CHAPTER XLVII. A RECONNOISSANCE
That same day, Sir John, making use of the permission accorded him thenight before, presented himself at the Chateau des Noires-Fontainesbetween twelve and one o'clock.
Everything occurred as Morgan had advised. Sir John was received as thefriend of the family, Lord Tanlay as a suitor whose attentions were mostflattering. Amelie made no opposition to the wishes of her mother andbrother, and to the commands of the First Consul, further than to dwellon the state of her health and to ask for delay on that account. SirJohn bowed and submitted; he had obtained more than he had hoped toobtain. He was accepted.
He felt that his presence in Bourg, if prolonged, would be animpropriety, Amelie being (still on the plea of ill-health) parted fromher mother and brother. He therefore announced that he would pay her asecond visit on the morrow, and leave Bourg that same evening. He woulddelay further visits until Amelie came to Paris, or until Madamede Montrevel returned to Bourg. The latter arrangement was the moreprobable of the two, for Amelie assured him she needed the country airand the spring-like weather to assist her in recovering her health.
Thanks to Sir John's considerate delicacy, the plan arranged betweenAmelie and Morgan was thus carried out, and the two lovers had beforethem a period of solitude and a respite in which to form their plans.
Michel learned these details from Charlotte and imparted them in turnto Roland. The latter determined to await Sir John's departure before hetook any decisive steps against the Companions of Jehu. But this did notprevent him from endeavoring to set at rest any remaining doubts.
When night came he put on a hunting-suit, and over it Michel's blouse,concealed his face beneath a broad-brimmed hat, slipped a pair ofpistols in his knife-belt, hidden by the blouse, and boldly took theroad from Noires-Fontaines to Bourg. He stopped at the barracks of thegendarmerie and asked to see the captain.
The captain was in his room. Roland went up and made himself known.Then, as it was only eight o'clock, and some one passing might recognizehim, he blew out the light, and the two men talked in the dark. Thecaptain knew already what had happened on the Lyons road three daysearlier, and, certain that Roland was not killed, was expecting him. Tohis great astonishment, Roland asked him for only one, or rather for twothings: the key of the church of Brou and a crowbar.
The captain gave him the required articles, and offered to accompanyhim, but Roland refused. It was evident to his mind that he had beenbetrayed by some one connected with the affair of the Maison-Blanche,and he would not expose himself to a second defeat. He therefore beggedthe captain to tell no one of his presence in Bourg, and to await hisreturn, even if it were delayed some hours. The captain agreed.
Roland, the key in his right hand, the crowbar in his left, reachedthe side door of the church without making any noise. This he unlocked,entered, relocked it behind him, and found himself facing a wall of hay.He listened. The most profound silence reigned.
He remembered his boyish habits, took his bearings, put the key in hispocket, and scrambled up the wall of hay, which was about fifteen feethigh and formed a sort of platform. When he reached the top he sliddown on the other side, as though he were descending the scarp of afortification, and reached the flooring of the church, which was almostwholly composed of mortuary stones.
The choir was empty, thanks to a rood-screen which protected it on oneside, and also to the walls which inclosed it to right and left.The door of the screen was open and Roland entered the choir withoutdifficulty. He came face to face with the monument of Philippe le Beau.At the head of the tomb was a large square flagstone. It covered thesteps which led to the burial vaults.
Roland must have known the way, for as soon as he reached the stone heknelt down and felt with his hand for the edge of it. When he found ithe stood up, inserted his lever and raised the slab. With one hand heheld it up while he went down the steps. Then he lowered it slowly.It seemed as though this nocturnal visitor were voluntarily separatinghimself from the land of the living, and descending into the world ofthe dead. And strange indeed to him, who sees by night as by day, onthe earth and beneath it, must the impassibility of this young man haveseemed, who passed among the dead in search of the living, and who,in spite of darkness and solitude, did not shudder at the touch of themortuary marbles.
He walked on, feeling his way among the tombs, until he came to the irongate leading to the subterranean passage. He looked for the lock. It wasonly bolted. He inserted the end of his lever between the bolt and thestaple, and pushed it gently. The gate opened. He drew it close afterhim, but did not lock it, so as to avoid delay on his return. Thecrowbar he left at the corner of the gate.
Then, with straining ears, dilated pupils, every sense tense with thiseffort to hear, the need to breathe, the impossibility of seeing, headvanced slowly, a pistol in one hand, touching the wall with the otherto guide himself. He walked thus for fifteen minutes. A few drops ofice-cold water fell through the roof on his hands and shoulders, andtold him he was passing under the river.
At the end of this time he found the door which opened from the passageinto the quarry. There he halted a moment. He could now breathe morefreely, and, moreover, he fancied that he heard distant sounds, andcould see flickering lights, like will-o'-the-wisps, on the pillars thatsupported the roof. An observer might have thought, not distinguishingthe face of the silent listener, that he showed hesitation; butthe moment his countenance was seen, no one could have mistaken itsexpression of hope.
He then resumed his way, heading toward the light he thought he hadseen. As he advanced, the lights and the noises grew more distinct. Itwas evident that the quarry was inhabited. By whom? He did not yet know,but he would know.
He was already within ten feet of that open clearing in the midst ofthe granite walls which we described on our first visit to the grottoof Ceyzeriat. Roland clung closely to the wall, and moved forwardalmost imperceptibly. In the dim half-light he looked like a glidingbass-relief.
At last his head passed beyond an angle of the wall, and his glancerested upon what we may call the camp of the Companions of Jehu.
A dozen or more of the members sat there at supper. Roland was seizedwith a wild desire to precipitate himself into their midst, attackingthem singly, and fighting until he died. But he repressed the insensatethought, withdrew his head as slowly as he had advanced it, and, withbeaming eyes and heart full of joy, returned, unseen and unsuspected,along the way he had come. Everything was now explained; the desertedChartreuse, M. de Valensolle's disappearance, and the counterfeitpoachers near the entrance to the grotto of Ceyzeriat.
This time he was sure of his vengeance, his deadly, terriblevengeance--deadly, because, in like manner as he had been spared (hesuspected intentionally), he meant to spare others; with this differencethat, whereas he had been spared for life, he would order these menspared for death, death on the scaffold.
Half-way back he thought he heard a noise behind him. He turned and wascertain he saw a gleam of light. He quickened his steps. The gate oncepassed, there was no danger of losing his way. It was no longer a quarrywith a thousand windings; it was a straight and narrow vaulted passageleading to the mortuary grating. At the end of ten minutes he againpassed under the river; a couple of minutes later, his outstretched handtouched the iron gate.
He took the crowbar from the place where he had left it, entered thevault, pulled the gate to, closed it gently and noiselessly, and,guiding himself by the tombs, he regained the staircase, pushed up theflagstone with his head, and stood once more in the land of the living.
There it was comparative daylight. He left the choir, closed the door ofthe screen as he had found it, scaled the hay, crossed the platform, andslid down the other side. The key was still in his pocket. He unlockedthe door and stepped out into the street.
The captain of gendarmerie was anxiously awaiting him. They conferredtogether for a few moments, and then they returned to Bourg by theouter road to avoid being seen. Here they entered the town
throughthe market-gate, and followed the Rue de la Revolution, the Rue de laLiberte, and the Rue d'Espagne, since called the Rue Simonneau. ThereRoland ensconced himself in a corner of the Rue du Greffe and waited.The captain continued on his way alone. He went down the Rue des Ursules(for the last seven years called the Rue des Casernes). This was wherethe colonel of dragoons lived. He had just gone to bed when the captainof the gendarmerie entered his room; in two words the latter told all,and he rose at once and dressed in haste.
When the colonel of dragoons and the captain of gendarmerie appeared inthe square, a shadow detached itself from the opposite wall and came upto them. That shadow was Roland. The three men stood talking for aboutten minutes, Roland giving his orders, the other two listening andapproving.
Then they separated. The colonel returned home. Roland and the captainfollowed the Rue de l'Etoile, climbed the steps of the Jacobins, passeddown the Rue du Bourgneuf, and reached the outer road once more. Thenthey struck diagonally across to the highroad of Pont-d'Ain. The captainstopped at the barracks, which were on the way, and Roland continuedalone to the chateau.
Twenty minutes later--in order not to awaken Amelie--instead of ringingthe bell he knocked on Michel's window-blind. Michel opened, and withone bound Roland, devoured by that fever which took possession of himwhenever he incurred, or merely dreamed of some danger, sprang into theroom.
He would not have awakened Amelie had he rung, for Amelie was notasleep. Charlotte had been into town ostensibly to see her father, butreally to take a letter from her mistress to Morgan. She had seen Morganand brought back his answer.
Amelie was reading that answer, which was as follows:
DEAR LOVE OF MINE--Yes, all goes well on your side, for you are an angel; but I greatly fear that all may go ill on mine, for I am the demon.
I must see you, I must hold you in my arms and press you to my Heart. I know not what presentiment hangs over me; but I am sad, sad as death.
Send Charlotte to-morrow to make sure that Sir John is gone, and then, if you are certain, make the accustomed signal. Do not be alarmed; do not talk to me of the snow, or tell me that my footsteps will be seen. This time it is not I who will go to you, but you who must come to me. Do you understand? You can safely walk in the park, and no one will notice your footsteps.
Put on your warmest shawl and your thickest furs. Then we will spend an hour in the boat under the willows together, and change our roles for once. Usually I tell you of my hopes and you tell me of your fears; but to-morrow, you will tell me of your hopes and I will tell you of my fears, my darling Amelie.
Only, be sure to come out as soon as you have made the signal. I will await it at Montagnac, and from Montagnac to the Reissouse it will not take a love like mine five minutes to reach you.
Au revoir, my poor Amelie; had you never met me you would have been the happiest of the happy. Fatality placed me in your path, and I have made a martyr of you.
Your CHARLES.
P.S.--To-morrow without fail, unless some insurmountable obstacle prevents.