Lord Tony's Wife: An Adventure of the Scarlet Pimpernel

  CHAPTER II

  LE BOUFFAY

  I

  In the centre of the Place the guillotine stood idle--the paint had wornoff her sides--she looked weatherbeaten and forlorn--stern andforbidding still, but in a kind of sullen loneliness, with the uglystains of crimson on her, turned to rust and grime.

  The Place itself was deserted, in strange contrast to the bustle and themovement which characterised it in the days when the death of men, womenand children was a daily spectacle here for the crowd. Then a constantstream of traffic, of carts and of tumbrils, of soldiers and gaffersencumbered it in every corner, now a few tumble-down booths set upagainst the frontage of the grim edifice--once the stronghold of theDukes of Brittany, now little else but a huge prison--a few vendors andstill fewer purchasers of the scanty wares displayed under their raggedawnings, one or two idlers loafing against the mud-stained walls, one ortwo urchins playing in the gutters were the only signs of life.Martin-Roget with his colleague Chauvelin turned into the Place from thequay--they walked rapidly and kept their mantles closely wrapped undertheir chin, for the afternoon had turned bitterly cold. It was thenclose upon five o'clock--a dark, moonless, starless night had set inwith only a suspicion of frost in the damp air; but a blusteringnorth-westerly wind blowing down the river and tearing round the narrowstreets and the open Place, caused passers-by to muffle themselves,shivering, yet tighter in their cloaks.

  Martin-Roget was talking volubly and excitedly, his tall, broad figuretowering above the slender form of his companion. From time to time hetossed his mantle aside with an impatient, febrile gesture and thenpaused in the middle of the Place, with one hand on the other man'sshoulder, marking a point in his discourse or emphasising his argumentwith short staccato sentences and brief, emphatic words.Chauvelin--placid and impenetrable as usual--listened much and talkedlittle. He was ready to stand still or to walk along just as hiscolleague's mood demanded; in the darkness, and with the collar of alarge mantle pulled tightly up to his ears, it was impossible to guessby any sign in his face what was going on in his mind.

  They were a strange contrast these two men--temperamentally as well asphysically--even though they had so much in common and were both thedirect products of that same social upheaval which was shaking thearchaic dominion of France to its very foundations. Martin-Roget, tall,broad-shouldered, bull-necked, the typical self-educated peasant, withsquare jaw and flat head, with wide bony hands and spatulated fingers:and Chauvelin--the aristocrat turned demagogue, thin and frail-looking,bland of manner and suave of speech, with delicate hands and pale,almost ascetic face.

  The one represented all that was most brutish and sensual in this fightof one caste against the other, the thirst for the other's blood, thehuman beast that has been brought to bay through wrongs perpetratedagainst it by others and has turned upon its oppressors, lashing outright and left with blind and lustful fury at the crowd of tyrants thathad kept him in subjection for so long. Whilst Chauvelin was thepersonification of the spiritual side of this bloody Revolution--thespirit of cool and calculating reprisals that would demand an eye for aneye and see that it got two. The idealist who dreams of therighteousness of his own cause and the destruction of its enemies, butwho leaves to others the accomplishment of all the carnage and thebloodshed which his idealism has demanded, and which his reason hasappraised as necessary for the triumph of which he dreams. Chauvelin wasthe man of thought and Martin-Roget the man of action. With the one,revenge and reprisals were selfish desires, the avenging of wrongs doneto himself or to his caste, hatred for those who had injured him or hiskindred. The other had no personal feelings of hatred: he had nopersonal wrongs to avenge: his enemies were the enemies of his party,the erstwhile tyrants who in the past had oppressed an entire people.Every man, woman or child who was not satisfied with the present Reignof Terror, who plotted or planned for its overthrow, who was not readyto see husband, father, wife or child sacrificed for the ultimatetriumph of the Revolution was in Chauvelin's sight a noxious creature,fit only to be trodden under heel and ground into subjection orannihilation as a danger to the State.

  Martin-Roget was the personification of sans-culottism, of rough mannersand foul speech--he chafed against the conventions which forced him towear decent clothes and boots on his feet--he would gladly have seenevery one go about the streets half-naked, unwashed, a living sign ofthat downward levelling of castes which he and his friends stood for,and for which they had fought and striven and committed every crimewhich human passions let loose could invent. Chauvelin, on the otherhand, was one of those who wore fine linen and buckled shoes and whosehands were delicately washed and perfumed whilst they signed decreeswhich sent hundreds of women and children to a violent and cruel death.

  The one trod in the paths of Danton: the other followed in the footstepsof Robespierre.

  II

  Together the two men mounted the outside staircase which leads up pastthe lodge of the concierge and through the clerk's office to theinterior of the stronghold. Outside the monumental doors they had towait a moment or two while the clerk examined their permits to enter.

  "Will you come into my office with me?" asked Chauvelin of hiscompanion; "I have a word or two to add to my report for the Pariscourier to-night. I won't be long."

  "You are still in touch with the Committee of Public Safety then?" askedMartin-Roget.

  "Always," replied the other curtly.

  Martin-Roget threw a quick, suspicious glance on his companion. Darknessand the broad brim of his sugar-loaf hat effectually concealed even theoutlines of Chauvelin's face, and Martin-Roget fell to musing over oneor two things which Carrier had blurted out awhile ago. The whole ofFrance was overrun with spies these days--every one was under suspicion,every one had to be on his guard. Every word was overheard, every glanceseen, every sign noted.

  What was this man Chauvelin doing here in Nantes? What reports did hesend up to Paris by special courier? He, the miserable failure who hadceased to count was nevertheless in constant touch with that awfulCommittee of Public Safety which was wont to strike at all times andunexpectedly in the dark. Martin-Roget shivered beneath his mantle. Forthe first time since his schemes of vengeance had wholly absorbed hismind he regretted the freedom and safety which he had enjoyed inEngland, and he marvelled if the miserable game which he was playingwould be worth the winning in the end. Nevertheless he had followedChauvelin without comment. The man appeared to exercise a fascinationover him--a kind of subtle power, which emanated from his small shrunkenfigure, from his pale keen eyes and his well-modulated, suave mode ofspeech.

  III

  The clerk had handed the two men their permits back. They were allowedto pass through the gates.

  In the hall some half-dozen men were nominally on guard--nominally,because discipline was not over strict these days, and the men sat orlolled about the place; two of them were intent on a game of dominoes,another was watching them, whilst the other three were settling somesort of quarrel among themselves which necessitated vigorous andemphatic gestures and the copious use of expletives. One man, whoappeared to be in command, divided his time impartially between thedomino-players and those who were quarrelling.

  The vast place was insufficiently lighted by a chandelier which hungfrom the ceiling and a couple of small oil-lamps placed in the circularniches in the wall opposite the front door.

  No one took any notice of Martin-Roget or of Chauvelin as they crossedthe hall, and presently the latter pushed open a door on the left ofthe main gates and held it open for his colleague to pass through.

  "You are sure that I shall not be disturbing you?" queried Martin-Roget.

  "Quite sure," replied the other curtly. "And there is something which Imust say to you ... where I know that I shall not be overheard."

  Then he followed Martin-Roget into the room and closed the door behindhim. The room was scantily furnished with a square deal table in thecentre, two or three chairs, a broken-down bureau leaning against onewall and an iron sto
ve wherein a meagre fire sent a stream of malodoroussmoke through sundry cracks in its chimney-pipe. From the ceiling therehung an oil-lamp the light of which was thrown down upon the table, by alarge green shade made of cardboard.

  Chauvelin drew a chair to the bureau and sat down; he pointed to anotherand Martin-Roget took a seat beside the table. He felt restless andexcited--his nerves all on the jar: his colleague's calm, sardonicglance acted as a further irritant to his temper.

  "What is it that you wished to say to me, citizen Chauvelin?" he askedat last.

  "Just a word, citizen," replied the other in his quiet urbane manner. "Ihave accompanied you faithfully on your journey to England: I haveplaced my feeble powers at your disposal: awhile ago I stood between youand the proconsul's wrath. This, I think, has earned me the right ofasking what you intend to do."

  "I don't know about the right," retorted Martin-Roget gruffly, "but Idon't mind telling you. As you remarked awhile ago the North-West windis wont to be of good counsel. I have thought the matter over whilst Iwalked with you along the quay and I have decided to act on Carrier'ssuggestion. Our eminent proconsul said just now that it was the duty ofevery true patriot to marry an aristo, an he be free and Chance puts acomely wench in his way. I mean," he added with a cynical laugh, "to acton that advice and marry Yvonne de Kernogan ... if I can."

  "She has refused you up to now?"

  "Yes ... up to now."

  "You have threatened her--and her father?"

  "Yes--both. Not only with death but with shame."

  "And still she refuses?"

  "Apparently," said Martin-Roget with ever-growing irritation.

  "It is often difficult," rejoined Chauvelin meditatively, "to compelthese aristos. They are obstinate...."

  "Oh! don't forget that I am in a position now to bring additionalpressure on the wench. That lout Carrier has splendid ideas--a brute,what? but clever and full of resource. That suggestion of his about theRat Mort is splendid...."

  "You mean to try and act on it?"

  "Of course I do," said Martin-Roget roughly. "I am going over presentlyto my sister's house to see the Kernogan wench again, and to haveanother talk with her. Then if she still refuses, if she still choosesto scorn the honourable position which I offer her, I shall act onCarrier's suggestion. It will be at the Rat Mort to-night that she and Iwill have our final interview, and there when I dangle the prospect ofCayenne and the convict's brand before her, she may not prove soobdurate as she has been up to now."

  "H'm! That is as may be," was Chauvelin's dry comment. "Personally I aminclined to agree with Carrier. Death, swift and sure--the Loire or theguillotine--is the best that has yet been invented for traitors andaristos. But we won't discuss that again. I know your feelings in thematter and in a measure I respect them. But if you will allow me I wouldlike to be present at your interview with the _soi-disant_ Lady AnthonyDewhurst. I won't disturb you and I won't say a word ... but there issomething I would like to make sure of...."

  "What is that?"

  "Whether the wench has any hopes ..." said Chauvelin slowly, "whethershe has received a message or has any premonition ... whether in shortshe thinks that outside agencies are at work on her behalf."

  "Tshaw!" exclaimed Martin-Roget impatiently, "you are still harping onthat Scarlet Pimpernel idea."

  "I am," retorted the other drily.

  "As you please. But understand, citizen Chauvelin, that I will not allowyou to interfere with my plans, whilst you go off on one of thosewild-goose chases which have already twice brought you into disrepute."

  "I will not interfere with your plans, citizen," rejoined Chauvelin withunwonted gentleness, "but let me in my turn impress one thing upon you,and that is that unless you are as wary as the serpent, as cunning asthe fox, all your precious plans will be upset by that interferingEnglishman whom you choose to disregard."

  "What do you mean?"

  "I mean that I know him--to my cost--and you do not. But you will, an Iam not gravely mistaken, make acquaintance with him ere your greatadventure with these Kernogan people is successfully at an end. Believeme, citizen Martin-Roget," he added impressively, "you would have beenfar wiser to accept Carrier's suggestion and let him fling that rabbleinto the Loire for you."

  "Pshaw! you are not childish enough to imagine, citizen Chauvelin, thatyour Englishman can spirit away that wench from under my sister's eyes?Do you know what my sister suffered at the hands of the Kernogans? Doyou think that she is like to forget my father's ignominious death anymore than I am? And she mourns a lover as well as a father--she mournsher youth, her happiness, the mother whom she worshipped. Think you abetter gaoler could be found anywhere? And there are friends ofmine--lads of our own village, men who hate the Kernogans as bitterly asI do myself--who are only too ready to lend Louise a hand in case ofviolence. And after that--suppose your magnificent Scarlet Pimpernelsucceeded in hoodwinking my sister and in evading the vigilance of ascore of determined village lads, who would sooner die one by one thansee the Kernogan escape--suppose all that, I say, there would still bethe guard at every city gate to challenge. No! no! it couldn't be done,citizen Chauvelin," he added with a complacent laugh. "Your Englishmanwould need the help of a legion of angels, what? to get the wench out ofNantes this time."

  Chauvelin made no comment on his colleague's impassioned harangue.Memory had taken him back to that one day in September in Boulogne whenhe too had set one prisoner to guard a precious hostage: it brought backto his mind a vision of a strangely picturesque figure as it appeared tohim in the window-embrasure of the old castle-hall:[1] it brought backto his ears the echo of that quaint, irresponsible laughter, of thatlazy, drawling speech, of all that had acted as an irritant on hisnerves ere he found himself baffled, foiled, eating out his heart withvain reproach at his own folly.

  "I see you are unconvinced, citizen Martin-Roget," he said quietly, "andI know that it is the fashion nowadays among young politicians to sneerat Chauvelin--the living embodiment of failure. But let me just addthis. When you and I talked matters over together at the Bottom Inn, inthe wilds of Somersetshire, I warned you that not only was your identityknown to the man who calls himself the Scarlet Pimpernel, but also thathe knew every one of your plans with regard to the Kernogan wench andher father. You laughed at me then ... do you remember?... you shruggedyour shoulders and jeered at what you call my far-fetched ideas ... justas you do now. Well! will you let me remind you of what happened withinfour-and-twenty hours of that warning which you chose to disregard? ...Yvonne de Kernogan was married to Lord Anthony Dewhurst and...."

  "I know all that, man," broke in Martin-Roget impatiently. "It was all amere coincidence ... the marriage must have been planned long beforethat ... your Scarlet Pimpernel could not possibly have had anything todo with it."

  "Perhaps not," rejoined Chauvelin drily. "But mark what has happenedsince. Just now when we crossed the Place I saw in the distance a figureflitting past--the gorgeous figure of an exquisite who of a surety is astranger in Nantes: and carried upon the wings of the north-westerlywind there came to me the sound of a voice which, of late, I have onlyheard in my dreams. On my soul, citizen Martin-Roget," he added withearnest emphasis, "I assure you that the Scarlet Pimpernel is in Nantesat the present moment, that he is scheming, plotting, planning torescue the Kernogan wench out of your clutches. He will not leave her inyour power, on this I would stake my life; she is the wife of one of hisdearest friends: he will not abandon her, not while he keeps thatresourceful head of his on his shoulders. Unless you are desperatelycareful he will outwit you; of that I am as convinced as that I amalive."

  "Bah! you have been dreaming, citizen Chauvelin," rejoined Martin-Rogetwith a laugh and shrugging his broad shoulders; "your mysteriousEnglishman in Nantes? Why man! the navigation of the Loire has beentotally prohibited these last fourteen days--no carriage, van or vehicleof any kind is allowed to enter the city--no man, woman or child to passthe barriers without special permit signed either by the procons
ulhimself or by Fleury the captain of the Marats. Why! even I, when Ibrought the Kernogans in overland from Le Croisic, I was detained twohours outside Nantes while my papers were sent in to Carrier forinspection. You know that, you were with me."

  "I know it," replied Chauvelin drily, "and yet...."

  He paused, with one claw-like finger held erect to demand attention. Thedoor of the small room in which they sat gave on the big hall where thehalf-dozen Marats were stationed, the single window at right angles tothe door looked out upon the Place below. It was from there thatsuddenly there came the sound of a loud peal of laughter--quaint andmerry--somewhat inane and affected, and at the sound Chauvelin's paleface took on the hue of ashes and even Martin-Roget felt a strangesensation of cold creeping down his spine.

  For a few seconds the two men remained quite still, as if a spell hadbeen cast over them through that light-hearted peal of ripplinglaughter. Then equally suddenly the younger man shook himself free ofthe spell; with a few long strides he was already at the door and out inthe vast hall; Chauvelin following closely on his heels.

  IV

  The clock in the tower of the edifice was even then striking five. TheMarats in the hall looked up with lazy indifference at the two men whohad come rushing out in such an abrupt and excited manner.

  "Any stranger been through here?" queried Chauvelin peremptorily of thesergeant in command.

  "No," replied the latter curtly. "How could they, without a permit?"

  He shrugged his shoulders and the men resumed their game and theirargument. Martin-Roget would have parleyed with them but Chauvelin hadalready crossed the hall and was striding past the clerk's office andthe lodge of the concierge out toward the open. Martin-Roget, after amoment's hesitation, followed him.

  The Place was wrapped in gloom. From the platform of the guillotine anoil-lamp hoisted on a post threw a small circle of light around. Smallpieces of tallow candle, set in pewter sconces, glimmered feebly underthe awnings of the booths, and there was a street-lamp affixed to thewall of the old chateau immediately below the parapet of the staircase,and others at the angles of the Rue de la Monnaye and the narrow Ruelledes Jacobins.

  Chauvelin's keen eyes tried to pierce the surrounding darkness. Heleaned over the parapet and peered into the remote angles of thebuilding and round the booths below him.

  There were a few people on the Place, some walking rapidly across fromone end to the other, intent on business, others pausing in order tomake purchases at the booths. Up and down the steps of the guillotine agroup of street urchins were playing hide-and-seek. Round the angles ofthe narrow streets the vague figures of passers-by flitted to and fro,now easily discernible in the light of the street lanthorns, anonswallowed up again in the darkness beyond. Whilst immediately below theparapet two or three men of the Company Marat were lounging against thewalls. Their red bonnets showed up clearly in the flickering light ofthe street lamps, as did their bare shins and the polished points oftheir sabots. But of an elegant, picturesque figure such as Chauvelinhad described awhile ago there was not a sign.

  Martin-Roget leaned over the parapet and called peremptorily:

  "Hey there! citizens of the Company Marat!"

  One of the red-capped men looked up leisurely.

  "Your desire, citizen?" he queried with insolent deliberation, for theywere mighty men, this bodyguard of the great proconsul, his spies andtools in the awesome work of frightfulness which he carried on soruthlessly.

  "Is that you Paul Friche?" queried Martin-Roget in response.

  "At your service, citizen," came the glib reply, delivered not withoutmock deference.

  "Then come up here. I wish to speak with you."

  "I can't leave my post, nor can my mates," retorted the man who hadanswered to the name of Paul Friche. "Come down, citizen, an you desireto speak with us."

  Martin-Roget swore lustily.

  "The insolence of that rabble ..." he murmured.

  "Hush! I'll go," interposed Chauvelin quickly. "Do you know that manFriche? Is he trustworthy?"

  "Yes, I know him. As for being trustworthy ..." added Martin-Roget witha shrug of the shoulders. "He is a corporal in the Marats and high infavour with commandant Fleury."

  Every second was of value, and Chauvelin was not the man to waste timein useless parleyings. He ran down the stairs at the foot of which oneof the red-capped gentry deigned to speak with him.

  "Have you seen any strangers across the Place just now?" he queried in awhisper.

  "Yes," replied the man Friche. "Two!"

  Then he spat upon the ground and added spitefully: "Aristos, what? Infine clothes--like yourself, citizen...."

  "Which way did they go?"

  "Down the Ruelle des Jacobins."

  "When?"

  "Two minutes ago."

  "Why did you not follow them?... Aristos and...."

  "I would have followed," retorted Paul Friche with studied insolence;"'twas you called me away from my duty."

  "After them then!" urged Chauvelin peremptorily. "They cannot have gonefar. They are English spies, and remember, citizen, that there's areward for their apprehension."

  The man grunted an eager assent. The word "reward" had fired his zeal.In a trice he had called to his mates and the three Marats soon spedacross the Place and down the Ruelle des Jacobins where the surroundinggloom quickly swallowed them up.

  Chauvelin watched them till they were out of sight, then he rejoined hiscolleague on the landing at the top of the stairs. For a second or twolonger the click of the men's sabots upon the stones resounded on theadjoining streets and across the Place, and suddenly that same quaint,merry, somewhat inane laugh woke the echoes of the grim buildings aroundand caused many a head to turn inquiringly, marvelling who it could bethat had the heart to laugh these days in the streets of Nantes.

  V

  Five minutes or so later the three Marats could vaguely be seenrecrossing the Place and making their way back to Le Bouffay, whereMartin-Roget and Chauvelin still stood on the top of the stairs excitedand expectant. At sight of the men Chauvelin ran down the steps to meetthem.

  "Well?" he queried in an eager whisper.

  "We never saw them," replied Paul Friche gruffly, "though we could hearthem clearly enough, talking, laughing and walking very rapidly towardthe quay. Then suddenly the earth or the river swallowed them up. We sawand heard nothing more."

  Chauvelin swore and a curious hissing sound escaped his thin lips.

  "Don't be too disappointed, citizen," added the man with a coarse laugh,"my mate picked this up at the corner of the Ruelle, when, I fancy, wewere pressing the aristos pretty closely."

  He held out a small bundle of papers tied together with a piece of redribbon: the bundle had evidently rolled in the mud, for the papers werecovered with grime. Chauvelin's thin, claw-like fingers had at onceclosed over them.

  "You must give me back those papers, citizen," said the man, "they aremy booty. I can only give them up to citizen-captain Fleury."

  "I'll give them to the citizen-captain myself," retorted Chauvelin. "Forthe moment you had best not leave your post of duty," he added moreperemptorily, seeing that the man made as he would follow him.

  "I take orders from no one except ..." protested the man gruffly.

  "You will take them from me now," broke in Chauvelin with a suddenassumption of command and authority which sat with weird strangenessupon his thin shrunken figure. "Go back to your post at once, ere Ilodge a complaint against you for neglect of duty, with the citizenproconsul."

  He turned on his heel and, without paying further heed to the man andhis mutterings, he remounted the stone stairs.

  "No success, I suppose?" queried Martin-Roget.

  "None," replied Chauvelin curtly.

  He had the packet of papers tightly clasped in his hand. He was debatingin his mind whether he would speak of them to his colleague or not.

  "What did Friche say?" asked the latter impatiently.

  "Oh! very little
. He and his mates caught sight of the strangers andfollowed them as far as the quays. But they were walking very fast andsuddenly the Marats lost their trace in the darkness. It seemed,according to Paul Friche, as if the earth or the night had swallowedthem up."

  "And was that all?"

  "Yes. That was all."

  "I wonder," added Martin-Roget with a light laugh and a careless shrugof his wide shoulders, "I wonder if you and I, citizen Chauvelin--andPaul Friche too for that matter--have been the victims of our nerves."

  "I wonder," assented Chauvelin drily. And--quite quietly--he slipped thepacket of papers in the pocket of his coat.

  "Then we may as well adjourn. There is nothing else you wish to say tome about that enigmatic Scarlet Pimpernel of yours?"

  "No--nothing."

  "And you still would like to hear what the Kernogan wench will say andsee how she will look when I put my final proposal before her?"

  "If you will allow me."

  "Then come," said Martin-Roget. "My sister's house is close by."

  FOOTNOTES:

  [Footnote 1: This adventure is recorded in _The Elusive Pimpernel_.]