SCARAMOUCHE

A ROMANCE OF THE FRENCH REVOLUTION

By Rafael Sabatini

Contents

 BOOK I. 

	 CHAPTER I. 	THE REPUBLICAN	 CHAPTER II. 	THE ARISTOCRAT	 CHAPTER III. 	THE ELOQUENCE OF M. DE VILMORIN	 CHAPTER IV. 	THE HERITAGE	 CHAPTER V. 	THE LORD OF GAVRILLAC	 CHAPTER VI. 	THE WINDMILL	 CHAPTER VII. 	THE WIND	 CHAPTER VIII. OMNES OMNIBUS	 CHAPTER IX. 	THE AFTERMATH

 BOOK II. 	  

	 CHAPTER I. 	THE TRESPASSERS	 CHAPTER II. 	THE SERVICE OF THESPIS	 CHAPTER II. 	THE COMIC MUSE	 CHAPTER IV. 	EXIT MONSIEUR PARVISSIMUS	 CHAPTER V. 	ENTER SCARAMOUCHE	 CHAPTER VI. 	CLIMENE	 CHAPTER VII. 	THE CONQUEST OF NANTES	 CHAPTER VIII. THE DREAM	 CHAPTER IX. 	THE AWAKENING	 CHAPTER X. 	CONTRITION	 CHAPTER XI. 	THE FRACAS AT THE THEATRE FEYDAU

 BOOK III. 	  

	 CHAPTER I. 	TRANSITION	 CHAPTER II. 	QUOS DEUS VULT PERDERE	 CHAPTER III. 	PRESIDENT LE CHAPELIER	 CHAPTER IV. 	AT MEUDON	 CHAPTER V. 	MADAME DE PLOUGASTEL	 CHAPTER VI. 	POLITICIANS	 CHAPTER VII. 	THE SPADASSINICIDES	 CHAPTER VIII. THE PALADIN OF THE THIRD	 CHAPTER IX. 	TORN PRIDE	 CHAPTER X. 	THE RETURNING CARRIAGE	 CHAPTER XI. 	INFERENCES	 CHAPTER XII. 	THE OVERWHELMING REASON	 CHAPTER XIII. SANCTUARY	 CHAPTER XIV. 	THE BARRIER	 CHAPTER XV. 	SAFE-CONDUCT	 CHAPTER XVI. 	SUNRISE

SCARAMOUCHE

BOOK I: THE ROBE

CHAPTER I. THE REPUBLICAN

He was born with a gift of laughter and a sense that the world was mad. And that was all his patrimony. His very paternity was obscure, althoughthe village of Gavrillac had long since dispelled the cloud of mysterythat hung about it. Those simple Brittany folk were not so simple as tobe deceived by a pretended relationship which did not even possessthe virtue of originality. When a nobleman, for no apparent reason, announces himself the godfather of an infant fetched no man knew whence, and thereafter cares for the lad's rearing and education, the mostunsophisticated of country folk perfectly understand the situation. Andso the good people of Gavrillac permitted themselves no illusions on thescore of the real relationship between Andre-Louis Moreau--as the lad hadbeen named--and Quintin de Kercadiou, Lord of Gavrillac, who dwelt in thebig grey house that dominated from its eminence the village clusteringbelow. 

Andre-Louis had learnt his letters at the village school, lodged thewhile with old Rabouillet, the attorney, who in the capacity of fiscalintendant, looked after the affairs of M. De Kercadiou. Thereafter, atthe age of fifteen, he had been packed off to Paris, to the Lycee ofLouis Le Grand, to study the law which he was now returned to practisein conjunction with Rabouillet. All this at the charges of hisgodfather, M. De Kercadiou, who by placing him once more under thetutelage of Rabouillet would seem thereby quite clearly to be makingprovision for his future. 

Andre-Louis, on his side, had made the most of his opportunities. Youbehold him at the age of four-and-twenty stuffed with learning enoughto produce an intellectual indigestion in an ordinary mind. Out ofhis zestful study of Man, from Thucydides to the Encyclopaedists, fromSeneca to Rousseau, he had confirmed into an unassailable convictionhis earliest conscious impressions of the general insanity of his ownspecies. Nor can I discover that anything in his eventful life everafterwards caused him to waver in that opinion. 

In body he was a slight wisp of a fellow, scarcely above middle height, with a lean, astute countenance, prominent of nose and cheek-bones, andwith lank, black hair that reached almost to his shoulders. His mouthwas long, thin-lipped, and humorous. He was only just redeemed fromugliness by the splendour of a pair of ever-questing, luminous eyes, sodark as to be almost black. Of the whimsical quality of his mind andhis rare gift of graceful expression, his writings--unfortunately but tooscanty--and particularly his Confessions, afford us very ample evidence. Of his gift of oratory he was hardly conscious yet, although he hadalready achieved a certain fame for it in the Literary Chamber ofRennes--one of those clubs by now ubiquitous in the land, in which theintellectual youth of France foregathered to study and discuss thenew philosophies that were permeating social life. But the fame he hadacquired there was hardly enviable. He was too impish, too caustic, too much disposed--so thought his colleagues--to ridicule their sublimetheories for the regeneration of mankind. Himself he protested thathe merely held them up to the mirror of truth, and that it was not hisfault if when reflected there they looked ridiculous. 

All that he achieved by this was to exasperate; and his expulsion from asociety grown mistrustful of him must already have followed but forhis friend, Philippe de Vilmorin, a divinity student of Rennes, who, himself, was one of the most popular members of the Literary Chamber. 

Coming to Gavrillac on a November morning, laden with news of thepolitical storms which were then gathering over France, Philippe foundin that sleepy Breton village matter to quicken his already livelyindignation. A peasant of Gavrillac, named Mabey, had been shot deadthat morning in the woods of Meupont, across the river, by a gamekeeperof the Marquis de La Tour d'Azyr. The unfortunate fellow had been caughtin the act of taking a pheasant from a snare, and the gamekeeper hadacted under explicit orders from his master. 

Infuriated by an act of tyranny so absolute and merciless, M. DeVilmorin proposed to lay the matter before M. De Kercadiou. Mabey was avassal of Gavrillac, and Vilmorin hoped to move the Lord of Gavrillac todemand at least some measure of reparation for the widow and the threeorphans which that brutal deed had made. 

But because Andre-Louis was Philippe's dearest friend--indeed, his almostbrother--the young seminarist sought him out in the first instance. Hefound him at breakfast alone in the long, low-ceilinged, white-panelleddining-room at Rabouillet's--the only home that Andre-Louis had everknown--and after embracing him, deafened him with his denunciation of M. De La Tour d'Azyr. 

"I have heard of it already, " said Andre-Louis. 

"You speak as if the thing had not surprised you, " his friend reproachedhim. 

"Nothing beastly can surprise me when done by a beast. And La Tourd'Azyr is a beast, as all the world knows. The more fool Mabey forstealing his pheasants. He should have stolen somebody else's. "

"Is that all you have to say about it?"

"What more is there to say? I've a practical mind, I hope. "

"What more there is to say I propose to say to your godfather, M. DeKercadiou. I shall appeal to him for justice. "

"Against M. De La Tour d'Azyr?" Andre-Louis raised his eyebrows. 

"Why not?"

"My dear ingenuous Philippe, dog doesn't eat dog. "

"You are unjust to your godfather. He is a humane man. "

"Oh, as humane as you please. But this isn't a question of humanity. It's a question of game-laws. "

M. De Vilmorin tossed his long arms to Heaven in disgust. He was a tall, slender young gentleman, a year or two younger than Andre-Louis. He wasvery soberly dressed in black, as became a seminarist, with white bandsat wrists and throat and silver buckles to his shoes. His neatly clubbedbrown hair was innocent of powder. 

"You talk like a lawyer, " he exploded. 

"Naturally. But don't waste anger on me on that account. Tell me whatyou want me to do. "

"I want you to come to M. De Kercadiou with me, and to use yourinfluence to obtain justice. I suppose I am asking too much. "

"My dear Philippe, I exist to serve you. I warn you that it is a futilequest; but give me leave to finish my breakfast, and I am at yourorders. "

M. De Vilmorin dropped into a winged armchair by the well-swept hearth, on which a piled-up fire of pine logs was burning cheerily. And whilsthe waited now he gave his friend the latest news of the events inRennes. Young, ardent, enthusiastic, and inspired by Utopian ideals, hepassionately denounced the rebellious attitude of the privileged. 

Andre-Louis, already fully aware of the trend of feeling in the ranks ofan order in whose deliberations he took part as the representative ofa nobleman, was not at all surprised by what he heard. M. De Vilmorinfound it exasperating that his friend should apparently decline to sharehis own indignation. 

"Don't you see what it means?" he cried. "The nobles, by disobeying theKing, are striking at the very foundations of the throne. Don't theyperceive that their very existence depends upon it; that if the thronefalls over, it is they who stand nearest to it who will be crushed?Don't they see that?"

"Evidently not. They are just governing classes, and I never heard ofgoverning classes that had eyes for anything but their own profit. "

"That is our grievance. That is what we are going to change. "

"You are going to abolish governing classes? An interesting experiment. I believe it was the original plan of creation, and it might havesucceeded but for Cain. "

"What we are going to do, " said M. De Vilmorin, curbing hisexasperation, "is to transfer the government to other hands. "

"And you think that will make a difference?"

"I know it will. "

"Ah! I take it that being now in minor orders, you already possess theconfidence of the Almighty. He will have confided to you His intentionof changing the pattern of mankind. "

M. De Vilmorin's fine ascetic face grew overcast. "You are profane, Andre, " he reproved his friend. 

"I assure you that I am quite serious. To do what you imply wouldrequire nothing short of divine intervention. You must change man, notsystems. Can you and our vapouring friends of the Literary Chamberof Rennes, or any other learned society of France, devise a system ofgovernment that has never yet been tried? Surely not. And can they sayof any system tried that it proved other than a failure in the end? Mydear Philippe, the future is to be read with certainty only in thepast. Ab actu ad posse valet consecutio. Man never changes. He is alwaysgreedy, always acquisitive, always vile. I am speaking of Man in thebulk. "

"Do you pretend that it is impossible to ameliorate the lot of thepeople?" M. De Vilmorin challenged him. 

"When you say the people you mean, of course, the populace. Will youabolish it? That is the only way to ameliorate its lot, for as long asit remains populace its lot will be damnation. "

"You argue, of course, for the side that employs you. That is natural, Isuppose. " M. De Vilmorin spoke between sorrow and indignation. 

"On the contrary, I seek to argue with absolute detachment. Let ustest these ideas of yours. To what form of government do you aspire? Arepublic, it is to be inferred from what you have said. Well, you haveit already. France in reality is a republic to-day. "

Philippe stared at him. "You are being paradoxical, I think. What of theKing?"

"The King? All the world knows there has been no king in France sinceLouis XIV. There is an obese gentleman at Versailles who wears thecrown, but the very news you bring shows for how little he reallycounts. It is the nobles and clergy who sit in the high places, with thepeople of France harnessed under their feet, who are the real rulers. That is why I say that France is a republic; she is a republic builton the best pattern--the Roman pattern. Then, as now, there were greatpatrician families in luxury, preserving for themselves power andwealth, and what else is accounted worth possessing; and there wasthe populace crushed and groaning, sweating, bleeding, starving, andperishing in the Roman kennels. That was a republic; the mightiest wehave seen. "

Philippe strove with his impatience. "At least you will admit--you have, in fact, admitted it--that we could not be worse governed than we are?"

"That is not the point. The point is should we be better governed if wereplaced the present ruling class by another? Without some guarantee ofthat I should be the last to lift a finger to effect a change. And whatguarantees can you give? What is the class that aims at government? Iwill tell you. The bourgeoisie. "

"What?"

"That startles you, eh? Truth is so often disconcerting. You hadn'tthought of it? Well, think of it now. Look well into this Nantesmanifesto. Who are the authors of it?"

"I can tell you who it was constrained the municipality of Nantes tosend it to the King. Some ten thousand workmen--shipwrights, weavers, labourers, and artisans of every kind. "

"Stimulated to it, driven to it, by their employers, the wealthy tradersand shipowners of that city, " Andre-Louis replied. "I have a habit ofobserving things at close quarters, which is why our colleagues of theLiterary Chamber dislike me so cordially in debate. Where I delve theybut skim. Behind those labourers and artisans of Nantes, counsellingthem, urging on these poor, stupid, ignorant toilers to shed their bloodin pursuit of the will o' the wisp of freedom, are the sail-makers, thespinners, the ship-owners and the slave-traders. The slave-traders! Themen who live and grow rich by a traffic in human flesh and blood inthe colonies, are conducting at home a campaign in the sacred nameof liberty! Don't you see that the whole movement is a movement ofhucksters and traders and peddling vassals swollen by wealth into envyof the power that lies in birth alone? The money-changers in Pariswho hold the bonds in the national debt, seeing the parlous financialcondition of the State, tremble at the thought that it may lie inthe power of a single man to cancel the debt by bankruptcy. To securethemselves they are burrowing underground to overthrow a state and buildupon its ruins a new one in which they shall be the masters. And toaccomplish this they inflame the people. Already in Dauphiny we haveseen blood run like water--the blood of the populace, always the blood ofthe populace. Now in Brittany we may see the like. And if in the end thenew ideas prevail? if the seigneurial rule is overthrown, what then?You will have exchanged an aristocracy for a plutocracy. Is that worthwhile? Do you 'think that under money-changers and slave-traders andmen who have waxed rich in other ways by the ignoble arts of buyingand selling, the lot of the people will be any better than under theirpriests and nobles? Has it ever occurred to you, Philippe, what itis that makes the rule of the nobles so intolerable? Acquisitiveness. Acquisitiveness is the curse of mankind. And shall you expect lessacquisitiveness in men who have built themselves up by acquisitiveness?Oh, I am ready to admit that the present government is execrable, unjust, tyrannical--what you will; but I beg you to look ahead, and tosee that the government for which it is aimed at exchanging it may beinfinitely worse. "

Philippe sat thoughtful a moment. Then he returned to the attack. 

"You do not speak of the abuses, the horrible, intolerable abuses ofpower under which we labour at present. "

"Where there is power there will always be the abuse of it. "

"Not if the tenure of power is dependent upon its equitableadministration. "

"The tenure of power is power. We cannot dictate to those who hold it. "

"The people can--the people in its might. "

"Again I ask you, when you say the people do you mean the populace? Youdo. What power can the populace wield? It can run wild. It can burnand slay for a time. But enduring power it cannot wield, because powerdemands qualities which the populace does not possess, or it wouldnot be populace. The inevitable, tragic corollary of civilization ispopulace. For the rest, abuses can be corrected by equity; and equity, if it is not found in the enlightened, is not to be found at all. M. Necker is to set about correcting abuses, and limiting privileges. Thatis decided. To that end the States General are to assemble. "

"And a promising beginning we have made in Brittany, as Heaven hearsme!" cried Philippe. 

"Pooh! That is nothing. Naturally the nobles will not yield without astruggle. It is a futile and ridiculous struggle--but then... It is humannature, I suppose, to be futile and ridiculous. "

M. De Vilmorin became witheringly sarcastic. "Probably you will alsoqualify the shooting of Mabey as futile and ridiculous. I should even beprepared to hear you argue in defence of the Marquis de La Tourd'Azyr that his gamekeeper was merciful in shooting Mabey, since thealternative would have been a life-sentence to the galleys. "

Andre-Louis drank the remainder of his chocolate; set down his cup, andpushed back his chair, his breakfast done. 

"I confess that I have not your big charity, my dear Philippe. I amtouched by Mabey's fate. But, having conquered the shock of this news tomy emotions, I do not forget that, after all, Mabey was thieving when hemet his death. "

M. De Vilmorin heaved himself up in his indignation. 

"That is the point of view to be expected in one who is the assistantfiscal intendant of a nobleman, and the delegate of a nobleman to theStates of Brittany. "

"Philippe, is that just? You are angry with me!" he cried, in realsolicitude. 

"I am hurt, " Vilmorin admitted. "I am deeply hurt by your attitude. AndI am not alone in resenting your reactionary tendencies. Do you knowthat the Literary Chamber is seriously considering your expulsion?"

Andre-Louis shrugged. "That neither surprises nor troubles me. "

M. De Vilmorin swept on, passionately: "Sometimes I think that you haveno heart. With you it is always the law, never equity. It occurs to me, Andre, that I was mistaken in coming to you. You are not likely to be ofassistance to me in my interview with M. De Kercadiou. " He took up hishat, clearly with the intention of departing. 

Andre-Louis sprang up and caught him by the arm. 

"I vow, " said he, "that this is the last time ever I shall consent totalk law or politics with you, Philippe. I love you too well to quarrelwith you over other men's affairs. "

"But I make them my own, " Philippe insisted vehemently. 

"Of course you do, and I love you for it. It is right that you should. You are to be a priest; and everybody's business is a priest's business. Whereas I am a lawyer--the fiscal intendant of a nobleman, as yousay--and a lawyer's business is the business of his client. That is thedifference between us. Nevertheless, you are not going to shake me off. "

"But I tell you frankly, now that I come to think of it, that I shouldprefer you did not see M. De Kercadiou with me. Your duty to your clientcannot be a help to me. "

His wrath had passed; but his determination remained firm, based uponthe reason he gave. 

"Very well, " said Andre-Louis. "It shall be as you please. But nothingshall prevent me at least from walking with you as far as the chateau, and waiting for you while you make your appeal to M. De Kercadiou. "

And so they left the house good friends, for the sweetness of M. DeVilmorin's nature did not admit of rancour, and together they took theirway up the steep main street of Gavrillac. 

CHAPTER II. THE ARISTOCRAT

The sleepy village of Gavrillac, a half-league removed from the mainroad to Rennes, and therefore undisturbed by the world's traffic, layin a curve of the River Meu, at the foot, and straggling halfway up theslope, of the shallow hill that was crowned by the squat manor. By thetime Gavrillac had paid tribute to its seigneur--partly in money andpartly in service--tithes to the Church, and imposts to the King, it washard put to it to keep body and soul together with what remained. Yet, hard as conditions were in Gavrillac, they were not so hard as in manyother parts of France, not half so hard, for instance, as with thewretched feudatories of the great Lord of La Tour d'Azyr, whose vastpossessions were at one point separated from this little village by thewaters of the Meu. 

The Chateau de Gavrillac owed such seigneurial airs as might be claimedfor it to its dominant position above the village rather than to anyfeature of its own. Built of granite, like all the rest of Gavrillac, though mellowed by some three centuries of existence, it was a squat, flat-fronted edifice of two stories, each lighted by four windows withexternal wooden shutters, and flanked at either end by two square towersor pavilions under extinguisher roofs. Standing well back in a garden, denuded now, but very pleasant in summer, and immediately fronted by afine sweep of balustraded terrace, it looked, what indeed it was, andalways had been, the residence of unpretentious folk who found moreinterest in husbandry than in adventure. 

Quintin de Kercadiou, Lord of Gavrillac--Seigneur de Gavrillac was allthe vague title that he bore, as his forefathers had borne before him, derived no man knew whence or how--confirmed the impression that hishouse conveyed. Rude as the granite itself, he had never sought theexperience of courts, had not even taken service in the armies of hisKing. He left it to his younger brother, Etienne, to represent thefamily in those exalted spheres. His own interests from earliest yearshad been centred in his woods and pastures. He hunted, and he cultivatedhis acres, and superficially he appeared to be little better than any ofhis rustic metayers. He kept no state, or at least no state commensuratewith his position or with the tastes of his niece Aline de Kercadiou. Aline, having spent some two years in the court atmosphere of Versaillesunder the aegis of her uncle Etienne, had ideas very different fromthose of her uncle Quintin of what was befitting seigneurial dignity. But though this only child of a third Kercadiou had exercised, eversince she was left an orphan at the early age of four, a tyrannical ruleover the Lord of Gavrillac, who had been father and mother to her, shehad never yet succeeded in beating down his stubbornness on thatscore. She did not yet despair--persistence being a dominant note inher character--although she had been assiduously and fruitlessly at worksince her return from the great world of Versailles some three monthsago. 

She was walking on the terrace when Andre-Louis and M. De Vilmorinarrived. Her slight body was wrapped against the chill air in a whitepelisse; her head was encased in a close-fitting bonnet, edged withwhite fur. It was caught tight in a knot of pale-blue ribbon on theright of her chin; on the left a long ringlet of corn-coloured hair hadbeen permitted to escape. The keen air had whipped so much of her cheeksas was presented to it, and seemed to have added sparkle to eyes thatwere of darkest blue. 

Andre-Louis and M. De Vilmorin had been known to her from childhood. Thethree had been playmates once, and Andre-Louis--in view of his spiritualrelationship with her uncle--she called her cousin. The cousinlyrelations had persisted between these two long after Philippe deVilmorin had outgrown the earlier intimacy, and had become to herMonsieur de Vilmorin. 

She waved her hand to them in greeting as they advanced, and stood--anentrancing picture, and fully conscious of it--to await them at the endof the terrace nearest the short avenue by which they approached. 

"If you come to see monsieur my uncle, you come inopportunely, messieurs, " she told them, a certain feverishness in her air. "He isclosely--oh, so very closely--engaged. "

"We will wait, mademoiselle, " said M. De Vilmorin, bowing gallantly overthe hand she extended to him. "Indeed, who would haste to the uncle thatmay tarry a moment with the niece?"

"M. L'abbe, " she teased him, "when you are in orders I shall take youfor my confessor. You have so ready and sympathetic an understanding. "

"But no curiosity, " said Andre-Louis. "You haven't thought of that. "

"I wonder what you mean, Cousin Andre. "

"Well you may, " laughed Philippe. "For no one ever knows. " And then, his glance straying across the terrace settled upon a carriage that wasdrawn up before the door of the chateau. It was a vehicle such as wasoften to be seen in the streets of a great city, but rarely in thecountry. It was a beautifully sprung two-horse cabriolet of walnut, with a varnish upon it like a sheet of glass and little pastoral scenesexquisitely painted on the panels of the door. It was built to carry twopersons, with a box in front for the coachman, and a stand behind forthe footman. This stand was empty, but the footman paced before thedoor, and as he emerged now from behind the vehicle into the range of M. De Vilmorin's vision, he displayed the resplendent blue-and-gold liveryof the Marquis de La Tour d'Azyr. 

"Why!" he exclaimed. "Is it M. De La Tour d'Azyr who is with youruncle?"

"It is, monsieur, " said she, a world of mystery in voice and eyes, ofwhich M. De Vilmorin observed nothing. 

"Ah, pardon!" he bowed low, hat in hand. "Serviteur, mademoiselle, " andhe turned to depart towards the house. 

"Shall I come with you, Philippe?" Andre-Louis called after him. 

"It would be ungallant to assume that you would prefer it, " said M. DeVilmorin, with a glance at mademoiselle. "Nor do I think it would serve. If you will wait... "

M. De Vilmorin strode off. Mademoiselle, after a moment's blank pause, laughed ripplingly. "Now where is he going in such a hurry?"

"To see M. De La Tour d'Azyr as well as your uncle, I should say. "

"But he cannot. They cannot see him. Did I not say that they arevery closely engaged? You don't ask me why, Andre. " There was an archmysteriousness about her, a latent something that may have been elationor amusement, or perhaps both. Andre-Louis could not determine it. 

"Since obviously you are all eagerness to tell, why should I ask?" quothhe. 

"If you are caustic I shall not tell you even if you ask. Oh, yes, Iwill. It will teach you to treat me with the respect that is my due. "

"I hope I shall never fail in that. "

"Less than ever when you learn that I am very closely concerned in thevisit of M. De La Tour d'Azyr. I am the object of this visit. " And shelooked at him with sparkling eyes and lips parted in laughter. 

"The rest, you would seem to imply, is obvious. But I am a dolt, if youplease; for it is not obvious to me. "

"Why, stupid, he comes to ask my hand in marriage. "

"Good God!" said Andre-Louis, and stared at her, chapfallen. 

She drew back from him a little with a frown and an upward tilt of herchin. "It surprises you?"

"It disgusts me, " said he, bluntly. "In fact, I don't believe it. Youare amusing yourself with me. "

For a moment she put aside her visible annoyance to remove his doubts. "I am quite serious, monsieur. There came a formal letter to my unclethis morning from M. De La Tour d'Azyr, announcing the visit and itsobject. I will not say that it did not surprise us a little... "

"Oh, I see, " cried Andre-Louis, in relief. "I understand. For a moment Ihad almost feared... " He broke off, looked at her, and shrugged. 

"Why do you stop? You had almost feared that Versailles had been wastedupon me. That I should permit the court-ship of me to be conducted likethat of any village wench. It was stupid of you. I am being sought inproper form, at my uncle's hands. "

"Is his consent, then, all that matters, according to Versailles?"

"What else?"

"There is your own. "

She laughed. "I am a dutiful niece... When it suits me. "

"And will it suit you to be dutiful if your uncle accepts this monstrousproposal?"

"Monstrous!" She bridled. "And why monstrous, if you please?"

"For a score of reasons, " he answered irritably. 

"Give me one, " she challenged him. 

"He is twice your age. "

"Hardly so much, " said she. 

"He is forty-five, at least. "

"But he looks no more than thirty. He is very handsome--so much you willadmit; nor will you deny that he is very wealthy and very powerful; thegreatest nobleman in Brittany. He will make me a great lady. "

"God made you that, Aline. "

"Come, that's better. Sometimes you can almost be polite. " And she movedalong the terrace, Andre-Louis pacing beside her. 

"I can be more than that to show reason why you should not let thisbeast befoul the beautiful thing that God has made. "

She frowned, and her lips tightened. "You are speaking of my futurehusband, " she reproved him. 

His lips tightened too; his pale face grew paler. 

"And is it so? It is settled, then? Your uncle is to agree? You are tobe sold thus, lovelessly, into bondage to a man you do not know. I haddreamed of better things for you, Aline. "

"Better than to be Marquise de La Tour d'Azyr?"

He made a gesture of exasperation. "Are men and women nothing more thannames? Do the souls of them count for nothing? Is there no joy in life, no happiness, that wealth and pleasure and empty, high-sounding titlesare to be its only aims? I had set you high--so high, Aline--a thingscarce earthly. There is joy in your heart, intelligence in your mind;and, as I thought, the vision that pierces husks and shams to claim thecore of reality for its own. Yet you will surrender all for a parcel ofmake-believe. You will sell your soul and your body to be Marquise de LaTour d'Azyr. "

"You are indelicate, " said she, and though she frowned her eyes laughed. "And you go headlong to conclusions. My uncle will not consent to morethan to allow my consent to be sought. We understand each other, myuncle and I. I am not to be bartered like a turnip. "

He stood still to face her, his eyes glowing, a flush creeping into hispale cheeks. 

"You have been torturing me to amuse yourself!" he cried. "Ah, well, Iforgive you out of my relief. "

"Again you go too fast, Cousin Andre I have permitted my uncle toconsent that M. Le Marquis shall make his court to me. I like the lookof the gentleman. I am flattered by his preference when I consider hiseminence. It is an eminence that I may find it desirable to share. M. LeMarquis does not look as if he were a dullard. It should be interestingto be wooed by him. It may be more interesting still to marry him, andI think, when all is considered, that I shall probably--veryprobably--decide to do so. "

He looked at her, looked at the sweet, challenging loveliness of thatchildlike face so tightly framed in the oval of white fur, and all thelife seemed to go out of his own countenance. 

"God help you, Aline!" he groaned. 

She stamped her foot. He was really very exasperating, and somethingpresumptuous too, she thought. 

"You are insolent, monsieur. "

"It is never insolent to pray, Aline. And I did no more than pray, as Ishall continue to do. You'll need my prayers, I think. "

"You are insufferable!" She was growing angry, as he saw by thedeepening frown, the heightened colour. 

"That is because I suffer. Oh, Aline, little cousin, think well of whatyou do; think well of the realities you will be bartering for theseshams--the realities that you will never know, because these cursed shamswill block your way to them. When M. De La Tour d'Azyr comes to make hiscourt, study him well; consult your fine instincts; leave your own noblenature free to judge this animal by its intuitions. Consider that... "

"I consider, monsieur, that you presume upon the kindness I have alwaysshown you. You abuse the position of toleration in which you stand. Whoare you? What are you, that you should have the insolence to take thistone with me?"

He bowed, instantly his cold, detached self again, and resumed themockery that was his natural habit. 

"My congratulations, mademoiselle, upon the readiness with which youbegin to adapt yourself to the great role you are to play. "

"Do you adapt yourself also, monsieur, " she retorted angrily, and turnedher shoulder to him. 

"To be as the dust beneath the haughty feet of Madame la Marquise. Ihope I shall know my place in future. "

The phrase arrested her. She turned to him again, and he perceived thather eyes were shining now suspiciously. In an instant the mockery in himwas quenched in contrition. 

"Lord, what a beast I am, Aline!" he cried, as he advanced. "Forgive meif you can. "

Almost had she turned to sue forgiveness from him. But his contritionremoved the need. 

"I'll try, " said she, "provided that you undertake not to offend again. "

"But I shall, " said he. "I am like that. I will fight to save you, fromyourself if need be, whether you forgive me or not. "

They were standing so, confronting each other a little breathlessly, alittle defiantly, when the others issued from the porch. 

First came the Marquis of La Tour d'Azyr, Count of Solz, Knight of theOrders of the Holy Ghost and Saint Louis, and Brigadier in the armiesof the King. He was a tall, graceful man, upright and soldierly ofcarriage, with his head disdainfully set upon his shoulders. He wasmagnificently dressed in a full-skirted coat of mulberry velvet that waslaced with gold. His waistcoat, of velvet too, was of a goldenapricot colour; his breeches and stockings were of black silk, and hislacquered, red-heeled shoes were buckled in diamonds. His powdered hairwas tied behind in a broad ribbon of watered silk; he carried a littlethree-cornered hat under his arm, and a gold-hilted slender dress-swordhung at his side. 

Considering him now in complete detachment, observing the magnificenceof him, the elegance of his movements, the great air, blending in soextraordinary a manner disdain and graciousness, Andre-Louis trembledfor Aline. Here was a practised, irresistible wooer, whose bonnesfortunes were become a by-word, a man who had hitherto been the despairof dowagers with marriageable daughters, and the desolation of husbandswith attractive wives. 

He was immediately followed by M. De Kercadiou, in completest contrast. On legs of the shortest, the Lord of Gavrillac carried a body that atforty-five was beginning to incline to corpulence and an enormous headcontaining an indifferent allotment of intelligence. His countenancewas pink and blotchy, liberally branded by the smallpox which had almostextinguished him in youth. In dress he was careless to the pointof untidiness, and to this and to the fact that he had nevermarried--disregarding the first duty of a gentleman to provide himselfwith an heir--he owed the character of misogynist attributed to him bythe countryside. 

After M. De Kercadiou came M. De Vilmorin, very pale and self-contained, with tight lips and an overcast brow. 

To meet them, there stepped from the carriage a very elegant younggentleman, the Chevalier de Chabrillane, M. De La Tour d'Azyr'scousin, who whilst awaiting his return had watched with considerableinterest--his own presence unsuspected--the perambulations of Andre-Louisand mademoiselle. 

Perceiving Aline, M. De La Tour d'Azyr detached himself from the others, and lengthening his stride came straight across the terrace to her. 

To Andre-Louis the Marquis inclined his head with that mixture ofcourtliness and condescension which he used. Socially, the young lawyerstood in a curious position. By virtue of the theory of his birth, heranked neither as noble nor as simple, but stood somewhere between thetwo classes, and whilst claimed by neither he was used familiarlyby both. Coldly now he returned M. De La Tour d'Azyr's greeting, anddiscreetly removed himself to go and join his friend. 

The Marquis took the hand that mademoiselle extended to him, and bowingover it, bore it to his lips. 

"Mademoiselle, " he said, looking into the blue depths of her eyes, thatmet his gaze smiling and untroubled, "monsieur your uncle does me thehonour to permit that I pay my homage to you. Will you, mademoiselle, do me the honour to receive me when I come to-morrow? I shall havesomething of great importance for your ear. "

"Of importance, M. Le Marquis? You almost frighten me. " But there wasno fear on the serene little face in its furred hood. It was notfor nothing that she had graduated in the Versailles school ofartificialities. 

"That, " said he, "is very far from my design. "

"But of importance to yourself, monsieur, or to me?"

"To us both, I hope, " he answered her, a world of meaning in his fine, ardent eyes. 

"You whet my curiosity, monsieur; and, of course, I am a dutiful niece. It follows that I shall be honoured to receive you. "

"Not honoured, mademoiselle; you will confer the honour. To-morrow atthis hour, then, I shall have the felicity to wait upon you. "

He bowed again; and again he bore her fingers to his lips, what time shecurtsied. Thereupon, with no more than this formal breaking of the ice, they parted. 

She was a little breathless now, a little dazzled by the beauty of theman, his princely air, and the confidence of power he seemed to radiate. Involuntarily almost, she contrasted him with his critic--the lean andimpudent Andre-Louis in his plain brown coat and steel-buckled shoes--andshe felt guilty of an unpardonable offence in having permitted even oneword of that presumptuous criticism. To-morrow M. Le Marquis wouldcome to offer her a great position, a great rank. And already she hadderogated from the increase of dignity accruing to her from his veryintention to translate her to so great an eminence. Not again wouldshe suffer it; not again would she be so weak and childish as to permitAndre-Louis to utter his ribald comments upon a man by comparison withwhom he was no better than a lackey. 

Thus argued vanity and ambition with her better self and to her vastannoyance her better self would not admit entire conviction. 

Meanwhile, M. De La Tour d'Azyr was climbing into his carriage. He hadspoken a word of farewell to M. De Kercadiou, and he had also had aword for M. De Vilmorin in reply to which M. De Vilmorin had bowed inassenting silence. The carriage rolled away, the powdered footman inblue-and-gold very stiff behind it, M. De La Tour d'Azyr bowing tomademoiselle, who waved to him in answer. 

Then M. De Vilmorin put his arm through that of Andre Louis, and said tohim, "Come, Andre. "

"But you'll stay to dine, both of you!" cried the hospitable Lord ofGavrillac. "We'll drink a certain toast, " he added, winking an eye thatstrayed towards mademoiselle, who was approaching. He had no subtleties, good soul that he was. 

M. De Vilmorin deplored an appointment that prevented him doing himselfthe honour. He was very stiff and formal. 

"And you, Andre?"

"I? Oh, I share the appointment, godfather, " he lied, "and I have asuperstition against toasts. " He had no wish to remain. He was angrywith Aline for her smiling reception of M. De La Tour d'Azyr and thesordid bargain he saw her set on making. He was suffering from the lossof an illusion. 

CHAPTER III. THE ELOQUENCE OF M. DE VILMORIN

As they walked down the hill together, it was now M. De Vilmorin whowas silent and preoccupied, Andre-Louis who was talkative. He hadchosen Woman as a subject for his present discourse. He claimed--quiteunjustifiably--to have discovered Woman that morning; and the things hehad to say of the sex were unflattering, and occasionally almost gross. M. De Vilmorin, having ascertained the subject, did not listen. Singularthough it may seem in a young French abbe of his day, M. De Vilmorin wasnot interested in Woman. Poor Philippe was in several ways exceptional. Opposite the Breton arme--the inn and posting-house at the entrance ofthe village of Gavrillac--M. De Vilmorin interrupted his companion justas he was soaring to the dizziest heights of caustic invective, andAndre-Louis, restored thereby to actualities, observed the carriage ofM. De La Tour d'Azyr standing before the door of the hostelry. 

"I don't believe you've been listening to me, " said he. 

"Had you been less interested in what you were saying, you might haveobserved it sooner and spared your breath. The fact is, you disappointme, Andre. You seem to have forgotten what we went for. I have anappointment here with M. Le Marquis. He desires to hear me further inthe matter. Up there at Gavrillac I could accomplish nothing. The timewas ill-chosen as it happened. But I have hopes of M. Le Marquis. "

"Hopes of what?"

"That he will make what reparation lies in his power. Provide for thewidow and the orphans. Why else should he desire to hear me further?"

"Unusual condescension, " said Andre-Louis, and quoted "Timeo Danaos etdona ferentes. "

"Why?" asked Philippe. 

"Let us go and discover--unless you consider that I shall be in the way. "

Into a room on the right, rendered private to M. Le Marquis for so longas he should elect to honour it, the young men were ushered by the host. A fire of logs was burning brightly at the room's far end, and bythis sat now M. De La Tour d'Azyr and his cousin, the Chevalier deChabrillane. Both rose as M. De Vilmorin came in. Andre-Louis following, paused to close the door. 

"You oblige me by your prompt courtesy, M. De Vilmorin, " said theMarquis, but in a tone so cold as to belie the politeness of his words. "A chair, I beg. Ah, Moreau?" The note was frigidly interrogative. "Heaccompanies you, monsieur?" he asked. 

"If you please, M. Le Marquis. "

"Why not? Find yourself a seat, Moreau. " He spoke over his shoulder asto a lackey. 

"It is good of you, monsieur, " said Philippe, "to have offered me thisopportunity of continuing the subject that took me so fruitlessly, as ithappens, to Gavrillac. "

The Marquis crossed his legs, and held one of his fine hands to theblaze. He replied, without troubling to turn to the young man, who wasslightly behind him. 

"The goodness of my request we will leave out of question for themoment, " said he, darkly, and M. De Chabrillane laughed. Andre-Louisthought him easily moved to mirth, and almost envied him the faculty. 

"But I am grateful, " Philippe insisted, "that you should condescend tohear me plead their cause. "

The Marquis stared at him over his shoulder. "Whose cause?" quoth he. 

"Why, the cause of the widow and orphans of this unfortunate Mabey. "

The Marquis looked from Vilmorin to the Chevalier, and again theChevalier laughed, slapping his leg this time. 

"I think, " said M. De La Tour d'Azyr, slowly, "that we are atcross-purposes. I asked you to come here because the Chateau deGavrillac was hardly a suitable place in which to carry our discussionfurther, and because I hesitated to incommode you by suggesting that youshould come all the way to Azyr. But my object is connected with certainexpressions that you let fall up there. It is on the subject of thoseexpressions, monsieur, that I would hear you further--if you will honourme. "

Andre-Louis began to apprehend that there was something sinister in theair. He was a man of quick intuitions, quicker far than those of M. DeVilmorin, who evinced no more than a mild surprise. 

"I am at a loss, monsieur, " said he. "To what expressions does monsieurallude?"

"It seems, monsieur, that I must refresh your memory. " The Marquiscrossed his legs, and swung sideways on his chair, so that at last hedirectly faced M. De Vilmorin. "You spoke, monsieur--and however mistakenyou may have been, you spoke very eloquently, too eloquently almost, itseemed to me--of the infamy of such a deed as the act of summary justiceupon this thieving fellow Mabey, or whatever his name may be. Infamy wasthe precise word you used. You did not retract that word when I had thehonour to inform you that it was by my orders that my gamekeeper Benetproceeded as he did. "

"If, " said M. De Vilmorin, "the deed was infamous, its infamy is notmodified by the rank, however exalted, of the person responsible. Ratheris it aggravated. "

"Ah!" said M. Le Marquis, and drew a gold snuffbox from his pocket. "Yousay, 'if the deed was infamous, ' monsieur. Am I to understand that youare no longer as convinced as you appeared to be of its infamy?"

M. De Vilmorin's fine face wore a look of perplexity. He did notunderstand the drift of this. 

"It occurs to me, M. Le Marquis, in view of your readiness to assumeresponsibility, that you must believe justification for the deed whichis not apparent to myself. "

"That is better. That is distinctly better. " The Marquis took snuffdelicately, dusting the fragments from the fine lace at his throat. "Yourealize that with an imperfect understanding of these matters, not beingyourself a landowner, you may have rushed to unjustifiable conclusions. That is indeed the case. May it be a warning to you, monsieur. WhenI tell you that for months past I have been annoyed by similardepredations, you will perhaps understand that it had become necessaryto employ a deterrent sufficiently strong to put an end to them. Nowthat the risk is known, I do not think there will be any more prowlingin my coverts. And there is more in it than that, M. De Vilmorin. It isnot the poaching that annoys me so much as the contempt for my absoluteand inviolable rights. There is, monsieur, as you cannot fail to haveobserved, an evil spirit of insubordination in the air, and there isone only way in which to meet it. To tolerate it, in however slighta degree, to show leniency, however leniently disposed, would entailhaving recourse to still harsher measures to-morrow. You understand me, I am sure, and you will also, I am sure, appreciate the condescensionof what amounts to an explanation from me where I cannot admit that anyexplanations were due. If anything in what I have said is still obscureto you, I refer you to the game laws, which your lawyer friend therewill expound for you at need. "

With that the gentleman swung round again to face the fire. It appearedto convey the intimation that the interview was at an end. And yet thiswas not by any means the intimation that it conveyed to the watchful, puzzled, vaguely uneasy Andre-Louis. It was, thought he, a very curious, a very suspicious oration. It affected to explain, with a politeness ofterms and a calculated insolence of tone; whilst in fact it could onlyserve to stimulate and goad a man of M. De Vilmorin's opinions. And thatis precisely what it did. He rose. 

"Are there in the world no laws but game laws?" he demanded, angrily. "Have you never by any chance heard of the laws of humanity?"

The Marquis sighed wearily. "What have I to do with the laws ofhumanity?" he wondered. 

M. De Vilmorin looked at him a moment in speechless amazement. 

"Nothing, M. Le Marquis. That is--alas!--too obvious. I hope you willremember it in the hour when you may wish to appeal to those laws whichyou now deride. "

M. De La Tour d'Azyr threw back his head sharply, his high-bred faceimperious. 

"Now what precisely shall that mean? It is not the first time to-daythat you have made use of dark sayings that I could almost believe toveil the presumption of a threat. "

"Not a threat, M. Le Marquis--a warning. A warning that such deeds asthese against God's creatures... Oh, you may sneer, monsieur, but theyare God's creatures, even as you or I--neither more nor less, deeplythough the reflection may wound your pride, In His eyes... "

"Of your charity, spare me a sermon, M. L'abbe!"

"You mock, monsieur. You laugh. Will you laugh, I wonder, when Godpresents His reckoning to you for the blood and plunder with which yourhands are full?"

"Monsieur!" The word, sharp as the crack of a whip, was from M. De Chabrillane, who bounded to his feet. But instantly the Marquisrepressed him. 

"Sit down, Chevalier. You are interrupting M. L'abbe, and I should liketo hear him further. He interests me profoundly. "

In the background Andre-Louis, too, had risen, brought to his feet byalarm, by the evil that he saw written on the handsome face of M. De LaTour d'Azyr. He approached, and touched his friend upon the arm. 

"Better be going, Philippe, " said he. 

But M. De Vilmorin, caught in the relentless grip of passions longrepressed, was being hurried by them recklessly along. 

"Oh, monsieur, " said he, "consider what you are and what you will be. Consider how you and your kind live by abuses, and consider the harvestthat abuses must ultimately bring. "

"Revolutionist!" said M. Le Marquis, contemptuously. "You have theeffrontery to stand before my face and offer me this stinking cant ofyour modern so-called intellectuals!"

"Is it cant, monsieur? Do you think--do you believe in your soul--thatit is cant? Is it cant that the feudal grip is on all things that live, crushing them like grapes in the press, to its own profit? Does it notexercise its rights upon the waters of the river, the fire that bakesthe poor man's bread of grass and barley, on the wind that turns themill? The peasant cannot take a step upon the road, cross a crazy bridgeover a river, buy an ell of cloth in the village market, without meetingfeudal rapacity, without being taxed in feudal dues. Is not that enough, M. Le Marquis? Must you also demand his wretched life in payment for theleast infringement of your sacred privileges, careless of what widowsor orphans you dedicate to woe? Will naught content you but that yourshadow must lie like a curse upon the land? And do you think in yourpride that France, this Job among the nations, will suffer it forever?"

He paused as if for a reply. But none came. The Marquis considered him, strangely silent, a half smile of disdain at the corners of his lips, anominous hardness in his eyes. 

Again Andre-Louis tugged at his friend's sleeve. 

"Philippe. "

Philippe shook him off, and plunged on, fanatically. 

"Do you see nothing of the gathering clouds that herald the coming ofthe storm? You imagine, perhaps, that these States General summonedby M. Necker, and promised for next year, are to do nothing but devisefresh means of extortion to liquidate the bankruptcy of the State?You delude yourselves, as you shall find. The Third Estate, which youdespise, will prove itself the preponderating force, and it will finda way to make an end of this canker of privilege that is devouring thevitals of this unfortunate country. "

M. Le Marquis shifted in his chair, and spoke at last. 

"You have, monsieur, " said he, "a very dangerous gift of eloquence. Andit is of yourself rather than of your subject. For after all, whatdo you offer me? A rechauffe of the dishes served to out-at-elbowenthusiasts in the provincial literary chambers, compounded of theeffusions of your Voltaires and Jean-Jacques and such dirty-fingeredscribblers. You have not among all your philosophers one with the wit tounderstand that we are an order consecrated by antiquity, that for ourrights and privileges we have behind us the authority of centuries. "

"Humanity, monsieur, " Philippe replied, "is more ancient than nobility. Human rights are contemporary with man. "

The Marquis laughed and shrugged. 

"That is the answer I might have expected. It has the right note of cantthat distinguishes the philosophers. "

And then M. De Chabrillane spoke. 

"You go a long way round, " he criticized his cousin, on a note ofimpatience. 

"But I am getting there, " he was answered. "I desired to make quitecertain first. "

"Faith, you should have no doubt by now. "

"I have none. " The Marquis rose, and turned again to M. De Vilmorin, whohad understood nothing of that brief exchange. "M. L'abbe, " said he oncemore, "you have a very dangerous gift of eloquence. I can conceive ofmen being swayed by it. Had you been born a gentleman, you would not soeasily have acquired these false views that you express. "

M. De Vilmorin stared blankly, uncomprehending. 

"Had I been born a gentleman, do you say?" quoth he, in a slow, bewildered voice. "But I was born a gentleman. My race is as old, myblood as good as yours, monsieur. "

From M. Le Marquis there was a slight play of eyebrows, a vague, indulgent smile. His dark, liquid eyes looked squarely into the face ofM. De Vilmorin. 

"You have been deceived in that, I fear. "

"Deceived?"

"Your sentiments betray the indiscretion of which madame your mothermust have been guilty. "

The brutally affronting words were sped beyond recall, and the lips thathad uttered them, coldly, as if they had been the merest commonplace, remained calm and faintly sneering. 

A dead silence followed. Andre-Louis' wits were numbed. He stood aghast, all thought suspended in him, what time M. De Vilmorin's eyes continuedfixed upon M. De La Tour d'Azyr's, as if searching there for a meaningthat eluded him. Quite suddenly he understood the vile affront. Theblood leapt to his face, fire blazed in his gentle eyes. A convulsivequiver shook him. Then, with an inarticulate cry, he leaned forward, andwith his open hand struck M. Le Marquis full and hard upon his sneeringface. 

In a flash M. De Chabrillane was on his feet, between the two men. 

Too late Andre-Louis had seen the trap. La Tour d'Azyr's words were butas a move in a game of chess, calculated to exasperate his opponent intosome such counter-move as this--a counter-move that left him entirely atthe other's mercy. 

M. Le Marquis looked on, very white save where M. De Vilmorin'sfinger-prints began slowly to colour his face; but he said nothing more. Instead, it was M. De Chabrillane who now did the talking, taking up hispreconcerted part in this vile game. 

"You realize, monsieur, what you have done, " said he, coldly, toPhilippe. "And you realize, of course, what must inevitably follow. "

M. De Vilmorin had realized nothing. The poor young man had acted uponimpulse, upon the instinct of decency and honour, never counting theconsequences. But he realized them now at the sinister invitation of M. De Chabrillane, and if he desired to avoid these consequences, it wasout of respect for his priestly vocation, which strictly forbade suchadjustments of disputes as M. De Chabrillane was clearly thrusting uponhim. 

He drew back. "Let one affront wipe out the other, " said he, in a dullvoice. "The balance is still in M. Le Marquis's favour. Let that contenthim. "

"Impossible. " The Chevalier's lips came together tightly. Thereafter hewas suavity itself, but very firm. "A blow has been struck, monsieur. Ithink I am correct in saying that such a thing has never happened beforeto M. Le Marquis in all his life. If you felt yourself affronted, youhad but to ask the satisfaction due from one gentleman to another. Youraction would seem to confirm the assumption that you found sooffensive. But it does not on that account render you immune from theconsequences. "

It was, you see, M. De Chabrillane's part to heap coals upon this fire, to make quite sure that their victim should not escape them. 

"I desire no immunity, " flashed back the young seminarist, stung bythis fresh goad. After all, he was nobly born, and the traditions of hisclass were strong upon him--stronger far than the seminarist schooling inhumility. He owed it to himself, to his honour, to be killed rather thanavoid the consequences of the thing he had done. 

"But he does not wear a sword, messieurs!" cried Andre Louis, aghast. 

"That is easily amended. He may have the loan of mine. "

"I mean, messieurs, " Andre-Louis insisted, between fear for his friendand indignation, "that it is not his habit to wear a sword, that he hasnever worn one, that he is untutored in its uses. He is a seminarist--apostulant for holy orders, already half a priest, and so forbidden fromsuch an engagement as you propose. "

"All that he should have remembered before he struck a blow, " said M. DeChabrillane, politely. 

"The blow was deliberately provoked, " raged Andre-Louis. Then herecovered himself, though the other's haughty stare had no part inthat recovery. "O my God, I talk in vain! How is one to argue against apurpose formed! Come away, Philippe. Don't you see the trap... "

M. De Vilmorin cut him short, and flung him off. "Be quiet, Andre. M. LeMarquis is entirely in the right. "

"M. Le Marquis is in the right?" Andre-Louis let his arms fallhelplessly. This man he loved above all other living men was caught inthe snare of the world's insanity. He was baring his breast to the knifefor the sake of a vague, distorted sense of the honour due to himself. It was not that he did not see the trap. It was that his honourcompelled him to disdain consideration of it. To Andre-Louis in thatmoment he seemed a singularly tragic figure. Noble, perhaps, but verypitiful. 

CHAPTER IV. THE HERITAGE

It was M. De Vilmorin's desire that the matter should be settled outof hand. In this he was at once objective and subjective. A prey toemotions sadly at conflict with his priestly vocation, he was aboveall in haste to have done, so that he might resume a frame of mind moreproper to it. Also he feared himself a little; by which I mean that hishonour feared his nature. The circumstances of his education, and thegoal that for some years now he had kept in view, had robbed him of muchof that spirited brutality that is the birthright of the male. He hadgrown timid and gentle as a woman. Aware of it, he feared that once theheat of his passion was spent he might betray a dishonouring weakness, in the ordeal. 

M. Le Marquis, on his side, was no less eager for an immediatesettlement; and since they had M. De Chabrillane to act for his cousin, and Andre-Louis to serve as witness for M. De Vilmorin, there wasnothing to delay them. 

And so, within a few minutes, all arrangements were concluded, and youbehold that sinisterly intentioned little group of four assembled inthe afternoon sunshine on the bowling-green behind the inn. They wereentirely private, screened more or less from the windows of the house bya ramage of trees, which, if leafless now, was at least dense enough toprovide an effective lattice. 

There were no formalities over measurements of blades or selectionof ground. M. Le Marquis removed his sword-belt and scabbard, butdeclined--not considering it worth while for the sake of so negligible anopponent--to divest himself either of his shoes or his coat. Tall, lithe, and athletic, he stood to face the no less tall, but very delicate andfrail, M. De Vilmorin. The latter also disdained to make any of theusual preparations. Since he recognized that it could avail him nothingto strip, he came on guard fully dressed, two hectic spots above thecheek-bones burning on his otherwise grey face. 

M. De Chabrillane, leaning upon a cane--for he had relinquished his swordto M. De Vilmorin--looked on with quiet interest. Facing him on theother side of the combatants stood Andre-Louis, the palest of the four, staring from fevered eyes, twisting and untwisting clammy hands. 

His every instinct was to fling himself between the antagonists, toprotest against and frustrate this meeting. That sane impulse wascurbed, however, by the consciousness of its futility. To calm him, heclung to the conviction that the issue could not really be very serious. If the obligations of Philippe's honour compelled him to cross swordswith the man he had struck, M. De La Tour d'Azyr's birth compelled himno less to do no serious hurt to the unfledged lad he had so grievouslyprovoked. M. Le Marquis, after all, was a man of honour. He could intendno more than to administer a lesson; sharp, perhaps, but one by whichhis opponent must live to profit. Andre-Louis clung obstinately to thatfor comfort. 

Steel beat on steel, and the men engaged. The Marquis presented to hisopponent the narrow edge of his upright body, his knees slightly flexedand converted into living springs, whilst M. De Vilmorin stood squarely, a full target, his knees wooden. Honour and the spirit of fair playalike cried out against such a match. 

The encounter was very short, of course. In youth, Philippe had receivedthe tutoring in sword-play that was given to every boy born into hisstation of life. And so he knew at least the rudiments of what wasnow expected of him. But what could rudiments avail him here? Threedisengages completed the exchanges, and then without any haste theMarquis slid his right foot along the moist turf, his long, gracefulbody extending itself in a lunge that went under M. De Vilmorin's clumsyguard, and with the utmost deliberation he drove his blade through theyoung man's vitals. 

Andre-Louis sprang forward just in time to catch his friend's body underthe armpits as it sank. Then, his own legs bending beneath the weight ofit, he went down with his burden until he was kneeling on the damp turf. Philippe's limp head lay against Andre-Louis' left shoulder; Philippe'srelaxed arms trailed at his sides; the blood welled and bubbled from theghastly wound to saturate the poor lad's garments. 

With white face and twitching lips, Andre-Louis looked up at M. De LaTour d'Azyr, who stood surveying his work with a countenance of gravebut remorseless interest. 

"You have killed him!" cried Andre-Louis. 

"Of course. "

The Marquis ran a lace handkerchief along his blade to wipe it. As helet the dainty fabric fall, he explained himself. "He had, as I toldhim, a too dangerous gift of eloquence. "

And he turned away, leaving completest understanding with Andre-Louis. Still supporting the limp, draining body, the young man called to him. 

"Come back, you cowardly murderer, and make yourself quite safe bykilling me too!"

The Marquis half turned, his face dark with anger. Then M. DeChabrillane set a restraining hand upon his arm. Although a partythroughout to the deed, the Chevalier was a little appalled now that itwas done. He had not the high stomach of M. De La Tour d'Azyr, and hewas a good deal younger. 

"Come away, " he said. "The lad is raving. They were friends. "

"You heard what he said?" quoth the Marquis. 

"Nor can he, or you, or any man deny it, " flung back Andre-Louis. "Yourself, monsieur, you made confession when you gave me now the reasonwhy you killed him. You did it because you feared him. "

"If that were true--what, then?" asked the great gentleman. 

"Do you ask? Do you understand of life and humanity nothing but how towear a coat and dress your hair--oh, yes, and to handle weapons againstboys and priests? Have you no mind to think, no soul into which you canturn its vision? Must you be told that it is a coward's part to kill thething he fears, and doubly a coward's part to kill in this way? Had youstabbed him in the back with a knife, you would have shown the courageof your vileness. It would have been a vileness undisguised. But youfeared the consequences of that, powerful as you are; and so you shelteryour cowardice under the pretext of a duel. "

The Marquis shook off his cousin's hand, and took a step forward, holding now his sword like a whip. But again the Chevalier caught andheld him. 

"No, no, Gervais! Let be, in God's name!"

"Let him come, monsieur, " raved Andre-Louis, his voice thick andconcentrated. "Let him complete his coward's work on me, and thus makehimself safe from a coward's wages. "

M. De Chabrillane let his cousin go. He came white to the lips, his eyesglaring at the lad who so recklessly insulted him. And then he checked. It may be that he remembered suddenly the relationship in which thisyoung man was popularly believed to stand to the Seigneur de Gavrillac, and the well-known affection in which the Seigneur held him. And so hemay have realized that if he pushed this matter further, he might findhimself upon the horns of a dilemma. He would be confronted with thealternatives of shedding more blood, and so embroiling himself with theLord of Gavrillac at a time when that gentleman's friendship was of thefirst importance to him, or else of withdrawing with such hurt to hisdignity as must impair his authority in the countryside hereafter. 

Be it so or otherwise, the fact remains that he stopped short; then, with an incoherent ejaculation, between anger and contempt, he tossedhis arms, turned on his heel and strode off quickly with his cousin. 

When the landlord and his people came, they found Andre-Louis, his armsabout the body of his dead friend, murmuring passionately into the deafear that rested almost against his lips:

"Philippe! Speak to me, Philippe! Philippe... Don't you hear me? O Godof Heaven! Philippe!"

At a glance they saw that here neither priest nor doctor could avail. The cheek that lay against Andre-Louis's was leaden-hued, the half-openeyes were glazed, and there was a little froth of blood upon thevacuously parted lips. 

Half blinded by tears Andre-Louis stumbled after them when they bore thebody into the inn. Upstairs in the little room to which they conveyedit, he knelt by the bed, and holding the dead man's hand in both hisown, he swore to him out of his impotent rage that M. De La Tour d'Azyrshould pay a bitter price for this. 

"It was your eloquence he feared, Philippe, " he said. "Then if I canget no justice for this deed, at least it shall be fruitless to him. Thething he feared in you, he shall fear in me. He feared that men might beswayed by your eloquence to the undoing of such things as himself. Menshall be swayed by it still. For your eloquence and your arguments shallbe my heritage from you. I will make them my own. It matters nothingthat I do not believe in your gospel of freedom. I know it--every word ofit; that is all that matters to our purpose, yours and mine. If all elsefails, your thoughts shall find expression in my living tongue. Thusat least we shall have frustrated his vile aim to still the voice hefeared. It shall profit him nothing to have your blood upon his soul. That voice in you would never half so relentlessly have hounded him andhis as it shall in me--if all else fails. "

It was an exulting thought. It calmed him; it soothed his grief, and hebegan very softly to pray. And then his heart trembled as he consideredthat Philippe, a man of peace, almost a priest, an apostle ofChristianity, had gone to his Maker with the sin of anger on his soul. It was horrible. Yet God would see the righteousness of that anger. Andin no case--be man's interpretation of Divinity what it might--could thatone sin outweigh the loving good that Philippe had ever practised, thenoble purity of his great heart. God after all, reflected Andre-Louis, was not a grand-seigneur. 

CHAPTER V. THE LORD OF GAVRILLAC

For the second time that day Andre-Louis set out for the chateau, walking briskly, and heeding not at all the curious eyes that followedhim through the village, and the whisperings that marked his passagethrough the people, all agog by now with that day's event in which hehad been an actor. 

He was ushered by Benoit, the elderly body-servant, rathergrandiloquently called the seneschal, into the ground-floor room knowntraditionally as the library. It still contained several shelves ofneglected volumes, from which it derived its title, but implementsof the chase--fowling-pieces, powder-horns, hunting-bags, sheath-knives--obtruded far more prominently than those of study. Thefurniture was massive, of oak richly carved, and belonging to anotherage. Great massive oak beams crossed the rather lofty whitewashedceiling. 

Here the squat Seigneur de Gavrillac was restlessly pacing whenAndre-Louis was introduced. He was already informed, as he announced atonce, of what had taken place at the Breton arme. M. De Chabrillanehad just left him, and he confessed himself deeply grieved and deeplyperplexed. 

"The pity of it!" he said. "The pity of it!" He bowed his enormous head. "So estimable a young man, and so full of promise. Ah, this La Tourd'Azyr is a hard man, and he feels very strongly in these matters. He may be right. I don't know. I have never killed a man for holdingdifferent views from mine. In fact, I have never killed a man at all. It isn't in my nature. I shouldn't sleep of nights if I did. But men aredifferently made. "

"The question, monsieur my godfather, " said Andre-Louis, "is what is tobe done. " He was quite calm and self-possessed, but very white. 

M. De Kercadiou stared at him blankly out of his pale eyes. 

"Why, what the devil is there to do? From what I am told, Vilmorin wentso far as to strike M. Le Marquis. "

"Under the very grossest provocation. "

"Which he himself provoked by his revolutionary language. The poorlad's head was full of this encyclopaedist trash. It comes of too muchreading. I have never set much store by books, Andre; and I have neverknown anything but trouble to come out of learning. It unsettles a man. It complicates his views of life, destroys the simplicity which makesfor peace of mind and happiness. Let this miserable affair be a warningto you, Andre. You are, yourself, too prone to these new-fashionedspeculations upon a different constitution of the social order. Yousee what comes of it. A fine, estimable young man, the only prop ofhis widowed mother too, forgets himself, his position, his duty to thatmother--everything; and goes and gets himself killed like this. It isinfernally sad. On my soul it is sad. " He produced a handkerchief, andblew his nose with vehemence. 

Andre-Louis felt a tightening of his heart, a lessening of the hopes, never too sanguine, which he had founded upon his godfather. 

"Your criticisms, " he said, "are all for the conduct of the dead, andnone for that of the murderer. It does not seem possible that you shouldbe in sympathy with such a crime. "

"Crime?" shrilled M. De Kercadiou. "My God, boy, you are speaking of M. De La Tour d'Azyr. "

"I am, and of the abominable murder he has committed... "

"Stop!" M. De Kercadiou was very emphatic. "I cannot permit that youapply such terms to him. I cannot permit it. M. Le Marquis is my friend, and is likely very soon to stand in a still closer relationship. "

"Notwithstanding this?" asked Andre-Louis. 

M. De Kercadiou was frankly impatient. 

"Why, what has this to do with it? I may deplore it. But I have noright to condemn it. It is a common way of adjusting differences betweengentlemen. "

"You really believe that?"

"What the devil do you imply, Andre? Should I say a thing that I don'tbelieve? You begin to make me angry. "

"'Thou shalt not kill, ' is the King's law as well as God's. "

"You are determined to quarrel with me, I think. It was a duel... "

Andre-Louis interrupted him. "It is no more a duel than if it had beenfought with pistols of which only M. Le Marquis's was loaded. He invitedPhilippe to discuss the matter further, with the deliberate intent offorcing a quarrel upon him and killing him. Be patient with me, monsieurmy god-father. I am not telling you of what I imagine but what M. LeMarquis himself admitted to me. "

Dominated a little by the young man's earnestness, M. De Kercadiou'spale eyes fell away. He turned with a shrug, and sauntered over to thewindow. 

"It would need a court of honour to decide such an issue. And we have nocourts of honour, " he said. 

"But we have courts of justice. "

With returning testiness the seigneur swung round to face him again. "And what court of justice, do you think, would listen to such a plea asyou appear to have in mind?"

"There is the court of the King's Lieutenant at Rennes. "

"And do you think the King's Lieutenant would listen to you?"

"Not to me, perhaps, Monsieur. But if you were to bring the plaint... "

"I bring the plaint?" M. De Kercadiou's pale eyes were wide with horrorof the suggestion. 

"The thing happened here on your domain. "

"I bring a plaint against M. De La Tour d'Azyr! You are out of yoursenses, I think. Oh, you are mad; as mad as that poor friend of yourswho has come to this end through meddling in what did not concern him. The language he used here to M. Le Marquis on the score of Mabey wasof the most offensive. Perhaps you didn't know that. It does not at allsurprise me that the Marquis should have desired satisfaction. "

"I see, " said Andre-Louis, on a note of hopelessness. 

"You see? What the devil do you see?"

"That I shall have to depend upon myself alone. "

"And what the devil do you propose to do, if you please?"

"I shall go to Rennes, and lay the facts before the King's Lieutenant. "

"He'll be too busy to see you. " And M. De Kercadiou's mind swung atrifle inconsequently, as weak minds will. "There is trouble enough inRennes already on the score of these crazy States General, with whichthe wonderful M. Necker is to repair the finances of the kingdom. Asif a peddling Swiss bank-clerk, who is also a damned Protestant, couldsucceed where such men as Calonne and Brienne have failed. "

"Good-afternoon, monsieur my godfather, " said Andre-Louis. 

"Where are you going?" was the querulous demand. 

"Home at present. To Rennes in the morning. "

"Wait, boy, wait!" The squat little man rolled forward, affectionateconcern on his great ugly face, and he set one of his podgy hands onhis godson's shoulder. "Now listen to me, Andre, " he reasoned. "This issheer knight-errantry--moonshine, lunacy. You'll come to no good by it ifyou persist. You've read 'Don Quixote, ' and what happened to him whenhe went tilting against windmills. It's what will happen to you, neithermore nor less. Leave things as they are, my boy. I wouldn't have amischief happen to you. "

Andre-Louis looked at him, smiling wanly. 

"I swore an oath to-day which it would damn my soul to break. "

"You mean that you'll go in spite of anything that I may say?" Impetuousas he was inconsequent, M. De Kercadiou was bristling again. "Very well, then, go... Go to the devil!"

"I will begin with the King's Lieutenant. "

"And if you get into the trouble you are seeking, don't come whimperingto me for assistance, " the seigneur stormed. He was very angry now. "Since you choose to disobey me, you can break your empty head againstthe windmill, and be damned to you. "

Andre-Louis bowed with a touch of irony, and reached the door. 

"If the windmill should prove too formidable, " said he, from thethreshold, "I may see what can be done with the wind. Good-bye, monsieurmy godfather. "

He was gone, and M. De Kercadiou was alone, purple in the face, puzzlingout that last cryptic utterance, and not at all happy in his mind, either on the score of his godson or of M. De La Tour d'Azyr. He wasdisposed to be angry with them both. He found these headstrong, wilfulmen who relentlessly followed their own impulses very disturbing andirritating. Himself he loved his ease, and to be at peace with hisneighbours; and that seemed to him so obviously the supreme good of lifethat he was disposed to brand them as fools who troubled to seek otherthings. 

CHAPTER VI. THE WINDMILL

There was between Nantes and Rennes an established service of threestage-coaches weekly in each direction, which for a sum of twenty-fourlivres--roughly, the equivalent of an English guinea--would carry you theseventy and odd miles of the journey in some fourteen hours. Once a weekone of the diligences going in each direction would swerve asidefrom the highroad to call at Gavrillac, to bring and take letters, newspapers, and sometimes passengers. It was usually by this coachthat Andre-Louis came and went when the occasion offered. At present, however, he was too much in haste to lose a day awaiting the passing ofthat diligence. So it was on a horse hired from the Breton arme that heset out next morning; and an hour's brisk ride under a grey wintry sky, by a half-ruined road through ten miles of flat, uninteresting country, brought him to the city of Rennes. 

He rode across the main bridge over the Vilaine, and so into the upperand principal part of that important city of some thirty thousandsouls, most of whom, he opined from the seething, clamant crowds thateverywhere blocked his way, must on this day have taken to the streets. Clearly Philippe had not overstated the excitement prevailing there. 

He pushed on as best he could, and so came at last to the Place Royale, where he found the crowd to be most dense. From the plinth of theequestrian statue of Louis XV, a white-faced young man was excitedlyaddressing the multitude. His youth and dress proclaimed the student, and a group of his fellows, acting as a guard of honour to him, kept theimmediate precincts of the statue. 

Over the heads of the crowd Andre-Louis caught a few of the phrasesflung forth by that eager voice. 

"It was the promise of the King... It is the King's authority theyflout... They arrogate to themselves the whole sovereignty in Brittany. The King has dissolved them... These insolent nobles defying theirsovereign and the people... "

Had he not known already, from what Philippe had told him, of the eventswhich had brought the Third Estate to the point of active revolt, thosefew phrases would fully have informed him. This popular display oftemper was most opportune to his need, he thought. And in the hope thatit might serve his turn by disposing to reasonableness the mind of theKing's Lieutenant, he pushed on up the wide and well-paved Rue Royale, where the concourse of people began to diminish. He put up his hiredhorse at the Come de Cerf, and set out again, on foot, to the Palais deJustice. 

There was a brawling mob by the framework of poles and scaffoldingsabout the building cathedral, upon which work had been commenced a yearago. But he did not pause to ascertain the particular cause of thatgathering. He strode on, and thus came presently to the handsomeItalianate palace that was one of the few public edifices that hadsurvived the devastating fire of sixty years ago. 

He won through with difficulty to the great hall, known as the Salledes Pas Perdus, where he was left to cool his heels for a full half-hourafter he had found an usher so condescending as to inform the god whopresided over that shrine of Justice that a lawyer from Gavrillac humblybegged an audience on an affair of gravity. 

That the god condescended to see him at all was probably due to thegrave complexion of the hour. At long length he was escorted up thebroad stone staircase, and ushered into a spacious, meagrely furnishedanteroom, to make one of a waiting crowd of clients, mostly men. 

There he spent another half-hour, and employed the time in consideringexactly what he should say. This consideration made him realize theweakness of the case he proposed to set before a man whose views of lawand morality were coloured by his social rank. 

At last he was ushered through a narrow but very massive and richlydecorated door into a fine, well-lighted room furnished with enough giltand satin to have supplied the boudoir of a lady of fashion. 

It was a trivial setting for a King's Lieutenant, but about the King'sLieutenant there was--at least to ordinary eyes--nothing trivial. At thefar end of the chamber, to the right of one of the tall windows thatlooked out over the inner court, before a goat-legged writing-table withWatteau panels, heavily encrusted with ormolu, sat that exalted being. Above a scarlet coat with an order flaming on its breast, and a billowof lace in which diamonds sparkled like drops of water, sprouted themassive powdered head of M. De Lesdiguieres. It was thrown back to scowlupon this visitor with an expectant arrogance that made Andre-Louiswonder almost was a genuflexion awaited from him. 

Perceiving a lean, lantern-jawed young man, with straight, lank blackhair, in a caped riding-coat of brown cloth, and yellow buckskinbreeches, his knee-boots splashed with mud, the scowl upon that augustvisage deepened until it brought together the thick black eyebrows abovethe great hooked nose. 

"You announce yourself as a lawyer of Gavrillac with an importantcommunication, " he growled. It was a peremptory command to make thiscommunication without wasting the valuable time of a King's Lieutenant, of whose immense importance it conveyed something more than a hint. M. De Lesdiguieres accounted himself an imposing personality, and he hadevery reason to do so, for in his time he had seen many a poor devilscared out of all his senses by the thunder of his voice. 

He waited now to see the same thing happen to this youthful lawyer fromGavrillac. But he waited in vain. 

Andre-Louis found him ridiculous. He knew pretentiousness for themask of worthlessness and weakness. And here he beheld pretentiousnessincarnate. It was to be read in that arrogant poise of the head, thatscowling brow, the inflexion of that reverberating voice. Even moredifficult than it is for a man to be a hero to his valet--who haswitnessed the dispersal of the parts that make up the imposing whole--isit for a man to be a hero to the student of Man who has witnessed thesame in a different sense. 

Andre-Louis stood forward boldly--impudently, thought M. De Lesdiguieres. 

"You are His Majesty's Lieutenant here in Brittany, " he said--and italmost seemed to the august lord of life and death that this fellow hadthe incredible effrontery to address him as one man speaking to another. "You are the dispenser of the King's high justice in this province. "

Surprise spread on that handsome, sallow face under the heavily powderedwig. 

"Is your business concerned with this infernal insubordination of thecanaille?" he asked. 

"It is not, monsieur. "

The black eyebrows rose. "Then what the devil do you mean by intrudingupon me at a time when all my attention is being claimed by the obviousurgency of this disgraceful affair?"

"The affair that brings me is no less disgraceful and no less urgent. "

"It will have to wait!" thundered the great man in a passion, andtossing back a cloud of lace from his hand, he reached for the littlesilver bell upon his table. 

"A moment, monsieur!" Andre-Louis' tone was peremptory. M. DeLesdiguieres checked in sheer amazement at its impudence. "I can stateit very briefly... "

"Haven't I said already... "

"And when you have heard it, " Andre-Louis went on, relentlessly, interrupting the interruption, "you will agree with me as to itscharacter. "

M. De Lesdiguieres considered him very sternly. 

"What is your name?" he asked. 

"Andre-Louis Moreau. "

"Well, Andre-Louis Moreau, if you can state your plea briefly, I willhear you. But I warn you that I shall be very angry if you fail tojustify the impertinence of this insistence at so inopportune a moment. "

"You shall be the judge of that, monsieur, " said Andre-Louis, and heproceeded at once to state his case, beginning with the shooting ofMabey, and passing thence to the killing of M. De Vilmorin. But hewithheld until the end the name of the great gentleman against whom hedemanded justice, persuaded that did he introduce it earlier he wouldnot be allowed to proceed. 

He had a gift of oratory of whose full powers he was himself hardlyconscious yet, though destined very soon to become so. He told his storywell, without exaggeration, yet with a force of simple appeal that wasirresistible. Gradually the great man's face relaxed from its forbiddingseverity. Interest, warming almost to sympathy, came to be reflected onit. 

"And who, sir, is the man you charge with this?"

"The Marquis de La Tour d'Azyr. "

The effect of that formidable name was immediate. Dismayed anger, and anarrogance more utter than before, took the place of the sympathy he hadbeen betrayed into displaying. 

"Who?" he shouted, and without waiting for an answer, "Why, here'simpudence, " he stormed on, "to come before me with such a charge againsta gentleman of M. De La Tour d'Azyr's eminence! How dare you speak ofhim as a coward.... "

"I speak of him as a murderer, " the young man corrected. "And I demandjustice against him. "

"You demand it, do you? My God, what next?"

"That is for you to say, monsieur. "

It surprised the great gentleman into a more or less successful effortof self-control. 

"Let me warn you, " said he, acidly, "that it is not wise to makewild accusations against a nobleman. That, in itself, is a punishableoffence, as you may learn. Now listen to me. In this matter ofMabey--assuming your statement of it to be exact--the gamekeeper may haveexceeded his duty; but by so little that it is hardly worth comment. Consider, however, that in any case it is not a matter for the King'sLieutenant, or for any court but the seigneurial court of M. De La Tourd'Azyr himself. It is before the magistrates of his own appointing thatsuch a matter must be laid, since it is matter strictly concerning hisown seigneurial jurisdiction. As a lawyer you should not need to be toldso much. "

"As a lawyer, I am prepared to argue the point. But, as a lawyer I alsorealize that if that case were prosecuted, it could only end in theunjust punishment of a wretched gamekeeper, who did no more than carryout his orders, but who none the less would now be made a scapegoat, if scapegoat were necessary. I am not concerned to hang Benet on thegallows earned by M. De La Tour d'Azyr. "

M. De Lesdiguieres smote the table violently. "My God!" he cried out, toadd more quietly, on a note of menace, "You are singularly insolent, myman. "

"That is not my intention, sir, I assure you. I am a lawyer, pleading acase--the case of M. De Vilmorin. It is for his assassination that I havecome to beg the King's justice. "

"But you yourself have said that it was a duel!" cried the Lieutenant, between anger and bewilderment. 

"I have said that it was made to appear a duel. There is a distinction, as I shall show, if you will condescend to hear me out. "

"Take your own time, sir!" said the ironical M. De Lesdiguieres, whosetenure of office had never yet held anything that remotely resembledthis experience. 

Andre-Louis took him literally. "I thank you, sir, " he answered, solemnly, and submitted his argument. "It can be shown that M. DeVilmorin never practised fencing in all his life, and it is notoriousthat M. De La Tour d'Azyr is an exceptional swordsman. Is it a duel, monsieur, where one of the combatants alone is armed? For it amounts tothat on a comparison of their measures of respective skill. "

"There has scarcely been a duel fought on which the same trumperyargument might not be advanced. "

"But not always with equal justice. And in one case, at least, it wasadvanced successfully. "

"Successfully? When was that?"

"Ten years ago, in Dauphiny. I refer to the case of M. De Gesvres, a gentleman of that province, who forced a duel upon M. De la RocheJeannine, and killed him. M. De Jeannine was a member of a powerfulfamily, which exerted itself to obtain justice. It put forward justsuch arguments as now obtain against M. De La Tour d'Azyr. As you willremember, the judges held that the provocation had proceeded of intentfrom M. De Gesvres; they found him guilty of premeditated murder, and hewas hanged. "

M. De Lesdiguieres exploded yet again. "Death of my life!" he cried. "Have you the effrontery to suggest that M. De La Tour d'Azyr should behanged? Have you?"

"But why not, monsieur, if it is the law, and there is precedent for it, as I have shown you, and if it can be established that what I state isthe truth--as established it can be without difficulty?"

"Do you ask me, why not? Have you temerity to ask me that?"

"I have, monsieur. Can you answer me? If you cannot, monsieur, I shallunderstand that whilst it is possible for a powerful family like thatof La Roche Jeannine to set the law in motion, the law must remain inertfor the obscure and uninfluential, however brutally wronged by a greatnobleman. "

M. De Lesdiguieres perceived that in argument he would accomplishnothing against this impassive, resolute young man. The menace of himgrew more fierce. 

"I should advise you to take yourself off at once, and to be thankfulfor the opportunity to depart unscathed. "

"I am, then, to understand, monsieur, that there will be no inquiry intothis case? That nothing that I can say will move you?"

"You are to understand that if you are still there in two minutes itwill be very much the worse for you. " And M. De Lesdiguieres tinkled thesilver hand-bell upon his table. 

"I have informed you, monsieur, that a duel--so-called--has been fought, and a man killed. It seems that I must remind you, the administrator ofthe King's justice, that duels are against the law, and that it isyour duty to hold an inquiry. I come as the legal representative of thebereaved mother of M. De Vilmorin to demand of you the inquiry that isdue. "

The door behind Andre-Louis opened softly. M. De Lesdiguieres, pale withanger, contained himself with difficulty. 

"You seek to compel us, do you, you impudent rascal?" he growled. "Youthink the King's justice is to be driven headlong by the voice of anyimpudent roturier? I marvel at my own patience with you. But I give youa last warning, master lawyer; keep a closer guard over that insolenttongue of yours, or you will have cause very bitterly to regret itsglibness. " He waved a jewelled, contemptuous hand, and spoke to theusher standing behind Andre. "To the door!" he said, shortly. 

Andre-Louis hesitated a second. Then with a shrug he turned. This wasthe windmill, indeed, and he a poor knight of rueful countenance. Toattack it at closer quarters would mean being dashed to pieces. Yet onthe threshold he turned again. 

"M. De Lesdiguieres, " said he, "may I recite to you an interesting factin natural history? The tiger is a great lord in the jungle, and wasfor centuries the terror of lesser beasts, including the wolf. The wolf, himself a hunter, wearied of being hunted. He took to associatingwith other wolves, and then the wolves, driven to form packs forself-protection, discovered the power of the pack, and took to huntingthe tiger, with disastrous results to him. You should study Buffon, M. De Lesdiguieres. "

"I have studied a buffoon this morning, I think, " was the punning sneerwith which M. De Lesdiguieres replied. But that he conceived himselfwitty, it is probable he would not have condescended to reply at all. "Idon't understand you, " he added. 

"But you will, M. De Lesdiguieres. You will, " said Andre-Louis, and sodeparted. 

CHAPTER VII. THE WIND

He had broken his futile lance with the windmill--the image suggested byM. De Kercadiou persisted in his mind--and it was, he perceived, by sheergood fortune that he had escaped without hurt. There remained the winditself--the whirlwind. And the events in Rennes, reflex of the graverevents in Nantes, had set that wind blowing in his favour. 

He set out briskly to retrace his steps towards the Place Royale, wherethe gathering of the populace was greatest, where, as he judged, lay theheart and brain of this commotion that was exciting the city. 

But the commotion that he had left there was as nothing to the commotionwhich he found on his return. Then there had been a comparative hushto listen to the voice of a speaker who denounced the First and SecondEstates from the pedestal of the statue of Louis XV. Now the air wasvibrant with the voice of the multitude itself, raised in anger. Hereand there men were fighting with canes and fists; everywhere afierce excitement raged, and the gendarmes sent thither by the King'sLieutenant to restore and maintain order were so much helpless flotsamin that tempestuous human ocean. 

There were cries of "To the Palais! To the Palais! Down with theassassins! Down with the nobles! To the Palais!"

An artisan who stood shoulder to shoulder with him in the pressenlightened Andre-Louis on the score of the increased excitement. 

"They've shot him dead. His body is lying there where it fell at thefoot of the statue. And there was another student killed not an hour agoover there by the cathedral works. Pardi! If they can't prevail in oneway they'll prevail in another. " The man was fiercely emphatic. "They'llstop at nothing. If they can't overawe us, by God, they'll assassinateus. They are determined to conduct these States of Brittany in their ownway. No interests but their own shall be considered. "

Andre-Louis left him still talking, and clove himself a way through thathuman press. 

At the statue's base he came upon a little cluster of students about thebody of the murdered lad, all stricken with fear and helplessness. 

"You here, Moreau!" said a voice. 

He looked round to find himself confronted by a slight, swarthy manof little more than thirty, firm of mouth and impertinent of nose, who considered him with disapproval. It was Le Chapelier, a lawyerof Rennes, a prominent member of the Literary Chamber of that city, aforceful man, fertile in revolutionary ideas and of an exceptional giftof eloquence. 

"Ah, it is you, Chapelier! Why don't you speak to them? Why don't youtell them what to do? Up with you, man!" And he pointed to the plinth. 

Le Chapelier's dark, restless eyes searched the other's impassive facefor some trace of the irony he suspected. They were as wide asunderas the poles, these two, in their political views; and mistrusted asAndre-Louis was by all his colleagues of the Literary Chamber of Rennes, he was by none mistrusted so thoroughly as by this vigorous republican. Indeed, had Le Chapelier been able to prevail against the influence ofthe seminarist Vilmorin, Andre-Louis would long since have found himselfexcluded from that assembly of the intellectual youth of Rennes, whichhe exasperated by his eternal mockery of their ideals. 

So now Le Chapelier suspected mockery in that invitation, suspected iteven when he failed to find traces of it on Andre-Louis' face, for hehad learnt by experience that it was a face not often to be trusted foran indication of the real thoughts that moved behind it. 

"Your notions and mine on that score can hardly coincide, " said he. 

"Can there be two opinions?" quoth Andre-Louis. 

"There are usually two opinions whenever you and I are together, Moreau--more than ever now that you are the appointed delegate of anobleman. You see what your friends have done. No doubt you approvetheir methods. " He was coldly hostile. 

Andre-Louis looked at him without surprise. So invariably opposed toeach other in academic debates, how should Le Chapelier suspect hispresent intentions?

"If you won't tell them what is to be done, I will, " said he. 

"Nom de Dieu! If you want to invite a bullet from the other side, Ishall not hinder you. It may help to square the account. "

Scarcely were the words out than he repented them; for as if in answerto that challenge Andre-Louis sprang up on to the plinth. Alarmed now, for he could only suppose it to be Andre-Louis' intention to speakon behalf of Privilege, of which he was a publicly appointedrepresentative, Le Chapelier clutched him by the leg to pull him downagain. 

"Ah, that, no!" he was shouting. "Come down, you fool. Do you think wewill let you ruin everything by your clowning? Come down!"

Andre-Louis, maintaining his position by clutching one of the legs ofthe bronze horse, flung his voice like a bugle-note over the heads ofthat seething mob. 

"Citizens of Rennes, the motherland is in danger!"

The effect was electric. A stir ran, like a ripple over water, acrossthat froth of upturned human faces, and completest silence followed. In that great silence they looked at this slim young man, hatless, long wisps of his black hair fluttering in the breeze, his neckcloth indisorder, his face white, his eyes on fire. 

Andre-Louis felt a sudden surge of exaltation as he realized by instinctthat at one grip he had seized that crowd, and that he held it fast inthe spell of his cry and his audacity. 

Even Le Chapelier, though still clinging to his ankle, had ceased totug. The reformer, though unshaken in his assumption of Andre-Louis'intentions, was for a moment bewildered by the first note of his appeal. 

And then, slowly, impressively, in a voice that travelled clear to theends of the square, the young lawyer of Gavrillac began to speak. 

"Shuddering in horror of the vile deed here perpetrated, my voicedemands to be heard by you. You have seen murder done under youreyes--the murder of one who nobly, without any thought of self, gavevoice to the wrongs by which we are all oppressed. Fearing that voice, shunning the truth as foul things shun the light, our oppressors senttheir agents to silence him in death. "

Le Chapelier released at last his hold of Andre-Louis' ankle, staringup at him the while in sheer amazement. It seemed that the fellow was inearnest; serious for once; and for once on the right side. What had cometo him?

"Of assassins what shall you look for but assassination? I have atale to tell which will show that this is no new thing that you havewitnessed here to-day; it will reveal to you the forces with which youhave to deal. Yesterday... "

There was an interruption. A voice in the crowd, some twenty paces, perhaps, was raised to shout:

"Yet another of them!"

Immediately after the voice came a pistol-shot, and a bullet flatteneditself against the bronze figure just behind Andre-Louis. 

Instantly there was turmoil in the crowd, most intense about the spotwhence the shot had been fired. The assailant was one of a considerablegroup of the opposition, a group that found itself at once beset onevery side, and hard put to it to defend him. 

From the foot of the plinth rang the voice of the students making chorusto Le Chapelier, who was bidding Andre-Louis to seek shelter. 

"Come down! Come down at once! They'll murder you as they murdered LaRiviere. "

"Let them!" He flung wide his arms in a gesture supremely theatrical, and laughed. "I stand here at their mercy. Let them, if they will, addmine to the blood that will presently rise up to choke them. Let themassassinate me. It is a trade they understand. But until they do so, they shall not prevent me from speaking to you, from telling you whatis to be looked for in them. " And again he laughed, not merely inexaltation as they supposed who watched him from below, but also inamusement. And his amusement had two sources. One was to discover howglibly he uttered the phrases proper to whip up the emotions of a crowd:the other was in the remembrance of how the crafty Cardinal de Retz, forthe purpose of inflaming popular sympathy on his behalf, had been in thehabit of hiring fellows to fire upon his carriage. He was in just suchcase as that arch-politician. True, he had not hired the fellow to firethat pistol-shot; but he was none the less obliged to him, and ready toderive the fullest, advantage from the act. 

The group that sought to protect that man was battling on, seeking tohew a way out of that angry, heaving press. 

"Let them go!" Andre-Louis called down... "What matters one assassin moreor less? Let them go, and listen to me, my countrymen!"

And presently, when some measure of order was restored, he began histale. In simple language now, yet with a vehemence and directnessthat drove home every point, he tore their hearts with the story ofyesterday's happenings at Gavrillac. He drew tears from them withthe pathos of his picture of the bereaved widow Mabey and her threestarving, destitute children--"orphaned to avenge the death of apheasant"--and the bereaved mother of that M. De Vilmorin, a student ofRennes, known here to many of them, who had met his death in a nobleendeavour to champion the cause of an esurient member of their afflictedorder. 

"The Marquis de La Tour d'Azyr said of him that he had too dangerous agift of eloquence. It was to silence his brave voice that he killedhim. But he has failed of his object. For I, poor Philippe de Vilmorin'sfriend, have assumed the mantle of his apostleship, and I speak to youwith his voice to-day. "

It was a statement that helped Le Chapelier at last to understand, atleast in part, this bewildering change in Andre-Louis, which renderedhim faithless to the side that employed him. 

"I am not here, " continued Andre-Louis, "merely to demand at your handsvengeance upon Philippe de Vilmorin's murderers. I am here to tell youthe things he would to-day have told you had he lived. "

So far at least he was frank. But he did not add that they were thingshe did not himself believe, things that he accounted the cant by whichan ambitious bourgeoisie--speaking through the mouths of the lawyers, whowere its articulate part--sought to overthrow to its own advantage thepresent state of things. He left his audience in the natural belief thatthe views he expressed were the views he held. 

And now in a terrible voice, with an eloquence that amazed himself, he denounced the inertia of the royal justice where the great are theoffenders. It was with bitter sarcasm that he spoke of their King'sLieutenant, M. De Lesdiguieres. 

"Do you wonder, " he asked them, "that M. De Lesdiguieres shouldadminister the law so that it shall ever be favourable to our greatnobles? Would it be just, would it be reasonable that he shouldotherwise administer it?" He paused dramatically to let his sarcasm sinkin. It had the effect of reawakening Le Chapelier's doubts, and checkinghis dawning conviction in Andre-Louis' sincerity. Whither was he goingnow?

He was not left long in doubt. Proceeding, Andre-Louis spoke as heconceived that Philippe de Vilmorin would have spoken. He had so oftenargued with him, so often attended the discussions of the LiteraryChamber, that he had all the rant of the reformers--that was yet true insubstance--at his fingers' ends. 

"Consider, after all, the composition of this France of ours. A millionof its inhabitants are members of the privileged classes. They composeFrance. They are France. For surely you cannot suppose the remainderto be anything that matters. It cannot be pretended that twenty-fourmillion souls are of any account, that they can be representative ofthis great nation, or that they can exist for any purpose but that ofservitude to the million elect. "

Bitter laughter shook them now, as he desired it should. "Seeing theirprivileges in danger of invasion by these twenty-four millions--mostlycanailles; possibly created by God, it is true, but clearly so createdto be the slaves of Privilege--does it surprise you that the dispensingof royal justice should be placed in the stout hands of theseLesdiguieres, men without brains to think or hearts to be touched?Consider what it is that must be defended against the assault of usothers--canaille. Consider a few of these feudal rights that are indanger of being swept away should the Privileged yield even to thecommands of their sovereign; and admit the Third Estate to an equal votewith themselves. 

"What would become of the right of terrage on the land, of parciere onthe fruit-trees, of carpot on the vines? What of the corvees by whichthey command forced labour, of the ban de vendage, which gives them thefirst vintage, the banvin which enables them to control to their ownadvantage the sale of wine? What of their right of grinding the lastliard of taxation out of the people to maintain their own opulentestate; the cens, the lods-et-ventes, which absorb a fifth of the valueof the land, the blairee, which must be paid before herds can feed oncommunal lands, the pulverage to indemnify them for the dust raised ontheir roads by the herds that go to market, the sextelage on everythingoffered for sale in the public markets, the etalonnage, and all therest? What of their rights over men and animals for field labour, offerries over rivers, and of bridges over streams, of sinking wells, ofwarren, of dovecot, and of fire, which last yields them a tax onevery peasant hearth? What of their exclusive rights of fishing and ofhunting, the violation of which is ranked as almost a capital offence?

"And what of other rights, unspeakable, abominable, over the lives andbodies of their people, rights which, if rarely exercised, have neverbeen rescinded. To this day if a noble returning from the hunt were toslay two of his serfs to bathe and refresh his feet in their blood, hecould still claim in his sufficient defence that it was his absolutefeudal right to do so. 

"Rough-shod, these million Privileged ride over the souls and bodiesof twenty-four million contemptible canaille existing but for their ownpleasure. Woe betide him who so much as raises his voice in protestin the name of humanity against an excess of these already excessiveabuses. I have told you of one remorselessly slain in cold blood fordoing no more than that. Your own eyes have witnessed the assassinationof another here upon this plinth, of yet another over there by thecathedral works, and the attempt upon my own life. 

"Between them and the justice due to them in such cases stand theseLesdiguieres, these King's Lieutenants; not instruments of justice, butwalls erected for the shelter of Privilege and Abuse whenever it exceedsits grotesquely excessive rights. 

"Do you wonder that they will not yield an inch; that they will resistthe election of a Third Estate with the voting power to sweep all theseprivileges away, to compel the Privileged to submit themselves to a justequality in the eyes of the law with the meanest of the canaille theytrample underfoot, to provide that the moneys necessary to save thisstate from the bankruptcy into which they have all but plunged it shallbe raised by taxation to be borne by themselves in the same proportionas by others?

"Sooner than yield to so much they prefer to resist even the royalcommand. "

A phrase occurred to him used yesterday by Vilmorin, a phrase to whichhe had refused to attach importance when uttered then. He used it now. "In doing this they are striking at the very foundations of the throne. These fools do not perceive that if that throne falls over, it is theywho stand nearest to it who will be crushed. "

A terrific roar acclaimed that statement. Tense and quivering with theexcitement that was flowing through him, and from him out into thatgreat audience, he stood a moment smiling ironically. Then he wavedthem into silence, and saw by their ready obedience how completely hepossessed them. For in the voice with which he spoke each now recognizedthe voice of himself, giving at last expression to the thoughts that formonths and years had been inarticulately stirring in each simple mind. 

Presently he resumed, speaking more quietly, that ironic smile about thecorner of his mouth growing more marked:

"In taking my leave of M. De Lesdiguieres I gave him warning out of apage of natural history. I told him that when the wolves, roaming singlythrough the jungle, were weary of being hunted by the tiger, they bandedthemselves into packs, and went a-hunting the tiger in their turn. M. DeLesdiguieres contemptuously answered that he did not understand me. Butyour wits are better than his. You understand me, I think? Don't you?"

Again a great roar, mingled now with some approving laughter, was hisanswer. He had wrought them up to a pitch of dangerous passion, and theywere ripe for any violence to which he urged them. If he had failed withthe windmill, at least he was now master of the wind. 

"To the Palais!" they shouted, waving their hands, brandishing canes, and--here and there--even a sword. "To the Palais! Down with M. DeLesdiguieres! Death to the King's Lieutenant!"

He was master of the wind, indeed. His dangerous gift of oratory--agift nowhere more powerful than in France, since nowhere else are men'semotions so quick to respond to the appeal of eloquence--had given himthis mastery. At his bidding now the gale would sweep away thewindmill against which he had flung himself in vain. But that, as hestraightforwardly revealed it, was no part of his intent. 

"Ah, wait!" he bade them. "Is this miserable instrument of a corruptsystem worth the attention of your noble indignation?"

He hoped his words would be reported to M. De Lesdiguieres. He thoughtit would be good for the soul of M. De Lesdiguieres to hear theundiluted truth about himself for once. 

"It is the system itself you must attack and overthrow; not a mereinstrument--a miserable painted lath such as this. And precipitancy willspoil everything. Above all, my children, no violence!"

My children! Could his godfather have heard him!

"You have seen often already the result of premature violence elsewherein Brittany, and you have heard of it elsewhere in France. Violence onyour part will call for violence on theirs. They will welcome the chanceto assert their mastery by a firmer grip than heretofore. The militarywill be sent for. You will be faced by the bayonets of mercenaries. Donot provoke that, I implore you. Do not put it into their power, do notafford them the pretext they would welcome to crush you down into themud of your own blood. "

Out of the silence into which they had fallen anew broke now the cry of

"What else, then? What else?"

"I will tell you, " he answered them. "The wealth and strength ofBrittany lies in Nantes--a bourgeois city, one of the most prosperous inthis realm, rendered so by the energy of the bourgeoisie and the toil ofthe people. It was in Nantes that this movement had its beginning, andas a result of it the King issued his order dissolving the States as nowconstituted--an order which those who base their power on Privilege andAbuse do not hesitate to thwart. Let Nantes be informed of the precisesituation, and let nothing be done here until Nantes shall have given usthe lead. She has the power--which we in Rennes have not--to make her willprevail, as we have seen already. Let her exert that power once more, and until she does so do you keep the peace in Rennes. Thus shall youtriumph. Thus shall the outrages that are being perpetrated under youreyes be fully and finally avenged. "

As abruptly as he had leapt upon the plinth did he now leap down fromit. He had finished. He had said all--perhaps more than all--that couldhave been said by the dead friend with whose voice he spoke. But it wasnot their will that he should thus extinguish himself. The thunder oftheir acclamations rose deafeningly upon the air. He had played upontheir emotions--each in turn--as a skilful harpist plays upon the stringsof his instrument. And they were vibrant with the passions he hadaroused, and the high note of hope on which he had brought his symphonyto a close. 

A dozen students caught him as he leapt down, and swung him to theirshoulders, where again he came within view of all the acclaiming crowd. 

The delicate Le Chapelier pressed alongside of him with flushed face andshining eyes. 

"My lad, " he said to him, "you have kindled a fire to-day that willsweep the face of France in a blaze of liberty. " And then to thestudents he issued a sharp command. "To the Literary Chamber--at once. Wemust concert measures upon the instant, a delegate must be dispatchedto Nantes forthwith, to convey to our friends there the message of thepeople of Rennes. "

The crowd fell back, opening a lane through which the students borethe hero of the hour. Waving his hands to them, he called upon them todisperse to their homes, and await there in patience what must followvery soon. 

"You have endured for centuries with a fortitude that is a pattern tothe world, " he flattered them. "Endure a little longer yet. The end, myfriends, is well in sight at last. "

They carried him out of the square and up the Rue Royale to an oldhouse, one of the few old houses surviving in that city that had risenfrom its ashes, where in an upper chamber lighted by diamond-shapedpanes of yellow glass the Literary Chamber usually held its meetings. Thither in his wake the members of that chamber came hurrying, summonedby the messages that Le Chapelier had issued during their progress. 

Behind closed doors a flushed and excited group of some fifty men, themajority of whom were young, ardent, and afire with the illusion ofliberty, hailed Andre-Louis as the strayed sheep who had returned to thefold, and smothered him in congratulations and thanks. 

Then they settled down to deliberate upon immediate measures, whilst thedoors below were kept by a guard of honour that had improvised itselffrom the masses. And very necessary was this. For no sooner had theChamber assembled than the house was assailed by the gendarmerie of M. De Lesdiguieres, dispatched in haste to arrest the firebrand who wasinciting the people of Rennes to sedition. The force consisted of fiftymen. Five hundred would have been too few. The mob broke their carbines, broke some of their heads, and would indeed have torn them into pieceshad they not beaten a timely and well-advised retreat before a form ofhorseplay to which they were not at all accustomed. 

And whilst that was taking place in the street below, in the roomabovestairs the eloquent Le Chapelier was addressing his colleaguesof the Literary Chamber. Here, with no bullets to fear, and no oneto report his words to the authorities, Le Chapelier could permit hisoratory a full, unintimidated flow. And that considerable oratory was asdirect and brutal as the man himself was delicate and elegant. 

He praised the vigour and the greatness of the speech they had heardfrom their colleague Moreau. Above all he praised its wisdom. Moreau'swords had come as a surprise to them. Hitherto they had never knownhim as other than a bitter critic of their projects of reform andregeneration; and quite lately they had heard, not without misgivings, of his appointment as delegate for a nobleman in the States of Brittany. But they held the explanation of his conversion. The murder of theirdear colleague Vilmorin had produced this change. In that brutal deedMoreau had beheld at last in true proportions the workings of that evilspirit which they were vowed to exorcise from France. And to-day he hadproven himself the stoutest apostle among them of the new faith. He hadpointed out to them the only sane and useful course. The illustration hehad borrowed from natural history was most apt. Above all, let them packlike the wolves, and to ensure this uniformity of action in the peopleof all Brittany, let a delegate at once be sent to Nantes, which hadalready proved itself the real seat of Brittany's power. It but remainedto appoint that delegate, and Le Chapelier invited them to elect him. 

Andre-Louis, on a bench near the window, a prey now to some measure ofreaction, listened in bewilderment to that flood of eloquence. 

As the applause died down, he heard a voice exclaiming:

"I propose to you that we appoint our leader here, Le Chapelier, to bethat delegate. "

Le Chapelier reared his elegantly dressed head, which had been bowedin thought, and it was seen that his countenance was pale. Nervously hefingered a gold spy-glass. 

"My friends, " he said, slowly, "I am deeply sensible of the honourthat you do me. But in accepting it I should be usurping an honourthat rightly belongs elsewhere. Who could represent us better, who moredeserving to be our representative, to speak to our friends of Nanteswith the voice of Rennes, than the champion who once already to-day hasso incomparably given utterance to the voice of this great city? Conferthis honour of being your spokesman where it belongs--upon Andre-LouisMoreau. "

Rising in response to the storm of applause that greeted the proposal, Andre-Louis bowed and forthwith yielded. "Be it so, " he said, simply. "It is perhaps fitting that I should carry out what I have begun, thoughI too am of the opinion that Le Chapelier would have been a worthierrepresentative. I will set out to-night. "

"You will set out at once, my lad, " Le Chapelier informed him, and nowrevealed what an uncharitable mind might account the true source of hisgenerosity. "It is not safe after what has happened for you to linger anhour in Rennes. And you must go secretly. Let none of you allow it tobe known that he has gone. I would not have you come to harm over this, Andre-Louis. But you must see the risks you run, and if you are to bespared to help in this work of salvation of our afflicted motherland, you must use caution, move secretly, veil your identity even. Or elseM. De Lesdiguieres will have you laid by the heels, and it will begood-night for you. "

CHAPTER VIII. OMNES OMNIBUS

Andre-Louis rode forth from Rennes committed to a deeper adventure thanhe had dreamed of when he left the sleepy village of Gavrillac. Lyingthe night at a roadside inn, and setting out again early in the morning, he reached Nantes soon after noon of the following day. 

Through that long and lonely ride through the dull plains of Brittany, now at their dreariest in their winter garb, he had ample leisure inwhich to review his actions and his position. From one who had takenhitherto a purely academic and by no means friendly interest in the newphilosophies of social life, exercising his wits upon these new ideasmerely as a fencer exercises his eye and wrist with the foils, withoutever suffering himself to be deluded into supposing the issue a realone, he found himself suddenly converted into a revolutionary firebrand, committed to revolutionary action of the most desperate kind. Therepresentative and delegate of a nobleman in the States of Brittany, hefound himself simultaneously and incongruously the representative anddelegate of the whole Third Estate of Rennes. 

It is difficult to determine to what extent, in the heat of passion andswept along by the torrent of his own oratory, he might yesterday havesucceeded in deceiving himself. But it is at least certain that, lookingback in cold blood now, he had no single delusion on the score of whathe had done. Cynically he had presented to his audience one side only ofthe great question that he propounded. 

But since the established order of things in France was such as to makea rampart for M. De La Tour d'Azyr, affording him complete immunity forthis and any other crimes that it pleased him to commit, why, then theestablished order must take the consequences of its wrong-doing. Thereinhe perceived his clear justification. 

And so it was without misgivings that he came on his errand of seditioninto that beautiful city of Nantes, rendered by its spacious streets andsplendid port the rival in prosperity of Bordeaux and Marseilles. 

He found an inn on the Quai La Fosse, where he put up his horse, andwhere he dined in the embrasure of a window that looked out over thetree-bordered quay and the broad bosom of the Loire, on which argosiesof all nations rode at anchor. The sun had again broken through theclouds, and shed its pale wintry light over the yellow waters and thetall-masted shipping. 

Along the quays there was a stir of life as great as that to be seenon the quays of Paris. Foreign sailors in outlandish garments and ofharsh-sounding, outlandish speech, stalwart fishwives with baskets ofherrings on their heads, voluminous of petticoat above bare legs andbare feet, calling their wares shrilly and almost inarticulately, watermen in woollen caps and loose trousers rolled to the knees, peasants in goatskin coats, their wooden shoes clattering on theround kidney-stones, shipwrights and labourers from the dockyards, bellows-menders, rat-catchers, water-carriers, ink-sellers, and otheritinerant pedlars. And, sprinkled through this proletariat mass thatcame and went in constant movement, Andre-Louis beheld tradesmen insober garments, merchants in long, fur-lined coats; occasionallya merchant-prince rolling along in his two-horse cabriolet to thewhip-crackings and shouts of "Gare!" from his coachman; occasionally adainty lady carried past in her sedan-chair, with perhaps a mincing abbefrom the episcopal court tripping along in attendance; occasionally anofficer in scarlet riding disdainfully; and once the great carriage ofa nobleman, with escutcheoned panels and a pair of white-stockinged, powdered footmen in gorgeous liveries hanging on behind. And there wereCapuchins in brown and Benedictines in black, and secular priests inplenty--for God was well served in the sixteen parishes of Nantes--andby way of contrast there were lean-jawed, out-at-elbow adventurers, andgendarmes in blue coats and gaitered legs, sauntering guardians of thepeace. 

Representatives of every class that went to make up the seventy thousandinhabitants of that wealthy, industrious city were to be seen inthe human stream that ebbed and flowed beneath the window from whichAndre-Louis observed it. 

Of the waiter who ministered to his humble wants with soup and bouilli, and a measure of vin gris, Andre-Louis enquired into the state of publicfeeling in the city. The waiter, a staunch supporter of the privilegedorders, admitted regretfully that an uneasiness prevailed. Much woulddepend upon what happened at Rennes. If it was true that the King haddissolved the States of Brittany, then all should be well, and themalcontents would have no pretext for further disturbances. There hadbeen trouble and to spare in Nantes already. They wanted no repetitionof it. All manner of rumours were abroad, and since early morning therehad been crowds besieging the portals of the Chamber of Commerce fordefinite news. But definite news was yet to come. It was not even knownfor a fact that His Majesty actually had dissolved the States. 

It was striking two, the busiest hour of the day upon the Bourse, whenAndre-Louis reached the Place du Commerce. The square, dominated by theimposing classical building of the Exchange, was so crowded that hewas compelled almost to fight his way through to the steps of themagnificent Ionic porch. A word would have sufficed to have opened a wayfor him at once. But guile moved him to keep silent. He would come uponthat waiting multitude as a thunderclap, precisely as yesterday hehad come upon the mob at Rennes. He would lose nothing of the surpriseeffect of his entrance. 

The precincts of that house of commerce were jealously kept by a lineof ushers armed with staves, a guard as hurriedly assembled by themerchants as it was evidently necessary. One of these now effectivelybarred the young lawyer's passage as he attempted to mount the steps. 

Andre-Louis announced himself in a whisper. 

The stave was instantly raised from the horizontal, and he passed andwent up the steps in the wake of the usher. At the top, on the thresholdof the chamber, he paused, and stayed his guide. 

"I will wait here, " he announced. "Bring the president to me. "

"Your name, monsieur?"

Almost had Andre-Louis answered him when he remembered Le Chapelier'swarning of the danger with which his mission was fraught, and LeChapelier's parting admonition to conceal his identity. 

"My name is unknown to him; it matters nothing; I am the mouthpiece of apeople, no more. Go. "

The usher went, and in the shadow of that lofty, pillared porticoAndre-Louis waited, his eyes straying out ever and anon to survey thatspread of upturned faces immediately below him. 

Soon the president came, others following, crowding out into theportico, jostling one another in their eagerness to hear the news. 

"You are a messenger from Rennes?"

"I am the delegate sent by the Literary Chamber of that city to informyou here in Nantes of what is taking place. "

"Your name?"

Andre-Louis paused. "The less we mention names perhaps the better. "

The president's eyes grew big with gravity. He was a corpulent, floridman, purse-proud, and self-sufficient. 

He hesitated a moment. Then--"Come into the Chamber, " said he. 

"By your leave, monsieur, I will deliver my message from here--from thesesteps. "

"From here?" The great merchant frowned. 

"My message is for the people of Nantes, and from here I can speakat once to the greatest number of Nantais of all ranks, and it is mydesire--and the desire of those whom I represent--that as great a numberas possible should hear my message at first hand. "

"Tell me, sir, is it true that the King has dissolved the States?"

Andre-Louis looked at him. He smiled apologetically, and waved a handtowards the crowd, which by now was straining for a glimpse of this slimyoung man who had brought forth the president and more than half thenumbers of the Chamber, guessing already, with that curious instinct ofcrowds, that he was the awaited bearer of tidings. 

"Summon the gentlemen of your Chamber, monsieur, " said he, "and youshall hear all. "

"So be it. "

A word, and forth they came to crowd upon the steps, but leaving clearthe topmost step and a half-moon space in the middle. 

To the spot so indicated, Andre-Louis now advanced very deliberately. He took his stand there, dominating the entire assembly. He removedhis hat, and launched the opening bombshell of that address whichis historic, marking as it does one of the great stages of France'sprogress towards revolution. 

"People of this great city of Nantes, I have come to summon you toarms!"

In the amazed and rather scared silence that followed he surveyed themfor a moment before resuming. 

"I am a delegate of the people of Rennes, charged to announce to youwhat is taking place, and to invite you in this dreadful hour of ourcountry's peril to rise and march to her defence. "

"Name! Your name!" a voice shouted, and instantly the cry was taken upby others, until the multitude rang with the question. 

He could not answer that excited mob as he had answered the president. It was necessary to compromise, and he did so, happily. "My name, " saidhe, "is Omnes Omnibus--all for all. Let that suffice you now. I am aherald, a mouthpiece, a voice; no more. I come to announce to you thatsince the privileged orders, assembled for the States of Brittany inRennes, resisted your will--our will--despite the King's plain hint tothem, His Majesty has dissolved the States. "

There was a burst of delirious applause. Men laughed and shouted, andcries of "Vive le Roi!" rolled forth like thunder. Andre-Louis waited, and gradually the preternatural gravity of his countenance came to beobserved, and to beget the suspicion that there might be more to follow. Gradually silence was restored, and at last Andre Louis was able toproceed. 

"You rejoice too soon. Unfortunately, the nobles, in their insolentarrogance, have elected to ignore the royal dissolution, and in despiteof it persist in sitting and in conducting matters as seems good tothem. "

A silence of utter dismay greeted that disconcerting epilogue tothe announcement that had been so rapturously received. Andre-Louiscontinued after a moment's pause:

"So that these men who were already rebels against the people, rebels, against justice and equity, rebels against humanity itself, are nowalso rebels against their King. Sooner than yield an inch of theunconscionable privileges by which too long already they haveflourished, to the misery of a whole nation, they will make a mockof royal authority, hold up the King himself to contempt. They aredetermined to prove that there is no real sovereignty in France but thesovereignty of their own parasitic faineantise. "

There was a faint splutter of applause, but the majority of the audienceremained silent, waiting. 

"This is no new thing. Always has it been the same. No minister inthe last ten years, who, seeing the needs and perils of the State, counselled the measures that we now demand as the only means ofarresting our motherland in its ever-quickening progress to the abyss, but found himself as a consequence cast out of office by the influencewhich Privilege brought to bear against him. Twice already has M. Neckerbeen called to the ministry, to be twice dismissed when his insistentcounsels of reform threatened the privileges of clergy and nobility. Forthe third time now has he been called to office, and at last it seemswe are to have States General in spite of Privilege. But what theprivileged orders can no longer prevent, they are determined tostultify. Since it is now a settled thing that these States General areto meet, at least the nobles and the clergy will see to it--unless wetake measures to prevent them--by packing the Third Estate with theirown creatures, and denying it all effective representation, that theyconvert the States General into an instrument of their own will for theperpetuation of the abuses by which they live. To achieve this end theywill stop at nothing. They have flouted the authority of the King, andthey are silencing by assassination those who raise their voices tocondemn them. Yesterday in Rennes two young men who addressed the peopleas I am addressing you were done to death in the streets by assassins atthe instigation of the nobility. Their blood cries out for vengeance. "

Beginning in a sullen mutter, the indignation that moved his hearersswelled up to express itself in a roar of anger. 

"Citizens of Nantes, the motherland is in peril. Let us march to herdefence. Let us proclaim it to the world that we recognize that themeasures to liberate the Third Estate from the slavery in which forcenturies it has groaned find only obstacles in those orders whosephrenetic egotism sees in the tears and suffering of the unfortunatean odious tribute which they would pass on to their generations stillunborn. Realizing from the barbarity of the means employed by ourenemies to perpetuate our oppression that we have everything to fearfrom the aristocracy they would set up as a constitutional principle forthe governing of France, let us declare ourselves at once enfranchisedfrom it. 

"The establishment of liberty and equality should be the aim of everycitizen member of the Third Estate; and to this end we should standindivisibly united, especially the young and vigorous, especially thosewho have had the good fortune to be born late enough to be able togather for themselves the precious fruits of the philosophy of thiseighteenth century. "

Acclamations broke out unstintedly now. He had caught them in the snareof his oratory. And he pressed his advantage instantly. 

"Let us all swear, " he cried in a great voice, "to raise up in the nameof humanity and of liberty a rampart against our enemies, to oppose totheir bloodthirsty covetousness the calm perseverance of men whose causeis just. And let us protest here and in advance against any tyrannicaldecrees that should declare us seditious when we have none but pure andjust intentions. Let us make oath upon the honour of our motherland thatshould any of us be seized by an unjust tribunal, intending against usone of those acts termed of political expediency--which are, in effect, but acts of despotism--let us swear, I say, to give a full expressionto the strength that is in us and do that in self-defence which nature, courage, and despair dictate to us. "

Loud and long rolled the applause that greeted his conclusion, and heobserved with satisfaction and even some inward grim amusement that thewealthy merchants who had been congregated upon the steps, and who nowcame crowding about him to shake him by the hand and to acclaim him, were not merely participants in, but the actual leaders of, thisdelirium of enthusiasm. 

It confirmed him, had he needed confirmation, in his conviction thatjust as the philosophies upon which this new movement was based hadtheir source in thinkers extracted from the bourgeoisie, so the needto adopt those philosophies to the practical purposes of life was mostacutely felt at present by those bourgeois who found themselves debarredby Privilege from the expansion their wealth permitted them. If it mightbe said of Andre-Louis that he had that day lighted the torch of theRevolution in Nantes, it might with even greater truth be said that thetorch itself was supplied by the opulent bourgeoisie. 

I need not dwell at any length upon the sequel. It is a matter ofhistory how that oath which Omnes Omnibus administered to the citizensof Nantes formed the backbone of the formal protest which they drew upand signed in their thousands. Nor were the results of that powerfulprotest--which, after all, might already be said to harmonize with theexpressed will of the sovereign himself--long delayed. Who shall say howfar it may have strengthened the hand of Necker, when on the 27th ofthat same month of November he compelled the Council to adopt the mostsignificant and comprehensive of all those measures to which clergy andnobility had refused their consent? On that date was published the royaldecree ordaining that the deputies to be elected to the States Generalshould number at least one thousand, and that the deputies of theThird Estate should be fully representative by numbering as many as thedeputies of clergy and nobility together. 

CHAPTER IX. THE AFTERMATH

Dusk of the following day was falling when the homing Andre-Louisapproached Gavrillac. Realizing fully what a hue and cry there wouldpresently be for the apostle of revolution who had summoned the peopleof Nantes to arms, he desired as far as possible to conceal the factthat he had been in that maritime city. Therefore he made a wide detour, crossing the river at Bruz, and recrossing it a little above Chavagne, so as to approach Gavrillac from the north, and create the impressionthat he was returning from Rennes, whither he was known to have gone twodays ago. 

Within a mile or so of the village he caught in the fading light hisfirst glimpse of a figure on horseback pacing slowly towards him. Butit was not until they had come within a few yards of each other, and heobserved that this cloaked figure was leaning forward to peer at him, that he took much notice of it. And then he found himself challengedalmost at once by a woman's voice. 

"It is you, Andre--at last!"

He drew rein, mildly surprised, to be assailed by another question, impatiently, anxiously asked. 

"Where have you been?"

"Where have I been, Cousin Aline? Oh... Seeing the world. "

"I have been patrolling this road since noon to-day waiting foryou. " She spoke breathlessly, in haste to explain. "A troop of themarechaussee from Rennes descended upon Gavrillac this morning in questof you. They turned the chateau and the village inside out, and atlast discovered that you were due to return with a horse hired from theBreton arme. So they have taken up their quarters at the inn to waitfor you. I have been here all the afternoon on the lookout to warn youagainst walking into that trap. "

"My dear Aline! That I should have been the cause of so much concern andtrouble!"

"Never mind that. It is not important. "

"On the contrary; it is the most important part of what you tell me. Itis the rest that is unimportant. "

"Do you realize that they have come to arrest you?" she asked him, withincreasing impatience. "You are wanted for sedition, and upon a warrantfrom M. De Lesdiguieres. "

"Sedition?" quoth he, and his thoughts flew to that business at Nantes. It was impossible they could have had news of it in Rennes and actedupon it in so short a time. 

"Yes, sedition. The sedition of that wicked speech of yours at Rennes onWednesday. "

"Oh, that!" said he. "Pooh!" His note of relief might have told her, had she been more attentive, that he had to fear the consequences of agreater wickedness committed since. "Why, that was nothing. "

"Nothing?"

"I almost suspect that the real intentions of these gentlemen of themarechaussee have been misunderstood. Most probably they have come tothank me on M. De Lesdiguieres' behalf. I restrained the people whenthey would have burnt the Palais and himself inside it. "

"After you had first incited them to do it. I suppose you were afraid ofyour work. You drew back at the last moment. But you said things ofM. De Lesdiguieres, if you are correctly reported, which he will neverforgive. "

"I see, " said Andre-Louis, and he fell into thought. 

But Mlle. De Kercadiou had already done what thinking was necessary, andher alert young mind had settled all that was to be done. 

"You must not go into Gavrillac, " she told him, "and you must get downfrom your horse, and let me take it. I will stable it at the chateauto-night. And sometime to-morrow afternoon, by when you should be wellaway, I will return it to the Breton arme. "

"Oh, but that is impossible. "

"Impossible? Why?"

"For several reasons. One of them is that you haven't considered whatwill happen to you if you do such a thing. "

"To me? Do you suppose I am afraid of that pack of oafs sent by M. Lesdiguieres? I have committed no sedition. "

"But it is almost as bad to give aid to one who is wanted for the crime. That is the law. "

"What do I care for the law? Do you imagine that the law will presume totouch me?"

"Of course there is that. You are sheltered by one of the abuses Icomplained of at Rennes. I was forgetting. "

"Complain of it as much as you please, but meanwhile profit by it. Come, Andre, do as I tell you. Get down from your horse. " And then, as hestill hesitated, she stretched out and caught him by the arm. Her voicewas vibrant with earnestness. "Andre, you don't realize how serious isyour position. If these people take you, it is almost certain that youwill be hanged. Don't you realize it? You must not go to Gavrillac. You must go away at once, and lie completely lost for a time until thisblows over. Indeed, until my uncle can bring influence to bear to obtainyour pardon, you must keep in hiding. "

"That will be a long time, then, " said Andre-Louis. "M. De Kercadiou hasnever cultivated friends at court. "

"There is M. De La Tour d'Azyr, " she reminded him, to his astonishment. 

"That man!" he cried, and then he laughed. "But it was chiefly againsthim that I aroused the resentment of the people of Rennes. I should haveknown that all my speech was not reported to you. "

"It was, and that part of it among the rest. "

"Ah! And yet you are concerned to save me, the man who seeks the life ofyour future husband at the hands either of the law or of the people? Oris it, perhaps, that since you have seen his true nature revealed in themurder of poor Philippe, you have changed your views on the subject ofbecoming Marquise de La Tour d'Azyr?"

"You often show yourself without any faculty of deductive reasoning. "

"Perhaps. But hardly to the extent of imagining that M. De La Tourd'Azyr will ever lift a finger to do as you suggest. "

"In which, as usual, you are wrong. He will certainly do so if I askhim. "

"If you ask him?" Sheer horror rang in his voice. 

"Why, yes. You see, I have not yet said that I will be Marquise deLa Tour d'Azyr. I am still considering. It is a position that hasits advantages. One of them is that it ensures a suitor's completeobedience. "

"So, so. I see the crooked logic of your mind. You might go so far asto say to him: 'Refuse me this, and I shall refuse to be your marquise. 'You would go so far as that?"

"At need, I might. "

"And do you not see the converse implication? Do you not see thatyour hands would then be tied, that you would be wanting in honour ifafterwards you refused him? And do you think that I would consent toanything that could so tie your hands? Do you think I want to see youdamned, Aline?"

Her hand fell away from his arm. 

"Oh, you are mad!" she exclaimed, quite out of patience. 

"Possibly. But I like my madness. There is a thrill in it unknown tosuch sanity as yours. By your leave, Aline, I think I will ride on toGavrillac. "

"Andre, you must not! It is death to you!" In her alarm she backed herhorse, and pulled it across the road to bar his way. 

It was almost completely night by now; but from behind the wrack ofclouds overhead a crescent moon sailed out to alleviate the darkness. 

"Come, now, " she enjoined him. "Be reasonable. Do as I bid you. See, there is a carriage coming up behind you. Do not let us be found heretogether thus. "

He made up his mind quickly. He was not the man to be actuated by falseheroics about dying, and he had no fancy whatever for the gallows of M. De Lesdiguieres' providing. The immediate task that he had set himselfmight be accomplished. He had made heard--and ringingly--the voice thatM. De La Tour d'Azyr imagined he had silenced. But he was very far fromhaving done with life. 

"Aline, on one condition only. "

"And that?"

"That you swear to me you will never seek the aid of M. De La Tourd'Azyr on my behalf. "

"Since you insist, and as time presses, I consent. And now ride on withme as far as the lane. There is that carriage coming up. "

The lane to which she referred was one that branched off the road somethree hundred yards nearer the village and led straight up the hillto the chateau itself. In silence they rode together towards it, andtogether they turned into that thickly hedged and narrow bypath. At adepth of fifty yards she halted him. 

"Now!" she bade him. 

Obediently he swung down from his horse, and surrendered the reins toher. 

"Aline, " he said, "I haven't words in which to thank you. "

"It isn't necessary, " said she. 

"But I shall hope to repay you some day. "

"Nor is that necessary. Could I do less than I am doing? I do not wantto hear of you hanged, Andre; nor does my uncle, though he is very angrywith you. "

"I suppose he is. "

"And you can hardly be surprised. You were his delegate, hisrepresentative. He depended upon you, and you have turned your coat. Heis rightly indignant, calls you a traitor, and swears that he will neverspeak to you again. But he doesn't want you hanged, Andre. "

"Then we are agreed on that at least, for I don't want it myself. "

"I'll make your peace with him. And now--good-bye, Andre. Send me a wordwhen you are safe. "

She held out a hand that looked ghostly in the faint light. He took itand bore it to his lips. 

"God bless you, Aline. "

She was gone, and he stood listening to the receding clopper-clop ofhooves until it grew faint in the distance. Then slowly, with shouldershunched and head sunk on his breast, he retraced his steps to themain road, cogitating whither he should go. Quite suddenly he checked, remembering with dismay that he was almost entirely without money. InBrittany itself he knew of no dependable hiding-place, and as long ashe was in Brittany his peril must remain imminent. Yet to leave theprovince, and to leave it as quickly as prudence dictated, horses wouldbe necessary. And how was he to procure horses, having no money beyond asingle louis d'or and a few pieces of silver?

There was also the fact that he was very weary. He had had little sleepsince Tuesday night, and not very much then; and much of the time hadbeen spent in the saddle, a wearing thing to one so little accustomedto long rides. Worn as he was, it was unthinkable that he should go farto-night. He might get as far as Chavagne, perhaps. But there he mustsup and sleep; and what, then, of to-morrow?

Had he but thought of it before, perhaps Aline might have been able toassist him with the loan of a few louis. His first impulse now was tofollow her to the chateau. But prudence dismissed the notion. Before hecould reach her, he must be seen by servants, and word of his presencewould go forth. 

There was no choice for him; he must tramp as far as Chavagne, find abed there, and leave to-morrow until it dawned. On the resolve he sethis face in the direction whence he had come. But again he paused. Chavagne lay on the road to Rennes. To go that way was to plunge furtherinto danger. He would strike south again. At the foot of some meadows onthis side of the village there was a ferry that would put him across theriver. Thus he would avoid the village; and by placing the river betweenhimself and the immediate danger, he would obtain an added sense ofsecurity. 

A lane, turning out of the highroad, a quarter of a mile this side ofGavrillac, led down to that ferry. By this lane some twenty minuteslater came Andre-Louis with dragging feet. He avoided the little cottageof the ferryman, whose window was alight, and in the dark crept down tothe boat, intending if possible to put himself across. He felt for thechain by which the boat was moored, and ran his fingers along this tothe point where it was fastened. Here to his dismay he found a padlock. 

He stood up in the gloom and laughed silently. Of course he might haveknown it. The ferry was the property of M. De La Tour d'Azyr, and notlikely to be left unfastened so that poor devils might cheat him ofseigneurial dues. 

There being no possible alternative, he walked back to the cottage, andrapped on the door. When it opened, he stood well back, and aside, outof the shaft of light that issued thence. 

"Ferry!" he rapped out, laconically. 

The ferryman, a burly scoundrel well known to him, turned aside to pickup a lantern, and came forth as he was bidden. As he stepped from thelittle porch, he levelled the lantern so that its light fell on the faceof this traveller. 

"My God!" he ejaculated. 

"You realize, I see, that I am pressed, " said Andre-Louis, his eyes onthe fellow's startled countenance. 

"And well you may be with the gallows waiting for you at Rennes, "growled the ferryman. "Since you've been so foolish as to come back toGavrillac, you had better go again as quickly as you can. I will saynothing of having seen you. "

"I thank you, Fresnel. Your advice accords with my intention. That iswhy I need the boat. "

"Ah, that, no, " said Fresnel, with determination. "I'll hold my peace, but it's as much as my skin is worth to help you. 

"You need not have seen my face. Forget that you have seen it. "

"I'll do that, monsieur. But that is all I will do. I cannot put youacross the river. "

"Then give me the key of the boat, and I will put myself across. "

"That is the same thing. I cannot. I'll hold my tongue, but I will not--Idare not--help you. "

Andre-Louis looked a moment into that sullen, resolute face, andunderstood. This man, living under the shadow of La Tour d'Azyr, daredexercise no will that might be in conflict with the will of his dreadlord. 

"Fresnel, " he said, quietly, "if, as you say, the gallows claim me, thething that has brought me to this extremity arises out of the shootingof Mabey. Had not Mabey been murdered there would have been no needfor me to have raised my voice as I have done. Mabey was your friend, Ithink. Will you for his sake lend me the little help I need to save myneck?"

The man kept his glance averted, and the cloud of sullenness deepened onhis face. 

"I would if I dared, but I dare not. " Then, quite suddenly he becameangry. It was as if in anger he sought support. "Don't you understandthat I dare not? Would you have a poor man risk his life for you? Whathave you or yours ever done for me that you should ask that? You do notcross to-night in my ferry. Understand that, monsieur, and go at once--gobefore I remember that it may be dangerous even to have talked to youand not give information. Go!"

He turned on his heel to reenter his cottage, and a wave of hopelessnessswept over Andre-Louis. 

But in a second it was gone. The man must be compelled, and he had themeans. He bethought him of a pistol pressed upon him by Le Chapelier atthe moment of his leaving Rennes, a gift which at the time he had almostdisdained. True, it was not loaded, and he had no ammunition. But howwas Fresnel to know that?

He acted quickly. As with his right hand he pulled it from his pocket, with his left he caught the ferryman by the shoulder, and swung himround. 

"What do you want now?" Fresnel demanded angrily. "Haven't I told youthat I... "

He broke off short. The muzzle of the pistol was within a foot of hiseyes. 

"I want the key of the boat. That is all, Fresnel. And you can eithergive it me at once, or I'll take it after I have burnt your brains. Ishould regret to kill you, but I shall not hesitate. It is your lifeagainst mine, Fresnel; and you'll not find it strange that if one of usmust die I prefer that it shall be you. "

Fresnel dipped a hand into his pocket, and fetched thence a key. He heldit out to Andre-Louis in fingers that shook--more in anger than in fear. 

"I yield to violence, " he said, showing his teeth like a snarling dog. "But don't imagine that it will greatly profit you. "

Andre-Louis took the key. His pistol remained levelled. 

"You threaten me, I think, " he said. "It is not difficult to read yourthreat. The moment I am gone, you will run to inform against me. Youwill set the marechaussee on my heels to overtake me. "

"No, no!" cried the other. He perceived his peril. He read his doom inthe cold, sinister note on which Andre-Louis addressed him, and grewafraid. "I swear to you, monsieur, that I have no such intention. "

"I think I had better make quite sure of you. "

"O my God! Have mercy, monsieur!" The knave was in a palsy of terror. "Imean you no harm--I swear to Heaven I mean you no harm. I will not say aword. I will not... "

"I would rather depend upon your silence than your assurances. Still, you shall have your chance. I am a fool, perhaps, but I have areluctance to shed blood. Go into the house, Fresnel. Go, man. I followyou. "

In the shabby main room of that dwelling, Andre-Louis halted him again. "Get me a length of rope, " he commanded, and was readily obeyed. 

Five minutes later Fresnel was securely bound to a chair, andeffectively silenced by a very uncomfortable gag improvised out of ablock of wood and a muffler. 

On the threshold the departing Andre-Louis turned. 

"Good-night, Fresnel, " he said. Fierce eyes glared mute hatred at him. "It is unlikely that your ferry will be required again to-night. Butsome one is sure to come to your relief quite early in the morning. Until then bear your discomfort with what fortitude you can, remembering that you have brought it entirely upon yourself by youruncharitableness. If you spend the night considering that, the lessonshould not be lost upon you. By morning you may even have grown socharitable as not to know who it was that tied you up. Good-night. "

He stepped out and closed the door. 

To unlock the ferry, and pull himself across the swift-running waters, on which the faint moonlight was making a silver ripple, were mattersthat engaged not more than six or seven minutes. He drove the nose ofthe boat through the decaying sedges that fringed the southern bankof the stream, sprang ashore, and made the little craft secure. Then, missing the footpath in the dark, he struck out across a sodden meadowin quest of the road. 

BOOK II: THE BUSKIN

CHAPTER I. THE TRESPASSERS

Coming presently upon the Redon road, Andre-Louis, obeying instinctrather than reason, turned his face to the south, and plodded wearilyand mechanically forward. He had no clear idea of whither he was going, or of whither he should go. All that imported at the moment was to putas great a distance as possible between Gavrillac and himself. 

He had a vague, half-formed notion of returning to Nantes; and there, byemploying the newly found weapon of his oratory, excite the people intosheltering him as the first victim of the persecution he had foreseen, and against which he had sworn them to take up arms. But the idea wasone which he entertained merely as an indefinite possibility upon whichhe felt no real impulse to act. 

Meanwhile he chuckled at the thought of Fresnel as he had last seen him, with his muffled face and glaring eyeballs. "For one who was anythingbut a man of action, " he writes, "I felt that I had acquitted myselfnone so badly. " It is a phrase that recurs at intervals in his sketchy"Confessions. " Constantly is he reminding you that he is a man of mentaland not physical activities, and apologizing when dire necessitydrives him into acts of violence. I suspect this insistence uponhis philosophic detachment--for which I confess he had justificationenough--to betray his besetting vanity. 

With increasing fatigue came depression and self-criticism. He hadstupidly overshot his mark in insultingly denouncing M. De Lesdiguieres. "It is much better, " he says somewhere, "to be wicked than to be stupid. Most of this world's misery is the fruit not as priests tell us ofwickedness, but of stupidity. " And we know that of all stupidities heconsidered anger the most deplorable. Yet he had permitted himself tobe angry with a creature like M. De Lesdiguieres--a lackey, a fribble, a nothing, despite his potentialities for evil. He could perfectly havedischarged his self-imposed mission without arousing the vindictiveresentment of the King's Lieutenant. 

He beheld himself vaguely launched upon life with the riding-suit inwhich he stood, a single louis d'or and a few pieces of silver for allcapital, and a knowledge of law which had been inadequate to preservehim from the consequences of infringing it. 

He had, in addition--but these things that were to be the real salvationof him he did not reckon--his gift of laughter, sadly repressed of late, and the philosophic outlook and mercurial temperament which are thestock-in-trade of your adventurer in all ages. 

Meanwhile he tramped mechanically on through the night, until he feltthat he could tramp no more. He had skirted the little township ofGuichen, and now within a half-mile of Guignen, and with Gavrillac agood seven miles behind him, his legs refused to carry him any farther. 

He was midway across the vast common to the north of Guignen whenhe came to a halt. He had left the road, and taken heedlessly tothe footpath that struck across the waste of indifferent pastureinterspersed with clumps of gorse. A stone's throw away on his right thecommon was bordered by a thorn hedge. Beyond this loomed a tall buildingwhich he knew to be an open barn, standing on the edge of a long stretchof meadowland. That dark, silent shadow it may have been that hadbrought him to a standstill, suggesting shelter to his subconsciousness. A moment he hesitated; then he struck across towards a spot where a gapin the hedge was closed by a five-barred gate. He pushed the gate open, went through the gap, and stood now before the barn. It was as big asa house, yet consisted of no more than a roof carried upon half a dozentall, brick pillars. But densely packed under that roof was a greatstack of hay that promised a warm couch on so cold a night. Stouttimbers had been built into the brick pillars, with projecting ends toserve as ladders by which the labourer might climb to pack or withdrawhay. With what little strength remained him, Andre-Louis climbed by oneof these and landed safely at the top, where he was forced to kneel, forlack of room to stand upright. Arrived there, he removed his coat andneckcloth, his sodden boots and stockings. Next he cleared a trough forhis body, and lying down in it, covered himself to the neck with the hayhe had removed. Within five minutes he was lost to all worldly cares andsoundly asleep. 

When next he awakened, the sun was already high in the heavens, fromwhich he concluded that the morning was well advanced; and this beforehe realized quite where he was or how he came there. Then to hisawakening senses came a drone of voices close at hand, to which at firsthe paid little heed. He was deliciously refreshed, luxuriously drowsyand luxuriously warm. 

But as consciousness and memory grew more full, he raised his head clearof the hay that he might free both ears to listen, his pulses faintlyquickened by the nascent fear that those voices might bode him no good. Then he caught the reassuring accents of a woman, musical and silvery, though laden with alarm. 

"Ah, mon Dieu, Leandre, let us separate at once. If it should be myfather... "

And upon this a man's voice broke in, calm and reassuring:

"No, no, Climene; you are mistaken. There is no one coming. We are quitesafe. Why do you start at shadows?"

"Ah, Leandre, if he should find us here together! I tremble at the verythought. "

More was not needed to reassure Andre-Louis. He had overheard enough toknow that this was but the case of a pair of lovers who, with less tofear of life, were yet--after the manner of their kind--more timid ofheart than he. Curiosity drew him from his warm trough to the edge ofthe hay. Lying prone, he advanced his head and peered down. 

In the space of cropped meadow between the barn and the hedge stood aman and a woman, both young. The man was a well-set-up, comely fellow, with a fine head of chestnut hair tied in a queue by a broad bow ofblack satin. He was dressed with certain tawdry attempts at ostentatiousembellishments, which did not prepossess one at first glance in hisfavour. His coat of a fashionable cut was of faded plum-coloured velvetedged with silver lace, whose glory had long since departed. He affectedruffles, but for want of starch they hung like weeping willows overhands that were fine and delicate. His breeches were of plain blackcloth, and his black stockings were of cotton--matters entirely out ofharmony with his magnificent coat. His shoes, stout and serviceable, were decked with buckles of cheap, lack-lustre paste. But for hisengaging and ingenuous countenance, Andre-Louis must have set him downas a knight of that order which lives dishonestly by its wits. As itwas, he suspended judgment whilst pushing investigation further by astudy of the girl. At the outset, be it confessed that it was a studythat attracted him prodigiously. And this notwithstanding the fact that, bookish and studious as were his ways, and in despite of his years, itwas far from his habit to waste consideration on femininity. 

The child--she was no more than that, perhaps twenty at themost--possessed, in addition to the allurements of face and shape thatwent very near perfection, a sparkling vivacity and a grace of movementthe like of which Andre-Louis did not remember ever before to havebeheld assembled in one person. And her voice too--that musical, silveryvoice that had awakened him--possessed in its exquisite modulations anallurement of its own that must have been irresistible, he thought, inthe ugliest of her sex. She wore a hooded mantle of green cloth, and thehood being thrown back, her dainty head was all revealed to him. Therewere glints of gold struck by the morning sun from her light nut-brownhair that hung in a cluster of curls about her oval face. Her complexionwas of a delicacy that he could compare only with a rose petal. He couldnot at that distance discern the colour of her eyes, but he guessed themblue, as he admired the sparkle of them under the fine, dark line ofeyebrows. 

He could not have told you why, but he was conscious that it aggrievedhim to find her so intimate with this pretty young fellow, who waspartly clad, as it appeared, in the cast-offs of a nobleman. He couldnot guess her station, but the speech that reached him was cultured intone and word. He strained to listen. 

"I shall know no peace, Leandre, until we are safely wedded, " she wassaying. "Not until then shall I count myself beyond his reach. And yetif we marry without his consent, we but make trouble for ourselves, andof gaining his consent I almost despair. "

Evidently, thought Andre-Louis, her father was a man of sense, who sawthrough the shabby finery of M. Leandre, and was not to be dazzled bycheap paste buckles. 

"My dear Climene, " the young man was answering her, standing squarelybefore her, and holding both her hands, "you are wrong to despond. If Ido not reveal to you all the stratagem that I have prepared to win theconsent of your unnatural parent, it is because I am loath to rob you ofthe pleasure of the surprise that is in store. But place your faith inme, and in that ingenious friend of whom I have spoken, and who shouldbe here at any moment. "

The stilted ass! Had he learnt that speech by heart in advance, or washe by nature a pedantic idiot who expressed himself in this set andformal manner? How came so sweet a blossom to waste her perfumes on sucha prig? And what a ridiculous name the creature owned!

Thus Andre-Louis to himself from his observatory. Meanwhile, she wasspeaking. 

"That is what my heart desires, Leandre, but I am beset by fears lestyour stratagem should be too late. I am to marry this horrible Marquisof Sbrufadelli this very day. He arrives by noon. He comes to sign thecontract--to make me the Marchioness of Sbrufadelli. Oh!" It was a cry ofpain from that tender young heart. "The very name burns my lips. If itwere mine I could never utter it--never! The man is so detestable. Saveme, Leandre. Save me! You are my only hope. "

Andre-Louis was conscious of a pang of disappointment. She failed tosoar to the heights he had expected of her. She was evidently infectedby the stilted manner of her ridiculous lover. There was an atrociouslack of sincerity about her words. They touched his mind, but left hisheart unmoved. Perhaps this was because of his antipathy to M. Leandreand to the issue involved. 

So her father was marrying her to a marquis! That implied birth onher side. And yet she was content to pair off with this dull youngadventurer in the tarnished lace! It was, he supposed, the sort of thingto be expected of a sex that all philosophy had taught him to regard asthe maddest part of a mad species. 

"It shall never be!" M. Leandre was storming passionately. "Never! Iswear it!" And he shook his puny fist at the blue vault of heaven--Ajaxdefying Jupiter. "Ah, but here comes our subtle friend... " (Andre-Louisdid not catch the name, M. Leandre having at that moment turned to facethe gap in the hedge. ) "He will bring us news, I know. "

Andre-Louis looked also in the direction of the gap. Through it emergeda lean, slight man in a rusty cloak and a three-cornered hat worn welldown over his nose so as to shade his face. And when presently hedoffed this hat and made a sweeping bow to the young lovers, Andre-Louisconfessed to himself that had he been cursed with such a hangdogcountenance he would have worn his hat in precisely such a manner, soas to conceal as much of it as possible. If M. Leandre appeared tobe wearing, in part at least, the cast-offs of nobleman, the newcomerappeared to be wearing the cast-offs of M. Leandre. Yet despite his vileclothes and viler face, with its three days' growth of beard, thefellow carried himself with a certain air; he positively strutted as headvanced, and he made a leg in a manner that was courtly and practised. 

"Monsieur, " said he, with the air of a conspirator, "the time for actionhas arrived, and so has the Marquis... That is why. "

The young lovers sprang apart in consternation; Climene with claspedhands, parted lips, and a bosom that raced distractingly under its whitefichu-menteur; M. Leandre agape, the very picture of foolishness anddismay. 

Meanwhile the newcomer rattled on. "I was at the inn an hour ago whenhe descended there, and I studied him attentively whilst he was atbreakfast. Having done so, not a single doubt remains me of our success. As for what he looks like, I could entertain you at length upon thefashion in which nature has designed his gross fatuity. But that is nomatter. We are concerned with what he is, with the wit of him. And Itell you confidently that I find him so dull and stupid that you may beconfident he will tumble headlong into each and all of the traps I haveso cunningly prepared for him. "

"Tell me, tell me! Speak!" Climene implored him, holding out her handsin a supplication no man of sensibility could have resisted. And thenon the instant she caught her breath on a faint scream. "My father!" sheexclaimed, turning distractedly from one to the other of those two. "Heis coming! We are lost!"

"You must fly, Climene!" said M. Leandre. 

"Too late!" she sobbed. "Too late! He is here. "

"Calm, mademoiselle, calm!" the subtle friend was urging her. "Keep calmand trust to me. I promise you that all shall be well. "

"Oh!" cried M. Leandre, limply. "Say what you will, my friend, this isruin--the end of all our hopes. Your wits will never extricate us fromthis. Never!"

Through the gap strode now an enormous man with an inflamed moonface and a great nose, decently dressed after the fashion of a solidbourgeois. There was no mistaking his anger, but the expression that itfound was an amazement to Andre-Louis. 

"Leandre, you're an imbecile! Too much phlegm, too much phlegm! Yourwords wouldn't convince a ploughboy! Have you considered what they meanat all? Thus, " he cried, and casting his round hat from him in a broadgesture, he took his stand at M. Leandre's side, and repeated the verywords that Leandre had lately uttered, what time the three observed himcoolly and attentively. 

"Oh, say what you will, my friend, this is ruin--the end of all ourhopes. Your wits will never extricate us from this. Never!"

A frenzy of despair vibrated in his accents. He swung again to face M. Leandre. "Thus, " he bade him contemptuously. "Let the passion of yourhopelessness express itself in your voice. Consider that you are notasking Scaramouche here whether he has put a patch in your breeches. Youare a despairing lover expressing... "

He checked abruptly, startled. Andre-Louis, suddenly realizing what wasafoot, and how duped he had been, had loosed his laughter. The soundof it pealing and booming uncannily under the great roof that soimmediately confined him was startling to those below. 

The fat man was the first to recover, and he announced it after his ownfashion in one of the ready sarcasms in which he habitually dealt. 

"Hark!" he cried, "the very gods laugh at you, Leandre. " Then headdressed the roof of the barn and its invisible tenant. "Hi! Youthere!"

Andre-Louis revealed himself by a further protrusion of his tousledhead. 

"Good-morning, " said he, pleasantly. Rising now on his knees, hishorizon was suddenly extended to include the broad common beyond thehedge. He beheld there an enormous and very battered travelling chaise, a cart piled up with timbers partly visible under the sheet of oiledcanvas that covered them, and a sort of house on wheels equipped witha tin chimney, from which the smoke was slowly curling. Three heavyFlemish horses and a couple of donkeys--all of them hobbled--werecontentedly cropping the grass in the neighbourhood of these vehicles. These, had he perceived them sooner, must have given him the clue to thequeer scene that had been played under his eyes. Beyond the hedge otherfigures were moving. Three at that moment came crowding into thegap--a saucy-faced girl with a tip-tilted nose, whom he supposed to beColumbine, the soubrette; a lean, active youngster, who must be thelackey Harlequin; and another rather loutish youth who might be a zanyor an apothecary. 

All this he took in at a comprehensive glance that consumed no moretime than it had taken him to say good-morning. To that good-morningPantaloon replied in a bellow:

"What the devil are you doing up there?"

"Precisely the same thing that you are doing down there, " was theanswer. "I am trespassing. "

"Eh?" said Pantaloon, and looked at his companions, some of theassurance beaten out of his big red face. Although the thing was onethat they did habitually, to hear it called by its proper name wasdisconcerting. 

"Whose land is this?" he asked, with diminishing assurance. 

Andre-Louis answered, whilst drawing on his stockings. "I believe it tobe the property of the Marquis de La Tour d'Azyr. "

"That's a high-sounding name. Is the gentleman severe?"

"The gentleman, " said Andre-Louis, "is the devil; or rather, I shouldprefer to say upon reflection, that the devil is a gentleman bycomparison. "

"And yet, " interposed the villainous-looking fellow who playedScaramouche, "by your own confessing you don't hesitate, yourself, totrespass upon his property. "

"Ah, but then, you see, I am a lawyer. And lawyers are notoriouslyunable to observe the law, just as actors are notoriously unable to act. Moreover, sir, Nature imposes her limits upon us, and Nature conquersrespect for law as she conquers all else. Nature conquered me last nightwhen I had got as far as this. And so I slept here without regard forthe very high and puissant Marquis de La Tour d'Azyr. At the same time, M. Scaramouche, you'll observe that I did not flaunt my trespass quiteas openly as you and your companions. "

Having donned his boots, Andre-Louis came nimbly to the ground in hisshirt-sleeves, his riding-coat over his arm. As he stood there to donit, the little cunning eyes of the heavy father conned him in detail. Observing that his clothes, if plain, were of a good fashion, that hisshirt was of fine cambric, and that he expressed himself like a manof culture, such as he claimed to be, M. Pantaloon was disposed to becivil. 

"I am very grateful to you for the warning, sir... " he was beginning. 

"Act upon it, my friend. The gardes-champetres of M. D'Azyr have ordersto fire on trespassers. Imitate me, and decamp. "

They followed him upon the instant through that gap in the hedge to theencampment on the common. There Andre-Louis took his leave of them. But as he was turning away he perceived a young man of the companyperforming his morning toilet at a bucket placed upon one of the woodensteps at the tail of the house on wheels. A moment he hesitated, then heturned frankly to M. Pantaloon, who was still at his elbow. 

"If it were not unconscionable to encroach so far upon your hospitality, monsieur, " said he, "I would beg leave to imitate that very excellentyoung gentleman before I leave you. "

"But, my dear sir!" Good-nature oozed out of every pore of the fatbody of the master player. "It is nothing at all. But, by all means. Rhodomont will provide what you require. He is the dandy of the companyin real life, though a fire-eater on the stage. Hi, Rhodomont!"

The young ablutionist straightened his long body from the right angle inwhich it had been bent over the bucket, and looked out through a foamof soapsuds. Pantaloon issued an order, and Rhodomont, who was indeed asgentle and amiable off the stage as he was formidable and terrible uponit, made the stranger free of the bucket in the friendliest manner. 

So Andre-Louis once more removed his neckcloth and his coat, and rolledup the sleeves of his fine shirt, whilst Rhodomont procured him soap, a towel, and presently a broken comb, and even a greasy hair-ribbon, in case the gentleman should have lost his own. This last Andre-Louisdeclined, but the comb he gratefully accepted, and having presentlywashed himself clean, stood, with the towel flung over his leftshoulder, restoring order to his dishevelled locks before a broken pieceof mirror affixed to the door of the travelling house. 

He was standing thus, the gentle Rhodomont babbled aimlessly at hisside, when his ears caught the sound of hooves. He looked over hisshoulder carelessly, and then stood frozen, with uplifted comb andloosened mouth. Away across the common, on the road that bordered it, hebeheld a party of seven horsemen in the blue coats with red facings ofthe marechaussee. 

Not for a moment did he doubt what was the quarry of this prowlinggendarmerie. It was as if the chill shadow of the gallows had fallensuddenly upon him. 

And then the troop halted, abreast with them, and the sergeant leadingit sent his bawling voice across the common. 

"Hi, there! Hi!" His tone rang with menace. 

Every member of the company--and there were some twelve in all--stood atgaze. Pantaloon advanced a step or two, stalking, his head thrown back, his manner that of a King's Lieutenant. 

"Now, what the devil's this?" quoth he, but whether of Fate or Heaven orthe sergeant, was not clear. 

There was a brief colloquy among the horsemen, then they came trottingacross the common straight towards the players' encampment. 

Andre-Louis had remained standing at the tail of the travellinghouse. He was still passing the comb through his straggling hair, but mechanically and unconsciously. His mind was all intent upon theadvancing troop, his wits alert and gathered together for a leap inwhatever direction should be indicated. 

Still in the distance, but evidently impatient, the sergeant bawled aquestion. 

"Who gave you leave to encamp here?"

It was a question that reassured Andre-Louis not at all. He was notdeceived by it into supposing or even hoping that the business of thesemen was merely to round up vagrants and trespassers. That was no part oftheir real duty; it was something done in passing--done, perhaps, in thehope of levying a tax of their own. It was very long odds that theywere from Rennes, and that their real business was the hunting down ofa young lawyer charged with sedition. Meanwhile Pantaloon was shoutingback. 

"Who gave us leave, do you say? What leave? This is communal land, freeto all. "

The sergeant laughed unpleasantly, and came on, his troop following. 

"There is, " said a voice at Pantaloon's elbow, "no such thing ascommunal land in the proper sense in all M. De La Tour d'Azyr's vastdomain. This is a terre censive, and his bailiffs collect his dues fromall who send their beasts to graze here. "

Pantaloon turned to behold at his side Andre-Louis in his shirt-sleeves, and without a neckcloth, the towel still trailing over his leftshoulder, a comb in his hand, his hair half dressed. 

"God of God!" swore Pantaloon. "But it is an ogre, this Marquis de LaTour d'Azyr!"

"I have told you already what I think of him, " said Andre-Louis. "As forthese fellows you had better let me deal with them. I have experienceof their kind. " And without waiting for Pantaloon's consent, Andre-Louisstepped forward to meet the advancing men of the marechaussee. He hadrealized that here boldness alone could save him. 

When a moment later the sergeant pulled up his horse alongside of thishalf-dressed young man, Andre-Louis combed his hair what time he lookedup with a half smile, intended to be friendly, ingenuous, and disarming. 

In spite of it the sergeant hailed him gruffly: "Are you the leader ofthis troop of vagabonds?"

"Yes... That is to say, my father, there, is really the leader. " And hejerked a thumb in the direction of M. Pantaloon, who stood at gaze outof earshot in the background. "What is your pleasure, captain?"

"My pleasure is to tell you that you are very likely to be gaoled forthis, all the pack of you. " His voice was loud and bullying. It carriedacross the common to the ears of every member of the company, andbrought them all to stricken attention where they stood. The lot ofstrolling players was hard enough without the addition of gaolings. 

"But how so, my captain? This is communal land free to all. "

"It is nothing of the kind. "

"Where are the fences?" quoth Andre-Louis, waving the hand that held thecomb, as if to indicate the openness of the place. 

"Fences!" snorted the sergeant. "What have fences to do with the matter?This is terre censive. There is no grazing here save by payment of duesto the Marquis de La Tour d'Azyr. "

"But we are not grazing, " quoth the innocent Andre-Louis. 

"To the devil with you, zany! You are not grazing! But your beasts aregrazing!"

"They eat so little, " Andre-Louis apologized, and again essayed hisingratiating smile. 

The sergeant grew more terrible than ever. "That is not the point. Thepoint is that you are committing what amounts to a theft, and there'sthe gaol for thieves. "

"Technically, I suppose you are right, " sighed Andre-Louis, and fell tocombing his hair again, still looking up into the sergeant's face. "Butwe have sinned in ignorance. We are grateful to you for the warning. "He passed the comb into his left hand, and with his right fumbled inhis breeches' pocket, whence there came a faint jingle of coins. "We aredesolated to have brought you out of your way. Perhaps for their troubleyour men would honour us by stopping at the next inn to drink the healthof... Of this M. De La Tour d' Azyr, or any other health that they thinkproper. "

Some of the clouds lifted from the sergeant's brow. But not yet all. 

"Well, well, " said he, gruffly. "But you must decamp, you understand. "He leaned from the saddle to bring his recipient hand to a convenientdistance. Andre-Louis placed in it a three-livre piece. 

"In half an hour, " said Andre-Louis. 

"Why in half an hour? Why not at once?"

"Oh, but time to break our fast. "

They looked at each other. The sergeant next considered the broad pieceof silver in his palm. Then at last his features relaxed from theirsternness. 

"After all, " said he, "it is none of our business to play the tipstavesfor M. De La Tour d'Azyr. We are of the marechaussee from Rennes. "Andre-Louis' eyelids played him false by flickering. "But if you linger, look out for the gardes-champetres of the Marquis. You'll find them notat all accommodating. Well, well--a good appetite to you, monsieur, " saidhe, in valediction. 

"A pleasant ride, my captain, " answered Andre-Louis. 

The sergeant wheeled his horse about, his troop wheeled with him. Theywere starting off, when he reined up again. 

"You, monsieur!" he called over his shoulder. In a bound Andre-Louis wasbeside his stirrup. "We are in quest of a scoundrel named Andre-LouisMoreau, from Gavrillac, a fugitive from justice wanted for the gallowson a matter of sedition. You've seen nothing, I suppose, of a man whosemovements seemed to you suspicious?"

"Indeed, we have, " said Andre-Louis, very boldly, his face eager withconsciousness of the ability to oblige. 

"You have?" cried the sergeant, in a ringing voice. "Where? When?"

"Yesterday evening in the neighbourhood of Guignen... "

"Yes, yes, " the sergeant felt himself hot upon the trail. 

"There was a fellow who seemed very fearful of being recognized ... Aman of fifty or thereabouts... "

"Fifty!" cried the sergeant, and his face fell. "Bah! This man of oursis no older than yourself, a thin wisp of a fellow of about your ownheight and of black hair, just like your own, by the description. Keep alookout on your travels, master player. The King's Lieutenant in Renneshas sent us word this morning that he will pay ten louis to any onegiving information that will lead to this scoundrel's arrest. So there'sten louis to be earned by keeping your eyes open, and sending word tothe nearest justices. It would be a fine windfall for you, that. "

"A fine windfall, indeed, captain, " answered Andre-Louis, laughing. 

But the sergeant had touched his horse with the spur, and was alreadytrotting off in the wake of his men. Andre-Louis continued to laugh, quite silently, as he sometimes did when the humour of a jest waspeculiarly keen. 

Then he turned slowly about, and came back towards Pantaloon and therest of the company, who were now all grouped together, at gaze. 

Pantaloon advanced to meet him with both hands out-held. For a momentAndre-Louis thought he was about to be embraced. 

"We hail you our saviour!" the big man declaimed. "Already the shadowof the gaol was creeping over us, chilling us to the very marrow. Forthough we be poor, yet are we all honest folk and not one of us has eversuffered the indignity of prison. Nor is there one of us would surviveit. But for you, my friend, it might have happened. What magic did youwork?"

"The magic that is to be worked in France with a King's portrait. TheFrench are a very loyal nation, as you will have observed. They lovetheir King--and his portrait even better than himself, especially when itis wrought in gold. But even in silver it is respected. The sergeantwas so overcome by the sight of that noble visage--on a three-livrepiece--that his anger vanished, and he has gone his ways leaving us todepart in peace. "

"Ah, true! He said we must decamp. About it, my lads! Come, come... "

"But not until after breakfast, " said Andre-Louis. "A half-hour forbreakfast was conceded us by that loyal fellow, so deeply was hetouched. True, he spoke of possible gardes-champetres. But he knows aswell as I do that they are not seriously to be feared, and that ifthey came, again the King's portrait--wrought in copper this time--wouldproduce the same melting effect upon them. So, my dear M. Pantaloon, break your fast at your ease. I can smell your cooking from here, and from the smell I argue that there is no need to wish you a goodappetite. "

"My friend, my saviour!" Pantaloon flung a great arm about the youngman's shoulders. "You shall stay to breakfast with us. "

"I confess to a hope that you would ask me, " said Andre-Louis. 

CHAPTER II. THE SERVICE OF THESPIS

They were, thought Andre-Louis, as he sat down to breakfast with thembehind the itinerant house, in the bright sunshine that tempered thecold breath of that November morning, an odd and yet an attractive crew. An air of gaiety pervaded them. They affected to have no cares, and mademerry over the trials and tribulations of their nomadic life. Theywere curiously, yet amiably, artificial; histrionic in their mannerof discharging the most commonplace of functions; exaggerated in theirgestures; stilted and affected in their speech. They seemed, indeed, tobelong to a world apart, a world of unreality which became real onlyon the planks of their stage, in the glare of their footlights. Good-fellowship bound them one to another; and Andre-Louis reflectedcynically that this harmony amongst them might be the cause of theirapparent unreality. In the real world, greedy striving and the emulationof acquisitiveness preclude such amity as was present here. 

They numbered exactly eleven, three women and eight men; and theyaddressed each other by their stage names: names which denoted theirseveral types, and never--or only very slightly--varied, no matter whatmight be the play that they performed. 

"We are, " Pantaloon informed him, "one of those few remaining staunchbands of real players, who uphold the traditions of the old ItalianCommedia dell' Arte. Not for us to vex our memories and stultify ourwit with the stilted phrases that are the fruit of a wretched author'slucubrations. Each of us is in detail his own author in a measure as hedevelops the part assigned to him. We are improvisers--improvisers of theold and noble Italian school. "

"I had guessed as much, " said Andre-Louis, "when I discovered yourehearsing your improvisations. "

Pantaloon frowned. 

"I have observed, young sir, that your humour inclines to the pungent, not to say the acrid. It is very well. It is I suppose, the humour thatshould go with such a countenance. But it may lead you astray, asin this instance. That rehearsal--a most unusual thing with us--wasnecessitated by the histrionic rawness of our Leandre. We are seekingto inculcate into him by training an art with which Nature neglected toendow him against his present needs. Should he continue to fail in doingjustice to our schooling... But we will not disturb our present harmonywith the unpleasant anticipation of misfortunes which we still hopeto avert. We love our Leandre, for all his faults. Let me make youacquainted with our company. "

And he proceeded to introduction in detail. He pointed out the long andamiable Rhodomont, whom Andre-Louis already knew. 

"His length of limb and hooked nose were his superficial qualificationsto play roaring captains, " Pantaloon explained. "His lungs havejustified our choice. You should hear him roar. At first we called himSpavento or Epouvapte. But that was unworthy of so great an artist. Notsince the superb Mondor amazed the world has so thrasonical a bully beenseen upon the stage. So we conferred upon him the name of Rhodomontthat Mondor made famous; and I give you my word, as an actor and agentleman--for I am a gentleman, monsieur, or was--that he has justifiedus. "

His little eyes beamed in his great swollen face as he turned their gazeupon the object of his encomium. The terrible Rhodomont, confused by somuch praise, blushed like a schoolgirl as he met the solemn scrutiny ofAndre-Louis. 

"Then here we have Scaramouche, whom also you already know. Sometimes heis Scapin and sometimes Coviello, but in the main Scaramouche, to whichlet me tell you he is best suited--sometimes too well suited, I think. For he is Scaramouche not only on the stage, but also in the world. Hehas a gift of sly intrigue, an art of setting folk by the ears, combinedwith an impudent aggressiveness upon occasion when he considers himselfsafe from reprisals. He is Scaramouche, the little skirmisher, to thevery life. I could say more. But I am by disposition charitable andloving to all mankind. "

"As the priest said when he kissed the serving-wench, " snarledScaramouche, and went on eating. 

"His humour, like your own, you will observe, is acrid, " said Pantaloon. He passed on. "Then that rascal with the lumpy nose and the grinningbucolic countenance is, of course, Pierrot. Could he be aught else?"

"I could play lovers a deal better, " said the rustic cherub. 

"That is the delusion proper to Pierrot, " said Pantaloon, contemptuously. "This heavy, beetle-browed ruffian, who has grown old insin, and whose appetite increases with his years, is Polichinelle. Eachone, as you perceive, is designed by Nature for the part he plays. Thisnimble, freckled jackanapes is Harlequin; not your spangled Harlequininto which modern degeneracy has debased that first-born of Momus, but the genuine original zany of the Commedia, ragged and patched, animpudent, cowardly, blackguardly clown. "

"Each one of us, as you perceive, " said Harlequin, mimicking the leaderof the troupe, "is designed by Nature for the part he plays. "

"Physically, my friend, physically only, else we should not have so muchtrouble in teaching this beautiful Leandre to become a lover. Thenwe have Pasquariel here, who is sometimes an apothecary, sometimes anotary, sometimes a lackey--an amiable, accommodating fellow. He is alsoan excellent cook, being a child of Italy, that land of gluttons. Andfinally, you have myself, who as the father of the company very properlyplay as Pantaloon the roles of father. Sometimes, it is true, I am adeluded husband, and sometimes an ignorant, self-sufficient doctor. But it is rarely that I find it necessary to call myself other thanPantaloon. For the rest, I am the only one who has a name--a real name. It is Binet, monsieur. 

"And now for the ladies... First in order of seniority we have Madamethere. " He waved one of his great hands towards a buxom, smiling blondeof five-and-forty, who was seated on the lowest of the steps of thetravelling house. "She is our Duegne, or Mother, or Nurse, as the caserequires. She is known quite simply and royally as Madame. If she everhad a name in the world, she has long since forgotten it, which isperhaps as well. Then we have this pert jade with the tip-tilted noseand the wide mouth, who is of course our soubrette Columbine, andlastly, my daughter Climene, an amoureuse of talents not to be matchedoutside the Comedie Francaise, of which she has the bad taste to aspireto become a member. "

The lovely Climene--and lovely indeed she was--tossed her nut-browncurls and laughed as she looked across at Andre-Louis. Her eyes, he hadperceived by now, were not blue, but hazel. 

"Do not believe him, monsieur. Here I am queen, and I prefer to be queenhere rather than a slave in Paris. "

"Mademoiselle, " said Andre-Louis, quite solemnly, "will be queenwherever she condescends to reign. "

Her only answer was a timid--timid and yet alluring--glance from underfluttering lids. Meanwhile her father was bawling at the comely youngman who played lovers--"You hear, Leandre! That is the sort of speech youshould practise. "

Leandre raised languid eyebrows. "That?" quoth he, and shrugged. "Themerest commonplace. "

Andre-Louis laughed approval. "M. Leandre is of a readier wit than youconcede. There is subtlety in pronouncing it a commonplace to call Mlle. Climene a queen. "

Some laughed, M. Binet amongst them, with good-humoured mockery. 

"You think he has the wit to mean it thus? Bah! His subtleties are allunconscious. "

The conversation becoming general, Andre-Louis soon learnt what yetthere was to learn of this strolling band. They were on their way toGuichen, where they hoped to prosper at the fair that was to open onMonday next. They would make their triumphal entry into the town atnoon, and setting up their stage in the old market, they would givetheir first performance that same Saturday night, in a new canevas--orscenario--of M. Binet's own, which should set the rustics gaping. Andthen M. Binet fetched a sigh, and addressed himself to the elderly, swarthy, beetle-browed Polichinelle, who sat on his left. 

"But we shall miss Felicien, " said he. "Indeed, I do not know what weshall do without him. "

"Oh, we shall contrive, " said Polichinelle, with his mouth full. 

"So you always say, whatever happens, knowing that in any case thecontriving will not fall upon yourself. "

"He should not be difficult to replace, " said Harlequin. 

"True, if we were in a civilized land. But where among the rusticsof Brittany are we to find a fellow of even his poor parts?" M. Binetturned to Andre-Louis. "He was our property-man, our machinist, ourstage-carpenter, our man of affairs, and occasionally he acted. "

"The part of Figaro, I presume, " said Andre-Louis, which elicited alaugh. 

"So you are acquainted with Beaumarchais!" Binet eyed the young man withfresh interest. 

"He is tolerably well known, I think. "

"In Paris, to be sure. But I had not dreamt his fame had reached thewilds of Brittany. "

"But then I was some years in Paris--at the Lycee of Louis le Grand. Itwas there I made acquaintance with his work. "

"A dangerous man, " said Polichinelle, sententiously. 

"Indeed, and you are right, " Pantaloon agreed. "Clever--I do not deny himthat, although myself I find little use for authors. But of a sinistercleverness responsible for the dissemination of many of these subversivenew ideas. I think such writers should be suppressed. "

"M. De La Tour d'Azyr would probably agree with you--the gentleman whoby the simple exertion of his will turns this communal land into his ownproperty. " And Andre-Louis drained his cup, which had been filled withthe poor vin gris that was the players' drink. 

It was a remark that might have precipitated an argument had it not alsoreminded M. Binet of the terms on which they were encamped there, andof the fact that the half-hour was more than past. In a moment he was onhis feet, leaping up with an agility surprising in so corpulent a man, issuing his commands like a marshal on a field of battle. 

"Come, come, my lads! Are we to sit guzzling here all day? Time flees, and there's a deal to be done if we are to make our entry into Guichenat noon. Go, get you dressed. We strike camp in twenty minutes. Bestir, ladies! To your chaise, and see that you contrive to look your best. Soon the eyes of Guichen will be upon you, and the condition of yourinterior to-morrow will depend upon the impression made by your exteriorto-day. Away! Away!"

The implicit obedience this autocrat commanded set them in a whirl. Baskets and boxes were dragged forth to receive the platters and remainsof their meagre feast. In an instant the ground was cleared, and thethree ladies had taken their departure to the chaise, which was setapart for their use. The men were already climbing into the house onwheels, when Binet turned to Andre-Louis. 

"We part here, sir, " said he, dramatically, "the richer by youracquaintance; your debtors and your friends. " He put forth his podgyhand. 

Slowly Andre-Louis took it in his own. He had been thinking swiftly inthe last few moments. And remembering the safety he had found from hispursuers in the bosom of this company, it occurred to him that nowherecould he be better hidden for the present, until the quest for himshould have died down. 

"Sir, " he said, "the indebtedness is on my side. It is not every dayone has the felicity to sit down with so illustrious and engaging acompany. "

Binet's little eyes peered suspiciously at the young man, in quest ofirony. He found nothing but candour and simple good faith. 

"I part from you reluctantly, " Andre-Louis continued. "The morereluctantly since I do not perceive the absolute necessity for parting. "

"How?" quoth Binet, frowning, and slowly withdrawing the hand which theother had already retained rather longer than was necessary. 

"Thus, " Andre-Louis explained himself. "You may set me down as a sortof knight of rueful countenance in quest of adventure, with no fixedpurpose in life at present. You will not marvel that what I have seen ofyourself and your distinguished troupe should inspire me to desire yourbetter acquaintance. On your side you tell me that you are in need ofsome one to replace your Figaro--your Felicien, I think you called him. Whilst it may be presumptuous of me to hope that I could discharge anoffice so varied and so onerous... "

"You are indulging that acrid humour of yours again, my friend, " Binetinterrupted him. "Excepting for that, " he added, slowly, meditatively, his little eyes screwed up, "we might discuss this proposal that youseem to be making. "

"Alas! we can except nothing. If you take me, you take me as I am. Whatelse is possible? As for this humour--such as it is--which you decry, youmight turn it to profitable account. "

"How so?"

"In several ways. I might, for instance, teach Leandre to make love. "

Pantaloon burst into laughter. "You do not lack confidence in yourpowers. Modesty does not afflict you. "

"Therefore I evince the first quality necessary in an actor. "

"Can you act?"

"Upon occasion, I think, " said Andre-Louis, his thoughts upon hisperformance at Rennes and Nantes, and wondering when in all hishistrionic career Pantaloon's improvisations had so rent the heart ofmobs. 

M. Binet was musing. "Do you know much of the theatre?" quoth he. 

"Everything, " said Andre-Louis. 

"I said that modesty will prove no obstacle in your career. "

"But consider. I know the work of Beaumarchais, Eglantine, Mercier, Chenier, and many others of our contemporaries. Then I have read, ofcourse, Moliere, Racine, Corneille, besides many other lesser Frenchwriters. Of foreign authors, I am intimate with the works of Gozzi, Goldoni, Guarini, Bibbiena, Machiavelli, Secchi, Tasso, Ariosto, and Fedini. Whilst of those of antiquity I know most of the work ofEuripides, Aristophanes, Terence, Plautus... "

"Enough!" roared Pantaloon. 

"I am not nearly through with my list, " said Andre-Louis. 

"You may keep the rest for another day. In Heaven's name, what can haveinduced you to read so many dramatic authors?"

"In my humble way I am a student of man, and some years ago I made thediscovery that he is most intimately to be studied in the reflections ofhim provided for the theatre. "

"That is a very original and profound discovery, " said Pantaloon, quiteseriously. "It had never occurred to me. Yet is it true. Sir, it is atruth that dignifies our art. You are a man of parts, that is clear tome. It has been clear since first I met you. I can read a man. I knewyou from the moment that you said 'good-morning. ' Tell me, now: Doyou think you could assist me upon occasion in the preparation of ascenario? My mind, fully engaged as it is with a thousand details oforganization, is not always as clear as I would have it for such work. Could you assist me there, do you think?"

"I am quite sure I could. "

"Hum, yes. I was sure you would be. The other duties that wereFelicien's you would soon learn. Well, well, if you are willing, you maycome along with us. You'd want some salary, I suppose?"

"If it is usual, " said Andre-Louis. 

"What should you say to ten livres a month?"

"I should say that it isn't exactly the riches of Peru. "

"I might go as far as fifteen, " said Binet, reluctantly. "But times arebad. "

"I'll make them better for you. "

"I've no doubt you believe it. Then we understand each other?"

"Perfectly, " said Andre-Louis, dryly, and was thus committed to theservice of Thespis. 

CHAPTER II. THE COMIC MUSE

The company's entrance into the township of Guichen, if not exactlytriumphal, as Binet had expressed the desire that it should be, was atleast sufficiently startling and cacophonous to set the rustics gaping. To them these fantastic creatures appeared--as indeed they were--beingsfrom another world. 

First went the great travelling chaise, creaking and groaning on itsway, drawn by two of the Flemish horses. It was Pantaloon who drove it, an obese and massive Pantaloon in a tight-fitting suit of scarlet undera long brown bed-gown, his countenance adorned by a colossal cardboardnose. Beside him on the box sat Pierrot in a white smock, with sleevesthat completely covered his hands, loose white trousers, and a blackskull-cap. He had whitened his face with flour, and he made hideousnoises with a trumpet. 

On the roof of the coach were assembled Polichinelle, Scaramouche, Harlequin, and Pasquariel. Polichinelle in black and white, his doubletcut in the fashion of a century ago, with humps before and behind, awhite frill round his neck and a black mask upon the upper half of hisface, stood in the middle, his feet planted wide to steady him, solemnlyand viciously banging a big drum. The other three were seated each atone of the corners of the roof, their legs dangling over. Scaramouche, all in black in the Spanish fashion of the seventeenth century, hisface adorned with a pair of mostachios, jangled a guitar discordantly. Harlequin, ragged and patched in every colour of the rainbow, with hisleather girdle and sword of lath, the upper half of his face smearedin soot, clashed a pair of cymbals intermittently. Pasquariel, as anapothecary in skull-cap and white apron, excited the hilarity of theonlookers by his enormous tin clyster, which emitted when pumped adolorous squeak. 

Within the chaise itself, but showing themselves freely at the windows, and exchanging quips with the townsfolk, sat the three ladies of thecompany. Climene, the amoureuse, beautifully gowned in flowered satin, her own clustering ringlets concealed under a pumpkin-shaped wig, lookedso much the lady of fashion that you might have wondered what she wasdoing in that fantastic rabble. Madame, as the mother, was also dressedwith splendour, but exaggerated to achieve the ridiculous. Her headdresswas a monstrous structure adorned with flowers, and superimposed bylittle ostrich plumes. Columbine sat facing them, her back to thehorses, falsely demure, in milkmaid bonnet of white muslin, and astriped gown of green and blue. 

The marvel was that the old chaise, which in its halcyon days may haveserved to carry some dignitary of the Church, did not founder instead ofmerely groaning under that excessive and ribald load. 

Next came the house on wheels, led by the long, lean Rhodomont, whohad daubed his face red, and increased the terror of it by a pair offormidable mostachios. He was in long thigh-boots and leather jerkin, trailing an enormous sword from a crimson baldrick. He wore a broadfelt hat with a draggled feather, and as he advanced he raised his greatvoice and roared out defiance, and threats of blood-curdling butcheryto be performed upon all and sundry. On the roof of this vehicle satLeandre alone. He was in blue satin, with ruffles, small sword, powdered hair, patches and spy-glass, and red-heeled shoes: thecomplete courtier, looking very handsome. The women of Guichen ogledhim coquettishly. He took the ogling as a proper tribute to his personalendowments, and returned it with interest. Like Climene, he looked outof place amid the bandits who composed the remainder of the company. 

Bringing up the rear came Andre-Louis leading the two donkeys thatdragged the property-cart. He had insisted upon assuming a false nose, representing as for embellishment that which he intended for disguise. For the rest, he had retained his own garments. No one paidany attention to him as he trudged along beside his donkeys, aninsignificant rear guard, which he was well content to be. 

They made the tour of the town, in which the activity was alreadyabove the normal in preparation for next week's fair. At intervalsthey halted, the cacophony would cease abruptly, and Polichinelle wouldannounce in a stentorian voice that at five o'clock that evening in theold market, M. Binet's famous company of improvisers would perform a newcomedy in four acts entitled, "The Heartless Father. "

Thus at last they came to the old market, which was the groundfloor ofthe town hall, and open to the four winds by two archways on eachside of its length, and one archway on each side of its breadth. Thesearchways, with two exceptions, had been boarded up. Through thosetwo, which gave admission to what presently would be the theatre, theragamuffins of the town, and the niggards who were reluctant to spendthe necessary sous to obtain proper admission, might catch furtiveglimpses of the performance. 

That afternoon was the most strenuous of Andre-Louis' life, unaccustomedas he was to any sort of manual labour. It was spent in erecting andpreparing the stage at one end of the market-hall; and he began torealize how hard-earned were to be his monthly fifteen livres. At firstthere were four of them to the task--or really three, for Pantaloon didno more than bawl directions. Stripped of their finery, Rhodomont andLeandre assisted Andre-Louis in that carpentering. Meanwhile the otherfour were at dinner with the ladies. When a half-hour or so later theycame to carry on the work, Andre-Louis and his companions went to dinein their turn, leaving Polichinelle to direct the operations as well asassist in them. 

They crossed the square to the cheap little inn where they had taken uptheir quarters. In the narrow passage Andre-Louis came face to facewith Climene, her fine feathers cast, and restored by now to her normalappearance. 

"And how do you like it?" she asked him, pertly. 

He looked her in the eyes. "It has its compensations, " quoth he, in thatcurious cold tone of his that left one wondering whether he meant or notwhat he seemed to mean. 

She knit her brows. "You... You feel the need of compensations already?"

"Faith, I felt it from the beginning, " said he. "It was the perceptionof them allured me. "

They were quite alone, the others having gone on into the room set apartfor them, where food was spread. Andre-Louis, who was as unlearned inWoman as he was learned in Man, was not to know, upon feeling himselfsuddenly extraordinarily aware of her femininity, that it was she who insome subtle, imperceptible manner so rendered him. 

"What, " she asked him, with demurest innocence, "are thesecompensations?"

He caught himself upon the brink of the abyss. 

"Fifteen livres a month, " said he, abruptly. 

A moment she stared at him bewildered. He was very disconcerting. Thenshe recovered. 

"Oh, and bed and board, " said she. "Don't be leaving that from thereckoning, as you seem to be doing; for your dinner will be going cold. Aren't you coming?"

"Haven't you dined?" he cried, and she wondered had she caught a note ofeagerness. 

"No, " she answered, over her shoulder. "I waited. "

"What for?" quoth his innocence, hopefully. 

"I had to change, of course, zany, " she answered, rudely. Having draggedhim, as she imagined, to the chopping-block, she could not refrain fromchopping. But then he was of those who must be chopping back. 

"And you left your manners upstairs with your grand-lady clothes, mademoiselle. I understand. "

A scarlet flame suffused her face. "You are very insolent, " she said, lamely. 

"I've often been told so. But I don't believe it. " He thrust open thedoor for her, and bowing with an air which imposed upon her, although itwas merely copied from Fleury of the Comedie Francaise, so often visitedin the Louis le Grand days, he waved her in. "After you, ma demoiselle. "For greater emphasis he deliberately broke the word into its twocomponent parts. 

"I thank you, monsieur, " she answered, frostily, as near sneering as waspossible to so charming a person, and went in, nor addressed him againthroughout the meal. Instead, she devoted herself with an unusual anddevastating assiduity to the suspiring Leandre, that poor devil whocould not successfully play the lover with her on the stage because ofhis longing to play it in reality. 

Andre-Louis ate his herrings and black bread with a good appetitenevertheless. It was poor fare, but then poor fare was the common lot ofpoor people in that winter of starvation, and since he had cast in hisfortunes with a company whose affairs were not flourishing, he mustaccept the evils of the situation philosophically. 

"Have you a name?" Binet asked him once in the course of that repast andduring a pause in the conversation. 

"It happens that I have, " said he. "I think it is Parvissimus. "

"Parvissimus?" quoth Binet. "Is that a family name?"

"In such a company, where only the leader enjoys the privilege of afamily name, the like would be unbecoming its least member. So I takethe name that best becomes in me. And I think it is Parvissimus--the veryleast. "

Binet was amused. It was droll; it showed a ready fancy. Oh, to be sure, they must get to work together on those scenarios. 

"I shall prefer it to carpentering, " said Andre-Louis. Nevertheless hehad to go back to it that afternoon, and to labour strenuously untilfour o'clock, when at last the autocratic Binet announced himselfsatisfied with the preparations, and proceeded, again with the help ofAndre-Louis, to prepare the lights, which were supplied partly by tallowcandles and partly by lamps burning fish-oil. 

At five o'clock that evening the three knocks were sounded, and thecurtain rose on "The Heartless Father. "

Among the duties inherited by Andre-Louis from the departed Felicienwhom he replaced, was that of doorkeeper. This duty he dischargeddressed in a Polichinelle costume, and wearing a pasteboard nose. It wasan arrangement mutually agreeable to M. Binet and himself. M. Binet--whohad taken the further precaution of retaining Andre-Louis' owngarments--was thereby protected against the risk of his latest recruitabsconding with the takings. Andre-Louis, without illusions on the scoreof Pantaloon's real object, agreed to it willingly enough, since itprotected him from the chance of recognition by any acquaintance whomight possibly be in Guichen. 

The performance was in every sense unexciting; the audience meagre andunenthusiastic. The benches provided in the front half of the marketcontained some twenty-seven persons: eleven at twenty sous a head andsixteen at twelve. Behind these stood a rabble of some thirty others atsix sous apiece. Thus the gross takings were two louis, ten livres, andtwo sous. By the time M. Binet had paid for the use of the market, hislights, and the expenses of his company at the inn over Sunday, therewas not likely to be very much left towards the wages of his players. Itis not surprising, therefore, that M. Binet's bonhomie should have beena trifle overcast that evening. 

"And what do you think of it?" he asked Andre-Louis, as they werewalking back to the inn after the performance. 

"Possibly it could have been worse; probably it could not, " said he. 

In sheer amazement M. Binet checked in his stride, and turned to look athis companion. 

"Huh!" said he. "Dieu de Dien! But you are frank. "

"An unpopular form of service among fools, I know. "

"Well, I am not a fool, " said Binet. 

"That is why I am frank. I pay you the compliment of assumingintelligence in you, M. Binet. "

"Oh, you do?" quoth M. Binet. "And who the devil are you to assumeanything? Your assumptions are presumptuous, sir. " And with that helapsed into silence and the gloomy business of mentally casting up hisaccounts. 

But at table over supper a half-hour later he revived the topic. 

"Our latest recruit, this excellent M. Parvissimus, " he announced, "hasthe impudence to tell me that possibly our comedy could have been worse, but that probably it could not. " And he blew out his great round cheeksto invite a laugh at the expense of that foolish critic. 

"That's bad, " said the swarthy and sardonic Polichinelle. He wasgrave as Rhadamanthus pronouncing judgment. "That's bad. But what isinfinitely worse is that the audience had the impudence to be of thesame mind. "

"An ignorant pack of clods, " sneered Leandre, with a toss of hishandsome head. 

"You are wrong, " quoth Harlequin. "You were born for love, my dear, notcriticism. "

Leandre--a dull dog, as you will have conceived--looked contemptuouslydown upon the little man. "And you, what were you born for?" hewondered. 

"Nobody knows, " was the candid admission. "Nor yet why. It is the caseof many of us, my dear, believe me. "

"But why"--M. Binet took him up, and thus spoilt the beginnings of a verypretty quarrel--"why do you say that Leandre is wrong?"

"To be general, because he is always wrong. To be particular, because Ijudge the audience of Guichen to be too sophisticated for 'The HeartlessFather. '"

"You would put it more happily, " interposed Andre-Louis--who was thecause of this discussion--"if you said that 'The Heartless Father' is toounsophisticated for the audience of Guichen. "

"Why, what's the difference?" asked Leandre. 

"I didn't imply a difference. I merely suggested that it is a happierway to express the fact. "

"The gentleman is being subtle, " sneered Binet. 

"Why happier?" Harlequin demanded. 

"Because it is easier to bring 'The Heartless Father' to thesophistication of the Guichen audience, than the Guichen audience to theunsophistication of 'The Heartless Father. '"

"Let me think it out, " groaned Polichinelle, and he took his head in hishands. 

But from the tail of the table Andre-Louis was challenged by Climene whosat there between Columbine and Madame. 

"You would alter the comedy, would you, M. Parvissimus?" she cried. 

He turned to parry her malice. 

"I would suggest that it be altered, " he corrected, inclining his head. 

"And how would you alter it, monsieur?"

"I? Oh, for the better. "

"But of course!" She was sleekest sarcasm. "And how would you do it?"

"Aye, tell us that, " roared M. Binet, and added: "Silence, I pray you, gentlemen and ladies. Silence for M. Parvissimus. "

Andre-Louis looked from father to daughter, and smiled. "Pardi!" saidhe. "I am between bludgeon and dagger. If I escape with my life, I shallbe fortunate. Why, then, since you pin me to the very wall, I'll tellyou what I should do. I should go back to the original and help myselfmore freely from it. "

"The original?" questioned M. Binet--the author. 

"It is called, I believe, 'Monsieur de Pourceaugnac, ' and was written byMoliere. "

Somebody tittered, but that somebody was not M. Binet. He had beentouched on the raw, and the look in his little eyes betrayed the factthat his bonhomme exterior covered anything but a bonhomme. 

"You charge me with plagiarism, " he said at last; "with filching theideas of Moliere. "

"There is always, of course, " said Andre-Louis, unruffled, "thealternative possibility of two great minds working upon parallel lines. "

M. Binet studied the young man attentively a moment. He found him blandand inscrutable, and decided to pin him down. 

"Then you do not imply that I have been stealing from Moliere?"

"I advise you to do so, monsieur, " was the disconcerting reply. 

M. Binet was shocked. 

"You advise me to do so! You advise me, me, Antoine Binet, to turn thiefat my age!"

"He is outrageous, " said mademoiselle, indignantly. 

"Outrageous is the word. I thank you for it, my dear. I take you ontrust, sir. You sit at my table, you have the honour to be included inmy company, and to my face you have the audacity to advise me tobecome a thief--the worst kind of thief that is conceivable, a thief ofspiritual things, a thief of ideas! It is insufferable, intolerable! Ihave been, I fear, deeply mistaken in you, monsieur; just as you appearto have been mistaken in me. I am not the scoundrel you suppose me, sir, and I will not number in my company a man who dares to suggest that Ishould become one. Outrageous!"

He was very angry. His voice boomed through the little room, and thecompany sat hushed and something scared, their eyes upon Andre-Louis, who was the only one entirely unmoved by this outburst of virtuousindignation. 

"You realize, monsieur, " he said, very quietly, "that you are insultingthe memory of the illustrious dead?"

"Eh?" said Binet. 

Andre-Louis developed his sophistries. 

"You insult the memory of Moliere, the greatest ornament of our stage, one of the greatest ornaments of our nation, when you suggest that thereis vileness in doing that which he never hesitated to do, which no greatauthor yet has hesitated to do. You cannot suppose that Moliere evertroubled himself to be original in the matter of ideas. You cannotsuppose that the stories he tells in his plays have never been toldbefore. They were culled, as you very well know--though you seemmomentarily to have forgotten it, and it is therefore necessary thatI should remind you--they were culled, many of them, from the Italianauthors, who themselves had culled them Heaven alone knows where. Moliere took those old stories and retold them in his own language. Thatis precisely what I am suggesting that you should do. Your company is acompany of improvisers. You supply the dialogue as you proceed, whichis rather more than Moliere ever attempted. You may, if you preferit--though it would seem to me to be yielding to an excess of scruple--gostraight to Boccaccio or Sacchetti. But even then you cannot be surethat you have reached the sources. "

Andre-Louis came off with flying colours after that. You see what adebater was lost in him; how nimble he was in the art of making whitelook black. The company was impressed, and no one more that M. Binet, who found himself supplied with a crushing argument against those who infuture might tax him with the impudent plagiarisms which he undoubtedlyperpetrated. He retired in the best order he could from the position hehad taken up at the outset. 

"So that you think, " he said, at the end of a long outburst ofagreement, "you think that our story of 'The Heartless Father' could beenriched by dipping into 'Monsieur de Pourceaugnac, ' to which I confessupon reflection that it may present certain superficial resemblances?"

"I do; most certainly I do--always provided that you do so judiciously. Times have changed since Moliere. " It was as a consequence of this thatBinet retired soon after, taking Andre-Louis with him. The pair sattogether late that night, and were again in close communion throughoutthe whole of Sunday morning. 

After dinner M. Binet read to the assembled company the amended andamplified canevas of "The Heartless Father, " which, acting upon theadvice of M. Parvissimus, he had been at great pains to prepare. Thecompany had few doubts as to the real authorship before he began toread; none at all when he had read. There was a verve, a grip about thisstory; and, what was more, those of them who knew their Moliere realizedthat far from approaching the original more closely, this canevas haddrawn farther away from it. Moliere's original part--the title role--haddwindled into insignificance, to the great disgust of Polichinelle, towhom it fell. But the other parts had all been built up into importance, with the exception of Leandre, who remained as before. The twogreat roles were now Scaramouche, in the character of the intriguingSbrigandini, and Pantaloon the father. There was, too, a comical partfor Rhodomont, as the roaring bully hired by Polichinelle to cut Leandreinto ribbons. And in view of the importance now of Scaramouche, the playhad been rechristened "Figaro-Scaramouche. "

This last had not been without a deal of opposition from M. Binet. Buthis relentless collaborator, who was in reality the real author--drawingshamelessly, but practically at last upon his great store of reading--hadoverborne him. 

"You must move with the times, monsieur. In Paris Beaumarchais is therage. 'Figaro' is known to-day throughout the world. Let us borrow alittle of his glory. It will draw the people in. They will come tosee half a 'Figaro' when they will not come to see a dozen 'HeartlessFathers. ' Therefore let us cast the mantle of Figaro upon some one, andproclaim it in our title. "

"But as I am the head of the company... " began M. Binet, weakly. 

"If you will be blind to your interests, you will presently be a headwithout a body. And what use is that? Can the shoulders of Pantalooncarry the mantle of Figaro? You laugh. Of course you laugh. The notionis absurd. The proper person for the mantle of Figaro is Scaramouche, who is naturally Figaro's twin-brother. "

Thus tyrannized, the tyrant Binet gave way, comforted by the reflectionthat if he understood anything at all about the theatre, he had forfifteen livres a month acquired something that would presently beearning him as many louis. 

The company's reception of the canevas now confirmed him, if weexcept Polichinelle, who, annoyed at having lost half his part in thealterations, declared the new scenario fatuous. 

"Ah! You call my work fatuous, do you?" M. Binet hectored him. 

"Your work?" said Polichinelle, to add with his tongue in his cheek:"Ah, pardon. I had not realized that you were the author. "

"Then realize it now. "

"You were very close with M. Parvissimus over this authorship, " saidPolichinelle, with impudent suggestiveness. 

"And what if I was? What do you imply?"

"That you took him to cut quills for you, of course. "

"I'll cut your ears for you if you're not civil, " stormed the infuriatedBinet. 

Polichinelle got up slowly, and stretched himself. 

"Dieu de Dieu!" said he. "If Pantaloon is to play Rhodomont, I thinkI'll leave you. He is not amusing in the part. " And he swaggered outbefore M. Binet had recovered from his speechlessness. 

CHAPTER IV. EXIT MONSIEUR PARVISSIMUS

Ar four o'clock on Monday afternoon the curtain rose on"Figaro-Scaramouche" to an audience that filled three quarters of themarket-hall. M. Binet attributed this good attendance to the influx ofpeople to Guichen for the fair, and to the magnificent parade of hiscompany through the streets of the township at the busiest time ofthe day. Andre-Louis attributed it entirely to the title. It was the"Figaro" touch that had fetched in the better-class bourgeoisie, whichfilled more than half of the twenty-sous places and three quartersof the twelve-sous seats. The lure had drawn them. Whether it was tocontinue to do so would depend upon the manner in which the canevasover which he had laboured to the glory of Binet was interpreted bythe company. Of the merits of the canevas itself he had no doubt. Theauthors upon whom he had drawn for the elements of it were sound, and hehad taken of their best, which he claimed to be no more than the justicedue to them. 

The company excelled itself. The audience followed with relish the slyintriguings of Scaramouche, delighted in the beauty and freshness ofClimene, was moved almost to tears by the hard fate which through fourlong acts kept her from the hungering arms of the so beautiful Leandre, howled its delight over the ignominy of Pantaloon, the buffooneries ofhis sprightly lackey Harlequin, and the thrasonical strut and bellowingfierceness of the cowardly Rhodomont. 

The success of the Binet troupe in Guichen was assured. That night thecompany drank Burgundy at M. Binet's expense. The takings reached thesum of eight louis, which was as good business as M. Binet had ever donein all his career. He was very pleased. Gratification rose like steamfrom his fat body. He even condescended so far as to attribute a shareof the credit for the success to M. Parvissimus. 

"His suggestion, " he was careful to say, by way of properly delimitingthat share, "was most valuable, as I perceived at the time. "

"And his cutting of quills, " growled Polichinelle. "Don't forget that. It is most important to have by you a man who understands how to cut aquill, as I shall remember when I turn author. "

But not even that gibe could stir M. Binet out of his lethargy ofcontent. 

On Tuesday the success was repeated artistically and augmentedfinancially. Ten louis and seven livres was the enormous sum thatAndre-Louis, the doorkeeper, counted over to M. Binet after theperformance. Never yet had M. Binet made so much money in oneevening--and a miserable little village like Guichen was certainly thelast place in which he would have expected this windfall. 

"Ah, but Guichen in time of fair, " Andre-Louis reminded him. "There arepeople here from as far as Nantes and Rennes to buy and sell. To-morrow, being the last day of the fair, the crowds will be greater than ever. Weshould better this evening's receipts. "

"Better them? I shall be quite satisfied if we do as well, my friend. "

"You can depend upon that, " Andre-Louis assured him. "Are we to haveBurgundy?"

And then the tragedy occurred. It announced itself in a succession ofbumps and thuds, culminating in a crash outside the door that broughtthem all to their feet in alarm. 

Pierrot sprang to open, and beheld the tumbled body of a man lyingat the foot of the stairs. It emitted groans, therefore it was alive. Pierrot went forward to turn it over, and disclosed the fact thatthe body wore the wizened face of Scaramouche, a grimacing, groaning, twitching Scaramouche. 

The whole company, pressing after Pierrot, abandoned itself to laughter. 

"I always said you should change parts with me, " cried Harlequin. "You're such an excellent tumbler. Have you been practising?"

"Fool!" Scaramouche snapped. "Must you be laughing when I've all butbroken my neck?"

"You are right. We ought to be weeping because you didn't break it. Come, man, get up, " and he held out a hand to the prostrate rogue. 

Scaramouche took the hand, clutched it, heaved himself from the ground, then with a scream dropped back again. 

"My foot!" he complained. 

Binet rolled through the group of players, scattering them to right andleft. Apprehension had been quick to seize him. Fate had played him suchtricks before. 

"What ails your foot?" quoth he, sourly. 

"It's broken, I think, " Scaramouche complained. 

"Broken? Bah! Get up, man. " He caught him under the armpits and hauledhim up. 

Scaramouche came howling to one foot; the other doubled under him whenhe attempted to set it down, and he must have collapsed again but thatBinet supported him. He filled the place with his plaint, whilst Binetswore amazingly and variedly. 

"Must you bellow like a calf, you fool? Be quiet. A chair here, someone. "

A chair was thrust forward. He crushed Scaramouche down into it. 

"Let us look at this foot of yours. "

Heedless of Scaramouche's howls of pain, he swept away shoe andstocking. 

"What ails it?" he asked, staring. "Nothing that I can see. " He seizedit, heel in one hand, instep in the other, and gyrated it. Scaramouchescreamed in agony, until Climene caught Binet's arm and made him stop. 

"My God, have you no feelings?" she reproved her father. "The lad hashurt his foot. Must you torture him? Will that cure it?"

"Hurt his foot!" said Binet. "I can see nothing the matter with hisfoot--nothing to justify all this uproar. He has bruised it, maybe... "

"A man with a bruised foot doesn't scream like that, " said Madame overClimene's shoulder. "Perhaps he has dislocated it. "

"That is what I fear, " whimpered Scaramouche. 

Binet heaved himself up in disgust. 

"Take him to bed, " he bade them, "and fetch a doctor to see him. "

It was done, and the doctor came. Having seen the patient, he reportedthat nothing very serious had happened, but that in falling he hadevidently sprained his foot a little. A few days' rest and all would bewell. 

"A few days!" cried Binet. "God of God! Do you mean that he can't walk?"

"It would be unwise, indeed impossible for more than a few steps. "

M. Binet paid the doctor's fee, and sat down to think. He filled himselfa glass of Burgundy, tossed it off without a word, and sat thereafterstaring into the empty glass. 

"It is of course the sort of thing that must always be happening to me, "he grumbled to no one in particular. The members of the company were allstanding in silence before him, sharing his dismay. "I might have knownthat this--or something like it--would occur to spoil the first vein ofluck that I have found in years. Ah, well, it is finished. To-morrow wepack and depart. The best day of the fair, on the crest of the wave ofour success--a good fifteen louis to be taken, and this happens! God ofGod!"

"Do you mean to abandon to-morrow's performance?"

All turned to stare with Binet at Andre-Louis. 

"Are we to play 'Figaro-Scaramouche' without Scaramouche?" asked Binet, sneering. 

"Of course not. " Andre-Louis came forward. "But surely somerearrangement of the parts is possible. For instance, there is a fineactor in Polichinelle. "

Polichinelle swept him a bow. "Overwhelmed, " said he, ever sardonic. 

"But he has a part of his own, " objected Binet. 

"A small part, which Pasquariel could play. "

"And who will play Pasquariel?"

"Nobody. We delete it. The play need not suffer. "

"He thinks of everything, " sneered Polichinelle. "What a man!"

But Binet was far from agreement. "Are you suggesting that Polichinelleshould play Scaramouche?" he asked, incredulously. 

"Why not? He is able enough!"

"Overwhelmed again, " interjected Polichinelle. 

"Play Scaramouche with that figure?" Binet heaved himself up to point adenunciatory finger at Polichinelle's sturdy, thick-set shortness. 

"For lack of a better, " said Andre-Louis. 

"Overwhelmed more than ever. " Polichinelle's bow was superb this time. "Faith, I think I'll take the air to cool me after so much blushing. "

"Go to the devil, " Binet flung at him. 

"Better and better. " Polichinelle made for the door. On the threshold hehalted and struck an attitude. "Understand me, Binet. I do not now playScaramouche in any circumstances whatever. " And he went out. On thewhole, it was a very dignified exit. 

Andre-Louis shrugged, threw out his arms, and let them fall to his sidesagain. "You have ruined everything, " he told M. Binet. "The matter couldeasily have been arranged. Well, well, it is you are master here;and since you want us to pack and be off, that is what we will do, Isuppose. "

He went out, too. M. Binet stood in thought a moment, then followed him, his little eyes very cunning. He caught him up in the doorway. "Let ustake a walk together, M. Parvissimus, " said he, very affably. 

He thrust his arm through Andre-Louis', and led him out into the street, where there was still considerable movement. Past the booths that rangedabout the market they went, and down the hill towards the bridge. "Idon't think we shall pack to-morrow, " said M. Binet, presently. "Infact, we shall play to-morrow night. "

"Not if I know Polichinelle. You have... "

"I am not thinking of Polichinelle. "

"Of whom, then?"

"Of yourself. "

"I am flattered, sir. And in what capacity are you thinking of me?"There was something too sleek and oily in Binet's voice for Andre-Louis'taste. 

"I am thinking of you in the part of Scaramouche. "

"Day-dreams, " said Andre-Louis. "You are amusing yourself, of course. "

"Not in the least. I am quite serious. "

"But I am not an actor. "

"You told me that you could be. "

"Oh, upon occasion... A small part, perhaps... "

"Well, here is a big part--the chance to arrive at a single stride. Howmany men have had such a chance?"

"It is a chance I do not covet, M. Binet. Shall we change the subject?"He was very frosty, as much perhaps because he scented in M. Binet'smanner something that was vaguely menacing as for any other reason. 

"We'll change the subject when I please, " said M. Binet, allowing aglimpse of steel to glimmer through the silk of him. "To-morrow nightyou play Scaramouche. You are ready enough in your wits, your figure isideal, and you have just the kind of mordant humour for the part. Youshould be a great success. "

"It is much more likely that I should be an egregious failure. "

"That won't matter, " said Binet, cynically, and explained himself. "The failure will be personal to yourself. The receipts will be safe bythen. "

"Much obliged, " said Andre-Louis. 

"We should take fifteen louis to-morrow night. "

"It is unfortunate that you are without a Scaramouche, " saidAndre-Louis. 

"It is fortunate that I have one, M. Parvissimus. "

Andre-Louis disengaged his arm. "I begin to find you tiresome, " said he. "I think I will return. "

"A moment, M. Parvissimus. If I am to lose that fifteen louis... You'llnot take it amiss that I compensate myself in other ways?"

"That is your own concern, M. Binet. "

"Pardon, M. Parvissimus. It may possibly be also yours. " Binet took hisarm again. "Do me the kindness to step across the street with me. Justas far as the post-office there. I have something to show you. "

Andre-Louis went. Before they reached that sheet of paper nailed uponthe door, he knew exactly what it would say. And in effect it was, as hehad supposed, that twenty louis would be paid for information leading tothe apprehension of one Andre-Louis Moreau, lawyer of Gavrillac, who waswanted by the King's Lieutenant in Rennes upon a charge of sedition. 

M. Binet watched him whilst he read. Their arms were linked, and Binet'sgrip was firm and powerful. 

"Now, my friend, " said he, "will you be M. Parvissimus and playScaramouche to-morrow, or will you be Andre-Louis Moreau of Gavrillacand go to Rennes to satisfy the King's Lieutenant?"

"And if it should happen that you are mistaken?" quoth Andre-Louis, hisface a mask. 

"I'll take the risk of that, " leered M. Binet. "You mentioned, I think, that you were a lawyer. An indiscretion, my dear. It is unlikely thattwo lawyers will be in hiding at the same time in the same district. Yousee it is not really clever of me. Well, M. Andre-Louis Moreau, lawyerof Gavrillac, what is it to be?"

"We will talk it over as we walk back, " said Andre-Louis. 

"What is there to talk over?"

"One or two things, I think. I must know where I stand. Come, sir, ifyou please. "

"Very well, " said M. Binet, and they turned up the street again, but M. Binet maintained a firm hold of his young friend's arm, and kept himselfon the alert for any tricks that the young gentleman might be disposedto play. It was an unnecessary precaution. Andre-Louis was not the manto waste his energy futilely. He knew that in bodily strength he was nomatch at all for the heavy and powerful Pantaloon. 

"If I yield to your most eloquent and seductive persuasions, M. Binet, "said he, sweetly, "what guarantee do you give me that you will not sellme for twenty louis after I shall have served your turn?"

"You have my word of honour for that. " M. Binet was emphatic. 

Andre-Louis laughed. "Oh, we are to talk of honour, are we? Really, M. Binet? It is clear you think me a fool. "

In the dark he did not see the flush that leapt to M. Binet's roundface. It was some moments before he replied. 

"Perhaps you are right, " he growled. "What guarantee do you want?"

"I do not know what guarantee you can possibly give. "

"I have said that I will keep faith with you. "

"Until you find it more profitable to sell me. "

"You have it in your power to make it more profitable always for meto keep faith with you. It is due to you that we have done so well inGuichen. Oh, I admit it frankly. "

"In private, " said Andre-Louis. 

M. Binet left the sarcasm unheeded. 

"What you have done for us here with 'Figaro-Scaramouche, ' you can doelsewhere with other things. Naturally, I shall not want to lose you. That is your guarantee. "

"Yet to-night you would sell me for twenty louis. "

"Because--name of God!--you enrage me by refusing me a service well withinyour powers. Don't you think, had I been entirely the rogue you thinkme, I could have sold you on Saturday last? I want you to understand me, my dear Parvissimus. "

"I beg that you'll not apologize. You would be more tiresome than ever. "

"Of course you will be gibing. You never miss a chance to gibe. It'llbring you trouble before you're done with life. Come; here we are backat the inn, and you have not yet given me your decision. "

Andre-Louis looked at him. "I must yield, of course. I can't helpmyself. "

M. Binet released his arm at last, and slapped him heartily upon theback. "Well declared, my lad. You'll never regret it. If I know anythingof the theatre, I know that you have made the great decision of yourlife. To-morrow night you'll thank me. "

Andre-Louis shrugged, and stepped out ahead towards the inn. But M. Binet called him back. 

"M. Parvissimus!"

He turned. There stood the man's great bulk, the moonlight beating downupon that round fat face of his, and he was holding out his hand. 

"M. Parvissimus, no rancour. It is a thing I do not admit into my life. You will shake hands with me, and we will forget all this. "

Andre-Louis considered him a moment with disgust. He was growingangry. Then, realizing this, he conceived himself ridiculous, almost asridiculous as that sly, scoundrelly Pantaloon. He laughed and took theoutstretched hand. "No rancour?" M. Binet insisted. 

"Oh, no rancour, " said Andre-Louis. 

CHAPTER V. ENTER SCARAMOUCHE

Dressed in the close-fitting suit of a bygone age, all black, from flatvelvet cap to rosetted shoes, his face whitened and a slight up-curledmoustache glued to his upper lip, a small-sword at his side and a guitarslung behind him, Scaramouche surveyed himself in a mirror, and wasdisposed to be sardonic--which was the proper mood for the part. 

He reflected that his life, which until lately had been of a stagnant, contemplative quality, had suddenly become excessively active. In thecourse of one week he had been lawyer, mob-orator, outlaw, property-man, and finally buffoon. Last Wednesday he had been engaged in movingan audience of Rennes to anger; on this Wednesday he was to move anaudience of Guichen to mirth. Then he had been concerned to draw tears;to-day it was his business to provoke laughter. There was a difference, and yet there was a parallel. Then as now he had been a comedian; andthe part that he had played then was, when you came to think of it, akinto the part he was to play this evening. For what had he been at Rennesbut a sort of Scaramouche--the little skirmisher, the astute intriguer, spattering the seed of trouble with a sly hand? The only differencelay in the fact that to-day he went forth under the name that properlydescribed his type, whereas last week he had been disguised as arespectable young provincial attorney. 

He bowed to his reflection in the mirror. 

"Buffoon!" he apostrophized it. "At last you have found yourself. Atlast you have come into your heritage. You should be a great success. "

Hearing his new name called out by M. Binet, he went below to find thecompany assembled, and waiting in the entrance corridor of the inn. 

He was, of course, an object of great interest to all the company. Mostcritically was he conned by M. Binet and mademoiselle; by the formerwith gravely searching eyes, by the latter with a curl of scornful lip. 

"You'll do, " M. Binet commended his make-up. "At least you look thepart. "

"Unfortunately men are not always what they look, " said Climene, acidly. 

"That is a truth that does not at present apply to me, " saidAndre-Louis. "For it is the first time in my life that I look what Iam. "

Mademoiselle curled her lip a little further, and turned her shoulderto him. But the others thought him very witty--probably because he wasobscure. Columbine encouraged him with a friendly smile that displayedher large white teeth, and M. Binet swore yet once again that he wouldbe a great success, since he threw himself with such spirit into theundertaking. Then in a voice that for the moment he appeared to haveborrowed from the roaring captain, M. Binet marshalled them for theshort parade across to the market-hall. 

The new Scaramouche fell into place beside Rhodomont. The old one, hobbling on a crutch, had departed an hour ago to take the place ofdoorkeeper, vacated of necessity by Andre-Louis. So that the exchangebetween those two was a complete one. 

Headed by Polichinelle banging his great drum and Pierrot blowing histrumpet, they set out, and were duly passed in review by the ragamuffinsdrawn up in files to enjoy so much of the spectacle as was to beobtained for nothing. 

Ten minutes later the three knocks sounded, and the curtains were drawnaside to reveal a battered set that was partly garden, partly forest, inwhich Climene feverishly looked for the coming of Leandre. In the wingsstood the beautiful, melancholy lover, awaiting his cue, and immediatelybehind him the unfledged Scaramouche, who was anon to follow him. 

Andre-Louis was assailed with nausea in that dread moment. He attemptedto take a lightning mental review of the first act of this scenario ofwhich he was himself the author-in-chief; but found his mind a completeblank. With the perspiration starting from his skin, he stepped back tothe wall, where above a dim lantern was pasted a sheet bearing thebrief outline of the piece. He was still studying it, when his armwas clutched, and he was pulled violently towards the wings. He had aglimpse of Pantaloon's grotesque face, its eyes blazing, and he caught araucous growl:

"Climene has spoken your cue three times already. "

Before he realized it, he had been bundled on to the stage, and stoodthere foolishly, blinking in the glare of the footlights, with their tinreflectors. So utterly foolish and bewildered did he look that volleyupon volley of laughter welcomed him from the audience, which thisevening packed the hall from end to end. Trembling a little, hisbewilderment at first increasing, he stood there to receive that rollingtribute to his absurdity. Climene was eyeing him with expectantmockery, savouring in advance his humiliation; Leandre regarded him inconsternation, whilst behind the scenes, M. Binet was dancing in fury. 

"Name of a name, " he groaned to the rather scared members of the companyassembled there, "what will happen when they discover that he isn'tacting?"

But they never did discover it. Scaramouche's bewildered paralysislasted but a few seconds. He realized that he was being laughed at, andremembered that his Scaramouche was a creature to be laughed with, andnot at. He must save the situation; twist it to his own advantage asbest he could. And now his real bewilderment and terror was succeeded byacted bewilderment and terror far more marked, but not quite so funny. He contrived to make it clearly appear that his terror was of some oneoff the stage. He took cover behind a painted shrub, and thence, thelaughter at last beginning to subside, he addressed himself to Climeneand Leandre. 

"Forgive me, beautiful lady, if the abrupt manner of my entrancestartled you. The truth is that I have never been the same since thatlast affair of mine with Almaviva. My heart is not what it used to be. Down there at the end of the lane I came face to face with an elderlygentleman carrying a heavy cudgel, and the horrible thought entered mymind that it might be your father, and that our little stratagem to getyou safely married might already have been betrayed to him. I think itwas the cudgel put such notion in my head. Not that I am afraid. I amnot really afraid of anything. But I could not help reflecting that, ifit should really have been your father, and he had broken my head withhis cudgel, your hopes would have perished with me. For without me, whatshould you have done, my poor children?"

A ripple of laughter from the audience had been steadily enhearteninghim, and helping him to recover his natural impudence. It was clear theyfound him comical. They were to find him far more comical than ever hehad intended, and this was largely due to a fortuitous circumstance uponwhich he had insufficiently reckoned. The fear of recognition by someone from Gavrillac or Rennes had been strong upon him. His face wassufficiently made up to baffle recognition; but there remained hisvoice. To dissemble this he had availed himself of the fact that Figarowas a Spaniard. He had known a Spaniard at Louis le Grand who spokea fluent but most extraordinary French, with a grotesque excess ofsibilant sounds. It was an accent that he had often imitated, as youthswill imitate characteristics that excite their mirth. Opportunely he hadbethought him of that Spanish student, and it was upon his speechthat to-night he modelled his own. The audience of Guichen found it aslaughable on his lips as he and his fellows had found it formerly on thelips of that derided Spaniard. 

Meanwhile, behind the scenes, Binet--listening to that glib impromptu ofwhich the scenario gave no indication--had recovered from his fears. 

"Dieu de Dieu!" he whispered, grinning. "Did he do it, then, onpurpose?"

It seemed to him impossible that a man who had been so terror-strickenas he had fancied Andre-Louis, could have recovered his wits so quicklyand completely. Yet the doubt remained. 

To resolve it after the curtain had fallen upon a first act that hadgone with a verve unrivalled until this hour in the annals of thecompany, borne almost entirely upon the slim shoulders of the newScaramouche, M. Binet bluntly questioned him. 

They were standing in the space that did duty as green-room, the companyall assembled there, showering congratulations upon their new recruit. Scaramouche, a little exalted at the moment by his success, howevertrivial he might consider it to-morrow, took then a full revenge uponClimene for the malicious satisfaction with which she had regarded hismomentary blank terror. 

"I do not wonder that you ask, " said he. "Faith, I should have warnedyou that I intended to do my best from the start to put the audiencein a good humour with me. Mademoiselle very nearly ruined everything byrefusing to reflect any of my terror. She was not even startled. Another time, mademoiselle, I shall give you full warning of my everyintention. "

She crimsoned under her grease-paint. But before she could find ananswer of sufficient venom, her father was rating her soundly for herstupidity--the more soundly because himself he had been deceived byScaramouche's supreme acting. 

Scaramouche's success in the first act was more than confirmed asthe performance proceeded. Completely master of himself by now, andstimulated as only success can stimulate, he warmed to his work. Impudent, alert, sly, graceful, he incarnated the very ideal ofScaramouche, and he helped out his own native wit by many a rememberedline from Beaumarchais, thereby persuading the better informed among theaudience that here indeed was something of the real Figaro, and bringingthem, as it were, into touch with the great world of the capital. 

When at last the curtain fell for the last time, it was Scaramouchewho shared with Climene the honours of the evening, his name that wascoupled with hers in the calls that summoned them before the curtains. 

As they stepped back, and the curtains screened them again from thedeparting audience, M. Binet approached them, rubbing his fat handssoftly together. This runagate young lawyer, whom chance had blown intohis company, had evidently been sent by Fate to make his fortune forhim. The sudden success at Guichen, hitherto unrivalled, should berepeated and augmented elsewhere. There would be no more sleeping underhedges and tightening of belts. Adversity was behind him. He placed ahand upon Scaramouche's shoulder, and surveyed him with a smile whoseoiliness not even his red paint and colossal false nose could dissemble. 

"And what have you to say to me now?" he asked him. "Was I wrong whenI assured you that you would succeed? Do you think I have followed myfortunes in the theatre for a lifetime without knowing a born actor whenI see one? You are my discovery, Scaramouche. I have discovered youto yourself. I have set your feet upon the road to fame and fortune. Iawait your thanks. "

Scaramouche laughed at him, and his laugh was not altogether pleasant. 

"Always Pantaloon!" said he. 

The great countenance became overcast. "I see that you do not yetforgive me the little stratagem by which I forced you to do justice toyourself. Ungrateful dog! As if I could have had any purpose but to makeyou; and I have done so. Continue as you have begun, and you will end inParis. You may yet tread the stage of the Comedie Francaise, the rivalof Talma, Fleury, and Dugazon. When that happens to you perhaps you willfeel the gratitude that is due to old Binet, for you will owe it all tothis soft-hearted old fool. "

"If you were as good an actor on the stage as you are in private, " saidScaramouche, "you would yourself have won to the Comedie Francaise longsince. But I bear no rancour, M. Binet. " He laughed, and put out hishand. 

Binet fell upon it and wrung it heartily. 

"That, at least, is something, " he declared. "My boy, I have great plansfor you--for us. To-morrow we go to Maure; there is a fair there to theend of this week. Then on Monday we take our chances at Pipriac, andafter that we must consider. It may be that I am about to realize thedream of my life. There must have been upwards of fifteen louis takento-night. Where the devil is that rascal Cordemais?"

Cordemais was the name of the original Scaramouche, who had sounfortunately twisted his ankle. That Binet should refer to him by hissecular designation was a sign that in the Binet company at least he hadfallen for ever from the lofty eminence of Scaramouche. 

"Let us go and find him, and then we'll away to the inn and crack abottle of the best Burgundy, perhaps two bottles. "

But Cordemais was not readily to be found. None of the company hadseen him since the close of the performance. M. Binet went round to theentrance. Cordemais was not there. At first he was annoyed; then as hecontinued in vain to bawl the fellow's name, he began to grow uneasy;lastly, when Polichinelle, who was with them, discovered Cordemais'crutch standing discarded behind the door, M. Binet became alarmed. A dreadful suspicion entered his mind. He grew visibly pale under hispaint. 

"But this evening he couldn't walk without the crutch!" he exclaimed. "How then does he come to leave it there and take himself off?"

"Perhaps he has gone on to the inn, " suggested some one. 

"But he couldn't walk without his crutch, " M. Binet insisted. 

Nevertheless, since clearly he was not anywhere about the market-hall, to the inn they all trooped, and deafened the landlady with theirinquiries. 

"Oh, yes, M. Cordemais came in some time ago. "

"Where is he now?"

"He went away again at once. He just came for his bag. "

"For his bag!" Binet was on the point of an apoplexy. "How long ago wasthat?"

She glanced at the timepiece on the overmantel. "It would be about halfan hour ago. It was a few minutes before the Rennes diligence passedthrough. "

"The Rennes diligence!" M. Binet was almost inarticulate. "Could he... Could he walk?" he asked, on a note of terrible anxiety. 

"Walk? He ran like a hare when he left the inn. I thought, myself, thathis agility was suspicious, seeing how lame he had been since he felldownstairs yesterday. Is anything wrong?"

M. Binet had collapsed into a chair. He took his head in his hands, andgroaned. 

"The scoundrel was shamming all the time!" exclaimed Climene. "His falldownstairs was a trick. He was playing for this. He has swindled us. "

"Fifteen louis at least--perhaps sixteen!" said M. Binet. "Oh, theheartless blackguard! To swindle me who have been as a father to him--andto swindle me in such a moment. "

From the ranks of the silent, awe-stricken company, each member ofwhich was wondering by how much of the loss his own meagre pay would bemulcted, there came a splutter of laughter. 

M. Binet glared with blood-injected eyes. 

"Who laughs?" he roared. "What heartless wretch has the audacity tolaugh at my misfortune?"

Andre-Louis, still in the sable glories of Scaramouche, stood forward. He was laughing still. 

"It is you, is it? You may laugh on another note, my friend, if I choosea way to recoup myself that I know of. "

"Dullard!" Scaramouche scorned him. "Rabbit-brained elephant! What ifCordemais has gone with fifteen louis? Hasn't he left you somethingworth twenty times as much?"

M. Binet gaped uncomprehending. 

"You are between two wines, I think. You've been drinking, " heconcluded. 

"So I have--at the fountain of Thalia. Oh, don't you see? Don't you seethe treasure that Cordemais has left behind him?"

"What has he left?"

"A unique idea for the groundwork of a scenario. It unfolds itself allbefore me. I'll borrow part of the title from Moliere. We'll call it'Les Fourberies de Scaramouche, ' and if we don't leave the audiences ofMaure and Pipriac with sides aching from laughter I'll play the dullardPantaloon in future. "

Polichinelle smacked fist into palm. "Superb!" he said, fiercely. "Tocull fortune from misfortune, to turn loss into profit, that is to havegenius. "

Scaramouche made a leg. "Polichinelle, you are a fellow after my ownheart. I love a man who can discern my merit. If Pantaloon had halfyour wit, we should have Burgundy to-night in spite of the flight ofCordemais. "

"Burgundy?" roared M. Binet, and before he could get farther Harlequinhad clapped his hands together. 

"That is the spirit, M. Binet. You heard him, landlady. He called forBurgundy. "

"I called for nothing of the kind. "

"But you heard him, dear madame. We all heard him. "

The others made chorus, whilst Scaramouche smiled at him, and patted hisshoulder. 

"Up, man, a little courage. Did you not say that fortune awaits us? Andhave we not now the wherewithal to constrain fortune? Burgundy, then, to... To toast 'Les Fourberies de Scaramouche. '"

And M. Binet, who was not blind to the force of the idea, yielded, tookcourage, and got drunk with the rest. 

CHAPTER VI. CLIMENE

Diligent search among the many scenarios of the improvisers which havesurvived their day, has failed to bring to light the scenario of "LesFourberies de Scaramouche, " upon which we are told the fortunes of theBinet troupe came to be soundly established. They played it for thefirst time at Maure in the following week, with Andre-Louis--who wasknown by now as Scaramouche to all the company, and to the publicalike--in the title-role. If he had acquitted himself well asFigaro-Scaramouche, he excelled himself in the new piece, the scenarioof which would appear to be very much the better of the two. 

After Maure came Pipriac, where four performances were given, twoof each of the scenarios that now formed the backbone of the Binetrepertoire. In both Scaramouche, who was beginning to find himself, materially improved his performances. So smoothly now did the two piecesrun that Scaramouche actually suggested to Binet that after Fougeray, which they were to visit in the following week, they should temptfortune in a real theatre in the important town of Redon. The notionterrified Binet at first, but coming to think of it, and his ambitionbeing fanned by Andre-Louis, he ended by allowing himself to succumb tothe temptation. 

It seemed to Andre-Louis in those days that he had found his realmetier, and not only was he beginning to like it, but actually to lookforward to a career as actor-author that might indeed lead him in theend to that Mecca of all comedians, the Comedie Francaise. And therewere other possibilities. From the writing of skeleton scenarios forimprovisers, he might presently pass to writing plays of dialogue, playsin the proper sense of the word, after the manner of Chenier, Eglantine, and Beaumarchais. 

The fact that he dreamed such dreams shows us how very kindly he hadtaken to the profession into which Chance and M. Binet between them hadconspired to thrust him. That he had real talent both as author andas actor I do not doubt, and I am persuaded that had things fallen outdifferently he would have won for himself a lasting place among Frenchdramatists, and thus fully have realized that dream of his. 

Now, dream though it was, he did not neglect the practical side of it. 

"You realize, " he told M. Binet, "that I have it in my power to makeyour fortune for you. "

He and Binet were sitting alone together in the parlour of the inn atPipriac, drinking a very excellent bottle of Volnay. It was on the nightafter the fourth and last performance there of "Les Feurberies. " Thebusiness in Pipriac had been as excellent as in Maure and Guichen. Youwill have gathered this from the fact that they drank Volnay. 

"I will concede it, my dear Scaramouche, so that I may hear the sequel. "

"I am disposed to exercise this power if the inducement is sufficient. You will realize that for fifteen livres a month a man does not sellsuch exceptional gifts as mine. 

"There is an alternative, " said M. Binet, darkly. 

"There is no alternative. Don't be a fool, Binet. "

Binet sat up as if he had been prodded. Members of his company did nottake this tone of direct rebuke with him. 

"Anyway, I make you a present of it, " Scaramouche pursued, airily. "Exercise it if you please. Step outside and inform the police that theycan lay hands upon one Andre-Louis Moreau. But that will be the end ofyour fine dreams of going to Redon, and for the first time in your lifeplaying in a real theatre. Without me, you can't do it, and you knowit; and I am not going to Redon or anywhere else, in fact I am not evengoing to Fougeray, until we have an equitable arrangement. "

"But what heat!" complained Binet, "and all for what? Why must youassume that I have the soul of a usurer? When our little arrangement wasmade, I had no idea how could I?--that you would prove as valuable to meas you are? You had but to remind me, my dear Scaramouche. I am a justman. As from to-day you shall have thirty livres a month. See, I doubleit at once. I am a generous man. "

"But you are not ambitious. Now listen to me, a moment. "

And he proceeded to unfold a scheme that filled Binet with a paralyzingterror. 

"After Redon, Nantes, " he said. "Nantes and the Theatre Feydau. "

M. Binet choked in the act of drinking. The Theatre Feydau was a sortof provincial Comedie Francaise. The great Fleury had played there toan audience as critical as any in France. The very thought of Redon, cherished as it had come to be by M. Binet, gave him at moments a crampin the stomach, so dangerously ambitious did it seem to him. And Redonwas a puppet-show by comparison with Nantes. Yet this raw lad whomhe had picked up by chance three weeks ago, and who in that time hadblossomed from a country attorney into author and actor, could talk ofNantes and the Theatre Feydau without changing colour. 

"But why not Paris and the Comedie Francaise?" wondered M. Binet, withsarcasm, when at last he had got his breath. 

"That may come later, " says impudence. 

"Eh? You've been drinking, my friend. "

But Andre-Louis detailed the plan that had been forming in his mind. Fougeray should be a training-ground for Redon, and Redon should be atraining-ground for Nantes. They would stay in Redon as long as Redonwould pay adequately to come and see them, working hard to perfectthemselves the while. They would add three or four new players of talentto the company; he would write three or four fresh scenarios, and theseshould be tested and perfected until the troupe was in possession of atleast half a dozen plays upon which they could depend; they would layout a portion of their profits on better dresses and better scenery, andfinally in a couple of months' time, if all went well, they should beready to make their real bid for fortune at Nantes. It was quite truethat distinction was usually demanded of the companies appearing atthe Feydau, but on the other hand Nantes had not seen a troupe ofimprovisers for a generation and longer. They would be supplying anovelty to which all Nantes should flock provided that the work werereally well done, and Scaramouche undertook--pledged himself--thatif matters were left in his own hands, his projected revival ofthe Commedia dell' Arte in all its glories would exceed whateverexpectations the public of Nantes might bring to the theatre. 

"We'll talk of Paris after Nantes, " he finished, supremelymatter-of-fact, "just as we will definitely decide on Nantes afterRedon. "

The persuasiveness that could sway a mob ended by sweeping M. Binet offhis feet. The prospect which Scaramouche unfolded, if terrifying, wasalso intoxicating, and as Scaramouche delivered a crushing answer toeach weakening objection in a measure as it was advanced, Binet ended bypromising to think the matter over. 

"Redon will point the way, " said Andre-Louis, "and I don't doubt whichway Redon will point. "

Thus the great adventure of Redon dwindled to insignificance. Insteadof a terrifying undertaking in itself, it became merely a rehearsal forsomething greater. In his momentary exaltation Binet proposed anotherbottle of Volnay. Scaramouche waited until the cork was drawn before hecontinued. 

"The thing remains possible, " said he then, holding his glass to thelight, and speaking casually, "as long as I am with you. "

"Agreed, my dear Scaramouche, agreed. Our chance meeting was a fortunatething for both of us. "

"For both of us, " said Scaramouche, with stress. "That is as I wouldhave it. So that I do not think you will surrender me just yet to thepolice. "

"As if I could think of such a thing! My dear Scaramouche, you amuseyourself. I beg that you will never, never allude to that little joke ofmine again. "

"It is forgotten, " said Andre-Louis. "And now for the remainder of myproposal. If I am to become the architect of your fortunes, if I am tobuild them as I have planned them, I must also and in the same degreebecome the architect of my own. "

"In the same degree?" M. Binet frowned. 

"In the same degree. From to-day, if you please, we will conductthe affairs of this company in a proper manner, and we will keepaccount-books. "

"I am an artist, " said M. Binet, with pride. "I am not a merchant. "

"There is a business side to your art, and that shall be conducted inthe business manner. I have thought it all out for you. You shall notbe troubled with details that might hinder the due exercise of your art. All that you have to do is to say yes or no to my proposal. "

"Ah? And the proposal?"

"Is that you constitute me your partner, with an equal share in theprofits of your company. "

Pantaloon's great countenance grew pale, his little eyes widened totheir fullest extent as he conned the face of his companion. Then heexploded. 

"You are mad, of course, to make me a proposal so monstrous. "

"It has its injustices, I admit. But I have provided for them. It wouldnot, for instance, be fair that in addition to all that I am proposingto do for you, I should also play Scaramouche and write your scenarioswithout any reward outside of the half-profit which would come to me asa partner. Thus before the profits come to be divided, there is a salaryto be paid me as actor, and a small sum for each scenario with which Iprovide the company; that is a matter for mutual agreement. Similarly, you shall be paid a salary as Pantaloon. After those expenses arecleared up, as well as all the other salaries and disbursements, theresidue is the profit to be divided equally between us. "

It was not, as you can imagine, a proposal that M. Binet would swallowat a draught. He began with a point-blank refusal to consider it. 

"In that case, my friend, " said Scaramouche, "we part company at once. To-morrow I shall bid you a reluctant farewell. "

Binet fell to raging. He spoke of ingratitude in feeling terms; heeven permitted himself another sly allusion to that little jest of hisconcerning the police, which he had promised never again to mention. 

"As to that, you may do as you please. Play the informer, by allmeans. But consider that you will just as definitely be deprived ofmy services, and that without me you are nothing--as you were before Ijoined your company. "

M. Binet did not care what the consequences might be. A fig for theconsequences! He would teach this impudent young country attorney thatM. Binet was not the man to be imposed upon. 

Scaramouche rose. "Very well, " said he, between indifference andresignation. "As you wish. But before you act, sleep on the matter. Inthe cold light of morning you may see our two proposals in their properproportions. Mine spells fortune for both of us. Yours spells ruin forboth of us. Good-night, M. Binet. Heaven help you to a wise decision. "

The decision to which M. Binet finally came was, naturally, the only onepossible in the face of so firm a resolve as that of Andre-Louis, whoheld the trumps. Of course there were further discussions, before allwas settled, and M. Binet was brought to an agreement only after aninfinity of haggling surprising in one who was an artist and not aman of business. One or two concessions were made by Andre-Louis; heconsented, for instance, to waive his claim to be paid for scenarios, and he also consented that M. Binet should appoint himself a salary thatwas out of all proportion to his deserts. 

Thus in the end the matter was settled, and the announcement dulymade to the assembled company. There were, of course, jealousies andresentments. But these were not deep-seated, and they were readilyswallowed when it was discovered that under the new arrangement the lotof the entire company was to be materially improved from the pointof view of salaries. This was a matter that had met with considerableopposition from M. Binet. But the irresistible Scaramouche swept awayall objections. 

"If we are to play at the Feydau, you want a company of self-respectingcomedians, and not a pack of cringing starvelings. The better we paythem in reason, the more they will earn for us. "

Thus was conquered the company's resentment of this too swift promotionof its latest recruit. Cheerfully now--with one exception--they acceptedthe dominance of Scaramouche, a dominance soon to be so firmlyestablished that M. Binet himself came under it. 

The one exception was Climene. Her failure to bring to heel thisinteresting young stranger, who had almost literally dropped into theirmidst that morning outside Guichen, had begotten in her a malice whichhis persistent ignoring of her had been steadily inflaming. She hadremonstrated with her father when the new partnership was first formed. She had lost her temper with him, and called him a fool, whereupon M. Binet--in Pantaloon's best manner--had lost his temper in his turn andboxed her ears. She piled it up to the account of Scaramouche, andspied her opportunity to pay off some of that ever-increasing score. Butopportunities were few. Scaramouche was too occupied just then. Duringthe week of preparation at Fougeray, he was hardly seen save at theperformances, whilst when once they were at Redon, he came and went likethe wind between the theatre and the inn. 

The Redon experiment had justified itself from the first. Stimulated andencouraged by this, Andre-Louis worked day and night during the monththat they spent in that busy little town. The moment had been wellchosen, for the trade in chestnuts of which Redon is the centre was justthen at its height. And every afternoon the little theatre was packedwith spectators. The fame of the troupe had gone forth, borne by thechestnut-growers of the district, who were bringing their wares to Redonmarket, and the audiences were made up of people from the surroundingcountry, and from neighbouring villages as far out as Allaire, Saint-Perrieux and Saint-Nicholas. To keep the business from slackening, Andre-Louis prepared a new scenario every week. He wrote three inaddition to those two with which he had already supplied the company;these were "The Marriage of Pantaloon, " "The Shy Lover, " and "TheTerrible Captain. " Of these the last was the greatest success. It wasbased upon the "Miles Gloriosus" of Plautus, with great opportunitiesfor Rhodomont, and a good part for Scaramouche as the roaring captain'ssly lieutenant. Its success was largely due to the fact that Andre-Louisamplified the scenario to the extent of indicating very fully in placesthe lines which the dialogue should follow, whilst here and there hehad gone so far as to supply some of the actual dialogue to be spoken, without, however, making it obligatory upon the actors to keep to theletter of it. 

And meanwhile as the business prospered, he became busy with tailors, improving the wardrobe of the company, which was sorely in need ofimprovement. He ran to earth a couple of needy artists, lured them intothe company to play small parts--apothecaries and notaries--and set themto beguile their leisure in painting new scenery, so as to be readyfor what he called the conquest of Nantes, which was to come in the newyear. Never in his life had he worked so hard; never in his life had heworked at all by comparison with his activities now. His fund of energyand enthusiasm was inexhaustible, like that of his good humour. He cameand went, acted, wrote, conceived, directed, planned, and executed, what time M. Binet took his ease at last in comparative affluence, drankBurgundy every night, ate white bread and other delicacies, and beganto congratulate himself upon his astuteness in having made thisindustrious, tireless fellow his partner. Having discovered how idlehad been his fears of performing at Redon, he now began to dismiss theterrors with which the notion of Nantes had haunted him. 

And his happiness was reflected throughout the ranks of his company, with the single exception always of Climene. She had ceased to sneer atScaramouche, having realized at last that her sneers left him untouchedand recoiled upon herself. Thus her almost indefinable resentment of himwas increased by being stifled, until, at all costs, an outlet for itmust be found. 

One day she threw herself in his way as he was leaving the theatre afterthe performance. The others had already gone, and she had returned uponpretence of having forgotten something. 

"Will you tell me what I have done to you?" she asked him, point-blank. 

"Done to me, mademoiselle?" He did not understand. 

She made a gesture of impatience. "Why do you hate me?"

"Hate you, mademoiselle? I do not hate anybody. It is the most stupid ofall the emotions. I have never hated--not even my enemies. "

"What Christian resignation!"

"As for hating you, of all people! Why... I consider you adorable. Ienvy Leandre every day of my life. I have seriously thought of settinghim to play Scaramouche, and playing lovers myself. "

"I don't think you would be a success, " said she. 

"That is the only consideration that restrains me. And yet, giventhe inspiration that is given Leandre, it is possible that I might beconvincing. "

"Why, what inspiration do you mean?"

"The inspiration of playing to so adorable a Climene. "

Her lazy eyes were now alert to search that lean face of his. 

"You are laughing at me, " said she, and swept past him into the theatreon her pretended quest. There was nothing to be done with such a fellow. He was utterly without feeling. He was not a man at all. 

Yet when she came forth again at the end of some five minutes, she foundhim still lingering at the door. 

"Not gone yet?" she asked him, superciliously. 

"I was waiting for you, mademoiselle. You will be walking to the inn. IfI might escort you... "

"But what gallantry! What condescension!"

"Perhaps you would prefer that I did not?"

"How could I prefer that, M. Scaramouche? Besides, we are both going thesame way, and the streets are common to all. It is that I am overwhelmedby the unusual honour. "

He looked into her piquant little face, and noted how obscured it was byits cloud of dignity. He laughed. 

"Perhaps I feared that the honour was not sought. "

"Ah, now I understand, " she cried. "It is for me to seek these honours. I am to woo a man before he will pay me the homage of civility. It mustbe so, since you, who clearly know everything, have said so. It remainsfor me to beg your pardon for my ignorance. "

"It amuses you to be cruel, " said Scaramouche. "No matter. Shall wewalk?"

They set out together, stepping briskly to warm their blood againstthe wintry evening air. Awhile they went in silence, yet each furtivelyobserving the other. 

"And so, you find me cruel?" she challenged him at length, therebybetraying the fact that the accusation had struck home. 

He looked at her with a half smile. "Will you deny it?"

"You are the first man that ever accused me of that. "

"I dare not suppose myself the first man to whom you have been cruel. That were an assumption too flattering to myself. I must prefer to thinkthat the others suffered in silence. "

"Mon Dieu! Have you suffered?" She was between seriousness and raillery. 

"I place the confession as an offering on the altar of your vanity. "

"I should never have suspected it. "

"How could you? Am I not what your father calls a natural actor? I wasan actor long before I became Scaramouche. Therefore I have laughed. Ioften do when I am hurt. When you were pleased to be disdainful, I acteddisdain in my turn. "

"You acted very well, " said she, without reflecting. 

"Of course. I am an excellent actor. "

"And why this sudden change?"

"In response to the change in you. You have grown weary of your part ofcruel madam--a dull part, believe me, and unworthy of your talents. WereI a woman and had I your loveliness and your grace, Climene, I shoulddisdain to use them as weapons of offence. "

"Loveliness and grace!" she echoed, feigning amused surprise. But thevain baggage was mollified. "When was it that you discovered this beautyand this grace, M. Scaramouche?"

He looked at her a moment, considering the sprightly beauty of her, theadorable femininity that from the first had so irresistibly attractedhim. 

"One morning when I beheld you rehearsing a love-scene with Leandre. "

He caught the surprise that leapt to her eyes, before she veiled themunder drooping lids from his too questing gaze. 

"Why, that was the first time you saw me. "

"I had no earlier occasion to remark your charms. "

"You ask me to believe too much, " said she, but her tone was softer thanhe had ever known it yet. 

"Then you'll refuse to believe me if I confess that it was this graceand beauty that determined my destiny that day by urging me to join yourfather's troupe. "

At that she became a little out of breath. There was no longer anyquestion of finding an outlet for resentment. Resentment was allforgotten. 

"But why? With what object?"

"With the object of asking you one day to be my wife. "

She halted under the shock of that, and swung round to face him. Herglance met his own without, shyness now; there was a hardening glitterin her eyes, a faint stir of colour in her cheeks. She suspected him ofan unpardonable mockery. 

"You go very fast, don't you?" she asked him, with heat. 

"I do. Haven't you observed it? I am a man of sudden impulses. See whatI have made of the Binet troupe in less than a couple of months. Anothermight have laboured for a year and not achieved the half of it. Shall Ibe slower in love than in work? Would it be reasonable to expect it? Ihave curbed and repressed myself not to scare you by precipitancy. Inthat I have done violence to my feelings, and more than all in using thesame cold aloofness with which you chose to treat me. I have waited--oh!so patiently--until you should tire of that mood of cruelty. "

"You are an amazing man, " said she, quite colourlessly. 

"I am, " he agreed with her. "It is only the conviction that I am notcommonplace that has permitted me to hope as I have hoped. "

Mechanically, and as if by tacit consent, they resumed their walk. 

"And I ask you to observe, " he said, "when you complain that I go veryfast, that, after all, I have so far asked you for nothing. "

"How?" quoth she, frowning. 

"I have merely told you of my hopes. I am not so rash as to ask at oncewhether I may realize them. "

"My faith, but that is prudent, " said she, tartly. 

"Of course. "

It was his self-possession that exasperated her; for after that shewalked the short remainder of the way in silence, and so, for themoment, the matter was left just there. 

But that night, after they had supped, it chanced that when Climene wasabout to retire, he and she were alone together in the room abovestairsthat her father kept exclusively for his company. The Binet Troupe, yousee, was rising in the world. 

As Climene now rose to withdraw for the night, Scaramouche rose with herto light her candle. Holding it in her left hand, she offered him herright, a long, tapering, white hand at the end of a softly rounded armthat was bare to the elbow. 

"Good-night, Scaramouche, " she said, but so softly, so tenderly, that hecaught his breath, and stood conning her, his dark eyes aglow. 

Thus a moment, then he took the tips of her fingers in his grasp, andbowing over the hand, pressed his lips upon it. Then he looked ather again. The intense femininity of her lured him on, invited him, surrendered to him. Her face was pale, there was a glitter in her eyes, a curious smile upon her parted lips, and under its fichu-menteur herbosom rose and fell to complete the betrayal of her. 

By the hand he continued to hold, he drew her towards him. She cameunresisting. He took the candle from her, and set it down on thesideboard by which she stood. The next moment her slight, lithe body wasin his arms, and he was kissing her, murmuring her name as if it were aprayer. 

"Am I cruel now?" she asked him, panting. He kissed her again for onlyanswer. "You made me cruel because you would not see, " she told him nextin a whisper. 

And then the door opened, and M. Binet came in to have his paternal eyesregaled by this highly indecorous behaviour of his daughter. 

He stood at gaze, whilst they quite leisurely, and in a self-possessiontoo complete to be natural, detached each from the other. 

"And what may be the meaning of this?" demanded M. Binet, bewildered andprofoundly shocked. 

"Does it require explaining?" asked Scaramouche. "Doesn't it speak foritself--eloquently? It means that Climene and I have taken it into ourheads to be married. "

"And doesn't it matter what I may take into my head?"

"Of course. But you could have neither the bad taste nor the bad heartto offer any obstacle. "

"You take that for granted? Aye, that is your way, to be sure--to takethings for granted. But my daughter is not to be taken for granted. I have very definite views for my daughter. You have done an unworthything, Scaramouche. You have betrayed my trust in you. I am very angrywith you. "

He rolled forward with his ponderous yet curiously noiseless gait. Scaramouche turned to her, smiling, and handed her the candle. 

"If you will leave us, Climene, I will ask your hand of your father inproper form. "

She vanished, a little fluttered, lovelier than ever in her mixtureof confusion and timidity. Scaramouche closed the door and faced theenraged M. Binet, who had flung himself into an armchair at the headof the short table, faced him with the avowed purpose of asking forClimene's hand in proper form. And this was how he did it:

"Father-in-law, " said he, "I congratulate you. This will certainly meanthe Comedie Francaise for Climene, and that before long, and you shallshine in the glory she will reflect. As the father of Madame Scaramoucheyou may yet be famous. "

Binet, his face slowly empurpling, glared at him in speechlessstupefaction. His rage was the more utter from his humiliatingconviction that whatever he might say or do, this irresistible fellowwould bend him to his will. At last speech came to him. 

"You're a damned corsair, " he cried, thickly, banging his ham-like fistupon the table. "A corsair! First you sail in and plunder me of half mylegitimate gains; and now you want to carry off my daughter. But I'll bedamned if I'll give her to a graceless, nameless scoundrel like you, forwhom the gallows are waiting already. "

Scaramouche pulled the bell-rope, not at all discomposed. He smiled. There was a flush on his cheeks and a gleam in his eyes. He was verypleased with the world that night. He really owed a great debt to M. DeLesdiguieres. 

"Binet, " said he, "forget for once that you are Pantaloon, and behaveas a nice, amiable father-in-law should behave when he has secured ason-in-law of exceptionable merits. We are going to have a bottle ofBurgundy at my expense, and it shall be the best bottle of Burgundyto be found in Redon. Compose yourself to do fitting honour to it. Excitations of the bile invariably impair the fine sensitiveness of thepalate. "

CHAPTER VII. THE CONQUEST OF NANTES

The Binet Troupe opened in Nantes--as you may discover in survivingcopies of the "Courrier Nantais"--on the Feast of the Purification with"Les Fourberies de Scaramouche. " But they did not come to Nantesas hitherto they had gone to little country villages and townships, unheralded and depending entirely upon the parade of their entranceto attract attention to themselves. Andre-Louis had borrowed from thebusiness methods of the Comedie Francaise. Carrying matters with a highhand entirely in his own fashion, he had ordered at Redon the printingof playbills, and four days before the company's descent upon Nantes, these bills were pasted outside the Theatre Feydau and elsewhereabout the town, and had attracted--being still sufficiently unusualannouncements at the time--considerable attention. He had entrusted thematter to one of the company's latest recruits, an intelligent young mannamed Basque, sending him on ahead of the company for the purpose. 

You may see for yourself one of these playbills in the CarnavaletMuseum. It details the players by their stage names only, with theexception of M. Binet and his daughter, and leaving out of account thathe who plays Trivelin in one piece appears as Tabarin in another, itmakes the company appear to be at least half as numerous again as itreally was. It announces that they will open with "Les Fourberies deScaramouche, " to be followed by five other plays of which it gives thetitles, and by others not named, which shall also be added should thepatronage to be received in the distinguished and enlightened city ofNantes encourage the Binet Troupe to prolong its sojourn at the TheatreFeydau. It lays great stress upon the fact that this is a company ofimprovisers in the old Italian manner, the like of which has not beenseen in France for half a century, and it exhorts the public of Nantesnot to miss this opportunity of witnessing these distinguished mimes whoare reviving for them the glories of the Comedie de l'Art. Their visitto Nantes--the announcement proceeds--is preliminary to their visit toParis, where they intend to throw down the glove to the actors of theComedie Francaise, and to show the world how superior is the art of theimproviser to that of the actor who depends upon an author for what heshall say, and who consequently says always the same thing every timethat he plays in the same piece. 

It is an audacious bill, and its audacity had scared M. Binet out ofthe little sense left him by the Burgundy which in these days he couldafford to abuse. He had offered the most vehement opposition. Part ofthis Andre-Louis had swept aside; part he had disregarded. 

"I admit that it is audacious, " said Scaramouche. "But at your time oflife you should have learnt that in this world nothing succeeds likeaudacity. "

"I forbid it; I absolutely forbid it, " M. Binet insisted. 

"I knew you would. Just as I know that you'll be very grateful to mepresently for not obeying you. "

"You are inviting a catastrophe. "

"I am inviting fortune. The worst catastrophe that can overtake youis to be back in the market-halls of the country villages from which Irescued you. I'll have you in Paris yet in spite of yourself. Leave thisto me. "

And he went out to attend to the printing. Nor did his preparationsend there. He wrote a piquant article on the glories of the Comedie del'Art, and its resurrection by the improvising troupe of the great mimeFlorimond Binet. Binet's name was not Florimond; it was just Pierre. But Andre-Louis had a great sense of the theatre. That article was anamplification of the stimulating matter contained in the playbills;and he persuaded Basque, who had relations in Nantes, to use all theinfluence he could command, and all the bribery they could afford, toget that article printed in the "Courrier Nantais" a couple of daysbefore the arrival of the Binet Troupe. 

Basque had succeeded, and, considering the undoubted literary merits andintrinsic interest of the article, this is not at all surprising. 

And so it was upon an already expectant city that Binet and his companydescended in that first week of February. M. Binet would have made hisentrance in the usual manner--a full-dress parade with banging drums andcrashing cymbals. But to this Andre-Louis offered the most relentlessopposition. 

"We should but discover our poverty, " said he. "Instead, we will creepinto the city unobserved, and leave ourselves to the imagination of thepublic. "

He had his way, of course. M. Binet, worn already with battling againstthe strong waters of this young man's will, was altogether unequal tothe contest now that he found Climene in alliance with Scaramouche, adding her insistence to his, and joining with him in reprobation of herfather's sluggish and reactionary wits. Metaphorically, M. Binet threwup his arms, and cursing the day on which he had taken this young maninto his troupe, he allowed the current to carry him whither it would. He was persuaded that he would be drowned in the end. Meanwhile hewould drown his vexation in Burgundy. At least there was abundance ofBurgundy. Never in his life had he found Burgundy so plentiful. Perhapsthings were not as bad as he imagined, after all. He reflected that, when all was said, he had to thank Scaramouche for the Burgundy. Whilstfearing the worst, he would hope for the best. 

And it was very much the worst that he feared as he waited in the wingswhen the curtain rose on that first performance of theirs at the TheatreFeydau to a house that was tolerably filled by a public whose curiositythe preliminary announcements had thoroughly stimulated. 

Although the scenario of "Lee Fourberies de Scaramouche" has notapparently survived, yet we know from Andre-Louis' "Confessions" that itis opened by Polichinelle in the character of an arrogant and fiercelyjealous lover shown in the act of beguiling the waiting-maid, Columbine, to play the spy upon her mistress, Climene. Beginning with cajolery, butfailing in this with the saucy Columbine, who likes cajolers to be atleast attractive and to pay a due deference to her own very piquantcharms, the fierce humpbacked scoundrel passes on to threats of theterrible vengeance he will wreak upon her if she betrays him or neglectsto obey him implicitly; failing here, likewise, he finally has recourseto bribery, and after he has bled himself freely to the very expectantColumbine, he succeeds by these means in obtaining her consent to spyupon Climene, and to report to him upon her lady's conduct. 

The pair played the scene well together, stimulated, perhaps, by theirvery nervousness at finding themselves before so imposing an audience. Polichinelle was everything that is fierce, contemptuous, and insistent. Columbine was the essence of pert indifference under his cajolery, saucily mocking under his threats, and finely sly in extorting the verymaximum when it came to accepting a bribe. Laughter rippled throughthe audience and promised well. But M. Binet, standing trembling in thewings, missed the great guffaws of the rustic spectators to whom theyhad played hitherto, and his fears steadily mounted. 

Then, scarcely has Polichinelle departed by the door than Scaramouchebounds in through the window. It was an effective entrance, usuallyperformed with a broad comic effect that set the people in a roar. Notso on this occasion. Meditating in bed that morning, Scaramouche haddecided to present himself in a totally different aspect. He would cutout all the broad play, all the usual clowning which had delightedtheir past rude audiences, and he would obtain his effects by subtletyinstead. He would present a slyly humorous rogue, restrained, and of acertain dignity, wearing a countenance of complete solemnity, speakinghis lines drily, as if unconscious of the humour with which he intendedto invest them. Thus, though it might take the audience longer tounderstand and discover him, they would like him all the better in theend. 

True to that resolve, he now played his part as the friend and hiredally of the lovesick Leandre, on whose behalf he came for news ofClimene, seizing the opportunity to further his own amour with Columbineand his designs upon the money-bags of Pantaloon. Also he had takencertain liberties with the traditional costume of Scaramouche; he hadcaused the black doublet and breeches to be slashed with red, and thedoublet to be cut more to a peak, a la Henri III. The conventional blackvelvet cap he had replaced by a conical hat with a turned-up brim, and atuft of feathers on the left, and he had discarded the guitar. 

M. Binet listened desperately for the roar of laughter that usuallygreeted the entrance of Scaramouche, and his dismay increased whenit did not come. And then he became conscious of something alarminglyunusual in Scaramouche's manner. The sibilant foreign accent was there, but none of the broad boisterousness their audiences had loved. 

He wrung his hands in despair. "It is all over!" he said. "The fellowhas ruined us! It serves me right for being a fool, and allowing him totake control of everything!"

But he was profoundly mistaken. He began to have an inkling of this whenpresently himself he took the stage, and found the public attentive, remarked a grin of quiet appreciation on every upturned face. It wasnot, however, until the thunders of applause greeted the fall of thecurtain on the first act that he felt quite sure they would be allowedto escape with their lives. 

Had the part of Pantaloon in "Les Fourberies" been other than that ofa blundering, timid old idiot, Binet would have ruined it by hisapprehensions. As it was, those very apprehensions, magnifying as theydid the hesitancy and bewilderment that were the essence of his part, contributed to the success. And a success it proved that more thanjustified all the heralding of which Scaramouche had been guilty. 

For Scaramouche himself this success was not confined to the public. Atthe end of the play a great reception awaited him from his companionsassembled in the green-room of the theatre. His talent, resource, andenergy had raised them in a few weeks from a pack of vagrant mountebanksto a self-respecting company of first-rate players. They acknowledged itgenerously in a speech entrusted to Polichinelle, adding the tribute tohis genius that, as they had conquered Nantes, so would they conquer theworld under his guidance. 

In their enthusiasm they were a little neglectful of the feelings ofM. Binet. Irritated enough had he been already by the overriding ofhis every wish, by the consciousness of his weakness when opposedto Scaramouche. And, although he had suffered the gradual process ofusurpation of authority because its every step had been attended byhis own greater profit, deep down in him the resentment abode to stifleevery spark of that gratitude due from him to his partner. To-nighthis nerves had been on the rack, and he had suffered agonies ofapprehension, for all of which he blamed Scaramouche so bitterly thatnot even the ultimate success--almost miraculous when all the elementsare considered--could justify his partner in his eyes. 

And now, to find himself, in addition, ignored by this company--his owncompany, which he had so laboriously and slowly assembled and selectedamong the men of ability whom he had found here and there in thedregs of cities--was something that stirred his bile, and aroused themalevolence that never did more than slumber in him. But deeply thoughhis rage was moved, it did not blind him to the folly of betraying it. Yet that he should assert himself in this hour was imperative unless hewere for ever to become a thing of no account in this troupe over whichhe had lorded it for long months before this interloper came amongstthem to fill his purse and destroy his authority. 

So he stepped forward now when Polichinelle had done. His make-upassisting him to mask his bitter feelings, he professed to add his ownto Polichinelle's acclamations of his dear partner. But he did it insuch a manner as to make it clear that what Scaramouche had done, hehad done by M. Binet's favour, and that in all M. Binet's had been theguiding hand. In associating himself with Polichinelle, he desired tothank Scaramouche, much in the manner of a lord rendering thanks to hissteward for services diligently rendered and orders scrupulously carriedout. 

It neither deceived the troupe nor mollified himself. Indeed, hisconsciousness of the mockery of it but increased his bitterness. But atleast it saved his face and rescued him from nullity--he who was theirchief. 

To say, as I have said, that it did not deceive them, is perhaps to saytoo much, for it deceived them at least on the score of his feelings. They believed, after discounting the insinuations in which he took allcredit to himself, that at heart he was filled with gratitude, as theywere. That belief was shared by Andre-Louis himself, who in his brief, grateful answer was very generous to M. Binet, more than endorsing theclaims that M. Binet had made. 

And then followed from him the announcement that their success in Nanteswas the sweeter to him because it rendered almost immediately attainablethe dearest wish of his heart, which was to make Climene his wife. It was a felicity of which he was the first to acknowledge his utterunworthiness. It was to bring him into still closer relations withhis good friend M. Binet, to whom he owed all that he had achieved forhimself and for them. The announcement was joyously received, for theworld of the theatre loves a lover as dearly as does the greater world. So they acclaimed the happy pair, with the exception of poor Leandre, whose eyes were more melancholy than ever. 

They were a happy family that night in the upstairs room of their inn onthe Quai La Fosse--the same inn from which Andre-Louis had set out someweeks ago to play a vastly different role before an audience of Nantes. Yet was it so different, he wondered? Had he not then been a sort ofScaramouche--an intriguer, glib and specious, deceiving folk, cynicallymisleading them with opinions that were not really his own? Was it atall surprising that he should have made so rapid and signal a successas a mime? Was not this really all that he had ever been, the thing forwhich Nature had designed him?

On the following night they played "The Shy Lover" to a full house, thefame of their debut having gone abroad, and the success of Monday wasconfirmed. On Wednesday they gave "Figaro-Scaramouche, " and on Thursdaymorning the "Courrier Nantais" came out with an article of more thana column of praise of these brilliant improvisers, for whom it claimedthat they utterly put to shame the mere reciters of memorized parts. 

Andre-Louis, reading the sheet at breakfast, and having no delusionson the score of the falseness of that statement, laughed inwardly. Thenovelty of the thing, and the pretentiousness in which he had swaddledit, had deceived them finely. He turned to greet Binet and Climene, whoentered at that moment. He waved the sheet above his head. 

"It is settled, " he announced, "we stay in Nantes until Easter. "

"Do we?" said Binet, sourly. "You settle everything, my friend. "

"Read for yourself. " And he handed him the paper. 

Moodily M. Binet read. He set the sheet down in silence, and turned hisattention to his breakfast. 

"Was I justified or not?" quoth Andre-Louis, who found M. Binet'sbehaviour a thought intriguing. 

"In what?"

"In coming to Nantes?"

"If I had not thought so, we should not have come, " said Binet, and hebegan to eat. 

Andre-Louis dropped the subject, wondering. 

After breakfast he and Climene sallied forth to take the air upon thequays. It was a day of brilliant sunshine and less cold than it hadlately been. Columbine tactlessly joined them as they were setting out, though in this respect matters were improved a little when Harlequincame running after them, and attached himself to Columbine. 

Andre-Louis, stepping out ahead with Climene, spoke of the thing thatwas uppermost in his mind at the moment. 

"Your father is behaving very oddly towards me, " said he. "It is almostas if he had suddenly become hostile. "

"You imagine it, " said she. "My father is very grateful to you, as weall are. "

"He is anything but grateful. He is infuriated against me; and I think Iknow the reason. Don't you? Can't you guess?"

"I can't, indeed. "

"If you were my daughter, Climene, which God be thanked you are not, Ishould feel aggrieved against the man who carried you away from me. Poorold Pantaloon! He called me a corsair when I told him that I intend tomarry you. "

"He was right. You are a bold robber, Scaramouche. "

"It is in the character, " said he. "Your father believes in havinghis mimes play upon the stage the parts that suit their naturaltemperaments. "

"Yes, you take everything you want, don't you?" She looked up at him, half adoringly, half shyly. 

"If it is possible, " said he. "I took his consent to our marriage bymain force from him. I never waited for him to give it. When, in fact, he refused it, I just snatched it from him, and I'll defy him now to winit back from me. I think that is what he most resents. "

She laughed, and launched upon an animated answer. But he did not heara word of it. Through the bustle of traffic on the quay a cabriolet, theupper half of which was almost entirely made of glass, had approachedthem. It was drawn by two magnificent bay horses and driven by asuperbly livened coachman. 

In the cabriolet alone sat a slight young girl wrapped in a lynx-furpelisse, her face of a delicate loveliness. She was leaning forward, herlips parted, her eyes devouring Scaramouche until they drew his gaze. When that happened, the shock of it brought him abruptly to a dumfoundedhalt. 

Climene, checking in the middle of a sentence, arrested by his ownsudden stopping, plucked at his sleeve. 

"What is it, Scaramouche?"

But he made no attempt to answer her, and at that moment the coachman, to whom the little lady had already signalled, brought the carriage to astandstill beside them. Seen in the gorgeous setting of that coach withits escutcheoned panels, its portly coachman and its white-stockingedfootman--who swung instantly to earth as the vehicle stopped--its daintyoccupant seemed to Climene a princess out of a fairy-tale. And thisprincess leaned forward, with eyes aglow and cheeks aflush, stretchingout a choicely gloved hand to Scaramouche. 

"Andre-Louis!" she called him. 

And Scaramouche took the hand of that exalted being, just as he mighthave taken the hand of Climene herself, and with eyes that reflected thegladness of her own, in a voice that echoed the joyous surprise of hers, he addressed her familiarly by name, just as she had addressed him. 

"Aline!"

CHAPTER VIII. THE DREAM

"The door, " Aline commanded her footman, and "Mount here beside me, " shecommanded Andre-Louis, in the same breath. 

"A moment, Aline. "

He turned to his companion, who was all amazement, and to Harlequinand Columbine, who had that moment come up to share it. "You permitme, Climene?" said he, breathlessly. But it was more a statement thana question. "Fortunately you are not alone. Harlequin will take care ofyou. Au revoir, at dinner. "

With that he sprang into the cabriolet without waiting for a reply. Thefootman closed the door, the coachman cracked his whip, and the regalequipage rolled away along the quay, leaving the three comedians staringafter it, open-mouthed... Then Harlequin laughed. 

"A prince in disguise, our Scaramouche!" said he. 

Columbine clapped her hands and flashed her strong teeth. "But what aromance for you, Climene! How wonderful!"

The frown melted from Climene's brow. Resentment changed tobewilderment. 

"But who is she?"

"His sister, of course, " said Harlequin, quite definitely. 

"His sister? How do you know?"

"I know what he will tell you on his return. "

"But why?"

"Because you wouldn't believe him if he said she was his mother. "

Following the carriage with their glance, they wandered on in thedirection it had taken. And in the carriage Aline was consideringAndre-Louis with grave eyes, lips slightly compressed, and a tiny frownbetween her finely drawn eyebrows. 

"You have taken to queer company, Andre, " was the first thing she saidto him. "Or else I am mistaken in thinking that your companion was Mlle. Binet of the Theatre Feydau. "

"You are not mistaken. But I had not imagined Mlle. Binet so famousalready. "

"Oh, as to that... " mademoiselle shrugged, her tone quietly scornful. And she explained. "It is simply that I was at the play last night. Ithought I recognized her. "

"You were at the Feydau last night? And I never saw you!"

"Were you there, too?"

"Was I there!" he cried. Then he checked, and abruptly changed his tone. "Oh, yes, I was there, " he said, as commonplace as he could, beset by asudden reluctance to avow that he had so willingly descended to depthsthat she must account unworthy, and grateful that his disguise of faceand voice should have proved impenetrable even to one who knew him sovery well. 

"I understand, " said she, and compressed her lips a little more tightly. 

"But what do you understand?"

"The rare attractions of Mlle. Binet. Naturally you would be at thetheatre. Your tone conveyed it very clearly. Do you know that youdisappoint me, Andre? It is stupid of me, perhaps; it betrays, Isuppose, my imperfect knowledge of your sex. I am aware that most youngmen of fashion find an irresistible attraction for creatures who paradethemselves upon the stage. But I did not expect you to ape the ways ofa man of fashion. I was foolish enough to imagine you to be different;rather above such trivial pursuits. I conceived you something of anidealist. "

"Sheer flattery. "

"So I perceive. But you misled me. You talked so much morality of akind, you made philosophy so readily, that I came to be deceived. Infact, your hypocrisy was so consummate that I never suspected it. Withyour gift of acting I wonder that you haven't joined Mlle. Binet'stroupe. "

"I have, " said he. 

It had really become necessary to tell her, making choice of the lesserof the two evils with which she confronted him. 

He saw first incredulity, then consternation, and lastly disgustoverspread her face. 

"Of course, " said she, after a long pause, "that would have theadvantage of bringing you closer to your charmer. "

"That was only one of the inducements. There was another. Finding myselfforced to choose between the stage and the gallows, I had the incredibleweakness to prefer the former. It was utterly unworthy of a man of mylofty ideals, but--what would you? Like other ideologists, I find iteasier to preach than to practise. Shall I stop the carriage and removethe contamination of my disgusting person? Or shall I tell you how ithappened?"

"Tell me how it happened first. Then we will decide. "

He told her how he met the Binet Troupe, and how the men of themarechaussee forced upon him the discovery that in its bosom he couldlie safely lost until the hue and cry had died down. The explanationdissolved her iciness. 

"My poor Andre, why didn't you tell me this at first?"

"For one thing, you didn't give me time; for another, I feared to shockyou with the spectacle of my degradation. "

She took him seriously. "But where was the need of it? And why did younot send us word as I required you of your whereabouts?"

"I was thinking of it only yesterday. I have hesitated for severalreasons. "

"You thought it would offend us to know what you were doing?"

"I think that I preferred to surprise you by the magnitude of myultimate achievements. "

"Oh, you are to become a great actor?" She was frankly scornful. 

"That is not impossible. But I am more concerned to become a greatauthor. There is no reason why you should sniff. The calling is anhonourable one. All the world is proud to know such men as Beaumarchaisand Chenier. "

"And you hope to equal them?"

"I hope to surpass them, whilst acknowledging that it was they whotaught me how to walk. What did you think of the play last night?"

"It was amusing and well conceived. "

"Let me present you to the author. "

"You? But the company is one of the improvisers. "

"Even improvisers require an author to write their scenarios. That isall I write at present. Soon I shall be writing plays in the modernmanner. "

"You deceive yourself, my poor Andre. The piece last night wouldhave been nothing without the players. You are fortunate in yourScaramouche. "

"In confidence--I present you to him. "

"You--Scaramouche? You?" She turned to regard him fully. He smiled hisclose-lipped smile that made wrinkles like gashes in his cheeks. Henodded. "And I didn't recognize you!"

"I thank you for the tribute. You imagined, of course, that I was ascene-shifter. And now that you know all about me, what of Gavrillac?What of my godfather?"

He was well, she told him, and still profoundly indignant withAndre-Louis for his defection, whilst secretly concerned on his behalf. 

"I shall write to him to-day that I have seen you. "

"Do so. Tell him that I am well and prospering. But say no more. Do nottell him what I am doing. He has his prejudices too. Besides, it mightnot be prudent. And now the question I have been burning to ask eversince I entered your carriage. Why are you in Nantes, Aline?"

"I am on a visit to my aunt, Mme. De Sautron. It was with her that Icame to the play yesterday. We have been dull at the chateau; butit will be different now. Madame my aunt is receiving several gueststo-day. M. De La Tour d'Azyr is to be one of them. "

Andre-Louis frowned and sighed. "Did you ever hear, Aline, how poorPhilippe de Vilmorin came by his end?"

"Yes; I was told, first by my uncle; then by M. De La Tour d'Azyr, himself. "

"Did not that help you to decide this marriage question?"

"How could it? You forget that I am but a woman. You don't expect me tojudge between men in matters such as these?"

"Why not? You are well able to do so. The more since you have heard twosides. For my godfather would tell you the truth. If you cannot judge, it is that you do not wish to judge. " His tone became harsh. "Wilfullyyou close your eyes to justice that might check the course of yourunhealthy, unnatural ambition. "

"Excellent!" she exclaimed, and considered him with amusement andsomething else. "Do you know that you are almost droll? You riseunblushing from the dregs of life in which I find you, and shake off thearm of that theatre girl, to come and preach to me. "

"If these were the dregs of life I might still speak from them tocounsel you out of my respect and devotion, Aline. " He was very, stiffand stern. "But they are not the dregs of life. Honour and virtue arepossible to a theatre girl; they are impossible to a lady who sellsherself to gratify ambition; who for position, riches, and a great titlebarters herself in marriage. "

She looked at him breathlessly. Anger turned her pale. She reached forthe cord. 

"I think I had better let you alight so that you may go back to practisevirtue and honour with your theatre wench. "

"You shall not speak so of her, Aline. "

"Faith, now we are to have heat on her behalf. You think I am toodelicate? You think I should speak of her as a... "

"If you must speak of her at all, " he interrupted, hotly, "you'll speakof her as my wife. "

Amazement smothered her anger. Her pallor deepened. "My God!" she said, and looked at him in horror. And in horror she asked him presently: "Youare married--married to that--?"

"Not yet. But I shall be, soon. And let me tell you that this girl whomyou visit with your ignorant contempt is as good and pure as you are, Aline. She has wit and talent which have placed her where she is andshall carry her a deal farther. And she has the womanliness to be guidedby natural instincts in the selection of her mate. "

She was trembling with passion. She tugged the cord. 

"You will descend this instant!" she told him fiercely. "That you shoulddare to make a comparison between me and that... "

"And my wife-to-be, " he interrupted, before she could speak the infamousword. He opened the door for himself without waiting for the footman, and leapt down. "My compliments, " said he, furiously, "to the assassinyou are to marry. " He slammed the door. "Drive on, " he bade thecoachman. 

The carriage rolled away up the Faubourg Gigan, leaving him standingwhere he had alighted, quivering with rage. Gradually, as he walked backto the inn, his anger cooled. Gradually, as he cooled, he perceived herpoint of view, and in the end forgave her. It was not her fault that shethought as she thought. Her rearing had been such as to make her lookupon every actress as a trull, just as it had qualified her calmlyto consider the monstrous marriage of convenience into which she wasinvited. 

He got back to the inn to find the company at table. Silence fell whenhe entered, so suddenly that of necessity it must be supposed he washimself the subject of the conversation. Harlequin and Columbine hadspread the tale of this prince in disguise caught up into the chariotof a princess and carried off by her; and it was a tale that had lostnothing in the telling. 

Climene had been silent and thoughtful, pondering what Columbine hadcalled this romance of hers. Clearly her Scaramouche must be vastlyother than he had hitherto appeared, or else that great lady and hewould never have used such familiarity with each other. Imagining himno better than he was, Climene had made him her own. And now she was toreceive the reward of disinterested affection. 

Even old Binet's secret hostility towards Andre-Louis melted beforethis astounding revelation. He had pinched his daughter's ear quiteplayfully. "Ah, ah, trust you to have penetrated his disguise, mychild!"

She shrank resentfully from that implication. 

"But I did not. I took him for what he seemed. "

Her father winked at her very solemnly and laughed. "To be sure, youdid. But like your father, who was once a gentleman, and knows the waysof gentlemen, you detected in him a subtle something different fromthose with whom misfortune has compelled you hitherto to herd. You knewas well as I did that he never caught that trick of haughtiness, thatgrand air of command, in a lawyer's musty office, and that his speechhad hardly the ring or his thoughts the complexion of the bourgeois thathe pretended to be. And it was shrewd of you to have made him yours. Doyou know that I shall be very proud of you yet, Climene?"

She moved away without answering. Her father's oiliness offended her. Scaramouche was clearly a great gentleman, an eccentric if you please, but a man born. And she was to be his lady. Her father must learn totreat her differently. 

She looked shyly--with a new shyness--at her lover when he came into theroom where they were dining. She observed for the first time that proudcarriage of the head, with the chin thrust forward, that was a trick ofhis, and she noticed with what a grace he moved--the grace of one who inyouth has had his dancing-masters and fencing-masters. 

It almost hurt her when he flung himself into a chair and exchangeda quip with Harlequin in the usual manner as with an equal, and itoffended her still more that Harlequin, knowing what he now knew, shoulduse him with the same unbecoming familiarity. 

CHAPTER IX. THE AWAKENING

"Do you know, " said Climene, "that I am waiting for the explanationwhich I think you owe me?"

They were alone together, lingering still at the table to whichAndre-Louis had come belatedly, and Andre-Louis was loading himself apipe. Of late--since joining the Binet Troupe--he had acquired the habitof smoking. The others had gone, some to take the air and others, likeBinet and Madame, because they felt that it were discreet to leavethose two to the explanations that must pass. It was a feeling thatAndre-Louis did not share. He kindled a light and leisurely applied itto his pipe. A frown came to settle on his brow. 

"Explanation?" he questioned presently, and looked at her. "But on whatscore?"

"On the score of the deception you have practised on us--on me. "

"I have practised none, " he assured her. 

"You mean that you have simply kept your own counsel, and that insilence there is no deception. But it is deceitful to withhold factsconcerning yourself and your true station from your future wife. Youshould not have pretended to be a simple country lawyer, which, ofcourse, any one could see that you are not. It may have been veryromantic, but... Enfin, will you explain?"

"I see, " he said, and pulled at his pipe. "But you are wrong, Climene. I have practised no deception. If there are things about me that I havenot told you, it is that I did not account them of much importance. But I have never deceived you by pretending to be other than I am. I amneither more nor less than I have represented myself. "

This persistence began to annoy her, and the annoyance showed on herwinsome face, coloured her voice. 

"Ha! And that fine lady of the nobility with whom you are so intimate, who carried you off in her cabriolet with so little ceremony towardsmyself? What is she to you?"

"A sort of sister, " said he. 

"A sort of sister!" She was indignant. "Harlequin foretold that youwould say so; but he was amusing himself. It was not very funny. Itis less funny still from you. She has a name, I suppose, this sort ofsister?"

"Certainly she has a name. She is Mlle. Aline de Kercadiou, the niece ofQuintin de Kercadiou, Lord of Gavrillac. "

"Oho! That's a sufficiently fine name for your sort of sister. What sortof sister, my friend?"

For the first time in their relationship he observed and deplored thetaint of vulgarity, of shrewishness, in her manner. 

"It would have been more accurate in me to have said a sort of reputedleft-handed cousin. "

"A reputed left-handed cousin! And what sort of relationship may thatbe? Faith, you dazzle me with your lucidity. "

"It requires to be explained. "

"That is what I have been telling you. But you seem very reluctant withyour explanations. "

"Oh, no. It is only that they are so unimportant. But be you the judge. Her uncle, M. De Kercadiou, is my godfather, and she and I have beenplaymates from infancy as a consequence. It is popularly believed inGavrillac that M. De Kercadiou is my father. He has certainly cared formy rearing from my tenderest years, and it is entirely owing to himthat I was educated at Louis le Grand. I owe to him everything that Ihave--or, rather, everything that I had; for of my own free will I havecut myself adrift, and to-day I possess nothing save what I can earn formyself in the theatre or elsewhere. "

She sat stunned and pale under that cruel blow to her swelling pride. Had he told her this but yesterday, it would have made no impressionupon her, it would have mattered not at all; the event of to-day comingas a sequel would but have enhanced him in her eyes. But coming now, after her imagination had woven for him so magnificent a background, after the rashly assumed discovery of his splendid identity had madeher the envied of all the company, after having been in her own eyes andtheirs enshrined by marriage with him as a great lady, this disclosurecrushed and humiliated her. Her prince in disguise was merely theoutcast bastard of a country gentleman! She would be the laughing-stockof every member of her father's troupe, of all those who had so latelyenvied her this romantic good fortune. 

"You should have told me this before, " she said, in a dull voice thatshe strove to render steady. 

"Perhaps I should. But does it really matter?"

"Matter?" She suppressed her fury to ask another question. "You saythat this M. De Kercadiou is popularly believed to be your father. Whatprecisely do you mean?"

"Just that. It is a belief that I do not share. It is a matter ofinstinct, perhaps, with me. Moreover, once I asked M. De Kercadioupoint-blank, and I received from him a denial. It is not, perhaps, a denial to which one would attach too much importance in all thecircumstances. Yet I have never known M de Kercadiou for other thana man of strictest honour, and I should hesitate to disbelievehim--particularly when his statement leaps with my own instincts. Heassured me that he did not know who my father was. "

"And your mother, was she equally ignorant?" She was sneering, but hedid not remark it. Her back was to the light. 

"He would not disclose her name to me. He confessed her to be a dearfriend of his. "

She startled him by laughing, and her laugh was not pleasant. 

"A very dear friend, you may be sure, you simpleton. What name do youbear?"

He restrained his own rising indignation to answer her question calmly:"Moreau. It was given me, so I am told, from the Brittany village inwhich I was born. But I have no claim to it. In fact I have no name, unless it be Scaramouche, to which I have earned a title. So that yousee, my dear, " he ended with a smile, "I have practised no deceptionwhatever. "

"No, no. I see that now. " She laughed without mirth, then drew a deepbreath and rose. "I am very tired, " she said. 

He was on his feet in an instant, all solicitude. But she waved himwearily back. 

"I think I will rest until it is time to go to the theatre. " She movedtowards the door, dragging her feet a little. He sprang to open it, andshe passed out without looking at him. 

Her so brief romantic dream was ended. The glorious world of fancy whichin the last hour she had built with such elaborate detail, over which itshould be her exalted destiny to rule, lay shattered about her feet, itsdebris so many stumbling-blocks that prevented her from winning back toher erstwhile content in Scaramouche as he really was. 

Andre-Louis sat in the window embrasure, smoking and looking idly outacross the river. He was intrigued and meditative. He had shocked her. The fact was clear; not so the reason. That he should confess himselfnameless should not particularly injure him in the eyes of a girlreared amid the surroundings that had been Climene's. And yet that hisconfession had so injured him was fully apparent. 

There, still at his brooding, the returning Columbine discovered him ahalf-hour later. 

"All alone, my prince!" was her laughing greeting, which suddenly threwlight upon his mental darkness. Climene had been disappointed of hopesthat the wild imagination of these players had suddenly erected upon theincident of his meeting with Aline. Poor child! He smiled whimsically atColumbine. 

"I am likely to be so for some little time, " said he, "until it becomesa commonplace that I am not, after all, a prince. 

"Not a prince? Oh, but a duke, then--at least a marquis. "

"Not even a chevalier, unless it be of the order of fortune. I am justScaramouche. My castles are all in Spain. "

Disappointment clouded the lively, good-natured face. 

"And I had imagined you... "

"I know, " he interrupted. "That is the mischief. " He might have gaugedthe extent of that mischief by Climene's conduct that evening towardsthe gentlemen of fashion who clustered now in the green-room between theacts to pay their homage to the incomparable amoureuse. Hitherto she hadreceived them with a circumspection compelling respect. To-night she wasrecklessly gay, impudent, almost wanton. 

He spoke of it gently to her as they walked home together, counsellingmore prudence in the future. 

"We are not married yet, " she told him, tartly. "Wait until then beforeyou criticize my conduct. "

"I trust that there will be no occasion then, " said he. 

"You trust? Ah, yes. You are very trusting. "

"Climene, I have offended you. I am sorry. "

"It is nothing, " said she. "You are what you are. " Still was he notconcerned. He perceived the source of her ill-humour; understood, whilstdeploring it; and, because he understood, forgave. He perceived alsothat her ill-humour was shared by her father, and by this he was franklyamused. Towards M. Binet a tolerant contempt was the only feeling thatcomplete acquaintance could beget. As for the rest of the company, theywere disposed to be very kindly towards Scaramouche. It was almost asif in reality he had fallen from the high estate to which their ownimaginations had raised him; or possibly it was because they saw theeffect which that fall from his temporary and fictitious elevation hadproduced upon Climene. 

Leandre alone made himself an exception. His habitual melancholyseemed to be dispelled at last, and his eyes gleamed now with malicioussatisfaction when they rested upon Scaramouche, whom occasionally hecontinued to address with sly mockery as "mon prince. "

On the morrow Andre-Louis saw but little of Climene. This was notin itself extraordinary, for he was very hard at work again, withpreparations now for "Figaro-Scaramouche" which was to be played onSaturday. Also, in addition to his manifold theatrical occupations, henow devoted an hour every morning to the study of fencing in an academyof arms. This was done not only to repair an omission in his education, but also, and chiefly, to give him added grace and poise upon the stage. He found his mind that morning distracted by thoughts of both Climeneand Aline. And oddly enough it was Aline who provided the deeperperturbation. Climene's attitude he regarded as a passing phase whichneed not seriously engage him. But the thought of Aline's conducttowards him kept rankling, and still more deeply rankled the thought ofher possible betrothal to M. De La Tour d'Azyr. 

This it was that brought forcibly to his mind the self-imposed but bynow half-forgotten mission that he had made his own. He had boasted thathe would make the voice which M. De La Tour d'Azyr had sought to silencering through the length and breadth of the land. And what had he done ofall this that he had boasted? He had incited the mob of Rennes and themob of Nantes in such terms as poor Philippe might have employed, andthen because of a hue and cry he had fled like a cur and taken shelterin the first kennel that offered, there to lie quiet and devote himselfto other things--self-seeking things. What a fine contrast between thepromise and the fulfilment!

Thus Andre-Louis to himself in his self-contempt. And whilst he trifledaway his time and played Scaramouche, and centred all his hopes inpresently becoming the rival of such men as Chenier and Mercier, M. DeLa Tour d'Azyr went his proud ways unchallenged and wrought his will. It was idle to tell himself that the seed he had sown was bearing fruit. That the demands he had voiced in Nantes for the Third Estate hadbeen granted by M. Necker, thanks largely to the commotion which hisanonymous speech had made. That was not his concern or his mission. Itwas no part of his concern to set about the regeneration of mankind, oreven the regeneration of the social structure of France. His concernwas to see that M. De La Tour d'Azyr paid to the uttermost liard for thebrutal wrong he had done Philippe de Vilmorin. And it did not increasehis self-respect to find that the danger in which Aline stood ofbeing married to the Marquis was the real spur to his rancour and toremembrance of his vow. He was--too unjustly, perhaps--disposed to dismissas mere sophistries his own arguments that there was nothing he coulddo; that, in fact, he had but to show his head to find himself going toRennes under arrest and making his final exit from the world's stage byway of the gallows. 

It is impossible to read that part of his "Confessions" without feelinga certain pity for him. You realize what must have been his state ofmind. You realize what a prey he was to emotions so conflicting, andif you have the imagination that will enable you to put yourself in hisplace, you will also realize how impossible was any decision save theone to which he says he came, that he would move, at the first momentthat he perceived in what direction it would serve his real aims tomove. 

It happened that the first person he saw when he took the stage onthat Thursday evening was Aline; the second was the Marquis de La Tourd'Azyr. They occupied a box on the right of, and immediately above, thestage. There were others with them--notably a thin, elderly, resplendentlady whom Andre-Louis supposed to be Madame la Comtesse de Sautron. Butat the time he had no eyes for any but those two, who of late hadso haunted his thoughts. The sight of either of them would have beensufficiently disconcerting. The sight of both together very nearly madehim forget the purpose for which he had come upon the stage. Then hepulled himself together, and played. He played, he says, with an unusualnerve, and never in all that brief but eventful career of his was hemore applauded. 

That was the evening's first shock. The next came after the second act. Entering the green-room he found it more thronged than usual, and at thefar end with Climene, over whom he was bending from his fine height, hiseyes intent upon her face, what time his smiling lips moved in talk, M. De La Tour d'Azyr. He had her entirely to himself, a privilege none ofthe men of fashion who were in the habit of visiting the coulissehad yet enjoyed. Those lesser gentlemen had all withdrawn before theMarquis, as jackals withdraw before the lion. 

Andre-Louis stared a moment, stricken. Then recovering from his surprisehe became critical in his study of the Marquis. He considered thebeauty and grace and splendour of him, his courtly air, his completeand unshakable self-possession. But more than all he considered theexpression of the dark eyes that were devouring Climene's lovely face, and his own lips tightened. 

M. De La Tour d'Azyr never heeded him or his stare; nor, had he doneso, would he have known who it was that looked at him from behind themake-up of Scaramouche; nor, again, had he known, would he have been inthe least troubled or concerned. 

Andre-Louis sat down apart, his mind in turmoil. Presently he found amincing young gentleman addressing him, and made shift to answer aswas expected. Climene having been thus sequestered, and Columbine beingalready thickly besieged by gallants, the lesser visitors had to contentthemselves with Madame and the male members of the troupe. M. Binet, indeed, was the centre of a gay cluster that shook with laughter at hissallies. He seemed of a sudden to have emerged from the gloom of thelast two days into high good-humour, and Scaramouche observed howpersistently his eyes kept flickering upon his daughter and her splendidcourtier. 

That night there, were high words between Andre-Louis and Climene, thehigh words proceeding from Climene. When Andre-Louis again, and moreinsistently, enjoined prudence upon his betrothed, and begged her tobeware how far she encouraged the advances of such a man as M. De LaTour d'Azyr, she became roundly abusive. She shocked and stunned himby her virulently shrewish tone, and her still more unexpected force ofinvective. 

He sought to reason with her, and finally she came to certain terms withhim. 

"If you have become betrothed to me simply to stand as an obstacle in mypath, the sooner we make an end the better. "

"You do not love me then, Climene?"

"Love has nothing to do with it. I'll not tolerate your insensatejealousy. A girl in the theatre must make it her business to accepthomage from all. "

"Agreed; and there is no harm, provided she gives nothing in exchange. "

White-faced, with flaming eyes she turned on him at that. 

"Now, what exactly do you mean?"

"My meaning is clear. A girl in your position may receive all the homagethat is offered, provided she receives it with a dignified aloofnessimplying clearly that she has no favours to bestow in return beyond thefavour of her smile. If she is wise she will see to it that the homageis always offered collectively by her admirers, and that no single oneamongst them shall ever have the privilege of approaching her alone. Ifshe is wise she will give no encouragement, nourish no hopes that it mayafterwards be beyond her power to deny realization. "

"How? You dare?"

"I know my world. And I know M. De La Tour d'Azyr, " he answered her. "Heis a man without charity, without humanity almost; a man who takes whathe wants wherever he finds it and whether it is given willingly ornot; a man who reckons nothing of the misery he scatters on hisself-indulgent way; a man whose only law is force. Ponder it, Climene, and ask yourself if I do you less than honour in warning you. "

He went out on that, feeling a degradation in continuing the subject. 

The days that followed were unhappy days for him, and for at leastone other. That other was Leandre, who was cast into the profoundestdejection by M. De La Tour d'Azyr's assiduous attendance upon Climene. The Marquis was to be seen at every performance; a box was perpetuallyreserved for him, and invariably he came either alone or else with hiscousin M. De Chabrillane. 

On Tuesday of the following week, Andre-Louis went out alone early inthe morning. He was out of temper, fretted by an overwhelming sense ofhumiliation, and he hoped to clear his mind by walking. In turningthe corner of the Place du Bouffay he ran into a slightly built, sallow-complexioned gentleman very neatly dressed in black, wearing atie-wig under a round hat. The man fell back at sight of him, levellinga spy-glass, then hailed him in a voice that rang with amazement. 

"Moreau! Where the devil have you been hiding your-self these months?"

It was Le Chapelier, the lawyer, the leader of the Literary Chamber ofRennes. 

"Behind the skirts of Thespis, " said Scaramouche. 

"I don't understand. "

"I didn't intend that you should. What of yourself, Isaac? And what ofthe world which seems to have been standing still of late?"

"Standing still!" Le Chapelier laughed. "But where have you been, then?Standing still!" He pointed across the square to a café under the shadowof the gloomy prison. "Let us go and drink a bavaroise. You are ofall men the man we want, the man we have been seeking everywhere, and--behold!--you drop from the skies into my path. "

They crossed the square and entered the café. 

"So you think the world has been standing still! Dieu de Dieu! I supposeyou haven't heard of the royal order for the convocation of the StatesGeneral, or the terms of them--that we are to have what we demanded, whatyou demanded for us here in Nantes! You haven't heard that the order hasgone forth for the primary elections--the elections of the electors. Youhaven't heard of the fresh uproar in Rennes, last month. The order wasthat the three estates should sit together at the States General ofthe bailliages, but in the bailliage of Rennes the nobles must ever berecalcitrant. They took up arms actually--six hundred of them with theirvaletaille, headed by your old friend M. De La Tour d'Azyr, and theywere for slashing us--the members of the Third Estate--into ribbons so asto put an end to our insolence. " He laughed delicately. "But, by God, weshowed them that we, too, could take up arms. It was what you yourselfadvocated here in Nantes, last November. We fought them a pitchedbattle in the streets, under the leadership of your namesake Moreau, theprovost, and we so peppered them that they were glad to take shelter inthe Cordelier Convent. That is the end of their resistance to the royalauthority and the people's will. "

He ran on at great speed detailing the events that had taken place, andfinally came to the matter which had, he announced, been causing him tohunt for Andre-Louis until he had all but despaired of finding him. 

Nantes was sending fifty delegates to the assembly of Rennes which wasto select the deputies to the Third Estate and edit their cahier ofgrievances. Rennes itself was being as fully represented, whilst suchvillages as Gavrillac were sending two delegates for every two hundredhearths or less. Each of these three had clamoured that Andre-LouisMoreau should be one of its delegates. Gavrillac wanted him because hebelonged to the village, and it was known there what sacrifices he hadmade in the popular cause; Rennes wanted him because it had heardhis spirited address on the day of the shooting of the students; andNantes--to whom his identity was unknown--asked for him as the speaker whohad addressed them under the name of Omnes Omnibus and who had framedfor them the memorial that was believed so largely to have influenced M. Necker in formulating the terms of the convocation. 

Since he could not be found, the delegations had been made up withouthim. But now it happened that one or two vacancies had occurred inthe Nantes representation; and it was the business of filling thesevacancies that had brought Le Chapelier to Nantes. 

Andre-Louis firmly shook his head in answer to Le Chapelier's proposal. 

"You refuse?" the other cried. "Are you mad? Refuse, when you aredemanded from so many sides? Do you realize that it is more thanprobable you will be elected one of the deputies, that you will be sentto the States General at Versailles to represent us in this work ofsaving France?"

But Andre-Louis, we know, was not concerned to save France. At themoment he was concerned to save two women, both of whom he loved, thoughin vastly different ways, from a man he had vowed to ruin. He stood firmin his refusal until Le Chapelier dejectedly abandoned the attempt topersuade him. 

"It is odd, " said Andre-Louis, "that I should have been so deeplyimmersed in trifles as never to have perceived that Nantes is beingpolitically active. "

"Active! My friend, it is a seething cauldron of political emotions. Itis kept quiet on the surface only by the persuasion that all goes well. At a hint to the contrary it would boil over. "

"Would it so?" said Scaramouche, thoughtfully. "The knowledge may beuseful. " And then he changed the subject. "You know that La Tour d'Azyris here?"

"In Nantes? He has courage if he shows himself. They are not a docilepeople, these Nantais, and they know his record and the part he playedin the rising at Rennes. I marvel they haven't stoned him. But theywill, sooner or later. It only needs that some one should suggest it. "

"That is very likely, " said Andre-Louis, and smiled. "He doesn't showhimself much; not in the streets, at least. So that he has not thecourage you suppose; nor any kind of courage, as I told him once. He hasonly insolence. "

At parting Le Chapelier again exhorted him to give thought to what heproposed. "Send me word if you change your mind. I am lodged at theCerf, and I shall be here until the day after to-morrow. If you haveambition, this is your moment. "

"I have no ambition, I suppose, " said Andre-Louis, and went his way. 

That night at the theatre he had a mischievous impulse to test what LeChapelier had told him of the state of public feeling in the city. Theywere playing "The Terrible Captain, " in the last act of which the emptycowardice of the bullying braggart Rhodomont is revealed by Scaramouche. 

After the laughter which the exposure of the roaring captain invariablyproduced, it remained for Scaramouche contemptuously to dismiss him in aphrase that varied nightly, according to the inspiration of the moment. This time he chose to give his phrase a political complexion:

"Thus, O thrasonical coward, is your emptiness exposed. Because of yourlong length and the great sword you carry and the angle at which youcock your hat, people have gone in fear of you, have believed in you, have imagined you to be as terrible and as formidable as you insolentlymake yourself appear. But at the first touch of true spirit you crumpleup, you tremble, you whine pitifully, and the great sword remains inyour scabbard. You remind me of the Privileged Orders when confronted bythe Third Estate. "

It was audacious of him, and he was prepared for anything--a laugh, applause, indignation, or all together. But he was not prepared for whatcame. And it came so suddenly and spontaneously from the groundlings andthe body of those in the amphitheatre that he was almost scared by it--asa boy may be scared who has held a match to a sun-scorched hayrick. Itwas a hurricane of furious applause. Men leapt to their feet, sprang upon to the benches, waving their hats in the air, deafening him withthe terrific uproar of their acclamations. And it rolled on and on, norceased until the curtain fell. 

Scaramouche stood meditatively smiling with tight lips. At the lastmoment he had caught a glimpse of M. De La Tour d'Azyr's face thrustfarther forward than usual from the shadows of his box, and it was aface set in anger, with eyes on fire. 

"Mon Dieu!" laughed Rhodomont, recovering from the real scare that hadsucceeded his histrionic terror, "but you have a great trick of ticklingthem in the right place, Scaramouche. "

Scaramouche looked up at him and smiled. "It can be useful uponoccasion, " said he, and went off to his dressing-room to change. 

But a reprimand awaited him. He was delayed at the theatre by mattersconcerned with the scenery of the new piece they were to mount upon themorrow. By the time he was rid of the business the rest of the companyhad long since left. He called a chair and had himself carried backto the inn in solitary state. It was one of many minor luxuries hiscomparatively affluent present circumstances permitted. 

Coming into that upstairs room that was common to all the troupe, hefound M. Binet talking loudly and vehemently. He had caught sounds ofhis voice whilst yet upon the stairs. As he entered Binet broke offshort, and wheeled to face him. 

"You are here at last!" It was so odd a greeting that Andre-Louis didno more than look his mild surprise. "I await your explanations of thedisgraceful scene you provoked to-night. "

"Disgraceful? Is it disgraceful that the public should applaud me?"

"The public? The rabble, you mean. Do you want to deprive us of thepatronage of all gentlefolk by vulgar appeals to the low passions of themob?"

Andre-Louis stepped past M. Binet and forward to the table. He shruggedcontemptuously. The man offended him, after all. 

"You exaggerate grossly--as usual. "

"I do not exaggerate. And I am the master in my own theatre. This is theBinet Troupe, and it shall be conducted in the Binet way. "

"Who are the gentlefolk the loss of whose patronage to the Feydau willbe so poignantly felt?" asked Andre-Louis. 

"You imply that there are none? See how wrong you are. After the playto-night M. Le Marquis de La Tour d'Azyr came to me, and spoke to mein the severest terms about your scandalous outburst. I was forced toapologize, and... "

"The more fool you, " said Andre-Louis. "A man who respected himselfwould have shown that gentleman the door. " M. Binet's face began toempurple. "You call yourself the head of the Binet Troupe, you boastthat you will be master in your own theatre, and you stand like alackey to take the orders of the first insolent fellow who comes to yourgreen-room to tell you that he does not like a line spoken by one ofyour company! I say again that had you really respected yourself youwould have turned him out. "

There was a murmur of approval from several members of the company, who, having heard the arrogant tone assumed by the Marquis, were filled withresentment against the slur cast upon them all. 

"And I say further, " Andre-Louis went on, "that a man who respectshimself, on quite other grounds, would have been only too glad to haveseized this pretext to show M. De La Tour d'Azyr the door. "

"What do you mean by that?" There was a rumble of thunder in thequestion. 

Andre-Louis' eyes swept round the company assembled at the supper-table. "Where is Climene?" he asked, sharply. 

Leandre leapt up to answer him, white in the face, tense and quiveringwith excitement. 

"She left the theatre in the Marquis de La Tour d'Azyr's carriageimmediately after the performance. We heard him offer to drive her tothis inn. "

Andre-Louis glanced at the timepiece on the overmantel. He seemedunnaturally calm. 

"That would be an hour ago--rather more. And she has not yet arrived?"

His eyes sought M. Binet's. M. Binet's eyes eluded his glance. Again itwas Leandre who answered him. 

"Not yet. "

"Ah!" Andre-Louis sat down, and poured himself wine. There was anoppressive silence in the room. Leandre watched him expectantly, Columbine commiseratingly. Even M. Binet appeared to be waiting for acue from Scaramouche. But Scaramouche disappointed him. "Have you leftme anything to eat?" he asked. 

Platters were pushed towards him. He helped himself calmly to food, and ate in silence, apparently with a good appetite. M. Binet satdown, poured himself wine, and drank. Presently he attempted tomake conversation with one and another. He was answered curtly, inmonosyllables. M. Binet did not appear to be in favour with his troupethat night. 

At long length came a rumble of wheels below and a rattle of haltinghooves. Then voices, the high, trilling laugh of Climene floatingupwards. Andre-Louis went on eating unconcernedly. 

"What an actor!" said Harlequin under his breath to Polichinelle, andPolichinelle nodded gloomily. 

She came in, a leading lady taking the stage, head high, chin thrustforward, eyes dancing with laughter; she expressed triumph andarrogance. Her cheeks were flushed, and there was some disorder inthe mass of nut-brown hair that crowned her head. In her left hand shecarried an enormous bouquet of white camellias. On its middle finger adiamond of great price drew almost at once by its effulgence the eyes ofall. 

Her father sprang to meet her with an unusual display of paternaltenderness. "At last, my child!"

He conducted her to the table. She sank into a chair, a little wearily, a little nervelessly, but the smile did not leave her face, not evenwhen she glanced across at Scaramouche. It was only Leandre, observingher closely, with hungry, scowling stare, who detected something as offear in the hazel eyes momentarily seen between the fluttering of herlids. 

Andre-Louis, however, still went on eating stolidly, without so much asa look in her direction. Gradually the company came to realize thatjust as surely as a scene was brooding, just so surely would there be noscene as long as they remained. It was Polichinelle, at last, whogave the signal by rising and withdrawing, and within two minutes noneremained in the room but M. Binet, his daughter, and Andre-Louis. Andthen, at last, Andre-Louis set down knife and fork, washed his throatwith a draught of Burgundy, and sat back in his chair to considerClimene. 

"I trust, " said he, "that you had a pleasant ride, mademoiselle. "

"Most pleasant, monsieur. " Impudently she strove to emulate hiscoolness, but did not completely succeed. 

"And not unprofitable, if I may judge that jewel at this distance. It should be worth at least a couple of hundred louis, and that is aformidable sum even to so wealthy a nobleman as M. De La Tour d'Azyr. Would it be impertinent in one who has had some notion of becoming yourhusband, to ask you, mademoiselle, what you have given him in return?"

M. Binet uttered a gross laugh, a queer mixture of cynicism andcontempt. 

"I have given nothing, " said Climene, indignantly. 

"Ah! Then the jewel is in the nature of a payment in advance. "

"My God, man, you're not decent!" M. Binet protested. 

"Decent?" Andre-Louis' smouldering eyes turned to discharge upon M. Binet such a fulmination of contempt that the old scoundrel shifteduncomfortably in his chair. "Did you mention decency, Binet? Almostyou make me lose my temper, which is a thing that I detest above allothers!" Slowly his glance returned to Climene, who sat with elbows onthe table, her chin cupped in her palms, regarding him with somethingbetween scorn and defiance. "Mademoiselle, " he said, slowly, "I desireyou purely in your own interests to consider whither you are going. "

"I am well able to consider it for myself, and to decide without advicefrom you, monsieur. "

"And now you've got your answer, " chuckled Binet. "I hope you like it. "

Andre-Louis had paled a little; there was incredulity in his greatsombre eyes as they continued steadily to regard her. Of M. Binet hetook no notice. 

"Surely, mademoiselle, you cannot mean that willingly, with openeyes and a full understanding of what you do, you would exchange anhonourable wifehood for... For the thing that such men as M. De La Tourd'Azyr may have in store for you?"

M. Binet made a wide gesture, and swung to his daughter. "You hear him, the mealy-mouthed prude! Perhaps you'll believe at last that marriagewith him would be the ruin of you. He would always be there theinconvenient husband--to mar your every chance, my girl. "

She tossed her lovely head in agreement with her father. "I begin tofind him tiresome with his silly jealousies, " she confessed. "As ahusband I am afraid he would be impossible. "

Andre-Louis felt a constriction of the heart. But--always the actor--heshowed nothing of it. He laughed a little, not very pleasantly, androse. 

"I bow to your choice, mademoiselle. I pray that you may not regret it. "

"Regret it?" cried M. Binet. He was laughing, relieved to see hisdaughter at last rid of this suitor of whom he had never approved, if weexcept those few hours when he really believed him to be an eccentricof distinction. "And what shall she regret? That she accepted theprotection of a nobleman so powerful and wealthy that as a mere trinkethe gives her a jewel worth as much as an actress earns in a year at theComedie Francaise?" He got up, and advanced towards Andre-Louis. Hismood became conciliatory. "Come, come, my friend, no rancour now. Whatthe devil! You wouldn't stand in the girl's way? You can't really blameher for making this choice? Have you thought what it means to her? Haveyou thought that under the protection of such a gentleman there are noheights which she may not reach? Don't you see the wonderful luck ofit? Surely, if you're fond of her, particularly being of a jealoustemperament, you wouldn't wish it otherwise?"

Andre-Louis looked at him in silence for a long moment. Then he laughedagain. "Oh, you are fantastic, " he said. "You are not real. " He turnedon his heel and strode to the door. 

The action, and more the contempt of his look, laugh, and words stung M. Binet to passion, drove out the conciliatoriness of his mood. 

"Fantastic, are we?" he cried, turning to follow the departingScaramouche with his little eyes that now were inexpressibly evil. "Fantastic that we should prefer the powerful protection of this greatnobleman to marriage with a beggarly, nameless bastard. Oh, we arefantastic!"

Andre-Louis turned, his hand upon the door-handle. "No, " he said, "I wasmistaken. You are not fantastic. You are just vile--both of you. " And hewent out. 

CHAPTER X. CONTRITION

Mlle. De Kercadiou walked with her aunt in the bright morning sunshineof a Sunday in March on the broad terrace of the Chateau de Sautron. 

For one of her natural sweetness of disposition she had been oddlyirritable of late, manifesting signs of a cynical worldliness, whichconvinced Mme. De Sautron more than ever that her brother Quintinhad scandalously conducted the child's education. She appeared to beinstructed in all the things of which a girl is better ignorant, andignorant of all the things that a girl should know. That at least wasthe point of view of Mme. De Sautron. 

"Tell me, madame, " quoth Aline, "are all men beasts?" Unlike herbrother, Madame la Comtesse was tall and majestically built. In the daysbefore her marriage with M. De Sautron, ill-natured folk described heras the only man in the family. She looked down now from her noble heightupon her little niece with startled eyes. 

"Really, Aline, you have a trick of asking the most disconcerting andimproper questions. "

"Perhaps it is because I find life disconcerting and improper. "

"Life? A young girl should not discuss life. "

"Why not, since I am alive? You do not suggest that it is an improprietyto be alive?"

"It is an impropriety for a young unmarried girl to seek to know toomuch about life. As for your absurd question about men, when I remindyou that man is the noblest work of God, perhaps you will consideryourself answered. "

Mme. De Sautron did not invite a pursuance of the subject. But Mlle. DeKercadiou's outrageous rearing had made her headstrong. 

"That being so, " said she, "will you tell me why they find such anoverwhelming attraction in the immodest of our sex?"

Madame stood still and raised shocked hands. Then she looked down herhandsome, high-bridged nose. 

"Sometimes--often, in fact, my dear Aline--you pass all understanding. I shall write to Quintin that the sooner you are married the better itwill be for all. "

"Uncle Quintin has left that matter to my own deciding, " Aline remindedher. 

"That, " said madame with complete conviction, "is the last and mostoutrageous of his errors. Who ever heard of a girl being left to decidethe matter of her own marriage? It is... Indelicate almost to expose herto thoughts of such things. " Mme. De Sautron shuddered. "Quintin is aboor. His conduct is unheard of. That M. De La Tour d'Azyr should paradehimself before you so that you may make up your mind whether he is theproper man for you!" Again she shuddered. "It is of a grossness, of... Of a prurience almost... Mon Dieu! When I married your uncle, all thiswas arranged between our parents. I first saw him when he came to signthe contract. I should have died of shame had it been otherwise. Andthat is how these affairs should be conducted. "

"You are no doubt right, madame. But since that is not how my own caseis being conducted, you will forgive me if I deal with it apart fromothers. M. De La Tour d'Azyr desires to marry me. He has been permittedto pay his court. I should be glad to have him informed that he maycease to do so. "

Mme. De Sautron stood still, petrified by amazement. Her long faceturned white; she seemed to breathe with difficulty. 

"But... But... What are you saying?" she gasped. 

Quietly Aline repeated her statement. 

"But this is outrageous! You cannot be permitted to play fast-and-loosewith a gentleman of M. Le Marquis' quality! Why, it is little more thana week since you permitted him to be informed that you would become hiswife!"

"I did so in a moment of... Rashness. Since then M. Le Marquis' ownconduct has convinced me of my error. "

"But--mon Dieu!" cried the Countess. "Are you blind to the great honourthat is being paid you? M. Le Marquis will make you the first lady inBrittany. Yet, little fool that you are, and greater fool that Quintinis, you trifle with this extraordinary good fortune! Let me warn you. "She raised an admonitory forefinger. "If you continue in this stupidhumour M. De La Tour d'Azyr may definitely withdraw his offer and departin justified mortification. "

"That, madame, as I am endeavouring to convey to you, is what I mostdesire. "

"Oh, you are mad. "

"It may be, madame, that I am sane in preferring to be guided by myinstincts. It may be even that I am justified in resenting that the manwho aspires to become my husband should at the same time be paying suchassiduous homage to a wretched theatre girl at the Feydau. "

"Aline!"

"Is it not true? Or perhaps you do not find it strange that M. De LaTour d'Azyr should so conduct himself at such a time?"

"Aline, you are so extraordinary a mixture. At moments you shock me bythe indecency of your expressions; at others you amaze me by the excessof your prudery. You have been brought up like a little bourgeoise, Ithink. Yes, that is it--a little bourgeoise. Quintin was always somethingof a shopkeeper at heart. "

"I was asking your opinion on the conduct of M. De La Tour d'Azyr, madame. Not on my own. "

"But it is an indelicacy in you to observe such things. You should beignorant of them, and I can't think who is so... So unfeeling as toinform you. But since you are informed, at least you should be modestlyblind to things that take place outside the... Orbit of a properlyconducted demoiselle. "

"Will they still be outside my orbit when I am married?"

"If you are wise. You should remain without knowledge of them. It... Itdeflowers your innocence. I would not for the world that M. De La Tourd'Azyr should know you so extraordinarily instructed. Had you beenproperly reared in a convent this would never have happened to you. "

"But you do not answer me, madame!" cried Aline in despair. "It is notmy chastity that is in question; but that of M. De La Tour d'Azyr. "

"Chastity!" Madame's lips trembled with horror. Horror overspread herface. "Wherever did you learn that dreadful, that so improper word?"

And then Mme. De Sautron did violence to her feelings. She realized thathere great calm and prudence were required. "My child, since you know somuch that you ought not to know, there can be no harm in my adding thata gentleman must have these little distractions. "

"But why, madame? Why is it so?"

"Ah, mon Dieu, you are asking me riddles of nature. It is so because itis so. Because men are like that. "

"Because men are beasts, you mean--which is what I began by asking you. "

"You are incorrigibly stupid, Aline. "

"You mean that I do not see things as you do, madame. I am notover-expectant as you appear to think; yet surely I have the right toexpect that whilst M. De La Tour d'Azyr is wooing me, he shall not bewooing at the same time a drab of the theatre. I feel that in this thereis a subtle association of myself with that unspeakable creature whichsoils and insults me. The Marquis is a dullard whose wooing takes theform at best of stilted compliments, stupid and unoriginal. They gainnothing when they fall from lips still warm from the contamination ofthat woman's kisses. "

So utterly scandalized was madame that for a moment she remainedspeechless. Then--

"Mon Dieu!" she exclaimed. "I should never have suspected you of soindelicate an imagination. "

"I cannot help it, madame. Each time his lips touch my fingers I findmyself thinking of the last object that they touched. I at once retireto wash my hands. Next time, madame, unless you are good enough toconvey my message to him, I shall call for water and wash them in hispresence. "

"But what am I to tell him? How... In what words can I convey such amessage?" Madame was aghast. 

"Be frank with him, madame. It is easiest in the end. Tell him thathowever impure may have been his life in the past, however impure heintend that it shall be in the future, he must at least study puritywhilst approaching with a view to marriage a virgin who is herself pureand without stain. "

Madame recoiled, and put her hands to her ears, horror stamped on herhandsome face. Her massive bosom heaved. 

"Oh, how can you?" she panted. "How can you make use of such terribleexpressions? Wherever have you learnt them?"

"In church, " said Aline. 

"Ah, but in church many things are said that... That one would not dreamof saying in the world. My dear child, how could I possibly say such athing to M. Le Marquis? How could I possibly?"

"Shall I say it?"

"Aline!"

"Well, there it is, " said Aline. "Something must be done to shelter mefrom insult. I am utterly disgusted with M. Le Marquis--a disgusting man. And however fine a thing it may be to become Marquise de La Tour d'Azyr, why, frankly, I'd sooner marry a cobbler who practised decency. "

Such was her vehemence and obvious determination that Mme. De Sautronfetched herself out of her despair to attempt persuasion. Aline was herniece, and such a marriage in the family would be to the credit of thewhole of it. At all costs nothing must frustrate it. 

"Listen, my dear, " she said. "Let us reason. M. Le Marquis is away andwill not be back until to-morrow. "

"True. And I know where he has gone--or at least whom he has gone with. Mon Dieu, and the drab has a father and a lout of a fellow who intendsto make her his wife, and neither of them chooses to do anything. Isuppose they agree with you, madame, that a great gentleman must havehis little distractions. " Her contempt was as scorching as a thing offire. "However, madame, you were about to say?"

"That on the day after to-morrow you are returning to Gavrillac. M. DeLa Tour d'Azyr will most likely follow at his leisure. "

"You mean when this dirty candle is burnt out?"

"Call it what you will. " Madame, you see, despaired by now ofcontrolling the impropriety of her niece's expressions. "At Gavrillacthere will be no Mlle. Binet. This thing will be in the past. It isunfortunate that he should have met her at such a moment. The chit isvery attractive, after all. You cannot deny that. And you must makeallowances. "

"M. Le Marquis formally proposed to me a week ago. Partly to satisfy thewishes of the family, and partly... " She broke off, hesitating a moment, to resume on a note of dull pain, "Partly because it does not seemgreatly to matter whom I marry, I gave him my consent. That consent, for the reasons I have given you, madame, I desire now definitely towithdraw. "

Madame fell into agitation of the wildest. "Aline, I should neverforgive you! Your uncle Quintin would be in despair. You do not knowwhat you are saying, what a wonderful thing you are refusing. Have youno sense of your position, of the station into which you were born?"

"If I had not, madame, I should have made an end long since. If I havetolerated this suit for a single moment, it is because I realize theimportance of a suitable marriage in the worldly sense. But I ask ofmarriage something more; and Uncle Quintin has placed the decision in myhands. "

"God forgive him!" said madame. And then she hurried on: "Leave thisto me now, Aline. Be guided by me--oh, be guided by me!" Her tone wasbeseeching. "I will take counsel with your uncle Charles. But do notdefinitely decide until this unfortunate affair has blown over. Charleswill know how to arrange it. M. Le Marquis shall do penance, child, since your tyranny demands it; but not in sackcloth and ashes. You'llnot ask so much?"

Aline shrugged. "I ask nothing at all, " she said, which was neitherassent nor dissent. 

So Mme. De Sautron interviewed her husband, a slight, middle-aged man, very aristocratic in appearance and gifted with a certain shrewd sense. She took with him precisely the tone that Aline had taken with herselfand which in Aline she had found so disconcertingly indelicate. She evenborrowed several of Aline's phrases. 

The result was that on the Monday afternoon when at last M. De La Tourd'Azyr's returning berline drove up to the chateau, he was met by M. LeComte de Sautron who desired a word with him even before he changed. 

"Gervais, you're a fool, " was the excellent opening made by M. Le Comte. 

"Charles, you give me no news, " answered M. Le Marquis. "Of whatparticular folly do you take the trouble to complain?"

He flung himself wearily upon a sofa, and his long graceful bodysprawling there he looked up at his friend with a tired smile on thatnobly handsome pale face that seemed to defy the onslaught of age. 

"Of your last. This Binet girl. "

"That! Pooh! An incident; hardly a folly. "

"A folly--at such a time, " Sautron insisted. The Marquis looked aquestion. The Count answered it. "Aline, " said he, pregnantly. "Sheknows. How she knows I can't tell you, but she knows, and she is deeplyoffended. "

The smile perished on the Marquis' face. He gathered himself up. 

"Offended?" said he, and his voice was anxious. 

"But yes. You know what she is. You know the ideals she has formed. Itwounds her that at such a time--whilst you are here for the purpose ofwooing her--you should at the same time be pursuing this affair with thatchit of a Binet girl. "

"How do you know?" asked La Tour d'Azyr. 

"She has confided in her aunt. And the poor child seems to have somereason. She says she will not tolerate that you should come to kiss herhand with lips that are still contaminated from... Oh, you understand. You appreciate the impression of such a thing upon a pure, sensitivegirl such as Aline. She said--I had better tell you--that the nexttime you kiss her hand, she will call for water and wash it in yourpresence. "

The Marquis' face flamed scarlet. He rose. Knowing his violent, intolerant spirit, M. De Sautron was prepared for an outburst. But nooutburst came. The Marquis turned away from him, and paced slowly tothe window, his head bowed, his hands behind his back. Halted there hespoke, without turning, his voice was at once scornful and wistful. 

"You are right, Charles, I am a fool--a wicked fool! I have just enoughsense left to perceive it. It is the way I have lived, I suppose. I havenever known the need to deny myself anything I wanted. " Then suddenly heswung round, and the outburst came. "But, my God, I want Aline as Ihave never wanted anything yet! I think I should kill myself in rage ifthrough my folly I should have lost her. " He struck his brow with hishand. "I am a beast!" he said. "I should have known that if that sweetsaint got word of these petty devilries of mine she would despise me;and I tell you, Charles, I'd go through fire to regain her respect. "

"I hope it is to be regained on easier terms, " said Charles; and thento ease the situation which began to irk him by its solemnity, he madea feeble joke. "It is merely asked of you that you refrain from goingthrough certain fires that are not accounted by mademoiselle of toopurifying a nature. "

"As to that Binet girl, it is finished--finished, " said the Marquis. 

"I congratulate you. When did you make that decision?"

"This moment. I would to God I had made it twenty-four hours ago. As itis--" he shrugged--"why, twenty-four hours of her have been enough forme as they would have been for any man--a mercenary, self-seeking littlebaggage with the soul of a trull. Bah!" He shuddered in disgust ofhimself and her. 

"Ah! That makes it easier for you, " said M. De Sautron, cynically. 

"Don't say it, Charles. It is not so. Had you been less of a fool, youwould have warned me sooner. "

"I may prove to have warned you soon enough if you'll profit by thewarning. "

"There is no penance I will not do. I will prostrate myself at her feet. I will abase myself before her. I will make confession in the properspirit of contrition, and Heaven helping me, I'll keep to my purpose ofamendment for her sweet sake. " He was tragically in earnest. 

To M. De Sautron, who had never seen him other than self-contained, supercilious, and mocking, this was an amazing revelation. He shrankfrom it almost; it gave him the feeling of prying, of peeping through akeyhole. He slapped his friend's shoulder. 

"My dear Gervais, here is a magnificently romantic mood. Enough said. Keep to it, and I promise you that all will presently be well. I will beyour ambassador, and you shall have no cause to complain. "

"But may I not go to her myself?"

"If you are wise you will at once efface yourself. Write to her if youwill--make your act of contrition by letter. I will explain why you havegone without seeing her. I will tell her that you did so upon my advice, and I will do it tactfully. I am a good diplomat, Gervais. Trust me. "

M. Le Marquis raised his head, and showed a face that pain was searing. He held out his hand. "Very well, Charles. Serve me in this, and countme your friend in all things. "

CHAPTER XI. THE FRACAS AT THE THEATRE FEYDAU

Leaving his host to act as his plenipotentiary with Mademoiselle deKercadiou, and to explain to her that it was his profound contritionthat compelled him to depart without taking formal leave of her, theMarquis rolled away from Sautron in a cloud of gloom. Twenty-four hourswith La Binet had been more than enough for a man of his fastidiousand discerning taste. He looked back upon the episode with nausea--theinevitable psychological reaction--marvelling at himself that untilyesterday he should have found her so desirable, and cursing himselfthat for the sake of that ephemeral and worthless gratification heshould seriously have imperilled his chances of winning Mademoiselle deKercadiou to wife. There is, after all, nothing very extraordinary inhis frame of mind, so that I need not elaborate it further. It resultedfrom the conflict between the beast and the angel that go to make up thecomposition of every man. 

The Chevalier de Chabrillane--who in reality occupied towards the Marquisa position akin to that of gentleman-in-waiting--sat opposite to him inthe enormous travelling berline. A small folding table had been erectedbetween them, and the Chevalier suggested piquet. But M. Le Marquis wasin no humour for cards. His thoughts absorbed him. As they were rattlingover the cobbles of Nantes' streets, he remembered a promise to La Binetto witness her performance that night in "The Faithless Lover. " And nowhe was running away from her. The thought was repugnant to him on twoscores. He was breaking his pledged word, and he was acting like acoward. And there was more than that. He had led the mercenary littlestrumpet--it was thus he thought of her at present, and with somejustice--to expect favours from him in addition to the lavish awardswhich already he had made her. The baggage had almost sought to drive abargain with him as to her future. He was to take her to Paris, put herinto her own furniture--as the expression ran, and still runs--and underthe shadow of his powerful protection see that the doors of the greattheatres of the capital should be opened to her talents. He had not--hewas thankful to reflect--exactly committed himself. But neither hadhe definitely refused her. It became necessary now to come to anunderstanding, since he was compelled to choose between his trivialpassion for her--a passion quenched already--and his deep, almostspiritual devotion to Mademoiselle de Kercadiou. 

His honour, he considered, demanded of him that he should at oncedeliver himself from a false position. La Binet would make a scene, ofcourse; but he knew the proper specific to apply to hysteria of thatnature. Money, after all, has its uses. 

He pulled the cord. The carriage rolled to a standstill; a footmanappeared at the door. 

"To the Theatre Feydau, " said he. 

The footman vanished and the berline rolled on. M. De Chabrillanelaughed cynically. 

"I'll trouble you not to be amused, " snapped the Marquis. "Youdon't understand. " Thereafter he explained himself. It was a rarecondescension in him. But, then, he could not bear to be misunderstoodin such a matter. Chabrillane grew serious in reflection of the Marquis'extreme seriousness. 

"Why not write?" he suggested. "Myself, I confess that I should find iteasier. "

Nothing could better have revealed M. Le Marquis' state of mind than hisanswer. 

"Letters are liable both to miscarriage and to misconstruction. Tworisks I will not run. If she did not answer, I should never know whichhad been incurred. And I shall have no peace of mind until I know that Ihave set a term to this affair. The berline can wait while we are atthe theatre. We will go on afterwards. We will travel all night ifnecessary. "

"Peste!" said M. De Chabrillane with a grimace. But that was all. 

The great travelling carriage drew up at the lighted portals of theFeydau, and M. Le Marquis stepped out. He entered the theatre withChabrillane, all unconsciously to deliver himself into the hands ofAndre-Louis. 

Andre-Louis was in a state of exasperation produced by Climene's longabsence from Nantes in the company of M. Le Marquis, and fed by theunspeakable complacency with which M. Binet regarded that event of quiteunmistakable import. 

However much he might affect the frame of mind of the stoics, andseek to judge with a complete detachment, in the heart and soul of himAndre-Louis was tormented and revolted. It was not Climene he blamed. He had been mistaken in her. She was just a poor weak vessel drivenhelplessly by the first breath, however foul, that promised heradvancement. She suffered from the plague of greed; and he congratulatedhimself upon having discovered it before making her his wife. He feltfor her now nothing but a deal of pity and some contempt. The pity wasbegotten of the love she had lately inspired in him. It might be likenedto the dregs of love, all that remained after the potent wine of it hadbeen drained off. His anger he reserved for her father and her seducer. 

The thoughts that were stirring in him on that Monday morning, when itwas discovered that Climene had not yet returned from her excursionof the previous day in the coach of M. Le Marquis, were already wickedenough without the spurring they received from the distraught Leandre. 

Hitherto the attitude of each of these men towards the other had beenone of mutual contempt. The phenomenon has frequently been observed inlike cases. Now, what appeared to be a common misfortune brought theminto a sort of alliance. So, at least, it seemed to Leandre when he wentin quest of Andre-Louis, who with apparent unconcern was smoking a pipeupon the quay immediately facing the inn. 

"Name of a pig!" said Leandre. "How can you take your ease and smoke atsuch a time?"

Scaramouche surveyed the sky. "I do not find it too cold, " said he. "Thesun is shining. I am very well here. "

"Do I talk of the weather?" Leandre was very excited. 

"Of what, then?"

"Of Climene, of course. "

"Oh! The lady has ceased to interest me, " he lied. 

Leandre stood squarely in front of him, a handsome figure handsomelydressed in these days, his hair well powdered, his stockings of silk. His face was pale, his large eyes looked larger than usual. 

"Ceased to interest you? Are you not to marry her?"

Andre-Louis expelled a cloud of smoke. "You cannot wish to be offensive. Yet you almost suggest that I live on other men's leavings. "

"My God!" said Leandre, overcome, and he stared awhile. Then he burstout afresh. "Are you quite heartless? Are you always Scaramouche?"

"What do you expect me to do?" asked Andre-Louis, evincing surprise inhis own turn, but faintly. 

"I do not expect you to let her go without a struggle. "

"But she has gone already. " Andre-Louis pulled at his pipe a moment, what time Leandre clenched and unclenched his hands in impotent rage. "And to what purpose struggle against the inevitable? Did you strugglewhen I took her from you?"

"She was not mine to be taken from me. I but aspired, and you won therace. But even had it been otherwise where is the comparison? That was athing in honour; this--this is hell. "

His emotion moved Andre-Louis. He took Leandre's arm. "You're a goodfellow, Leandre. I am glad I intervened to save you from your fate. "

"Oh, you don't love her!" cried the other, passionately. "You never did. You don't know what it means to love, or you'd not talk like this. MyGod! if she had been my affianced wife and this had happened, I shouldhave killed the man--killed him! Do you hear me? But you... Oh, you, youcome out here and smoke, and take the air, and talk of her as anotherman's leavings. I wonder I didn't strike you for the word. "

He tore his arm from the other's grip, and looked almost as if he wouldstrike him now. 

"You should have done it, " said Andre-Louis. "It's in your part. "

With an imprecation Leandre turned on his heel to go. Andre-Louisarrested his departure. 

"A moment, my friend. Test me by yourself. Would you marry her now?"

"Would I?" The young man's eyes blazed with passion. "Would I? Let hersay that she will marry me, and I am her slave. "

"Slave is the right word--a slave in hell. "

"It would never be hell to me where she was, whatever she had done. Ilove her, man, I am not like you. I love her, do you hear me?"

"I have known it for some time, " said Andre-Louis. "Though I didn'tsuspect your attack of the disease to be quite so violent. Well, Godknows I loved her, too, quite enough to share your thirst for killing. For myself, the blue blood of La Tour d'Azyr would hardly quench thisthirst. I should like to add to it the dirty fluid that flows in theveins of the unspeakable Binet. "

For a second his emotion had been out of hand, and he revealed toLeandre in the mordant tone of those last words something of the firesthat burned under his icy exterior. The young man caught him by thehand. 

"I knew you were acting, " said he. "You feel--you feel as I do. "

"Behold us, fellows in viciousness. I have betrayed myself, it seems. Well, and what now? Do you want to see this pretty Marquis torn limbfrom limb? I might afford you the spectacle. "

"What?" Leandre stared, wondering was this another of Scaramouche'scynicisms. 

"It isn't really difficult provided I have aid. I require only a little. Will you lend it me?"

"Anything you ask, " Leandre exploded. "My life if you require it. "

Andre-Louis took his arm again. "Let us walk, " he said. "I will instructyou. "

When they came back the company was already at dinner. Mademoiselle hadnot yet returned. Sullenness presided at the table. Columbine and Madamewore anxious expressions. The fact was that relations between Binet andhis troupe were daily growing more strained. 

Andre-Louis and Leandre went each to his accustomed place. Binet'slittle eyes followed them with a malicious gleam, his thick lips poutedinto a crooked smile. 

"You two are grown very friendly of a sudden, " he mocked. 

"You are a man of discernment, Binet, " said Scaramouche, the coldloathing of his voice itself an insult. "Perhaps you discern thereason?"

"It is readily discerned. "

"Regale the company with it!" he begged; and waited. "What? Youhesitate? Is it possible that there are limits to your shamelessness?"

Binet reared his great head. "Do you want to quarrel with me, Scaramouche?" Thunder was rumbling in his deep voice. 

"Quarrel? You want to laugh. A man doesn't quarrel with creatures likeyou. We all know the place held in the public esteem by complacenthusbands. But, in God's name, what place is there at all for complacentfathers?"

Binet heaved himself up, a great towering mass of manhood. Violently heshook off the restraining hand of Pierrot who sat on his left. 

"A thousand devils!" he roared; "if you take that tone with me, I'llbreak every bone in your filthy body. "

"If you were to lay a finger on me, Binet, you would give me the onlyprovocation I still need to kill you. " Andre-Louis was as calm as ever, and therefore the more menacing. Alarm stirred the company. He protrudedfrom his pocket the butt of a pistol--newly purchased. "I go armed, Binet. It is only fair to give you warning. Provoke me as you havesuggested, and I'll kill you with no more compunction than I should killa slug, which after all is the thing you most resemble--a slug, Binet; afat, slimy body; foulness without soul and without intelligence. When Icome to think of it I can't suffer to sit at table with you. It turns mystomach. "

He pushed away his platter and got up. "I'll go and eat at the ordinarybelow stairs. "

Thereupon up jumped Columbine. 

"And I'll come with you, Scaramouche!" cried she. 

It acted like a signal. Had the thing been concerted it couldn'thave fallen out more uniformly. Binet, in fact, was persuaded of aconspiracy. For in the wake of Columbine went Leandre, in the wake ofLeandre, Polichinelle and then all the rest together, until Binet foundhimself sitting alone at the head of an empty table in an empty room--abadly shaken man whose rage could afford him no support against thedread by which he was suddenly invaded. 

He sat down to think things out, and he was still at that melancholyoccupation when perhaps a half-hour later his daughter entered the room, returned at last from her excursion. 

She looked pale, even a little scared--in reality excessivelyself-conscious now that the ordeal of facing all the company awaitedher. 

Seeing no one but her father in the room, she checked on the threshold. 

"Where is everybody?" she asked, in a voice rendered natural by effort. 

M. Binet reared his great head and turned upon her eyes that wereblood-injected. He scowled, blew out his thick lips and made harshnoises in his throat. Yet he took stock of her, so graceful and comelyand looking so completely the lady of fashion in her long fur-trimmedtravelling coat of bottle green, her muff and her broad hat adorned bya sparkling Rhinestone buckle above her adorably coiffed brown hair. Noneed to fear the future whilst he owned such a daughter, let Scaramoucheplay what tricks he would. 

He expressed, however, none of these comforting reflections. 

"So you're back at last, little fool, " he growled in greeting. "I wasbeginning to ask myself if we should perform this evening. It wouldn'tgreatly have surprised me if you had not returned in time. Indeed, since you have chosen to play the fine hand you held in your own way andscorning my advice, nothing can surprise me. "

She crossed the room to the table, and leaning against it, looked downupon him almost disdainfully. 

"I have nothing to regret, " she said. 

"So every fool says at first. Nor would you admit it if you had. Youare like that. You go your own way in spite of advice from older heads. Death of my life, girl, what do you know of men?"

"I am not complaining, " she reminded him. 

"No, but you may be presently, when you discover that you would havedone better to have been guided by your old father. So long as yourMarquis languished for you, there was nothing you could not have donewith the fool. So long as you let him have no more than your fingertipsto kiss... Ah, name of a name! that was the time to build your future. If you live to be a thousand you'll never have such a chance again, andyou've squandered it, for what?"

Mademoiselle sat down. --"You're sordid, " she said, with disgust. 

"Sordid, am I?" His thick lips curled again. "I have had enough of thedregs of life, and so I should have thought have you. You held a handon which to have won a fortune if you had played it as I bade you. Well, you've played it, and where's the fortune? We can whistle for that asa sailor whistles for wind. And, by Heaven, we'll need to whistlepresently if the weather in the troupe continues as it's set in. Thatscoundrel Scaramouche has been at his ape's tricks with them. They'vesuddenly turned moral. They won't sit at table with me any more. " Hewas spluttering between anger and sardonic mirth. "It was your friendScaramouche set them the example of that. He threatened my lifeactually. Threatened my life! Called me... Oh, but what does thatmatter? What matters is that the next thing to happen to us will be thatthe Binet Troupe will discover it can manage without M. Binet and hisdaughter. This scoundrelly bastard I've befriended has little by littlerobbed me of everything. It's in his power to-day to rob me of mytroupe, and the knave's ungrateful enough and vile enough to make use ofhis power. 

"Let him, " said mademoiselle contemptuously. 

"Let him?" He was aghast. "And what's to become of us?"

"In no case will the Binet Troupe interest me much longer, " said she. "Ishall be going to Paris soon. There are better theatres there than theFeydau. There's Mlle. Montansier's theatre in the Palais Royal; there'sthe Ambigu Comique; there's the Comedie Francaise; there's even apossibility I may have a theatre of my own. "

His eyes grew big for once. He stretched out a fat hand, and placed iton one of hers. She noticed that it trembled. 

"Has he promised that? Has he promised?"

She looked at him with her head on one side, eyes sly and a queer littlesmile on her perfect lips. 

"He did not refuse me when I asked it, " she answered, with convictionthat all was as she desired it. 

"Bah!" He withdrew his hand, and heaved himself up. There was disguston his face. "He did not refuse!" he mocked her; and then with passion:"Had you acted as I advised you, he would have consented to anythingthat you asked, and what is more he would have provided anythingthat you asked--anything that lay within his means, and they areinexhaustible. You have changed a certainty into a possibility, andI hate possibilities--God of God! I have lived on possibilities, andinfernally near starved on them. "

Had she known of the interview taking place at that moment at theChateau de Sautron she would have laughed less confidently at herfather's gloomy forebodings. But she was destined never to know, whichindeed was the cruellest punishment of all. She was to attribute all theevil that of a sudden overwhelmed her, the shattering of all the futurehopes she had founded upon the Marquis and the sudden disintegrationof the Binet Troupe, to the wicked interference of that villainScaramouche. 

She had this much justification that possibly, without the warningfrom M. De Sautron, the Marquis would have found in the events ofthat evening at the Theatre Feydau a sufficient reason for ending anentanglement that was fraught with too much unpleasant excitement, whilst the breaking-up of the Binet Troupe was most certainly the resultof Andre-Louis' work. But it was not a result that he intended or evenforesaw. 

So much was this the case that in the interval after the second act, he sought the dressing-room shared by Polichinelle and Rhodomont. Polichinelle was in the act of changing. 

"I shouldn't trouble to change, " he said. "The piece isn't likely to gobeyond my opening scene of the next act with Leandre. "

"What do you mean?"

"You'll see. " He put a paper on Polichinelle's table amid thegrease-paints. "Cast your eye over that. It's a sort of last will andtestament in favour of the troupe. I was a lawyer once; the documentis in order. I relinquish to all of you the share produced by mypartnership in the company. "

"But you don't mean that you are leaving us?" cried Polichinelle inalarm, whilst Rhodomont's sudden stare asked the same question. 

Scaramouche's shrug was eloquent. Polichinelle ran on gloomily: "Ofcourse it was to have been foreseen. But why should you be the one togo? It is you who have made us; and it is you who are the real headand brains of the troupe; it is you who have raised it into a realtheatrical company. If any one must go, let it be Binet--Binet and hisinfernal daughter. Or if you go, name of a name! we all go with you!"

"Aye, " added Rhodomont, "we've had enough of that fat scoundrel. "

"I had thought of it, of course, " said Andre-Louis. "It was not vanity, for once; it was trust in your friendship. After to-night we mayconsider it again, if I survive. "

"If you survive?" both cried. 

Polichinelle got up. "Now, what madness have you in mind?" he asked. 

"For one thing I think I am indulging Leandre; for another I am pursuingan old quarrel. "

The three knocks sounded as he spoke. 

"There, I must go. Keep that paper, Polichinelle. After all, it may notbe necessary. "

He was gone. Rhodomont stared at Polichinelle. Polichinelle stared atRhodomont. 

"What the devil is he thinking of?" quoth the latter. 

"That is most readily ascertained by going to see, " repliedPolichinelle. He completed changing in haste, and despite whatScaramouche had said; and then followed with Rhodomont. 

As they approached the wings a roar of applause met them coming fromthe audience. It was applause and something else; applause on an unusualnote. As it faded away they heard the voice of Scaramouche ringing clearas a bell:

"And so you see, my dear M. Leandre, that when you speak of the ThirdEstate, it is necessary to be more explicit. What precisely is the ThirdEstate?"

"Nothing, " said Leandre. 

There was a gasp from the audience, audible in the wings, and thenswiftly followed Scaramouche's next question:

"True. Alas! But what should it be?"

"Everything, " said Leandre. 

The audience roared its acclamations, the more violent because of theunexpectedness of that reply. 

"True again, " said Scaramouche. "And what is more, that is what it willbe; that is what it already is. Do you doubt it?"

"I hope it, " said the schooled Leandre. 

"You may believe it, " said Scaramouche, and again the acclamationsrolled into thunder. 

Polichinelle and Rhodomont exchanged glances: indeed, the former winked, not without mirth. 

"Sacred name!" growled a voice behind them. "Is the scoundrel at hispolitical tricks again?"

They turned to confront M. Binet. Moving with that noiseless tread ofhis, he had come up unheard behind them, and there he stood now in hisscarlet suit of Pantaloon under a trailing bedgown, his little eyesglaring from either side of his false nose. But their attention was heldby the voice of Scaramouche. He had stepped to the front of the stage. 

"He doubts it, " he was telling the audience. "But then this M. Leandreis himself akin to those who worship the worm-eaten idol of Privilege, and so he is a little afraid to believe a truth that is becomingapparent to all the world. Shall I convince him? Shall I tell him how acompany of noblemen backed by their servants under arms--six hundred menin all--sought to dictate to the Third Estate of Rennes a few short weeksago? Must I remind him of the martial front shown on that occasion bythe Third Estate, and how they swept the streets clean of that rabble ofnobles--cette canaille noble... "

Applause interrupted him. The phrase had struck home and caught. Thosewho had writhed under that infamous designation from their betters leaptat this turning of it against the nobles themselves. 

"But let me tell you of their leader--le pins noble de cette canaille, ou bien le plus canaille de ces nobles! You know him--that one. He fearsmany things, but the voice of truth he fears most. With such as him theeloquent truth eloquently spoken is a thing instantly to be silenced. So he marshalled his peers and their valetailles, and led them out toslaughter these miserable bourgeois who dared to raise a voice. Butthese same miserable bourgeois did not choose to be slaughtered in thestreets of Rennes. It occurred to them that since the nobles decreedthat blood should flow, it might as well be the blood of the nobles. They marshalled themselves too--this noble rabble against the rabble ofnobles--and they marshalled themselves so well that they drove M. De LaTour d'Azyr and his warlike following from the field with brokenheads and shattered delusions. They sought shelter at the hands ofthe Cordeliers; and the shavelings gave them sanctuary in theirconvent--those who survived, among whom was their proud leader, M. De LaTour d'Azyr. You have heard of this valiant Marquis, this great lord oflife and death?"

The pit was in an uproar a moment. It quieted again as Scaramouchecontinued:

"Oh, it was a fine spectacle to see this mighty hunter scuttling tocover like a hare, going to earth in the Cordelier Convent. Rennes hasnot seen him since. Rennes would like to see him again. But if he isvalorous, he is also discreet. And where do you think he has takenrefuge, this great nobleman who wanted to see the streets of Renneswashed in the blood of its citizens, this man who would have butcheredold and young of the contemptible canaille to silence the voice ofreason and of liberty that presumes to ring through France to-day? Wheredo you think he hides himself? Why, here in Nantes. "

Again there was uproar. 

"What do you say? Impossible? Why, my friends, at this moment he is herein this theatre--skulking up there in that box. He is too shy toshow himself--oh, a very modest gentleman. But there he is behind thecurtains. Will you not show yourself to your friends, M. De La Tourd'Azyr, Monsieur le Marquis who considers eloquence so very dangerous agift? See, they would like a word with you; they do not believe me whenI tell them that you are here. "

Now, whatever he may have been, and whatever the views held on thesubject by Andre-Louis, M. De La Tour d'Azyr was certainly not a coward. To say that he was hiding in Nantes was not true. He came and wentthere openly and unabashed. It happened, however, that the Nantais wereignorant until this moment of his presence among them. But then hewould have disdained to have informed them of it just as he would havedisdained to have concealed it from them. 

Challenged thus, however, and despite the ominous manner in which thebourgeois element in the audience had responded to Scaramouche's appealto its passions, despite the attempts made by Chabrillane to restrainhim, the Marquis swept aside the curtain at the side of the box, andsuddenly showed himself, pale but self-contained and scornful as hesurveyed first the daring Scaramouche and then those others who at sightof him had given tongue to their hostility. 

Hoots and yells assailed him, fists were shaken at him, canes werebrandished menacingly. 

"Assassin! Scoundrel! Coward! Traitor!"

But he braved the storm, smiling upon them his ineffable contempt. Hewas waiting for the noise to cease; waiting to address them in his turn. But he waited in vain, as he very soon perceived. 

The contempt he did not trouble to dissemble served but to goad them on. 

In the pit pandemonium was already raging. Blows were being freelyexchanged; there were scuffling groups, and here and there swords werebeing drawn, but fortunately the press was too dense to permit of theirbeing used effectively. Those who had women with them and the timid bynature were making haste to leave a house that looked like becoming acockpit, where chairs were being smashed to provide weapons, and partsof chandeliers were already being used as missiles. 

One of these hurled by the hand of a gentleman in one of the boxesnarrowly missed Scaramouche where he stood, looking down in a sort ofgrim triumph upon the havoc which his words had wrought. Knowing ofwhat inflammable material the audience was composed, he had deliberatelyflung down amongst them the lighted torch of discord, to produce thisconflagration. 

He saw men falling quickly into groups representative of one side or theother of this great quarrel that already was beginning to agitate thewhole of France. Their rallying cries were ringing through the theatre. 

"Down with the canaille!" from some. 

"Down with the privileged!" from others. 

And then above the general din one cry rang out sharply and insistently:

"To the box! Death to the butcher of Rennes! Death to La Tour d'Azyr whomakes war upon the people!"

There was a rush for one of the doors of the pit that opened upon thestaircase leading to the boxes. 

And now, whilst battle and confusion spread with the speed of fire, overflowing from the theatre into the street itself, La Tour d'Azyr'sbox, which had become the main object of the attack of the bourgeoisie, had also become the rallying ground for such gentlemen as were presentin the theatre and for those who, without being men of birth themselves, were nevertheless attached to the party of the nobles. 

La Tour d'Azyr had quitted the front of the box to meet those who cameto join him. And now in the pit one group of infuriated gentlemen, inattempting to reach the stage across the empty orchestra, so that theymight deal with the audacious comedian who was responsible for thisexplosion, found themselves opposed and held back by another groupcomposed of men to whose feelings Andre-Louis had given expression. 

Perceiving this, and remembering the chandelier, he turned to Leandre, who had remained beside him. 

"I think it is time to be going, " said he. 

Leandre, looking ghastly under his paint, appalled by the storm whichexceeded by far anything that his unimaginative brain could haveconjectured, gurgled an inarticulate agreement. But it looked as ifalready they were too late, for in that moment they were assailed frombehind. 

M. Binet had succeeded at last in breaking past Polichinelle andRhodomont, who in view of his murderous rage had been endeavouring torestrain him. Half a dozen gentlemen, habitues of the green-room, hadcome round to the stage to disembowel the knave who had created thisriot, and it was they who had flung aside those two comedians who hungupon Binet. After him they came now, their swords out; but after themagain came Polichinelle, Rhodomont, Harlequin, Pierrot, Pasquariel, and Basque the artist, armed with such implements as they could hastilysnatch up, and intent upon saving the man with whom they sympathized inspite of all, and in whom now all their hopes were centred. 

Well ahead rolled Binet, moving faster than any had ever seen him move, and swinging the long cane from which Pantaloon is inseparable. 

"Infamous scoundrel!" he roared. "You have ruined me! But, name of aname, you shall pay!"

Andre-Louis turned to face him. "You confuse cause with effect, " saidhe. But he got no farther... Binet's cane, viciously driven, descendedand broke upon his shoulder. Had he not moved swiftly aside as the blowfell it must have taken him across the head, and possibly stunned him. As he moved, he dropped his hand to his pocket, and swift upon thecracking of Binet's breaking cane came the crack of the pistol withwhich Andre-Louis replied. 

"You had your warning, you filthy pander!" he cried. And on the word heshot him through the body. 

Binet went down screaming, whilst the fierce Polichinelle, fiercer thanever in that moment of fierce reality, spoke quickly into Andre-Louis'ear:

"Fool! So much was not necessary! Away with you now, or you'll leaveyour skin here! Away with you!"

Andre-Louis thought it good advice, and took it. The gentlemen who hadfollowed Binet in that punitive rush upon the stage, partly held incheck by the improvised weapons of the players, partly intimidated bythe second pistol that Scaramouche presented, let him go. He gainedthe wings, and here found himself faced by a couple of sergeants of thewatch, part of the police that was already invading the theatre with aview to restoring order. The sight of them reminded him unpleasantlyof how he must stand towards the law for this night's work, and moreparticularly for that bullet lodged somewhere in Binet's obese body. Heflourished his pistol. 

"Make way, or I'll burn your brains!" he threatened them, andintimidated, themselves without firearms, they fell back and let himpass. He slipped by the door of the green-room, where the ladies of thecompany had shut themselves in until the storm should be over, and sogained the street behind the theatre. It was deserted. Down this he wentat a run, intent on reaching the inn for clothes and money, since it wasimpossible that he should take the road in the garb of Scaramouche. 

BOOK III: THE SWORD

CHAPTER I. TRANSITION

"You may agree, " wrote Andre-Louis from Paris to Le Chapelier, in aletter which survives, "that it is to be regretted I should definitelyhave discarded the livery of Scaramouche, since clearly there could beno livery fitter for my wear. It seems to be my part always to stir upstrife and then to slip away before I am caught in the crash of thewarring elements I have aroused. It is a humiliating reflection. I seekconsolation in the reminder of Epictetus (do you ever read Epictetus?)that we are but actors in a play of such a part as it may please theDirector to assign us. It does not, however, console me to have beencast for a part so contemptible, to find myself excelling ever in theart of running away. But if I am not brave, at least I am prudent; sothat where I lack one virtue I may lay claim to possessing anotheralmost to excess. On a previous occasion they wanted to hang me forsedition. Should I have stayed to be hanged? This time they may want tohang me for several things, including murder; for I do not know whetherthat scoundrel Binet be alive or dead from the dose of lead I pumpedinto his fat paunch. Nor can I say that I very greatly care. If I have ahope at all in the matter it is that he is dead--and damned. But I amreally indifferent. My own concerns are troubling me enough. I have allbut spent the little money that I contrived to conceal about me before Ifled from Nantes on that dreadful night; and both of the only twoprofessions of which I can claim to know anything--the law and thestage--are closed to me, since I cannot find employment in either withoutrevealing myself as a fellow who is urgently wanted by the hangman. Asthings are it is very possible that I may die of hunger, especiallyconsidering the present price of victuals in this ravenous city. Again Ihave recourse to Epictetus for comfort. 'It is better, ' he says, 'to dieof hunger having lived without grief and fear, than to live with atroubled spirit amid abundance. ' I seem likely to perish in the estatethat he accounts so enviable. That it does not seem exactly enviable tome merely proves that as a Stoic I am not a success. "

There is also another letter of his written at about the same timeto the Marquis de La Tour d'Azyr--a letter since published by M. EmileQuersac in his "Undercurrents of the Revolution in Brittany, " unearthedby him from the archives of Rennes, to which it had been consigned byM. De Lesdiguieres, who had received it for justiciary purposes from theMarquis. 

"The Paris newspapers, " he writes in this, "which have reported inconsiderable detail the fracas at the Theatre Feydau and disclosed thetrue identity of the Scaramouche who provoked it, inform me also thatyou have escaped the fate I had intended for you when I raised thatstorm of public opinion and public indignation. I would not have youtake satisfaction in the thought that I regret your escape. I do not. Irejoice in it. To deal justice by death has this disadvantage that thevictim has no knowledge that justice has overtaken him. Had you died, had you been torn limb from limb that night, I should now repine in thethought of your eternal and untroubled slumber. Not in euthanasia, butin torment of mind should the guilty atone. You see, I am not sure thathell hereafter is a certainty, whilst I am quite sure that it can be acertainty in this life; and I desire you to continue to live yet awhilethat you may taste something of its bitterness. 

"You murdered Philippe de Vilmorin because you feared what you describedas his very dangerous gift of eloquence, I took an oath that day thatyour evil deed should be fruitless; that I would render it so; that thevoice you had done murder to stifle should in spite of that ring likea trumpet through the land. That was my conception of revenge. Do yourealize how I have been fulfilling it, how I shall continue to fulfilit as occasion offers? In the speech with which I fired the people ofRennes on the very morrow of that deed, did you not hear the voice ofPhilippe de Vilmorin uttering the ideas that were his with a fire and apassion greater than he could have commanded because Nemesis lent meher inflaming aid? In the voice of Omnes Omnibus at Nantes my voiceagain--demanding the petition that sounded the knell of your hopes ofcoercing the Third Estate, did you not hear again the voice of Philippede Vilmorin? Did you not reflect that it was the mind of the man you hadmurdered, resurrected in me his surviving friend, which made necessaryyour futile attempt under arms last January, wherein your order, finallybeaten, was driven to seek sanctuary in the Cordelier Convent? Andthat night when from the stage of the Feydau you were denounced to thepeople, did you not hear yet again, in the voice of Scaramouche, thevoice of Philippe de Vilmorin, using that dangerous gift of eloquencewhich you so foolishly imagined you could silence with a sword-thrust?It is becoming a persecution--is it not?--this voice from the grave thatinsists upon making itself heard, that will not rest until you have beencast into the pit. You will be regretting by now that you did not killme too, as I invited you on that occasion. I can picture to myselfthe bitterness of this regret, and I contemplate it with satisfaction. Regret of neglected opportunity is the worst hell that a living soul caninhabit, particularly such a soul as yours. It is because of this thatI am glad to know that you survived the riot at the Feydau, although atthe time it was no part of my intention that you should. Because of thisI am content that you should live to enrage and suffer in the shadow ofyour evil deed, knowing at last--since you had not hitherto the wit todiscern it for yourself--that the voice of Philippe de Vilmorin willfollow you to denounce you ever more loudly, ever more insistently, until having lived in dread you shall go down in blood under the justrage which your victim's dangerous gift of eloquence is kindling againstyou. "

I find it odd that he should have omitted from this letter all mentionof Mlle. Binet, and I am disposed to account it at least a partialinsincerity that he should have assigned entirely to his self-imposedmission, and not at all to his lacerated feelings in the matter ofClimene, the action which he had taken at the Feydau. 

Those two letters, both written in April of that year 1789, had for onlyimmediate effect to increase the activity with which Andre-Louis Moreauwas being sought. 

Le Chapelier would have found him so as to lend him assistance, tourge upon him once again that he should take up a political career. Theelectors of Nantes would have found him--at least, they would havefound Omnes Omnibus, of whose identity with himself they were still inignorance--on each of the several occasions when a vacancy occurred intheir body. And the Marquis de La Tour d'Azyr and M. De Lesdiguiereswould have found him that they might send him to the gallows. 

With a purpose no less vindictive was he being sought by M. Binet, nowunhappily recovered from his wound to face completest ruin. His troupehad deserted him during his illness, and reconstituted under thedirection of Polichinelle it was now striving with tolerable success tocontinue upon the lines which Andre-Louis had laid down. M. Le Marquis, prevented by the riot from expressing in person to Mlle. Binet hispurpose of making an end of their relations, had been constrained towrite to her to that effect from Azyr a few days later. He tempered theblow by enclosing in discharge of all liabilities a bill on the Caissed'Escompte for a hundred louis. Nevertheless it almost crushed theunfortunate and it enabled her father when he recovered to enrage herby pointing out that she owed this turn of events to the prematuresurrender she had made in defiance of his sound worldly advice. Fatherand daughter alike were left to assign the Marquis' desertion, naturallyenough, to the riot at the Feydau. They laid that with the rest to theaccount of Scaramouche, and were forced in bitterness to admit that thescoundrel had taken a superlative revenge. Climene may even have cometo consider that it would have paid her better to have run a straightcourse with Scaramouche and by marrying him to have trusted to hisundoubted talents to place her on the summit to which her ambitionurged her, and to which it was now futile for her to aspire. If so, thatreflection must have been her sufficient punishment. For, as Andre-Louisso truly says, there is no worse hell than that provided by the regretsfor wasted opportunities. 

Meanwhile the fiercely sought Andre-Louis Moreau had gone to earthcompletely for the present. And the brisk police of Paris, urged on bythe King's Lieutenant from Rennes, hunted for him in vain. Yet he mighthave been found in a house in the Rue du Hasard within a stone's throwof the Palais Royal, whither purest chance had conducted him. 

That which in his letter to Le Chapelier he represents as a contingencyof the near future was, in fact, the case in which already he foundhimself. He was destitute. His money was exhausted, including thatprocured by the sale of such articles of adornment as were not ofabsolute necessity. 

So desperate was his case that strolling one gusty April morning downthe Rue du Hasard with his nose in the wind looking for what might bepicked up, he stopped to read a notice outside the door of a house onthe left side of the street as you approach the Rue de Richelieu. Therewas no reason why he should have gone down the Rue du Hasard. Perhapsits name attracted him, as appropriate to his case. 

The notice written in a big round hand announced that a young man ofgood address with some knowledge of swordsmanship was required by M. Bertrand des Amis on the second floor. Above this notice was a blackoblong board, and on this a shield, which in vulgar terms may bedescribed as red charged with two swords crossed and four fleurs de lys, one in each angle of the saltire. Under the shield, in letters of gold, ran the legend:

 BERTRAND DES AMIS

 Maitre en fait d'Armes des Academies du Roi

Andre-Louis stood considering. He could claim, he thought, to possessthe qualifications demanded. He was certainly young and he believed oftolerable address, whilst the fencing-lessons he had received in Nanteshad given him at least an elementary knowledge of swordsmanship. Thenotice looked as if it had been pinned there some days ago, suggestingthat applicants for the post were not very numerous. In that caseperhaps M. Bertrand des Amis would not be too exigent. And anyway, Andre-Louis had not eaten for four-and-twenty hours, and whilst theemployment here offered--the precise nature of which he was yet toascertain--did not appear to be such as Andre-Louis would deliberatelyhave chosen, he was in no case now to be fastidious. 

Then, too, he liked the name of Bertrand des Amis. It felicitouslycombined suggestions of chivalry and friendliness. Also the man'sprofession being of a kind that is flavoured with romance it waspossible that M. Bertrand des Amis would not ask too many questions. 

In the end he climbed to the second floor. On the landing he pausedoutside a door, on which was written "Academy of M. Bertrand desAmis. " He pushed this open, and found himself in a sparsely furnished, untenanted antechamber. From a room beyond, the door of which wasclosed, came the stamping of feet, the click and slither of steel uponsteel, and dominating these sounds a vibrant sonorous voice speaking alanguage that was certainly French; but such French as is never heardoutside a fencing-school. 

"Coulez! Mais, coulez donc!.... So! Now the flanconnade--en carte.... Andhere is the riposte.... Let us begin again. Come! The ward of fierce.... Make the coupe, and then the quinte par dessus les armes.... O, maisallongez! Allongez! Allez au fond!" the voice cried in expostulation. "Come, that was better. " The blades ceased. 

"Remember: the hand in pronation, the elbow not too far out. That willdo for to-day. On Wednesday we shall see you tirer au mur. It is moredeliberate. Speed will follow when the mechanism of the movements ismore assured. "

Another voice murmured in answer. The steps moved aside. The lesson wasat an end. Andre-Louis tapped on the door. 

It was opened by a tall, slender, gracefully proportioned man of perhapsforty. Black silk breeches and stockings ending in light shoes clothedhim from the waist down. Above he was encased to the chin in a closelyfitting plastron of leather, His face was aquiline and swarthy, his eyesfull and dark, his mouth firm and his clubbed hair was of a lustrousblack with here and there a thread of silver showing. 

In the crook of his left arm he carried a fencing-mask, a thing ofleather with a wire grating to protect the eyes. His keen glance playedover Andre-Louis from head to foot. 

"Monsieur?" he inquired, politely. 

It was clear that he mistook Andre-Louis' quality, which is notsurprising, for despite his sadly reduced fortunes, his exterior wasirreproachable, and M. Des Amis was not to guess that he carried uponhis back the whole of his possessions. 

"You have a notice below, monsieur, " he said, and from the swiftlighting of the fencing-master's eyes he saw that he had been correctin his assumption that applicants for the position had not been jostlingone another on his threshold. And then that flash of satisfaction wasfollowed by a look of surprise. 

"You are come in regard to that?"

Andre-Louis shrugged and half smiled. "One must live, " said he. 

"But come in. Sit down there. I shall be at your.... I shall be free toattend to you in a moment. "

Andre-Louis took a seat on the bench ranged against one of thewhitewashed walls. The room was long and low, its floor entirely bare. Plain wooden forms such as that which he occupied were placed here andthere against the wall. These last were plastered with fencing trophies, masks, crossed foils, stuffed plastrons, and a variety of swords, daggers, and targets, belonging to a variety of ages and countries. There was also a portrait of an obese, big-nosed gentleman in anelaborately curled wig, wearing the blue ribbon of the Saint Esprit, in whom Andre-Louis recognized the King. And there was a framedparchment--M. Des Amis' certificate from the King's Academy. A bookcaseoccupied one corner, and near this, facing the last of the four windowsthat abundantly lighted the long room, there was a small writing-tableand an armchair. A plump and beautifully dressed young gentleman stoodby this table in the act of resuming coat and wig. M. Des Amis saunteredover to him--moving, thought Andre-Louis, with extraordinary grace andelasticity--and stood in talk with him whilst also assisting him tocomplete his toilet. 

At last the young gentleman took his departure, mopping himself witha fine kerchief that left a trail of perfume on the air. M. Des Amisclosed the door, and turned to the applicant, who rose at once. 

"Where have you studied?" quoth the fencing-master abruptly. 

"Studied?" Andre-Louis was taken aback by the question. "Oh, at Louis LeGrand. "

M. Des Amis frowned, looking up sharply as if to see whether hisapplicant was taking the liberty of amusing himself. 

"In Heaven's name! I am not asking you where you did your humanities, but in what academy you studied fencing. "

"Oh--fencing!" It had hardly ever occurred to Andre-Louis that the swordranked seriously as a study. "I never studied it very much. I had somelessons in... In the country once. "

The master's eyebrows went up. "But then?" he cried. "Why trouble tocome up two flights of stairs?" He was impatient. 

"The notice does not demand a high degree of proficiency. If I am notproficient enough, yet knowing the rudiments I can easily improve. Ilearn most things readily, " Andre-Louis commended himself. "For therest: I possess the other qualifications. I am young, as you observe:and I leave you to judge whether I am wrong in assuming that my addressis good. I am by profession a man of the robe, though I realize that themotto here is cedat toga armis. "

M. Des Amis smiled approvingly. Undoubtedly the young man had a goodaddress, and a certain readiness of wit, it would appear. He ran acritical eye over his physical points. "What is your name?" he asked. 

Andre-Louis hesitated a moment. "Andre-Louis, " he said. 

The dark, keen eyes conned him more searchingly. 

"Well? Andre-Louis what?"

"Just Andre-Louis. Louis is my surname. "

"Oh! An odd surname. You come from Brittany by your accent. Why did youleave it?"

"To save my skin, " he answered, without reflecting. And then made hasteto cover the blunder. "I have an enemy, " he explained. 

M. Des Amis frowned, stroking his square chin. "You ran away?"

"You may say so. 

"A coward, eh?"

"I don't think so. " And then he lied romantically. Surely a man wholived by the sword should have a weakness for the romantic. "You see, myenemy is a swordsman of great strength--the best blade in the province, if not the best blade in France. That is his repute. I thought I wouldcome to Paris to learn something of the art, and then go back and killhim. That, to be frank, is why your notice attracted me. You see, I havenot the means to take lessons otherwise. I thought to find work here inthe law. But I have failed. There are too many lawyers in Paris as itis, and whilst waiting I have consumed the little money that I had, sothat... So that, enfin, your notice seemed to me something to which aspecial providence had directed me. "

M. Des Amis gripped him by the shoulders, and looked into his face. 

"Is this true, my friend?" he asked. 

"Not a word of it, " said Andre-Louis, wrecking his chances on anirresistible impulse to say the unexpected. But he didn't wreck them. M. Des Amis burst into laughter; and having laughed his fill, confessedhimself charmed by his applicant's fundamental honesty. 

"Take off your coat, " he said, "and let us see what you can do. Nature, at least, designed you for a swordsman. You are light, active, andsupple, with a good length of arm, and you seem intelligent. I may makesomething of you, teach you enough for my purpose, which is that youshould give the elements of the art to new pupils before I take them inhand to finish them. Let us try. Take that mask and foil, and come overhere. "

He led him to the end of the room, where the bare floor was scored withlines of chalk to guide the beginner in the management of his feet. 

At the end of a ten minutes' bout, M. Des Amis offered him thesituation, and explained it. In addition to imparting the rudimentsof the art to beginners, he was to brush out the fencing-room everymorning, keep the foils furbished, assist the gentlemen who came forlessons to dress and undress, and make himself generally useful. Hiswages for the present were to be forty livres a month, and he mightsleep in an alcove behind the fencing-room if he had no other lodging. 

The position, you see, had its humiliations. But, if Andre-Louis wouldhope to dine, he must begin by eating his pride as an hors d'oeuvre. 

"And so, " he said, controlling a grimace, "the robe yields not only tothe sword, but to the broom as well. Be it so. I stay. "

It is characteristic of him that, having made that choice, he shouldhave thrown himself into the work with enthusiasm. It was ever his wayto do whatever he did with all the resources of his mind and energiesof his body. When he was not instructing very young gentlemen inthe elements of the art, showing them the elaborate and intricatesalute--which with a few days' hard practice he had mastered toperfection--and the eight guards, he was himself hard at work on thosesame guards, exercising eye, wrist, and knees. 

Perceiving his enthusiasm, and seeing the obvious possibilities itopened out of turning him into a really effective assistant, M. Des Amispresently took him more seriously in hand. 

"Your application and zeal, my friend, are deserving of more than fortylivres a month, " the master informed him at the end of a week. "Forthe present, however, I will make up what else I consider due to you byimparting to you secrets of this noble art. Your future depends uponhow you profit by your exceptional good fortune in receiving instructionfrom me. "

Thereafter every morning before the opening of the academy, the masterwould fence for half an hour with his new assistant. Under this reallyexcellent tuition Andre-Louis improved at a rate that both astoundedand flattered M. Des Amis. He would have been less flattered and moreastounded had he known that at least half the secret of Andre-Louis'amazing progress lay in the fact that he was devouring the contents ofthe master's library, which was made up of a dozen or so treatises onfencing by such great masters as La Bessiere, Danet, and the syndicof the King's Academy, Augustin Rousseau. To M. Des Amis, whoseswordsmanship was all based on practice and not at all on theory, whowas indeed no theorist or student in any sense, that little librarywas merely a suitable adjunct to a fencing-academy, a proper piece ofdecorative furniture. The books themselves meant nothing to him in anyother sense. He had not the type of mind that could have read them withprofit nor could he understand that another should do so. Andre-Louis, on the contrary, a man with the habit of study, with the acquiredfaculty of learning from books, read those works with enormous profit, kept their precepts in mind, critically set off those of one masteragainst those of another, and made for himself a choice which heproceeded to put into practice. 

At the end of a month it suddenly dawned upon M. Des Amis that hisassistant had developed into a fencer of very considerable force, a manin a bout with whom it became necessary to exert himself if he were toescape defeat. 

"I said from the first, " he told him one day, "that Nature designed youfor a swordsman. See how justified I was, and see also how well I haveknown how to mould the material with which Nature has equipped you. "

"To the master be the glory, " said Andre-Louis. 

His relations with M. Des Amis had meanwhile become of the friendliest, and he was now beginning to receive from him other pupils than merebeginners. In fact Andre-Louis was becoming an assistant in a muchfuller sense of the word. M. Des Amis, a chivalrous, open-handed fellow, far from taking advantage of what he had guessed to be the young man'sdifficulties, rewarded his zeal by increasing his wages to four louis amonth. 

From the earnest and thoughtful study of the theories of others, itfollowed now--as not uncommonly happens--that Andre-Louis came to developtheories of his own. He lay one June morning on his little truckle bedin the alcove behind the academy, considering a passage that he had readlast night in Danet on double and triple feints. It had seemed to himwhen reading it that Danet had stopped short on the threshold of a greatdiscovery in the art of fencing. Essentially a theorist, Andre-Louisperceived the theory suggested, which Danet himself in suggesting ithad not perceived. He lay now on his back, surveying the cracks in theceiling and considering this matter further with the lucidity that earlymorning often brings to an acute intelligence. You are to remember thatfor close upon two months now the sword had been Andre-Louis' dailyexercise and almost hourly thought. Protracted concentration uponthe subject was giving him an extraordinary penetration of vision. Swordsmanship as he learnt and taught and saw it daily practisedconsisted of a series of attacks and parries, a series of disengagesfrom one line into another. But always a limited series. A half-dozendisengages on either side was, strictly speaking, usually as far as anyengagement went. Then one recommenced. But even so, these disengageswere fortuitous. What if from first to last they should be calculated?

That was part of the thought--one of the two legs on which his theory wasto stand; the other was: what would happen if one so elaborated Danet'sideas on the triple feint as to merge them into a series of actualcalculated disengages to culminate at the fourth or fifth or even sixthdisengage? That is to say, if one were to make a series of attacksinviting ripostes again to be countered, each of which was not intendedto go home, but simply to play the opponent's blade into a line thatmust open him ultimately, and as predetermined, for an irresistiblelunge. Each counter of the opponent's would have to be preconsidered inthis widening of his guard, a widening so gradual that he should himselfbe unconscious of it, and throughout intent upon getting home his ownpoint on one of those counters. 

Andre-Louis had been in his time a chess-player of some force, and atchess he had excelled by virtue of his capacity for thinking ahead. Thatvirtue applied to fencing should all but revolutionize the art. Itwas so applied already, of course, but only in an elementary and verylimited fashion, in mere feints, single, double, or triple. But even thetriple feint should be a clumsy device compared with this method uponwhich he theorized. 

He considered further, and the conviction grew that he held the key of adiscovery. He was impatient to put his theory to the test. 

That morning he was given a pupil of some force, against whom usuallyhe was hard put to it to defend himself. Coming on guard, he made up hismind to hit him on the fourth disengage, predetermining the four passesthat should lead up to it. They engaged in tierce, and Andre-Louisled the attack by a beat and a straightening of the arm. Came thedemi-contre he expected, which he promptly countered by a thrust inquinte; this being countered again, he reentered still lower, and beingagain correctly parried, as he had calculated, he lunged swirling hispoint into carte, and got home full upon his opponent's breast. The easeof it surprised him. 

They began again. This time he resolved to go in on the fifth disengage, and in on that he went with the same ease. Then, complicating the matterfurther, he decided to try the sixth, and worked out in his mind thecombination of the five preliminary engages. Yet again he succeeded aseasily as before. 

The young gentleman opposed to him laughed with just a tinge ofmortification in his voice. 

"I am all to pieces this morning, " he said. 

"You are not of your usual force, " Andre-Louis politely agreed. And thengreatly daring, always to test that theory of his to the uttermost: "Somuch so, " he added, "that I could almost be sure of hitting you as andwhen I declare. "

The capable pupil looked at him with a half-sneer. "Ah, that, no, " saidhe. 

"Let us try. On the fourth disengage I shall touch you. Allons! Engarde!"

And as he promised, so it happened. 

The young gentleman who, hitherto, had held no great opinion ofAndre-Louis' swordsmanship, accounting him well enough for purposes ofpractice when the master was otherwise engaged, opened wide his eyes. Ina burst of mingled generosity and intoxication, Andre-Louis was almostfor disclosing his method--a method which a little later was to become acommonplace of the fencing-rooms. Betimes he checked himself. To revealhis secret would be to destroy the prestige that must accrue to him fromexercising it. 

At noon, the academy being empty, M. Des Amis called Andre-Louis to oneof the occasional lessons which he still received. And for the firsttime in all his experience with Andre-Louis, M. Des Amis receivedfrom him a full hit in the course of the first bout. He laughed, wellpleased, like the generous fellow he was. 

"Aha! You are improving very fast, my friend. " He still laughed, thoughnot so well pleased, when he was hit in the second bout. After that hesettled down to fight in earnest with the result that Andre-Louiswas hit three times in succession. The speed and accuracy of thefencing-master when fully exerting himself disconcerted Andre-Louis'theory, which for want of being exercised in practice still demanded toomuch consideration. 

But that his theory was sound he accounted fully established, and withthat, for the moment, he was content. It remained only to perfect bypractice the application of it. To this he now devoted himself withthe passionate enthusiasm of the discoverer. He confined himself to ahalf-dozen combinations, which he practised assiduously until each hadbecome almost automatic. And he proved their infallibility upon the bestamong M. Des Amis' pupils. 

Finally, a week or so after that last bout of his with des Amis, themaster called him once more to practice. 

Hit again in the first bout, the master set himself to exert all hisskill against his assistant. But to-day it availed him nothing beforeAndre-Louis' impetuous attacks. 

After the third hit, M. Des Amis stepped back and pulled off his mask. 

"What's this?" he asked. He was pale, and his dark brows were contractedin a frown. Not in years had he been so wounded in his self-love. "Haveyou been taught a secret botte?"

He had always boasted that he knew too much about the sword to believeany nonsense about secret bottes; but this performance of Andre-Louis'had shaken his convictions on that score. 

"No, " said Andre-Louis. "I have been working hard; and it happens that Ifence with my brains. "

"So I perceive. Well, well, I think I have taught you enough, my friend. I have no intention of having an assistant who is superior to myself. "

"Little danger of that, " said Andre-Louis, smiling pleasantly. "You havebeen fencing hard all morning, and you are tired, whilst I, havingdone little, am entirely fresh. That is the only secret of my momentarysuccess. "

His tact and the fundamental good-nature of M. Des Amis prevented thematter from going farther along the road it was almost threateningto take. And thereafter, when they fenced together, Andre-Louis, whocontinued daily to perfect his theory into an almost infallible system, saw to it that M. Des Amis always scored against him at least two hitsfor every one of his own. So much he would grant to discretion, but nomore. He desired that M. Des Amis should be conscious of his strength, without, however, discovering so much of its real extent as would haveexcited in him an unnecessary degree of jealousy. 

And so well did he contrive that whilst he became ever of greaterassistance to the master--for his style and general fencing, too, hadmaterially improved--he was also a source of pride to him as the mostbrilliant of all the pupils that had ever passed through his academy. Never did Andre-Louis disillusion him by revealing the fact that hisskill was due far more to M. Des Amis' library and his own mother witthan to any lessons received. 

CHAPTER II. QUOS DEUS VULT PERDERE

Once again, precisely as he had done when he joined the Binet troupe, did Andre-Louis now settle down whole-heartedly to the new professioninto which necessity had driven him, and in which he found effectiveconcealment from those who might seek him to his hurt. This professionmight--although in fact it did not--have brought him to consider himselfat last as a man of action. He had not, however, on that account ceasedto be a man of thought, and the events of the spring and summer monthsof that year 1789 in Paris provided him with abundant matter forreflection. He read there in the raw what is perhaps the most amazingpage in the history of human development, and in the end he was forcedto the conclusion that all his early preconceptions had been at fault, and that it was such exalted, passionate enthusiasts as Vilmorin who hadbeen right. 

I suspect him of actually taking pride in the fact that he had beenmistaken, complacently attributing his error to the circumstance that hehad been, himself, of too sane and logical a mind to gauge the depths ofhuman insanity now revealed. 

He watched the growth of hunger, the increasing poverty and distress ofParis during that spring, and assigned it to its proper cause, togetherwith the patience with which the people bore it. The world of France wasin a state of hushed, of paralyzed expectancy, waiting for the StatesGeneral to assemble and for centuries of tyranny to end. And because ofthis expectancy, industry had come to a standstill, the stream of tradehad dwindled to a trickle. Men would not buy or sell until they clearlysaw the means by which the genius of the Swiss banker, M. Necker, was todeliver them from this morass. And because of this paralysis of affairsthe men of the people were thrown out of work and left to starve withtheir wives and children. 

Looking on, Andre-Louis smiled grimly. So far he was right. Thesufferers were ever the proletariat. The men who sought to makethis revolution, the electors--here in Paris as elsewhere--were menof substance, notable bourgeois, wealthy traders. And whilst these, despising the canaille, and envying the privileged, talked largely ofequality--by which they meant an ascending equality that should confusethemselves with the gentry--the proletariat perished of want in itskennels. 

At last with the month of May the deputies arrived, Andre-Louis'friend Le Chapelier prominent amongst them, and the States General wereinaugurated at Versailles. It was then that affairs began to becomeinteresting, then that Andre-Louis began seriously to doubt thesoundness of the views he had held hitherto. 

When the royal proclamation had gone forth decreeing that the deputiesof the Third Estate should number twice as many as those of the othertwo orders together, Andre-Louis had believed that the preponderance ofvotes thus assured to the Third Estate rendered inevitable the reformsto which they had pledged themselves. 

But he had reckoned without the power of the privileged orders overthe proud Austrian queen, and her power over the obese, phlegmatic, irresolute monarch. That the privileged orders should deliver battlein defence of their privileges, Andre-Louis could understand. Man beingwhat he is, and labouring under his curse of acquisitiveness, will neverwillingly surrender possessions, whether they be justly or unjustlyheld. But what surprised Andre-Louis was the unutterable crassness ofthe methods by which the Privileged ranged themselves for battle. Theyopposed brute force to reason and philosophy, and battalions of foreignmercenaries to ideas. As if ideas were to be impaled on bayonets!

The war between the Privileged and the Court on one side, and theAssembly and the People on the other had begun. 

The Third Estate contained itself, and waited; waited with the patienceof nature; waited a month whilst, with the paralysis of business nowcomplete, the skeleton hand of famine took a firmer grip of Paris;waited a month whilst Privilege gradually assembled an army inVersailles to intimidate it--an army of fifteen regiments, nine ofwhich were Swiss and German--and mounted a park of artillery beforethe building in which the deputies sat. But the deputies refused to beintimidated; they refused to see the guns and foreign uniforms; theyrefused to see anything but the purpose for which they had been broughttogether by royal proclamation. 

Thus until the 10th of June, when that great thinker and metaphysician, the Abbe Sieyes, gave the signal: "It is time, " said he, "to cut thecable. "

And the opportunity came soon, at the very beginning of July. M. DuChatelet, a harsh, haughty disciplinarian, proposed to transfer theeleven French Guards placed under arrest from the military gaol of theAbbaye to the filthy prison of Bicetre reserved for thieves and felonsof the lowest order. Word of that intention going forth, the people atlast met violence with violence. A mob four thousand strong broke intothe Abbaye, and delivered thence not only the eleven guardsmen, but allthe other prisoners, with the exception of one whom they discovered tobe a thief, and whom they put back again. 

That was open revolt at last, and with revolt Privilege knew how todeal. It would strangle this mutinous Paris in the iron grip of theforeign regiments. Measures were quickly concerted. Old Marechal deBroglie, a veteran of the Seven Years' War, imbued with a soldier'scontempt for civilians, conceiving that the sight of a uniform wouldbe enough to restore peace and order, took control with Besenval as hissecond-in-command. The foreign regiments were stationed in theenvirons of Paris, regiments whose very names were an irritation to theParisians, regiments of Reisbach, of Diesbach, of Nassau, Esterhazy, andRoehmer. Reenforcements of Swiss were sent to the Bastille between whosecrenels already since the 30th of June were to be seen the menacingmouths of loaded cannon. 

On the 10th of July the electors once more addressed the King to requestthe withdrawal of the troops. They were answered next day that thetroops served the purpose of defending the liberties of the Assembly!And on the next day to that, which was a Sunday, the philanthropist Dr. Guillotin--whose philanthropic engine of painless death was before verylong to find a deal of work--came from the Assembly, of which he was amember, to assure the electors of Paris that all was well, appearancesnotwithstanding, since Necker was more firmly in the saddle than ever. He did not know that at the very moment in which he was speaking soconfidently, the oft-dismissed and oft-recalled M. Necker had just beendismissed yet again by the hostile cabal about the Queen. Privilegewanted conclusive measures, and conclusive measures it wouldhave--conclusive to itself. 

And at the same time yet another philanthropist, also a doctor, oneJean-Paul Mara, of Italian extraction--better known as Marat, thegallicized form of name he adopted--a man of letters, too, who had spentsome years in England, and there published several works on sociology, was writing:

"Have a care! Consider what would be the fatal effect of a seditiousmovement. If you should have the misfortune to give way to that, youwill be treated as people in revolt, and blood will flow. "

Andre-Louis was in the gardens of the Palais Royal, that place of shopsand puppet-shows, of circus and cafes, of gaming houses and brothels, that universal rendezvous, on that Sunday morning when the news ofNecker's dismissal spread, carrying with it dismay and fury. IntoNecker's dismissal the people read the triumph of the party hostile tothemselves. It sounded the knell of all hope of redress of their wrongs. 

He beheld a slight young man with a pock-marked face, redeemed fromutter ugliness by a pair of magnificent eyes, leap to a table outsidethe Café de Foy, a drawn sword in his hand, crying, "To arms!" And thenupon the silence of astonishment that cry imposed, this young manpoured a flood of inflammatory eloquence, delivered in a voice marred atmoments by a stutter. He told the people that the Germans on the Champde Mars would enter Paris that night to butcher the inhabitants. "Letus mount a cockade!" he cried, and tore a leaf from a tree to serve hispurpose--the green cockade of hope. 

Enthusiasm swept the crowd, a motley crowd made up of men and women ofevery class, from vagabond to nobleman, from harlot to lady of fashion. Trees were despoiled of their leaves, and the green cockade was flauntedfrom almost every head. 

"You are caught between two fires, " the incendiary's stuttering voiceraved on. "Between the Germans on the Champ de Mars and the Swiss in theBastille. To arms, then! To arms!"

Excitement boiled up and over. From a neighbouring waxworks show camethe bust of Necker, and presently a bust of that comedian the Dukeof Orleans, who had a party and who was as ready as any other of thebudding opportunists of those days to take advantage of the moment forhis own aggrandizement. The bust of Necker was draped with crepe. 

Andre-Louis looked on, and grew afraid. Marat's pamphlet had impressedhim. It had expressed what himself he had expressed more than half ayear ago to the mob at Rennes. This crowd, he felt must be restrained. That hot-headed, irresponsible stutterer would have the town in a blazeby night unless something were done. The young man, a causeless advocateof the Palais named Camille Desmoulins, later to become famous, leaptdown from his table still waving his sword, still shouting, "To arms!Follow me!" Andre-Louis advanced to occupy the improvised rostrum, whichthe stutterer had just vacated, to make an effort at counteracting thatinflammatory performance. He thrust through the crowd, and came suddenlyface to face with a tall man beautifully dressed, whose handsomecountenance was sternly set, whose great sombre eyes mouldered as ifwith suppressed anger. 

Thus face to face, each looking into the eyes of the other, they stoodfor a long moment, the jostling crowd streaming past them, unheeded. Then Andre-Louis laughed. 

"That fellow, too, has a very dangerous gift of eloquence, M. LeMarquis, " he said. "In fact there are a number of such in France to-day. They grow from the soil, which you and yours have irrigated with theblood of the martyrs of liberty. Soon it may be your blood instead. Thesoil is parched, and thirsty for it. "

"Gallows-bird!" he was answered. "The police will do your affair foryou. I shall tell the Lieutenant-General that you are to be found inParis. "

"My God, man!" cried Andre-Louis, "will you never get sense? Will youtalk like that of Lieutenant-Generals when Paris itself is likely totumble about your ears or take fire under your feet? Raise your voice, M. Le Marquis. Denounce me here, to these. You will make a hero of me insuch an hour as this. Or shall I denounce you? I think I will. I thinkit is high time you received your wages. Hi! You others, listen to me!Let me present you to... "

A rush of men hurtled against him, swept him along with them, do what hewould, separating him from M. De La Tour d'Azyr, so oddly met. He soughtto breast that human torrent; the Marquis, caught in an eddy of it, remained where he had been, and Andre-Louis' last glimpse of him was ofa man smiling with tight lips, an ugly smile. 

Meanwhile the gardens were emptying in the wake of that stutteringfirebrand who had mounted the green cockade. The human torrent pouredout into the Rue de Richelieu, and Andre-Louis perforce must sufferhimself to be borne along by it, at least as far as the Rue du Hasard. There he sidled out of it, and having no wish to be crushed to death orto take further part in the madness that was afoot, he slipped downthe street, and so got home to the deserted academy. For there were nopupils to-day, and even M. Des Amis, like Andre-Louis, had gone out toseek for news of what was happening at Versailles. 

This was no normal state of things at the Academy of Bertrand des Amis. Whatever else in Paris might have been at a standstill lately, thefencing academy had flourished as never hitherto. Usually both themaster and his assistant were busy from morning until dusk, and alreadyAndre-Louis was being paid now by the lessons that he gave, themaster allowing him one half of the fee in each case for himself, anarrangement which the assistant found profitable. On Sundays theacademy made half-holiday; but on this Sunday such had been the state ofsuspense and ferment in the city that no one having appeared by eleveno'clock both des Amis and Andre-Louis had gone out. Little they thoughtas they lightly took leave of each other--they were very good friends bynow--that they were never to meet again in this world. 

Bloodshed there was that day in Paris. On the Place Vendome a detachmentof dragoons awaited the crowd out of which Andre-Louis had slipped. Thehorsemen swept down upon the mob, dispersed it, smashed the waxen effigyof M. Necker, and killed one man on the spot--an unfortunate French Guardwho stood his ground. That was a beginning. As a consequence Besenvalbrought up his Swiss from the Champ de Mars and marshalled them inbattle order on the Champs Elysees with four pieces of artillery. Hisdragoons he stationed in the Place Louis XV. That evening an enormouscrowd, streaming along the Champs Elysees and the Tuileries Gardens, considered with eyes of alarm that warlike preparation. Some insultswere cast upon those foreign mercenaries and some stones were flung. Besenval, losing his head, or acting under orders, sent for his dragoonsand ordered them to disperse the crowd, But that crowd was too dense tobe dispersed in this fashion; so dense that it was impossible for thehorsemen to move without crushing some one. There were several crushed, and as a consequence when the dragoons, led by the Prince de Lambesc, advanced into the Tuileries Gardens, the outraged crowd met them with afusillade of stones and bottles. Lambesc gave the order to fire. Therewas a stampede. Pouring forth from the Tuileries through the city wentthose indignant people with their story of German cavalry trampling uponwomen and children, and uttering now in grimmest earnest the call toarms, raised at noon by Desmoulins in the Palais Royal. 

The victims were taken up and borne thence, and amongst them wasBertrand des Amis, himself--like all who lived by the sword--an ardentupholder of the noblesse, trampled to death under hooves of foreignhorsemen launched by the noblesse and led by a nobleman. 

To Andre-Louis, waiting that evening on the second floor of No. 13Rue du Hasard for the return of his friend and master, four men of thepeople brought that broken body of one of the earliest victims of theRevolution that was now launched in earnest. 

CHAPTER III. PRESIDENT LE CHAPELIER

The ferment of Paris which, during the two following days, resembled anarmed camp rather than a city, delayed the burial of Bertrand des Amisuntil the Wednesday of that eventful week. Amid events that were shakinga nation to its foundations the death of a fencing-master passed almostunnoticed even among his pupils, most of whom did not come to theacademy during the two days that his body lay there. Some few, however, did come, and these conveyed the news to others, with the result thatthe master was followed to Pere Lachaise by a score of young men at thehead of whom as chief mourner walked Andre-Louis. 

There were no relatives to be advised so far as Andre-Louis was aware, although within a week of M. Des Amis' death a sister turned up fromPassy to claim his heritage. This was considerable, for the master hadprospered and saved money, most of which was invested in the Compagniedes Eaux and the National Debt. Andre-Louis consigned her to thelawyers, and saw her no more. 

The death of des Amis left him with so profound a sense of lonelinessand desolation that he had no thought or care for the sudden accessof fortune which it automatically procured him. To the master's sistermight fall such wealth as he had amassed, but Andre-Louis succeededto the mine itself from which that wealth had been extracted, thefencing-school in which by now he was himself so well established as aninstructor that its numerous pupils looked to him to carry it forwardsuccessfully as its chief. And never was there a season in whichfencing-academies knew such prosperity as in these troubled days, whenevery man was sharpening his sword and schooling himself in the uses ofit. 

It was not until a couple of weeks later that Andre-Louis realized whathad really happened to him, and he found himself at the same time anexhausted man, for during that fortnight he had been doing the work oftwo. If he had not hit upon the happy expedient of pairing-off hismore advanced pupils to fence with each other, himself standing by tocriticize, correct and otherwise instruct, he must have found the taskutterly beyond his strength. Even so, it was necessary for him to fencesome six hours daily, and every day he brought arrears of lassitudefrom yesterday until he was in danger of succumbing under the increasingburden of fatigue. In the end he took an assistant to deal withbeginners, who gave the hardest work. He found him readily enoughby good fortune in one of his own pupils named Le Duc. As the summeradvanced, and the concourse of pupils steadily increased, it becamenecessary for him to take yet another assistant--an able young instructornamed Galoche--and another room on the floor above. 

They were strenuous days for Andre-Louis, more strenuous than he hadever known, even when he had been at work to build up the Binet Company;but it follows that they were days of extraordinary prosperity. Hecomments regretfully upon the fact that Bertrand des Amis shouldhave died by ill-chance on the very eve of so profitable a vogue ofsword-play. 

The arms of the Academie du Roi, to which Andre-Louis had no title, still continued to be displayed outside his door. He had overcome thedifficulty in a manner worthy of Scaramouche. He left the escutcheon andthe legend "Academie de Bertrand des Amis, Maitre en fait d'Armes desAcademies du Roi, " appending to it the further legend: "Conducted byAndre-Louis. "

With little time now in which to go abroad it was from his pupilsand the newspapers--of which a flood had risen in Paris with theestablishment of the freedom of the Press--that he learnt of therevolutionary processes around him, following upon, as a measure ofanticlimax, the fall of the Bastille. That had happened whilst M. DesAmis lay dead, on the day before they buried him, and was indeed thechief reason of the delay in his burial. It was an event that had itsinspiration in that ill-considered charge of Prince Lambesc in which thefencing-master had been killed. 

The outraged people had besieged the electors in the Hotel de Ville, demanding arms with which to defend their lives from these foreignmurderers hired by despotism. And in the end the electors had consentedto give them arms, or, rather--for arms it had none to give--to permitthem to arm themselves. Also it had given them a cockade, of red andblue, the colours of Paris. Because these colours were also those of theliveries of the Duke of Orleans, white was added to them--the white ofthe ancient standard of France--and thus was the tricolour born. Further, a permanent committee of electors was appointed to watch over publicorder. 

Thus empowered the people went to work with such good effect that withinthirty-six hours sixty thousand pikes had been forged. At nine o'clockon Tuesday morning thirty thousand men were before the Invalides. Byeleven o'clock they had ravished it of its store of arms amounting tosome thirty thousand muskets, whilst others had seized the Arsenal andpossessed themselves of powder. 

Thus they prepared to resist the attack that from seven points was tobe launched that evening upon the city. But Paris did not wait for theattack. It took the initiative. Mad with enthusiasm it conceived theinsane project of taking that terrible menacing fortress, the Bastille, and, what is more, it succeeded, as you know, before five o'clock thatnight, aided in the enterprise by the French Guards with cannon. 

The news of it, borne to Versailles by Lambesc in flight with hisdragoons before the vast armed force that had sprouted from thepaving-stones of Paris, gave the Court pause. The people were inpossession of the guns captured from the Bastille. They were erectingbarricades in the streets, and mounting these guns upon them. The attackhad been too long delayed. It must be abandoned since now it could leadonly to fruitless slaughter that must further shake the already sorelyshaken prestige of Royalty. 

And so the Court, growing momentarily wise again under the spur of fear, preferred to temporize. Necker should be brought back yet once again, the three orders should sit united as the National Assembly demanded. Itwas the completest surrender of force to force, the only argument. TheKing went alone to inform the National Assembly of that eleventh-hourresolve, to the great comfort of its members, who viewed with pain andalarm the dreadful state of things in Paris. "No force but the force ofreason and argument" was their watchword, and it was so to continue fortwo years yet, with a patience and fortitude in the face of ceaselessprovocation to which insufficient justice has been done. 

As the King was leaving the Assembly, a woman, embracing his knees, gavetongue to what might well be the question of all France:

"Ah, sire, are you really sincere? Are you sure they will not make youchange your mind?"

Yet no such question was asked when a couple of days later the King, alone and unguarded save by the representatives of the Nation, came toParis to complete the peacemaking, the surrender of Privilege. The Courtwas filled with terror by the adventure. Were they not the "enemy, "these mutinous Parisians? And should a King go thus among his enemies?If he shared some of that fear, as the gloom of him might lead us tosuppose, he must have found it idle. What if two hundred thousand menunder arms--men without uniforms and with the most extraordinary motleyof weapons ever seen--awaited him? They awaited him as a guard of honour. 

Mayor Bailly at the barrier presented him with the keys of the city. "These are the same keys that were presented to Henri IV. He hadreconquered his people. Now the people have reconquered their King. "

At the Hotel de Ville Mayor Bailly offered him the new cockade, thetricoloured symbol of constitutional France, and when he had given hisroyal confirmation to the formation of the Garde Bourgeoise and to theappointments of Bailly and Lafayette, he departed again for Versaillesamid the shouts of "Vive le Roi!" from his loyal people. 

And now you see Privilege--before the cannon's mouth, as itwere--submitting at last, where had they submitted sooner they might havesaved oceans of blood--chiefly their own. They come, nobles and clergy, to join the National Assembly, to labour with it upon this constitutionthat is to regenerate France. But the reunion is a mockery--as much amockery as that of the Archbishop of Paris singing the Te Deum forthe fall of the Bastille--most grotesque and incredible of all thesegrotesque and incredible events. All that has happened to the NationalAssembly is that it has introduced five or six hundred enemies to hamperand hinder its deliberations. 

But all this is an oft-told tale, to be read in detail elsewhere. Igive you here just so much of it as I have found in Andre-Louis' ownwritings, almost in his own words, reflecting the changes that wereoperated in his mind. Silent now, he came fully to believe in thosethings in which he had not believed when earlier he had preached them. 

Meanwhile together with the change in his fortune had come a changein his position towards the law, a change brought about by the otherchanges wrought around him. No longer need he hide himself. Who in thesedays would prefer against him the grotesque charge of sedition forwhat he had done in Brittany? What court would dare to send him to thegallows for having said in advance what all France was saying now? Asfor that other possible charge of murder, who should concern himselfwith the death of the miserable Binet killed by him--if, indeed, he hadkilled him, as he hoped--in self-defence. 

And so one fine day in early August, Andre-Louis gave himself a holidayfrom the academy, which was now working smoothly under his assistants, hired a chaise and drove out to Versailles to the Café d'Amaury, whichhe knew for the meeting-place of the Club Breton, the seed from whichwas to spring that Society of the Friends of the Constitution betterknown as the Jacobins. He went to seek Le Chapelier, who had been oneof the founders of the club, a man of great prominence now, president ofthe Assembly in this important season when it was deliberating upon theDeclaration of the Rights of Man. 

Le Chapelier's importance was reflected in the sudden servility of theshirt-sleeved, white-aproned waiter of whom Andre-Louis inquired for therepresentative. 

M. Le Chapelier was above-stairs with friends. The waiter desired toserve the gentleman, but hesitated to break in upon the assembly inwhich M. Le Depute found himself. 

Andre-Louis gave him a piece of silver to encourage him to make theattempt. Then he sat down at a marble-topped table by the window lookingout over the wide tree-encircled square. There, in that common-room ofthe café, deserted at this hour of mid-afternoon, the great man came tohim. Less than a year ago he had yielded precedence to Andre-Louis ina matter of delicate leadership; to-day he stood on the heights, oneof the great leaders of the Nation in travail, and Andre-Louis was deepdown in the shadows of the general mass. 

The thought was in the minds of both as they scanned each other, eachnoting in the other the marked change that a few months had wrought. In Le Chapelier, Andre-Louis observed certain heightened refinements ofdress that went with certain subtler refinements of countenance. He wasthinner than of old, his face was pale and there was a weariness in theeyes that considered his visitor through a gold-rimmed spy-glass. InAndre-Louis those jaded but quick-moving eyes of the Breton deputy notedchanges even more marked. The almost constant swordmanship of theselast months had given Andre-Louis a grace of movement, a poise, and acurious, indefinable air of dignity, of command. He seemed taller byvirtue of this, and he was dressed with an elegance which if quiet wasnone the less rich. He wore a small silver-hilted sword, and wore it asif used to it, and his black hair that Le Chapelier had never seen otherthan fluttering lank about his bony cheeks was glossy now and gatheredinto a club. Almost he had the air of a petit-maitre. 

In both, however, the changes were purely superficial, as each wassoon to reveal to the other. Le Chapelier was ever the same direct anddownright Breton, abrupt of manner and of speech. He stood smiling amoment in mingled surprise and pleasure; then opened wide his arms. Theyembraced under the awe-stricken gaze of the waiter, who at once effacedhimself. 

"Andre-Louis, my friend! Whence do you drop?"

"We drop from above. I come from below to survey at close quarters onewho is on the heights. "

"On the heights! But that you willed it so, it is yourself might now bestanding in my place. "

"I have a poor head for heights, and I find the atmosphere too rarefied. Indeed, you look none too well on it yourself, Isaac. You are pale. "

"The Assembly was in session all last night. That is all. These damnedPrivileged multiply our difficulties. They will do so until we decreetheir abolition. "

They sat down. "Abolition! You contemplate so much? Not that yousurprise me. You have always been an extremist. "

"I contemplate it that I may save them. I seek to abolish themofficially, so as to save them from abolition of another kind at thehands of a people they exasperate. "

"I see. And the King?"

"The King is the incarnation of the Nation. We shall deliver himtogether with the Nation from the bondage of Privilege. Our constitutionwill accomplish it. You agree?"

Andre-Louis shrugged. "Does it matter? I am a dreamer in politics, nota man of action. Until lately I have been very moderate; more moderatethan you think. But now almost I am a republican. I have been watching, and I have perceived that this King is--just nothing, a puppet who dancesaccording to the hand that pulls the string. "

"This King, you say? What other king is possible? You are surely notof those who weave dreams about Orleans? He has a sort of party, afollowing largely recruited by the popular hatred of the Queen and theknown fact that she hates him. There are some who have thought of makinghim regent, some even more; Robespierre is of the number. "

"Who?" asked Andre-Louis, to whom the name was unknown. 

"Robespierre--a preposterous little lawyer who represents Arras, ashabby, clumsy, timid dullard, who will make speeches through his noseto which nobody listens--an ultra-royalist whom the royalists and theOrleanists are using for their own ends. He has pertinacity, and heinsists upon being heard. He may be listened to some day. But thathe, or the others, will ever make anything of Orleans... Pish! Orleanshimself may desire it, but the man is a eunuch in crime; he would, buthe can't. The phrase is Mirabeau's. "

He broke off to demand Andre-Louis' news of himself. 

"You did not treat me as a friend when you wrote to me, " he complained. "You gave me no clue to your whereabouts; you represented yourself as onthe verge of destitution and withheld from me the means to come to yourassistance. I have been troubled in mind about you, Andre. Yet to judgeby your appearance I might have spared myself that. You seem prosperous, assured. Tell me of it. "

Andre-Louis told him frankly all that there was to tell. "Do you knowthat you are an amazement to me?" said the deputy. "From the robe to thebuskin, and now from the buskin to the sword! What will be the end ofyou, I wonder?"

"The gallows, probably. "

"Pish! Be serious. Why not the toga of the senator in senatorial France?It might be yours now if you had willed it so. "

"The surest way to the gallows of all, " laughed Andre-Louis. 

At the moment Le Chapelier manifested impatience. I wonder did thephrase cross his mind that day four years later when himself he rode inthe death-cart to the Greve. 

"We are sixty-six Breton deputies in the Assembly. Should a vacancyoccur, will you act as suppleant? A word from me together with theinfluence of your name in Rennes and Nantes, and the thing is done. "

Andre-Louis laughed outright. "Do you know, Isaac, that I never meet youbut you seek to thrust me into politics?"

"Because you have a gift for politics. You were born for politics. "

"Ah, yes--Scaramouche in real life. I've played it on the stage. Let thatsuffice. Tell me, Isaac, what news of my old friend, La Tour d'Azyr?"

"He is here in Versailles, damn him--a thorn in the flesh of theAssembly. They've burnt his chateau at La Tour d'Azyr. Unfortunately hewasn't in it at the time. The flames haven't even singed his insolence. He dreams that when this philosophic aberration is at an end, there willbe serfs to rebuild it for him. "

"So there has been trouble in Brittany?" Andre-Louis had become suddenlygrave, his thoughts swinging to Gavrillac. 

"An abundance of it, and elsewhere too. Can you wonder? These delaysat such a time, with famine in the land? Chateaux have been going up insmoke during the last fortnight. The peasants took their cue fromthe Parisians, and treated every castle as a Bastille. Order is beingrestored, there as here, and they are quieter now. "

"What of Gavrillac? Do you know?"

"I believe all to be well. M. De Kercadiou was not a Marquis de La Tourd'Azyr. He was in sympathy with his people. It is not likely that theywould injure Gavrillac. But don't you correspond with your godfather?"

"In the circumstances--no. What you tell me would make it now moredifficult than ever, for he must account me one of those who helped tolight the torch that has set fire to so much belonging to his class. Ascertain for me that all is well, and let me know. "

"I will, at once. "

At parting, when Andre-Louis was on the point of stepping into hiscabriolet to return to Paris, he sought information on another matter. 

"Do you happen to know if M. De La Tour d'Azyr has married?" he asked. 

"I don't; which really means that he hasn't. One would have heard of itin the case of that exalted Privileged. "

"To be sure. " Andre-Louis spoke indifferently. "Au revoir, Isaac! You'llcome and see me--13 Rue du Hasard. Come soon. "

"As soon and as often as my duties will allow. They keep me chained hereat present. "

"Poor slave of duty with your gospel of liberty!"

"True! And because of that I will come. I have a duty to Brittany: tomake Omnes Omnibus one of her representatives in the National Assembly. "

"That is a duty you will oblige me by neglecting, " laughed Andre-Louis, and drove away. 

CHAPTER IV. AT MEUDON

Later in the week he received a visit from Le Chapelier just beforenoon. 

"I have news for you, Andre. Your godfather is at Meudon. He arrivedthere two days ago. Had you heard?"

"But no. How should I hear? Why is he at Meudon?" He was conscious of afaint excitement, which he could hardly have explained. 

"I don't know. There have been fresh disturbances in Brittany. It may bedue to that. "

"And so he has come for shelter to his brother?" asked Andre-Louis. 

"To his brother's house, yes; but not to his brother. Where do you liveat all, Andre? Do you never hear any of the news? Etienne de Gavrillacemigrated years ago. He was of the household of M. D'Artois, and hecrossed the frontier with him. By now, no doubt, he is in Germany withhim, conspiring against France. For that is what the emigres aredoing. That Austrian woman at the Tuileries will end by destroying themonarchy. "

"Yes, yes, " said Andre-Louis impatiently. Politics interested him not atall this morning. "But about Gavrillac?"

"Why, haven't I told you that Gavrillac is at Meudon, installed in thehouse his brother has left? Dieu de Dieu! Don't I speak French or don'tyou understand the language? I believe that Rabouillet, his intendant, is in charge of Gavrillac. I have brought you the news the moment Ireceived it. I thought you would probably wish to go out to Meudon. "

"Of course. I will go at once--that is, as soon as I can. I can't to-day, nor yet to-morrow. I am too busy here. " He waved a hand towards theinner room, whence proceeded the click-click of blades, the quick movingof feet, and the voice of the instructor, Le Duc. 

"Well, well, that is your own affair. You are busy. I leave you now. Letus dine this evening at the Café de Foy. Kersain will be of the party. "

"A moment!" Andre-Louis' voice arrested him on the threshold. "Is Mlle. De Kercadiou with her uncle?"

"How the devil should I know? Go and find out. "

He was gone, and Andre-Louis stood there a moment deep in thought. Then he turned and went back to resume with his pupil, the Vicomte deVilleniort, the interrupted exposition of the demi-contre of Danet, illustrating with a small-sword the advantages to be derived from itsadoption. 

Thereafter he fenced with the Vicomte, who was perhaps the ablest of hispupils at the time, and all the while his thoughts were on the heightsof Meudon, his mind casting up the lessons he had to give that afternoonand on the morrow, and wondering which of these he might postponewithout deranging the academy. When having touched the Vicomte threetimes in succession, he paused and wrenched himself back to the present, it was to marvel at the precision to be gained by purely mechanicalaction. Without bestowing a thought upon what he was doing, his wristand arm and knees had automatically performed their work, like theaccurate fighting engine into which constant practice for a year andmore had combined them. 

Not until Sunday was Andre-Louis able to satisfy a wish which theimpatience of the intervening days had converted into a yearning. Dressed with more than ordinary care, his head elegantly coiffed--by oneof those hairdressers to the nobility of whom so many were being thrownout of employment by the stream of emigration which was now flowingfreely--Andre-Louis mounted his hired carriage, and drove out to Meudon. 

The house of the younger Kercadiou no more resembled that of the headof the family than did his person. A man of the Court, where his brotherwas essentially a man of the soil, an officer of the household of M. Le Comte d'Artois, he had built for himself and his family an imposingvilla on the heights of Meudon in a miniature park, convenientlysituated for him midway between Versailles and Paris, and easilyaccessible from either. M. D'Artois--the royal tennis-player--had beenamongst the very first to emigrate. Together with the Condes, theContis, the Polignacs, and others of the Queen's intimate council, oldMarshal de Broglie and the Prince de Lambesc, who realized that theirvery names had become odious to the people, he had quitted Franceimmediately after the fall of the Bastille. He had gone to play tennisbeyond the frontier--and there consummate the work of ruining the Frenchmonarchy upon which he and those others had been engaged in France. Withhim, amongst several members of his household went Etienne de Kercadiou, and with Etienne de Kercadiou went his family, a wife and four children. Thus it was that the Seigneur de Gavrillac, glad to escape from aprovince so peculiarly disturbed as that of Brittany--where the nobleshad shown themselves the most intransigent of all France--had come tooccupy in his brother's absence the courtier's handsome villa at Meudon. 

That he was quite happy there is not to be supposed. A man of his almostSpartan habits, accustomed to plain fare and self-help, was a littleuneasy in this sybaritic abode, with its soft carpets, profusion ofgilding, and battalion of sleek, silent-footed servants--for Kercadiouthe younger had left his entire household behind. Time, which atGavrillac he had kept so fully employed in agrarian concerns, here hungheavily upon his hands. In self-defence he slept a great deal, and butfor Aline, who made no attempt to conceal her delight at this proximityto Paris and the heart of things, it is possible that he would have beata retreat almost at once from surroundings that sorted so ill with hishabits. Later on, perhaps, he would accustom himself and grow resignedto this luxurious inactivity. In the meantime the novelty of it frettedhim, and it was into the presence of a peevish and rather somnolentM. De Kercadiou that Andre-Louis was ushered in the early hours of theafternoon of that Sunday in June. He was unannounced, as had ever beenthe custom at Gavrillac. This because Benoit, M. De Kercadiou's oldseneschal, had accompanied his seigneur upon this soft adventure, andwas installed--to the ceaseless and but half-concealed hilarity of theimpertinent valetaille that M. Etienne had left--as his maitre d'hotelhere at Meudon. 

Benoit had welcomed M. Andre with incoherencies of delight; almost hadhe gambolled about him like some faithful dog, whilst conducting him tothe salon and the presence of the Lord of Gavrillac, who would--in thewords of Benoit--be ravished to see M. Andre again. 

"Monseigneur! Monseigneur!" he cried in a quavering voice, entering apace or two in advance of the visitor. "It is M. Andre... M. Andre, yourgodson, who comes to kiss your hand. He is here... And so fine that youwould hardly know him. Here he is, monseigneur! Is he not beautiful?"

And the old servant rubbed his hands in conviction of the delight thathe believed he was conveying to his master. 

Andre-Louis crossed the threshold of that great room, soft-carpeted tothe foot, dazzling to the eye. It was immensely lofty, and its festoonedceiling was carried on fluted pillars with gilded capitals. The door bywhich he entered, and the windows that opened upon the garden, were ofan enormous height--almost, indeed, the full height of the room itself. It was a room overwhelmingly gilded, with an abundance of ormoluencrustations on the furniture, in which it nowise differed from whatwas customary in the dwellings of people of birth and wealth. Never, indeed, was there a time in which so much gold was employed decorativelyas in this age when coined gold was almost unprocurable, and paper moneyhad been put into circulation to supply the lack. It was a saying ofAndre-Louis' that if these people could only have been induced to putthe paper on their walls and the gold into their pockets, the financesof the kingdom might soon have been in better case. 

The Seigneur--furbished and beruffled to harmonize with hissurroundings--had risen, startled by this exuberant invasion on the partof Benoit, who had been almost as forlorn as himself since their comingto Meudon. 

"What is it? Eh?" His pale, short-sighted eyes peered at the visitor. "Andre!" said he, between surprise and sternness; and the colourdeepened in his great pink face. 

Benoit, with his back to his master, deliberately winked and grinned atAndre-Louis to encourage him not to be put off by any apparent hostilityon the part of his godfather. That done, the intelligent old fellowdiscreetly effaced himself. 

"What do you want here?" growled M. De Kercadiou. 

"No more than to kiss your hand, as Benoit has told you, monsieur mygodfather, " said Andre-Louis submissively, bowing his sleek black head. 

"You have contrived without kissing it for two years. "

"Do not, monsieur, reproach me with my misfortune. "

The little man stood very stiffly erect, his disproportionately largehead thrown back, his pale prominent eyes very stern. 

"Did you think to make your outrageous offence any better by vanishingin that heartless manner, by leaving us without knowledge of whether youwere alive or dead?"

"At first it was dangerous--dangerous to my life--to disclose mywhereabouts. Then for a time I was in need, almost destitute, and mypride forbade me, after what I had done and the view you must take ofit, to appeal to you for help. Later... "

"Destitute?" The Seigneur interrupted. For a moment his lip trembled. Then he steadied himself, and the frown deepened as he surveyed thisvery changed and elegant godson of his, noted the quiet richness of hisapparel, the paste buckles and red heels to his shoes, the sword hiltedin mother-o'-pearl and silver, and the carefully dressed hair that hehad always seen hanging in wisps about his face. "At least you do notlook destitute now, " he sneered. 

"I am not. I have prospered since. In that, monsieur, I differ from theordinary prodigal, who returns only when he needs assistance. I returnsolely because I love you, monsieur--to tell you so. I have come at thevery first moment after hearing of your presence here. " He advanced. "Monsieur my godfather!" he said, and held out his hand. 

But M. De Kercadiou remained unbending, wrapped in his cold dignity andresentment. 

"Whatever tribulations you may have suffered or consider that you mayhave suffered, they are far less than your disgraceful conduct deserved, and I observe that they have nothing abated your impudence. You thinkthat you have but to come here and say, 'Monsieur my godfather!' andeverything is to be forgiven and forgotten. That is your error. You havecommitted too great a wrong; you have offended against everything bywhich I hold, and against myself personally, by your betrayal of mytrust in you. You are one of those unspeakable scoundrels who areresponsible for this revolution. "

"Alas, monsieur, I see that you share the common delusion. Theseunspeakable scoundrels but demanded a constitution, as was promised themfrom the throne. They were not to know that the promise was insincere, or that its fulfilment would be baulked by the privileged orders. Themen who have precipitated this revolution, monsieur, are the nobles andthe prelates. "

"You dare--and at such a time as this--stand there and tell me suchabominable lies! You dare to say that the nobles have made therevolution, when scores of them, following the example of M. Le Ducd'Aiguillon, have flung their privileges, even their title-deeds, intothe lap of the people! Or perhaps you deny it?"

"Oh, no. Having wantonly set fire to their house, they now try to putit out by throwing water on it; and where they fail they put the entireblame on the flames. "

"I see that you have come here to talk politics. "

"Far from it. I have come, if possible, to explain myself. To understandis always to forgive. That is a great saying of Montaigne's. If I couldmake you understand... "

"You can't. You'll never make me understand how you came to renderyourself so odiously notorious in Brittany. "

"Ah, not odiously, monsieur!"

"Certainly, odiously--among those that matter. It is said even that youwere Omnes Omnibus, though that I cannot, will not believe. "

"Yet it is true. "

M. De Kercadiou choked. "And you confess it? You dare to confess it?"

"What a man dares to do, he should dare to confess--unless he is acoward. "

"Oh, and to be sure you were very brave, running away each time afteryou had done the mischief, turning comedian to hide yourself, doing moremischief as a comedian, provoking a riot in Nantes, and then runningaway again, to become God knows what--something dishonest by the affluentlook of you. My God, man, I tell you that in these past two years I havehoped that you were dead, and you profoundly disappoint me that youare not!" He beat his hands together, and raised his shrill voice tocall--"Benoit!" He strode away towards the fireplace, scarlet in theface, shaking with the passion into which he had worked himself. "Dead, I might have forgiven you, as one who had paid for his evil, and hisfolly. Living, I never can forgive you. You have gone too far. God aloneknows where it will end. 

"Benoit, the door. M. Andre-Louis Moreau to the door!" The tone arguedan irrevocable determination. Pale and self-contained, but with a queerpain at his heart, Andre-Louis heard that dismissal, saw Benoit'swhite, scared face and shaking hands half-raised as if he were aboutto expostulate with his master. And then another voice, a crisp, boyishvoice, cut in. 

"Uncle!" it cried, a world of indignation and surprise in its pitch, and then: "Andre!" And this time a note almost of gladness, certainly ofwelcome, was blended with the surprise that still remained. 

Both turned, half the room between them at the moment, and beheld Alinein one of the long, open windows, arrested there in the act of enteringfrom the garden, Aline in a milk-maid bonnet of the latest mode, thoughwithout any of the tricolour embellishments that were so commonly to beseen upon them. 

The thin lips of Andre's long mouth twisted into a queer smile. Into hismind had flashed the memory of their last parting. He saw himself again, standing burning with indignation upon the pavement of Nantes, lookingafter her carriage as it receded down the Avenue de Gigan. 

She was coming towards him now with outstretched hands, a heightenedcolour in her cheeks, a smile of welcome on her lips. He bowed low andkissed her hand in silence. 

Then with a glance and a gesture she dismissed Benoit, and in herimperious fashion constituted herself Andre's advocate against thatharsh dismissal which she had overheard. 

"Uncle, " she said, leaving Andre and crossing to M. De Kercadiou, "youmake me ashamed of you! To allow a feeling of peevishness to overwhelmall your affection for Andre!"

"I have no affection for him. I had once. He chose to extinguish it. He can go to the devil; and please observe that I don't permit you tointerfere. "

"But if he confesses that he has done wrong... "

"He confesses nothing of the kind. He comes here to argue with me aboutthese infernal Rights of Man. He proclaims himself unrepentant. Heannounces himself with pride to have been, as all Brittany says, thescoundrel who hid himself under the sobriquet of Omnes Omnibus. Is thatto be condoned?"

She turned to look at Andre across the wide space that now separatedthem. 

"But is this really so? Don't you repent, Andre--now that you see all theharm that has come?"

It was a clear invitation to him, a pleading to him to say that herepented, to make his peace with his godfather. For a moment it almostmoved him. Then, considering the subterfuge unworthy, he answeredtruthfully, though the pain he was suffering rang in his voice. 

"To confess repentance, " he said slowly, "would be to confess to amonstrous crime. Don't you see that? Oh, monsieur, have patiencewith me; let me explain myself a little. You say that I am in partresponsible for something of all this that has happened. My exhortationsof the people at Rennes and twice afterwards at Nantes are said to havehad their share in what followed there. It may be so. It would be beyondmy power positively to deny it. Revolution followed and bloodshed. Moremay yet come. To repent implies a recognition that I have done wrong. How shall I say that I have done wrong, and thus take a share of theresponsibility for all that blood upon my soul? I will be quite frankwith you to show you how far, indeed, I am from repentance. What I did, I actually did against all my convictions at the time. Because therewas no justice in France to move against the murderer of Philippe deVilmorin, I moved in the only way that I imagined could make the evildone recoil upon the hand that did it, and those other hands that hadthe power but not the spirit to punish. Since then I have come to seethat I was wrong, and that Philippe de Vilmorin and those who thoughtwith him were in the right. 

"You must realize, monsieur, that it is with sincerest thankfulnessthat I find I have done nothing calling for repentance; that, on thecontrary, when France is given the inestimable boon of a constitution, as will shortly happen, I may take pride in having played my part inbringing about the conditions that have made this possible. "

There was a pause. M. De Kercadiou's face turned from pink to purple. 

"You have quite finished?" he said harshly. 

"If you have understood me, monsieur. "

"Oh, I have understood you, and... And I beg that you will go. "

Andre-Louis shrugged his shoulders and hung his head. He had come thereso joyously, in such yearning, merely to receive a final dismissal. Helooked at Aline. Her face was pale and troubled; but her wit failed toshow her how she could come to his assistance. His excessive honesty hadburnt all his boats. 

"Very well, monsieur. Yet this I would ask you to remember after I amgone. I have not come to you as one seeking assistance, as one driven toyou by need. I am no returning prodigal, as I have said. I am one who, needing nothing, asking nothing, master of his own destinies, has cometo you driven by affection only, urged by the love and gratitude hebears you and will continue to bear you. "

"Ah, yes!" cried Aline, turning now to her uncle. Here at least was anargument in Andre's favour, thought she. "That is true. Surely that... "

Inarticulately he hissed her into silence, exasperated. 

"Hereafter perhaps that will help you to think of me more kindly, monsieur. "

"I see no occasion, sir, to think of you at all. Again, I beg that youwill go. "

Andre-Louis looked at Aline an instant, as if still hesitating. 

She answered him by a glance at her furious uncle, a faint shrug, and alift of the eyebrows, dejection the while in her countenance. 

It was as if she said: "You see his mood. There is nothing to be done. "

He bowed with that singular grace the fencing-room had given him andwent out by the door. 

"Oh, it is cruel!" cried Aline, in a stifled voice, her hands clenched, and she sprang to the window. 

"Aline!" her uncle's voice arrested her. "Where are you going?"

"But we do not know where he is to be found. "

"Who wants to find the scoundrel?"

"We may never see him again. "

"That is most fervently to be desired. "

Aline said "Ouf!" and went out by the window. 

He called after her, imperiously commanding her return. ButAline--dutiful child--closed her ears lest she must disobey him, andsped light-footed across the lawn to the avenue there to intercept thedeparting Andre-Louis. 

As he came forth wrapped in gloom, she stepped from the bordering treesinto his path. 

"Aline!" he cried, joyously almost. 

"I did not want you to go like this. I couldn't let you, " she explainedherself. "I know him better than you do, and I know that his great softheart will presently melt. He will be filled with regret. He will wantto send for you, and he will not know where to send. "

"You think that?"

"Oh, I know it! You arrive in a bad moment. He is peevish andcross-grained, poor man, since he came here. These soft surroundingsare all so strange to him. He wearies himself away from his belovedGavrillac, his hunting and tillage, and the truth is that in his mind hevery largely blames you for what has happened--for the necessity, or atleast, the wisdom, of this change. Brittany, you must know, was becomingtoo unsafe. The chateau of La Tour d'Azyr, amongst others, was burnt tothe ground some months ago. At any moment, given a fresh excitement, itmay be the turn of Gavrillac. And for this and his present discomfort heblames you and your friends. But he will come round presently. He willbe sorry that he sent you away like this--for I know that he loves you, Andre, in spite of all. I shall reason with him when the time comes. Andthen we shall want to know where to find you. "

"At number 13, Rue du Hasard. The number is unlucky, the name of thestreet appropriate. Therefore both are easy to remember. "

She nodded. "I will walk with you to the gates. " And side by side nowthey proceeded at a leisurely pace down the long avenue in the Junesunshine dappled by the shadows of the bordering trees. "You are lookingwell, Andre; and do you know that you have changed a deal? I am gladthat you have prospered. " And then, abruptly changing the subject beforehe had time to answer her, she came to the matter uppermost in her mind. 

"I have so wanted to see you in all these months, Andre. You were theonly one who could help me; the only one who could tell me the truth, and I was angry with you for never having written to say where you wereto be found. "

"Of course you encouraged me to do so when last we met in Nantes. "

"What? Still resentful?"

"I am never resentful. You should know that. " He expressed one of hisvanities. He loved to think himself a Stoic. "But I still bear the scarof a wound that would be the better for the balm of your retraction. "

"Why, then, I retract, Andre. And now tell me. "

"Yes, a self-seeking retraction, " said he. "You give me something thatyou may obtain something. " He laughed quite pleasantly. "Well, well;command me. "

"Tell me, Andre. " She paused, as if in some difficulty, and then wenton, her eyes upon the ground: "Tell me--the truth of that event at theFeydau. "

The request fetched a frown to his brow. He suspected at once thethought that prompted it. Quite simply and briefly he gave her hisversion of the affair. 

She listened very attentively. When he had done she sighed; her face wasvery thoughtful. 

"That is much what I was told, " she said. "But it was added that M. De La Tour d'Azyr had gone to the theatre expressly for the purpose ofbreaking finally with La Binet. Do you know if that was so?"

"I don't; nor of any reason why it should be so. La Binet provided himthe sort of amusement that he and his kind are forever craving... "

"Oh, there was a reason, " she interrupted him. "I was the reason. I spoke to Mme. De Sautron. I told her that I would not continue toreceive one who came to me contaminated in that fashion. " She spokeof it with obvious difficulty, her colour rising as he watched herhalf-averted face. 

"Had you listened to me... " he was beginning, when again she interruptedhim. 

"M. De Sautron conveyed my decision to him, and afterwards representedhim to me as a man in despair, repentant, ready to give proofs--anyproofs--of his sincerity and devotion to me. He told me that M. De LaTour d'Azyr had sworn to him that he would cut short that affair, thathe would see La Binet no more. And then, on the very next day I heardof his having all but lost his life in that riot at the theatre. Hehad gone straight from that interview with M. De Sautron, straight fromthose protestations of future wisdom, to La Binet. I was indignant. Ipronounced myself finally. I stated definitely that I would not in anycircumstances receive M. De La Tour d'Azyr again! And then they pressedthis explanation upon me. For a long time I would not believe it. "

"So that you believe it now, " said Andre quickly. "Why?"

"I have not said that I believe it now. But... But... Neither can Idisbelieve. Since we came to Meudon M. De La Tour d'Azyr has been here, and himself he has sworn to me that it was so. "

"Oh, if M. De La Tour d'Azyr has sworn... " Andre-Louis was laughing on abitter note of sarcasm. 

"Have you ever known him lie?" she cut in sharply. That checked him. "M. De La Tour d'Azyr is, after all, a man of honour, and men of honournever deal in falsehood. Have you ever known him do so, that you shouldsneer as you have done?"

"No, " he confessed. Common justice demanded that he should admit thatvirtue at least in his enemy. "I have not known him lie, it is true. Hiskind is too arrogant, too self-confident to have recourse to untruth. But I have known him do things as vile... "

"Nothing is as vile, " she interrupted, speaking from the code by whichshe had been reared. "It is for liars only--who are first cousin tothieves--that there is no hope. It is in falsehood only that there isreal loss of honour. "

"You are defending that satyr, I think, " he said frostily. 

"I desire to be just. "

"Justice may seem to you a different matter when at last you shallhave resolved yourself to become Marquise de La Tour d'Azyr. " He spokebitterly. 

"I don't think that I shall ever take that resolve. "

"But you are still not sure--in spite of everything. "

"Can one ever be sure of anything in this world?"

"Yes. One can be sure of being foolish. "

Either she did not hear or did not heed him. 

"You do not of your own knowledge know that it was not as M. De La Tourd'Azyr asserts--that he went to the Feydau that night?"

"I don't, " he admitted. "It is of course possible. But does it matter?"

"It might matter. Tell me; what became of La Binet after all?"

"I don't know. "

"You don't know?" She turned to consider him. "And you can say it withthat indifference! I thought... I thought you loved her, Andre. "

"So did I, for a little while. I was mistaken. It required a LaTour d'Azyr to disclose the truth to me. They have their uses, thesegentlemen. They help stupid fellows like myself to perceive importanttruths. I was fortunate that revelation in my case preceded marriage. Ican now look back upon the episode with equanimity and thankfulnessfor my near escape from the consequences of what was no more than anaberration of the senses. It is a thing commonly confused with love. Theexperience, as you see, was very instructive. "

She looked at him in frank surprise. 

"Do you know, Andre, I sometimes think that you have no heart. "

"Presumably because I sometimes betray intelligence. And what ofyourself, Aline? What of your own attitude from the outset where M. DeLa Tour d'Azyr is concerned? Does that show heart? If I were to tell youwhat it really shows, we should end by quarrelling again, and God knowsI can't afford to quarrel with you now. I... I shall take another way. "

"What do you mean?"

"Why, nothing at the moment, for you are not in any danger of marryingthat animal. "

"And if I were?"

"Ah! In that case affection for you would discover to me some means ofpreventing it--unless... " He paused. 

"Unless?" she demanded, challengingly, drawn to the full of her shortheight, her eyes imperious. 

"Unless you could also tell me that you loved him, " said he simply, whereat she was as suddenly and most oddly softened. And then he added, shaking his head: "But that of course is impossible. "

"Why?" she asked him, quite gently now. 

"Because you are what you are, Aline--utterly good and pure and adorable. Angels do not mate with devils. His wife you might become, but never hismate, Aline--never. "

They had reached the wrought-iron gates at the end of the avenue. Through these they beheld the waiting yellow chaise which had broughtAndre-Louis. From near at hand came the creak of other wheels, the beatof other hooves, and now another vehicle came in sight, and drew to astand-still beside the yellow chaise--a handsome equipage with polishedmahogany panels on which the gold and azure of armorial bearings flashedbrilliantly in the sunlight. A footman swung to earth to throw wide thegates; but in that moment the lady who occupied the carriage, perceivingAline, waved to her and issued a command. 

CHAPTER V. MADAME DE PLOUGASTEL

The postilion drew rein, and the footman opened the door, lettingdown the steps and proffering his arm to his mistress to assist her toalight, since that was the wish she had expressed. Then he openedone wing of the iron gates, and held it for her. She was a woman ofsomething more than forty, who once must have been very lovely, whowas very lovely still with the refining quality that age brings to somewomen. Her dress and carriage alike advertised great rank. 

"I take my leave here, since you have a visitor, " said Andre-Louis. 

"But it is an old acquaintance of your own, Andre. You remember Mme. LaComtesse de Plougastel?"

He looked at the approaching lady, whom Aline was now hastening forwardto meet, and because she was named to him he recognized her. He must, he thought, had he but looked, have recognized her without promptinganywhere at any time, and this although it was some sixteen years sincelast he had seen her. The sight of her now brought it all back to him--atreasured memory that had never permitted itself to be entirely overlaidby subsequent events. 

When he was a boy of ten, on the eve of being sent to school at Rennes, she had come on a visit to his godfather, who was her cousin. Ithappened that at the time he was taken by Rabouillet to the Manor ofGavrillac, and there he had been presented to Mme. De Plougastel. Thegreat lady, in all the glory then of her youthful beauty, with hergentle, cultured voice--so cultured that she had seemed to speak alanguage almost unknown to the little Breton lad--and her majestic air ofthe great world, had scared him a little at first. Very gently had sheallayed those fears of his, and by some mysterious enchantment she hadcompletely enslaved his regard. He recalled now the terror in whichhe had gone to the embrace to which he was bidden, and the subsequentreluctance with which he had left those soft round arms. He remembered, too, how sweetly she had smelled and the very perfume she had used, aperfume as of lilac--for memory is singularly tenacious in these matters. 

For three days whilst she had been at Gavrillac, he had gone daily tothe manor, and so had spent hours in her company. A childless woman withthe maternal instinct strong within her, she had taken this precociouslyintelligent, wide-eyed lad to her heart. 

"Give him to me, Cousin Quintin, " he remembered her saying on thelast of those days to his godfather. "Let me take him back with me toVersailles as my adopted child. "

But the Seigneur had gravely shaken his head in silent refusal, andthere had been no further question of such a thing. And then, when shesaid good-bye to him--the thing came flooding back to him now--there hadbeen tears in her eyes. 

"Think of me sometimes, Andre-Louis, " had been her last words. 

He remembered how flattered he had been to have won within so short atime the affection of this great lady. The thing had given him a senseof importance that had endured for months thereafter, finally to fadeinto oblivion. 

But all was vividly remembered now upon beholding her again, aftersixteen years, profoundly changed and matured, the girl--for she had beenno more in those old days--sunk in this worldly woman with the air ofcalm dignity and complete self-possession. Yet, he insisted, he musthave known her anywhere again. 

Aline embraced her affectionately, and then answering the questioningglance with faintly raised eyebrows that madame was directing towardsAline's companion--

"This is Andre-Louis, " she said. "You remember Andre-Louis, madame?"

Madame checked. Andre-Louis saw the surprise ripple over her face, taking with it some of her colour, leaving her for a moment breathless. 

And then the voice--the well-remembered rich, musical voice--richer anddeeper now than of yore, repeated his name:

"Andre-Louis!"

Her manner of uttering it suggested that it awakened memories, memoriesperhaps of the departed youth with which it was associated. And shepaused a long moment, considering him, a little wide-eyed, what time hebowed before her. 

"But of course I remember him, " she said at last, and came towardshim, putting out her hand. He kissed it dutifully, submissively, instinctively. "And this is what you have grown into?" She appraisedhim, and he flushed with pride at the satisfaction in her tone. Heseemed to have gone back sixteen years, and to be again the littleBreton lad at Gavrillac. She turned to Aline. "How mistaken Quintin wasin his assumptions. He was pleased to see him again, was he not?"

"So pleased, madame, that he has shown me the door, " said Andre-Louis. 

"Ah!" She frowned, conning him still with those dark, wistful eyes ofhers. "We must change that, Aline. He is of course very angry withyou. But it is not the way to make converts. I will plead for you, Andre-Louis. I am a good advocate. "

He thanked her and took his leave. 

"I leave my case in your hands with gratitude. My homage, madame. "

And so it happened that in spite of his godfather's forbidding receptionof him, the fragment of a song was on his lips as his yellow chaisewhirled him back to Paris and the Rue du Hasard. That meeting with Mme. De Plougastel had enheartened him; her promise to plead his case inalliance with Aline gave him assurance that all would be well. 

That he was justified of this was proved when on the following Thursdaytowards noon his academy was invaded by M. De Kercadiou. Gilles, theboy, brought him word of it, and breaking off at once the lesson uponwhich he was engaged, he pulled off his mask, and went as he was--in achamois waistcoat buttoned to the chin and with his foil under his armto the modest salon below, where his godfather awaited him. 

The florid little Lord of Gavrillac stood almost defiantly to receivehim. 

"I have been over-persuaded to forgive you, " he announced aggressively, seeming thereby to imply that he consented to this merely so as to putan end to tiresome importunities. 

Andre-Louis was not misled. He detected a pretence adopted by theSeigneur so as to enable him to retreat in good order. 

"My blessings on the persuaders, whoever they may have been. You restoreme my happiness, monsieur my godfather. "

He took the hand that was proffered and kissed it, yielding to theimpulse of the unfailing habit of his boyish days. It was an actsymbolical of his complete submission, reestablishing between himselfand his godfather the bond of protected and protector, with all themutual claims and duties that it carries. No mere words could morecompletely have made his peace with this man who loved him. 

M. De Kercadiou's face flushed a deeper pink, his lip trembled, andthere was a huskiness in the voice that murmured "My dear boy!" Then herecollected himself, threw back his great head and frowned. His voiceresumed its habitual shrillness. "You realize, I hope, that you havebehaved damnably... Damnably, and with the utmost ingratitude?"

"Does not that depend upon the point of view?" quoth Andre-Louis, buthis tone was studiously conciliatory. 

"It depends upon a fact, and not upon any point of view. Since I havebeen persuaded to overlook it, I trust that at least you have someintention of reforming. "

"I... I will abstain from politics, " said Andre-Louis, that being theutmost he could say with truth. 

"That is something, at least. " His godfather permitted himself to bemollified, now that a concession--or a seeming concession--had been madeto his just resentment. 

"A chair, monsieur. "

"No, no. I have come to carry you off to pay a visit with me. You oweit entirely to Mme. De Plougastel that I consent to receive you again. Idesire that you come with me to thank her. "

"I have my engagements here... " began Andre-Louis, and then broke off. "No matter! I will arrange it. A moment. " And he was turning away toreenter the academy. 

"What are your engagements? You are not by chance a fencing-instructor?"M. De Kercadiou had observed the leather waistcoat and the foil tuckedunder Andre-Louis' arm. 

"I am the master of this academy--the academy of the late Bertrand desAmis, the most flourishing school of arms in Paris to-day. "

M. De Kercadiou's brows went up. 

"And you are master of it?"

"Maitre en fait d'Armes. I succeeded to the academy upon the death ofdes Amis. "

He left M. Kercadiou to think it over, and went to make his arrangementsand effect the necessary changes in his toilet. 

"So that is why you have taken to wearing a sword, " said M. DeKercadiou, as they climbed into his waiting carriage. 

"That and the need to guard one's self in these times. "

"And do you mean to tell me that a man who lives by what is after allan honourable profession, a profession mainly supported by the nobility, can at the same time associate himself with these peddling attorneys andlow pamphleteers who are spreading dissension and insubordination?"

"You forget that I am a peddling attorney myself, made so by your ownwishes, monsieur. "

M. De Kercadiou grunted, and took snuff. "You say the academyflourishes?" he asked presently. 

"It does. I have two assistant instructors. I could employ a third. Itis hard work. "

"That should mean that your circumstances are affluent. "

"I have reason to be satisfied. I have far more than I need. "

"Then you'll be able to do your share in paying off this national debt, "growled the nobleman, well content that--as he conceived it--some of theevil Andre-Louis had helped to sow should recoil upon him. 

Then the talk veered to Mme. De Plougastel. M. De Kercadiou, Andre-Louisgathered, but not the reason for it, disapproved most strongly of thisvisit. But then Madame la Comtesse was a headstrong woman whom there wasno denying, whom all the world obeyed. M. De Plougastel was at presentabsent in Germany, but would shortly be returning. It was an indiscreetadmission from which it was easy to infer that M. De Plougastel was oneof those intriguing emissaries who came and went between the Queen ofFrance and her brother, the Emperor of Austria. 

The carriage drew up before a handsome hotel in the FaubourgSaint-Denis, at the corner of the Rue Paradis, and they were ushered bya sleek servant into a little boudoir, all gilt and brocade, that openedupon a terrace above a garden that was a park in miniature. Here madameawaited them. She rose, dismissing the young person who had been readingto her, and came forward with both hands outheld to greet her cousinKercadiou. 

"I almost feared you would not keep your word, " she said. "It wasunjust. But then I hardly hoped that you would succeed in bringinghim. " And her glance, gentle, and smiling welcome upon him, indicatedAndre-Louis. 

The young man made answer with formal gallantry. 

"The memory of you, madame, is too deeply imprinted on my heart for anypersuasions to have been necessary. "

"Ah, the courtier!" said madame, and abandoned him her hand. "We are tohave a little talk, Andre-Louis, " she informed him, with a gravity thatleft him vaguely ill at ease. 

They sat down, and for a while the conversation was of general matters, chiefly concerned, however, with Andre-Louis, his occupations and hisviews. And all the while madame was studying him attentively with thosegentle, wistful eyes, until again that sense of uneasiness began topervade him. He realized instinctively that he had been brought here forsome purpose deeper than that which had been avowed. 

At last, as if the thing were concerted--and the clumsy Lord of Gavrillacwas the last man in the world to cover his tracks--his godfather roseand, upon a pretext of desiring to survey the garden, sauntered throughthe windows on to the terrace, over whose white stone balustrade thegeraniums trailed in a scarlet riot. Thence he vanished among thefoliage below. 

"Now we can talk more intimately, " said madame. "Come here, and sitbeside me. " She indicated the empty half of the settee she occupied. 

Andre-Louis went obediently, but a little uncomfortably. "You know, " shesaid gently, placing a hand upon his arm, "that you have behaved veryill, that your godfather's resentment is very justly founded?"

"Madame, if I knew that, I should be the most unhappy, the mostdespairing of men. " And he explained himself, as he had explainedhimself on Sunday to his godfather. "What I did, I did because it wasthe only means to my hand in a country in which justice was paralyzed byPrivilege to make war upon an infamous scoundrel who had killed my bestfriend--a wanton, brutal act of murder, which there was no law to punish. And as if that were not enough--forgive me if I speak with the utmostfrankness, madame--he afterwards debauched the woman I was to havemarried. "

"Ah, mon Dieu!" she cried out. 

"Forgive me. I know that it is horrible. You perceive, perhaps, whatI suffered, how I came to be driven. That last affair of which Iam guilty--the riot that began in the Feydau Theatre and afterwardsenveloped the whole city of Nantes--was provoked by this. "

"Who was she, this girl?"

It was like a woman, he thought, to fasten upon the unessential. 

"Oh, a theatre girl, a poor fool of whom I have no regrets. La Binet washer name. I was a player at the time in her father's troupe. That wasafter the Rennes business, when it was necessary to hide from suchjustice as exists in France--the gallows' justice for unfortunateswho are not 'born. ' This added wrong led me to provoke a riot in thetheatre. "

"Poor boy, " she said tenderly. "Only a woman's heart can realize whatyou must have suffered; and because of that I can so readily forgiveyou. But now... "

"Ah, but you don't understand, madame. If to-day I thought that I hadnone but personal grounds for having lent a hand in the holy workof abolishing Privilege, I think I should cut my throat. My truejustification lies in the insincerity of those who intended that theconvocation of the States General should be a sham, mere dust in theeyes of the nation. "

"Was it not, perhaps, wise to have been insincere in such a matter?"

He looked at her blankly. 

"Can it ever be wise, madame, to be insincere?"

"Oh, indeed it can; believe me, who am twice your age, and know myworld. "

"I should say, madame, that nothing is wise that complicates existence;and I know of nothing that so complicates it as insincerity. Consider amoment the complications that have arisen out of this. "

"But surely, Andre-Louis, your views have not been so perverted that youdo not see that a governing class is a necessity in any country?"

"Why, of course. But not necessarily a hereditary one. "

"What else?"

He answered her with an epigram. "Man, madame, is the child of his ownwork. Let there be no inheriting of rights but from such a parent. Thusa nation's best will always predominate, and such a nation will achievegreatly. "

"But do you account birth of no importance?"

"Of none, madame--or else my own might trouble me. " From the deep flushthat stained her face, he feared that he had offended by what was almostan indelicacy. But the reproof that he was expecting did not come. Instead--

"And does it not?" she asked. "Never, Andre?"

"Never, madame. I am content. "

"You have never... Never regretted your lack of parents' care?"

He laughed, sweeping aside her sweet charitable concern that was sosuperfluous. "On the contrary, madame, I tremble to think what theymight have made of me, and I am grateful to have had the fashioning ofmyself. "

She looked at him for a moment very sadly, and then, smiling, gentlyshook her head. 

"You do not want self-satisfaction... Yet I could wish that you sawthings differently, Andre. It is a moment of great opportunities fora young man of talent and spirit. I could help you; I could help you, perhaps, to go very far if you would permit yourself to be helped aftermy fashion. "

"Yes, " he thought, "help me to a halter by sending me on treasonablemissions to Austria on the Queen's behalf, like M. De Plougastel. Thatwould certainly end in a high position for me. "

Aloud he answered more as politeness prompted. "I am grateful, madame. But you will see that, holding the ideals I have expressed, I could notserve any cause that is opposed to their realization. "

"You are misled by prejudice, Andre-Louis, by personal grievances. Willyou allow them to stand in the way of your advancement?"

"If what I call ideals were really prejudices, would it be honest of meto run counter to them whilst holding them?"

"If I could convince you that you are mistaken! I could help you so muchto find a worthy employment for the talents you possess. In theservice of the King you would prosper quickly. Will you think of it, Andre-Louis, and let us talk of this again?"

He answered her with formal, chill politeness. 

"I fear that it would be idle, madame. Yet your interest in me is veryflattering, and I thank you. It is unfortunate for me that I am soheadstrong. "

"And now who deals in insincerity?" she asked him. 

"Ah, but you see, madame, it is an insincerity that does not mislead. "

And then M. De Kercadiou came in through the window again, and announcedfussily that he must be getting back to Meudon, and that he would takehis godson with him and set him down at the Rue du Hasard. 

"You must bring him again, Quintin, " the Countess said, as they tooktheir leave of her. 

"Some day, perhaps, " said M. De Kercadiou vaguely, and swept his godsonout. 

In the carriage he asked him bluntly of what madame had talked. 

"She was very kind--a sweet woman, " said Andre-Louis pensively. 

"Devil take you, I didn't ask you the opinion that you presume to haveformed of her. I asked you what she said to you. "

"She strove to point out to me the error of my ways. She spoke of greatthings that I might do--to which she would very kindly help me--if I wereto come to my senses. But as miracles do not happen, I gave her littleencouragement to hope. "

"I see. I see. Did she say anything else?"

He was so peremptory that Andre-Louis turned to look at him. 

"What else did you expect her to say, monsieur my godfather?"

"Oh, nothing. "

"Then she fulfilled your expectations. "

"Eh? Oh, a thousand devils, why can't you express yourself in a sensiblemanner that a plain man can understand without having to think aboutit?"

He sulked after that most of the way to the Rue du Hasard, or so itseemed to Andre-Louis. At least he sat silent, gloomily thoughtful tojudge by his expression. 

"You may come and see us soon again at Meudon, " he told Andre-Louis atparting. "But please remember--no revolutionary politics in future, if weare to remain friends. "

CHAPTER VI. POLITICIANS

One morning in August the academy in the Rue du Hasard was invaded by LeChapelier accompanied by a man of remarkable appearance, whoseherculean stature and disfigured countenance seemed vaguely familiarto Andre-Louis. He was a man of little, if anything, over thirty, withsmall bright eyes buried in an enormous face. His cheek-bones wereprominent, his nose awry, as if it had been broken by a blow, and hismouth was rendered almost shapeless by the scars of another injury. (Abull had horned him in the face when he was but a lad. ) As if that werenot enough to render his appearance terrible, his cheeks were deeplypock-marked. He was dressed untidily in a long scarlet coat thatdescended almost to his ankles, soiled buckskin breeches and boots withreversed tops. His shirt, none too clean, was open at the throat, thecollar hanging limply over an unknotted cravat, displaying fully themuscular neck that rose like a pillar from his massive shoulders. Heswung a cane that was almost a club in his left hand, and there was acockade in his biscuit-coloured, conical hat. He carried himself with anaggressive, masterful air, that great head of his thrown back as if hewere eternally at defiance. 

Le Chapelier, whose manner was very grave, named him to Andre-Louis. 

"This is M. Danton, a brother-lawyer, President of the Cordeliers, ofwhom you will have heard. "

Of course Andre-Louis had heard of him. Who had not, by then?

Looking at him now with interest, Andre-Louis wondered how it came thatall, or nearly all the leading innovators, were pock-marked. Mirabeau, the journalist Desmoulins, the philanthropist Marat, Robespierre thelittle lawyer from Arras, this formidable fellow Danton, and severalothers he could call to mind all bore upon them the scars of smallpox. Almost he began to wonder was there any connection between the two. Did an attack of smallpox produce certain moral results which foundexpression in this way?

He dismissed the idle speculation, or rather it was shattered by thestartling thunder of Danton's voice. 

"This ------ Chapelier has told me of you. He says that you are a patriotic------. "

More than by the tone was Andre-Louis startled by the obscenities withwhich the Colossus did not hesitate to interlard his first speech to atotal stranger. He laughed outright. There was nothing else to do. 

"If he has told you that, he has told you more than the truth! I am apatriot. The rest my modesty compels me to disavow. "

"You're a joker too, it seems, " roared the other, but he laughednevertheless, and the volume of it shook the windows. "There's nooffence in me. I am like that. "

"What a pity, " said Andre-Louis. 

It disconcerted the king of the markets. "Eh? what's this, Chapelier?Does he give himself airs, your friend here?"

The spruce Breton, a very petit-maitre in appearance by contrast withhis companion, but nevertheless of a down-right manner quite equal toDanton's in brutality, though dispensing with the emphasis of foulness, shrugged as he answered him:

"It is merely that he doesn't like your manners, which is not at allsurprising. They are execrable. "

"Ah, bah! You are all like that, you ------ Bretons. Let's come tobusiness. You'll have heard what took place in the Assembly yesterday?You haven't? My God, where do you live? Have you heard that thisscoundrel who calls himself King of France gave passage across Frenchsoil the other day to Austrian troops going to crush those who fight forliberty in Belgium? Have you heard that, by any chance?"

"Yes, " said Andre-Louis coldly, masking his irritation before theother's hectoring manner. "I have heard that. "

"Oh! And what do you think of it?" Arms akimbo, the Colossus toweredabove him. 

Andre-Louis turned aside to Le Chapelier. 

"I don't think I understand. Have you brought this gentleman here toexamine my conscience?"

"Name of a name! He's prickly as a ------ porcupine!" Danton protested. 

"No, no. " Le Chapelier was conciliatory, seeking to provide an antidoteto the irritant administered by his companion. "We require your help, Andre. Danton here thinks that you are the very man for us. Listennow... "

"That's it. You tell him, " Danton agreed. "You both talk the samemincing--sort of French. He'll probably understand you. "

Le Chapelier went on without heeding the interruption. "This violationby the King of the obvious rights of a country engaged in framing aconstitution that shall make it free has shattered every philanthropicillusion we still cherished. There are those who go so far as toproclaim the King the vowed enemy of France. But that, of course, isexcessive. "

"Who says so?" blazed Danton, and swore horribly by way of conveying histotal disagreement. 

Le Chapelier waved him into silence, and proceeded. 

"Anyhow, the matter has been more than enough, added to all the rest, to set us by the ears again in the Assembly. It is open war between theThird Estate and the Privileged. "

"Was it ever anything else?"

"Perhaps not; but it has assumed a new character. You'll have heard ofthe duel between Lameth and the Duc de Castries?"

"A trifling affair. "

"In its results. But it might have been far other. Mirabeau ischallenged and insulted now at every sitting. But he goes his way, cold-bloodedly wise. Others are not so circumspect; they meet insultwith insult, blow with blow, and blood is being shed in private duels. The thing is reduced by these swordsmen of the nobility to a system. "

Andre-Louis nodded. He was thinking of Philippe de Vilmorin. "Yes, " hesaid, "it is an old trick of theirs. It is so simple and direct--likethemselves. I wonder only that they didn't hit upon this system sooner. In the early days of the States General, at Versailles, it might havehad a better effect. Now, it comes a little late. "

"But they mean to make up for lost time--sacred name!" cried Danton. "Challenges are flying right and left between these bully-swordsmen, these spadassinicides, and poor devils of the robe who have never learntto fence with anything but a quill. It's just ------ murder. Yet if I wereto go amongst messieurs les nobles and crunch an addled head or two withthis stick of mine, snap a few aristocratic necks between these fingerswhich the good God has given me for the purpose, the law would sendme to atone upon the gallows. This in a land that is striving afterliberty. Why, Dieu me damne! I am not even allowed to keep my hat on inthe theatre. But they ------ these ------s!"

"He is right, " said Le Chapelier. "The thing has become unendurable, insufferable. Two days ago M. D'Ambly threatened Mirabeau with hiscane before the whole Assembly. Yesterday M. De Faussigny leapt up andharangued his order by inviting murder. 'Why don't we fall on thesescoundrels, sword in hand?' he asked. Those were his very words: 'Whydon't we fall on these scoundrels, sword in hand. '"

"It is so much simpler than lawmaking, " said Andre-Louis. 

"Lagron, the deputy from Ancenis in the Loire, said something thatwe did not hear in answer. As he was leaving the Manege one of thesebullies grossly insulted him. Lagron no more than used his elbow to pushpast when the fellow cried out that he had been struck, and issued hischallenge. They fought this morning early in the Champs Elysees, andLagron was killed, run through the stomach deliberately by a man whofought like a fencing-master, and poor Lagron did not even own a sword. He had to borrow one to go to the assignation. "

Andre-Louis--his mind ever on Vilmorin, whose case was here repeated, even to the details--was swept by a gust of passion. He clenched hishands, and his jaws set. Danton's little eyes observed him keenly. 

"Well? And what do you think of that? Noblesse oblige, eh? The thing iswe must oblige them too, these -------s. We must pay them back in thesame coin; meet them with the same weapons. Abolish them; tumble theseassassinateurs into the abyss of nothingness by the same means. "

"But how?"

"How? Name of God! Haven't I said it?"

"That is where we require your help, " Le Chapelier put in. "There mustbe men of patriotic feeling among the more advanced of your pupils. M. Danton's idea is that a little band of these--say a half-dozen, withyourself at their head--might read these bullies a sharp lesson. "

Andre-Louis frowned. 

"And how, precisely, had M. Danton thought that this might be done?"

M. Danton spoke for himself, vehemently. 

"Why, thus: We post you in the Manege, at the hour when the Assembly isrising. We point out the six leading phlebotomists, and let you loose toinsult them before they have time to insult any of the representatives. Then to-morrow morning, six ------ phlebotomists themselves phlebotomizedsecundum artem. That will give the others something to think about. Itwill give them a great deal to think about, by ----! If necessary the dosemay be repeated to ensure a cure. If you kill the -------s, so much thebetter. "

He paused, his sallow face flushed with the enthusiasm of his idea. Andre-Louis stared at him inscrutably. 

"Well, what do you say to that?"

"That it is most ingenious. " And Andre-Louis turned aside to look out ofthe window. 

"And is that all you think of it?"

"I will not tell you what else I think of it because you probably wouldnot understand. For you, M. Danton, there is at least this excuse thatyou did not know me. But you, Isaac--to bring this gentleman here withsuch a proposal!"

Le Chapelier was overwhelmed in confusion. "I confess I hesitated, "he apologized. "But M. Danton would not take my word for it that theproposal might not be to your taste. "

"I would not!" Danton broke in, bellowing. He swung upon Le Chapelier, brandishing his great arms. "You told me monsieur was a patriot. Patriotism knows no scruples. You call this mincing dancing-master apatriot?"

"Would you, monsieur, out of patriotism consent to become an assassin?"

"Of course I would. Haven't I told you so? Haven't I told you thatI would gladly go among them with my club, and crack them like somany--fleas?"

"Why not, then?"

"Why not? Because I should get myself hanged. Haven't I said so?"

"But what of that ------ being a patriot? Why not, like another Curtius, jump into the gulf, since you believe that your country would benefit byyour death?"

M. Danton showed signs of exasperation. "Because my country will benefitmore by my life. "

"Permit me, monsieur, to suffer from a similar vanity. "

"You? But where would be the danger to you? You would do your work underthe cloak of duelling--as they do. "

"Have you reflected, monsieur, that the law will hardly regard afencing-master who kills his opponent as an ordinary combatant, particularly if it can be shown that the fencing-master himself provokedthe attack?"

"So! Name of a name!" M. Danton blew out his cheeks and deliveredhimself with withering scorn. "It comes to this, then: you are afraid!"

"You may think so if you choose--that I am afraid to do slyly andtreacherously that which a thrasonical patriot like yourself is afraidof doing frankly and openly. I have other reasons. But that one shouldsuffice you. "

Danton gasped. Then he swore more amazingly and variedly than ever. 

"By ----! you are right, " he admitted, to Andre-Louis' amazement. "Youare right, and I am wrong. I am as bad a patriot as you are, and I ama coward as well. " And he invoked the whole Pantheon to witness hisself-denunciation. "Only, you see, I count for something: and if theytake me and hang me, why, there it is! Monsieur, we must find some otherway. Forgive the intrusion. Adieu!" He held out his enormous hand.. 

Le Chapelier stood hesitating, crestfallen. 

"You understand, Andre? I am sorry that... "

"Say no more, please. Come and see me soon again. I would press you toremain, but it is striking nine, and the first of my pupils is about toarrive. "

"Nor would I permit it, " said Danton. "Between us we must resolve theriddle of how to extinguish M. De La Tour d'Azyr and his friends. "

"Who?"

Sharp as a pistol-shot came that question, as Danton was turning away. The tone of it brought him up short. He turned again, Le Chapelier withhim. 

"I said M. De La Tour d'Azyr. "

"What has he to do with the proposal you were making me?"

"He? Why, he is the phlebotomist in chief. "

And Le Chapelier added. "It is he who killed Lagron. "

"Not a friend of yours, is he?" wondered Danton. 

"And it is La Tour d'Azyr you desire me to kill?" asked Andre-Louis veryslowly, after the manner of one whose thoughts are meanwhile ponderingthe subject. 

"That's it, " said Danton. "And not a job for a prentice hand, I canassure you. "

"Ah, but this alters things, " said Andre-Louis, thinking aloud. "Itoffers a great temptation. "

"Why, then... ?" The Colossus took a step towards him again. 

"Wait!" He put up his hand. Then with chin sunk on his breast, he pacedaway to the window, musing. 

Le Chapelier and Danton exchanged glances, then watched him, waiting, what time he considered. 

At first he almost wondered why he should not of his own accord havedecided upon some such course as this to settle that long-standingaccount of M. De La Tour d'Azyr. What was the use of this great skill infence that he had come to acquire, unless he could turn it to accountto avenge Vilmorin, and to make Aline safe from the lure of her ownambition? It would be an easy thing to seek out La Tour d'Azyr, put amortal affront upon him, and thus bring him to the point. To-day thiswould be murder, murder as treacherous as that which La Tour d'Azyrhad done upon Philippe de Vilmorin; for to-day the old positions werereversed, and it was Andre-Louis who might go to such an assignationwithout a doubt of the issue. It was a moral obstacle of which he madeshort work. But there remained the legal obstacle he had expounded toDanton. There was still a law in France; the same law which he hadfound it impossible to move against La Tour d'Azyr, but which would movebriskly enough against himself in like case. And then, suddenly, as ifby inspiration, he saw the way--a way which if adopted would probablybring La Tour d'Azyr to a poetic justice, bring him, insolent, confident, to thrust himself upon Andre-Louis' sword, with all the odiumof provocation on his own side. 

He turned to them again, and they saw that he was very pale, that hisgreat dark eyes glowed oddly. 

"There will probably be some difficulty in finding a suppleant for thispoor Lagron, " he said. "Our fellow-countrymen will be none so eager tooffer themselves to the swords of Privilege. "

"True enough, " said Le Chapelier gloomily; and then, as if suddenlyleaping to the thing in Andre-Louis' mind: "Andre!" he cried. "Wouldyou... "

"It is what I was considering. It would give me a legitimate place inthe Assembly. If your Tour d'Azyrs choose to seek me out then, why, their blood be upon their own heads. I shall certainly do nothing todiscourage them. " He smiled curiously. "I am just a rascal who tries tobe honest--Scaramouche always, in fact; a creature of sophistries. Do youthink that Ancenis would have me for its representative?"

"Will it have Omnes Omnibus for its representative?" Le Chapelier waslaughing, his countenance eager. "Ancenis will be convulsed with pride. It is not Rennes or Nantes, as it might have been had you wished it. Butit gives you a voice for Brittany. "

"I should have to go to Ancenis... "

"No need at all. A letter from me to the Municipality, and theMunicipality will confirm you at once. No need to move from here. In afortnight at most the thing can be accomplished. It is settled, then?"

Andre-Louis considered yet a moment. There was his academy. But he couldmake arrangements with Le Duc and Galoche to carry it on for himwhilst himself directing and advising. Le Duc, after all, was become athoroughly efficient master, and he was a trustworthy fellow. At need athird assistant could be engaged. 

"Be it so, " he said at last. 

Le Chapelier clasped hands with him and became congratulatorily voluble, until interrupted by the red-coated giant at the door. 

"What exactly does it mean to our business, anyway?" he asked. "Does itmean that when you are a representative you will not scruple to skewerM. Le Marquis?"

"If M. Le Marquis should offer himself to be skewered, as he no doubtwill. "

"I perceive the distinction, " said M. Danton, and sneered. "You've aningenious mind. " He turned to Le Chapelier. "What did you say he was tobegin with--a lawyer, wasn't it?"

"Yes, I was a lawyer, and afterwards a mountebank. "

"And this is the result!"

"As you say. And do you know that we are after all not so dissimilar, you and I?"

"What?"

"Once like you I went about inciting other people to go and kill the manI wanted dead. You'll say I was a coward, of course. "

Le Chapelier prepared to slip between them as the clouds gathered onthe giant's brow. Then these were dispelled again, and the great laughvibrated through the long room. 

"You've touched me for the second time, and in the same place. Oh, you can fence, my lad. We should be friends. Rue des Cordeliers is myaddress. Any--scoundrel will tell you where Danton lodges. Desmoulinslives underneath. Come and visit us one evening. There's always a bottlefor a friend. "

CHAPTER VII. THE SPADASSINICIDES

After an absence of rather more than a week, M. Le Marquis de La Tourd'Azyr was back in his place on the Cote Droit of the National Assembly. Properly speaking, we should already at this date allude to him as theci-devant Marquis de La Tour d'Azyr, for the time was September of 1790, two months after the passing--on the motion of that downright Bretonleveller, Le Chapelier--of the decree that nobility should no more behereditary than infamy; that just as the brand of the gallows must notdefile the possibly worthy descendants of one who had been convictedof evil, neither should the blazon advertising achievement glorify thepossibly unworthy descendants of one who had proved himself good. And sothe decree had been passed abolishing hereditary nobility and consigningfamily escutcheons to the rubbish-heap of things no longer to betolerated by an enlightened generation of philosophers. M. Le Comte deLafayette, who had supported the motion, left the Assembly as plain M. Motier, the great tribune Count Mirabeau became plain M. Riquetti, andM. Le Marquis de La Tour d'Azyr just simple M. Lesarques. The thing wasdone in one of those exaltations produced by the approach of the greatNational Festival of the Champ de Mars, and no doubt it was thoroughlyrepented on the morrow by those who had lent themselves to it. Thus, although law by now, it was a law that no one troubled just yet toenforce. 

That, however, is by the way. The time, as I have said, was September, the day dull and showery, and some of the damp and gloom of it seemed tohave penetrated the long Hall of the Manege, where on their eight rowsof green benches elliptically arranged in ascending tiers aboutthe space known as La Piste, sat some eight or nine hundred of therepresentatives of the three orders that composed the nation. 

The matter under debate by the constitution-builders was whether thedeliberating body to succeed the Constituent Assembly should work inconjunction with the King, whether it should be periodic or permanent, whether it should govern by two chambers or by one. 

The Abbe Maury, son of a cobbler, and therefore in these days ofantitheses orator-in-chief of the party of the Right--the Blacks, asthose who fought Privilege's losing battles were known--was in thetribune. He appeared to be urging the adoption of a two-chambers systemframed on the English model. He was, if anything, more long-winded andprosy even than his habit; his arguments assumed more and more the formof a sermon; the tribune of the National Assembly became more andmore like a pulpit; but the members, conversely, less and less likea congregation. They grew restive under that steady flow of pompousverbiage, and it was in vain that the four ushers in black satinbreeches and carefully powdered heads, chain of office on their breasts, gilded sword at their sides, circulated in the Piste, clapping theirhands, and hissing, "Silence! En place!"

Equally vain was the intermittent ringing of the bell by the presidentat his green-covered table facing the tribune. The Abbe Maury hadtalked too long, and for some time had failed to interest the members. Realizing it at last, he ceased, whereupon the hum of conversationbecame general. And then it fell abruptly. There was a silence ofexpectancy, and a turning of heads, a craning of necks. Even the groupof secretaries at the round table below the president's dais rousedthemselves from their usual apathy to consider this young man who wasmounting the tribune of the Assembly for the first time. 

"M. Andre-Louis Moreau, deputy suppleant, vice Emmanuel Lagron, deceased, for Ancenis in the Department of the Loire. "

M. De La Tour d'Azyr shook himself out of the gloomy abstraction inwhich he had sat. The successor of the deputy he had slain must, inany event, be an object of grim interest to him. You conceive how thatinterest was heightened when he heard him named, when, looking across, he recognized indeed in this Andre-Louis Moreau the young scoundrel whowas continually crossing his path, continually exerting against him adeep-moving, sinister influence to make him regret that he should havespared his life that day at Gavrillac two years ago. That he should thushave stepped into the shoes of Lagron seemed to M. De La Tour d'Azyr tooapt for mere coincidence, a direct challenge in itself. 

He looked at the young man in wonder rather than in anger, and lookingat him he was filled by a vague, almost a premonitory, uneasiness. 

At the very outset, the presence which in itself he conceived to be achallenge was to demonstrate itself for this in no equivocal terms. 

"I come before you, " Andre-Louis began, "as a deputy-suppleant to fillthe place of one who was murdered some three weeks ago. "

It was a challenging opening that instantly provoked an indignant outcryfrom the Blacks. Andre-Louis paused, and looked at them, smiling alittle, a singularly self-confident young man. 

"The gentlemen of the Right, M. Le President, do not appear to likemy words. But that is not surprising. The gentlemen of the Rightnotoriously do not like the truth. "

This time there was uproar. The members of the Left roared withlaughter, those of the Right thundered menacingly. The ushers circulatedat a pace beyond their usual, agitated themselves, clapped their hands, and called in vain for silence. 

The President rang his bell. 

Above the general din came the voice of La Tour d'Azyr, who hadhalf-risen from his seat: "Mountebank! This is not the theatre!"

"No, monsieur, it is becoming a hunting-ground for bully-swordsmen, " wasthe answer, and the uproar grew. 

The deputy-suppleant looked round and waited. Near at hand he met theencouraging grin of Le Chapelier, and the quiet, approving smile ofKersain, another Breton deputy of his acquaintance. A little farther offhe saw the great head of Mirabeau thrown back, the great eyes regardinghim from under a frown in a sort of wonder, and yonder, among allthat moving sea of faces, the sallow countenance of the Arras' lawyerRobespierre--or de Robespierre, as the little snob now called himself, having assumed the aristocratic particle as the prerogative of a man ofhis distinction in the councils of his country. With his tip-tilted nosein the air, his carefully curled head on one side, the deputy for Arraswas observing Andre-Louis attentively. The horn-rimmed spectacles heused for reading were thrust up on to his pale forehead, and it wasthrough a levelled spy-glass that he considered the speaker, histhin-lipped mouth stretched a little in that tiger-cat smile that wasafterwards to become so famous and so feared. 

Gradually the uproar wore itself out, and diminished so that at lastthe President could make himself heard. Leaning forward, he gravelyaddressed the young man in the tribune:

"Monsieur, if you wish to be heard, let me beg of you not to beprovocative in your language. " And then to the others: "Messieurs, ifwe are to proceed, I beg that you will restrain your feelings until thedeputy-suppleant has concluded his discourse. "

"I shall endeavour to obey, M. Le President, leaving provocation to thegentlemen of the Right. If the few words I have used so far have beenprovocative, I regret it. But it was necessary that I should refer tothe distinguished deputy whose place I come so unworthily to fill, andit was unavoidable that I should refer to the event which has procuredus this sad necessity. The deputy Lagron was a man of singular nobilityof mind, a selfless, dutiful, zealous man, inflamed by the high purposeof doing his duty by his electors and by this Assembly. He possessedwhat his opponents would call a dangerous gift of eloquence. "

La Tour d'Azyr writhed at the well-known phrase--his own phrase--thephrase that he had used to explain his action in the matter of Philippede Vilmorin, the phrase that from time to time had been cast in histeeth with such vindictive menace. 

And then the crisp voice of the witty Canales, that very rapier of thePrivileged party, cut sharply into the speaker's momentary pause. 

"M. Le President, " he asked with great solemnity, "has thedeputy-suppleant mounted the tribune for the purpose of taking part inthe debate on the constitution of the legislative assemblies, or forthe purpose of pronouncing a funeral oration upon the departed deputyLagron?"

This time it was the Blacks who gave way to mirth, until checked by thedeputy-suppleant. 

"That laughter is obscene!" In this truly Gallic fashion he flung hisglove into the face of Privilege, determined, you see, upon no halfmeasures; and the rippling laughter perished on the instant quenched inspeechless fury. 

Solemnly he proceeded. 

"You all know how Lagron died. To refer to his death at all requirescourage, to laugh in referring to it requires something that I will notattempt to qualify. If I have alluded to his decease, it is because myown appearance among you seemed to render some such allusion necessary. It is mine to take up the burden which he set down. I do not pretendthat I have the strength, the courage, or the wisdom of Lagron; but withevery ounce of such strength and courage and wisdom as I possess thatburden will I bear. And I trust, for the sake of those who might attemptit, that the means taken to impose silence upon that eloquent voice willnot be taken to impose silence upon mine. "

There was a faint murmur of applause from the Left, splutter ofcontemptuous laughter from the Right. 

"Rhodomont!" a voice called to him. 

He looked in the direction of that voice, proceeding from the group ofspadassins amid the Blacks across the Piste, and he smiled. Inaudiblyhis lips answered:

"No, my friend--Scaramouche; Scaramouche, the subtle, dangerous fellowwho goes tortuously to his ends. " Aloud, he resumed: "M. Le President, there are those who will not understand that the purpose for whichwe are assembled here is the making of laws by which France may beequitably governed, by which France may be lifted out of the morass ofbankruptcy into which she is in danger of sinking. For there are somewho want, it seems, not laws, but blood; I solemnly warn them that thisblood will end by choking them, if they do not learn in time to discardforce and allow reason to prevail. "

Again in that phrase there was something that stirred a memory inLa Tour d'Azyr. He turned in the fresh uproar to speak to his cousinChabrillane who sat beside him. 

"A daring rogue, this bastard of Gavrillac's, " said he. 

Chabrillane looked at him with gleaming eyes, his face white with anger. 

"Let him talk himself out. I don't think he will be heard again afterto-day. Leave this to me. "

Hardly could La Tour have told you why, but he sank back in his seatwith a sense of relief. He had been telling himself that here was matterdemanding action, a challenge that he must take up. But despite his ragehe felt a singular unwillingness. This fellow had a trick of remindinghim, he supposed, too unpleasantly of that young abbe done to death inthe garden behind the Breton arme at Gavrillac. Not that the death ofPhilippe de Vilmorin lay heavily upon M. De La Tour d'Azyr's conscience. He had accounted himself fully justified of his action. It was that thewhole thing as his memory revived it for him made an unpleasant picture:that distraught boy kneeling over the bleeding body of the friend hehad loved, and almost begging to be slain with him, dubbing the Marquismurderer and coward to incite him. 

Meanwhile, leaving now the subject of the death of Lagron, thedeputy-suppleant had at last brought himself into order, and wasspeaking upon the question under debate. He contributed nothing of valueto it; he urged nothing definite. His speech on the subject was verybrief--that being the pretext and not the purpose for which he hadascended the tribune. 

When later he was leaving the hall at the end of the sitting, with LeChapelier at his side, he found himself densely surrounded by deputiesas by a body-guard. Most of them were Bretons, who aimed at screeninghim from the provocations which his own provocative words in theAssembly could not fail to bring down upon his head. For a moment themassive form of Mirabeau brought up alongside of him. 

"Felicitations, M. Moreau, " said the great man. "You acquitted yourselfvery well. They will want your blood, no doubt. But be discreet, monsieur, if I may presume to advise you, and do not allow yourself tobe misled by any false sense of quixotry. Ignore their challenges. I doso myself. I place each challenger upon my list. There are some fiftythere already, and there they will remain. Refuse them what they arepleased to call satisfaction, and all will be well. " Andre-Louis smiledand sighed. 

"It requires courage, " said the hypocrite. 

"Of course it does. But you would appear to have plenty. "

"Hardly enough, perhaps. But I shall do my best. "

They had come through the vestibule, and although this was linedwith eager Blacks waiting for the young man who had insulted them soflagrantly from the rostrum, Andre-Louis' body-guard had prevented anyof them from reaching him. 

Emerging now into the open, under the great awning at the head of theCarriere, erected to enable carriages to reach the door under cover, those in front of him dispersed a little, and there was a moment as hereached the limit of the awning when his front was entirely uncovered. Outside the rain was falling heavily, churning the ground into thickmud, and for a moment Andre-Louis, with Le Chapelier ever at his side, stood hesitating to step out into the deluge. 

The watchful Chabrillane had seen his chance, and by a detour thattook him momentarily out into the rain, he came face to face with thetoo-daring young Breton. Rudely, violently, he thrust Andre-Louis back, as if to make room for himself under the shelter. 

Not for a second was Andre-Louis under any delusion as to the man'sdeliberate purpose, nor were those who stood near him, who made abelated and ineffectual attempt to close about him. He was grievouslydisappointed. It was not Chabrillane he had been expecting. Hisdisappointment was reflected on his countenance, to be mistaken forsomething very different by the arrogant Chevalier. 

But if Chabrillane was the man appointed to deal with him, he would makethe best of it. 

"I think you are pushing against me, monsieur, " he said, very civilly, and with elbow and shoulder he thrust M. De Chabrillane back into therain. 

"I desire to take shelter, monsieur, " the Chevalier hectored. 

"You may do so without standing on my feet. I have a prejudice againstany one standing on my feet. My feet are very tender. Perhaps you didnot know it, monsieur. Please say no more. "

"Why, I wasn't speaking, you lout!" exclaimed the Chevalier, slightlydiscomposed. 

"Were you not? I thought perhaps you were about to apologize. "

"Apologize?" Chabrillane laughed. "To you! Do you know that you areamusing?" He stepped under the awning for the second time, and again inview of all thrust Andre-Louis rudely back. 

"Ah!" cried Andre-Louis, with a grimace. "You hurt me, monsieur. I havetold you not to push against me. " He raised his voice that all mighthear him, and once more impelled M. De Chabrillane back into the rain. 

Now, for all his slenderness, his assiduous daily sword-practice hadgiven Andre-Louis an arm of iron. Also he threw his weight into thethrust. His assailant reeled backwards a few steps, and then hisheel struck a baulk of timber left on the ground by some workmen thatmorning, and he sat down suddenly in the mud. 

A roar of laughter rose from all who witnessed the fine gentleman'sdownfall. He rose, mud-bespattered, in a fury, and in that fury sprangat Andre-Louis. 

Andre-Louis had made him ridiculous, which was altogether unforgivable. 

"You shall meet me for this!" he spluttered. "I shall kill you for it. "

His inflamed face was within a foot of Andre-Louis'. Andre-Louislaughed. In the silence everybody heard the laugh and the words thatfollowed. 

"Oh, is that what you wanted? But why didn't you say so before? Youwould have spared me the trouble of knocking you down. I thoughtgentlemen of your profession invariably conducted these affairs withdecency, decorum, and a certain grace. Had you done so, you might havesaved your breeches. "

"How soon shall we settle this?" snapped Chabrillane, livid with veryreal fury. 

"Whenever you please, monsieur. It is for you to say when it willsuit your convenience to kill me. I think that was the intention youannounced, was it not?" Andre-Louis was suavity itself. 

"To-morrow morning, in the Bois. Perhaps you will bring a friend. "

"Certainly, monsieur. To-morrow morning, then. I hope we shall have fineweather. I detest the rain. "

Chabrillane looked at him almost with amazement. Andre-Louis smiledpleasantly. 

"Don't let me detain you now, monsieur. We quite understand each other. I shall be in the Bois at nine o'clock to-morrow morning. "

"That is too late for me, monsieur. "

"Any other hour would be too early for me. I do not like to have myhabits disturbed. Nine o'clock or not at all, as you please. "

"But I must be at the Assembly at nine, for the morning session. "

"I am afraid, monsieur, you will have to kill me first, and I have aprejudice against being killed before nine o'clock. "

Now this was too complete a subversion of the usual procedure for M. De Chabrillane's stomach. Here was a rustic deputy assuming with himprecisely the tone of sinister mockery which his class usually dealt outto their victims of the Third Estate. And to heighten the irritation, Andre-Louis--the actor, Scaramouche always--produced his snuffbox, andproffered it with a steady hand to Le Chapelier before helping himself. 

Chabrillane, it seemed, after all that he had suffered, was not even tobe allowed to make a good exit. 

"Very well, monsieur, " he said. "Nine o'clock, then; and we'll see ifyou'll talk as pertly afterwards. "

On that he flung away, before the jeers of the provincial deputies. Nordid it soothe his rage to be laughed at by urchins all the way down theRue Dauphine because of the mud and filth that dripped from his satinbreeches and the tails of his elegant, striped coat. 

But though the members of the Third had jeered on the surface, theytrembled underneath with fear and indignation. It was too much. Lagronkilled by one of these bullies, and now his successor challenged, andabout to be killed by another of them on the very first day of hisappearance to take the dead man's place. Several came now to imploreAndre-Louis not to go to the Bois, to ignore the challenge and the wholeaffair, which was but a deliberate attempt to put him out of the way. He listened seriously, shook his head gloomily, and promised at last tothink it over. 

He was in his seat again for the afternoon session as if nothingdisturbed him. 

But in the morning, when the Assembly met, his place was vacant, and sowas M. De Chabrillane's. Gloom and resentment sat upon the membersof the Third, and brought a more than usually acrid note into theirdebates. They disapproved of the rashness of the new recruit to theirbody. Some openly condemned his lack of circumspection. Very few--andthose only the little group in Le Chapelier's confidence--ever expectedto see him again. 

It was, therefore, as much in amazement as in relief that at a fewminutes after ten they saw him enter, calm, composed, and bland, andthread his way to his seat. The speaker occupying the rostrum at thatmoment--a member of the Privileged--stopped short to stare in incredulousdismay. Here was something that he could not understand at all. Thenfrom somewhere, to satisfy the amazement on both sides of the assembly, a voice explained the phenomenon contemptuously. 

"They haven't met. He has shirked it at the last moment. "

It must be so, thought all; the mystification ceased, and men weresettling back into their seats. But now, having reached his place, having heard the voice that explained the matter to the universalsatisfaction, Andre-Louis paused before taking his seat. He felt itincumbent upon him to reveal the true fact. 

"M. Le President, my excuses for my late arrival. " There was nonecessity for this. It was a mere piece of theatricality, such as itwas not in Scaramouche's nature to forgo. "I have been detained by anengagement of a pressing nature. I bring you also the excuses of M. DeChabrillane. He, unfortunately, will be permanently absent from thisAssembly in future. "

The silence was complete. Andre-Louis sat down. 

CHAPTER VIII. THE PALADIN OF THE THIRD

M. Le Chevalier de Chabrillane had been closely connected, you willremember, with the iniquitous affair in which Philippe de Vilmorinhad lost his life. We know enough to justify a surmise that he had notmerely been La Tour d'Azyr's second in the encounter, but actuallyan instigator of the business. Andre-Louis may therefore have felt ajustifiable satisfaction in offering up the Chevalier's life to theManes of his murdered friend. He may have viewed it as an act ofcommon justice not to be procured by any other means. Also it is tobe remembered that Chabrillane had gone confidently to the meeting, conceiving that he, a practised ferailleur, had to deal with a bourgeoisutterly unskilled in swordsmanship. Morally, then, he was littlebetter than a murderer, and that he should have tumbled into the pithe conceived that he dug for Andre-Louis was a poetic retribution. Yet, notwithstanding all this, I should find the cynical note on whichAndre-Louis announced the issue to the Assembly utterly detestable didI believe it sincere. It would justify Aline of the expressed opinion, which she held in common with so many others who had come into closecontact with him, that Andre-Louis was quite heartless. 

You have seen something of the same heartlessness in his conduct when hediscovered the faithlessness of La Binet although that is belied by themeasures he took to avenge himself. His subsequent contempt of the womanI account to be born of the affection in which for a time he held her. That this affection was as deep as he first imagined, I do not believe;but that it was as shallow as he would almost be at pains to make itappear by the completeness with which he affects to have put her fromhis mind when he discovered her worthlessness, I do not believe; nor, as I have said, do his actions encourage that belief. Then, again, his callous cynicism in hoping that he had killed Binet is also anaffectation. Knowing that such things as Binet are better out of theworld, he can have suffered no compunction; he had, you must remember, that rarely level vision which sees things in their just proportions, and never either magnifies or reduces them by sentimentalconsiderations. At the same time, that he should contemplate thetaking of life with such complete and cynical equanimity, whatever thejustification, is quite incredible. 

Similarly now, it is not to be believed that in coming straight fromthe Bois de Boulogne, straight from the killing of a man, he should besincerely expressing his nature in alluding to the fact in terms of suchoutrageous flippancy. Not quite to such an extent was he the incarnationof Scaramouche. But sufficiently was he so ever to mask his truefeelings by an arresting gesture, his true thoughts by an effectivephrase. He was the actor always, a man ever calculating the effect hewould produce, ever avoiding self-revelation, ever concerned to overlayhis real character by an assumed and quite fictitious one. There was inthis something of impishness, and something of other things. 

Nobody laughed now at his flippancy. He did not intend that anybodyshould. He intended to be terrible; and he knew that the more flippantand casual his tone, the more terrible would be its effect. He producedexactly the effect he desired. 

What followed in a place where feelings and practices had become whatthey had become is not difficult to surmise. When the session rose, there were a dozen spadassins awaiting him in the vestibule, and thistime the men of his own party were less concerned to guard him. Heseemed so entirely capable of guarding himself; he appeared, for all hiscircumspection, to have so completely carried the war into the enemy'scamp, so completely to have adopted their own methods, that his fellowsscarcely felt the need to protect him as yesterday. 

As he emerged, he scanned that hostile file, whose air and garmentsmarked them so clearly for what they were. He paused, seeking the manhe expected, the man he was most anxious to oblige. But M. De La Tourd'Azyr was absent from those eager ranks. This seemed to him odd. LaTour d'Azyr was Chabrillane's cousin and closest friend. Surely heshould have been among the first to-day. The fact was that La Tourd'Azyr was too deeply overcome by amazement and grief at the utterlyunexpected event. Also his vindictiveness was held curiously in leash. Perhaps he, too, remembered the part played by Chabrillane in the affairat Gavrillac, and saw in this obscure Andre-Louis Moreau, who hadso persistently persecuted him ever since, an ordained avenger. Therepugnance he felt to come to the point, with him, particularly afterthis culminating provocation, was puzzling even to himself. But itexisted, and it curbed him now. 

To Andre-Louis, since La Tour was not one of that waiting pack, itmattered little on that Tuesday morning who should be the next. Thenext, as it happened, was the young Vicomte de La Motte-Royau, one ofthe deadliest blades in the group. 

On the Wednesday morning, coming again an hour or so late to theAssembly, Andre-Louis announced--in much the same terms as he hadannounced the death of Chabrillane--that M. De La Motte-Royau wouldprobably not disturb the harmony of the Assembly for some weeks to come, assuming that he were so fortunate as to recover ultimately from theeffects of an unpleasant accident with which he had quite unexpectedlyhad the misfortune to meet that morning. 

On Thursday he made an identical announcement with regard to the Vidamede Blavon. On Friday he told them that he had been delayed by M. DeTroiscantins, and then turning to the members of the Cote Droit, andlengthening his face to a sympathetic gravity:

"I am glad to inform you, messieurs, that M. Des Troiscantins is in thehands of a very competent surgeon who hopes with care to restore him toyour councils in a few weeks' time. "

It was paralyzing, fantastic, unreal; and friend and foe in thatassembly sat alike stupefied under those bland daily announcements. Fourof the most redoubtable spadassinicides put away for a time, one ofthem dead--and all this performed with such an air of indifference andannounced in such casual terms by a wretched little provincial lawyer!

He began to assume in their eyes a romantic aspect. Even that group ofphilosophers of the Cote Gauche, who refused to worship any forcebut the force of reason, began to look upon him with a respect andconsideration which no oratorical triumphs could ever have procured him. 

And from the Assembly the fame of him oozed out gradually over Paris. Desmoulins wrote a panegyric upon him in his paper "Les Revolutions, "wherein he dubbed him the "Paladin of the Third Estate, " a namethat caught the fancy of the people, and clung to him for some time. Disdainfully was he mentioned in the "Actes des Apotres, " the mockingorgan of the Privileged party, so light-heartedly and provocativelyedited by a group of gentlemen afflicted by a singular mental myopy. 

The Friday of that very busy week in the life of this young man who eventhereafter is to persist in reminding us that he is not in any sense aman of action, found the vestibule of the Manege empty of swordsmenwhen he made his leisurely and expectant egress between Le Chapelier andKersain. 

So surprised was he that he checked in his stride. 

"Have they had enough?" he wondered, addressing the question to LeChapelier. 

"They have had enough of you, I should think, " was the answer. "Theywill prefer to turn their attention to some one less able to take careof himself. "

Now this was disappointing. Andre-Louis had lent himself to thisbusiness with a very definite object in view. The slaying of Chabrillanehad, as far as it went, been satisfactory. He had regarded that as asort of acceptable hors d'oeuvre. But the three who had followed wereno affair of his at all. He had met them with a certain amount ofrepugnance, and dealt with each as lightly as consideration of his ownsafety permitted. Was the baiting of him now to cease whilst the manat whom he aimed had not presented himself? In that case it would benecessary to force the pace!

Out there under the awning a group of gentlemen stood in earnest talk. Scanning the group in a rapid glance, Andre-Louis perceived M. De LaTour d'Azyr amongst them. He tightened his lips. He must afford noprovocation. It must be for them to fasten their quarrels upon him. Already the "Actes des Apotres" that morning had torn the mask fromhis face, and proclaimed him the fencing-master of the Rue du Hasard, successor to Bertrand des Amis. Hazardous as it had been hitherto for aman of his condition to engage in single combat it was rendered doublyso by this exposure, offered to the public as an aristocratic apologia. 

Still, matters could not be left where they were, or he should have hadall his pains for nothing. Carefully looking away from that group ofgentlemen, he raised his voice so that his words must carry to theirears. 

"It begins to look as if my fears of having to spend the remainder of mydays in the Bois were idle. "

Out of the corner of his eye he caught the stir his words created inthat group. Its members had turned to look at him; but for the momentthat was all. A little more was necessary. Pacing slowly along betweenhis friends he resumed:

"But is it not remarkable that the assassin of Lagron should makeno move against Lagron's successor? Or perhaps it is not remarkable. Perhaps there are good reasons. Perhaps the gentleman is prudent. "

He had passed the group by now, and he left that last sentence of his totrail behind him, and after it sent laughter, insolent and provoking. 

He had not long to wait. Came a quick step behind him, and a handfalling upon his shoulder, spun him violently round. He was brought faceto face with M. De La Tour d'Azyr, whose handsome countenance was calmand composed, but whose eyes reflected something of the sudden blaze ofpassion stirring in him. Behind him several members of the groupwere approaching more slowly. The others--like Andre-Louis' twocompanions--remained at gaze. 

"You spoke of me, I think, " said the Marquis quietly. 

"I spoke of an assassin--yes. But to these my friends. " Andre-Louis'manner was no less quiet, indeed the quieter of the two, for he was themore experienced actor. 

"You spoke loudly enough to be overheard, " said the Marquis, answeringthe insinuation that he had been eavesdropping. 

"Those who wish to overhear frequently contrive to do so. "

"I perceive that it is your aim to be offensive. "

"Oh, but you are mistaken, M. Le Marquis. I have no wish to beoffensive. But I resent having hands violently laid upon me, especiallywhen they are hands that I cannot consider clean, In the circumstances Ican hardly be expected to be polite. "

The elder man's eyelids flickered. Almost he caught himself admiringAndre-Louis' bearing. Rather, he feared that his own must suffer bycomparison. Because of this, he enraged altogether, and lost control ofhimself. 

"You spoke of me as the assassin of Lagron. I do not affect tomisunderstand you. You expounded your views to me once before, and Iremember. "

"But what flattery, monsieur!"

"You called me an assassin then, because I used my skill to dispose of aturbulent hot-head who made the world unsafe for me. But how much betterare you, M. The fencing-master, when you oppose yourself to men whoseskill is as naturally inferior to your own!"

M. De La Tour d'Azyr's friends looked grave, perturbed. It was reallyincredible to find this great gentleman so far forgetting himself as todescend to argument with a canaille of a lawyer-swordsman. And what wasworse, it was an argument in which he was being made ridiculous. 

"I oppose myself to them!" said Andre-Louis on a tone of amused protest. "Ah, pardon, M. Le Marquis; it is they who chose to oppose themselvesto me--and so stupidly. They push me, they slap my face, they tread on mytoes, they call me by unpleasant names. What if I am a fencing-master?Must I on that account submit to every manner of ill-treatment fromyour bad-mannered friends? Perhaps had they found out sooner that I am afencing-master their manners would have been better. But to blame me forthat! What injustice!"

"Comedian!" the Marquis contemptuously apostrophized him. "Does it alterthe case? Are these men who have opposed you men who live by the swordlike yourself?"

"On the contrary, M. Le Marquis, I have found them men who died by thesword with astonishing ease. I cannot suppose that you desire to addyourself to their number. "

"And why, if you please?" La Tour d'Azyr's face had flamed scarletbefore that sneer. 

"Oh, " Andre-Louis raised his eyebrows and pursed his lips, a manconsidering. He delivered himself slowly. "Because, monsieur, you preferthe easy victim--the Lagrons and Vilmorins of this world, mere sheep foryour butchering. That is why. "

And then the Marquis struck him. 

Andre-Louis stepped back. His eyes gleamed a moment; the next they weresmiling up into the face of his tall enemy. 

"No better than the others, after all! Well, well! Remark, I beg you, how history repeats itself--with certain differences. Because poorVilmorin could not bear a vile lie with which you goaded him, he struckyou. Because you cannot bear an equally vile truth which I have uttered, you strike me. But always is the vileness yours. And now as then for thestriker there is... " He broke off. "But why name it? You will rememberwhat there is. Yourself you wrote it that day with the point of yourtoo-ready sword. But there. I will meet you if you desire it, monsieur. "

"What else do you suppose that I desire? To talk?"

Andre-Louis turned to his friends and sighed. "So that I am to goanother jaunt to the Bois. Isaac, perhaps you will kindly have a wordwith one of these friends of M. Le Marquis', and arrange for nineo'clock to-morrow, as usual. "

"Not to-morrow, " said the Marquis shortly to Le Chapeher. "I have anengagement in the country, which I cannot postpone. "

Le Chapelier looked at Andre-Louis. 

"Then for M. Le Marquis' convenience, we will say Sunday at the samehour. "

"I do not fight on Sunday. I am not a pagan to break the holy day. "

"But surely the good God would not have the presumption to damn agentleman of M. Le Marquis' quality on that account? Ah, well, Isaac, please arrange for Monday, if it is not a feast-day or monsieur has notsome other pressing engagement. I leave it in your hands. "

He bowed with the air of a man wearied by these details, and threadinghis arm through Kersain's withdrew. 

"Ah, Dieu de Dieu! But what a trick of it you have, " said the Bretondeputy, entirely unsophisticated in these matters. 

"To be sure I have. I have taken lessons at their hands. " He laughed. Hewas in excellent good-humour. And Kersain was enrolled in the ranks ofthose who accounted Andre-Louis a man without heart or conscience. 

But in his "Confessions" he tells us--and this is one of the glimpsesthat reveal the true man under all that make-believe--that on that nighthe went down on his knees to commune with his dead friend Philippe, andto call his spirit to witness that he was about to take the last stepin the fulfilment of the oath sworn upon his body at Gavrillac two yearsago. 

CHAPTER IX. TORN PRIDE

M. De La Tour d'Azyr's engagement in the country on that Sunday was withM. De Kercadiou. To fulfil it he drove out early in the day to Meudon, taking with him in his pocket a copy of the last issue of "Les Actes desApotres, " a journal whose merry sallies at the expense of the innovatorsgreatly diverted the Seigneur de Gavrillac. The venomous scorn itpoured upon those worthless rapscallions afforded him a certain solatiumagainst the discomforts of expatriation by which he was afflicted as aresult of their detestable energies. 

Twice in the last month, had M. De La Tour d'Azyr gone to visit the Lordof Gavrillac at Meudon, and the sight of Aline, so sweet and fresh, so bright and of so lively a mind, had caused those embers smoulderingunder the ashes of the past, embers which until now he had believedutterly extinct, to kindle into flame once more. He desired her as wedesire Heaven. I believe that it was the purest passion of his life;that had it come to him earlier he might have been a vastly differentman. The cruelest wound that in all his selfish life he had taken waswhen she sent him word, quite definitely after the affair at the Feydau, that she could not again in any circumstances receive him. At oneblow--through that disgraceful riot--he had been robbed of a mistress heprized and of a wife who had become a necessity to the very soul of him. The sordid love of La Binet might have consoled him for the compulsoryrenunciation of his exalted love of Aline, just as to his exalted loveof Aline he had been ready to sacrifice his attachment to La Binet. Butthat ill-timed riot had robbed him at once of both. Faithful to his wordto Sautron he had definitely broken with La Binet, only to find thatAline had definitely broken with him. And by the time that he hadsufficiently recovered from his grief to think again of La Binet, thecomedienne had vanished beyond discovery. 

For all this he blamed, and most bitterly blamed, Andre-Louis. Thatlow-born provincial lout pursued him like a Nemesis, was become indeedthe evil genius of his life. That was it--the evil genius of his life!And it was odds that on Monday... He did not like to think of Monday. He was not particularly afraid of death. He was as brave as his kind inthat respect, too brave in the ordinary way, and too confident of hisskill, to have considered even remotely such a possibility as thatof dying in a duel. It was only that it would seem like a properconsummation of all the evil that he had suffered directly or indirectlythrough this Andre-Louis Moreau that he should perish ignobly by hishand. Almost he could hear that insolent, pleasant voice making theflippant announcement to the Assembly on Monday morning. 

He shook off the mood, angry with himself for entertaining it. It wasmaudlin. After all Chabrillane and La Motte-Royau were quite exceptionalswordsmen, but neither of them really approached his own formidablecalibre. Reaction began to flow, as he drove out through countrylanes flooded with pleasant September sunshine. His spirits rose. Apremonition of victory stirred within him. Far from fearing Monday'smeeting, as he had so unreasonably been doing, he began to look forwardto it. It should afford him the means of setting a definite term tothis persecution of which he had been the victim. He would crushthis insolent and persistent flea that had been stinging him at everyopportunity. Borne upward on that wave of optimism, he took presently amore hopeful view of his case with Aline. 

At their first meeting a month ago he had used the utmost frankness withher. He had told her the whole truth of his motives in going that nightto the Feydau; he had made her realize that she had acted unjustlytowards him. True he had gone no farther. 

But that was very far to have gone as a beginning. And in theirlast meeting, now a fortnight old, she had received him with frankfriendliness. True, she had been a little aloof. But that was to beexpected until he quite explicitly avowed that he had revived the hopeof winning her. He had been a fool not to have returned before to-day. 

Thus in that mood of new-born confidence--a confidence risen from thevery ashes of despondency--came he on that Sunday morning to Meudon. Hewas gay and jovial with M. De Kercadiou what time he waited in the salonfor mademoiselle to show herself. He pronounced with confidence onthe country's future. There were signs already--he wore the rosiestspectacles that morning--of a change of opinion, of a more moderate note. The Nation began to perceive whither this lawyer rabble was leading it. He pulled out "The Acts of the Apostles" and read a stinging paragraph. Then, when mademoiselle at last made her appearance, he resigned thejournal into the hands of M. De Kercadiou. 

M. De Kercadiou, with his niece's future to consider, went to read thepaper in the garden, taking up there a position whence he could keep thecouple within sight--as his obligations seemed to demand of him--whilstbeing discreetly out of earshot. 

The Marquis made the most of an opportunity that might be brief. Hequite frankly declared himself, and begged, implored to be taken backinto Aline's good graces, to be admitted at least to the hope that oneday before very long she would bring herself to consider him in a nearerrelationship. 

"Mademoiselle, " he told her, his voice vibrating with a feeling thatadmitted of no doubt, "you cannot lack conviction of my utter sincerity. The very constancy of my devotion should afford you this. It is justthat I should have been banished from you, since I showed myself soutterly unworthy of the great honour to which I aspired. But thisbanishment has nowise diminished my devotion. If you could conceive whatI have suffered, you would agree that I have fully expiated my abjectfault. "

She looked at him with a curious, gentle wistfulness on her lovely face. 

"Monsieur, it is not you whom I doubt. It is myself. "

"You mean your feelings towards me?"

"Yes. "

"But that I can understand. After what has happened... "

"It was always so, monsieur, " she interrupted quietly. "You speak of meas if lost to you by your own action. That is to say too much. Let me befrank with you. Monsieur, I was never yours to lose. I am conscious ofthe honour that you do me. I esteem you very deeply... "

"But, then, " he cried, on a high note of confidence, "from such abeginning... "

"Who shall assure me that it is a beginning? May it not be the whole?Had I held you in affection, monsieur, I should have sent for youafter the affair of which you have spoken. I should at least not havecondemned you without hearing your explanation. As it was... " Sheshrugged, smiling gently, sadly. "You see... "

But his optimism far from being crushed was stimulated. "But it is togive me hope, mademoiselle. If already I possess so much, I may lookwith confidence to win more. I shall prove myself worthy. I swear todo that. Who that is permitted the privilege of being near you could doother than seek to render himself worthy?"

And then before she could add a word, M. De Kercadiou came blusteringthrough the window, his spectacles on his forehead, his face inflamed, waving in his hand "The Acts of the Apostles, " and apparently reduced tospeechlessness. 

Had the Marquis expressed himself aloud he would have been profane. Asit was he bit his lip in vexation at this most inopportune interruption. 

Aline sprang up, alarmed by her uncle's agitation. 

"What has happened?"

"Happened?" He found speech at last. "The scoundrel! The faithless dog!I consented to overlook the past on the clear condition that he shouldavoid revolutionary politics in future. That condition he accepted, andnow"--he smacked the news-sheet furiously--"he has played me false again. Not only has he gone into politics, once more, but he is actuallya member of the Assembly, and what is worse he has been usinghis assassin's skill as a fencing-master, turning himself into abully-swordsman. My God! Is there any law at all left in France?"

One doubt M. De La Tour d'Azyr had entertained, though only faintly, tomar the perfect serenity of his growing optimism. That doubt concernedthis man Moreau and his relations with M. De Kercadiou. He knew whatonce they had been, and how changed they subsequently were by theingratitude of Moreau's own behavior in turning against the classto which his benefactor belonged. What he did not know was that areconciliation had been effected. For in the past month--ever sincecircumstances had driven Andre-Louis to depart from his undertakingto steer clear of politics--the young man had not ventured to approachMeudon, and as it happened his name had not been mentioned in La Tourd'Azyr's hearing on the occasion of either of his own previous visits. He learnt of that reconciliation now; but he learnt at the same timethat the breach was now renewed, and rendered wider and more impassablethan ever. Therefore he did not hesitate to avow his own position. 

"There is a law, " he answered. "The law that this rash young man himselfevokes. The law of the sword. " He spoke very gravely, almost sadly. For he realized that after all the ground was tender. "You are not tosuppose that he is to continue indefinitely his career of evil andof murder. Sooner or later he will meet a sword that will avenge theothers. You have observed that my cousin Chabrillane is among the numberof this assassin's victims; that he was killed on Tuesday last. "

"If I have not expressed my condolence, Azyr, it is because myindignation stifles at the moment every other feeling. The scoundrel!You say that sooner or later he will meet a sword that will avenge theothers. I pray that it may be soon. "

The Marquis answered him quietly, without anything but sorrow in hisvoice. "I think your prayer is likely to be heard. This wretched youngman has an engagement for to-morrow, when his account may be definitelysettled. "

He spoke with such calm conviction that his words had all the sound ofa sentence of death. They suddenly stemmed the flow of M. De Kercadiou'sanger. The colour receded from his inflamed face; dread looked out ofhis pale eyes, to inform M. De La Tour d'Azyr, more clearly than anywords, that M. De Kercadiou's hot speech had been the expression ofunreflecting anger, that his prayer that retribution might soon overtakehis godson had been unconsciously insincere. Confronted now by the factthat this retribution was about to be visited upon that scoundrel, thefundamental gentleness and kindliness of his nature asserted itself; hisanger was suddenly whelmed in apprehension; his affection for the ladbeat up to the surface, making Andre-Louis' sin, however hideous, athing of no account by comparison with the threatened punishment. 

M. De Kercadiou moistened his lips. 

"With whom is this engagement?" he asked in a voice that by an effort hecontrived to render steady. 

M. De La Tour d'Azyr bowed his handsome head, his eyes upon the gleamingparquetry of the floor. "With myself, " he answered quietly, consciousalready with a tightening of the heart that his answer must sow dismay. He caught the sound of a faint outcry from Aline; he saw the suddenrecoil of M. De Kercadiou. And then he plunged headlong into theexplanation that he deemed necessary. 

"In view of his relations with you, M. De Kercadiou, and because of mydeep regard for you, I did my best to avoid this, even though as youwill understand the death of my dear friend and cousin Chabrillaneseemed to summon me to action, even though I knew that my circumspectionwas becoming matter for criticism among my friends. But yesterday thisunbridled young man made further restraint impossible to me. He provokedme deliberately and publicly. He put upon me the very grossest affront, and... To-morrow morning in the Bois... We meet. "

He faltered a little at the end, fully conscious of the hostileatmosphere in which he suddenly found himself. Hostility from M. DeKercadiou, the latter's earlier change of manner had already led himto expect; the hostility of mademoiselle came more in the nature of asurprise. 

He began to understand what difficulties the course to which he wascommitted must raise up for him. A fresh obstacle was to be flung acrossthe path which he had just cleared, as he imagined. Yet his pride andhis sense of the justice due to be done admitted of no weakening. 

In bitterness he realized now, as he looked from uncle to niece--hisglance, usually so direct and bold, now oddly furtive--that thoughto-morrow he might kill Andre-Louis, yet even by his death Andre-Louiswould take vengeance upon him. He had exaggerated nothing in reachingthe conclusion that this Andre-Louis Moreau was the evil genius of hislife. He saw now that do what he would, kill him even though hemight, he could never conquer him. The last word would always be withAndre-Louis Moreau. In bitterness, in rage, and in humiliation--a thingalmost unknown to him--did he realize it, and the realization steeled hispurpose for all that he perceived its futility. 

Outwardly he showed himself calm and self-contained, properly suggestinga man regretfully accepting the inevitable. It would have been asimpossible to find fault with his bearing as to attempt to turn him fromthe matter to which he was committed. And so M. De Kercadiou perceived. 

"My God!" was all that he said, scarcely above his breath, yet almost ina groan. 

M. De La Tour d'Azyr did, as always, the thing that sensibility demandedof him. He took his leave. He understood that to linger where hisnews had produced such an effect would be impossible, indecent. So hedeparted, in a bitterness comparable only with his erstwhile optimism, the sweet fruit of hope turned to a thing of gall even as it touchedhis lips. Oh, yes; the last word, indeed, was with Andre-LouisMoreau--always!

Uncle and niece looked at each other as he passed out, and there washorror in the eyes of both. Aline's pallor was deathly almost, andstanding there now she wrung her hands as if in pain. 

"Why did you not ask him--beg him... " She broke off. 

"To what end? He was in the right, and... And there are things onecannot ask; things it would be a useless humiliation to ask. " He satdown, groaning. "Oh, the poor boy--the poor, misguided boy. "

In the mind of neither, you see, was there any doubt of what must be theissue. The calm confidence in which La Tour d'Azyr had spoken compelleditself to be shared. He was no vainglorious boaster, and they knew ofwhat a force as a swordsman he was generally accounted. 

"What does humiliation matter? A life is at issue--Andre's life. "

"I know. My God, don't I know? And I would humiliate myself if byhumiliating myself I could hope to prevail. But Azyr is a hard, relentless man, and... "

Abruptly she left him. 

She overtook the Marquis as he was in the act of stepping his carriage. He turned as she called, and bowed. 

"Mademoiselle?"

At once he guessed her errand, tasted in anticipation the unparalleledbitterness of being compelled to refuse her. Yet at her invitation hestepped back into the cool of the hall. 

In the middle of the floor of chequered marbles, black and white, stooda carved table of black oak. By this he halted, leaning lightly againstit whilst she sat enthroned in the great crimson chair beside it. 

"Monsieur, I cannot allow you so to depart, " she said. "You cannotrealize, monsieur, what a blow would be dealt my uncle if... If evil, irrevocable evil were to overtake his godson to-morrow. The expressionsthat he used at first... "

"Mademoiselle, I perceived their true value. Spare yourself. Believe meI am profoundly desolated by circumstances which I had not expected tofind. You must believe me when I say that. It is all that I can say. "

"Must it really be all? Andre is very dear to his godfather. "

The pleading tone cut him like a knife; and then suddenly it arousedanother emotion--an emotion which he realized to be utterly unworthy, an emotion which, in his overwhelming pride of race, seemed almostsullying, yet not to be repressed. He hesitated to give it utterance;hesitated even remotely to suggest so horrible a thing as that in a manof such lowly origin he might conceivably discover a rival. Yet thatsudden pang of jealousy was stronger than his monstrous pride. 

"And to you, mademoiselle? What is this Andre-Louis Moreau to you? Youwill pardon the question. But I desire clearly to understand. "

Watching her he beheld the scarlet stain that overspread her face. He read in it at first confusion, until the gleam of her blue eyesannounced its source to lie in anger. That comforted him; since he hadaffronted her, he was reassured. It did not occur to him that the angermight have another source. 

"Andre and I have been playmates from infancy. He is very dear to me, too; almost I regard him as a brother. Were I in need of help, and weremy uncle not available, Andre would be the first man to whom I shouldturn. Are you sufficiently answered, monsieur? Or is there more of meyou would desire revealed?"

He bit his lip. He was unnerved, he thought, this morning; otherwise thesilly suspicion with which he had offended could never have occurred tohim. 

He bowed very low. "Mademoiselle, forgive that I should have troubledyou with such a question. You have answered more fully than I could havehoped or wished. "

He said no more than that. He waited for her to resume. At a loss, shesat in silence awhile, a pucker on her white brow, her fingers nervouslydrumming on the table. At last she flung herself headlong against theimpassive, polished front that he presented. 

"I have come, monsieur, to beg you to put off this meeting. "

She saw the faint raising of his dark eyebrows, the faintly regretfulsmile that scarcely did more than tinge his fine lips, and she hurriedon. "What honour can await you in such an engagement, monsieur?"

It was a shrewd thrust at the pride of race that she accounted hisparamount sentiment, that had as often lured him into error as it hadurged him into good. 

"I do not seek honour in it, mademoiselle, but--I must say it--justice. The engagement, as I have explained, is not of my seeking. It has beenthrust upon me, and in honour I cannot draw back. "

"Why, what dishonour would there be in sparing him? Surely, monsieur, none would call your courage in question? None could misapprehend yourmotives. "

"You are mistaken, mademoiselle. My motives would most certainly bemisapprehended. You forget that this young man has acquired in the pastweek a certain reputation that might well make a man hesitate to meethim. "

She brushed that aside almost contemptuously, conceiving it the merestquibble. 

"Some men, yes. But not you, M. Le Marquis. "

Her confidence in him on every count was most sweetly flattering. Butthere was a bitterness behind the sweet. 

"Even I, mademoiselle, let me assure you. And there is more than that. This quarrel which M. Moreau has forced upon me is no new thing. It ismerely the culmination of a long-drawn persecution... "

"Which you invited, " she cut in. "Be just, monsieur. "

"I hope that it is not in my nature to be otherwise, mademoiselle. "

"Consider, then, that you killed his friend. "

"I find in that nothing with which to reproach myself. My justificationlay in the circumstances--the subsequent events in this distractedcountry surely confirm it. "

"And... " She faltered a little, and looked away from him for the firsttime. "And that you... That you... And what of Mademoiselle Binet, whomhe was to have married?"

He stared at her for a moment in sheer surprise. "Was to have married?"he repeated incredulously, dismayed almost. 

"You did not know that?"

"But how do you?"

"Did I not tell you that we are as brother and sister almost? I have hisconfidence. He told me, before... Before you made it impossible. "

He looked away, chin in hand, his glance thoughtful, disturbed, almostwistful. 

"There is, " he said slowly, musingly, "a singular fatality at workbetween that man and me, bringing us ever each by turns athwart theother's path... "

He sighed; then swung to face her again, speaking more briskly:"Mademoiselle, until this moment I had no knowledge--no suspicion ofthis thing. But... " He broke off, considered, and then shrugged. "IfI wronged him, I did so unconsciously. It would be unjust to blame me, surely. In all our actions it must be the intention alone that counts. "

"But does it make no difference?"

"None that I can discern, mademoiselle. It gives me no justificationto withdraw from that to which I am irrevocably committed. Nojustification, indeed, could ever be greater than my concern for thepain it must occasion my good friend, your uncle, and perhaps yourself, mademoiselle. "

She rose suddenly, squarely confronting him, desperate now, driven toplay the only card upon which she thought she might count. 

"Monsieur, " she said, "you did me the honour to-day to speak in certainterms; to... To allude to certain hopes with which you honour me. "

He looked at her almost in fear. In silence, not daring to speak, hewaited for her to continue. 

"I... I... Will you please to understand, monsieur, that if you persistin this matter, if... Unless you can break this engagement of yoursto-morrow morning in the Bois, you are not to presume to mention thissubject to me again, or, indeed, ever again to approach me. "

To put the matter in this negative way was as far as she could possiblygo. It was for him to make the positive proposal to which she had thusthrown wide the door. 

"Mademoiselle, you cannot mean... "

"I do, monsieur... Irrevocably, please to understand. " He looked at herwith eyes of misery, his handsome, manly face as pale as she had everseen it. The hand he had been holding out in protest began to shake. Helowered it to his side again, lest she should perceive its tremor. Thus a brief second, while the battle was fought within him, the bitterengagement between his desires and what he conceived to be the demandsof his honour, never perceiving how far his honour was buttressed byimplacable vindictiveness. Retreat, he conceived, was impossible withoutshame; and shame was to him an agony unthinkable. She asked too much. She could not understand what she was asking, else she would never beso unreasonable, so unjust. But also he saw that it would be futile toattempt to make her understand. 

It was the end. Though he kill Andre-Louis Moreau in the morning as hefiercely hoped he would, yet the victory even in death must lie withAndre-Louis Moreau. 

He bowed profoundly, grave and sorrowful of face as he was grave andsorrowful of heart. 

"Mademoiselle, my homage, " he murmured, and turned to go. 

"But you have not answered me!" she called after him in terror. 

He checked on the threshold, and turned; and there from the coolgloom of the hall she saw him a black, graceful silhouette against thebrilliant sunshine beyond--a memory of him that was to cling as somethingsinister and menacing in the dread hours that were to follow. 

"What would you, mademoiselle? I but spared myself and you the pain of arefusal. "

He was gone leaving her crushed and raging. She sank down again into thegreat red chair, and sat there crumpled, her elbows on the table, herface in her hands--a face that was on fire with shame and passion. Shehad offered herself, and she had been refused! The inconceivable hadbefallen her. The humiliation of it seemed to her something that couldnever be effaced. 

Startled, appalled, she stepped back, her hand pressed to her torturedbreast. 

CHAPTER X. THE RETURNING CARRIAGE

M. De Kercadiou wrote a letter. 

"Godson, " he began, without any softening adjective, "I have learntwith pain and indignation that you have dishonoured yourself again bybreaking the pledge you gave me to abstain from politics. With stillgreater pain and indignation do I learn that your name has become in afew short days a byword, that you have discarded the weapon of false, insidious arguments against my class--the class to which you oweeverything--for the sword of the assassin. It has come to my knowledgethat you have an assignation to-morrow with my good friend M. De La Tourd'Azyr. A gentleman of his station is under certain obligations imposedupon him by his birth, which do not permit him to draw back from anengagement. But you labour under no such disadvantages. For a man ofyour class to refuse an engagement of honour, or to neglect it whenmade, entails no sacrifice. Your peers will probably be of the opinionthat you display a commendable prudence. Therefore I beg you, indeed, did I think that I still exercise over you any such authority as thefavours you have received from me should entitle me to exercise, I wouldcommand you, to allow this matter to go no farther, and to refrain fromrendering yourself to your assignation to-morrow morning. Having no suchauthority, as your past conduct now makes clear, having no reason tohope that a proper sentiment of gratitude to me will induce to give heedto this my most earnest request, I am compelled to add that should yousurvive to-morrow's encounter, I can in no circumstances ever againpermit myself to be conscious of your existence. If any spark survivesof the affection that once you expressed for me, or if you set any valueupon the affection, which, in spite of all that you have done to forfeitit, is the chief prompter of this letter, you will not refuse to do as Iam asking. "

It was not a tactful letter. M. De Kercadiou was not a tactful man. Readit as he would, Andre-Louis--when it was delivered to him on that Sundayafternoon by the groom dispatched with it into Paris--could read into itonly concern for M. La Tour d'Azyr, M. De Kercadiou's good friend, as hecalled him, and prospective nephew-in-law. 

He kept the groom waiting a full hour while composing his answer. Brief though it was, it cost him very considerable effort and severalunsuccessful attempts. In the end this is what he wrote:

Monsieur my godfather--You make refusal singularly hard for me when youappeal to me upon the ground of affection. It is a thing of which all mylife I shall hail the opportunity to give you proofs, and I am thereforedesolated beyond anything I could hope to express that I cannot give youthe proof you ask to-day. There is too much between M. De La Tour d'Azyrand me. Also you do me and my class--whatever it may be--less than justicewhen you say that obligations of honour are not binding upon us. Sobinding do I count them, that, if I would, I could not now draw back. 

If hereafter you should persist in the harsh intention you express, Imust suffer it. That I shall suffer be assured. 

Your affectionate and grateful godson

Andre-Louis

He dispatched that letter by M. De Kercadiou's groom, and conceived thisto be the end of the matter. It cut him keenly; but he bore the woundwith that outward stoicism he affected. 

Next morning, at a quarter past eight, as with Le Chapelier--who had cometo break his fast with him--he was rising from table to set out forthe Bois, his housekeeper startled him by announcing Mademoiselle deKercadiou. 

He looked at his watch. Although his cabriolet was already at the door, he had a few minutes to spare. He excused himself from Le Chapelier, andwent briskly out to the anteroom. 

She advanced to meet him, her manner eager, almost feverish. 

"I will not affect ignorance of why you have come, " he said quickly, tomake short work. "But time presses, and I warn you that only the mostsolid of reasons can be worth stating. "

It surprised her. It amounted to a rebuff at the very outset, before shehad uttered a word; and that was the last thing she had expected fromAndre-Louis. Moreover, there was about him an air of aloofness that wasunusual where she was concerned, and his voice had been singularly coldand formal. 

It wounded her. She was not to guess the conclusion to which he hadleapt. He made with regard to her--as was but natural, after all--thesame mistake that he had made with regard to yesterday's letter from hisgodfather. He conceived that the mainspring of action here was solelyconcern for M. De La Tour d'Azyr. That it might be concern for himselfnever entered his mind. So absolute was his own conviction of what mustbe the inevitable issue of that meeting that he could not conceive ofany one entertaining a fear on his behalf. 

What he assumed to be anxiety on the score of the predestined victimhad irritated him in M. De Kercadiou; in Aline it filled him with a coldanger; he argued from it that she had hardly been frank with him; thatambition was urging her to consider with favour the suit of M. De LaTour d'Azyr. And than this there was no spur that could have driven morerelentlessly in his purpose, since to save her was in his eyes almost asmomentous as to avenge the past. 

She conned him searchingly, and the complete calm of him at such a timeamazed her. She could not repress the mention of it. 

"How calm you are, Andre!"

"I am not easily disturbed. It is a vanity of mine. "

"But... Oh, Andre, this meeting must not take place!" She came closeup to him, to set her hands upon his shoulders, and stood so, her facewithin a foot of his own. 

"You know, of course, of some good reason why it should not?" said he. 

"You may be killed, " she answered him, and her eyes dilated as shespoke. 

It was so far from anything that he had expected that for a moment hecould only stare at her. Then he thought he had understood. He laughedas he removed her hands from his shoulders, and stepped back. This was ashallow device, childish and unworthy in her. 

"Can you really think to prevail by attempting to frighten me?" heasked, and almost sneered. 

"Oh, you are surely mad! M. De La Tour d'Azyr is reputed the mostdangerous sword in France. "

"Have you never noticed that most reputations are undeserved?Chabrillane was a dangerous swordsman, and Chabrillane is underground. La Motte-Royau was an even more dangerous swordsman, and he is ina surgeon's hands. So are the other spadassinicides who dreamt ofskewering a poor sheep of a provincial lawyer. And here to-day comesthe chief, the fine flower of these bully-swordsmen. He comes, forwages long overdue. Be sure of that. So if you have no other reason tourge... "

It was the sarcasm of him that mystified her. Could he possibly besincere in his assurance that he must prevail against M. De La Tourd'Azyr? To her in her limited knowledge, her mind filled with heruncle's contrary conviction, it seemed that Andre-Louis was only acting;he would act a part to the very end. 

Be that as it might, she shifted her ground to answer him. 

"You had my uncle's letter?"

"And I answered it. "

"I know. But what he said, he will fulfil. Do not dream that he willrelent if you carry out this horrible purpose. "

"Come, now, that is a better reason than the other, " said he. "If thereis a reason in the world that could move me it would be that. But thereis too much between La Tour d'Azyr and me. There is an oath I swore onthe dead hand of Philippe de Vilmorin. I could never have hoped that Godwould afford me so great an opportunity of keeping it. "

"You have not kept it yet, " she warned him. 

He smiled at her. "True!" he said. "But nine o'clock will soon be here. Tell me, " he asked her suddenly, "why did you not carry this request ofyours to M. De La Tour d'Azyr?"

"I did, " she answered him, and flushed as she remembered her yesterday'srejection. He interpreted the flush quite otherwise. 

"And he?" he asked. 

"M. De La Tour d'Azyr's obligations... " she was beginning: then shebroke off to answer shortly: "Oh, he refused. "

"So, so. He must, of course, whatever it may have cost him. Yet in hisplace I should have counted the cost as nothing. But men are different, you see. " He sighed. "Also in your place, had that been so, I think Ishould have left the matter there. But then... "

"I don't understand you, Andre. "

"I am not so very obscure. Not nearly so obscure as I can be. Turn itover in your mind. It may help to comfort you presently. " He consultedhis watch again. "Pray use this house as your own. I must be going. "

Le Chapelier put his head in at the door. 

"Forgive the intrusion. But we shall be late, Andre, unless you... "

"Coming, " Andre answered him. "If you will await my return, Aline, youwill oblige me deeply. Particularly in view of your uncle's resolve. "

She did not answer him. She was numbed. He took her silence for assent, and, bowing, left her. Standing there she heard his steps going down thestairs together with Le Chapelier's. He was speaking to his friend, andhis voice was calm and normal. 

Oh, he was mad--blinded by self-confidence and vanity. As his carriagerattled away, she sat down limply, with a sense of exhaustion andnausea. She was sick and faint with horror. Andre-Louis was going to hisdeath. Conviction of it--an unreasoning conviction, the result, perhaps, of all M. De Kercadiou's rantings--entered her soul. Awhile she sat thus, paralyzed by hopelessness. Then she sprang up again, wringing her hands. She must do something to avert this horror. But what could she do? Tofollow him to the Bois and intervene there would be to make a scandalfor no purpose. The conventions of conduct were all against her, offering a barrier that was not to be overstepped. Was there no onecould help her?

Standing there, half-frenzied by her helplessness, she caught againa sound of vehicles and hooves on the cobbles of the street below. A carriage was approaching. It drew up with a clatter before thefencing-academy. Could it be Andre-Louis returning? Passionately shesnatched at that straw of hope. Knocking, loud and urgent, fell upon thedoor. She heard Andre-Louis' housekeeper, her wooden shoes clanking uponthe stairs, hurrying down to open. 

She sped to the door of the anteroom, and pulling it wide stoodbreathlessly to listen. But the voice that floated up to her was not thevoice she so desperately hoped to hear. It was a woman's voice asking inurgent tones for M. Andre-Louis--a voice at first vaguely familiar, thenclearly recognized, the voice of Mme. De Plougastel. 

Excited, she ran to the head of the narrow staircase in time to hearMme. De Plougastel exclaim in agitation:

"He has gone already! Oh, but how long since? Which way did he take?"

It was enough to inform Aline that Mme. De Plougastel's errand must beakin to her own. At the moment, in the general distress and confusionof her mind, her mental vision focussed entirely on the one vitalpoint, she found in this no matter for astonishment. The singular regardconceived by Mme. De Plougastel for Andre-Louis seemed to her then asufficient explanation. 

Without pausing to consider, she ran down that steep staircase, calling:

"Madame! Madame!"

The portly, comely housekeeper drew aside, and the two ladies faced eachother on that threshold. Mme. De Plougastel looked white and haggard, anameless dread staring from her eyes. 

"Aline! You here!" she exclaimed. And then in the urgency sweeping asideall minor considerations, "Were you also too late?" she asked. 

"No, madame. I saw him. I implored him. But he would not listen. "

"Oh, this is horrible!" Mme. De Plougastel shuddered as she spoke. "Iheard of it only half an hour ago, and I came at once, to prevent it atall costs. "

The two women looked blankly, despairingly, at each other. In thesunshine-flooded street one or two shabby idlers were pausing to eyethe handsome equipage with its magnificent bay horses, and the two greatladies on the doorstep of the fencing-academy. From across the way camethe raucous voice of an itinerant bellows-mender raised in the cry ofhis trade:

"A raccommoder les vieux soufflets!"

Madame swung to the housekeeper. 

"How long is it since monsieur left?"

"Ten minutes, maybe; hardly more. " Conceiving these great ladies tobe friends of her invincible master's latest victim, the good womanpreserved a decently stolid exterior. 

Madame wrung her hands. "Ten minutes! Oh!" It was almost a moan. "Whichway did he go?"

"The assignation is for nine o'clock in the Bois de Boulogne, " Alineinformed her. "Could we follow? Could we prevail if we did?"

"Ah, my God! The question is should we come in time? At nine o'clock!And it wants but little more than a quarter of an hour. Mon Dieu! MonDieu!" Madame clasped and unclasped her hands in anguish. "Do you know, at least, where in the Bois they are to meet?"

"No--only that it is in the Bois. "

"In the Bois!" Madame was flung into a frenzy. "The Bois is nearly halfas large as Paris. " But she swept breathlessly on, "Come, Aline: get in, get in!"

Then to her coachman. "To the Bois de Boulogne by way of the Cours laReine, " she commanded, "as fast as you can drive. There are ten pistolesfor you if we are in time. Whip up, man!"

She thrust Aline into the carriage, and sprang after her with theenergy of a girl. The heavy vehicle--too heavy by far for this race withtime--was moving before she had taken her seat. Rocking and lurchingit went, earning the maledictions of more than one pedestrian whom itnarrowly avoided crushing against a wall or trampling underfoot. 

Madame sat back with closed eyes and trembling lips. Her face showedvery white and drawn. Aline watched her in silence. Almost it seemed toher that Mme. De Plougastel was suffering as deeply as herself, enduringan anguish of apprehension as great as her own. 

Later Aline was to wonder at this. But at the moment all the thought ofwhich her half-numbed mind was capable was bestowed upon their desperateerrand. 

The carriage rolled across the Place Louis XV and out on to the Coursla Reine at last. Along that beautiful, tree-bordered avenue between theChamps Elysees and the Seine, almost empty at this hour of the day, theymade better speed, leaving now a cloud of dust behind them. 

But fast to danger-point as was the speed, to the women in that carriageit was too slow. As they reached the barrier at the end of the Cours, nine o'clock was striking in the city behind them, and every stroke ofit seemed to sound a note of doom. 

Yet here at the barrier the regulations compelled a momentary halt. Aline enquired of the sergeant-in-charge how long it was since acabriolet such as she described had gone that way. She was answered thatsome twenty minutes ago a vehicle had passed the barrier containing thedeputy M. Le Chapelier and the Paladin of the Third Estate, M. Moreau. The sergeant was very well informed. He could make a shrewd guess, hesaid, with a grin, of the business that took M. Moreau that way so earlyin the day. 

They left him, to speed on now through the open country, following theroad that continued to hug the river. They sat back mutely despairing, staring hopelessly ahead, Aline's hand clasped tight in madame's. In thedistance, across the meadows on their right, they could see already thelong, dusky line of trees of the Bois, and presently the carriage swungaside following a branch of the road that turned to the right, away fromthe river and heading straight for the forest. 

Mademoiselle broke at last the silence of hopelessness that had reignedbetween them since they had passed the barrier. 

"Oh, it is impossible that we should come in time! Impossible!"

"Don't say it! Don't say it!" madame cried out. 

"But it is long past nine, madame! Andre would be punctual, and these... Affairs do not take long. It... It will be all over by now. "

Madame shivered, and closed her eyes. Presently, however, she openedthem again, and stirred. Then she put her head from the window. "Acarriage is approaching, " she announced, and her tone conveyed the thingshe feared. 

"Not already! Oh, not already!" Thus Aline expressed the silentlycommunicated thought. She experienced a difficulty in breathing, feltthe sudden need of air. Something in her throat was throbbing as if itwould suffocate her; a mist came and went before her eyes. 

In a cloud of dust an open caleche was speeding towards them, comingfrom the Bois. They watched it, both pale, neither venturing to speak, Aline, indeed, without breath to do so. 

As it approached, it slowed down, perforce, as they did, to effect asafe passage in that narrow road. Aline was at the window with Mme. DePlougastel, and with fearful eyes both looked into this open carriagethat was drawing abreast of them. 

"Which of them is it, madame? Oh, which of them?" gasped Aline, scarcedaring to look, her senses swimming. 

On the near side sat a swarthy young gentleman unknown to either of theladies. He was smiling as he spoke to his companion. A moment later andthe man sitting beyond came into view. He was not smiling. His face waswhite and set, and it was the face of the Marquis de La Tour d'Azyr. 

For a long moment, in speechless horror, both women stared at him, until, perceiving them, blankest surprise invaded his stern face. 

In that moment, with a long shuddering sigh Aline sank swooning to thecarriage floor behind Mme. De Plougastel. 

CHAPTER XI. INFERENCES

By fast driving Andre-Louis had reached the ground some minutes aheadof time, notwithstanding the slight delay in setting out. There hehad found M. De La Tour d'Azyr already awaiting him, supported by a M. D'Ormesson, a swarthy young gentleman in the blue uniform of a captainin the Gardes du Corps. 

Andre-Louis had been silent and preoccupied throughout that drive. Hewas perturbed by his last interview with Mademoiselle de Kercadiou andthe rash inferences which he had drawn as to her motives. 

"Decidedly, " he had said, "this man must be killed. "

Le Chapelier had not answered him. Almost, indeed, had the Bretonshuddered at his compatriot's cold-bloodedness. He had often of latethought that this fellow Moreau was hardly human. Also he had found himincomprehensibly inconsistent. When first this spadassinicide businesshad been proposed to him, he had been so very lofty and disdainful. Yet, having embraced it, he went about it at times with a ghoulish flippancythat was revolting, at times with a detachment that was more revoltingstill. 

Their preparations were made quickly and in silence, yet without unduehaste or other sign of nervousness on either side. In both men the samegrim determination prevailed. The opponent must be killed; there couldbe no half-measures here. Stripped each of coat and waistcoat, shoelessand with shirt-sleeves rolled to the elbow, they faced each other atlast, with the common resolve of paying in full the long score thatstood between them. I doubt if either of them entertained a misgiving asto what must be the issue. 

Beside them, and opposite each other, stood Le Chapelier and the youngcaptain, alert and watchful. 

"Allez, messieurs!"

The slender, wickedly delicate blades clashed together, and after amomentary glizade were whirling, swift and bright as lightnings, andalmost as impossible to follow with the eye. The Marquis led the attack, impetuously and vigorously, and almost at once Andre-Louis realized thathe had to deal with an opponent of a very different mettle from thosesuccessive duellists of last week, not excluding La Motte-Royau, ofterrible reputation. 

Here was a man whom much and constant practice had given extraordinaryspeed and a technique that was almost perfect. In addition, he enjoyedover Andre-Louis physical advantages of strength and length of reach, which rendered him altogether formidable. And he was cool, too; cool andself-contained; fearless and purposeful. Would anything shake that calm, wondered Andre-Louis?

He desired the punishment to be as full as he could make it. Not contentto kill the Marquis as the Marquis had killed Philippe, he desiredthat he should first know himself as powerless to avert that death asPhilippe had been. Nothing less would content Andre-Louis. M. Le Marquismust begin by tasting of that cup of despair. It was in the account;part of the quittance due. 

As with a breaking sweep Andre-Louis parried the heavy lunge in whichthat first series of passes culminated, he actually laughed--gleefully, after the fashion of a boy at a sport he loves. 

That extraordinary, ill-timed laugh made M. De La Tour d'Azyr's recoveryhastier and less correctly dignified than it would otherwise have been. It startled and discomposed him, who had already been discomposed bythe failure to get home with a lunge so beautifully timed and so trulydelivered. 

He, too, had realized that his opponent's force was above anything thathe could have expected, fencing-master though he might be, and on thataccount he had put forth his utmost energy to make an end at once. 

More than the actual parry, the laugh by which it was accompanied seemedto make of that end no more than a beginning. And yet it was the end ofsomething. It was the end of that absolute confidence that had hithertoinspired M. De La Tour d'Azyr. He no longer looked upon the issue as athing forgone. He realized that if he was to prevail in this encounter, he must go warily and fence as he had never fenced yet in all his life. 

They settled down again; and again--on the principle this time that thesoundest defence is in attack--it was the Marquis who made the game. Andre-Louis allowed him to do so, desired him to do so; desired himto spend himself and that magnificent speed of his against the greaterspeed that whole days of fencing in succession for nearly two years hadgiven the master. With a beautiful, easy pressure of forte on foibleAndre-Louis kept himself completely covered in that second bout, whichonce more culminated in a lunge. 

Expecting it now, Andre-Louis parried it by no more than a deflectingtouch. At the same moment he stepped suddenly forward, right within theother's guard, thus placing his man so completely at his mercy that, asif fascinated, the Marquis did not even attempt to recover himself. 

This time Andre-Louis did not laugh: He just smiled into the dilatingeyes of M. De La Tour d'Azyr, and made no shift to use his advantage. 

"Come, come, monsieur!" he bade him sharply. "Am I to run my bladethrough an uncovered man?" Deliberately he fell back, whilst his shakenopponent recovered himself at last. 

M. D'Ormesson released the breath which horror had for a moment caught. Le Chapelier swore softly, muttering:

"Name of a name! It is tempting Providence to play the fool in thisfashion!"

Andre-Louis observed the ashen pallor that now over spread the face ofhis opponent. 

"I think you begin to realize, monsieur, what Philippe de Vilmorin musthave felt that day at Gavrillac. I desired that you should first do so. Since that is accomplished, why, here's to make an end. "

He went in with lightning rapidity. For a moment his point seemed to LaTour d'Azyr to be everywhere at once, and then from a low engagementin sixte, Andre-Louis stretched forward with swift and vigorous easeto lunge in tierce. He drove his point to transfix his opponent whoma series of calculated disengages uncovered in that line. But to hisamazement and chagrin, La Tour d'Azyr parried the stroke; infinitelymore to his chagrin La Tour d'Azyr parried it just too late. Had hecompletely parried it, all would yet have been well. But striking theblade in the last fraction of a second, the Marquis deflected the pointfrom the line of his body, yet not so completely but that a coupleof feet of that hard-driven steel tore through the muscles of hissword-arm. 

To the seconds none of these details had been visible. All that theyhad seen had been a swift whirl of flashing blades, and then Andre-Louisstretched almost to the ground in an upward lunge that had pierced theMarquis' right arm just below the shoulder. 

The sword fell from the suddenly relaxed grip of La Tour d'Azyr'sfingers, which had been rendered powerless, and he stood now disarmed, his lip in his teeth, his face white, his chest heaving, before hisopponent, who had at once recovered. With the blood-tinged tip of hissword resting on the ground, Andre-Louis surveyed him grimly, as wesurvey the prey that through our own clumsiness has escaped us at thelast moment. 

In the Assembly and in the newspapers this might be hailed as anothervictory for the Paladin of the Third Estate; only himself could know theextent and the bitternest of the failure. 

M. D'Ormesson had sprung to the side of his principal. 

"You are hurt!" he had cried stupidly. 

"It is nothing, " said La Tour d'Azyr. "A scratch. " But his lip writhed, and the torn sleeve of his fine cambric shirt was full of blood. 

D'Ormesson, a practical man in such matters, produced a linen kerchief, which he tore quickly into strips to improvise a bandage. 

Still Andre-Louis continued to stand there, looking on as if bemused. Hecontinued so until Le Chapelier touched him on the arm. Then at last heroused himself, sighed, and turned away to resume his garments, nor didhe address or look again at his late opponent, but left the ground atonce. 

As, with Le Chapelier, he was walking slowly and in silent dejectiontowards the entrance of the Bois, where they had left their carriage, they were passed by the caleche conveying La Tour d'Azyr and hissecond--which had originally driven almost right up to the spot of theencounter. The Marquis' wounded arm was carried in a sling improvisedfrom his companion's sword-belt. His sky-blue coat with three collarshad been buttoned over this, so that the right sleeve hung empty. Otherwise, saving a certain pallor, he looked much his usual self. 

And now you understand how it was that he was the first to return, and that seeing him thus returning, apparently safe and sound, the twoladies, intent upon preventing the encounter, should have assumed thattheir worst fears were realized. 

Mme. De Plougastel attempted to call out, but her voice refused itsoffice. She attempted to throw open the door of her own carriage; buther fingers fumbled clumsily and ineffectively with the handle. Andmeanwhile the caleche was slowly passing, La Tour d'Azyr's fine eyessombrely yet intently meeting her own anguished gaze. And then shesaw something else. M. D'Ormesson, leaning back again from the forwardinclination of his body to join his own to his companion's salutation ofthe Countess, disclosed the empty right sleeve of M. De La Tour d'Azyr'sblue coat. More, the near side of the coat itself turned back from thepoint near the throat where it was caught together by a single button, revealed the slung arm beneath in its blood-sodden cambric sleeve. 

Even now she feared to jump to the obvious conclusion--feared lestperhaps the Marquis, though himself wounded, might have dealt hisadversary a deadlier wound. 

She found her voice at last, and at the same moment signalled to thedriver of the caleche to stop. 

As it was pulled to a standstill, M. D'Ormesson alighted, and so metmadame in the little space between the two carriages. 

"Where is M. Moreau?" was the question with which she surprised him. 

"Following at his leisure, no doubt, madame, " he answered, recovering. 

"He is not hurt?"

"Unfortunately it is we who... " M. D'Ormesson was beginning, when frombehind him M. De La Tour d'Azyr's voice cut in crisply:

"This interest on your part in M. Moreau, dear Countess... "

He broke off, observing a vague challenge in the air with which sheconfronted him. But indeed his sentence did not need completing. 

There was a vaguely awkward pause. And then she looked at M. D'Ormesson. Her manner changed. She offered what appeared to be an explanation ofher concern for M. Moreau. 

"Mademoiselle de Kercadiou is with me. The poor child has fainted. "

There was more, a deal more, she would have said just then, but for M. D'Ormesson's presence. 

Moved by a deep solicitude for Mademoiselle de Kertadiou, de La Tourd'Azyr sprang up despite his wound. 

"I am in poor case to render assistance, madame, " he said, an apologeticsmile on his pale face. "But... "

With the aid of d'Ormesson, and in spite of the latter's protestations, he got down from the caleche, which then moved on a little way, so as toleave the road clear--for another carriage that was approaching from thedirection of the Bois. 

And thus it happened that when a few moments later that approachingcabriolet overtook and passed the halted vehicles, Andre-Louis beheld avery touching scene. Standing up to obtain a better view, he saw Alinein a half-swooning condition--she was beginning to revive by now--seatedin the doorway of the carriage, supported by Mme. De Plougastel. Inan attitude of deepest concern, M. De La Tour d'Azyr, his woundnotwithstanding, was bending over the girl, whilst behind him stood M. D'Ormesson and madame's footman. 

The Countess looked up and saw him as he was driven past. Her facelighted; almost it seemed to him she was about to greet him or to callhim, wherefore, to avoid a difficulty, arising out of the presence thereof his late antagonist, he anticipated her by bowing frigidly--for hismood was frigid, the more frigid by virtue of what he saw--and thenresumed his seat with eyes that looked deliberately ahead. 

Could anything more completely have confirmed him in his conviction thatit was on M. De La Tour d'Azyr's account that Aline had come to pleadwith him that morning? For what his eyes had seen, of course, was a ladyovercome with emotion at the sight of blood of her dear friend, and thatsame dear friend restoring her with assurances that his hurt was veryfar from mortal. Later, much later, he was to blame his own perversestupidity. Almost is he too severe in his self-condemnation. For howelse could he have interpreted the scene he beheld, his preconceptionsbeing what they were?

That which he had already been suspecting, he now accounted proven tohim. Aline had been wanting in candour on the subject of her feelingstowards M. De La Tour d'Azyr. It was, he supposed, a woman's way to besecretive in such matters, and he must not blame her. Nor could he blameher in his heart for having succumbed to the singular charm of such aman as the Marquis--for not even his hostility could blind him to M. DeLa Tour d'Azyr's attractions. That she had succumbed was betrayed, hethought, by the weakness that had overtaken her upon seeing him wounded. 

"My God!" he cried aloud. "What must she have suffered, then, if I hadkilled him as I intended!"

If only she had used candour with him, she could so easily have won hisconsent to the thing she asked. If only she had told him what now hesaw, that she loved M. De La Tour d'Azyr, instead of leaving him toassume her only regard for the Marquis to be based on unworthy worldlyambition, he would at once have yielded. 

He fetched a sigh, and breathed a prayer for forgiveness to the shade ofVilmorin. 

"It is perhaps as well that my lunge went wide, " he said. 

"What do you mean?" wondered Le Chapelier. 

"That in this business I must relinquish all hope of recommencing. "

CHAPTER XII. THE OVERWHELMING REASON

M. De La Tour d'Azyr was seen no more in the Manege--or indeed in Parisat all--throughout all the months that the National Assembly remained insession to complete its work of providing France with a constitution. After all, though the wound to his body had been comparatively slight, the wound to such a pride as his had been all but mortal. 

The rumour ran that he had emigrated. But that was only half the truth. The whole of it was that he had joined that group of noble travellerswho came and went between the Tuileries and the headquarters of theemigres at Coblenz. He became, in short, a member of the royalist secretservice that in the end was to bring down the monarchy in ruins. 

As for Andre-Louis, his godfather's house saw him no more, as a resultof his conviction that M. De Kercadiou would not relent from his writtenresolve never to receive him again if the duel were fought. 

He threw himself into his duties at the Assembly with such zeal andeffect that when--its purpose accomplished--the Constituent was dissolvedin September of the following year, membership of the Legislative, whoseelection followed immediately, was thrust upon him. 

He considered then, like many others, that the Revolution was a thingaccomplished, that France had only to govern herself by the Constitutionwhich had been given her, and that all would now be well. And so itmight have been but that the Court could not bring itself to accept thealtered state of things. As a result of its intrigues half Europe wasarming to hurl herself upon France, and her quarrel was the quarrel ofthe French King with his people. That was the horror at the root of allthe horrors that were to come. 

Of the counter-revolutionary troubles that were everywhere being stirredup by the clergy, none were more acute than those of Brittany, and, in view of the influence it was hoped he would wield in his nativeprovince, it was proposed to Andre-Louis by the Commission of Twelve, in the early days of the Girondin ministry, that he should go thither tocombat the unrest. He was desired to proceed peacefully, but his powerswere almost absolute, as is shown by the orders he carried--ordersenjoining all to render him assistance and warning those who mighthinder him that they would do so at their peril. 

He accepted the task, and he was one of the five plenipotentiariesdespatched on the same errand in that spring of 1792. It kept him absentfrom Paris for four months and might have kept him longer but that atthe beginning of August he was recalled. More imminent than any troublein Brittany was the trouble brewing in Paris itself; when the politicalsky was blacker than it had been since '89. Paris realized that the hourwas rapidly approaching which would see the climax of the long strugglebetween Equality and Privilege. And it was towards a city so disposedthat Andre-Louis came speeding from the West, to find there also theclimax of his own disturbed career. 

Mlle. De Kercadiou, too, was in Paris in those days of early August, ona visit to her uncle's cousin and dearest friend, Mme. De Plougastel. And although nothing could now be plainer than the seething unrestthat heralded the explosion to come, yet the air of gaiety, indeed ofjocularity, prevailing at Court--whither madame and mademoiselle wentalmost daily--reassured them. M. De Plougastel had come and gone again, back to Coblenz on that secret business that kept him now almostconstantly absent from his wife. But whilst with her he had positivelyassured her that all measures were taken, and that an insurrection wasa thing to be welcomed, because it could have one only conclusion, thefinal crushing of the Revolution in the courtyard of the Tuileries. That, he added, was why the King remained in Paris. But for hisconfidence in that he would put himself in the centre of his Swiss andhis knights of the dagger, and quit the capital. They would hack a wayout for him easily if his departure were opposed. But not even thatwould be necessary. 

Yet in those early days of August, after her husband's departure theeffect of his inspiring words was gradually dissipated by the marchof events under madame's own eyes. And finally on the afternoon of theninth, there arrived at the Hotel Plougastel a messenger fromMeudon bearing a note from M. De Kercadiou in which he urgentlybade mademoiselle join him there at once, and advised her hostess toaccompany her. 

You may have realized that M. De Kercadiou was of those who make friendswith men of all classes. His ancient lineage placed him on terms ofequality with members of the noblesse; his simple manners--somethingbetween the rustic and the bourgeois--and his natural affability placedhim on equally good terms with those who by birth were his inferiors. In Meudon he was known and esteemed of all the simple folk, and it wasRougane, the friendly mayor, who, informed on the 9th of August of thestorm that was brewing for the morrow, and knowing of mademoiselle'sabsence in Paris, had warningly advised him to withdraw her from what inthe next four-and-twenty hours might be a zone of danger for all personsof quality, particularly those suspected of connections with the Courtparty. 

Now there was no doubt whatever of Mme. De Plougastel's connection withthe Court. It was not even to be doubted--indeed, measure of proof ofit was to be forthcoming--that those vigilant and ubiquitous secretsocieties that watched over the cradle of the young revolution werefully informed of the frequent journeyings of M. De Plougastel toCoblenz, and entertained no illusions on the score of the reason forthem. Given, then, a defeat of the Court party in the struggle thatwas preparing, the position in Paris of Mme. De Plougastel could not beother than fraught with danger, and that danger would be shared by anyguest of birth at her hotel. 

M. De Kercadiou's affection for both those women quickened the fearsaroused in him by Rougane's warning. Hence that hastily dispatched note, desiring his niece and imploring his friend to come at once to Meudon. 

The friendly mayor carried his complaisance a step farther, anddispatched the letter to Paris by the hands of his own son, anintelligent lad of nineteen. It was late in the afternoon of thatperfect August day when young Rougane presented himself at the HotelPlougastel. 

He was graciously received by Mme. De Plougastel in the salon, whosesplendours, when combined with the great air of the lady herself, overwhelmed the lad's simple, unsophisticated soul. Madame made up hermind at once. 

M. De Kercadiou's urgent message no more than confirmed her own fearsand inclinations. She decided upon instant departure. 

"Bien, madame, " said the youth. "Then I have the honour to take myleave. "

But she would not let him go. First to the kitchen to refresh himself, whilst she and mademoiselle made ready, and then a seat for him in hercarriage as far as Meudon. She could not suffer him to return on foot ashe had come. 

Though in all the circumstances it was no more than his due, yet thekindliness that in such a moment of agitation could take thought foranother was presently to be rewarded. Had she done less than this, shewould have known--if nothing worse--at least some hours of anguish evengreater than those that were already in store for her. 

It wanted, perhaps, a half-hour to sunset when they set out in hercarriage with intent to leave Paris by the Porte Saint-Martin. They travelled with a single footman behind. Rougane--terrifyingcondescension--was given a seat inside the carriage with the ladies, andproceeded to fall in love with Mlle. De Kercadiou, whom he accounted themost beautiful being he had ever seen, yet who talked to him simply andunaffectedly as with an equal. The thing went to his head a little, anddisturbed certain republican notions which he had hitherto conceivedhimself to have thoroughly digested. 

The carriage drew up at the barrier, checked there by a picket of theNational Guard posted before the iron gates. 

The sergeant in command strode to the door of the vehicle. The Countessput her head from the window. 

"The barrier is closed, madame, " she was curtly informed. 

"Closed!" she echoed. The thing was incredible. "But... But do you meanthat we cannot pass?"

"Not unless you have a permit, madame. " The sergeant leaned nonchalantlyon his pike. "The orders are that no one is to leave or enter withoutproper papers. "

"Whose orders?"

"Orders of the Commune of Paris. "

"But I must go into the country this evening. " Madame's voice was almostpetulant. "I am expected. "

"In that case let madame procure a permit. "

"Where is it to be procured?"

"At the Hotel de Ville or at the headquarters of madame's section. "

She considered a moment. "To the section, then. Be so good as to tell mycoachman to drive to the Bondy Section. "

He saluted her and stepped back. "Section Bondy, Rue des Morts, " he badethe driver. 

Madame sank into her seat again, in a state of agitation fully sharedby mademoiselle. Rougane set himself to pacify and reassure them. Thesection would put the matter in order. They would most certainly beaccorded a permit. What possible reason could there be for refusingthem? A mere formality, after all!

His assurance uplifted them merely to prepare them for a still moreprofound dejection when presently they met with a flat refusal from thepresident of the section who received the Countess. 

"Your name, madame?" he had asked brusquely. A rude fellow of the mostadvanced republican type, he had not even risen out of deference tothe ladies when they entered. He was there, he would have told you, toperform the duties of his office, not to give dancing-lessons. 

"Plougastel, " he repeated after her, without title, as if it had beenthe name of a butcher or baker. He took down a heavy volume from a shelfon his right, opened it and turned the pages. It was a sort of directoryof his section. Presently he found what he sought. "Comte de Plougastel, Hotel Plougastel, Rue du Paradis. Is that it?"

"That is correct, monsieur, " she answered, with what civility she couldmuster before the fellow's affronting rudeness. 

There was a long moment of silence, during which he studied certainpencilled entries against the name. The sections had been working in thelast few weeks much more systematically than was generally suspected. 

"Your husband is with you, madame?" he asked curtly, his eyes stillconning that page. 

"M. Le Comte is not with me, " she answered, stressing the title. 

"Not with you?" He looked up suddenly, and directed upon her a glance inwhich suspicion seemed to blend with derision. "Where is he?"

"He is not in Paris, monsieur. 

"Ah! Is he at Coblenz, do you think?"

Madame felt herself turning cold. There was something ominous in allthis. To what end had the sections informed themselves so thoroughly ofthe comings and goings of their inhabitants? What was preparing? Shehad a sense of being trapped, of being taken in a net that had been castunseen. 

"I do not know, monsieur, " she said, her voice unsteady. 

"Of course not. " He seemed to sneer. "No matter. And you wish to leaveParis also? Where do you desire to go?"

"To Meudon. "

"Your business there?"

The blood leapt to her face. His insolence was unbearable to a woman whoin all her life had never known anything but the utmost deference frominferiors and equals alike. Nevertheless, realizing that she was faceto face with forces entirely new, she controlled herself, stifled herresentment, and answered steadily. 

"I wish to conduct this lady, Mlle. De Kercadiou, back to her uncle whoresides there. "

"Is that all? Another day will do for that, madame. The matter is notpressing. "

"Pardon, monsieur, to us the matter is very pressing. "

"You have not convinced me of it, and the barriers are closed to allwho cannot prove the most urgent and satisfactory reasons for wishingto pass. You will wait, madame, until the restriction is removed. Good-evening. "

"But, monsieur... "

"Good-evening, madame, " he repeated significantly, a dismissal morecontemptuous and despotic than any royal "You have leave to go. "

Madame went out with Aline. Both were quivering with the anger thatprudence had urged them to suppress. They climbed into the coach again, desiring to be driven home. 

Rougane's astonishment turned into dismay when they told him what hadtaken place. "Why not try the Hotel de Ville, madame?" he suggested. 

"After that? It would be useless. We must resign ourselves to remainingin Paris until the barriers are opened again. "

"Perhaps it will not matter to us either way by then, madame, " saidAline. 

"Aline!" she exclaimed in horror. 

"Mademoiselle!" cried Rougane on the same note. And then, because heperceived that people detained in this fashion must be in some dangernot yet discernible, but on that account more dreadful, he set his witsto work. As they were approaching the Hotel Plougastel once more, heannounced that he had solved the problem. 

"A passport from without would do equally well, " he announced. "Listen, now, and trust to me. I will go back to Meudon at once. My fathershall give me two permits--one for myself alone, and another for threepersons--from Meudon to Paris and back to Meudon. I reenter Paris with myown permit, which I then proceed to destroy, and we leave together, we three, on the strength of the other one, representing ourselves ashaving come from Meudon in the course of the day. It is quite simple, after all. If I go at once, I shall be back to-night. "

"But how will you leave?" asked Aline. 

"I? Pooh! As to that, have no anxiety. My father is Mayor of Meudon. There are plenty who know him. I will go to the Hotel de Ville, and tellthem what is, after all, true--that I am caught in Paris by the closingof the barriers, and that my father is expecting me home this evening. They will pass me through. It is quite simple. "

His confidence uplifted them again. The thing seemed as easy as herepresented it. 

"Then let your passport be for four, my friend, " madame begged him. "There is Jacques, " she explained, indicating the footman who had justassisted them to alight. 

Rougane departed confident of soon returning, leaving them to await himwith the same confidence. But the hours succeeded one another, the nightclosed in, bedtime came, and still there was no sign of his return. 

They waited until midnight, each pretending for the other's sake to aconfidence fully sustained, each invaded by vague premonitions of evil, yet beguiling the time by playing tric-trac in the great salon, as ifthey had not a single anxious thought between them. 

At last on the stroke of midnight, madame sighed and rose. 

"It will be for to-morrow morning, " she said, not believing it. 

"Of course, " Aline agreed. "It would really have been impossible forhim to have returned to-night. And it will be much better to travelto-morrow. The journey at so late an hour would tire you so much, dearmadame. "

Thus they made pretence. 

Early in the morning they were awakened by a din of bells--the tocsinsof the sections ringing the alarm. To their startled ears came later therolling of drums, and at one time they heard the sounds of a multitudeon the march. Paris was rising. Later still came the rattle ofsmall-arms in the distance and the deeper boom of cannon. Battle wasjoined between the men of the sections and the men of the Court. Thepeople in arms had attacked the Tuileries. Wildest rumours flew in alldirections, and some of them found their way through the servants to theHotel Plougastel, of that terrible fight for the palace which was to endin the purposeless massacre of all those whom the invertebrate monarchabandoned there, whilst placing himself and his family under theprotection of the Assembly. Purposeless to the end, ever adoptingthe course pointed out to him by evil counsellors, he prepared forresistance only until the need for resistance really arose, whereupon heordered a surrender which left those who had stood by him to the last atthe mercy of a frenzied mob. 

And while this was happening in the Tuileries, the two women at theHotel Plougastel still waited for the return of Rougane, though nowwith ever-lessening hope. And Rougane did not return. The affair didnot appear so simple to the father as to the son. Rougane the elder wasrightly afraid to lend himself to such a piece of deception. 

He went with his son to inform M. De Kercadiou of what had happened, andtold him frankly of the thing his son suggested, but which he dared notdo. 

M. De Kercadiou sought to move him by intercessions and even by theoffer of bribes. But Rougane remained firm. 

"Monsieur, " he said, "if it were discovered against me, as it inevitablywould be, I should hang for it. Apart from that, and in spite of myanxiety to do all in my power to serve you, it would be a breach oftrust such as I could not contemplate. You must not ask me, monsieur. "

"But what do you conceive is going to happen?" asked the half-dementedgentleman. 

"It is war, " said Rougane, who was well informed, as we have seen. "Warbetween the people and the Court. I am desolated that my warning shouldhave come too late. But, when all is said, I do not think that you needreally alarm yourself. War will not be made on women. " M. De Kercadiouclung for comfort to that assurance after the mayor and his son haddeparted. But at the back of his mind there remained the knowledgeof the traffic in which M. De Plougastel was engaged. What if therevolutionaries were equally well informed? And most probably they were. The women-folk political offenders had been known aforetime to sufferfor the sins of their men. Anything was possible in a popular upheaval, and Aline would be exposed jointly with Mme. De Plougastel. 

Late that night, as he sat gloomily in his brother's library, the pipein which he had sought solace extinguished between his fingers, therecame a sharp knocking at the door. 

To the old seneschal of Gavrillac who went to open there stood revealedupon the threshold a slim young man in a dark olive surcoat, the skirtsof which reached down to his calves. He wore boots, buckskins, and asmall-sword, and round his waist there was a tricolour sash, in his hata tricolour cockade, which gave him an official look extremely sinisterto the eyes of that old retainer of feudalism, who shared to the fullhis master's present fears. 

"Monsieur desires?" he asked, between respect and mistrust. 

And then a crisp voice startled him. 

"Why, Benoit! Name of a name! Have you completely forgotten me?"

With a shaking hand the old man raised the lantern he carried so as tothrow its light more fully upon that lean, wide-mouthed countenance. 

"M. Andre!" he cried. "M. Andre!" And then he looked at the sash and thecockade, and hesitated, apparently at a loss. 

But Andre-Louis stepped past him into the wide vestibule, with itstessellated floor of black-and-white marble. 

"If my godfather has not yet retired, take me to him. If he has retired, take me to him all the same. "

"Oh, but certainly, M. Andre--and I am sure he will be ravished to seeyou. No, he has not yet retired. This way, M. Andre; this way, if youplease. "

The returning Andre-Louis, reaching Meudon a half-hour ago, had gonestraight to the mayor for some definite news of what might be happeningin Paris that should either confirm or dispel the ominous rumours thathe had met in ever-increasing volume as he approached the capital. Rougane informed him that insurrection was imminent, that already thesections had possessed themselves of the barriers, and that it wasimpossible for any person not fully accredited to enter or leave thecity. 

Andre-Louis bowed his head, his thoughts of the gravest. He had forsome time perceived the danger of this second revolution from within thefirst, which might destroy everything that had been done, and give thereins of power to a villainous faction that would plunge the countryinto anarchy. The thing he had feared was more than ever on the pointof taking place. He would go on at once, that very night, and see forhimself what was happening. 

And then, as he was leaving, he turned again to Rougane to ask if M. DeKercadiou was still at Meudon. 

"You know him, monsieur?"

"He is my godfather. "

"Your godfather! And you a representative! Why, then, you may be thevery man he needs. " And Rougane told him of his son's errand into Paristhat afternoon and its result. 

No more was required. That two years ago his godfather should uponcertain terms have refused him his house weighed for nothing at themoment. He left his travelling carriage at the little inn and wentstraight to M. De Kercadiou. 

And M. De Kercadiou, startled in such an hour by this sudden apparition, of one against whom he nursed a bitter grievance, greeted him in termsalmost identical with those in which in that same room he had greetedhim on a similar occasion once before. 

"What do you want here, sir?"

"To serve you if possible, my godfather, " was the disarming answer. 

But it did not disarm M. De Kercadiou. "You have stayed away so longthat I hoped you would not again disturb me. "

"I should not have ventured to disobey you now were it not for the hopethat I can be of service. I have seen Rougane, the mayor... "

"What's that you say about not venturing to disobey?"

"You forbade me your house, monsieur. "

M. De Kercadiou stared at him helplessly. 

"And is that why you have not come near me in all this time?"

"Of course. Why else?"

M. De Kercadiou continued to stare. Then he swore under his breath. Itdisconcerted him to have to deal with a man who insisted upon takinghim so literally. He had expected that Andre-Louis would have comecontritely to admit his fault and beg to be taken back into favour. Hesaid so. 

"But how could I hope that you meant less than you said, monsieur?You were so very definite in your declaration. What expressions ofcontrition could have served me without a purpose of amendment? And Ihad no notion of amending. We may yet be thankful for that. "

"Thankful?"

"I am a representative. I have certain powers. I am very opportunelyreturning to Paris. Can I serve you where Rougane cannot? The need, monsieur, would appear to be very urgent if the half of what I suspectis true. Aline should be placed in safety at once. "

M. De Kercadiou surrendered unconditionally. He came over and tookAndre-Louis' hand. 

"My boy, " he said, and he was visibly moved, "there is in you a certainnobility that is not to be denied. If I seemed harsh with you, then, itwas because I was fighting against your evil proclivities. I desiredto keep you out of the evil path of politics that have brought thisunfortunate country into so terrible a pass. The enemy on the frontier;civil war about to flame out at home. That is what you revolutionarieshave done. "

Andre-Louis did not argue. He passed on. 

"About Aline?" he asked. And himself answered his own question: "She isin Paris, and she must be brought out of it at once, before the placebecomes a shambles, as well it may once the passions that have beenbrewing all these months are let loose. Young Rougane's plan is good. Atleast, I cannot think of a better one. "

"But Rougane the elder will not hear of it. "

"You mean he will not do it on his own responsibility. But he hasconsented to do it on mine. I have left him a note over my signature tothe effect that a safe-conduct for Mlle. De Kercadiou to go to Paris andreturn is issued by him in compliance with orders from me. The powers Icarry and of which I have satisfied him are his sufficient justificationfor obeying me in this. I have left him that note on the understandingthat he is to use it only in an extreme case, for his own protection. Inexchange he has given me this safe-conduct. "

"You already have it!"

M. De Kercadiou took the sheet of paper that Andre-Louis held out. Hishand shook. He approached it to the cluster of candles burning on theconsole and screwed up his short-sighted eyes to read. 

"If you send that to Paris by young Rougane in the morning, " saidAndre-Louis, "Aline should be here by noon. Nothing, of course, couldbe done to-night without provoking suspicion. The hour is too late. Andnow, monsieur my godfather, you know exactly why I intrude in violationof your commands. If there is any other way in which I can serve you, you have but to name it whilst I am here. "

"But there is, Andre. Did not Rougane tell you that there wereothers... "

"He mentioned Mme. De Plougastel and her servant. "

"Then why... ?" M. De Kercadiou broke off, looking his question. 

Very solemnly Andre-Louis shook his head. 

"That is impossible, " he said. 

M. De Kercadiou's mouth fell open in astonishment. "Impossible!" herepeated. "But why?"

"Monsieur, I can do what I am doing for Aline without offending myconscience. Besides, for Aline I would offend my conscience and do it. But Mme. De Plougastel is in very different case. Neither Aline nor anyof hers have been concerned in counter-revolutionary work, which is thetrue source of the calamity that now threatens to overtake us. I canprocure her removal from Paris without self-reproach, convinced that Iam doing nothing that any one could censure, or that might become thesubject of enquiries. But Mme. De Plougastel is the wife of M. Le Comtede Plougastel, whom all the world knows to be an agent between the Courtand the emigres. "

"That is no fault of hers, " cried M. De Kercadiou through hisconsternation. 

"Agreed. But she may be called upon at any moment to establish the factthat she is not a party to these manoeuvres. It is known that she was inParis to-day. Should she be sought to-morrow and should it be foundthat she has gone, enquiries will certainly be made, from which it mustresult that I have betrayed my trust, and abused my powers to servepersonal ends. I hope, monsieur, that you will understand that the riskis too great to be run for the sake of a stranger. "

"A stranger?" said the Seigneur reproachfully. 

"Practically a stranger to me, " said Andre-Louis. 

"But she is not a stranger to me, Andre. She is my cousin and very dearand valued friend. And, mon Dieu, what you say but increases theurgency of getting her out of Paris. She must be rescued, Andre, at allcosts--she must be rescued! Why, her case is infinitely more urgent thanAline's!"

He stood a suppliant before his godson, very different now from thestern man who had greeted him on his arrival. His face was pale, hishands shook, and there were beads of perspiration on his brow. 

"Monsieur my godfather, I would do anything in reason. But I cannot dothis. To rescue her might mean ruin for Aline and yourself as well asfor me. "

"We must take the risk. "

"You have a right to speak for yourself, of course. "

"Oh, and for you, believe me, Andre, for you!" He came close to theyoung man. "Andre, I implore you to take my word for that, and to obtainthis permit for Mme. De Plougastel. "

Andre looked at him mystified. "This is fantastic, " he said. "I havegrateful memories of the lady's interest in me for a few days oncewhen I was a child, and again more recently in Paris when she sought toconvert me to what she accounts the true political religion. But I donot risk my neck for her--no, nor yours, nor Aline's. "

"Ah! But, Andre... "

"That is my last word, monsieur. It is growing late, and I desire tosleep in Paris. "

"No, no! Wait!" The Lord of Gavrillac was displaying signs ofunspeakable distress. "Andre, you must!"

There was in this insistence and, still more, in the frenzied manner ofit, something so unreasonable that Andre could not fail to assume thatsome dark and mysterious motive lay behind it. 

"I must?" he echoed. "Why must I? Your reasons, monsieur?"

"Andre, my reasons are overwhelming. "

"Pray allow me to be the judge of that. " Andre-Louis' manner was almostperemptory. 

The demand seemed to reduce M. De Kercadiou to despair. He paced theroom, his hands tight-clasped behind him, his brow wrinkled. At last hecame to stand before his godson. 

"Can't you take my word for it that these reasons exist?" he cried inanguish. 

"In such a matter as this--a matter that may involve my neck? Oh, monsieur, is that reasonable?"

"I violate my word of honour, my oath, if I tell you. " M. De Kercadiouturned away, wringing his hands, his condition visibly piteous; thenturned again to Andre. "But in this extremity, in this desperateextremity, and since you so ungenerously insist, I shall have to tellyou. God help me, I have no choice. She will realize that when sheknows. Andre, my boy... " He paused again, a man afraid. He set a handon his godson's shoulder, and to his increasing amazement Andre-Louisperceived that over those pale, short-sighted eyes there was a film oftears. "Mme. De Plougastel is your mother. "

Followed, for a long moment, utter silence. This thing that he wastold was not immediately understood. When understanding came at lastAndre-Louis' first impulse was to cry out. But he possessed himself, and played the Stoic. He must ever be playing something. That was in hisnature. And he was true to his nature even in this supreme moment. Hecontinued silent until, obeying that queer histrionic instinct, he couldtrust himself to speak without emotion. "I see, " he said, at last, quitecoolly. 

His mind was sweeping back over the past. Swiftly he reviewed hismemories of Mme. De Plougastel, her singular if sporadic interest inhim, the curious blend of affection and wistfulness which her mannertowards him had always presented, and at last he understood so much thathitherto had intrigued him. 

"I see, " he said again; and added now, "Of course, any but a fool wouldhave guessed it long ago. "

It was M. De Kercadiou who cried out, M. De Kercadiou who recoiled asfrom a blow. 

"My God, Andre, of what are you made? You can take such an announcementin this fashion?"

"And how would you have me take it? Should it surprise me to discoverthat I had a mother? After all, a mother is an indispensable necessityto getting one's self born. "

He sat down abruptly, to conceal the too-revealing fact that his limbswere shaking. He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket to mop hisbrow, which had grown damp. And then, quite suddenly, he found himselfweeping. 

At the sight of those tears streaming silently down that face that hadturned so pale, M. De Kercadiou came quickly across to him. He sat downbeside him and threw an arm affectionately over his shoulder. 

"Andre, my poor lad, " he murmured. "I... I was fool enough to think youhad no heart. You deceived me with your infernal pretence, and now Isee... I see... " He was not sure what it was that he saw, or else hehesitated to express it. 

"It is nothing, monsieur. I am tired out, and... And I have a cold inthe head. " And then, finding the part beyond his power, he abruptlythrew it up, utterly abandoned all pretence. "Why... Why has there beenall this mystery?" he asked. "Was it intended that I should never know?"

"It was, Andre. It... It had to be, for prudence' sake. "

"But why? Complete your confidence, sir. Surely you cannot leave itthere. Having told me so much, you must tell me all. "

"The reason, my boy, is that you were born some three years after yourmother's marriage with M. De Plougastel, some eighteen months after M. De Plougastel had been away with the army, and some four months beforehis return to his wife. It is a matter that M. De Plougastel has neversuspected, and for gravest family reasons must never suspect. That iswhy the utmost secrecy has been preserved. That is why none was everallowed to know. Your mother came betimes into Brittany, and under anassumed name spent some months in the village of Moreau. It was whileshe was there that you were born. "

Andre-Louis turned it over in his mind. He had dried his tears. And satnow rigid and collected. 

"When you say that none was ever allowed to know, you are telling me, ofcourse, that you, monsieur... "

"Oh, mon Dieu, no!" The denial came in a violent outburst. M. DeKercadiou sprang to his feet propelled from Andre's side by the violenceof his emotions. It was as if the very suggestion filled him withhorror. "I was the only other one who knew. But it is not as you think, Andre. You cannot imagine that I should lie to you, that I should denyyou if you were my son?"

"If you say that I am not, monsieur, that is sufficient. "

"You are not. I was Therese's cousin and also, as she well knew, hertruest friend. She knew that she could trust me; and it was to me shecame for help in her extremity. Once, years before, I would have marriedher. But, of course, I am not the sort of man a woman could love. Shetrusted, however, to my love for her, and I have kept her trust. "

"Then, who was my father?"

"I don't know. She never told me. It was her secret, and I did not pry. It is not in my nature, Andre. "

Andre-Louis got up, and stood silently facing M. De Kercadiou. 

"You believe me, Andre. "

"Naturally, monsieur; and I am sorry, I am sorry that I am not yourson. "

M. De Kercadiou gripped his godson's hand convulsively, and held ita moment with no word spoken. Then as they fell away from each otheragain:

"And now, what will you do, Andre?" he asked. "Now that you know?"

Andre-Louis stood awhile, considering, then broke into laughter. Thesituation had its humours. He explained them. 

"What difference should the knowledge make? Is filial piety to be calledinto existence by the mere announcement of relationship? Am I to riskmy neck through lack of circumspection on behalf of a mother so verycircumspect that she had no intention of ever revealing herself? Thediscovery rests upon the merest chance, upon a fall of the dice of Fate. Is that to weigh with me?"

"The decision is with you, Andre. "

"Nay, it is beyond me. Decide it who can, I cannot. "

"You mean that you refuse even now?"

"I mean that I consent. Since I cannot decide what it is that I shoulddo, it only remains for me to do what a son should. It is grotesque; butall life is grotesque. "

"You will never, never regret it. "

"I hope not, " said Andre. "Yet I think it very likely that I shall. And now I had better see Rougane again at once, and obtain from him theother two permits required. Then perhaps it will be best that I takethem to Paris myself, in the morning. If you will give me a bed, monsieur, I shall be grateful. I... I confess that I am hardly in caseto do more to-night. "

CHAPTER XIII. SANCTUARY

Into the late afternoon of that endless day of horror with its perpetualalarms, its volleying musketry, rolling drums, and distant mutteringof angry multitudes, Mme. De Plougastel and Aline sat waiting in thathandsome house in the Rue du Paradis. It was no longer for Rougane theywaited. They realized that, be the reason what it might--and by now manyreasons must no doubt exist--this friendly messenger would not return. They waited without knowing for what. They waited for whatever mightbetide. 

At one time early in the afternoon the roar of battle approached them, racing swiftly in their direction, swelling each moment in volume and inhorror. It was the frenzied clamour of a multitude drunk with blood andbent on destruction. Near at hand that fierce wave of humanity checkedin its turbulent progress. Followed blows of pikes upon a door andimperious calls to open, and thereafter came the rending of timbers, the shivering of glass, screams of terror blending with screams of rage, and, running through these shrill sounds, the deeper diapason of bestiallaughter. 

It was a hunt of two wretched Swiss guardsmen seeking blindly to escape. And they were run to earth in a house in the neighbourhood, and therecruelly done to death by that demoniac mob. The thing accomplished, thehunters, male and female, forming into a battalion, came swinging downthe Rue du Paradis, chanting the song of Marseilles--a song new to Parisin those days:

 Allons, enfants de la patrie! Le jour de gloire est arrive Contre nous de la tyrannie L'etendard sanglant est leve. 

Nearer it came, raucously bawled by some hundreds of voices, a dreadsound that had come so suddenly to displace at least temporarilythe merry, trivial air of the "Ca ira!" which hitherto had been therevolutionary carillon. Instinctively Mme. De Plougastel and Aline clungto each other. They had heard the sound of the ravishing of that otherhouse in the neighbourhood, without knowledge of the reason. What if nowit should be the turn of the Hotel Plougastel! There was no realcause to fear it, save that amid a turmoil imperfectly understood andtherefore the more awe-inspiring, the worst must be feared always. 

The dreadful song so dreadfully sung, and the thunder of heavily shodfeet upon the roughly paved street, passed on and receded. They breathedagain, almost as if a miracle had saved them, to yield to fresh alarm aninstant later, when madame's young footman, Jacques, the most trustedof her servants, burst into their presence unceremoniously with a scaredface, bringing the announcement that a man who had just climbed over thegarden wall professed himself a friend of madame's, and desired to bebrought immediately to her presence. 

"But he looks like a sansculotte, madame, " the staunch fellow warnedher. 

Her thoughts and hopes leapt at once to Rougane. 

"Bring him in, " she commanded breathlessly. 

Jacques went out, to return presently accompanied by a tall man in along, shabby, and very ample overcoat and a wide-brimmed hat that wasturned down all round, and adorned by an enormous tricolour cockade. This hat he removed as he entered. 

Jacques, standing behind him, perceived that his hair, although nowin some disorder, bore signs of having been carefully dressed. It wasclubbed, and it carried some lingering vestiges of powder. The youngfootman wondered what it was in the man's face, which was turned fromhim, that should cause his mistress to out and recoil. Then he foundhimself dismissed abruptly by a gesture. 

The newcomer advanced to the middle of the salon, moving like a manexhausted and breathing hard. There he leaned against a table, acrosswhich he confronted Mme. De Plougastel. And she stood regarding him, astrange horror in her eyes. 

In the background, on a settle at the salon's far end, sat Aline staringin bewilderment and some fear at a face which, if unrecognizable throughthe mask of blood and dust that smeared it, was yet familiar. And thenthe man spoke, and instantly she knew the voice for that of the Marquisde La Tour d'Azyr. 

"My dear friend, " he was saying, "forgive me if I startled you. Forgiveme if I thrust myself in here without leave, at such a time, in such amanner. But... You see how it is with me. I am a fugitive. In the courseof my distracted flight, not knowing which way to turn for safety, Ithought of you. I told myself that if I could but safely reach yourhouse, I might find sanctuary. "

"You are in danger?"

"In danger?" Almost he seemed silently to laugh at the unnecessaryquestion. "If I were to show myself openly in the streets just now, Imight with luck contrive to live for five minutes! My friend, it hasbeen a massacre. Some few of us escaped from the Tuileries at the end, to be hunted to death in the streets. I doubt if by this time a singleSwiss survives. They had the worst of it, poor devils. And as for us--myGod! They hate us more than they hate the Swiss. Hence this filthydisguise. "

He peeled off the shaggy greatcoat, and casting it from him steppedforth in the black satin that had been the general livery of the hundredknights of the dagger who had rallied in the Tuileries that morning tothe defence of their king. 

His coat was rent across the back, his neckcloth and the ruffles at hiswrists were torn and bloodstained; with his smeared face and disorderedheaddress he was terrible to behold. Yet he contrived to carry himselfwith his habitual easy assurance, remembered to kiss the trembling handwhich Mme. De Plougastel extended to him in welcome. 

"You did well to come to me, Gervais, " she said. "Yes, here is sanctuaryfor the present. You will be quite safe, at least for as long as we aresafe. My servants are entirely trustworthy. Sit down and tell me all. "

He obeyed her, collapsing almost into the armchair which shethrust forward, a man exhausted, whether by physical exertion or bynerve-strain, or both. He drew a handkerchief from his pocket and wipedsome of the blood and dirt from his face. 

"It is soon told. " His tone was bitter with the bitterness of despair. "This, my dear, is the end of us. Plougastel is lucky in being acrossthe frontier at such a time. Had I not been fool enough to trust thosewho to-day have proved themselves utterly unworthy of trust, that iswhere I should be myself. My remaining in Paris is the crowning follyof a life full of follies and mistakes. That I should come to you inmy hour of most urgent need adds point to it. " He laughed in hisbitterness. 

Madame moistened her dry lips. "And... And now?" she asked him. 

"It only remains to get away as soon as may be, if it is still possible. Here in France there is no longer any room for us--at least, not aboveground. To-day has proved it. " And then he looked up at her, standingthere beside him so pale and timid, and he smiled. He patted the finehand that rested upon the arm of his chair. "My dear Therese, unless youcarry charitableness to the length of giving me to drink, you willsee me perish of thirst under your eyes before ever the canaille has achance to finish me. "

She started. "I should have thought of it!" she cried in self-reproach, and she turned quickly. "Aline, " she begged, "tell Jacques to bring... "

"Aline!" he echoed, interrupting, and swinging round in his turn. Then, as Aline rose into view, detaching from her background, and he at lastperceived her, he heaved himself abruptly to his weary legs again, andstood there stiffly bowing to her across the space of gleaming floor. "Mademoiselle, I had not suspected your presence, " he said, and heseemed extraordinarily ill-at-ease, a man startled, as if caught in anillicit act. 

"I perceived it, monsieur, " she answered, as she advanced to do madame'scommission. She paused before him. "From my heart, monsieur, I grievethat we should meet again in circumstances so very painful. "

Not since the day of his duel with Andre-Louis--the day which had seenthe death and burial of his last hope of winning her--had they stood faceto face. 

He checked as if on the point of answering her. His glance strayed toMme. De Plougastel, and, oddly reticent for one who could be very glib, he bowed in silence. 

"But sit, monsieur, I beg. You are fatigued. "

"You are gracious to observe it. With your permission, then. " And heresumed his seat. She continued on her way to the door and passed outupon her errand. 

When presently she returned they had almost unaccountably changedplaces. It was Mme. De Plougastel who was seated in that armchair ofbrocade and gilt, and M. De La Tour d'Azyr who, despite his lassitude, was leaning over the back of it talking earnestly, seeming by hisattitude to plead with her. On Aline's entrance he broke off instantlyand moved away, so that she was left with a sense of having intruded. Further she observed that the Countess was in tears. 

Following her came presently the diligent Jacques, bearing a tray ladenwith food and wine. Madame poured for her guest, and he drank a longdraught of the Burgundy, then begged, holding forth his grimy hands, that he might mend his appearance before sitting down to eat. 

He was led away and valeted by Jacques, and when he returned he hadremoved from his person the last vestige of the rough handling he hadreceived. He looked almost his normal self, the disorder in his attirerepaired, calm and dignified and courtly in his bearing, but very paleand haggard of face, seeming suddenly to have increased in years, tohave reached in appearance the age that was in fact his own. 

As he ate and drank--and this with appetite, for as he told them he hadnot tasted food since early morning--he entered into the details of thedreadful events of the day, and gave them the particulars of his ownescape from the Tuileries when all was seen to be lost and when theSwiss, having burnt their last cartridge, were submitting to wholesalemassacre at the hands of the indescribably furious mob. 

"Oh, it was all most ill done, " he ended critically. "We were timid whenwe should have been resolute, and resolute at last when it was too late. That is the history of our side from the beginning of this accursedstruggle. We have lacked proper leadership throughout, and now--as I havesaid already--there is an end to us. It but remains to escape, as soon aswe can discover how the thing is to be accomplished. "

Madame told him of the hopes that she had centred upon Rougane. 

It lifted him out of his gloom. He was disposed to be optimistic. 

"You are wrong to have abandoned that hope, " he assured her. "If thismayor is so well disposed, he certainly can do as his son promised. Butlast night it would have been too late for him to have reached you, andto-day, assuming that he had come to Paris, almost impossible for himto win across the streets from the other side. It is most likely that hewill yet come. I pray that he may; for the knowledge that you and Mlle. De Kercadiou are out of this would comfort me above all. "

"We should take you with us, " said madame. 

"Ah! But how?"

"Young Rougane was to bring me permits for three persons--Aline, myself, and my footman, Jacques. You would take the place of Jacques. "

"Faith, to get out of Paris, madame, there is no man whose place I wouldnot take. " And he laughed. 

Their spirits rose with his and their flagging hopes revived. But asdusk descended again upon the city, without any sign of the delivererthey awaited, those hopes began to ebb once more. 

M. De La Tour d'Azyr at last pleaded weariness, and begged to bepermitted to withdraw that he might endeavour to take some rest againstwhatever might have to be faced in the immediate future. When he hadgone, madame persuaded Aline to go and lie down. 

"I will call you, my dear, the moment he arrives, " she said, bravelymaintaining that pretence of a confidence that had by now entirelyevaporated. 

Aline kissed her affectionately, and departed, outwardly so calm andunperturbed as to leave the Countess wondering whether she realized theperil by which they were surrounded, a peril infinitely increased by thepresence in that house of a man so widely known and detested as M. De LaTour d'Azyr, a man who was probably being sought for by his enemies atthis moment. 

Left alone, madame lay down on a couch in the salon itself, to beready for any emergency. It was a hot summer night, and the glass doorsopening upon the luxuriant garden stood wide to admit the air. On thatair came intermittently from the distance sounds of the continuinghorrible activities of the populace, the aftermath of that bloody day. 

Mme. De Plougastel lay there, listening to those sounds for upwards ofan hour, thanking Heaven that for the present at least the disturbanceswere distant, dreading lest at any moment they should occur nearer athand, lest this Bondy section in which her hotel was situated shouldbecome the scene of horrors similar to those whose echoes reached herears from other sections away to the south and west. 

The couch occupied by the Countess lay in shadow; for all the lights inthat long salon had been extinguished with the exception of a clusterof candles in a massive silver candle branch placed on a round marquetrytable in the middle of the room--an island of light in the surroundinggloom. 

The timepiece on the overmantel chimed melodiously the hour of ten, and then, startling in the suddenness with which it broke the immediatesilence, another sound vibrated through the house, and brought madameto her feet, in a breathless mingling of hope and dread. Some onewas knocking sharply on the door below. Followed moments of agonizedsuspense, culminating in the abrupt invasion of the room by the footmanJacques. He looked round, not seeing his mistress at first. 

"Madame! Madame!" he panted, out of breath. 

"What is it, Jacques!" Her voice was steady now that the need forself-control seemed thrust upon her. She advanced from the shadowsinto that island of light about the table. "There is a man below. He isasking... He is demanding to see you at once. "

"A man?" she questioned. 

"He... He seems to be an official; at least he wears the sash of office. And he refuses to give any name; he says that his name would conveynothing to you. He insists that he must see you in person and at once. "

"An official?" said madame. 

"An official, " Jacques repeated. "I would not have admitted him, butthat he demanded it in the name of the Nation. Madame, it is for you tosay what shall be done. Robert is with me. If you wish it... Whatever itmay be... "

"My good Jacques, no, no. " She was perfectly composed. "If this manintended evil, surely he would not come alone. Conduct him to me, andthen beg Mlle. De Kercadiou to join me if she is awake. "

Jacques departed, himself partly reassured. Madame seated herself in thearmchair by the table well within the light. She smoothed her dress witha mechanical hand. If, as it would seem, her hopes had been futile, sohad her momentary fears. A man on any but an errand of peace would havebrought some following with him, as she had said. 

The door opened again, and Jacques reappeared; after him, steppingbriskly past him, came a slight man in a wide-brimmed hat, adorned by atricolour cockade. About the waist of an olive-green riding-coat he worea broad tricolour sash; a sword hung at his side. 

He swept off his hat, and the candlelight glinted on the steel buckle infront of it. Madame found herself silently regarded by a pair of large, dark eyes set in a lean, brown face, eyes that were most singularlyintent and searching. 

She leaned forward, incredulity swept across her countenance. Then hereyes kindled, and the colour came creeping back into her pale cheeks. She rose suddenly. She was trembling. 

"Andre-Louis!" she exclaimed. 

CHAPTER XIV. THE BARRIER

That gift of laughter of his seemed utterly extinguished. For once therewas no gleam of humour in those dark eyes, as they continued to considerher with that queer stare of scrutiny. And yet, though his gaze wassombre, his thoughts were not. With his cruelly true mental vision whichpierced through shams, and his capacity for detached observation--whichproperly applied might have carried him very far, indeed--he perceivedthe grotesqueness, the artificiality of the emotion which in that momenthe experienced, but by which he refused to be possessed. It sprangentirely from the consciousness that she was his mother; as if, allthings considered, the more or less accidental fact that she had broughthim into the world could establish between them any real bond at thistime of day! The motherhood that bears and forsakes is less than animal. He had considered this; he had been given ample leisure in which toconsider it during those long, turbulent hours in which he had beenforced to wait, because it would have been almost impossible to have wonacross that seething city, and certainly unwise to have attempted so todo. 

He had reached the conclusion that by consenting to go to her rescueat such a time he stood committed to a piece of purely sentimentalquixotry. The quittances which the Mayor of Meudon had exacted from himbefore he would issue the necessary safe-conducts placed the whole ofhis future, perhaps his very life, in jeopardy. And he had consented todo this not for the sake of a reality, but out of regard for an idea--hewho all his life had avoided the false lure of worthless and hollowsentimentality. 

Thus thought Andre-Louis as he considered her now so searchingly, finding it, naturally enough, a matter of extraordinary interest tolook consciously upon his mother for the first time at the age ofeight-and-twenty. 

From her he looked at last at Jacques, who remained at attention, waiting by the open door. 

"Could we be alone, madame?" he asked her. 

She waved the footman away, and the door closed. In agitated silence, unquestioning, she waited for him to account for his presence there atso extraordinary a time. 

"Rougane could not return, " he informed her shortly. "At M. DeKercadiou's request, I come instead. "

"You! You are sent to rescue us!" The note of amazement in her voice wasstronger than that of her relief. 

"That, and to make your acquaintance, madame. "

"To make my acquaintance? But what do you mean, Andre-Louis?"

"This letter from M. De Kercadiou will tell you. " Intrigued by his oddwords and odder manner, she took the folded sheet. She broke the sealwith shaking hands, and with shaking hands approached the written pageto the light. Her eyes grew troubled as she read; the shaking of herhands increased, and midway through that reading a moan escaped her. One glance that was almost terror she darted at the slim, straight manstanding so incredibly impassive upon the edge of the light, andthen she endeavoured to read on. But the crabbed characters of M. DeKercadiou swam distortedly under her eyes. She could not read. Besides, what could it matter what else he said. She had read enough. The sheetfluttered from her hands to the table, and out of a face that was like aface of wax, she looked now with a wistfulness, a sadness indescribable, at Andre-Louis. 

"And so you know, my child?" Her voice was stifled to a whisper. 

"I know, madame my mother. "

The grimness, the subtle blend of merciless derision and reproach inwhich it was uttered completely escaped her. She cried out at the newname. For her in that moment time and the world stood still. Her perilthere in Paris as the wife of an intriguer at Coblenz was blotted out, together with every other consideration--thrust out of a consciousnessthat could find room for nothing else beside the fact that she stoodacknowledged by her only son, this child begotten in adultery, bornefurtively and in shame in a remote Brittany village eight-and-twentyyears ago. Not even a thought for the betrayal of that inviolablesecret, or the consequences that might follow, could she spare in thissupreme moment. 

She took one or two faltering steps towards him, hesitating. Then sheopened her arms. Sobs suffocated her voice. 

"Won't you come to me, Andre-Louis?"

A moment yet he stood hesitating, startled by that appeal, angeredalmost by his heart's response to it, reason and sentiment at gripsin his soul. This was not real, his reason postulated; this poignantemotion that she displayed and that he experienced was fantastic. Yet hewent. Her arms enfolded him; her wet cheek was pressed hard against hisown; her frame, which the years had not yet succeeded in robbing of itsgrace, was shaken by the passionate storm within her. 

"Oh, Andre-Louis, my child, if you knew how I have hungered to hold youso! If you knew how in denying myself this I have atoned and suffered!Kercadiou should not have told you--not even now. It was wrong--mostwrong, perhaps, to you. It would have been better that he should haveleft me here to my fate, whatever that may be. And yet--come what may ofthis--to be able to hold you so, to be able to acknowledge you, to hearyou call me mother--oh! Andre-Louis, I cannot now regret it. I cannot... I cannot wish it otherwise. "

"Is there any need, madame?" he asked her, his stoicism deeply shaken. "There is no occasion to take others into our confidence. This is forto-night alone. To-night we are mother and son. To-morrow we resume ourformer places, and, outwardly at least, forget. "

"Forget? Have you no heart, Andre-Louis?"

The question recalled him curiously to his attitude towards life--thathistrionic attitude of his that he accounted true philosophy. Also heremembered what lay before them; and he realized that he must master notonly himself but her; that to yield too far to sentiment at such a timemight be the ruin of them all. 

"It is a question propounded to me so often that it must contain thetruth, " said he. "My rearing is to blame for that. "

She tightened her clutch about his neck even as he would have attemptedto disengage himself from her embrace. 

"You do not blame me for your rearing? Knowing all, as you do, Andre-Louis, you cannot altogether blame. You must be merciful to me. You must forgive me. You must! I had no choice. "

"When we know all of whatever it may be, we can never do anything butforgive, madame. That is the profoundest religious truth that was everwritten. It contains, in fact, a whole religion--the noblest religionany man could have to guide him. I say this for your comfort, madame mymother. "

She sprang away from him with a startled cry. Beyond him in the shadowsby the door a pale figure shimmered ghostly. It advanced into the light, and resolved itself into Aline. She had come in answer to that forgottensummons madame had sent her by Jacques. Entering unperceived she hadseen Andre-Louis in the embrace of the woman whom he addressed as"mother. " She had recognized him instantly by his voice, and she couldnot have said what bewildered her more: his presence there or the thingshe overheard. 

"You heard, Aline?" madame exclaimed. 

"I could not help it, madame. You sent for me. I am sorry if... " Shebroke off, and looked at Andre-Louis long and curiously. She was pale, but quite composed. She held out her hand to him. "And so you have comeat last, Andre, " said she. "You might have come before. "

"I come when I am wanted, " was his answer. "Which is the only time inwhich one can be sure of being received. " He said it without bitterness, and having said it stooped to kiss her hand. 

"You can forgive me what is past, I hope, since I failed of my purpose, "he said gently, half-pleading. "I could not have come to you pretendingthat the failure was intentional--a compromise between the necessities ofthe case and your own wishes. For it was not that. And yet, you do notseem to have profited by my failure. You are still a maid. "

She turned her shoulder to him. 

"There are things, " she said, "that you will never understand. "

"Life, for one, " he acknowledged. "I confess that I am finding itbewildering. The very explanations calculated to simplify it seem but tocomplicate it further. " And he looked at Mme. De Plougastel. 

"You mean something, I suppose, " said mademoiselle. 

"Aline!" It was the Countess who spoke. She knew the danger ofhalf-discoveries. "I can trust you, child, I know, and Andre-Louis, I amsure, will offer no objection. " She had taken up the letter to show itto Aline. Yet first her eyes questioned him. 

"Oh, none, madame, " he assured her. "It is entirely a matter foryourself. "

Aline looked from one to the other with troubled eyes, hesitating totake the letter that was now proffered. When she had read it through, she very thoughtfully replaced it on the table. A moment she stood therewith bowed head, the other two watching her. Then impulsively she ran tomadame and put her arms about her. 

"Aline!" It was a cry of wonder, almost of joy. "You do not utterlyabhor me!"

"My dear, " said Aline, and kissed the tear-stained face that seemed tohave grown years older in these last few hours. 

In the background Andre-Louis, steeling himself against emotionalism, spoke with the voice of Scaramouche. 

"It would be well, mesdames, to postpone all transports until they canbe indulged at greater leisure and in more security. It is growing late. If we are to get out of this shambles we should be wise to take the roadwithout more delay. "

It was a tonic as effective as it was necessary. It startled them intoremembrance of their circumstances, and under the spur of it they wentat once to make their preparations. 

They left him for perhaps a quarter of an hour, to pace that long roomalone, saved only from impatience by the turmoil of his mind. Whenat length they returned, they were accompanied by a tall man in afull-skirted shaggy greatcoat and a broad hat the brim of which wasturned down all around. He remained respectfully by the door in theshadows. 

Between them the two women had concerted it thus, or rather the Countesshad so concerted it when Aline had warned her that Andre-Louis' bitterhostility towards the Marquis made it unthinkable that he should move afinger consciously to save him. 

Now despite the close friendship uniting M. De Kercadiou and his niecewith Mme. De Plougastel, there were several matters concerning them ofwhich the Countess was in ignorance. One of these was the project at onetime existing of a marriage between Aline and M. De La Tour d'Azyr. It was a matter that Aline--naturally enough in the state of herfeelings--had never mentioned, nor had M. De Kercadiou ever alluded to itsince his coming to Meudon, by when he had perceived how unlikely it wasever to be realized. 

M. De La Tour d'Azyr's concern for Aline on that morning of the duelwhen he had found her half-swooning in Mme. De Plougastel's carriage hadbeen of a circumspection that betrayed nothing of his real interest inher, and therefore had appeared no more than natural in one who mustaccount himself the cause of her distress. Similarly Mme. De Plougastelhad never realized nor did she realize now--for Aline did not troublefully to enlighten her--that the hostility between the two men was otherthan political, the quarrel other than that which already had takenAndre-Louis to the Bois on every day of the preceding week. But, atleast, she realized that even if Andre-Louis' rancour should have noother source, yet that inconclusive duel was cause enough for Aline'sfears. 

And so she had proposed this obvious deception; and Aline had consentedto be a passive party to it. They had made the mistake of not fullyforewarning and persuading M. De La Tour d'Azyr. They had trustedentirely to his anxiety to escape from Paris to keep him rigidly withinthe part imposed upon him. They had reckoned without the queer senseof honour that moved such men as M. Le Marquis, nurtured upon a code ofshams. 

Andre-Louis, turning to scan that muffled figure, advanced from thedark depths of the salon. As the light beat on his white, lean face thepseudo-footman started. The next moment he too stepped forward intothe light, and swept his broad-brimmed hat from his brow. As he did soAndre-Louis observed that his hand was fine and white and that ajewel flashed from one of the fingers. Then he caught his breath, andstiffened in every line as he recognized the face revealed to him. 

"Monsieur, " that stern, proud man was saying, "I cannot take advantageof your ignorance. If these ladies can persuade you to save me, at leastit is due to you that you shall know whom you are saving. "

He stood there by the table very erect and dignified, ready to perish ashe had lived--if perish he must--without fear and without deception. 

Andre-Louis came slowly forward until he reached the table on the otherside, and then at last the muscles of his set face relaxed, and helaughed. 

"You laugh?" said M. De La Tour d'Azyr, frowning, offended. 

"It is so damnably amusing, " said Andre-Louis. 

"You've an odd sense of humour, M. Moreau. "

"Oh, admitted. The unexpected always moves me so. I have found you manythings in the course of our acquaintance. To-night you are the one thingI never expected to find you: an honest man. "

M. De La Tour d'Azyr quivered. But he attempted no reply. 

"Because of that, monsieur, I am disposed to be clement. It is probablya foolishness. But you have surprised me into it. I give you threeminutes, monsieur, in which to leave this house, and to take your ownmeasures for your safety. What afterwards happens to you shall be noconcern of mine. "

"Ah, no, Andre! Listen... " Madame began in anguish. 

"Pardon, madame. It is the utmost that I will do, and already I amviolating what I conceive to be my duty. If M. De La Tour d'Azyr remainshe not only ruins himself, but he imperils you. For unless he departsat once, he goes with me to the headquarters of the section, and thesection will have his head on a pike inside the hour. He is a notoriouscounter-revolutionary, a knight of the dagger, one of those whom anexasperated populace is determined to exterminate. Now, monsieur, youknow what awaits you. Resolve yourself and at once, for these ladies'sake. "

"But you don't know, Andre-Louis!" Mme. De Plougastel's condition wasone of anguish indescribable. She came to him and clutched his arm. "Forthe love of Heaven, Andre-Louis, be merciful with him! You must!"

"But that is what I am being, madame--merciful; more merciful than hedeserves. And he knows it. Fate has meddled most oddly in our concernsto bring us together to-night. Almost it is as if Fate were forcingretribution at last upon him. Yet, for your sakes, I take no advantageof it, provided that he does at once as I have desired him. "

And now from beyond the table the Marquis spoke icily, and as he spokehis right hand stirred under the ample folds of his greatcoat. 

"I am glad, M. Moreau, that you take that tone with me. You relieve meof the last scruple. You spoke of Fate just now, and I must agree withyou that Fate has meddled oddly, though perhaps not to the end that youdiscern. For years now you have chosen to stand in my path and thwart meat every turn, holding over me a perpetual menace. Persistently you havesought my life in various ways, first indirectly and at last directly. Your intervention in my affairs has ruined my highest hopes--moreeffectively, perhaps, than you suppose. Throughout you have been my evilgenius. And you are even one of the agents of this climax of despairthat has been reached by me to-night. "

"Wait! Listen!" Madame was panting. She flung away from Andre-Louis, as if moved by some premonition of what was coming. "Gervais! This ishorrible!"

"Horrible, perhaps, but inevitable. Himself he has invited it. I am aman in despair, the fugitive of a lost cause. That man holds the keysof escape. And, besides, between him and me there is a reckoning to bepaid. "

His hand came from beneath the coat at last, and it came armed with apistol. 

Mme. De Plougastel screamed, and flung herself upon him. On her kneesnow, she clung to his arm with all her strength and might. 

Vainly he sought to shake himself free of that desperate clutch. 

"Therese!" he cried. "Are you mad? Will you destroy me and yourself?This creature has the safe-conducts that mean our salvation. Himself, heis nothing. "

From the background Aline, a breathless, horror-stricken spectatorof that scene, spoke sharply, her quick mind pointing out the line ofcheckmate. 

"Burn the safe-conducts, Andre-Louis. Burn them at once--in the candlesthere. "

But Andre-Louis had taken advantage of that moment of M. De La Tourd'Azyr's impotence to draw a pistol in his turn. "I think it will bebetter to burn his brains instead, " he said. "Stand away from him, madame. "

Far from obeying that imperious command, Mme. De Plougastel rose to herfeet to cover the Marquis with her body. But she still clung to his arm, clung to it with unsuspected strength that continued to prevent him fromattempting to use the pistol. 

"Andre! For God's sake, Andre!" she panted hoarsely over her shoulder. 

"Stand away, madame, " he commanded her again, more sternly, "and letthis murderer take his due. He is jeopardizing all our lives, and hisown has been forfeit these years. Stand away!" He sprang forward withintent now to fire at his enemy over her shoulder, and Aline moved toolate to hinder him. 

"Andre! Andre!"

Panting, gasping, haggard of face, on the verge almost of hysteria, the distracted Countess flung at last an effective, a terrible barrierbetween the hatred of those men, each intent upon taking the other'slife. 

"He is your father, Andre! Gervais, he is your son--our son! The letterthere... On the table... O my God!" And she slipped nervelessly to theground, and crouched there sobbing at the feet of M. De La Tour d'Azyr. 

CHAPTER XV. SAFE-CONDUCT

Across the body of that convulsively sobbing woman, the mother of oneand the mistress of the other, the eyes of those mortal enemies met, invested with a startled, appalled interest that admitted of no words. 

Beyond the table, as if turned to stone by this culminating horror ofrevelation, stood Aline. 

M. De La Tour d'Azyr was the first to stir. Into his bewildered mindcame the memory of something that Mme. De Plougastel had said ofa letter that was on the table. He came forward, unhindered. Theannouncement made, Mme. De Plougastel no longer feared the sequel, andso she let him go. He walked unsteadily past this new-found son of his, and took up the sheet that lay beside the candlebranch. A long momenthe stood reading it, none heeding him. Aline's eyes were all onAndre-Louis, full of wonder and commiseration, whilst Andre-Louis wasstaring down, in stupefied fascination, at his mother. 

M. De La Tour d'Azyr read the letter slowly through. Then very quietlyhe replaced it. His next concern, being the product of an artificial agesternly schooled in the suppression of emotion, was to compose himself. Then he stepped back to Mme. De Plougastel's side and stooped to raiseher. 

"Therese, " he said. 

Obeying, by instinct, the implied command, she made an effort to riseand to control herself in her turn. The Marquis half conducted, halfcarried her to the armchair by the table. 

Andre-Louis looked on. Still numbed and bewildered, he made no attemptto assist. He saw as in a dream the Marquis bending over Mme. DePlougastel. As in a dream he heard him ask:

"How long have you known this, Therese?"

"I... I have always known it... Always. I confided him to Kercadiou. Isaw him once as a child... Oh, but what of that?"

"Why was I never told? Why did you deceive me? Why did you tell me thatthis child had died a few days after birth? Why, Therese? Why?"

"I was afraid. I... I thought it better so--that nobody, nobody, not evenyou, should know. And nobody has known save Quintin until last night, when to induce him to come here and save me he was forced to tell him. "

"But I, Therese?" the Marquis insisted. "It was my right to know. "

"Your right? What could you have done? Acknowledge him? And then? Ha!"It was a queer, desperate note of laughter. "There was Plougastel; therewas my family. And there was you... You, yourself, who had ceased tocare, in whom the fear of discovery had stifled love. Why should I havetold you, then? Why? I should not have told you now had there beenany other way to... To save you both. Once before I suffered just suchdreadful apprehensions when you and he fought in the Bois. I was on myway to prevent it when you met me. I would have divulged the truth, asa last resource, to avert that horror. But mercifully God spared me thenecessity then. "

It had not occurred to any of them to doubt her statement, incrediblethough it might seem. Had any done so her present words must haveresolved all doubt, explaining as they did much that to each of herlisteners had been obscure until this moment. 

M. De La Tour d'Azyr, overcome, reeled away to a chair and sat downheavily. Losing command of himself for a moment, he took his haggardface in his hands. 

Through the windows open to the garden came from the distance the faintthrobbing of a drum to remind them of what was happening around them. But the sound went unheeded. To each it must have seemed that herethey were face to face with a horror greater than any that might betormenting Paris. At last Andre-Louis began to speak, his voice leveland unutterably cold. 

"M. De La Tour d'Azyr, " he said, "I trust that you'll agree that thisdisclosure, which can hardly be more distasteful and horrible to youthan it is to me, alters nothing, since it effaces nothing of allthat lies between us. Or, if it alters anything, it is merely to addsomething to that score. And yet... Oh, but what can it avail to talk!Here, monsieur, take this safe-conduct which is made out for Mme. DePlougastel's footman, and with it make your escape as best you can. Inreturn I will beg of you the favour never to allow me to see you or hearof you again. "

"Andre!" His mother swung upon him with that cry. And yet again thatquestion. "Have you no heart? What has he ever done to you that youshould nurse so bitter a hatred of him?"

"You shall hear, madame. Once, two years ago in this very room I toldyou of a man who had brutally killed my dearest friend and debauched thegirl I was to have married. M. De La Tour d'Azyr is that man. "

A moan was her only answer. She covered her face with her hands. 

The Marquis rose slowly to his feet again. He came slowly forward, hissmouldering eyes scanning his son's face. 

"You are hard, " he said grimly. "But I recognize the hardness. Itderives from the blood you bear. "

"Spare me that, " said Andre-Louis. 

The Marquis inclined his head. "I will not mention it again. But Idesire that you should at least understand me, and you too, Therese. Youaccuse me, sir, of murdering your dearest friend. I will admit that themeans employed were perhaps unworthy. But what other means were at mycommand to meet an urgency that every day since then proves to haveexisted? M. De Vilmorin was a revolutionary, a man of new ideas thatshould overthrow society and rebuild it more akin to the desires of suchas himself. I belonged to the order that quite as justifiably desiredsociety to remain as it was. Not only was it better so for me and mine, but I also contend, and you have yet to prove me wrong, that it isbetter so for all the world; that, indeed, no other conceivable societyis possible. Every human society must of necessity be composed ofseveral strata. You may disturb it temporarily into an amorphous wholeby a revolution such as this; but only temporarily. Soon out of thechaos which is all that you and your kind can ever produce, order mustbe restored or life will perish; and with the restoration of order comesthe restoration of the various strata necessary to organized society. Those that were yesterday at the top may in the new order of things findthemselves dispossessed without any benefit to the whole. That changeI resisted. The spirit of it I fought with whatever weapons wereavailable, whenever and wherever I encountered it. M. De Vilmorin wasan incendiary of the worst type, a man of eloquence full of false idealsthat misled poor ignorant men into believing that the change proposedcould make the world a better place for them. You are an intelligentman, and I defy you to answer me from your heart and conscience thatsuch a thing was true or possible. You know that it is untrue; you knowthat it is a pernicious doctrine; and what made it worse on the lipsof M. De Vilmorin was that he was sincere and eloquent. His voice wasa danger that must be removed--silenced. So much was necessary inself-defence. In self-defence I did it. I had no grudge against M. DeVilmorin. He was a man of my own class; a gentleman of pleasant ways, amiable, estimable, and able. 

"You conceive me slaying him for the very lust of slaying, like somebeast of the jungle flinging itself upon its natural prey. That hasbeen your error from the first. I did what I did with the very heaviestheart--oh, spare me your sneer!--I do not lie, I have never lied. And Iswear to you here and now, by my every hope of Heaven, that what I sayis true. I loathed the thing I did. Yet for my own sake and the sake ofmy order I must do it. Ask yourself whether M. De Vilmorin would havehesitated for a moment if by procuring my death he could have broughtthe Utopia of his dreams a moment nearer realization. 

"After that. You determined that the sweetest vengeance would be tofrustrate my ends by reviving in yourself the voice that I had silenced, by yourself carrying forward the fantastic apostleship of equality thatwas M. De Vilmorin's. You lacked the vision that would have shown youthat God did not create men equals. Well, you are in case to-night tojudge which of us was right, which wrong. You see what is happening herein Paris. You see the foul spectre of Anarchy stalking through a landfallen into confusion. Probably you have enough imagination to conceivesomething of what must follow. And do you deceive yourself that out ofthis filth and ruin there will rise up an ideal form of society? Don'tyou understand that society must re-order itself presently out of allthis?

"But why say more? I must have said enough to make you understand theonly thing that really matters--that I killed M. De Vilmorin as a matterof duty to my order. And the truth--which though it may offend you shouldalso convince you--is that to-night I can look back on the deed withequanimity, without a single regret, apart from what lies between youand me. 

"When, kneeling beside the body of your friend that day at Gavrillac, you insulted and provoked me, had I been the tiger you conceived meI must have killed you too. I am, as you may know, a man of quickpassions. Yet I curbed the natural anger you aroused in me, becauseI could forgive an affront to myself where I could not overlook acalculated attack upon my order. "

He paused a moment. Andre-Louis stood rigid listening and wondering. So, too, the others. Then M. Le Marquis resumed, on a note of lessassurance. "In the matter of Mlle. Binet I was unfortunate. I wrongedyou through inadvertence. I had no knowledge of the relations betweenyou. "

Andre-Louis interrupted him sharply at last with a question: "Would ithave made a difference if you had?"

"No, " he was answered frankly. "I have the faults of my kind. I cannotpretend that any such scruple as you suggest would have weighed with me. But can you--if you are capable of any detached judgment--blame me verymuch for that?"

"All things considered, monsieur, I am rapidly being forced to theconclusion that it is impossible to blame any man for anything in thisworld; that we are all of us the sport of destiny. Consider, monsieur, this gathering--this family gathering--here to-night, whilst out there... O my God, let us make an end! Let us go our ways and write 'finis' tothis horrible chapter of our lives. "

M. Le La Tour considered him gravely, sadly, in silence for a moment. 

"Perhaps it is best, " he said, at length, in a small voice. He turned toMme. De Plougastel. "If a wrong I have to admit in my life, a wrongthat I must bitterly regret, it is the wrong that I have done to you, mydear... "

"Not now, Gervais! Not now!" she faltered, interrupting him. 

"Now--for the first and the last time. I am going. It is not likely thatwe shall ever meet again--that I shall ever see any of you again--you whoshould have been the nearest and dearest to me. We are all, he says, thesport of destiny. Ah, but not quite. Destiny is an intelligent force, moving with purpose. In life we pay for the evil that in life we do. That is the lesson that I have learnt to-night. By an act of betrayalI begot unknown to me a son who, whilst as ignorant as myself of ourrelationship, has come to be the evil genius of my life, to crossand thwart me, and finally to help to pull me down in ruin. It isjust--poetically just. My full and resigned acceptance of that fact isthe only atonement I can offer you. "

He stooped and took one of madame's hands that lay limply in her lap. 

"Good-bye, Therese!" His voice broke. He had reached the end of his ironself-control. 

She rose and clung to him a moment, unashamed before them. The ashes ofthat dead romance had been deeply stirred this night, and deep down somelingering embers had been found that glowed brightly now before theirfinal extinction. Yet she made no attempt to detain him. She understoodthat their son had pointed out the only wise, the only possible course, and was thankful that M. De La Tour d'Azyr accepted it. 

"God keep you, Gervais, " she murmured. "You will take the safe-conduct, and... And you will let me know when you are safe?"

He held her face between his hands an instant; then very gently kissedher and put her from him. Standing erect, and outwardly calm again, helooked across at Andre-Louis who was proffering him a sheet of paper. 

"It is the safe-conduct. Take it, monsieur. It is my first and last giftto you, and certainly the last gift I should ever have thought of makingyou--the gift of life. In a sense it makes us quits. The irony, sir, isnot mine, but Fate's. Take it, monsieur, and go in peace. "

M. De La Tour d'Azyr took it. His eyes looked hungrily into the leanface confronting him, so sternly set. He thrust the paper into hisbosom, and then abruptly, convulsively, held out his hand. His son'seyes asked a question. 

"Let there be peace between us, in God's name, " said the Marquisthickly. 

Pity stirred at last in Andre-Louis. Some of the sternness left hisface. He sighed. "Good-bye, monsieur, " he said. 

"You are hard, " his father told him, speaking wistfully. "But perhapsyou are in the right so to be. In other circumstances I should have beenproud to have owned you as my son. As it is... " He broke off abruptly, and as abruptly added, "Good-bye. "

He loosed his son's hand and stepped back. They bowed formally to eachother. And then M. De La Tour d'Azyr bowed to Mlle. De Kercadiou inutter silence, a bow that contained something of utter renunciation, offinality. 

That done he turned and walked stiffly out of the room, and so out ofall their lives. Months later they were to hear of him in the service ofthe Emperor of Austria. 

CHAPTER XVI. SUNRISE

Andre-Louis took the air next morning on the terrace at Meudon. The hourwas very early, and the newly risen sun was transmuting into diamondsthe dewdrops that still lingered on the lawn. Down in the valley, fivemiles away, the morning mists were rising over Paris. Yet early as itwas that house on the hill was astir already, in a bustle of preparationfor the departure that was imminent. 

Andre-Louis had won safely out of Paris last night with his mother andAline, and to-day they were to set out all of them for Coblenz. 

To Andre-Louis, sauntering there with hands clasped behind him and headhunched between his shoulders--for life had never been richer in materialfor reflection--came presently Aline through one of the glass doors fromthe library. 

"You're early astir, " she greeted him. 

"Faith, yes. I haven't been to bed. No, " he assured her, in answer toher exclamation. "I spent the night, or what was left of it, sitting atthe window thinking. "

"My poor Andre!"

"You describe me perfectly. I am very poor--for I know nothing, understand nothing. It is not a calamitous condition until it isrealized. Then... " He threw out his arms, and let them fall again. Hisface she observed was very drawn and haggard. 

She paced with him along the old granite balustrade over which thegeraniums flung their mantle of green and scarlet. 

"Have you decided what you are going to do?" she asked him. 

"I have decided that I have no choice. I, too, must emigrate. I am luckyto be able to do so, lucky to have found no one amid yesterday's chaosin Paris to whom I could report myself as I foolishly desired, elseI might no longer be armed with these. " He drew from his pocket thepowerful passport of the Commission of Twelve, enjoining upon allFrenchmen to lend him such assistance as he might require, and warningthose who might think of hindering him that they did so at their ownperil. He spread it before her. "With this I conduct you all safely tothe frontier. Over the frontier M. De Kercadiou and Mme. De Plougastelwill have to conduct me; and then we shall be quits. "

"Quits?" quoth she. "But you will be unable to return!"

"You conceive, of course, my eagerness to do so. My child, in a day ortwo there will be enquiries. It will be asked what has become of me. Things will transpire. Then the hunt will start. But by then we shall bewell upon our way, well ahead of any possible pursuit. You don't imaginethat I could ever give the government any satisfactory explanation of myabsence--assuming that any government remains to which to explain it?"

"You mean... That you will sacrifice your future, this career upon whichyou have embarked?" It took her breath away. 

"In the pass to which things have come there is no career for me downthere--at least no honest one. And I hope you do not think that I couldbe dishonest. It is the day of the Dantons, and the Marats, the day ofthe rabble. The reins of government will be tossed to the populace, orelse the populace, drunk with the conceit with which the Dantons and theMarats have filled it, will seize the reins by force. Chaos must follow, and a despotism of brutes and apes, a government of the whole by itslowest parts. It cannot endure, because unless a nation is ruled by itsbest elements it must wither and decay. "

"I thought you were a republican, " said she. 

"Why, so I am. I am talking like one. I desire a society which selectsits rulers from the best elements of every class and denies the right ofany class or corporation to usurp the government to itself--whether itbe the nobles, the clergy, the bourgeoisie, or the proletariat. Forgovernment by any one class is fatal to the welfare of the whole. Twoyears ago our ideal seemed to have been realized. The monopoly of powerhad been taken from the class that had held it too long and too unjustlyby the hollow right of heredity. It had been distributed as evenly asmight be throughout the State, and if men had only paused there, allwould have been well. But our impetus carried us too far, the privilegedorders goaded us on by their very opposition, and the result is thehorror of which yesterday you saw no more than the beginnings. No, no, " he ended. "Careers there may be for venal place-seekers, foropportunists; but none for a man who desires to respect himself. It istime to go. I make no sacrifice in going. "

"But where will you go? What will you do?"

"Oh, something. Consider that in four years I have been lawyer, politician, swordsman, and buffoon--especially the latter. There isalways a place in the world for Scaramouche. Besides, do you know thatunlike Scaramouche I have been oddly provident? I am the owner of alittle farm in Saxony. I think that agriculture might suit me. It is ameditative occupation; and when all is said, I am not a man of action. Ihaven't the qualities for the part. "

She looked up into his face, and there was a wistful smile in her deepblue eyes. 

"Is there any part for which you have not the qualities, I wonder?"

"Do you really? Yet you cannot say that I have made a success of anyof those which I have played. I have always ended by running away. Iam running away now from a thriving fencing-academy, which is likely tobecome the property of Le Duc. That comes of having gone into politics, from which I am also running away. It is the one thing in which I reallyexcel. That, too, is an attribute of Scaramouche. "

"Why will you always be deriding yourself?" she wondered. 

"Because I recognize myself for part of this mad world, I suppose. Youwouldn't have me take it seriously? I should lose my reason utterly if Idid; especially since discovering my parents. "

"Don't, Andre!" she begged him. "You are insincere, you know. "

"Of course I am. Do you expect sincerity in man when hypocrisy is thevery keynote of human nature? We are nurtured on it; we are schooled init, we live by it; and we rarely realize it. You have seen it rampantand out of hand in France during the past four years--cant and hypocrisyon the lips of the revolutionaries, cant and hypocrisy on the lips ofthe upholders of the old regime; a riot of hypocrisy out of which inthe end is begotten chaos. And I who criticize it all on this beautifulGod-given morning am the rankest and most contemptible hypocrite of all. It was this--the realization of this truth kept me awake all night. Fortwo years I have persecuted by every means in my power... M. De La Tourd'Azyr. "

He paused before uttering the name, paused as if hesitating how to speakof him. 

"And in those two years I have deceived myself as to the motive that wasspurring me. He spoke of me last night as the evil genius of his life, and himself he recognized the justice of this. It may be that he wasright, and because of that it is probable that even had he not killedPhilippe de Vilmorin, things would still have been the same. Indeed, to-day I know that they must have been. That is why I call myself ahypocrite, a poor, self-duping hypocrite. "

"But why, Andre?"

He stood still and looked at her. "Because he sought you, Aline. Because in that alone he must have found me ranged against him, utterlyintransigeant. Because of that I must have strained every nerve to bringhim down--so as to save you from becoming the prey of your own ambition. 

"I wish to speak of him no more than I must. After this, I trust neverto speak of him again. Before the lines of our lives crossed, I knew himfor what he was, I knew the report of him that ran the countryside. Even then I found him detestable. You heard him allude last night to theunfortunate La Binet. You heard him plead, in extenuation of his fault, his mode of life, his rearing. To that there is no answer, I suppose. Heconforms to type. Enough! But to me, he was the embodiment of evil, justas you have always been the embodiment of good; he was the embodimentof sin, just as you are the embodiment of purity. I had enthroned you sohigh, Aline, so high, and yet no higher than your place. Could I, then, suffer that you should be dragged down by ambition, could I suffer theevil I detested to mate with the good I loved? What could have come ofit but your own damnation, as I told you that day at Gavrillac? Becauseof that my detestation of him became a personal, active thing. Iresolved to save you at all costs from a fate so horrible. Had youbeen able to tell me that you loved him it would have been different. I should have hoped that in a union sanctified by love you would haveraised him to your own pure heights. But that out of considerations ofworldly advancement you should lovelessly consent to mate with him... Oh, it was vile and hopeless. And so I fought him--a rat fighting alion--fought him relentlessly until I saw that love had come to take inyour heart the place of ambition. Then I desisted. "

"Until you saw that love had taken the place of ambition!" Tearshad been gathering in her eyes whilst he was speaking. Now amazementeliminated her emotion. "But when did you see that? When?"

"I--I was mistaken. I know it now. Yet, at the time... Surely, Aline, that morning when you came to beg me not to keep my engagement with himin the Bois, you were moved by concern for him?"

"For him! It was concern for you, " she cried, without thinking what shesaid. 

But it did not convince him. "For me? When you knew--when all the worldknew what I had been doing daily for a week!"

"Ah, but he, he was different from the others you had met. Hisreputation stood high. My uncle accounted him invincible; he persuadedme that if you met nothing could save you. "

He looked at her frowning. 

"Why this, Aline?" he asked her with some sternness. "I can understandthat, having changed since then, you should now wish to disown thosesentiments. It is a woman's way, I suppose. "

"Oh, what are you saying, Andre? How wrong you are! It is the truth Ihave told you!"

"And was it concern for me, " he asked her, "that laid you swooning whenyou saw him return wounded from the meeting? That was what opened myeyes. "

"Wounded? I had not seen his wound. I saw him sitting alive andapparently unhurt in his caleche, and I concluded that he had killed youas he had said he would. What else could I conclude?"

He saw light, dazzling, blinding, and it scared him. He fell back, a hand to his brow. "And that was why you fainted?" he askedincredulously. 

She looked at him without answering. As she began to realize how muchshe had been swept into saying by her eagerness to make him realize hiserror, a sudden fear came creeping into her eyes. 

He held out both hands to her. 

"Aline! Aline!" His voice broke on the name. "It was I... "

"O blind Andre, it was always you--always! Never, never did I thinkof him, not even for loveless marriage, save once for a little while, when... When that theatre girl came into your life, and then... " Shebroke off, shrugged, and turned her head away. "I thought of followingambition, since there was nothing left to follow. "

He shook himself. "I am dreaming, of course, or else I am mad, " he said. 

"Blind, Andre; just blind, " she assured him. 

"Blind only where it would have been presumption to have seen. "

"And yet, " she answered him with a flash of the Aline he had known ofold, "I have never found you lack presumption. "

M. De Kercadiou, emerging a moment later from the library window, beheldthem holding hands and staring each at the other, beatifically, as ifeach saw Paradise in the other's face.