CHAPTER XXII
The clock in the tower of Sairmeuse was striking the hour of eight whenLacheneur and his little band of followers left the Reche.
An hour later, at the Chateau de Courtornieu, Mlle. Blanche, afterfinishing her dinner, ordered the carriage to convey her to Montaignac.Since her father had taken up his abode in town they met only on Sunday;on that day either Blanche went to Montaignac, or the marquis paid avisit to the chateau.
Hence this proposed journey was a deviation from the regular order ofthings. It was explained, however, by grave circumstances.
It was six days since Martial had presented himself at Courtornieu; andBlanche was half crazed with grief and rage.
What Aunt Medea was forced to endure during this interval, only poordependents in rich families can understand.
For the first three days Mlle. Blanche succeeded in preserving asemblance of self-control; on the fourth she could endure it no longer,and in spite of the breach of "_les convenances_" which it involved, shesent a messenger to Sairmeuse to inquire for Martial. Was he ill--had hegone away?
The messenger was informed that the marquis was perfectly well, but,as he spent the entire day, from early morn to dewy eve, in hunting, hewent to bed every evening as soon as supper was over.
What a horrible insult! Still, she was certain that Martial, on hearingwhat she had done, would hasten to her to make his excuses. Vain hope!He did not come; he did not even condescend to give one sign of life.
"Ah! doubtless he is with her," she said to Aunt Medea. "He is on hisknees before that miserable Marie-Anne--his mistress."
For she had finished by believing--as is not unfrequently the case--thevery calumnies which she herself had invented.
In this extremity she decided to make her father her confidant; and shewrote him a note announcing her coming.
She wished her father to compel Lacheneur to leave the country. Thiswould be an easy matter for him, since he was armed with discretionaryauthority at an epoch when lukewarm devotion afforded an abundant excusefor sending a man into exile.
Fully decided upon this plan, Blanche became calmer on leaving thechateau; and her hopes overflowed in incoherent phrases, to which poorAunt Medea listened with her accustomed resignation.
"At last I shall be rid of this shameless creature!" she exclaimed. "Wewill see if he has the audacity to follow her! Will he follow her? Oh,no; he dare not!"
When the carriage passed through the village of Sairmeuse, Mlle. Blanchenoticed an unwonted animation.
There were lights in every house, the saloons seemed full of drinkers,and groups of people were standing upon the public square and upon thedoorsteps.
But what did this matter to Mlle. de Courtornieu! It was not until theywere a mile or so from Sairmeuse that she was startled from her revery.
"Listen, Aunt Medea," she said, suddenly. "Do you hear anything?"
The poor dependent listened. Both occupants of the carriage heard shoutsthat became more and more distinct with each revolution of the wheels.
"Let us find out the meaning of this," said Mlle. Blanche.
And lowering one of the carriage-windows, she asked the coachman thecause of the disturbance.
"I see a great crowd of peasants on the hill; they have torches and----"
"Blessed Jesus!" interrupted Aunt Medea, in alarm.
"It must be a wedding," added the coachman, whipping up his horses.
It was not a wedding, but Lacheneur's little band, which had beenaugmented to the number of about five hundred. Lacheneur should havebeen at the Croix d'Arcy two hours before. But he had shared the fate ofmost popular chiefs. When an impetus had been given to the movement hewas no longer master of it.
Baron d'Escorval had made him lose twenty minutes; he was delayed fourtimes as long in Sairmeuse. When he reached that village, a littlebehind time, he found the peasants scattered through the wine-shops,drinking to the success of the enterprise.
To tear them from their merry-making was a long and difficult task.
And to crown all, when they were finally induced to resume their line ofmarch, it was impossible to persuade them to extinguish the pine knotswhich they had lighted to serve as torches.
Prayers and threats were alike unavailing. "They wished to see theirway," they said.
Poor deluded creatures! They had not the slightest conception of thedifficulties and the perils of the enterprise they had undertaken.
They were going to capture a fortified city, defended by a numerousgarrison, as if they were bound on a pleasure jaunt.
Gay, thoughtless, and animated by the imperturbable confidence of achild, they were marching along, arm in arm, singing patriotic songs.
On horseback, in the centre of the band, M. Lacheneur felt his hairturning white with anguish.
Would not this delay ruin everything? What would the others, who werewaiting at the Croix d'Arcy, think! What were they doing at this verymoment?
"Onward! onward!" he repeated.
Maurice, Chanlouineau, Jean, Marie-Anne, and about twenty of the oldsoldiers of the Empire, understood and shared Lacheneur's despair. Theyknew the terrible danger they were incurring, and they, too, repeated:
"Faster! Let us march faster!"
Vain exhortation! It pleased these people to go slowly.
Suddenly the entire band stopped. Some of the peasants, chancing to lookback, had seen the lamps of Mlle. de Courtornieu's carriage gleaming inthe darkness.
It came rapidly onward, and soon overtook them. The peasants recognizedthe coachman's livery, and greeted the vehicle with shouts of derision.
M. de Courtornieu, by his avariciousness, had made even more enemiesthan the Duc de Sairmeuse; and all the peasants who thought they hadmore or less reason to complain of his extortions were delighted at thisopportunity to frighten him.
For, that they were not thinking of vengeance, is conclusively proved bythe sequel.
Hence great was their disappointment when, on opening the carriage-door,they saw within the vehicle only Mlle. Blanche and Aunt Medea, whouttered the most piercing shrieks.
But Mlle. de Courtornieu was a brave woman.
"Who are you?" she demanded, haughtily, "and what do you desire?"
"You will know to-morrow," replied Chanlouineau. "Until then, you areour prisoner."
"I see that you do not know who I am, boy."
"Excuse me. I do know who you are, and, for this very reason, I requestyou to descend from your carriage. She must leave the carriage, must shenot, Monsieur d'Escorval?"
"Very well! I declare that I will not leave my carriage; tear me from itif you dare!"
They would certainly have dared had it not been for Marie-Anne, whochecked some peasants as they were springing toward the carriage.
"Let Mademoiselle de Courtornieu pass without hinderance," said she.
But this permission might produce such serious consequences thatChanlouineau found courage to resist.
"That cannot be, Marie-Anne," said he; "she will warn her father. Wemust keep her as a hostage; her life may save the life of our friends."
Mlle. Blanche had not recognized her former friend, any more than shehad suspected the intentions of this crowd of men.
But Marie-Anne's name, uttered with that of d'Escorval enlightened herat once.
She understood it all, and trembled with rage at the thought that shewas at the mercy of her rival. She resolved to place herself under noobligation to Marie-Anne Lacheneur.
"Very well," said she, "we will descend."
Her former friend checked her.
"No," said she, "no! This is not the place for a young girl."
"For an honest young girl, you should say," replied Blanche, with asneer.
Chanlouineau was standing only a few feet from the speaker with hisgun in his hand. If a man had uttered those words he would have beeninstantly killed. Marie-Anne did not deign to notice them.
"Mademoiselle will turn back," she said, calmly; "and as she
can reachMontaignac by the other road, two men will accompany her as far asCourtornieu."
She was obeyed. The carriage turned and rolled away, but not so quicklythat Marie-Anne failed to hear Blanche cry:
"Beware, Marie! I will make you pay dearly for your insultingpatronage!"
The hours were flying by. This incident had occupied ten minutesmore--ten centuries--and the last trace of order had disappeared.
M. Lacheneur could have wept with rage. He called Maurice andChanlouineau.
"I place you in command," said he; "do all that you can to hurry theseidiots onward. I will ride as fast as I can to the Croix d'Arcy."
He started, but he was only a short distance in advance of his followerswhen he saw two men running toward him at full speed. One was clad inthe attire of a well-to-do bourgeois; the other wore the old uniform ofcaptain in the Emperor's guard.
"What has happened?" Lacheneur cried, in alarm.
"All is discovered!"
"Great God!"
"Major Carini has been arrested."
"By whom? How?"
"Ah! there was a fatality about it! Just as we were perfecting ourarrangements to capture the Duc de Sairmeuse, the duke surprised us. Wefled, but the cursed noble pursued us, overtook Carini, seized him bythe collar, and dragged him to the citadel."
Lacheneur was overwhelmed; the abbe's gloomy prophecy again resounded inhis ears.
"So I warned my friends, and hastened to warn you," continued theofficer. "The affair is an utter failure!"
He was only too correct; and Lacheneur knew it even better than he did.But, blinded by hatred and anger, he would not acknowledge that thedisaster was irreparable.
"Let Mademoiselle de Counornieu pass without hinderance."
He affected a calmness which he did not in the least feel.
"You are easily discouraged, gentlemen," he said, bitterly. "There is,at least, one more chance."
"The devil! Then you have resources of which we are ignorant?"
"Perhaps--that depends. You have just passed the Croix d'Arcy; did youtell any of those people what you have just told me?"
"Not a word."
"How many men are there at the rendezvous?"
"At least two thousand."
"And what is their mood?"
"They are burning to begin the struggle. They are cursing our slowness,and told me to entreat you to make haste."
"In that case our cause is not lost," said Lacheneur, with a threateninggesture. "Wait here until the peasants come up, and say to them thatyou were sent to tell them to make haste. Bring them on as quicklyas possible, and have confidence in me; I will be responsible for thesuccess of the enterprise."
He said this, then putting spurs to his horse, galloped away. Hehad deceived the men. He had no other resources. He did not have theslightest hope of success. It was an abominable falsehood. But, if thisedifice, which he had erected with such care and labor, was to totterand fall, he desired to be buried beneath its ruins. They would bedefeated; he was sure of it, but what did that matter? In the conflicthe would seek death and find it.
Bitter discontent pervaded the crowd at the Croix d'Arcy; and afterthe passing of the officers, who had hastened to warn Lacheneur of thedisaster at Montaignac, the murmurs of dissatisfaction were changed tocurses.
These peasants, nearly two thousand in number, were indignant at notfinding their leader awaiting them at the rendezvous.
"Where is he?" they asked. "Who knows but he is afraid at the lastmoment? Perhaps he is concealing himself while we are risking our livesand the bread of our children here."
And already the epithets of mischief-maker and traitor were flying fromlip to lip, and increasing the anger in every breast.
Some were of the opinion that the crowd should disperse; others wishedto march against Montaignac without Lacheneur, and that, immediately.
But these deliberations were interrupted by the furious gallop of ahorse.
A carriage appeared, and stopped in the centre of the open space.
Two men alighted; Baron d'Escorval and Abbe Midon.
They were in advance of Lacheneur. They thought they had arrived intime.
Alas! here, as on the Reche, all their efforts, all their entreaties,and all their threats were futile.
They had come in the hope of arresting the movement; they onlyprecipitated it.
"We have gone too far to draw back," exclaimed one of the neighboringfarmers, who was the recognized leader in Lacheneur's absence. "If deathis before us, it is also behind us. To attack and conquer--that is ouronly hope of salvation. Forward, then, at once. That is the only way ofdisconcerting our enemies. He who hesitates is a coward! Forward!"
A shout of approval from two thousand throats replied:
"Forward!"
They unfurled the tri-color, that much regretted flag that remindedthem of so much glory, and so many great misfortunes; the drums began tobeat, and with shouts of: "Vive Napoleon II.!" the whole column took upits line of march.
Pale, with clothing in disorder, and voices husky with fatigue andemotion, M. d'Escorval and the abbe followed the rebels, imploring themto listen to reason.
They saw the precipice toward which these misguided creatures wererushing, and they prayed God for an inspiration to check them.
In fifty minutes the distance separating the Croix d'Arcy fromMontaignac is traversed.
Soon they see the gate of the citadel, which was to have been opened forthem by their friends within the walls.
It is eleven o'clock, and yet this gate stands open.
Does not this circumstance prove that their friends are masters of thetown, and that they are awaiting them in force?
They advance, so certain of success that those who have guns do not eventake the trouble to load them.
M. d'Escorval and the abbe alone foresee the catastrophe.
The leader of the expedition is near them, they entreat him not toneglect the commonest precautions, they implore him to send some twomen on in advance to reconnoitre; they, themselves, offer to go, oncondition that the peasants will await their return before proceedingfarther.
But their prayers are unheeded.
The peasants pass the outer line of fortifications in safety. The headof the advancing column reaches the drawbridge.
The enthusiasm amounts to delirium; who will be the first to enter isthe only thought.
Alas! at that very moment a pistol is fired.
It is a signal, for instantly, and on every side, resounds a terriblefusillade.
Three or four peasants fall, mortally wounded. The rest pause, frozenwith terror, thinking only of escape.
The indecision is terrible; but the leader encourages his men, there area few of Napoleon's old soldiers in the ranks. A struggle begins, allthe more frightful by reason of the darkness!
But it is not the cry of "Forward!" that suddenly rends the air.
The voice of a coward sends up the cry of panic:
"We are betrayed! Let him save himself who can!"
This is the end of all order. A wild fear seizes the throng; and thesemen flee madly, despairingly, scattered as withered leaves are scatteredby the power of the tempest.