The Maid of Honour Volume Iii Part 11

To behold Clovis, the selfish and heartless, the superficially plausible scientific humbug, sobbing like a woman, with tears showering through dirty fingers, was a joy and a triumph, for whatever might befall the abbe though only a half brother with no prospect of ever blossoming into a full-blown marquis, he never, no, never, under any stress whatever, could fall so low as this grovelling male Niobe, who had been privileged by Destiny to wear the glittering thing called coronet. Not that that particular covering was in vogue as a fas.h.i.+onable hat just now, but the absurd era of topsyturvydom, would no doubt be smothered shortly by somebody with an uncompromising will and iron fist, and the saturnalia of plebeian folly be suppressed.

Then coronets would rise in the market again, and this gibbering thing would come strutting back from exile--a worm on end--with other emigrants, to enjoy again the sweets of life. He would be free and rich, while his brothers bore the brunt. He would possibly speak now and again with reticence of his unfortunately shady family connections, who had tried to commit murder in his absence, and swear with seraphic gaze fixed upon aether, that he was well quit of such surroundings. Ah! It was a satisfaction to think that a st.u.r.dy spoke had been placed in the wheel of the heaven-bound chariot, which had brought it down to earth with a thump, as helpless as a hamstrung horse. If the half-brothers were to bear the burthen of their misdeeds, so should the elder one. He should not escape scot-free.

"If," swore the abbe to himself, "we are to be broken on the wheel, as de Vaux so genially suggests, the only boon I will crave shall be that Clovis the coward shall suffer first, and that I may be present as eye witness." Such being his somewhat decided views with regard to the head of the family, it was rather odd that he should be so agreeable and frolicsome and, metaphorically, skip around his brother.

After a while, the contemplation of the weeping Clovis and the dazed Phebus became irksome, and there being no signs of prospective breakfast, Pharamond turned his attention to another matter.

"Tell me," he demanded of a sudden, "why did you delay at Blois so long, and what brought you so quickly home?"

"The testament was useless," answered Clovis, sulkily. "While we were yet in Paris, she saw through your plans and took measures to render them abortive. Such plans! We are undone--I, too--through your presuming and insensate folly."

"She did!" exclaimed Pharamond, clasping his hands in admiration.

"She solemnly declared that she knew her life to be in peril--that if ever she made another will, it would be under compulsion, and arranged for some private mark to show that this was so. Justice was put on the alert, and I came back in hottest haste to stop your action, but arrived, alas! too late."

"She did that? the crafty, cunning baby-face!" cried Pharamond.

"I ought to have known," growled Clovis, with rueful self-reproach, "that reserved baby-faced women are always cunning. But I trusted so much in you as to allow myself to be persuaded, and now I am undone--undone!"

In spite of his discomfiture, the artistic instinct of the abbe could not but keenly appreciate the still long-suffering woman who had braved and circ.u.mvented him. And they had all been stupid enough to look upon her as a foe unworthy of their steel. That they should have done so was due to one of the many errors in judgment of the abominable Algae. Well, well--she was a wondrous creature, as well as a beautiful. Gifted with second sight, had she been able to foresee what precise poison he would employ and provide herself with an antidote? Hardly. Therein lay a mystery.

Meanwhile, conjectures fill no stomachs, and nature was beginning to a.s.sert herself aggressively. It was brutal of the baron to starve his cage-birds. To play with his brother, or to snarl and gird at him was mighty well as a pastime, but it grew more than annoying that, after the hints that had been thrown out, the baron should be so disgustingly inhospitable.

By dint of straining and muscular artfulness, the two, who had been unwillingly made one with ropes, managed to escape from their bonds; and the abbe persuasively arguing through the keyhole, endeavoured to coax the guardian marching without to discuss the question of food. It was barbarous to lock three men in a room and leave them to starve, specially when it had been pointed out that there had been no time that morning to partake of even the lightest refection. Is not _dejeuner_ the most important meal in France--now as in the past; and is it not deliberately fiendish to place famis.h.i.+ng humanity in a dining-hall without the necessary and expected adjuncts? It had nothing to do with the case that the engrossing _business_ which had engrossed the early hours had been to supply a lady with a special breakfast for which she had no appet.i.te. At any rate, she had been provided with a breakfast of a sort, and that she didn't like it was beside the question, for is it not well known that capricious ladies affect to live on b.u.t.terfly wings and flower nectar--rare victuals that cannot always be supplied--while here were three ravenous men who had gone through much emotion and were proportionately empty, and who would be content--nay, grateful--for a commonplace, vulgar, substantial pate and a bottle of sound Burgundy. Thus the sportive abbe through the keyhole, whose sallies received no response.

By and by the monotonous tramp in the stone pa.s.sage ceased; hasty footsteps hurried away--there were m.u.f.fled cries and exclamations, followed by--it could be nothing else--a volley of musketry. There was something going forward, then, that was serious. The abbes humour changed from banter to gloomy wrath, and a sensation came over him akin to that which Gabrielle had experienced in her bedchamber. He would not die--no--he would live! But how? He ground his teeth and gnawed his fingers with a baffled sense of degrading helplessness.

Here was he, an unappreciated genius, whose wits were as nimble as ever, who was prepared to start off at a tangent on any project which promised to bring grist to his mill, incarcerated in a place intended for festivity, from which there was no outlet, and in which could be found no crust of bread or gla.s.s of water. The windows were inaccessible, the oaken door locked without. But the sentry was withdrawn, which was something; and three men, strong and young, should shame to lie down content to wallow in the mud and groan.

Something of a serious and important nature was going on outside, as could be judged by the noise. If the door could be forced in the confusion, the m.u.f.fled sounds of which were evident to acute ears, what should prevent successful evasion even at this eleventh hour?

Clovis was strongly built, the thews and broad shoulders of Phebus had ofttimes been a subject for sport--and there the two sat like waxen effigies, both refusing to be roused. In his exasperation Pharamond seized Phebus by the shoulders and shook him like a sack, but the latter merely opened his watery eyes for a moment and then blinked them to again like one who has done with daylight. As for Clovis, the gorge of his brother rose, and he exhaled himself in ingenious curses.

If there was a h.e.l.l, to which both were bound, a large item of his punishment would consist in his brother's presence as a neighbour.

Oh! It was too bad--too bad! There was some commotion going on outside--a rush of feet, a shouting, a calling out of names--something or another that occupied the entire attention of the garrison. The three of them, if they would exert united strength, could, with a portion of yonder ma.s.sive dining-table, easily force the door, since the hubbub outside was sufficient to distract attention from any noise within. The door forced, they could lose themselves in the crowd. The smiling world would be open. Life--precious life--would commence again. And there the two idiots crouched--the one in a daze, the other drowned in unavailing grief--while the golden moments dripped. At thought of what ought to be, and that which loomed as more likely to obtain, Pharamond was devoured by an access of the old frenzy, which earlier in the day had toppled over reason, and tore in idle impotence at the ponderous table with his delicate white hands till the blood gushed from beneath the nails and his lips were white with foam.

CHAPTER XXIX.

n.o.bLESSE OBLIGE.

The baron's apprehensions were soon justified. Having placed his prisoners under lock and key, he hastily a.s.sembled the gentlemen in a council of war, explaining his fears and difficulties. The peasantry would, of course, be wild with indignation, and, all things considered, there was plenty of excuse for excess. It was as though some one had deliberately flung a lighted fuse into an open barrel of gunpowder. Montbazon could not withstand a serious a.s.sault, for it consisted of an agglomeration of cl.u.s.tering rooms, chiefly built of wood and plaster around a small stone pleasure house in the centre. Of course, there was a courtyard with imposing gates, necessary adjuncts to the dignity of a dwelling that called itself a chateau, but, in sooth, the walls were thin and tottery--more suitable for the support of pear trees _en espalier_ than for withstanding an armed attack.

Duty must be done, however. The Seigneurie of Touraine would one and all be smirched with the disgrace, if members of their order were handed over without a struggle to the vengeance of bucolic b.u.mpkins.

No doubt, no doubt--all the gentlemen agreed, but those who had brought their womenfolk over with them to enjoy this ill-omened fete day were unable to mask their anxiety. The peasantry all over France had, during the last few years, been guilty of raids upon the chateaux, had pillaged some, burnt others, inflicted outrages on the inhabitants. Was it likely that, though their province had hitherto been quieter than most, the people, justly exasperated by a dreadful crime, would hearken to the voice of reason? It was, of course, right and proper that the marquis and his brethren should be fairly tried and sentenced, but really---at least, so thought one of the a.s.sembly--it would be better to abandon them to their fate than risk the safety of the ladies.

His neighbour, who was given to seeing things in an unpleasant light, shook his pate and sighed. "You forget," he said, "that these mooncalves neither think nor reason. They are buffeted by impulse, led by the nose by the first comer. Whether we give up the culprits or no, they will want to retaliate on all of us. It is cla.s.s against cla.s.s, and has been all along." This was true enough, and gloom descended on the company.

"What they will do," suggested one of the party, "will depend upon the man who is their leader."

There was the case in a nutsh.e.l.l. When the people arrived at Montbazon, the Baron de Vaux must interpellate the leader, and be guided by that person's att.i.tude.

The distance between the two dwellings was so short; the rustics had spread helter-skelter in so many directions, that the movements of their betters were rapidly ascertained. One party, which had made for Lorge, found the gates wide open, the mansion apparently deserted, and were about to prosecute the search elsewhere, when Jean Boulot appeared upon the scene, declaring that his love was a prisoner. A further search was made, and lying in her bed they found Toinon, a prey to stony despair. Brave girl as she was, she had given way to despondency, for what could two women do against such a close and small-meshed network of foes--absolutely friendless and forlorn?

But here was Jean at last, faithful and true, at the head of a rabblement. With a cry she fell upon his breast, and sobbed there as if her heart were broken, while he thanked Heaven for her safety.

The servants had one and all decamped with such valuables as were easily carried. There was no sign of Mademoiselle Brunelle. To linger here was wasting time. Somebody had seen the abbe and the chevalier spurring like maniacs in the direction of Montbazon. "To Montbazon--to Montbazon," was the general shout, and as the crowd moved rapidly thitherward, its numbers were each moment augmented by newcomers armed with scythes and staves, who each had something to tell. The Marquis de Gange had been seen galloping to Montbazon, the baron and many of the Seigneurie also. Montbazon, by will of avenging Providence, had become a vermin trap which was full, and, please Heaven, not one should escape.

Deputy Jean Boulot did not approve of such sentiments. To yell "ca Ira" in discordant chorus--to gambol in the mazes of a dance which bore some distorted rustic resemblance to the Carmagnole--these were safe and harmless outlets for feverish activity. But honest Jean had the cause of the people too deeply at heart to allow his adherents to disgrace it. Before reaching Montbazon, therefore, he got on a great stone in the middle of a field, and harangued his little army. He would have no unnecessary violence, he roundly declared. Whatever the conduct of the towns had been, the country parts of Touraine had been conspicuous for decency. Unless his hearers promised to obey, he would shake the dust from off his feet and leave them. The three wretches had been delivered by G.o.d into their hands. The sovereign people should do what they chose with the at-present-offending vermin, but the innocent should be protected. The de Vaux family knew nothing of the tragedy, had instantly succoured the suffering marquise, when he, Jean, had placed her under their protection, and it would be an evil and disgraceful thing if their reward was to be the destruction of their property. The people hearkened and applauded. Brave Jean, honest clearheaded Jean, an honour to the province, and to France! Of course he should be obeyed, provided he did not strive to shelter his late master. "ca ira, ca ira! Quick, quick, no more delay." Jean looking round was satisfied, for with Heaven's help, he saw his way to save Montbazon from pillage.

It was with some relief that on mounting by means of a ladder to the top of the gateway, and surveying the vast seething sea of heads below, and the forest of glinting scythes, the baron beheld a man come forward whom he had personally known for years. He had disliked the man, and somewhat dreaded him for his treasonable preachings to the rustics. "A dangerous firebrand," he had always declared, "who will do a deal of mischief;" but as the sanguinary chronicle of history unrolled itself, marked with many smears, he had been compelled to admit that the whilom gamekeeper in authority at Blois had shown both discretion and forbearance. A Collot d'Herbois or a Marat might have headed this vast concourse. There was hope in the fact that the presiding chief was one who could listen to reason.

"I am sorry to see you, Jean Boulot," the baron began, curtly, "at the head of a menacing throng. Are you here as a patron of grave-diggers?"

"You know what we are here for, and what we justly demand," returned Boulot, as shortly.

The st.u.r.dy knave! A queer dignity sat upon him like that which is worn by a successful general who has risen from the ranks.

"Demand! H'm!" echoed the baron. "A strange word as addressed by you to me."

"Citizen! You are foolishly playing with the lives of all within your walls," Jean said, earnestly. "Do you think to terrify us by striking an att.i.tude draped in the ragged frippery of your rank? A word from me, and a thousand scythes will cut your baron's robe to ribbons. Look around. The news is still spreading. The indignant people are rus.h.i.+ng hitherward. If in your folly you delay too long, they may pa.s.s beyond control."

"Do you war with your thousand scythes against a bevy of innocent women?"

"No. We protect them when we can against the wickedness of the Touraine n.o.bility."

The baron bit his lip. He was not gaining ground.

"Speak plainly. Tell me what you want."

"I demand the instant delivery to me of the three miscreants you are harbouring."

Some of the gentlemen who had crowded up the ladder to hear the colloquy began to s.h.i.+ft uneasily and murmur. "The man is right," one whispered--"far more sensible than I expected."

But the baron had no intention of giving way--of bending before a rustic.

"You ask what I cannot grant," he replied, haughtily. "I cannot deliver n.o.bles to the canaille."

The cl.u.s.tering throng that pressed about Boulot were losing patience.

"These aristos are infatuated," one yelled, with threatening fist.

"You are wasting breath, Boulot. The vile insects must be crushed wholesale."

"Have a care!" Jean cried, in warning. "If innocent blood is spilled, Baron de Vaux, the crime will be on your head. Insolent vaunting words fall back on those who launch them. We are honest men, and----"

"Are you?" scoffed the baron. "You said just now that you protected women. You prate now of innocent blood; the blood of our ladies is destined, I presume, to join that of the Princesse de Lamballe and the rest?"

"I did not think that even the Seigneurie would seek to shelter behind petticoats!" cried Jean, with rising choler.

"Impudent varlet!" cried the baron, losing temper. "I would fain s.h.i.+eld a bevy of women from ma.s.sacre. Does the canaille decree their slaughter?"

Toinon had kept close to Jean, at whom she gazed with gladsome eyes, and a hectic spot of excitement upon either cheek.