CHAPTER III.
RETURN TO DURBELLIERE.
When Adolphe Denot left his friend Henri in the street of Saumur, andran off from him, Henri was so completely astonished by his partingwords, so utterly dumb-founded by what he said respecting Agatha, thathe made no attempt to follow him, but returned after awhile to thehouse, in which he, Charles and Adolphe were lodging, and as he walkedslowly through the streets, he continued saying to himself, "Poorfellow, he is mad! he is certainly raving mad!"
From that time, no tidings whatsoever were heard of Denot. He had neverreturned to his lodging, nor been seen anywhere, except in the stable,in which his horse had been put to stand--he had himself saddled hishorse, and taken him from the stall, and from that moment nothingfurther could be learnt of him in Saumur. De Lescure and Henri made themost minute inquiries--but in vain; had he destroyed himself, or hidhimself in the town, his horse would certainly have been found; it wassurmised that he had started for Paris on some mad speculation; andthough his friends deeply grieved at his misconduct, his absence, whenthey had so much to do and to think of was in itself, felt as a relief.
After remaining about a week in Saumur, the army was disbanded--orrather disbanded itself, for every effort was made, to keep together asgreat a body of men as possible. An attempt was made to garrison thetown; and for this purpose, the leaders undertook to pay about onethousand men, at a certain rate per day, for their services, while theyremained under arms in Saumur, but the idea, after a very short time,was abandoned; the men would not stay away from their homes, and inspite of the comforts which were procured for them, and the pay whichwas promised, the garrison very quickly dissolved.
Cathelineau succeeded in taking back with him to St. Florent, nearly allthe men who had accompanied him; his next object was the attack ofNantes, and as St. Florent is between Saumur and that town, his men wereable to return to their homes, without going much out of their directway. He marched through the town of Angers on his return, and tookpossession of the stores which he found there, the republican garrisonhaving fled as soon as they heard of his approach; many of Bonchamps'men accompanied him, and some of those who had come to Saumur with deLescure and Henri Larochejaquelin, young men who had no wives orfamilies, and who literally preferred the excitement of the campaign,to their ordinary home employments; all such men joined Cathelineau'sarmy, but by far the greater number of the peasants of the Bocagereturned with de Lescure and Larochejaquelin.
Charette had been invited to assist Cathelineau in his attack on Nantes,and he had promised to do so; de Lescure found it absolutely necessaryto go home, on account of his wound, and Larochejaquelin went with him.They had already heard that the Convention had determined to invade LaVendee on every side with an overwhelming force, and it was necessaryto protect the Southern portion of the province; this duty was allottedto our two friends, and they therefore returned home from Saumur,without expecting to enjoy for any length of time the fruits of theirrecent victory.
A litter was formed for de Lescure, for at present he found itimpossible to bear the motion of riding, and Henri, the littleChevalier, Father Jerome and Chapeau, accompanied him on horseback. Manyof the peasants had started from Saumur, before their party, and thewhole road from that town through Dou and Vihiers to Durbelliere, wasthronged with crowds of these successful warriors, returning to theirfamilies, anxious to tell to their wives and sweethearts the feats theyhad accomplished.
They were within a league of Durbelliere, and had reached a point wherea cross-road led from the one they were on to the village ofEchanbroignes, and at this place many of the cortege, which was nowpretty numerous, turned off towards their own homes.
"M. Henri," said Chapeau, riding up to his master, from among two orthree peasants, who had been walking for some time by his horse's side,and anxiously talking to him, "M. Henri?"
"Well, Jacques; what is it now?" said Henri.
"I have a favour to ask of Monsieur."
"A favour, Chapeau; I suppose you want to go to Echanbroignes already,to tell Michael Stein's pretty daughter, of all the gallant things youdid at Saumur."
"Not till I have waited on you and M. de Lescure to the chateau. Momontwould be dying if he had not some one to give him a true account of whathas been done, and I do not know that any one could give him a muchbetter history of it, than myself--of course not meaning such as you andM. de Lescure, who saw more of the fighting than any one else; but thenyou know, M. Henri, you will have too much to do, and too much to sayto the Marquis, and to Mademoiselle, to be talking to an old man likeMomont."
"Never fear, Chapeau. You shall have Momont's ears all to yourself; butwhat is it you do want?"
"Why, nothing myself exactly, M. Henri; but there are two men fromEchanbroignes here, who wish you to allow them to go on to Durbelliere,and stay a day or two there: they are two of our men, M. Henri; two ofthe red scarfs."
"Two of the red scarfs!" said Henri.
"Yes, M. Henri, two of the men who went through the water, and took thetown; we call ourselves red scarfs, just to distinguish ourselves fromthe rest of the army: your honour is a red scarf that is the chief ofthe red scarfs; and we expect to be especially under your honour'sprotection."
"I am a red scarf, Henri;" said the little Chevalier. "There are justtwo hundred of us, and we mean to be the most dare-devil set in thewhole army; won't we make the cowardly blues afraid of the Durbellierered scarfs!"
"And who are the two men, Jacques?" said Henri.
"Jean and Peter Stein," said Jacques: "you see, M. Henri, they ran awayto the battle, just in direct opposition to old Michael's positiveorders. You and the Cure must remember how I pledged my honour that theyshould be at Saumur, and so they were: but Michael Stein is an awfulblack man to deal with when his back is up: he thinks no more of givinga clout with his hammer, than another man does of a rap with his fiveknuckles."
"But his sons are brave fellows," said the little Chevalier, "and dashedinto the water among the very first. Michael Stein can't but be proudthat his two sons should be both red scarfs: if so, he must be arepublican."
"He is no republican, Chevalier," said Chapeau, "that's quite certain,nor yet any of the family; but he is a very black man, and when onceangered, not easy to be smoothed down again; and if M. Henri will allowJean and Peter to come on to Durbelliere, I can, perhaps, manage to goback with them on Sunday, and Michael Stein will mind me more than hewill them: I can knock into his thick head better than they can do, thehigh honour which has befallen the lads, in their chancing to have beenamong the red scarfs."
"Well, Chapeau, let them come," said Henri. "No man that followed megallantly into Saumur, shall be refused admittance when he wishes tofollow me into Durbelliere."
"We were cool enough, weren't we, Henri, when we marched into the town?"said the Chevalier.
"We'll have a more comfortable reception at the old chateau," saidHenri; "at any rate, we'll have no more cold water. I must say, Arthur,I thought the water of that moat had a peculiarly nasty taste."
They were not long in reaching the chateau, and Henri soon found himselfin his sister's arms. A confused account, first of the utter defeat ofthe Vendeans at Varin, and then of their complete victory at Saumur, hadreached Durbelliere; and though the former account had made them asmiserable, as the latter had made them happy, neither one nor the otherwas entirely believed. De Lescure had sent an express to Clissonimmediately after the taking of the town, and Madame de Lescure had sentfrom Clisson to Durbelliere; but still it was delightful to have thegood news corroborated by the conquerors themselves, and Agatha wassupremely happy.
"My own dear, darling Henri," she said, clinging round his neck, "my ownbrave, gallant brother, and were you not wounded at all--are you sureyou are not wounded?"
"Not a touch, not a scratch, Agatha, as deep as you might give me withyour bodkin."
"Thank God! I thank Him with all my heart and soul: and I know you werethe first everywhere. Charles wrote but a word or too to Vi
ctorine, buthe said you were the very first to set your foot in Saumur."
"A mere accident, Agatha; while Charles had all the fighting--the realhard, up hill, hand to 'hand work--I and a few others walked intoSaumur, or rather we swam in, and took possession of the town. TheChevalier here was beside me, and was over the breach as soon as I was."
"My brave young Arthur!" said Agatha, in her enthusiasm, kissing theforehead of the blushing Chevalier, "you have won your spurs like aknight and a hero; you shall be my knight and my hero. And I will giveyou my glove to wear in your cap. But, tell me Arthur, why have you andHenri, those red handkerchiefs tied round your waist? Chapeau has onetoo, and those other men, below there."
"That's our uniform," said Arthur. "We are all red scarfs; all the menwho clambered into Saumur through the water, are to wear red scarfs tillthe war is over; and they are to be seen in the front, at every battle,seige and skirmish. Mind, Agatha, when you see a red scarf, that he isone of Henri Larochejaquelin's own body-guard; and when you see a baldpate, it belongs to a skulking republican."
"Are the republicans all bald then?" said Agatha.
"We shaved all we caught at Saumur, at any rate. We did not leave a hairupon one of them," said Arthur, rejoicing. "The red scarfs are finebarbers, when a republican wants shaving."
"Is Charles badly wounded?" asked Agatha.
"His arm is broken, and he remained in action for eight hours afterreceiving the wound, so that it was difficult to set; but now it isdoing well," said Henri.
"I should have offered him my services before this: at any rate I willdo so now; but Henri I have a thousand things to say to you; do notexpect to go to bed tonight, till you have told me everything just asit happened," and Agatha hurried away, to give her sweet woman's aid toher wounded cousin, while Henri went into his father's room.
"Welcome, my hero! welcome, my gallant boy!" said the old man, almostrising from his chair, cripple as he was, in his anxiety to seize thehand of his beloved son.
"I have come home, safe, father," said Henri, "to lay my sword at yourfeet."
"You must not leave it there long, Henri, I fear, you must not leave itthere long; these traitors are going to devour us alive; to surround uswith their troops and burn us out of house and home; they willannihilate the people they say, destroy the towns, and root out the verytrees and hedges. We shall see, Henri--we shall see. So they made a badfight of it at Saumur?"
"They had two men to one against us, besides the advantage of position,discipline and arms, and yet they marched the best part of their troopsoff in the night without striking a blow."
"Thanks be to the Lord, we will have our King again; we will have ourdear King once more, thanks be to the Almighty," said the old man, eagerwith joy. "And they fled, did they, without striking a blow!"
"Some of them did, father; but some fought well enough; it was desperatesharp work when poor Charles was wounded."
"God bless him! God bless him! I didn't doubt it was sharp work; buteven with valour, or without valour, what could sedition and perjuryavail against truth and loyalty! they were two to one; they had stonewalls and deep rivers to protect them; they had arms and powder, andsteel cuirasses; they had disciplined troops and all the appanages ofwar, and yet they were scattered like chaff; driven from their highwalls and deep moats, by a few half-armed peasants; and why? why haveour batons been more deadly than their swords? because we have had truthand loyalty on our side. Why have our stuff jackets prevailed againsttheir steel armour; because they covered honest hearts that werefighting honestly for their King. His Majesty shall enjoy his own again,my boy. Vive le Roi! Vive le Roi!"
"I trust he may, father; but, as you say, we shall have some hard workto do first. Cathelineau and Charette will be before Nantes in a week'stime. I should have been with them had we not heard that a strong bodyof republican troops is to be stationed at Parthenay. They say thatSanterre is to command a party of Marseillaise, commissioned toexterminate the Vendeans."
"What, Santerre, the brewer of the Faubourgs?"
"The same, Danton's friend, he who used to be so loud at the Cordeliers;and Westerman is to assist him," said Henri.
"Worse again, Henri, worse again; was it not he who headed the rebelson the tenth of August, when our sainted King was driven from his home?"
"Yes, the same Westerman is now to drive us from our homes; or ratherto burn us, our homes, and all together--such at least is the taskallotted to him."
"God help our babes and our women!" said the old Marquis shuddering, "ifthey fall into the clutches of Santerre, and that other still blackerdemon!"
"Do not fear, father; have we not shewn that we are men? Santerre willfind that he has better soldiers to meet than any he brings with him."
"Fear, Henri! no, for myself I fear nothing. What injury can they do toan old man like me? I do not even fear for my own children; if theirlives are required in the King's service, they know how to part withthem in perfect confidence of eternal happiness hereafter; but, Henri,I do feel for our poor people; they are now full of joy and enthusiasm,for they are warm from victory, and the grief of the few, who areweeping for their relatives, is lost in the joy of the multitude. Butthis cannot always be so, we cannot expect continual victory, and evenvictory itself, when so often repeated, will bring death and desolationinto every parish and into every family."
"I trust, father, the war will not be prolonged so distantly as you seemto think; the forces of Austria, England and Prussia already surroundthe frontiers of France; and we have every reason to hope that friendlytroops from Britain will soon land on our own coast. I trust the autumnwill find La Vendee crowned with glory, but once more at peace."
"God send it, my son!" said the Marquis.
"I do not doubt the glory--but I do doubt the peace."
"We cannot go back now, father," said Henri.
"Nor would I have you do so; we have a duty to do, and though it bepainful we must do it. 'God will temper the wind to the shorn lamb,' andgive us strength to bear our sufferings; but my heart shudders, when Iam told that the Republic has let loose those wolves of Paris to shedthe blood of our poor people."
The prospect of a prolonged civil war, of continued strife, andincreased bloodshed, somewhat damped the joy with which the victory atSaumur was discussed in the aristocratic portion of the chateau; but nosuch gloomy notions were allowed to interfere with the triumph whichreigned in the kitchen. Here victory was clothed in robes all couleurde rose, and it appeared that La Vendee, so happy in many otherrespects, was chiefly blessed in being surrounded by republicans whomshe could conquer, and in having enemies who gave her the means ofacquiring glory.
"And our own young master was the first royalist who put his foot inSaumur?" asked Momont, who had already received the information herequired four or five times, and on each occasion had drunk Henri'shealth in about half-a-pint of wine.
"Indeed he was," said Chapeau, "the very first. You don't think he'dhave let any one go before him."
"Here's his health then, and God bless him!" said Momont. "It was Ifirst showed him how to fire a pistol; and very keen he was at takingto gunpowder."
"Indeed, and indeed he was," said the housekeeper. "When he was no morethan twelve years old, not nigh as big as the little Chevalier, he letoff the big blunderbuss in my bed-room, and I on my knees at prayers thewhile. God bless his sweet face, I always knew he'd make a greatsoldier."
"And don't you remember," said the laundress, "how he blew upMademoiselle Agatha, making her sit on a milk-pan turned over, with awhole heap of gunpowder stuffed underneath, and she only six or sevenyears old?"
"Did he though," said the page, "blow up Mademoiselle Agatha?"
"Indeed he did, and blew every scrap of hair off her head and eyebrows.It's no wonder he's such a great general."
"And the Chevalier was second, wasn't he?" said the cook.
"Dear little darling fellow!" said the confidential maid; "and to thinkof him going to the wars with guns and swords
and pistols! If anythinghad happened to him I should have cried my eyes out."
"And was the Chevalier the first to follow M. Henri into the town?"asked the page, who was a year older than Arthur Mondyon, andconsequently felt himself somewhat disgraced at not having been atSaumur.
"Why," said Jacques, with a look which was intended to shew howunwilling he was to speak of himself, "I can't exactly say the Chevalierwas the first to follow M. Henri, but if he wasn't the second, he wascertainly the third who entered Saumur."
"Who then was the second?" said one or two at the same time.
"Why, I shouldn't have said anything about it, only you ask me so veryparticularly," said Jacques, "but I believe I was second myself; butJean Stein can tell you everything; you weren't backward yourself Jean,there were not more than three or four of them before you and Peter."
"I don't know about that," said Jean, "but we all did the best we could,I believe."
"And was Chapeau really second?" said Momont, who was becoming jealousof the distinction likely to be paid to his junior fellow-servant. "Youdon't mean to say he went in before all the other gentlemen?"
"Gentlemen, indeed!" said Chapeau. "What an idea you have of taking atown by storm, if you think men are to stand back to make room forgentlemen, as though a party were going into dinner."
"But tell us now, Jean Stein," continued Momont, "was Chapeau reallysecond?"
"Well then," said Jean, "he was certainly second into the water, but hewas so long under it, I doubt whether he was second out--he certainlydid get a regular good ducking did Chapeau. Why, you came out feetuppermost, Chapeau."
"Feet uppermost!" shouted Momont, "and is that your idea of storming atown, to go into it feet uppermost?"
"But do you really mean to say that you were absolutely wet through whenyou took Saumur?" said the laundress.
"Indeed we were," answered Chapeau, "wringing wet, every man of us."
"Lawks! how uncomfortable," said the cook. "And M. Henri, was he wettoo?"
"Wet, to be sure he was wet as water could make him."
"And the little Chevalier, did he get himself wet?" said theconfidential maid, "poor little fellow! it was like to give him hisdeath of cold."
"But, Chapeau, tell me truly now: did you kill any of those bloodyrepublicans with your own hand?" asked the housekeeper.
"Kill them," said Chapeau, "to be sure, I killed them when we werefighting."
"And how many, Chapeau; how many did you positively kill dead, youknow?" said the confidential maid.
"What nonsense you do talk!" answered he, with a great air of militaryknowledge, "as if a man in battle knows when he kills and when hedoesn't. You're not able to look about you in that sort of way in themiddle of the smoke and noise and confusion."
"You don't mean to tell me you ever kill a man without knowing it!" saidthe housekeeper.
"You don't understand what a battle is at all," answered Chapeau,determined to communicate a little of his experience on the matter. "Onehasn't time to look about one to see anything. Now supposing you hadbeen with us at the taking of Saumur."
"Oh, the Lord forbid!" said the housekeeper. "I'd sooner be in my graveany day, than go to one of those horrid bloody battles."
"Or you, Momont; supposing you'd been there?"
"Maybe I might have done as much as another, old as I look," replied thebutler.
"I'm sure you'd have done well, Momont. I'm sure you'd have done verywell," endeavouring to conciliate him into listening; "but supposing youhad been there, or at the camp of Varin--we'll say Varin, for afterall, we had more fighting there than at Saumur. Supposing you were oneof the attacking party; you find yourself close wedged in between yourtwo comrades right opposite the trenches; you have a loaded musket inyour hand, with a bayonet fixed to it, and you have five or six roundsof cartridges in your belt; you know that you are to do your best, orrather your worst with what you've got. Well, your commander gives theword of attack. We'll suppose it's the good Cathelineau. 'Friends,' hewill say; 'dear friends; now is the time to prove ourselves men; now isthe moment to prove that we love our King; we will soon shew therepublicans that a few sods of turf are no obstacles in the way ofVendean royalists,' and then the gallant fellow rushes into thetrenches; two thousand brave men follow him, shouting 'Vive le Roi!' andyou, Momont, are one of the first. All of a sudden, as you are just inmotion, prepared for your first spring, a sharp cutting gush of airpasses close to your face, and nearly blinds you; you feel that you canhardly breathe, but you hear a groan, and a stumble; your next neighbourand three men behind him have been sent into eternity by a cannon-ballfrom the enemy. Do you think then that the man who fired the cannonknows, or cares who he has killed? Well, on you go; had you not been ina crowd, the enemy's fire, maybe, might have frightened you; but goodcompany makes men brave: on you go, and throw yourself into the trench.You find a more active man than yourself just above you; he is alreadynearly at the top of the bank, his feet are stuck in the sods above yourhead; he is about to spring upon the rampart, when the bayonet of arepublican passes through his breast, and he falls at your feet, orperhaps upon your head. You feel your heart shudder, and your blood runscold, but it is no time for pausing now; you could not return if youwould, neither can you remain where you are: up you go, grasping yourmusket in one hand and digging the other into the loose sods. Your eyesand mouth are crammed with dust, your face is bespattered with yourcomrade's blood, your ears are full of strange noises; your very naturechanges within you; the smell of gunpowder and of carnage makes you feellike a beast of prey. You do not think any longer of the friends whohave fallen beside you; you only long to grapple with the enemy who arebefore you."
"Oh, mercy me! how very shocking!" said the housekeeper. "Pray don'tgo on Chapeau; pray don't, or I shall have such horrid dreams."
"Oh! but you must go on, Chapeau," said the confidential maid, "I couldnever bear that you should leave off; it is very horrid, surely; but asMademoiselle says, we must learn to look at blood and wounds now, andhear of them, too."
"Do pray tell us the rest," said the page, who sat listening intentlywith his mouth wide open. "I do so like it; pray tell us what Momont didafter he became a beast of prey?"
Chapeau was supremely happy; he felt that his military experience andhis descriptive talents were duly appreciated, and he continued:
"Well, you are now in the camp, on the enemy's ground, and you have tofight every inch, till you drive them out of it; six or seven of yourcomrades are close to you, and you all press on, still grasping yourmuskets and pushing your bayonets before you: the enemy make a rush todrive you back again; on they come against you, by twenties and bythirties; those who are behind, push forward those who are in front, andsuddenly you find a heavy dragging weight upon your hands, and again youhear the moans of a dying man close to you--almost in your arms. Arepublican soldier has fallen on your bayonet. The struggles of thewounded man nearly overpower you; you twist and turn and wrench, anddrag your musket to and fro, but it is no use; the weapon is jammedbetween his ribs; you have not space nor time to extricate it; you areobliged to leave it, and on you go unarmed, stumbling over the body ofyour fallen enemy. Whether the man dies or lives, whether his wound bemortal or no, you will never hear. And so you advance, till graduallyyou begin to feel, rather than to see, that the blues are retreatingfrom you. You hear unarmed men asking for quarter, begging for theirlives, and the sound of entreaty again softens your heart; you think ofsparing life, instead of taking it; you embrace your friends as you meetthem here and there; you laugh and sing as you feel that you have doneyour best and have conquered; and when you once more become sufficientlycalm to be aware what you are yourself doing, you find that you have asword in your hand, or a huge pistol; you know not from whom you tookthem, or where you got them, or in what manner you have used them. Howcan a man say then, whom he has killed in battle, or whether he haskilled any man? I do not recollect that I ever fired a shot at Varinmyself, and yet my musket was discharged
and the pan was up. I will notsay that I ever killed a man; but I will say that I never struck a manwho asked for mercy, or fired a shot even on a republican, who hadthrown down his arms."
Henri's voice was now heard in the hall, loudly calling for Jacques, andaway he ran to join his master, as he finished his history.
"It makes my blood run cold," said the housekeeper, "to think of suchhorrid things."
"Chapeau describes it very well, though," said the confidential maid;"I'm sure he has seen it all himself. I'm sure he's a brave fellow."
"It's not always those who talk the most that are the bravest," saidMomont.
Henri and his sister sat talking that night for a long time, after theother inhabitants of the chateau were in bed, and though they had somany subjects of interest to discuss, their conversation was chieflyrespecting Adolphe Denot.
"I cannot guess what has become of him," said Henri; "I made everypossible inquiry, short of that which might seem to compromise hischaracter. I do not think he can have returned to the Bocage, or weshould have heard of him."
"He must have gone to Fleury," said Agatha. "I am sure you will not findthat he is at his own house."
"Impossible, my love; we must have heard of him on the way; had he goneround by Montrenil, he must still have passed over the bridge ofFouchard, and we should have heard of him there."
"He must have ridden over in the night; you see he so evidently wantedto conceal from you where he was going."
"My own impression is, that he is gone to Paris," said Henri; "but lethim have gone where he may, of one thing I am sure; he was not in hisright senses when he left the council-room, nor yet when he was speakingto me in the street; poor Adolphe! I pity him with all my heart. I canfeel how miserable he must be."
"Why should he be miserable, Henri? The truth is, you mistake hischaracter. I do not wish to make you think ill of your friend; butAdolphe is one of those men whom adversity will improve. You and ourfather have rather spoilt him between you; he is too proud, too apt tothink that everything should bend to his wishes: he has yet to learnthat in this world he must endure to have his dearest wishes thwarted;and till adversity has taught him that, his feelings will not be manly,nor his conduct sensible."
"Poor fellow!" said Henri, "if adversity will teach him, he is likelyto get his lesson now. Did he part quietly with you, Agatha, on the daybefore we started to Saumur?"
"Anything but quietly," said she. "I would not tell you all he said, foron the eve of a battle in which you were to fight side by side, I didnot wish to make you angry with your friend and companion: but had araging madman, just escaped from his keepers, come to offer me his hand,his conduct could not have been worse than Adolphe Denot's."
"Was he violent with you, Agatha?"
"He did not offer to strike me, nor yet to touch me, if you mean that:but he threatened me; and that in such awful sounding, and yetridiculous language, that you would hardly know whether to laugh or tobe angry if I could repeat it."
"What did he say, Agatha?"
"Say! it would be impossible for me to tell you; he swung his arms likea country actor in a village barn, and declared that if he were notkilled at Saumur, he would carry me away in spite of all that my friendscould do to hinder him."
"Poor fellow! poor Adolphe!" said Henri.
"You are not sorry I refused him? You would, indeed, have had to say,poor Agatha! had I done otherwise."
"I am not sorry that you refused him, but I am sorry you could not lovehim."
"Why you say yourself he is mad: would you wish me to love a madman?"
"It is love that has made him mad. Adolphe is not like other men; hispassions are stronger; his feelings more acute; his regrets morepoignant."
"He should control his passions as other men must do," said Agatha: "allmen who do not, are madmen." She remained silent for a few moments, andthen added, "you are right in saying that love has made him mad; but itis the meanest of all love that has done so--it is self-love."
"I think you are too hard upon him, Agatha; but it is over now, andcannot be helped."
"What did he say to you, Henri, when he left you in Saurnur?"
"His name had been mentioned you know in the council as one of theleaders: Bonchamps, I believe, proposed it; but Charles objected, andnamed Charette in his place, and Cathelineau and the rest agreed to it.This angered Adolphe, and no wonder, for he is ambitious, and impatientof neglect. I wish they would have let him been named instead of me, butthey would not, and when the list was finished, he was not on it. He gotup and said something; I hardly know what, but he complained of Stoffletbeing one of the Generals; and then Charles rebuked him, and Adolphe ina passion left the room."
"And you followed him?" asked Agatha.
"Yes, I followed him; but he was like a raging madman. I don't know howit was; but instead of complaining about the Generals, he begancomplaining about you. I don't know exactly whether I ought to tell youwhat he said--indeed I had not intended to have done so."
"Nay, Henri; now you have raised my woman's curiosity, and youpositively must tell me."
"I hardly know how to tell you," said Henri, "for I really forget howhe said it. I don't know on earth how he introduced your name at all;but he ended in accusing you of having a more favoured lover."
Agatha blushed slightly as she answered:
"He has no right whatever to ask the question; nor if I have a favouredlover, should it be any ground of complaint to him. But to you, Henri,if you wish a promise from me on the subject, I will readily andwillingly promise, that I will receive no man's love, and, far as I canmaster my own heart, I will myself entertain no passion without yoursanction: and you, dear brother, you shall make me a return for myconfidence; you shall ask me to marry no man whom I cannot love."
"Don't for a moment think, dearest, that what he said, made me uneasyas regarded you: but whom do you think he selected for you--of whom doyou think he is jealous?"
"I cannot attempt to guess a madman's thoughts, Henri."
"I will tell you then," said he; "but you will be shocked as well assurprised. He is jealous of Cathelineau!"
"Cathelineau?" said Agatha, blushing now much more deeply than she haddone before.
"Yes, Cathelineau, the postillion."
"No, not Cathelineau the postillion; but Cathelineau the Saint of Anjou,and the hero of St. Florent, and of Saumur. He at any rate has linkedmy name with that of a man worthy of a woman's love."
"Worthy, Agatha, had his birth and early years been different from whatthey were."
"Worthy as he is of any woman's love," said Agatha. "Great deeds andnoble conduct make birth of no avail, to give either honour ordisgrace."
"But, Agatha, surely you would not wed Cathelineau, were he to ask you?"
"Why should you ask that question, Henri?" said she: "are the wordswhich Adolphe Denot has uttered in his wild insanity of such weight, asto make you regard as possible such an event? Have I not told you Iwould wed no one without your sanction? Do you not know that Cathelineauhas never spoken to me but the coldest words of most distant respect?Do you not know that his heart and soul are intent on other things thanwoman's love? I, too, feel that this is not the time for love. While Ilive in continual dread that those I most value may fall in battle;while I fear that every messenger who comes to me in your absence, mayhave some fatal news to tell, I do not wish to take upon me a freshburden of affection. Am I not best as I am, Henri, at present?" And sheput her arm affectionately through his. "When the wars are over, and theKing is on his throne, you shall bring me home a lover; some bravefriend of your's who has proved himself a gallant knight."
"I would have him be a gallant knight, certainly," said Henri, "but heshould also be a worthy gentleman."
"And is not Cathelineau a worthy gentleman?" forgetting in herenthusiasm that she was taking the cause of one who was being spoken ofas her lover. "Oh, indeed he is; if valour, honesty, and honour, iftrust in God, and forgetfulness of self, if humanity and gene
rosityconstitute a gentleman, then is Cathelineau the prince of gentlemen: butdo not, pray do not mistake me, Henri: a lover of scenery admires thetops of distant mountains, and gazes on their snowy peaks with apleasure almost amounting to awe; but no one seeks to build his houseon the summit: so do I admire the virtues, the devotion, the courage ofCathelineau; but my admiration is mixed with no love which would makeme wish to join my lot with his. I only say, that despite his birth andformer low condition, he is worthy of any woman's love."
Henri did not quite like his sister's enthusiasm, though he hardly knewwhy it displeased him. He had thought of Cathelineau only as a soldierand a General, and had found nothing in him that he did not approve of;but he felt that he could not welcome him as his darling sister'shusband; "if Adolphe should have prophesied rightly," said he, tohimself as he went from his sister's room to his own chamber, "but no!whatever her feelings may be, she is too good to do anything that woulddisplease me."