CHAPTER XXII
CHAMPAR TO THE RESCUE
Grigge unfastened the sheepfold gate and then turned and faced Neville,who stood beside him.
"You'd better stop worrying about those who are away, and keep yourworry for those at home," he said.
"What do you mean by that, Grigge? There's no danger to Les Vignes. Thetrouble is all the other way," Neville answered, leaning back againstthe grey paling. He was tired out and covered with mud. He had justreturned from a vain attempt to find the runaways, and he was not eagerto face either the governess or Mother Barbette.
"Things happen quickly these days. You can't tell what may happen next.Your fine friends up at the house are none too safe. There were fivefires not so very far from here only last week. One of the houses burnedwas the home of a friend of the old man's." By "the old man," Griggemeant Marie Josephine's grandfather.
Neville's face was white in the dancing sunshine. He was not able todeny the truth of what Grigge said, and he was thinking of the two lostchildren. He did not know what to do.
"Dian should never have gone away. It would be better, a thousand timesbetter, to have Dian with us," he said.
Grigge nodded. Here was one point on which he thoroughly agreed withNeville.
"That's true! He shouldn't have wasted his time looking out for thosethat don't deserve it. He's worth all of them put together!" he said.Then he suddenly thought of the fight he had had with Jean, and of howthe Little Mademoiselle had cried out, "What would Dian say!" As hestood there kicking his heels against the wooden gate, Grigge knew thathe cared more about what Dian would say than about anything else in theworld, for Dian had helped him to keep his hold on life, and to fightdespair. He had taught him to love the sun and the stars, the flowersand the young animals. It was easier to love these than to love people.
"I rode like the wind and may have passed them by. I dared not askquestions. I had a cup of coffee at that old green mill-inn and I don'tlike it. The woman who waited on me asked questions. I put her off, youcan be sure of that. She knows about what is going on here. She knowsthe Du Mondes are here, and that old Martin and I are the only men leftto guard the place. When I rode away she called after me: 'You must belonely out Pigeon Valley way, you and old Martin. You've a pretty flockto look out for!'" Neville stopped short and looked keenly at Grigge,who returned the look doggedly. "If I thought you'd done anythingtricky, you young good-for-nothing!" he exclaimed, eyeing Griggesuspiciously. Grigge said nothing, though he stuck his tongue out at himimpudently.
Neville turned away. He was angry at himself for having told Grigge,whom he heartily disliked, anything about his worries. The boy's voicefollowed him: "You'd better keep your wits here at home. Things arehappening fast these days. One day here, and the next gone."
When Neville left him, Grigge slouched back against the gate, his handsin the pockets of his brown shepherd's smock. He looked less badlynourished than in the wintertime. His gaunt face was faintly brown fromlong days in the spring meadows with his flock. There was little that hereally knew about what was going on in the country, but he did know thatthere was turmoil in the towns nearest them and that Les Vignes was indanger. Neville was like the aristocrats, for he did not see dangeruntil it was fairly upon him. Grigge gleaned every bit of informationthat he could from passing peddlers, from farm men who came by, fromeveryone who had anything to tell. There was no danger for himself orhis family, the rude huts along the back road would be as safe as couldbe, but the great house on the terrace was in grave peril, and those wholived in it would not believe it!
Grigge turned on his heel and went out toward the highroad. As hereached the opening in the hedge, he looked through and fairly gasped inastonishment. The coach for Calais stood near the gates! Grigge duckedthrough the hedge and came up to it. The driver saw him and jumped downfrom his high seat. The two stood facing each other, the cross-eyeddriver and Grigge. There was no one else around.
"I want to see a boy named Grigge Barbette on urgent business!" said thecoach driver at last.
"I'm Grigge Barbette!" exclaimed Grigge, and he was so excited that hecaught hold of the man's arm. "What do you mean? Have you a message forme?" he asked.
The coach driver eyed him sharply.
"How am I to know that you really are Grigge Barbette?" he said.
Grigge nodded toward the row of huts in the distance.
"Any one there will tell you," he answered.
The man looked at him a moment longer. Then he put his hand in an insidepocket and drew out a folded piece of paper sealed with a red seal.
"This is for you," said Champar. "There's no one I'd take all this fussfor but Dian the shepherd. He knows, and I know, and the Lord aboveknows I'd not be here on earth to-day but for him!"
Grigge tore open the note and read it. His long face turned ashy whiteas he read. When he finished he looked up in a sort of daze at the coachdriver, who said:
"I'm here and I'll do what's best. I wonder if they know up there at thehouse that it may not be standing to-morrow night! I don't care muchwhether it is or not myself, or wouldn't if Dian didn't set such storeby it. Well, I'll do what I can. That's what he wrote in the note. 'Dowhat you can. Get the family at Les Vignes to some hiding place nearCalais if there is danger.'"
Champar looked at Grigge, who returned his look almost unseeingly.
"You mean there really is danger here?"
The driver laughed gruffly as he replied:
"Sans-culottes from Saulieu are out on the warpath. They've been joinedby former olive mill workers down that way. They burned down the chateauof the Comte d'Veraux night before last. They have this place in mind.The people do not love Les Vignes. Your own cousins are with therabble!"
Grigge stood with the note in his hand, looking up at Champar.
"He says to consult with you in case of danger," he gasped. It was morethan for a moment he could sense or understand. Here was word from Dian.He was trusted to fulfill a mission--trusted! Dian had chosen him. Hehad written, "I trust you!" Whatever he did he would do like Champar,for Dian's sake!
Why should he save the inhabitants at Les Vignes? There was nothing thatthey had ever done for him. Days of vengeance were at hand! He stoodstill in the roadway, the letter clasped tight in his hand.
"You understand that if they are to get away it must be at once. I cantake them some of the way at no great risk to myself. I will take themto a barn near Calais. The shepherd, in his note to me, says they mustgo there. He trusted these letters to that farmer boy, Raoul. Well, theshepherd is not afraid to trust! Come, we must go up to the house. Acoach driver has the chance to learn many things, and I know the rabblehave shouted the name Saint Frere and Les Vignes. I know they willcome!" As he spoke, the coach driver took Grigge's arm.
Grigge never, as long as he lived, forgot those few minutes there in thedusky twilight. He often lived them over in the after years. He wasfighting with himself. At last he said, "I must go, too, for I have amission to look after in Calais. Come, we will go to them."
The coach driver talked very fast as they went through the woods. Theymust have some sort of a disguise, all of them. They could wear theservants' clothes, and have, at least, the look of decent farmer people.They must be made to understand that they must come with them in orderto save their lives, and that they must do as they are told. Thispleased Grigge very much! At least he would show them that they wereentirely at the mercy of himself and the driver! They would do as theywere told!
They found everyone out on the terrace, and when Grigge and the driverapproached, Bertran and Denise ran to meet them.
"Tell us the news!" they cried.
Cecile and Hortense, each with an arm about the governess, came slowlydown the terrace steps. Their eyes were red with crying. It was nearly aweek since the children had gone, and there had been no word of them.
The coach driver did not bow, for he was a good republican at heart, andin tho
se days of the revolution bowing had gone out of fashion. He wasdoing this for the sake of a friend who had done much for him, and hewanted them to understand this.
"Citizeness, you and your charges are in grave danger. I hope youdeserve the good chance for your life which I am giving you. I have anote from Dian, the shepherd, who is in Paris----"
Madame Le Pont gave an exclamation, and Denise ran up to the driver andcaught his hand.
"Tell me, did he speak of maman and Lisle, and have you heard news of mylittle sister?" she cried. Her hair fell in disorder about hertear-stained face and her lips trembled.
The driver shook his head. "I don't know what you mean. I only know whatI'm to do, and that is in case of danger, to take you as near to Calaisas I dare; and that will be a good ways from the Calais gates, I cantell you. I think something of my own head and have no wish to have itchopped off by Madame La Guillotine. Well, there's danger right enough.You must come with us at once. Have you wits enough about you to rigyourselves up in plain, decent, sensible farmer clothes? I often takefarmer folks into the towns. Hurry! You've no time to lose. They areburning houses all along the line and yours is on the list!"
While the driver had been speaking they had all gathered about him, tooamazed to utter a sound. When the governess started to protest, thedriver put up his hand.
"You are stupid, citizeness, and by your stupidity may loose your ownlife and the lives of those in your care. Get yourselves dressed atonce. My coach is in the highroad. We must start within an hour. Everyrod nearer to Calais means safety for you, and just that much fartheraway from some of your enemies."
"I'll ride my horse," said Bertran a little stupidly. He was dazed byall that the man had said.
"You'll do it if you want to lose your fine, black head, but nototherwise, my young popinjay," answered the driver calmly.
Cecile came up to him and spoke to him gently, her eyes looking straightinto his as she held out her hand.
"In spite of all you say, you are saving our lives," she said. "May Isee the note from Dian? I know his writing. We must be very sure, youunderstand, at a time like this!"
The driver put his hand inside his belt and drew out his note from Dian.Cecile read it and then addressed Madame le Pont.
"It is from Dian. He says that we are in danger and in an emergency thisman is to help us. We are to go to some hiding place near Calais andwait there for help." Cecile's voice shook with excitement, in spite ofher outward calmness.
The driver turned to Grigge.
"The boy here will see to you after that. I have to go straight toCalais and dare not be late. All you can expect from me is the use of mycoach as far as I think it best to take you without too much risk tomyself. I'll tell the shepherd where you are, or get word to him safely,but be sure to understand that it's for his sake I'm doing this, and notyours!"
There was no time to lose, the driver had said. It seemed as though theminutes had wings. They planned, discussed, rummaged in the servants'old apartments, found suitable clothes, and put them on. Then theypacked special valuables which Neville buried in the ground. At lastthey were ready to start. First they went through the woods to MotherBarbette's cottage. They had sent Grigge and the driver to beg her to gowith them, but she insisted that nothing could induce her to do so. Shewould wait there for her naughty, darling Jean. The driver told her shewas right. "Nothing can happen to you if you go to your cousins in thehovel," he told her.
Mother Barbette wept bitterly as she saw them coming toward her throughthe clearing in the woods. They did not seem at all funny to her intheir disguise, though at another time she would have had a hearty laughat Bertran in his farmer boy's smock, his hair flapping about his face,and at the dignified Hortense in faded grey homespun, her hair in stiffbraids on each side of her ears. It was no time for laughter. They wereall tense and white. The governess put her head on Mother Barbette'sshoulder with a sob as she said good-by.
"We will surely find the children and bring them safely back with uswhen we come," she said brokenly.
"They are safe. I'm sure of it, and I don't worry half as much as youthink I do, Madame. I know them both so well. They are so smart. I knowmy Jean will come back to me, and I think that Dian will bring him,"answered the simple soul bravely, though the tears ran down her cheeks.
"Dear Mother Barbette, this isn't good-by. It's just au revoir. We willnot rest until we find Marie Josephine and Jean." As she spoke, Cecileput her arms around Mother Barbette and kissed her.
The driver, who was really a kind-hearted soul, cleared his throat.
"The moon's up and it's time to start. No more of this good-by business,or it'll be good-by for good," he said, as they all stood at the cottagedoor, the pine-filled air from the forest blowing about them.
Grigge spoke to his aunt.
"You'd best go to the hut and stay if there's trouble. You'll be safeenough there," he said, and he did not sneer as was his wont. There wasa dignity about him that none of them had seen before. He was riskinghis life for people whom he despised, and he was doing it for the sakeof a friend. Perhaps, sometime, he would do the like for sheer love ofhis brother man. At any rate, he had taken the first step in thatdirection.
They were off at last, all of them in the great roomy coach, Bertran andGrigge sitting beside the driver. The horses, after a good rest andfeed, went like the wind itself! It seemed as though they knew thatdanger lay behind!
The girls and the governess were tired and bewildered and heartsick.They could think of nothing but Marie Josephine. Finally, after they hadthought and said all that they could about the runaways, Deniseremarked:
"It's so wonderful to think they dared to go to Paris. The road isdirect enough and Marie Josephine knows it well by coach, but littleJean knows nothing."
"I teased him once because he had never been anywhere, and he said someday he was going to visit his cousins near Melon," said Bertran.
The driver turned and looked at him. "Melon--let me see--Melon. Why, Itook in two children the other day. They seemed dead beat out, and sleptall day in the back of the coach. The boy told me, in the evening, thathe had cousins near Melon!"
The exclamations and the questions were so numerous that Champar wassorry he had spoken.
"Stop and tell us at once. We must know about the children going toMelon," they begged, but he paid not the slightest attention to theirentreaties and only urged the horses to go faster. He intended drivingall night, and it was not until he stopped to rest the horses beforethey took a hill, that he spoke again at all.
"Now just you listen to me, citizeness, and you young people. You've gotyourselves to think about and you're not going to help the young bratswho've run away by getting your heads snapped off by the guillotine,which," he went on, speaking impressively and with something of arelish, "is what is happening to most of your acquaintances, and servesthem right, too, some of them. Now, maybe the two I picked up were theparties you're talking about. The boy certainly did look a great deallike the woman you went to say good-by to at the cottage. A fine woman,"he went on meditatively, "a good, honest, sensible woman. Well, I'lltell you what I think, and you needn't have any fits about it. I thinkthem two parties is just as lively to-day as you are yourselves. I thinkthey're in Paris, and I'll get word to the shepherd about them, too!"After he had delivered this long speech, the driver picked up his whipto go on when the governess spoke again.
"Above everything we must find the little girl and boy, you know," shesaid, holding her odd striped shawl drawn tightly about her shoulders.Her face looked wan and pinched under her dark bonnet.
"Above everything, citizeness, you ought to want to save the necks ofthese children even though you may not care a fig about your own,"Champar replied. Then he began to sing a gruff doggerel, drowningentirely Madame le Pont's fervent reply.
Toward dawn they slept for a few hours. In the morning they stoppedunder a blooming apple tree and ate some food. Champar seemed pleasedwith the progress they were making
and condescended to sing them a songor two. People passed by in farmer carts and waved a greeting. No onethought it at all strange to see a farmer's family having a picnic underan apple tree.
They were off again, their coach making a cloud of dust behind them. Allthat day Champar and Grigge talked earnestly together, ignoring Bertranwho sat beside them, and whom Grigge snubbed at every occasion. It wasdecided that they were to stay in a barn, back of a small farmhouse,which had met with a fire the year before, and which belonged to anuncle of Champar's. The coach driver would leave food with them on hisway back from Calais, and would report to Dian as to their whereabouts.That was all that he could do, and it was a risk at any cost, though thebarn was in a lonely bit of country near the sea, and quite the otherway from the main road to Calais.
It was midnight before they saw the lights of Calais and the first greyoutline of the sea. Champar knew his way well for he had often visitedhis uncle. Sure enough there was the barn, grey, and deserted byeverything but rats! Champar and Grigge and Bertran carried in the rugsand blankets and enough food to last overnight. Then Grigge turned tothem all.
"There is a mission I have to do. I will come again," he said.
There was a moment's silence as they watched the two climb up on thecoach. Grigge turned and spoke to them again. "You are to stay hereuntil I come," he said.
"We trust you, Grigge." It was Cecile who spoke, her lovely face verywhite in the starlight.
They called their thanks after the coach driver. Champar's cross-eyeleered at them over his shoulder. He waved his hand.
"Keep to yourselves, and keep an eye on that fat boy or he will give youall away!" he called.