CHAPTER XI. THE LEAGUE OF THE SCARLET PIMPERNEL
Armand never could say definitely afterwards whither he went when heleft the Square du Roule that evening. No doubt he wandered about thestreets for some time in an absent, mechanical way, paying no heed tothe passers-by, none to the direction in which he was going.
His mind was full of Jeanne, her beauty, her courage, her attitude inface of the hideous bloodhound who had come to pollute that charmingold-world boudoir by his loathsome presence. He recalled every word sheuttered, every gesture she made.
He was a man in love for the first time--wholly, irremediably in love.
I suppose that it was the pangs of hunger that first recalled himto himself. It was close on eight o'clock now, and he had fed on hisimaginings--first on anticipation, then on realisation, and lastly onmemory--during the best part of the day. Now he awoke from his day-dreamto find himself tired and hungry, but fortunately not very far from thatquarter of Paris where food is easily obtainable.
He was somewhere near the Madeleine--a quarter he knew well. Soon hesaw in front of him a small eating-house which looked fairly clean andorderly. He pushed open its swing-door, and seeing an empty table in asecluded part of the room, he sat down and ordered some supper.
The place made no impression upon his memory. He could not have toldyou an hour later where it was situated, who had served him, what he hadeaten, or what other persons were present in the dining-room at the timethat he himself entered it.
Having eaten, however, he felt more like his normal self--more consciousof his actions. When he finally left the eating-house, he realised, forinstance, that it was very cold--a fact of which he had for the past fewhours been totally unaware. The snow was falling in thin close flakes,and a biting north-easterly wind was blowing those flakes into his faceand down his collar. He wrapped his cloak tightly around him. It wasa good step yet to Blakeney's lodgings, where he knew that he wasexpected.
He struck quickly into the Rue St. Honore, avoiding the great openplaces where the grim horrors of this magnificent city in revolt againstcivilisation were displayed in all their grim nakedness--on the Placede la Revolution the guillotine, on the Carrousel the open-air camps ofworkers under the lash of slave-drivers more cruel than the uncivilisedbrutes of the Far West.
And Armand had to think of Jeanne in the midst of all these horrors. Shewas still a petted actress to-day, but who could tell if on the morrowthe terrible law of the "suspect" would not reach her in order to dragher before a tribunal that knew no mercy, and whose sole justice was acondemnation?
The young man hurried on; he was anxious to be among his own comrades,to hear his chief's pleasant voice, to feel assured that by all thesacred laws of friendship Jeanne henceforth would become the specialcare of the Scarlet Pimpernel and his league.
Blakeney lodged in a small house situated on the Quai de l'Ecole, atthe back of St. Germain l'Auxerrois, from whence he had a clear anduninterrupted view across the river, as far as the irregular block ofbuildings of the Chatelet prison and the house of Justice.
The same tower-clock that two centuries ago had tolled the signal forthe massacre of the Huguenots was even now striking nine. Armand slippedthrough the half-open porte cochere, crossed the narrow dark courtyard,and ran up two flights of winding stone stairs. At the top of these, adoor on his right allowed a thin streak of light to filtrate between itstwo folds. An iron bell handle hung beside it; Armand gave it a pull.
Two minutes later he was amongst his friends. He heaved a great sigh ofcontent and relief. The very atmosphere here seemed to be different. Asfar as the lodging itself was concerned, it was as bare, as devoid ofcomfort as those sort of places--so-called chambres garnies--usuallywere in these days. The chairs looked rickety and uninviting, the sofawas of black horsehair, the carpet was threadbare, and in placesin actual holes; but there was a certain something in the air whichrevealed, in the midst of all this squalor, the presence of a man offastidious taste.
To begin with, the place was spotlessly clean; the stove, highlypolished, gave forth a pleasing warm glow, even whilst the window,slightly open, allowed a modicum of fresh air to enter the room. Ina rough earthenware jug on the table stood a large bunch of Christmasroses, and to the educated nostril the slight scent of perfumes thathovered in the air was doubly pleasing after the fetid air of the narrowstreets.
Sir Andrew Ffoulkes was there, also my Lord Tony, and Lord Hastings.They greeted Armand with whole-hearted cheeriness.
"Where is Blakeney?" asked the young man as soon as he had shaken hisfriends by the hand.
"Present!" came in loud, pleasant accents from the door of an inner roomon the right.
And there he stood under the lintel of the door, the man against whomwas raised the giant hand of an entire nation--the man for whose headthe revolutionary government of France would gladly pay out all thesavings of its Treasury--the man whom human bloodhounds were tracking,hot on the scent--for whom the nets of a bitter revenge and relentlessreprisals were constantly being spread.
Was he unconscious of it, or merely careless? His closest friend, SirAndrew Ffoulkes, could not say. Certain it is that, as he now appearedbefore Armand, picturesque as ever in perfectly tailored clothes, withpriceless lace at throat and wrists, his slender fingers holding anenamelled snuff-box and a handkerchief of delicate cambric, his wholepersonality that of a dandy rather than a man of action, it seemedimpossible to connect him with the foolhardy escapades which had set onenation glowing with enthusiasm and another clamouring for revenge.
But it was the magnetism that emanated from him that could not bedenied; the light that now and then, swift as summer lightning, flashedout from the depths of the blue eyes usually veiled by heavy, lazy lids,the sudden tightening of firm lips, the setting of the square jaw, whichin a moment--but only for the space of a second--transformed the entireface, and revealed the born leader of men.
Just now there was none of that in the debonnair, easy-going man of theworld who advanced to meet his friend. Armand went quickly up to him,glad to grasp his hand, slightly troubled with remorse, no doubt, at therecollection of his adventure of to-day. It almost seemed to him thatfrom beneath his half-closed lids Blakeney had shot a quick inquiringglance upon him. The quick flash seemed to light up the young man's soulfrom within, and to reveal it, naked, to his friend.
It was all over in a moment, and Armand thought that mayhap hisconscience had played him a trick: there was nothing apparent in him--ofthis he was sure--that could possibly divulge his secret just yet.
"I am rather late, I fear," he said. "I wandered about the streets inthe late afternoon and lost my way in the dark. I hope I have not keptyou all waiting."
They all pulled chairs closely round the fire, except Blakeney, whopreferred to stand. He waited awhile until they were all comfortablysettled, and all ready to listen, then:
"It is about the Dauphin," he said abruptly without further preamble.
They understood. All of them had guessed it, almost before the summonscame that had brought them to Paris two days ago. Sir Andrew Ffoulkeshad left his young wife because of that, and Armand had demanded it as aright to join hands in this noble work. Blakeney had not left France forover three months now. Backwards and forwards between Paris, or Nantes,or Orleans to the coast, where his friends would meet him to receivethose unfortunates whom one man's whole-hearted devotion had rescuedfrom death; backwards and forwards into the very hearts of those citieswherein an army of sleuth-hounds were on his track, and the guillotinewas stretching out her arms to catch the foolhardy adventurer.
Now it was about the Dauphin. They all waited, breathless and eager,the fire of a noble enthusiasm burning in their hearts. They waited insilence, their eyes fixed on the leader, lest one single word from himshould fail to reach their ears.
The full magnetism of the man was apparent now. As he held thesefour men at this moment, he could have held a crowd. The man of theworld--the fastidious dandy--had shed his mask; there sto
od the leader,calm, serene in the very face of the most deadly danger that had everencompassed any man, looking that danger fully in the face, not strivingto belittle it or to exaggerate it, but weighing it in the balance withwhat there was to accomplish: the rescue of a martyred, innocent childfrom the hands of fiends who were destroying his very soul even morecompletely than his body.
"Everything, I think, is prepared," resumed Sir Percy after a slightpause. "The Simons have been summarily dismissed; I learned that to-day.They remove from the Temple on Sunday next, the nineteenth. Obviouslythat is the one day most likely to help us in our operations. As faras I am concerned, I cannot make any hard-and-fast plans. Chance at thelast moment will have to dictate. But from every one of you I musthave co-operation, and it can only be by your following my directionsimplicitly that we can even remotely hope to succeed."
He crossed and recrossed the room once or twice before he spoke again,pausing now and again in his walk in front of a large map of Paris andits environs that hung upon the wall, his tall figure erect, his handsbehind his back, his eyes fixed before him as if he saw right throughthe walls of this squalid room, and across the darkness that overhungthe city, through the grim bastions of the mighty building far away,where the descendant of an hundred kings lived at the mercy of humanfiends who worked for his abasement.
The man's face now was that of a seer and a visionary; the firm lineswere set and rigid as those of an image carved in stone--the statue ofheart-whole devotion, with the self-imposed task beckoning sternly tofollow, there where lurked danger and death.
"The way, I think, in which we could best succeed would be this," heresumed after a while, sitting now on the edge of the table and directlyfacing his four friends. The light from the lamp which stood upon thetable behind him fell full upon those four glowing faces fixed eagerlyupon him, but he himself was in shadow, a massive silhouette broadly cutout against the light-coloured map on the wall beyond.
"I remain here, of course, until Sunday," he said, "and will closelywatch my opportunity, when I can with the greatest amount of safetyenter the Temple building and take possession of the child. I shall, ofcourse choose the moment when the Simons are actually on the move, withtheir successors probably coming in at about the same time. God aloneknows," he added earnestly, "how I shall contrive to get possession ofthe child; at the moment I am just as much in the dark about that as youare."
He paused a moment, and suddenly his grave face seemed flooded withsunshine, a kind of lazy merriment danced in his eyes, effacing alltrace of solemnity within them.
"La!" he said lightly, "on one point I am not at all in the dark, andthat is that His Majesty King Louis XVII will come out of that uglyhouse in my company next Sunday, the nineteenth day of January in thisyear of grace seventeen hundred and ninety-four; and this, too, do Iknow--that those murderous blackguards shall not lay hands on me whilstthat precious burden is in my keeping. So I pray you, my good Armand, donot look so glum," he added with his pleasant, merry laugh; "you'll needall your wits about you to help us in our undertaking."
"What do you wish me to do, Percy?" said the young man simply.
"In one moment I will tell you. I want you all to understand thesituation first. The child will be out of the Temple on Sunday, but atwhat hour I know not. The later it will be the better would it suitmy purpose, for I cannot get him out of Paris before evening with anychance of safety. Here we must risk nothing; the child is far better offas he is now than he would be if he were dragged back after an abortiveattempt at rescue. But at this hour of the night, between nine and teno'clock, I can arrange to get him out of Paris by the Villette gate, andthat is where I want you, Ffoulkes, and you, Tony, to be, with some kindof covered cart, yourselves in any disguise your ingenuity will suggest.Here are a few certificates of safety; I have been making a collectionof them for some time, as they are always useful."
He dived into the wide pocket of his coat and drew forth a number ofcards, greasy, much-fingered documents of the usual pattern which theCommittee of General Security delivered to the free citizens of thenew republic, and without which no one could enter or leave any town orcountry commune without being detained as "suspect." He glanced at themand handed them over to Ffoulkes.
"Choose your own identity for the occasion, my good friend," he saidlightly; "and you too, Tony. You may be stonemasons or coal-carriers,chimney-sweeps or farm-labourers, I care not which so long as you looksufficiently grimy and wretched to be unrecognisable, and so long asyou can procure a cart without arousing suspicions, and can wait for mepunctually at the appointed spot."
Ffoulkes turned over the cards, and with a laugh handed them overto Lord Tony. The two fastidious gentlemen discussed for awhile therespective merits of a chimney-sweep's uniform as against that of acoal-carrier.
"You can carry more grime if you are a sweep," suggested Blakeney; "andif the soot gets into your eyes it does not make them smart like coaldoes."
"But soot adheres more closely," argued Tony solemnly, "and I know thatwe shan't get a bath for at least a week afterwards."
"Certainly you won't, you sybarite!" asserted Sir Percy with a laugh.
"After a week soot might become permanent," mused Sir Andrew, wonderingwhat, under the circumstance, my lady would say to him.
"If you are both so fastidious," retorted Blakeney, shrugging his broadshoulders, "I'll turn one of you into a reddleman, and the other into adyer. Then one of you will be bright scarlet to the end of his days, asthe reddle never comes off the skin at all, and the other will have tosoak in turpentine before the dye will consent to move.... In eithercase... oh, my dear Tony!... the smell...."
He laughed like a schoolboy in anticipation of a prank, and held hisscented handkerchief to his nose. My Lord Hastings chuckled audibly, andTony punched him for this unseemly display of mirth.
Armand watched the little scene in utter amazement. He had been inEngland over a year, and yet he could not understand these Englishmen.Surely they were the queerest, most inconsequent people in the world.Here were these men, who were engaged at this very moment in anenterprise which for cool-headed courage and foolhardy daring hadprobably no parallel in history. They were literally taking their livesin their hands, in all probability facing certain death; and yet theynow sat chaffing and fighting like a crowd of third-form schoolboys,talking utter, silly nonsense, and making foolish jokes that would haveshamed a Frenchman in his teens. Vaguely he wondered what fat, pompousde Batz would think of this discussion if he could overhear it. Hiscontempt, no doubt, for the Scarlet Pimpernel and his followers would beincreased tenfold.
Then at last the question of the disguise was effectually dismissed. SirAndrew Ffoulkes and Lord Anthony Dewhurst had settled their differencesof opinion by solemnly agreeing to represent two over-grimy andoverheated coal-heavers. They chose two certificates of safety that weremade out in the names of Jean Lepetit and Achille Grospierre, labourers.
"Though you don't look at all like an Achille, Tony," was Blakeney'sparting shot to his friend.
Then without any transition from this schoolboy nonsense to the seriousbusiness of the moment, Sir Andrew Ffoulkes said abruptly:
"Tell us exactly, Blakeney, where you will want the cart to stand onSunday."
Blakeney rose and turned to the map against the wall, Ffoulkes and Tonyfollowing him. They stood close to his elbow whilst his slender, nervyhand wandered along the shiny surface of the varnished paper. At last heplaced his finger on one spot.
"Here you see," he said, "is the Villette gate. Just outside it a narrowstreet on the right leads down in the direction of the canal. It is justat the bottom of that narrow street at its junction with the tow-paththere that I want you two and the cart to be. It had better be acoal-car by the way; they will be unloading coal close by thereto-morrow," he added with one of his sudden irrepressible outbursts ofmerriment. "You and Tony can exercise your muscles coal-heaving, andincidentally make yourselves known in the neighbourhood as good ifsomewhat grimy p
atriots."
"We had better take up our parts at once then," said Tony. "I'll take afond farewell of my clean shirt to-night."
"Yes, you will not see one again for some time, my good Tony. Afteryour hard day's work to-morrow you will have to sleep either inside yourcart, if you have already secured one, or under the arches of the canalbridge, if you have not."
"I hope you have an equally pleasant prospect for Hastings," was my LordTony's grim comment.
It was easy to see that he was as happy as a schoolboy about to startfor a holiday. Lord Tony was a true sportsman. Perhaps there was in himless sentiment for the heroic work which he did under the guidance ofhis chief than an inherent passion for dangerous adventures. Sir AndrewFfoulkes, on the other hand, thought perhaps a little less of theadventure, but a great deal of the martyred child in the Temple. He wasjust as buoyant, just as keen as his friend, but the leaven ofsentiment raised his sporting instincts to perhaps a higher plane ofself-devotion.
"Well, now, to recapitulate," he said, in turn following with his fingerthe indicated route on the map. "Tony and I and the coal-cart will awaityou on this spot, at the corner of the towpath on Sunday evening at nineo'clock."
"And your signal, Blakeney?" asked Tony.
"The usual one," replied Sir Percy, "the seamew's cry thrice repeated atbrief intervals. But now," he continued, turning to Armand and Hastings,who had taken no part in the discussion hitherto, "I want your help alittle further afield."
"I thought so," nodded Hastings.
"The coal-cart, with its usual miserable nag, will carry us a distanceof fifteen or sixteen kilometres, but no more. My purpose is to cutalong the north of the city, and to reach St. Germain, the nearest pointwhere we can secure good mounts. There is a farmer just outside thecommune; his name is Achard. He has excellent horses, which I haveborrowed before now; we shall want five, of course, and he has onepowerful beast that will do for me, as I shall have, in addition tomy own weight, which is considerable, to take the child with me onthe pillion. Now you, Hastings and Armand, will have to start earlyto-morrow morning, leave Paris by the Neuilly gate, and from there makeyour way to St. Germain by any conveyance you can contrive to obtain. AtSt. Germain you must at once find Achard's farm; disguised as labourersyou will not arouse suspicion by so doing. You will find the farmerquite amenable to money, and you must secure the best horses you can getfor our own use, and, if possible, the powerful mount I spoke of justnow. You are both excellent horse-men, therefore I selected you amongstthe others for this special errand, for you two, with the five horses,will have to come and meet our coal-cart some seventeen kilometresout of St. Germain, to where the first sign-post indicates the road toCourbevoie. Some two hundred metres down this road on the right there isa small spinney, which will afford splendid shelter for yourselves andyour horses. We hope to be there at about one o'clock after midnightof Monday morning. Now, is all that quite clear, and are you bothsatisfied?"
"It is quite clear," exclaimed Hastings placidly; "but I, for one, amnot at all satisfied."
"And why not?"
"Because it is all too easy. We get none of the danger."
"Oho! I thought that you would bring that argument forward, youincorrigible grumbler," laughed Sir Percy good-humouredly. "Let me tellyou that if you start to-morrow from Paris in that spirit you will runyour head and Armand's into a noose long before you reach the gate ofNeuilly. I cannot allow either of you to cover your faces with too muchgrime; an honest farm labourer should not look over-dirty, and yourchances of being discovered and detained are, at the outset, far greaterthan those which Ffoulkes and Tony will run--"
Armand had said nothing during this time. While Blakeney was unfoldinghis plan for him and for Lord Hastings--a plan which practically was acommand--he had sat with his arms folded across his chest, his head sunkupon his breast. When Blakeney had asked if they were satisfied, hehad taken no part in Hastings' protest nor responded to his leader'sgood-humoured banter.
Though he did not look up even now, yet he felt that Percy's eyes werefixed upon him, and they seemed to scorch into his soul. He made a greateffort to appear eager like the others, and yet from the first a chillhad struck at his heart. He could not leave Paris before he had seenJeanne.
He looked up suddenly, trying to seem unconcerned; he even looked hischief fully in the face.
"When ought we to leave Paris?" he asked calmly.
"You MUST leave at daybreak," replied Blakeney with a slight, almostimperceptible emphasis on the word of command. "When the gates are firstopened, and the work-people go to and fro at their work, that is thesafest hour. And you must be at St. Germain as soon as may be, or thefarmer may not have a sufficiency of horses available at a moment'snotice. I want you to be spokesman with Achard, so that Hastings'British accent should not betray you both. Also you might not geta conveyance for St. Germain immediately. We must think of everyeventuality, Armand. There is so much at stake."
Armand made no further comment just then. But the others lookedastonished. Armand had but asked a simple question, and Blakeney's replyseemed almost like a rebuke--so circumstantial too, and so explanatory.He was so used to being obeyed at a word, so accustomed that the merestwish, the slightest hint from him was understood by his band of devotedfollowers, that the long explanation of his orders which he gave toArmand struck them all with a strange sense of unpleasant surprise.
Hastings was the first to break the spell that seemed to have fallenover the party.
"We leave at daybreak, of course," he said, "as soon as the gates areopen. We can, I know, get one of the carriers to give us a lift as faras St. Germain. There, how do we find Achard?"
"He is a well-known farmer," replied Blakeney. "You have but to ask."
"Good. Then we bespeak five horses for the next day, find lodgings inthe village that night, and make a fresh start back towards Paris in theevening of Sunday. Is that right?"
"Yes. One of you will have two horses on the lead, the other one. Packsome fodder on the empty saddles and start at about ten o'clock. Ridestraight along the main road, as if you were making back for Paris,until you come to four cross-roads with a sign-post pointing toCourbevoie. Turn down there and go along the road until you meet a closespinney of fir-trees on your right. Make for the interior of that. Itgives splendid shelter, and you can dismount there and give the horses afeed. We'll join you one hour after midnight. The night will be dark, Ihope, and the moon anyhow will be on the wane."
"I think I understand. Anyhow, it's not difficult, and we'll be ascareful as may be."
"You will have to keep your heads clear, both of you," concludedBlakeney.
He was looking at Armand as he said this; but the young man had not madea movement during this brief colloquy between Hastings and the chief. Hestill sat with arms folded, his head falling on his breast.
Silence had fallen on them all. They all sat round the fire buried inthought. Through the open window there came from the quay beyond the humof life in the open-air camp; the tramp of the sentinels around it, thewords of command from the drill-sergeant, and through it all the moaningof the wind and the beating of the sleet against the window-panes.
A whole world of wretchedness was expressed by those sounds! Blakeneygave a quick, impatient sigh, and going to the window he pushed itfurther open, and just then there came from afar the muffled roll ofdrums, and from below the watchman's cry that seemed such dire mockery:
"Sleep, citizens! Everything is safe and peaceful."
"Sound advice," said Blakeney lightly. "Shall we also go to sleep? Whatsay you all--eh?"
He had with that sudden rapidity characteristic of his every action,already thrown off the serious air which he had worn a moment ago whengiving instructions to Hastings. His usual debonnair manner was on himonce again, his laziness, his careless insouciance. He was even atthis moment deeply engaged in flicking off a grain of dust from theimmaculate Mechlin ruff at his wrist. The heavy lids had fallen over thetell-tale eyes as if w
eighted with fatigue, the mouth appeared ready forthe laugh which never was absent from it very long.
It was only Ffoulkes's devoted eyes that were sharp enough to pierce themask of light-hearted gaiety which enveloped the soul of his leader atthe present moment. He saw--for the first time in all the years thathe had known Blakeney--a frown across the habitually smooth brow, andthough the lips were parted for a laugh, the lines round mouth and chinwere hard and set.
With that intuition born of whole-hearted friendship Sir Andrew guessedwhat troubled Percy. He had caught the look which the latter had thrownon Armand, and knew that some explanation would have to pass between thetwo men before they parted to-night. Therefore he gave the signal forthe breaking up of the meeting.
"There is nothing more to say, is there, Blakeney?" he asked.
"No, my good fellow, nothing," replied Sir Percy. "I do not know how youall feel, but I am demmed fatigued."
"What about the rags for to-morrow?" queried Hastings.
"You know where to find them. In the room below. Ffoulkes has the key.Wigs and all are there. But don't use false hair if you can help it--itis apt to shift in a scrimmage."
He spoke jerkily, more curtly than was his wont. Hastings and Tonythought that he was tired. They rose to say good night. Then the threemen went away together, Armand remaining behind.