CHAPTER XLII. THE CHAMBERY MAIL-COACH
The next day, at five in the afternoon, Antoine, anxious, no doubt, notto be late, was in the courtyard of the Hotel de la Poste, harnessingthe three horses which were to relay the mail-coach.
Shortly after, the coach rumbled into the courtyard at a gallop, and waspulled up under the windows of a room close to the servants' stairway,which had seemed greatly to occupy Antoine's attention. If any one hadpaid attention to so slight a detail it might have been observed thatthe window-curtain was somewhat imprudently drawn aside to permit theoccupant of the room to see the persons who got out of the coach. Therewere three men, who, with the haste of famished travellers, made theirway toward the brilliantly lighted windows of the common room.
They had scarcely entered, when a smart postilion came down the kitchenstaircase, shod simply with thin pumps over which he intended to pullhis heavy riding-boots, These he received from Antoine, slipping fivelouis into his hand at the same time, and turned for the man to throwhis riding cape over his shoulders, a protection rendered necessary bythe severity of the weather.
This completed, Antoine returned hastily to the stables and hid in thedarkest corner. As for the man who had taken his place, reassured nodoubt by the high collar of the cape that concealed half of his face,he went straight to the horses which stood ready harnessed, slipped hispistols into the holsters, and, profitting by the moment when the otherhorses were being led into the stable by their postilion, he took agimlet, which might in case of need serve as a dagger, from his pocket,and screwed the four rings into the woodwork of the coach, one into eachdoor, and the other two into the body of the coach. After which heput the horses to with a rapidity and skill which bespoke in him aman familiar from childhood with all the details of an art pushed toextremes in our day by that honorable class of society which we call"gentlemen riders."
That done, he waited, quieting his restless horses by voice and whip,judiciously combined, or used in turn.
Everyone knows the rapidity with which the meals of the unhappy beingscondemned to travel by mail are hurried through. The half-hour was notup, when the voice of the conductor was heard, calling:
"Come, citizen travellers, take your places."
Montbar placed himself close to the carriage door and recognized Rolandand the colonel of the 7th Chasseurs, perfectly, in spite of theirdisguise, as they jumped into the coach, paying no attention whatever tothe postilion.
The latter closed the door upon them, slipped the padlock throughthe two rings and turned the key. Then, walking around the coach, hepretended to drop his whip before the other door, and, in stooping forit, slipped the second padlock through the rings, deftly turned the keyas he straightened up, and, assured that the two officers were securelylocked in, he sprang upon his horse, grumbling at the conductor who hadleft him to do his work. In fact the conductor was still squabbling withthe landlord over his bill when the third traveller got into his placein the coupe.
"Are you coming this evening, to-night, or to-morrow morning, PereFrancois?" cried the pretended postilion, imitating Antoine as best hecould.
"All right, all right, I'm coming," answered the conductor; then,looking around him: "Why, where are the travellers?" he asked.
"Here," replied the two officers from the interior and the agent fromthe coupe.
"Is the door properly closed?" persisted Pere Francois.
"I'll answer for that," said Montbar.
"Then off you go, baggage!" cried the conductor, as he climbed into thecoupe and closed the door behind him.
The postilion did not wait to be told twice; he started his horses,digging his spurs into the belly of the one he rode and lashing theothers vigorously. The mail-coach dashed forward at a gallop.
Montbar drove as if he had never done anything else in his life; as hecrossed the town the windows rattled and the houses shook; never didreal postilion crack his whip with greater science.
As he left Macon he saw a little troop of horse; they were the twelvechasseurs told off to follow the coach without seeming to escort it.The colonel passed his head through the window and made a sign to thesergeant who commanded them.
Montbar did not seem to notice anything; but after going some four orfive hundred yards, he turned his head, while executing a symphony withhis whip, and saw that the escort had started.
"Wait, my babes!" said Montbar, "I'll make you see the country." And hedug in his spurs and brought down his whip. The horses seemed to havewings, and the coach flew over the cobblestones like the chariot ofthunder rumbling past. The conductor became alarmed.
"Hey, Master Antoine," cried he, "are you drunk?"
"Drunk? fine drinking!" replied Montbar; "I dined on a beetroot salad."
"Damn him! If he goes like that," cried Roland, thrusting his headthrough the window, "the escort can't keep up."
"You hear what he says!" shrieked the conductor.
"No," replied Montbar, "I don't."
"Well, he says that if you keep this up the escort can't follow."
"Is there an escort?" asked Montbar.
"Of course; we're carrying government money."
"That's different; you ought to have said so at first."
But instead of slacking his pace the coach was whirled along as before;if there was any change, it was for greater velocity than before.
"Antoine, if there's an accident, I'll shoot you through the head,"shouted the conductor.
"Run along!" exclaimed Montbar; "everybody knows those pistols haven'tany balls in them."
"Possibly not; but mine have!" cried the police agent.
"That remains to be seen," replied Montbar, keeping on his way at thesame pace without heed to these remonstrances.
On they went with the speed of lightning through the village ofVarennes, then through that of La Creche and the little town ofChapelle-de-Guinchay; only half a mile further and they would reach theMaison-Blanche. The horses were dripping, and tossed the foam from theirmouths as they neighed with excitement.
Montbar glanced behind him; more than a mile back the sparks were flyingfrom the escort's horses. Before him was the mountainous declivity. Downit he dashed, gathering the reins to master his horses when the timecame.
The conductor had ceased expostulating, for he saw that the hand whichguided the horses was firm and capable. But from time to time thecolonel thrust his head through the window to look for his men.
Half-way down the slope Montbar had his horses under control, without,however, seeming to check their course. Then he began to sing, at thetop of his voice, the "Reveil du Peuple," the song of the royalists,just as the "Marseillaise" was the song of the Jacobins.
"What's that rogue about?" cried Roland, putting his head through thewindow. "Tell him to hold his tongue, conductor, or I'll put a ballthrough his loins."
Perhaps the conductor might have repeated Roland's threat to Montbar,but he suddenly saw a black line blocking the road. "Halt, conductor!"thundered a voice the next moment.
"Postilion, drive over the bellies of those bandits!" shouted the policeagent.
"Drive on yourself!" said Montbar. "Do you suppose I'm going over thestomachs of friends? Who-o-ah!"
The mail coach stopped as if by magic.
"Go on! go on!" cried Roland and the colonel, aware that the escort wastoo far behind to help them.
"Ha! You villain of a postilion," cried the police agent, springing outof the coupe, and pointing his pistol at Montbar, "you shall pay forthis."
The words were scarcely uttered when Montbar, forestalling him, fired,and the agent rolled, mortally wounded, under the wheels of the coach.His fingers, convulsed by death, touched the trigger and the pistol wentoff, but the ball touched no one.
"Conductor," shouted the two officers, "by all the powers of heaven,open, open, open quickly!"
"Gentlemen," said Morgan, advancing, "we are not attacking your persons,we merely want the government money. Conductor! that fifty thousandfrancs, and qu
ickly too!"
Two shots from the interior made answer for the officers, who, aftervainly shaking the doors, were still more fruitlessly attempting toforce themselves through the windows. No doubt one of their shots tookeffect, for a cry of rage was heard and a flash illuminated the road.The colonel gave a sigh, and fell back against Roland. He was killedoutright.
Roland fired again, but no one replied to him. His pistols were bothdischarged; locked in as he was he could not use his sabre, and hehowled with rage.
Meantime the conductor was forced, with a pistol at his throat, togive up the money. Two men took the bags containing the fifty thousandfrancs, and fastened them on Montbar's horse, which his groom hadbrought ready saddled and bridled, as if to a meet. Montbar kicked offhis heavy boots and sprang into the saddle.
"My compliments to the First Consul, Monsieur de Montrevel!" criedMorgan. Then, turning to his companions, he cried: "Scatter which wayyou will, you know the rendezvous for to-morrow night."
"Yes, yes," replied ten or a dozen voices.
And the band dispersed like a flock of birds, disappearing down thevalley into the shadow of the trees that lined the banks of the littleriver and surrounded the Maison-Blanche.
At that moment the gallop of horses was heard, and the escort, alarmedby the pistol shots, appeared on the crest of the hill and came downthe slope like an avalanche. But it came too late; it found only theconductor sitting dazed by the roadside, the bodies of the colonel andof Fouche's agent, and Roland a prisoner, roaring like a lion gnawing atthe bars of its cage.