CHAPTER VII.
THE ALARM.
At that time, a brazier in the market-place, and three or fourlanterns at street crossings, made up the most of the public lighting.When I paused, therefore, to breathe my horse on the brow of theslope, beyond the Valandre bridge, and looked back on Cahors, I sawonly darkness, broken here and there by a blur of yellow light; thatstill, by throwing up a fragment of wall or eaves, told in amysterious way of the sleeping city.
The river, a faint, shimmering line, conjectured rather than seen,wound round all. Above, clouds were flying across the sky, and a wind,cold for the time of year--cold, at least, after the heat of theday--chilled the blood, and slowly filled the mind with the solemnityof night.
As I stood listening to the breathing of the horses, the excitement inwhich I had passed the last few hours died away, and left mewondering--wondering, and a little regretful. The exaltation gone, Ifound the scene I had just left flavourless; I even presently began tofind it worse. Some false note in the cynical, boastful voices and theselfish--the utterly selfish--plans, to which I had been listening forhours, made itself heard in the stillness. Madame's "We are France,"which had sounded well amid the lights and glitter of the _salon_,among laces and _fripons_ and rose-pink coats, seemed folly in theface of the infinite night, behind which lay twenty-five millions ofFrenchmen.
However, what I had done, I had done. I had the white cockade on mybreast; I was pledged to order--and to my order. And it might be thebetter course. But, with reflection, enthusiasm faded; and, by somestrange process, as it faded, and the scene in which I had just takenpart lost its hold, the errand that had brought me to Cahors recoveredimportance. As Madame St. Alais' influence grew weak, the memory ofMademoiselle, sitting lonely and scared in her coach, grew vivid,until I turned my horse fretfully, and endeavoured to lose the thoughtin rapid movement.
But it is not so easy to escape from oneself at night, as in the day.The soughing of the wind through the chestnut trees, the driftingclouds, and the sharp ring of hoofs on the road, all laid as it were asolemn finger on the pulses and stilled them. The men behind me talkedin sleepy voices, or rode silently. The town lay a hundred leaguesbehind. Not a light appeared on the upland. In the world of nightthrough which we rode, a world of black, mysterious bulks risingsuddenly against the grey sky, and as suddenly sinking, we were theonly inhabitants.
At last we reached the hill above St. Alais, and I looked eagerly forlights in the valley; forgetting that, as it wanted only an hour ofmidnight, the village would have retired hours before. Thedisappointment, and the delay--for the steepness of the hill forbadeany but a walking pace--fretted me; and when I heard, a moment later,a certain noise behind me, a noise I knew only too well, I flared up.
"Stay, fool!" I cried, reining in my horse, and turning in the saddle."That mare has broken her shoe again, and you are riding on as ifnothing were the matter! Get down--and see. Do you think that I----"
"Pardon, Monsieur," Gil muttered. He had been sleeping in his saddle.
He scrambled down. The mare he rode, a valuable one, had a knack ofbreaking her hind shoe; after which she never failed to lame herselfat the first opportunity. Buton had tried every method of shoeing, butwithout success.
I sprang to the ground while he lifted the foot. My ear had notdeceived me; the shoe was broken. Gil tried to remove the jaggedfragment left on the hoof, but the mare was restive, and he had todesist.
"She cannot go to Saux in that state," I said angrily.
The men were silent for a moment, peering at the mare. Then Gil spoke.
"The St. Alais forge is not three hundred yards down the lane,Monsieur," he said. "And the turn is yonder. We could knock up PetitJean, and get him to bring his pincers here. Only----"
"Only what?" I said peevishly.
"I quarrelled with him at Cahors Fair, Monsieur," Gil answeredsheepishly; "and he might not come for us."
"Very well," I said gruffly, "I will go. And do you stay here, andkeep the mare quiet."
Andre held the stirrup for me to mount. The smithy, the first hovel inthe village, was a quarter of a mile away, and, in reason, I shouldhave ridden to it. But, in my irritation, I was ready to do anythingthey did not propose, and, roughly rejecting his help, I started onfoot. Fifty paces brought me to the branch road that led to St. Alais,and, making out the turning with a little difficulty, I plunged intoit; losing, in a moment, the cheerful sound of jingling bits and themurmur of the men's voices.
Poplars rose on high banks on either side of the lane, and made theplace as dark as a pit, and I had almost to grope my way. A stumbleadded to my irritation, and I cursed the St. Alais for the ruts, andthe moon for its untimely setting. The ceaseless whispering of thepoplar leaves went with me, and, in some unaccountable way, annoyedme. I stumbled again, and swore at Gil, and then stopped to listen. Iwas in the road, and yet I heard the jingling of bits again, as if thehorses were following me.
I stopped angrily to listen, thinking that the men had disobeyed myorders. Then I found that the sound came from the front, and washeavier and harder than the ringing of bit or bridle. I groped my wayforward, wondering somewhat, until a faint, ruddy light, shining onthe darkness and the poplars, prepared me for the truth--welcome,though it seemed of the strangest--that the forge was at work.
As I took this in, I turned a corner, and came within sight of thesmithy; and stood in astonishment. The forge was in full blast. Twohammers were at work; I could see them rising and falling, and hear,though they seemed to be muffled, the rhythmical jarring clang as theystruck the metal. The ruddy glare of the fire flooded the road andburnished the opposite trees, and flung long, black shadows on thesky.
Such a sight filled me with the utmost astonishment, for it was nearlymidnight. Fortunately something else I saw astonished me still more,and stayed my foot. Between the point where I stood by the hedge andthe forge a number of men were moving, and flitting to and fro; menwith bare arms and matted heads, half-naked, with skins burned black.It would have been hard to count them, they shifted so quickly; and Idid not try. It was enough for me that one half of them carried pikesand pitchforks, that one man seemed to be detailing them into groups,and giving them directions; and that, notwithstanding the occasionaljar of the hammers, an air of ferocious stealth marked theirmovements.
For a moment I stood rooted to the spot. Then, instinctively, Istepped aside into the shadow of the hedge, and looked again. The manwho acted as the leader carried an axe on his shoulder, the broadblade of which, as it caught the glow of the furnace, seemed to bebathed in blood. He was never still--this man. One moment he movedfrom group to group, gesticulating, ordering, encouraging. Now hepulled a man out of one troop and thrust him forcibly into another;now he made a little speech, which was dumb play to me, a hundredpaces away; now he went into the forge, and his huge bulk for a momentintercepted the light. It was Petit Jean, the smith.
I made use of the momentary darkness which he caused on one of theseoccasions, and stole a little nearer. For I knew now what was beforeme. I knew perfectly that all this meant blood, fire, outrage, flamesrising to heaven, screams startling the stricken night! But I mustknow more, if I would do anything. I went nearer therefore, creepingalong the hedge, and crouching in the ditch, until no more than twelveyards separated me from the muster. Then I stood still, as Petit Jeancame out again, to distribute another bundle of weapons, clutchedinstantly and eagerly by grimy hands. I could hear now, and Ishuddered at what I heard. Gargouf was in every mouth. Gargouf, theSt. Alais' steward, coupled with grisly tortures and slow deaths, withold sins, and outrages, and tyrannies, now for the first time voiced,now to be expiated!
At last, one man laid the torch by crying aloud, "To the Chateau! Tothe Chateau!" and in an instant the words changed the feelings withwhich I had hitherto stared into immediate horror. I started forward.My impulse, for a moment, was to step into the light and confrontthem--to persuade, menace, cajole
, turn them any way from theirpurpose. But, in the same moment, reflection showed me thehopelessness of the attempt. These were no longer peasants, dull,patient clods, such as I had known all my life; but maddened beasts; Iread it in their gestures and the growl of their voices. To stepforward would be only to sacrifice myself; and with this thought Icrept back, gained the deeper shadow, and, turning on my heel, speddown the lane. The ruts and the darkness were no longer anything tome. If I stumbled, I did not notice it. If I fell, it was no matter.In less than a minute I was standing, breathless, by the astonishedservants, striving to tell them quickly what they must do.
"The village is rising!" I panted. "They are going to burn theChateau, and Mademoiselle is in it! Gil, ride, gallop, lose not aminute, to Cahors, and tell M. le Marquis. He must bring what forceshe can. And do you, Andre, go to Saux. Tell Father Benoit. Bid him dohis utmost--bring all he can."
For answer, they stared, open-mouthed, through the dusk. "And themare, Monsieur?" one asked at last dully.
"Fool! let her go!" I cried. "The mare? Do you understand? The Chateauis----"
"And you, Monsieur?"
"I am going to the house by the garden wing. Now go! Go, men!" Icontinued'. "A hundred livres to each of you if the house is saved!"
I said the house because I dared not speak what was really in my mind;because I dared not picture the girl, young, helpless, a woman, in thehands of those monsters. Yet it was that which goaded me now, it wasthat which gave me such strength that, before the men had ridden manyyards, I had forced my way through the thick fence, as if it had beena mass of cobwebs. Once on the other side, in the open, I hastenedacross one field and a second, skirted the village, and made for thegardens which abutted on the east wing of the Chateau. I knew thesewell; the part farthest from the house, and most easy of entrance, wasa wilderness, in which I had often played as a child. There was nofence round this, except a wooden paling, and none between it and themore orderly portion; while a side door opened from the latter into apassage leading to the great hall of the Chateau. The house, a long,regular building, reared by the Marquis's father, was composed of twowings and a main block. All faced the end of the village street at adistance of a hundred paces; a wide, dusty, ill-planted avenue leadingfrom the iron gates, which stood always open, to the state entrance.
The rioters had only a short distance to go, therefore, and noobstacle between them and the house; none when they reached it ofgreater consequence than ordinary doors and shutters, should thelatter be closed. As I ran, I shuddered to think how defenceless alllay; and how quickly the wretches, bursting in the doors, wouldoverrun the shining parquets, and sweep up the spacious staircase.
The thought added wings to my feet. I had farther to go than they had,and over hedges, but before the first sounds of their approach reachedthe house I was already in the wilderness, and forcing my way throughit, stumbling over stumps and bushes, falling more than once, coveredwith dust and sweat, but still pushing on.
At last I sprang into the open garden, with its shadowy walks, andnymphs, and fauns; and looked towards the village. A dull red lightwas beginning to show among the trunks of the avenue; a murmur ofvoices sounded in the distance. They were coming! I wasted no morethan a single glance; then I ran down the walk, between the statues.In a moment I passed into the darker shadow under the house, I was atthe door. I thrust my shoulder against it. It resisted; it resisted!and every moment was precious. I could no longer see the approachinglights nor hear the voices of the crowd--the angle of the houseintervened; but I could imagine only too vividly how they were comingon; I fancied them already at the great door.
I hammered on the panels with my fist; then I fumbled for the latch,and found it. It rose, but the door held. I shook it. I shook it againin a frenzy; at last, forgetting caution, I shouted--shouted moreloudly. Then, after an age, as it seemed to me, standing panting inthe darkness, I heard halting footsteps come along the passage, andsaw a line of light grow, and brighten under the door. At last aquavering voice asked:----
"Who is it?"
"M. de Saux," I answered impatiently. "M. de Saux! Let me in. Let mein, do you hear?" And I struck the panels wrathfully.
"Monsieur," the voice answered, quavering more and more, "is thereanything the matter?"
"Matter? They are going to burn the house, fool!" I cried. "Open!open! if you do not wish to be burned in your beds!"
For a moment I fancied that the man still hesitated. Then he unbarred.In a twinkling I was inside, in a narrow passage, with dingy, stainedwalls. An old man, lean-jawed and feeble, an old valet whom I hadoften seen at worsted work in the ante-room, confronted me, holding aniron candlestick. The light shook in his hands, and his jaw fell as helooked at me. I saw that I had nothing to expect from him, and Isnatched the bar from his hands, and set it back in its place myself.Then I seized the light.
"Quick!" I said passionately. "To your mistress."
"Monsieur?"
"Upstairs! Upstairs!"
He had more to say, but I did not wait to hear it. Knowing the way,and having the candle, I left him, and hurried along the passage.Stumbling over three or four mattresses that lay on the floor,doubtless for the servants, I reached the hall. Here my taper shone amere speck in a cavern of blackness; but it gave me light enough tosee that the door was barred, and I turned to the staircase. As I setmy foot on the lowest step the old valet, who was following me asfast as his trembling legs would carry him, blundered against aspinning-wheel that stood in the hall. It fell with a clatter, and ina moment a chorus of screams and cries broke out above. I sprangup the stairs three at a stride, and on the lobby came on thescreamers--a terrified group, whose alarm the doubtful light of atallow candle, that stood beside them on the floor, could notexaggerate. Nearest to me stood an old footman and a boy--theirterror-stricken eyes met mine as I mounted the last stairs. Behindthem, and crouching against a tapestry-covered seat that ran along thewall, were the rest; three or four women, who shrieked and hid theirfaces in one another's garments. They did not look up or take any heedof me; but continued to scream steadily.
The old man with a quavering oath tried to still them.
"Where is Gargouf?" I asked him.
"He has gone to fasten the back doors, Monsieur," he answered.
"And Mademoiselle?"
"She is yonder."
He turned as he spoke; and I saw behind him a heavy curtain hiding theoriel window of the lobby. It moved while I looked, and Mademoiselleemerged from its folds, her small, childish face pale, but strangelycomposed. She wore a light, loose robe, hastily arranged, and had herhair hanging free at her back. In the gloom and confusion, which thefeeble candles did little to disperse, she did not at first see me.
"Has Gargouf come back?" she asked.
"No, Mademoiselle, but----"
The man was going to point me out; she interrupted him with a sharpcry of anger.
"Stop these fools," she said. "Oh, stop these fools! I cannot hearmyself speak. Let some one call Gargouf! Is there no one to doanything?"
One of the old men pottered off to do it, leaving her standing in themiddle of the terror-stricken group; a white pathetic little figure,keeping fear at bay with both hands. The dark curtains behind threwher face and form into high relief; but admiration was the lastthought in my mind.
"Mademoiselle," I said, "you must fly by the garden door."
She started and stared at me, her eyes dilating.
"Monsieur de Saux," she muttered. "Are you here? I do not--I do notunderstand. I thought----"
"The village is rising," I said. "In a moment they will be here."
"They are here already," she answered faintly.
She meant only that she had seen their approach from the window; but adull murmur that at the moment rose on the air outside, andpenetrating the walls, grew each instant louder and more sinister,seemed to give another significance to her words. The women listenedwith white faces, then began to scream afresh. A reckless movement ofone of them da
shed out the nearer of the two lights. The old man whohad admitted me began to whimper.
"O _mon Dieu!_" I cried fiercely, "can no one still these cravens?"For the noise almost robbed me of the power of thought, and never hadthought been more necessary. "Be still, fools," I continued, "no onewill hurt _you_. And do you, Mademoiselle, please to come with me.There is not a moment to be lost. The garden by which I entered----"
But she looked at me in such a way that I stopped.
"Is it necessary to go?" she said doubtfully. "Is there no other way,Monsieur?"
The noise outside was growing louder. "What men have you?" I said.
"Here is Gargouf," she answered promptly. "He will tell you."
I turned to the staircase and saw the steward's face, at all timesharsh and grim, rising out of the well of the stairs. He had a candlein one hand and a pistol in the other; and his features as his eyesmet mine wore an expression of dogged anger, the sight of which drewfresh cries from the women. But I rejoiced to see him, for he at leastbetrayed no signs of flinching. I asked him what men he had.
"You see them," he answered drily, betraying no surprise at mypresence.
"Only these?"
"There were three more," he said. "But I found the doors unbarred, andthe men gone. I am keeping this," he continued, with a dark glance athis pistol, "for one of them."
"Mademoiselle must go!" I said.
He shrugged his shoulders with an indifference that maddened me."How?" he asked.
"By the garden door."
"They are there. The house is surrounded."
I cried out at that in despair; and on the instant, as if to givepoint to his words, a furious blow fell on the great doors below, andawakening every echo in the house, proclaimed that the moment wascome. A second shock followed; then a rain of blows. While the maidsshrieked and clung to one another, I looked at Mademoiselle, and sheat me.
"We must hide you," I muttered.
"No," she said.
"There must be some place," I said, looking round me desperately, anddisregarding her answer. The noise of the blows was deafening. "Inthe----"
"I will not hide, Monsieur," she answered. Her cheeks were white, andher eyes seemed to flicker with each blow. But the maiden who had beendumb before me a few days earlier was gone; in her place I sawMademoiselle de St. Alais, conscious of a hundred ancestors. "They areour people. I will meet them," she continued, stepping forwardbravely, though her lip trembled. "Then if they dare----"
"They are mad," I answered. "They are mad! Yet it is a chance; and wehave few! If I can get to them before they break in, I may dosomething. One moment, Mademoiselle; screen the light, will you?"
Some one did so, and I turned feverishly and caught hold of thecurtain. But Gargouf was before me. He seized my arm, and for themoment checked me.
"What is it? What are you going to do?" he growled.
"Speak to them from the window."
"They will not listen."
"Still I will try. What else is there?"
"Lead and iron," he answered in a tone that made me shiver. "Here areM. le Marquis's sporting guns; they shoot straight. Take one, M. leVicomte; I will take the other. There are two more, and the men canshoot. We can hold the staircase, at least."
I took one of the guns mechanically, amid a dismal uproar; wailing andthe thunder of blows within, outside the savage booing of the crowd.No help could come for another hour; and for a moment in thisdesperate strait my heart failed me. I wondered at the steward'scourage.
"You are not afraid?" I said. I knew how he had trampled on the poorwretches outside; how he had starved them and ground them down, andmisused them through long years.
He cursed the dogs.
"You will stand by Mademoiselle?" I said feverishly. I think it was tohearten myself by his assurance.
He squeezed my hand in a grip of iron, and I asked no more. In amoment, however, I cried aloud.
"Ah, but they will burn the house!" I said. "What is the use ofholding the staircase, when they can burn us like rats?"
"We shall die together," was his only answer. And he kicked one of theweeping, crouching women. "Be still, you whelp!" he said. "Do youthink that will help you?"
But I heard the door below groan, and I sprang to the window anddragged aside the curtain, letting in a ruddy glow that dyed theceiling the colour of blood. My one fear was that I might be too late;that the door would yield or the crowd break in at the back before Icould get a hearing. Luckily, the casement gave to the hand, and Ithrust it open, and, meeting a cold blast of air, in a twinkling wasoutside, on the narrow ledge of the window over the great doors,looking down on such a scene as few chateaux in France had witnessedsince the days of the third Henry--God be thanked!
A little to one side the great dovecot was burning, and sending up atrail of smoke that, blown across the avenue, hid all beyond in amurky reek, through which the flames now and again flickered hotly.Men, busy as devils, black against the light, were plying the firewith straw. Beyond the dovecot, an outhouse and a stack were blazing;and nearer, immediately before the house, a crowd of moving figureswere hurrying to and fro, some battering the doors and windows, othersbringing fuel, all moving, yelling, laughing--laughing the laughter offiends to the music of crackling flames and shivering glass.
I saw Petit Jean in the forefront giving orders; and men round him.There were women, too, hanging on the skirts of the men; and onewoman, in the midst of all, half-naked, screaming curses, andbrandishing her arms. It was she who added the last touch of horror tothe scene; and she, too, who saw me first, and pointed me out withdreadful words, and cursed me, and the house, and cried for our blood.