CHAPTER XI.
THE TWO CAMPS.
"Thank you, Mademoiselle; now you can go," he said.
But he need not have spoken, for the moment his sister had done hisbidding she turned from us; before two words had passed his lips shewas hurrying back to the house in a passion of grief, her facecovered, and her slight figure shaken by sobs that came back to us onthe summer air.
The sight stung me to rage; yet for a moment, and by a tremendouseffort I restrained myself. I would hear him out.
But he either did not, or would not see the effect he had produced."There, Messieurs," he said, his face somewhat pale. "I am obliged toyour patience. Now you know what I think of your tricolour and yourservices. It shall shelter neither me nor mine! I hold no parley withassassins."
I sprang forward, I could contain myself no longer. "And I!" I cried,"I, M. le Marquis, have something to say, too! I have something todeclare! A moment ago I refused that tricolour! I rejected theovertures of those who brought it to me. I was resolved to stand byyou and by my brethren against my better judgment. I was of yourparty, though I did not believe in it; and you might have tied me toit. But this gentleman is right, you are yourself the strongestargument against yourself. And I do this! I do this!" I repeatedpassionately. "See, M. le Marquis, and know that it is your doing!"
With the word I snatched up the ribbon, on which Mademoiselle hadtrodden, and with fingers that trembled scarcely less than hers hadtrembled, when she unfastened it, I pinned it on my breast.
He bowed, with a sardonic smile. "A cockade is easily changed," hesaid. But I could see that he was livid with rage; that he could haveslain me for the rebuke.
"You mean," I said hotly, "that I am easily turned."
"You put on the cap, M. le Vicomte," he retorted.
The other three had withdrawn a little--not without open signs ofdisgust--and left us face to face on the spot on which we had stoodthree weeks before on the eve of his mother's reception. Still ragingwith anger on Mademoiselle's account, and minded to wound him, Irecalled that to him, and the prophecies he had then uttered,prophecies which had been so ill-fulfilled.
He took me up at the second word. "Ill-fulfilled?" he said grimly."Yes, M. le Vicomte, but why? Because those who should support me,those who from one end of France to the other should support the King,are like you--waverers who do not know their own minds! Because thegentlemen of France are proving themselves churls and cravens,unworthy of the names they bear! Yes, ill-fulfilled," he continuedbitterly, "because you, M. de Saux, and men like you, are for thisto-day, and for that to-morrow, and cry one hour, 'Reform,' and thenext, 'Order!'"
The denial stuck in my throat, and my passion dying down I could onlyglower at him. He saw this, and taking advantage of my momentaryembarrassment, "But enough," he continued in a tone of dignity verygalling to me, since it was he who had behaved ill, not I. "Enough ofthis. While it was possible I courted your aid, M. de Saux; and Iacknowledge, I still acknowledge, and shall be the last to disclaim,the obligation under which you last night placed us. But there cannever be true fellowship between those who wear that"--and he pointedto the tricolour I had assumed--"and those who serve the King as weserve him. You will pardon me, therefore, if I take my leave, andwithout delay withdraw my sister from a house in which her presencemay be misunderstood, as mine, after what has passed, must beunwelcome."
He bowed again with that, and led the way into the house; while Ifollowed, tongue-tied and with a sudden chill at my heart. There wasno one in the hall except Andre, who was hovering about the fartherdoor; but in the avenue beyond were three or four mounted servantswaiting for M. de St. Alais, and half-way down the avenue a party ofthree were riding towards the gates. It needed but a glance to show methat the foremost of these was Mademoiselle, and that she rode low inthe saddle, as if she still wept. And I turned in a hot fit to M. deSt. Alais.
But I found his eye fixed on me in such a fashion that the words diedon my lips. He coughed drily. "Ah!" he said. "So Mademoiselle hasherself felt the propriety of leaving. You will permit me, then, tomake her acknowledgments, M. de Saux, and to take leave for her."
He saluted me with the words and turned. He already had his footraised to the stirrup when I muttered his name.
He looked round. "Pardon!" he said. "Is there anything----"
I beckoned to the servants to stand back. I was in misery between rageand shame, the hot fit gone. "Monsieur," I said, "there is one morething to be said. This does not end all between Mademoiselle and me.For Mademoiselle----"
"We will not speak of her!" he exclaimed.
But I was not to be put down. "For Mademoiselle, I do not know hersentiments," I continued, doggedly disregarding his interruption, "norwhether I am agreeable to her. But for myself, M. de St. Alais, I tellyou frankly that I love her; nor shall I change because I wear onetricolour or another. Therefore----"
"I have only one thing to say," he cried, raising his hand to stay me.
I gave way, breathing hard. "What is it?" I said.
"That you make love like a bourgeois!" he answered, laughinginsolently. "Or a mad Englishman! And as Mademoiselle de St. Alais isnot a baker's daughter, to be wooed after that fashion, I find itoffensive. Is that enough or shall I say more, M. le Vicomte?"
"That will not be enough to turn me from my path!" I answered. "Youforget that I carried Mademoiselle hither in my arms last night. But Ido not forget it, and she will not forget it. We cannot be henceforthas we were, M. le Marquis."
"You saved her life and base a claim upon it?" he said scornfully."That is generous and like a gentleman!"
"No, I do not!" I answered passionately. "But I have held Mademoisellein my arms, and she has laid her head on my breast, and you can undoneither the one nor the other. Henceforth I have a right to woo her,and I shall win her."
"While I live you never shall!" he answered fiercely. "I swear that,as she trod on that ribbon--at my word, at my word, Monsieur!--so sheshall tread on your love. From this day seek a wife among yourfriends. Mademoiselle de St. Alais is not for you."
I trembled with rage. "You know, Monsieur, that I cannot fight you!" Isaid.
"Nor I you," he answered. "I know it. Therefore," he continued,pausing an instant and reverting with marvellous ease to his formerpoliteness, "I will fly from you. Farewell, Monsieur--I do not say,until we meet again; for I do not think that we shall meet much infuture."
I found nothing wherewith to answer that, and he turned and moved'away down the avenue. Mademoiselle and her escort had disappeared; hisservants, obeying my gesture, were almost at the gates. I watched hisfigure as he rode under the boughs of the walnuts, that meeting lowover his head let the sun fall on him through spare rifts; and, soreand miserable at heart myself, I marvelled at the gallant air hemaintained, and the careless grace of his bearing.
Certainly he had force. He had the force his fellows lacked; and hehad it so abundantly, that as I gazed after him the words I had usedto him seemed weak and foolish, the resolution I had flung in histeeth childish. After all, he was right; this, to which my feelingshad impelled me on the spur of anger and love and the moment, was noFrench or proper way of wooing, nor one which I should have relishedin my sister's case. Why then had I degraded Mademoiselle by it, andexposed myself? Men wooed mistresses that way, not wives!
So that I felt very wretched as I turned to go into the house. Butthere my eye alighted on the pistols which still lay on the table inthe hall, and with a sudden revulsion of feeling I remembered thatothers' affairs were out of order too; that the Chateaux of St. Alaisand Marignac lay in ashes, that last night I had saved Mademoisellefrom death, that beyond the walnut avenue with its cool, long shadeand dappled floor, beyond the quiet of this summer day, lay theseething, brawling world of Quercy and of France--the world ofmaddened peasants and frightened townsfolk, and soldiers who would notfight, and nobles who dared not.
Then, _Vive le Tricolor!_ the die w
as cast. I went through the houseto find Father Benoit and his companions, meaning to throw in my lotand return with them. But the terrace was empty; they were nowhere tobe seen. Even of the servants I could only find Andre, who camepottering to me with his lips pursed up to grumble. I asked him wherethe Cure was.
"Gone, M. le Vicomte."
"And Buton?"
"He too. With half the servants, for the matter of that."
"Gone?" I exclaimed. "Whither?"
"To the village to gossip," he answered churlishly. "There is not aturnspit now but must hear the news, and take his own leave and timeto gather it. The world is turned upside down, I think. It is time hisMajesty the King did something."
"Did not M. le Cure leave a message?"
The old servant hesitated. "Well, he did," he said grudgingly. "Hesaid that if M. le Vicomte would stay at home until the afternoon, heshould hear from him."
"But he was going to Cahors!" I said. "He is not returning to-day?"
"He went by the little alley to the village," Andre answeredobstinately. "I do not know anything about Cahors."
"Then go to the village now," I said, "and learn whether he took theCahors road."
The old man went grumbling, and I remained alone on the terrace. Anabnormal quietness, as of the afternoon, lay on the house this summermorning. I sat down on a stone seat against the wall, and began to goover the events of the night, recalling with the utmost vividnessthings to which at the time I had scarcely given a glance, andshuddering at horrors that in the happening had barely moved me.Gradually my thoughts passed from these things which made my pulsesbeat; and I began to busy myself with Mademoiselle. I saw her againsitting low in the saddle and weeping as she went. The bees hummed inthe warm air, the pigeons cooed softly in the dovecot, the trees onthe lawn below me shaped themselves into an avenue over her head, and,thinking of her, I fell asleep.
After such a night as I had spent it was not unnatural. But when Iawoke, and saw that it was high noon, I was wild with vexation. Isprang up, and darting suspicious glances round me, caught Andreskulking away under the house wall. I called him back, and asked himwhy he had let me sleep.
"I thought that you were tired, Monsieur," he muttered, blinking inthe sun. "M. le Vicomte is not a peasant that he may not sleep when hepleases."
"And M. le Cure? Has he not returned?"
"No, Monsieur."
"And he went--which way?"
He named a village half a league from us; and then said that my dinnerwaited.
I was hungry, and for a moment asked no more, but went in and sat downto the meal. When I rose it was nearly two o'clock. Expecting FatherBenoit every moment, I bade them saddle the horses that I might beready to go; and then, too restless to remain still, I went into thevillage. Here I found all in turmoil. Three-fourths of the inhabitantswere away at St. Alais inspecting the ruins, and those who remainedthought of nothing so little as doing their ordinary work; but,standing in groups at their doors, or at the cross-roads, or thechurch gates, were discussing events. One asked me timidly if it wastrue that the King had given all the land to the peasants; another, ifthere were to be any more taxes; a third, a question still moresimple. Yet with this, I met with no lack of respect; and few failedto express their joy that I had escaped the ruffians _la-bas_. But asI approached each group a subtle shade of expectation, of shyness andsuspicion seemed to flit across faces the most familiar to me. At themoment I did not understand it, and even apprehended it but dimly.Now, after the event, now that it is too late, I know that it was thefirst symptom of the social poison doing its sure and deadly work.
With all this, I could hear nothing of M. le Cure; one saying that hewas here, another there, a third that he had gone to Cahors; and, inthe end, I returned to the Chateau in a state of discomfort and unresthard to describe. I would not again leave the front of the house lestI should miss him; and for hours I paced the avenue, now listening atthe gates or looking up the road, now walking quickly to and fro underthe walnuts. In time evening fell, and night; and still I was hereawaiting the Cure's coming, chained to the silent house; while my mindtortured me with pictures of what was going forward outside. Therestless demon of the time had hold of me; the thought that I lay hereidle, while the world heaved, made me miserable, filled me with shame.When Andre came at last to summon me to supper, I swore at him; andthe moment I had done, I went up to the roof of the Chateau andwatched the night, expecting to see again a light in the sky, and thefar-off glare of burning houses.
I saw nothing, however, and the Cure did not come; and, after awakeful night, seven in the morning saw me in the saddle and on theroad to Cahors. Andre complained of illness and I took Gil only. Thecountry round St. Alais seemed to be deserted; but, half a leaguefarther on, over the hill, I came on a score of peasants trudgingsturdily forward. I asked them whither they were going, and why theywere not in the fields.
"We are going to Cahors, Monseigneur, for arms," they said.
"For arms! Whom are you going to fight?"
"The brigands, Monseigneur. They are burning and murdering on everyside. By the mercy of God they have not yet visited us. And to-nightwe shall be armed."
"Brigands!" I said. "What brigands?"
But they could not answer that; and I left them in wonder at theirsimplicity and rode on. I had not yet done with these brigands,however. Half a league short of Cahors I passed through a hamlet wherethe same idea prevailed. Here they had raised a rough barricade at theend of the street towards the country, and I saw a man on the churchtower keeping watch. Meanwhile every one in the place who could walkhad gone to Cahors.
"Why?" I asked. "For what?"
"To hear the news."
Then I began to see that my imagination had not led me astray. All theworld was heaving, all the world was astir. Every one was hurrying tohear and to learn and to tell; to take arms if he had never used armsbefore, to advise if all his life he had obeyed orders, to do anythingand everything but his daily work. After this, that I should findCahors humming like a hive of bees about to swarm, and the Valandrebridge so crowded that I could scarcely force my way through its threegates, and the _queue_ of people waiting for rations longer, and therations shorter than ever before--after this, I say, all these thingsseemed only natural.
Nor was I much surprised to find that as I rode through the streets,wearing the tricolour, I was hailed here and there with cheers. On theother hand, I noticed that wearers of white cockades were not lacking.They kept the wall in twos and threes, and walked with raised chins,and hands on sword-knots, and were watched askance by the commonalty.A few of them were known to me, more were strangers; and while Iblushed under the scornful looks of the former, knowing that I mustseem to them a renegade, I wondered who the latter were. Finally I wasglad to escape from both by alighting at Doury's, over whose door ahuge tricolour flag hung limp in the sunshine.
M. le Cure de Saux? Yes, he was even then sitting with the Committeeupstairs. Would M. le Vicomte walk up?
I did so, through a press of noisy people, who thronged the stairs andpassages and lobbies, and talked, and gesticulated, and seemed to besettled there for the day. I worked my way through these at last, thedoor was opened, a fresh gust of noise came out to meet me, and Ientered the room. In it, seated round a long table, I found a score ofmen, of whom some rose to meet me, while more kept their seats; threeor four were speaking at once and did not stop on my entrance. Irecognised at the farther end Father Benoit and Buton, who came tomeet me, and Capitaine Hugues, who rose, but continued to speak.Besides these there were two of the smaller noblesse, who left theirchairs, and came to me in an ecstasy, and Doury, who rose and sat downhalf a dozen times; and one or two Cures and others of that rank,known to me by sight. The uproar was great, the confusion equal to it.Still, somehow, and after a moment of tumult, I found myself receivedand welcomed and placed in a chair at the end of the table, with M. leCapitaine on one side of me and a notary of Cahors on the other. Then,under cover of the noise, I stol
e a few words with Father Benoit, wholingered a moment beside me.
"You could not join us yesterday?" he muttered, with a pathetic lookthat only I understood.
"But you left a message, bidding me wait for you!" I answered.
"I did?" he said. "No; I left a message asking you to follow us--if itpleased you."
"Then I never got it," I replied. "Andre told me----"
"Ah! Andre," he answered softly. And he shook his head.
"The rascal!" I said; "then he lied to me! And----"
But some one called the Cure to his place, and we had to part. At thesame instant most of the talkers ceased; a moment, and only two wereleft speaking, who, without paying the least regard to one another,continued to hold forth to their neighbours, haranguing, one on thesocial contract; the other on the brigands--the brigands who wereeverywhere burning the corn and killing the people!
At last M. le Capitaine, after long waiting to speak, attacked theformer speaker. "Tut, Monsieur!" he said. "This is not the time fortheory. A halfpennyworth of fact----
"Is worth a pound of theory!" the man of the brigands--he was agrocer, I believe--cried eagerly; and he brought his fist down on thetable.
"But now is the time!--the God-sent time, to frame the facts to thetheory!" the other combatant screamed. "To form a perfect system! Toregenerate the world, I say! To----"
"To regenerate the fiddlestick!" his opponent answered, with equalheat. "When brigands are at our very doors! when our crops are beingburned and our houses plundered! when----"
"Monsieur," the Captain said harshly, commanding silence by thegravity of his tone--"if you please!"
"Yes."
"Then, to be plain, I do not believe any more in your brigands than inM. l'Avoue's theories."
This time it was the grocer's turn to scream. "What?" he cried. "Whenthey have been seen at Figeac, and Cajarc, and Rodez, and----
"By whom?" the soldier asked sharply, interrupting him.
"By hundreds."
"Name one."
"But it is notorious!"
"Yes, Monsieur--it is a notorious lie!" M. le Capitaine answeredbluntly. "Believe me, the brigands with whom we have to deal arenearer home. Allow us to arrange with them first, and do not deafen M.le Vicomte with your chattering."
"Hear! hear!" the lawyer cried.
But this insult proved too much for the man of the brigands. He beganagain, and others joined in, for him and against him; to my despair,it seemed as if the quarrel were only beginning--as if peace wouldhave to be made afresh.
How all this noise, tumult, and disputation, this absence of thepoliteness to which I had been accustomed all my life, this vulgarjostling and brawling depressed me I need not say. I sat deafened,lost in the scramble; of no more account, for the moment, than Buton.Nay of less; for while I gazed about me and listened, sunk in wonderat my position at a table with people of a class with whom I had neversat down before--save at the chance table of an inn, where my presencekept all within bounds--it was Buton who, by coming to the officer'said, finally gained silence.
"Now you have had your say, perhaps you will let me have mine," theCaptain said, with acerbity, taking advantage of the hearing thusgained for him. "It is very well for you, M. l'Avoue, and you,Monsieur--I have forgotten your name--you are not fighting men, and mydifficulty does not affect you. But there are half a dozen at thistable who are placed as I am, and they understand. You may organise;but if your officers are carried off every morning, you will not gofar."
"How carried off?" the lawyer cried, puffing out his thin cheeks."Members of the Committee of----"
"How?" M. le Capitaine rejoined, cutting him short withoutceremony--"by the prick of a small sword! You do not understand; but,for some of us, we cannot go three paces from this door without riskof an insult and a challenge."
"That is true!" the two gentlemen at the foot of the table cried withone voice.
"It is true, and more," the Captain continued, warming as he spoke."It is no chance work, but a plan. It is their plan for curbing us. Ihave seen three men in the streets to-day, who, I can swear, arefencing-masters in fine clothes."
"Assassins!" the lawyer cried pompously.
"That is all very well," Hugues said more soberly. "You can call themwhat you please. But what is to be done? If we cannot move abroadwithout a challenge and a duel, we are helpless. You will have allyour leaders picked off."
"The people will avenge you!" the lawyer said, with a grand air.
M. le Capitaine shrugged his shoulders. "Thank you for nothing," hesaid.
Father Benoit interposed. "At present," he said anxiously, "I thinkthat there is only one thing to be done. You have said, M. leCapitaine, that some of the committee are not fighting men. Why, Iwould ask, should any fight, and play into our opponents' hands?"
"_Par Dieu!_ I think that you are right!" Hugues answered frankly. Andhe looked round as if to collect opinions. "Why should we? I am surethat I do not wish to fight. I have given my proofs."
There was a short pause, during which we looked at one anotherdoubtfully. "Well, why not?" the Captain said at last. "This is notplay, but business. We are no longer gentlemen at large, but soldiersunder discipline."
"Yes," I said stiffly, for I found all looking at me. "But it isdifficult, M. le Capitaine, for men of honour to divest themselves ofcertain ideas. If we are not to protect ourselves from insult, we sinkto the level of beasts."
"Have no fear, M. le Vicomte!" Buton cried abruptly. "The people willnot suffer it!"
"No, no; the people will not suffer it!" one or two echoed; and for amoment the room rang with cries of indignation.
"Well, at any rate," the Captain said at last, "all are now warned.And if, after this, they fight lightly, they do it with full knowledgethat they are playing their adversaries' game. I hope all understandthat. For my part," he continued, shrugging his shoulders with a drylaugh, "they may cane me; I shall not fight them! I am no fool!"