Scaramouche: A Romance of the French Revolution

  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 Ro
ugane 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."