CHAPTER X
IN THE SNOWSTORM
Dian heard the great clock on the stairs at Les Vignes boom out thetwelve strokes of midnight as he said the few hasty words of farewell toNeville. He saw with satisfaction that the moon was out and that thewind was changing. He walked down the great driveway which led throughthe demesne. It was a good mile to the gates, but with his long, easystrides he covered the ground with amazing quickness. At the left wasthe dark outline of the wood and behind lay the wide terraces, grey andbare this late November night.
Dian turned to his left at the far end of the driveway and entered anarrow path bordered on each side by slim poplar trees, then he climbedthrough a narrow opening in a low hedge and found himself on thehighroad. He walked quickly along until he came to the row of stragglinghuts to which Jean had brought the loaves of bread on the August nightwhen he had tried to keep his cousin Grigge from taking one whole loaffor himself.
He knocked softly on the door of one of the huts and waited, listening.After a moment he heard a sound from within and then the door openedslightly and a gaunt, thin face showed itself. It was the face ofGrigge, and when he saw the shepherd standing there, he came outside,closing the door softly behind him. He had on the same old, shabby workclothes that he had worn all day, having lain down for the night on hisheap of straw without removing them, glad of the little warmth theyafforded him.
"Dian!" he exclaimed softly. "Dian! Where are you going?"
The shepherd put his sack on the ground and, feeling in the insidepocket of his cloak, brought out a goatskin purse and handed it to theboy, who took it wonderingly.
"I am going on something of a journey, Grigge, and I am leaving my sheepin your care. I am trusting them to you and I know that in spite of yourwild ways, lad, you will keep them faithfully for me. Let them pastureuntil the snow comes and then be on guard for the wolves. Here is a bitof money, only a bit. Mother Barbette will give you bread when she hasit to give, but there will not be overmuch for her and Jean. FarmerLessoir will sell you flour, such as it is. You must see to it that yourmother and the young children have their share."
Dian put his hand kindly on Grigge's shoulder, and he saw that the colorhad come into the boy's cheeks at his words. Grigge caught hold of theedge of the shepherd's cloak and looked up at him imploringly, for itseemed as though he could not bear to say good-by to the one person inall the world whom he loved and trusted.
"Oh, do not go away and leave me, Dian. It is awful to think of thewinter's coming. What shall I do without you, Dian! No one will haveaught to do with me but you." Grigge turned up the frayed collar of hispoor jacket as he spoke, for the chill air swirled about himunmercifully.
"You are to be a man while I am away. Try to be brave and to add alittle comfort to the lives of your poor mother and your brothers andsisters. Go to your aunt for counsel. She is a good woman and means wellby you all." Dian lifted his sack as he spoke and threw it over hisshoulder.
"I'm not welcome there. I'll have naught to do with them," Griggeanswered sullenly, but realizing that his friend was about to depart hecaught his cloak again. "I'll do well by the sheep, and I'll try tothink of the others when the hunger is tearing at my heart. Will you nottell me where you are going and why you leave this way in the stillnessof the night?"
Dian shook his head. "That I cannot do, Grigge, but if the good God willit, I shall come back again. Remember all I have said and guard my sheepwell, for they are dear indeed to me. Hold your courage through thewinter. Who knows what good may come by spring!" He touched the boy'sshoulder in farewell and was off down the wide road. Grigge] Grigge gazed after him, his hands clasped together, a sobcatching his throat. It seemed as though all that he knew of kindlinessand comradeship was going farther and farther from him down thewind-swept road. He had never known anything in his life but discomfort.He had always been hungry and in winter he had always been cold. He wasrough and selfish and sullen and he knew it and most of the time did notcare. But as he stood there that night by the low door of his wretchedhome, Grigge determined to be different! He went inside, and the windslammed the door behind him before he could catch it. The noise awokehis little sister Letta, who whined, "It is cold; it is cold."
"You are no colder than the rest of us," Grigge answered roughly, but,after hesitating a moment, he put the piece of shawl over her and thentumbled down on to his mound of straw by the door.
Dian hardly heeded the weather as he quickly covered the ground. Histhoughts were with the lad he had left and the sad lot of the people wholived at the very gates of a great house. He felt sad at heart, but saidto himself, as he had often done before, "There is no use in yourgrieving for them, for that will not help them, and to help them is yourdearest wish." Grigge was only one of thousands of young lads who weremade old and bitter by lack of food and the injustice that bound theirlives. Dian knew little of the great conflict that was raging in Parisor of the armies massing throughout the land. He knew that the people,who for centuries had been overtaxed and overburdened by the arroganceand indifference of the nobility, had at last risen in revolt, but hedid not know that they were being governed by bad, unscrupulous men andthat there was no longer either law or order or justice in Paris or inother parts of France. He had thought that it was right for him to go toParis, having had a feeling, for many days past, that the young ComteLisle, whom he loved, was in danger. So he had made his simplepreparations, telling only Neville, whom he knew to be faithful, wherehe was going.
* * * * *
The evening on which Dian told the children, in Mother Barbette'scottage, about the young page in blue and silver was a wintry one inParis. The snow had begun to fall, slanting mistlike through drearyalleyways. Although it was only a slight scurry and melted almost assoon as it touched the ground, it covered, for a little while, much ofthe soot and grime, making a fairy tracery about the roofs of the oldhouses. The sleet blew in a rakish, zigzag way across the alley whereVivi lived and far down the dim street beyond it. Curving northward, itswirled past close-shut shop windows and gaunt, noisy tenements, untilit reached the great square in the middle of which stood the guillotine!
Then, in a sort of frenzy, it rioted down a wide avenue, spending itselfat last against the windows of a house, close shut behind iron gates, ina quiet corner of Paris.
Lisle Saint Frere and Rosanne de Soigne were spending the evening in thegreat drawing-room in front of the fire. Rosanne knelt by the dyingflames, peering at some nuts which she was roasting in a bed of coals.Her fair hair fell about her shoulders, and she had on the same whitefrock which she had worn on the night that she and Marie Josephine hidin the balcony. She shivered in spite of the fact that she wore a littlevelvet jacket over her frock.
"One of them is almost ready to pop. That's yours. Wouldn't it be ajolly thing if we could roast one for Marie Josephine?" As she spokeRosanne leaned forward and picked out the nut with a pair of long bronzetongs and laid it on the iron fender to cool. She had stayed with Lisleand his mother ever since her mother had gone to nurse her father.Events had crowded thick and fast after the departure of the others forPigeon Valley. Madame de Soigne had had just time to get away before thegates were closely guarded, and her departure had been made possibleonly because of an excellent disguise. There had been no word from her,and Lisle and his mother did what they could to keep Rosanne fromfeeling the anxiety which they themselves experienced. She never leftthe house and they told her nothing of what happened in the city. Shewas used to believing what she was told, but she thought a great dealabout it all, and she was more troubled than they knew.
"Do you think we shall be going to Pigeon Valley soon, Lisle?" she askedsuddenly.
Lisle shook his head, eating the nut gingerly, for it was still hot. Heand Rosanne had not known each other very well in the old days, but theyhad become fairly well acquainted in the three months that they had beentogether. Lisle did not
find Rosanne half as interesting as the littlesister whom he missed so much, but he liked her, and he had a protectingfeeling for her. She was his responsibility, just as his mother was, andhe wanted to do his best for both of them. This was what made things sohard for him, having to be careful for their sakes. What adventures hecould have if he were alone!
The days had been dull enough, in spite of all the happenings in thecity, and time dragged heavily. They had had no word from Neville sincehe had left for Pigeon Valley, and the longing to hear from, the othersat Les Vignes seemed sometimes more than they could bear, but each hidhis emotion from the other. They had been taught to do this always, andnow their training was making it easier for them to seem cheerful.
"Do you think we can go to Pigeon Valley in the spring, Lisle? Pleaseanswer me," Rosanne persisted. When Lisle still did not reply, she wenton, trying to hide the tremble in her voice: "It is just as MarieJosephine said. You think that you are so very grown-up. You will nottell me of all you fear. I know that we are in great trouble. I'vethought more about it since yesterday morning when Madame Saint Frerewent to your Great-aunt Hortense, who is so very ill. There were tearsin your mother's eyes. I saw them. She is only to be away for a fewdays, and yet she did not like to leave us. Tell me, Lisle, please tellme all about it. I know it is a revolution and that I may not go out onthe street to walk or ride and that the servants have left us and dearmaman has not sent me any word since she went to papa. Tell me, Lisle,is it all so dreadful?"
Rosanne came and stood looking up at Lisle, her brown eyes eagerlywatching his blue ones as he answered her.
"It's a bad time," he said slowly. "It can't last much longer. Yes, itis a revolution and there is danger for some people, but we are safeenough. There is no reason why we should fear." Lisle was glad thatRosanne had spoken. It made them seem more like comrades and he foundthat it was a relief to talk over the situation. He saw that she wasmissing his mother and he felt vaguely that he must try to divert her.He, too, missed his mother, but of course he would not admit it even tohimself. The comtesse had shown a softer side than any he had ever seenbefore during the past months that they had been alone. The three hadsat for long hours by the fire and she had told of the gay, carelesstimes when she had been a girl, when there had been nothing but gayballs and gilded sedan chairs, laughter and satins to make up her days.Now all her friends were gone, many being imprisoned in the Abbaye orother prisons of Paris, some having escaped to England, some todifferent parts of France, all because they and their ancestors hadoppressed the people.
Rosanne was right when she said that Lisle's mother had not wanted toleave them even for a few days. Great-aunt Hortense was ill and she hadsent her servant with a note begging her great-niece to come to herbedside. She lived only a few squares away.
"Don't worry, mother, we shall do quite well, Rosanne and I. Henri willlook after us as to food, and you'll find us roasting nuts by the firewhen you come back. I shall take good care of Rosanne," Lisle hadassured his mother.
The comtesse had put both her slender hands on his shoulders as sheanswered him. "And of yourself, my son, my only son, my beloved," shehad said. Lisle and Rosanne had thought often, since she left, of heremotion.
"Teach me the gavotte steps again, Lisle. I shall soon be able to dancequite well." Rosanne held out her hand as she spoke. "I can hum themelody again like this. Let us see if we can do it all the way through!"
Lisle thought it a rather silly thing to do, but he was uneasy aboutRosanne's missing his mother, and he felt that it was his duty to keepher cheerful. He found that he enjoyed the dance, for he directed hiscompanion in the different measures and he liked telling people how todo things.
"You bow so beautifully, Lisle. You are just like the cavaliers onMonsieur Watteau's fans," Rosanne exclaimed admiringly, as they reachedthe end of a measure.
"You will soon do very well if you will keep your mind on it," Lisleanswered as they hummed the bewitching melody of the last measure andtook their positions to begin.
Rosanne colored with pleasure. She would never have dreamed six monthsbefore that she would be dancing with Lisle Saint Frere. She thought ofthe August night when she and Marie Josephine had watched him from thebalcony as he danced with her cousin Cecile. What would Lisle think ifhe knew what a very naughty thing they had done? Sometime it would befun to tell him!
As he danced, Lisle thought of something else his mother had said: "Iwould have so little fear if I were leaving you with Neville. We cantrust him always, but we do not know, even though he has seemedfaithful, whether or not we can always trust Henri." Lisle had saidnothing then to his mother. Much as he would have liked to havereassured her, he did not trust Henri and never could pretend that hedid.
There was yet another thing that Lisle was thinking about. It made himsay to himself sternly: "You should be ashamed to let yourself fancysuch things. It is not fit that one who soon will go out to fight forthe king and queen should have silly fancies." This is what Lisle calledhis fancy. He had gone several times to the bakery where he had seenHumphrey Trail, and twice of late he thought that on his return he wasbeing followed! He liked going to the bakery. He would sit at one of theglass tables enjoying his eau sucre and a meringue and watching thewell-to-do merchants' wives, who for the time being had nothing to fear,come and go. No one had seemed to notice him particularly. The bakerywoman had looked at him a little curiously as she did up her crisp cakesin neat boxes. He always wore the shabby old groom's suit and he neverspoke, except to give his order and to buy the cakes for Rosanne.
Lisle had thought often of Humphrey Trail since the night that thefarmer had given him the Saint Antoine address. The man had meant well.Of that Lisle was sure. There was comfort also in the thought that hecould find Humphrey if he should need him. Nevertheless, he had notheeded Humphrey's warning. He had continued to go to the bakery. It hadbeen one of his few pleasures during those strange weeks so suddenlydifferent from anything he had ever known. Never before had he eaten ina cake shop or bought things for himself. Everything was changing. Sixmonths more and there would be no shop. The shoppers themselves would behiding for their lives.
"Henri will be back soon with the meat, and then let us have supper inhere by the fire," suggested Rosanne as they stopped to rest from theirdancing.
The fire had died down, and Lisle saw that there was no wood left in thewood box of hammered silver on the stone hearth. It was very cold and henoticed, now that they had ceased dancing, that Rosanne was shivering.Where was Henri? Why was he not taking care of them?
"I shall go out into the halls and call for Henri, and if I do not findhim, I shall go to the cellars for some wood. Stay here by the littlebit of fire that is left. I shall only be gone a few minutes," Lislesaid to Rosanne, and leaving her he went out into the great marble hall.He went over to the entrance door and, opening it, looked out at thefast falling snow. As he did so, he thought he saw something dark in theshadow of one of the lower doors, but when he peered again through thedarkness and the sleet, there was nothing.
He closed the door and walked down the hall. He could hear Rosannesinging to herself in the drawing-room:
"La petite Jeannette avait un poupee mignonne, Tra la la la, Tra la la la, Elle chantait pour elle une joli chanson, Tra la la la, Tra la la la."
He called "Henri," but there was no reply, and so he walked on down thehall, through a long corridor as Marie Josephine had done when she hadgone to the secret cellar. He turned a corner, went down anothercorridor, opened a door, and descended a steep flight of stairs. He knewthat they must have wood to last them until Henri should come in withtheir supper. He saw that the small door at the end of the cellar thatled to the basement was open, a blast of cold wind drifting in. Hestooped and picked up as much wood as he could carry. Then he stood up,holding the sticks against the dark velvet of his tunic. At that momentsome one caught him firmly about the waist. The wood fell with a thumpto the stone floor
as his arms were tied quickly and skillfully behindhim. He was lifted across some one's shoulders, and a moment later feltthe rush of cold wind in his face. Then his captor began to run withhim, swiftly, through the fast falling snow!