The Bronze Eagle Part 18

Even Mme. la d.u.c.h.esse had not one glance for him. To these pa.s.sionate, hot-headed, impulsive royalists, an adherent of the Corsican ogre was lower than the sc.u.m of the earth. They loathed de Marmont because he had been one of themselves: he was a traitor, and not one man there but would have liked to see him put up against a wall and summarily shot.

But the stranger they wiped out of their lives.

Was there any chance for Clyffurde, if he tried to defend himself? None of a certainty. He could not call the accusation a lie, since he had been in the company of Emery and of de Marmont most of the day, and mere explanations would have fallen on deaf and unwilling ears.

Clyffurde knew this, nor did he attempt any explanation. There is a certain pride in the heart of every English gentleman which in moments of acute crisis rises to its full power and height. That pride would not allow Clyffurde to utter a single word in his own defence. The futility of attempting it also influenced his decision. He scorned the idea of speaking on his own behalf, words which were doomed to be disbelieved.

In a moment he had found himself absolutely isolated in the centre of the room, not far from the hearth where he had stood a little while ago talking to Crystal, and close to the chair where she had sat with the light of the fire playing upon her satin gown. The cus.h.i.+ons still bore the impress of her young figure as she had leaned up against them: the sight of it was an additional pain which almost made Clyffurde wince.

He bowed silently and very low to Crystal and to Mme. la d.u.c.h.esse, and then to all the ladies and gentlemen who cold-shouldered him with such contemptuous ostentation. De Marmont with head erect and an air of swagger was already waiting for him at the door. Clyffurde in taking leave of M. le Comte made a violent effort to say at any rate the one word which weighed upon his heart.

"Will you at least permit me, M. le Comte," he said, "to thank you for . . ."

But already the Comte had interrupted him, even before the words were clearly out of his mouth.

"I will not permit you, Sir," he broke in firmly, "to speak a single word other than a plain denial of M. de St. Genis' accusations against you."

Then as Clyffurde relapsed into silence, M. le Comte continued with haughty peremptoriness:

"A plain 'yes' or 'no' will suffice, Sir. Were you or were you not in the company of those traitors Emery and de Marmont when General Mouton-Duvernet came upon them outside Gren.o.ble?"

"I was," replied Clyffurde simply.

With a stiff nod of the head the Comte turned his back abruptly upon him; no one took any further notice of the "English spy." The accused had been condemned without enquiry and without trial. In times like these all one's friends must be above suspicion. Clyffurde knew that there was nothing to be said. With a quickly suppressed sigh, he too turned away and in his habitual, English, dogged way he resolutely set his teeth, and with a firm soldierly step walked quietly out of the room.

"Hector, see that M. de Marmont's coach is ready for him," said M. le Comte with well a.s.sumed indifference; "and that supper is no longer delayed."

He then once more offered his arm to Mme. la d.u.c.h.esse d'Embrun. "Mme. la d.u.c.h.esse," he said in his most courtly manner, "I beg that you will accept my apologies for this unforeseen interruption. May I have the honour of conducting you to supper?"

CHAPTER IV

THE EMPRESS' MILLIONS

I

De Marmont, having successfully shot his poisoned arrow and brought down his enemy, had no longer any ill-feeling against Clyffurde. His jealousy had been short-lived; it was set at rest by the brief episode which had culminated in the Englishman's final exit from the Castle of Brestalou.

Not a single detail of that moving little episode had escaped de Marmont's keen eyes: he had seen Crystal's look of positive abhorrence wherewith she had regarded Clyffurde, he had seen the gathering up of her skirts away--as it were--from the contaminating propinquity of the "English spy."

And de Marmont was satisfied.

He was perfectly ready to pick up the strained strands of friends.h.i.+p with the Englishman and affected not to notice the latter's absorption and moodiness.

"Can I drive you into Gren.o.ble, my good Clyffurde?" he asked airily as he paused on the top of the perron steps, waiting for the hackney coach.

"I thank you," replied Clyffurde; "I prefer to walk."

"It is eight kilometres and a pitch-dark night."

"I know my way, I thank you."

"Just as you like."

He paused a moment, and began humming the "Ma.r.s.eillaise." Clyffurde started walking down the monumental steps.

"Well, I'll say 'good-night,' de Marmont," he said coldly. "And 'good-bye,' too."

"You are not going away?" queried the other.

"As soon as I can get the means of going."

"Troops will be on the move all over the country soon. Foreigners will be interned. You will have some difficulty in getting away."

"I know that. That's why I want to make arrangements as early as possible."

"Where will you stay in the meanwhile?"

"Possibly at the 'Trois-Dauphins' if I can get a room."

"I shall see you again then. The Emperor will stay there while he is in Gren.o.ble. Well, good-night, my dear friend," said de Marmont, as he extended a cordial hand to Clyffurde, who, in the dark, evidently failed to see it. "And don't take the insults of all these fools too much to heart." And he gave an expressive nod in the direction of the stately castle behind him.

"They are dolts," he continued airily; "if they possessed a grain of sense they would have kept on friendly terms with me. As that old fool's son-in-law I could have saved him from all the reprisals which will inevitably fall on all these royalist traitors, now that the Emperor has come into his own again."

Clyffurde was half-way down the stone steps when these words of de Marmont struck upon his ear. Instinctively he retraced his steps. There was a suggestion of impending danger to Crystal in what the young man had said.

"What do you mean by talking about reprisals?" he asked.

"Oh! . . . only the inevitable," replied de Marmont. "The people of the Dauphine never cared for these royalists, you know . . . and didn't learn to like them any better in these past eleven months since the Restoration. M. le Comte de Cambray has been very high and mighty since his return from exile. He may yet come to wish that he had never quitted the comfortable little provincial town in England where he gave drawing lessons and French lessons to some very bourgeois boys. . . . But here's that coach at last!" he continued with that jaunty air which he had a.s.sumed since turning his back upon the reception halls of Brestalou.

"Are you sure that you would rather walk than drive with me?"

"No," replied Clyffurde abruptly, "I am not sure. Thank you very much. I think that if you don't object to my somewhat morose company I would like a lift as far as Gren.o.ble."

He wanted to make de Marmont talk, to hear what the young man had to say. From it he thought that he could learn more accurately what danger would threaten Brestalou in the event of Napoleon's successful march to Paris.

That the great adventurer's triumph would be short-lived Clyffurde was perfectly sure. He knew the temper of England and believed in the military genius of Wellington. England would never tolerate for a moment longer than she could help that the firebrand of Europe should once more sit upon the throne of France, and unless the allies had greatly altered their policy in the past ten months and refused England the necessary support, Wellington would be more than a match for the decimated army of Bonaparte.

But a few weeks--months, perhaps, might elapse before Napoleon was once again put entirely out of action--and this time more completely and more effectually than with a small kingdom wherein to dream again of European conquests; during those weeks and months Brestalou and its inhabitants would be at the mercy of the man from Corsica--the island of unrest and of never sleeping vendetta.

De Marmont was ready enough to talk. He knew nothing, of course, of Napoleon's plans and ideas save what Emery had told him. But what he lacked in knowledge he more than made up in imagination. Excitement too had made him voluble. He talked freely and incessantly: "The Emperor would do this. . . . The Emperor will never tolerate that . . ." was all the time on his lips.

He bragged and he swaggered, launched into pa.s.sionate eulogies of the Emperor, and fiery denunciations of his enemies. Berthier, Clark, Foucher, de Marmont, they all deserved death. Ney alone was to be pardoned, for Ney was a fine soldier--always supposing that Ney would repent. But men like the Comte de Cambray were a pest in any country--mischief-making and intriguing. Bah! the Emperor will never tolerate them.

Suddenly Clyffurde--who had become half-drowsy, lulled to somnolence by de Marmont's incessant chatter and the monotonous jog-trot of the horses--woke to complete consciousness. He p.r.i.c.ked his ears and in a moment was all attention.

"They think that they can deceive me," de Marmont was saying airily.