had turned once more to Fernande.
"It means death, my beloved," he murmured.
"I know," she replied quietly.
"You are not afraid?"
"No."
Questions and answers came in rapid succession. His hand closed upon
hers.
"In my heart," he said, "I kiss your exquisite hands, your feet, your
hair, your lips. You forgive me?"
"Everything."
There was not a quiver in her voice; for one second her fingers rested
in his, and they were firm and warm to his touch. They were made to
understand one another, these two; their courage was equally undaunted;
they both looked on death without a tremor. He would have given his life
bit by bit for her, but at this hour, when the needs of France demanded
a sacrifice so sublime that none but an heroic heart could have
conceived it, not even the thought of his beloved came between him and
his determination.
La Frontenay must be saved for the Emperor and for France at all
costs--even at the cost of that one life which was more precious to him
than his own, more precious than all the world, save France. And with
one pressure of her slender hand she yielded up her will--her life to
him. For this one supreme moment--a moment which held in it an infinity
of love and passion--they met one another soul to soul. Hand in hand, in
the face of death, this second was for them an eternity of ecstasy.
"You love me, Fernande!" he murmured.
"Until death," she replied.
"Then pray to God, dear heart," he whispered. "He alone can save us
now."
Then he faced the crowd of cut-throats once more.
"Listen, my men," he said, speaking coolly and quietly. "For the last
time let me tell you how you stand. As far as I can see, there are about
fivescore of you standing there before me, and you think that you hold
my life in the hollow of your hands. And so you do, in a measure. Your
muskets are levelled against me, and even if I were to sell my life very
dearly and blow out the brains of a few amongst you, you would have
small work to lay me low in the end. You have been lured to this
treachery by promises, and bribery; you have listened to insidious
suggestions of treason. But let me tell you this. Others before you have
listened to promises which came from that same quarter, and their bones
lie mouldering now in forgotten graves. You think that if you delivered
these works into the hands of M. de Puisaye and his followers you would
be rendering such a service to the Royalist cause, that that effete and
obese creature who dares to call himself King of France will inevitably
come to the throne which his forbears have forfeited, and that he will
reward you handsomely for any service you may have rendered him. But,
believe me, that even if this night a few bands of rebellious peasants
took possession of La Frontenay and its works, their triumph and yours
would be short-lived. No one in France at this hour wants a Bourbon
king; the army worships the Emperor, the people adore him, and with the
army and the people against you, what do you think that you can do? La
Frontenay is not the only armament factory in France; think you that you
will cripple the Emperor because you deliver our stores into the hands
of his enemies? Take care, men, take care," he added more earnestly;
"'tis you who have run your heads into a noose, and with every outrage
which you commit this night that noose will become tighter round your
necks, and you'll find that I--your master--will be more menacing and
more fearsome to you dead--murdered foully by you--than ever I was in
life."
His powerful, rugged voice rose above the murmur of the storm. Some of
the men listened to him in sullen silence; the magnetic influence which
"the General" had exercised over them in the past was not altogether
gone; his powerful personality, his cool courage, the simplicity of his
words, reacted upon their evil natures, and also upon their cowardice.
There was a vast deal of common sense in what M. le Maréchal was saying,
and they, after all, had only been promised a hundred francs apiece for
an exceedingly risky piece of work. But there were some ringleaders
among them who expected to get far more out of their treachery than a
paltry hundred francs; they relied on de Puisaye's vague promises of
freedom, on his assurance that unconditional pardon for past infractions
against the law would be granted to them by a grateful King. They--and,
above all, Leroux--felt also that they were committed too far now to
dare to draw back, and even while de Maurel spoke they broke in on his
words with sneers and taunts, and, above all, with threats.
"You seem to think, M. le Maréchal," said Leroux in husky tones--for he
was getting feeble with loss of blood--"you seem to think that I and my
mates are here to murder you."
"Why else are you here?" rejoined de Maurel coolly. "You do not suppose,
I imagine, that I am like to vacate the place and leave you to work your
evil will with my property?"
"'Twere the wisest thing to do," retorted one of the men. "Eh, mates?"
"Yes! yes!" came with a volley of savage oaths from every side.
"Throw up your hands, M. le Maréchal," added a voice from the crowd,
"and we'll see that neither you nor your sweetheart come to any harm!"
"Silence, you blackguard," thundered de Maurel fiercely, "or, by God,
I'll pick you out of the crowd and shoot you like the dog that you are."
"Throw up your hands, M. le Maréchal," broke in Leroux roughly; "the men
have no quarrel with you. But cease to defy and threaten them, or by
Satan there'll be trouble."
"The trouble will come, my men, if you persist in this insensate mutiny.
Throw down your muskets now at once, and go back to your compounds while
there's yet time, and before the consequences of your own folly descend
upon your heads."
A shout of derision greeted these words.
"The consequences of your folly will descend on your head, M. le
Maréchal," sneered Leroux. "Get out of our way. We have parleyed enough.
Eh, my mates?"
"Yes! yes! enough talk," some of them cried, whilst others added
fiercely: "Put a bullet through him and silence his accursed tongue at
last."
"Pierre Deprez, I know you," said de Maurel loudly. "Now then, all of
you, for the last time--throw down your muskets--hands up!"
There came another shout of derision, wilder than the first.
"Hark at him!" cried Paul Leroux scornfully. "Even now he thinks that he
can order us about--just as if we were a lot of craven curs."
"You are a lot of craven curs! And since you choose to be deaf to the
voice of persuasion you shall listen to that of power. Down with your
muskets! Hands up!... 'Tis the second time I've spoken."
"You may speak an hundred times, we'll not obey," retorted one of the
men. "The days of obedience are past; the place is ours...."
"For the third and last time ..." began de Maurel.
Before the word was out of his mouth a shot was fired at him out of the
crowd. The sound appeared as the signal for the breaking down of the
last barrier which held these men's murderous passions in check.
"'Tis our turn to command," shouted Leroux excitedly. "Throw up your
hands, M. le Maréchal, or...."
"Down with the muskets!" cried de Maurel in thunderous accents, that
reached to the furthermost ends of the vast quadrangle, "or by the
living God whom you have outraged, I'll bury myself and you and your
dastardly crime in one common grave."
With a movement as rapid as that of the lightning above he swung the
safety lanthorn against the wall behind him, and the protecting glass
flew shattered in every direction, leaving a light naked and flaring, on
which the storm immediately seized and tossed about in every direction.
Above him towered the huge edifice which contained fifty thousand
barrels of explosives. Immediately on his right was a narrow entrance
into the building, to which a couple of stone steps gave access. In the
space of a second he had run up those steps, his shoulder was against
the door. The flame danced around him and lit up his stern face, which
was set in a grim resolve.
"If one shout is uttered," he continued in a sonorous and resounding
voice, "if another shot is fired, if one of you but dares to move, I
break open this door, and within ten seconds, long before any man can
find safety in flight, the first barrel of gunpowder will be aflame."
Overhead the thunder crashed--the storm raged in all its fury, and in
the great quadrangle there was a sudden silence as in the city of the
dead. Fivescore men were held paralysed with the horror of what they
saw, spellbound by the might and power of a man who knew not fear; inert
by the near sight of a hideous death. And while the crowd stood there,
meek and obedient, quivering with terror like a pack of wild beasts
under the lash of the tamer, he added with withering scorn:
"And you thought that you could filch from me that which I hold in trust
for the Empire of France! You fools! You wretched, slinking, cowardly
fools!"
"In God's name, M. le Maréchal!" came in an awed whisper from one or two
men in the forefront of the crowd--"in God's name throw away that
light!"
"Not until you have thrown down your muskets!"
A hundred muskets fell with a dull clatter to the ground.
"The light, M. le Maréchal! the light...!"
"Now one of you ring the alarm bell!"
"The light...!"
"Silence!" he called aloud, so that the night air rang with his sonorous
voice. "The alarm bell, I said. Pierre Deprez--you! The others stand at
attention. Hands up!"
One man slunk away from the rest, and, shrinking, walked slowly in the
direction of the Lodge.
The naked light of the lanthorn flickered in the storm; every moment it
seemed as if it must catch the edge of de Maurel's blouse or the
woodwork round the door. One hundred pairs of eyes were fixed in
frenzied terror upon him, yet so potent was the feeling of horror which
held the men in thrall, that not one of them dared to move if only to
stretch out his hand toward that light which threatened them all with
such an appalling death.
A moment or so later the first clang of the alarm bell reverberated
through the manifold sounds of the storm. It was followed almost
immediately by the multisonous hooting of sirens in the distance and the
peal of the alarm bell from the foundry half a kilomètre away.
And as the measured sounds of the bells and the sirens swelled to one
majestic resonance, drowning now the roll of thunder and the soughing of
the stormy blast, it seemed--for the space of one supreme second--that
the men would repent them of their terror; for one second it seemed as
if they would gather up their weapons again, and, throwing all prudence
to the winds, rush and overcome that man who--single-handed--held them
so completely in his power.
De Maurel, standing beside the door a step or two above them, saw the
first sign of this reaction--the unmistakable oscillation of a crowd
when it is moved by one common impulse. He felt the one weak spot in his
armour--the possibility of his being struck even now by a chance
musket-shot, so that not even with a dying gesture could he accomplish
that which he was so grimly resolved to do. And without an instant's
hesitation, even as like a wave the crowd swayed towards him, he lifted
one corner of his linen blouse and held it to the flame; another second
and the woodwork would most inevitably be ablaze.
A cry of horror rose from a hundred lips; the crowd swayed back--the
supreme second had gone by; and coolly, with his free hand, de Maurel
extinguished the flame on his blouse. Then he threw back his head and a
loud laugh broke from his lips.
"And 'tis to such cowards," he said loudly, "that French men and women
would entrust the destinies of France!"
IV
Five minutes later the quadrangle was seething with men. Mathurin had
been the first to reach the precincts of the factory with the armed
watchmen from the foundries; he was the first to recognize his master
still standing with his back against the wall of the powder-magazine,
holding a naked, wind-tossed light in his hand. There was no time for
puzzlement or surprise; something of what had actually happened rose as
a swift yet vivid picture before the loyal overseer's mind. The crowd of
mutineers was not difficult to overpower--surrounded by the watchmen,
they gave in without a struggle. They were still dazed with the fright
which they had had and made no attempt at resistance. At any rate, until
they were well in hand, de Maurel did not move from his post. But he had
put down the lanthorn and stamped out the light with his heel; after
that, he stood quite still, only giving a few directions now and again
in his resonant voice to Mathurin and his capable coadjutors. The
watchmen of the factory, who had been surprised, overpowered and
imprisoned in the Lodge before de Maurel's advent on the scene, were
soon released, and their numbers added materially to the easiness of the
task.
Soon the mutineers, in orderly array, were mustered up in the quadrangle
preparatory to being marched back to their compound. Order reigned once
more within the vast precincts of the factory. The excitement of a while
ago, the shouts, the threats, the tumultuous cries of rage, of hatred
and of fear, had given place to quick words of command, to brisk comings
and goings, to measured tramps of feet and methodical click of arms.
Overhead the thunder still rolled at intervals, and now and again the
sky was rent by a flash of lightning; but the brunt of the storm had
spent itself in the two terrific crashes which had proved de Maurel's
most faithful allies in arousing the superstitious terror of those
ignorant dastards. A warm, soft rain began to fall, further damping the
ardour of the gang of rebels, as they filed past with hunched-up
shoulders and shuffling footsteps--like whipped curs that feared more
severe punishment yet to come.