The Trampling of the Lilies

  CHAPTER X. THE BAISER LAMOURETTE

  Presently Charlot turned to La Boulaye, and for all that he utteredno word, his glance left nothing to be said. In response to it Caronstirred at last, and came leisurely over to the table.

  "A mouthful of wine, and I'm gone, Charlot," said he in level,colourless tones, as taking up a flagon he filled himself a goblet.

  "Fill for me, too," cried the Captain; "aye, and for the Citoyenne here.Come, my girl, a cup of wine will refresh you."

  But Suzanne shrank from the invitation as much as from the tenor ofit and the epithet he had applied to her. Observing this, he laughedsoftly.

  "Oh! As you will. But the wine is good-from cellar of a ci-devant Duke.My service to you, Citoyenne," he pledged her, and raising his cup, hepoured the wine down a throat that was parched by the much that he haddrunk already, But ere the goblet was half-empty, a sharp, sudden cryfrom La Boulaye came to interrupt his quaffing. He glanced round, andat what he saw he spilled the wine down his waistcoat, then let the cupfall to the ground, as with an oath he flung himself upon the girl.

  She had approached the table whilst both men were drinking, and quietlypossessed herself of a knife; and, but that it was too blunt to do theservice to which she put it, Charlot's intervention would have come toolate. As it was he caught her wrist in time, and in a rage he tore theweapon from her fingers, and flung it far across the room.

  "So, pretty lady!" he gasped, now gripping both her wrists. "So! we aresuicidally inclined, are we! We would cheat Captain Charlot, would we?Fi donc!" he continued with horrid playfulness. "To shed a blood so blueupon a floor so unclean! Name of a name of a name!"

  Accounting herself baffled at every point, this girl, who had hithertoborne herself so stoutly as to have stoically sought death as a lastmeans of escape, began to weep softly. Whereupon:

  "Nay, nay, little-woman," murmured the Captain, in such accents as areemployed to a petted child, and instinctively, in his intent to soothehe drew her nearer. And now the close contact thrilled him; her beauty,and some subtle perfume that reached him from her, played havoc with hissenses. Nearer he drew her in silence, his face white and clammy, andhis hot, wine laden breath coming quicker every second. And unresistingshe submitted, for she was beyond resistance now, beyond tears even.From between wet lashes her great eyes gazed into his with a look ofdeadly, piteous affright; her lips were parted, her cheeks ashen, andher mind was dimly striving to formulate a prayer to the Holy Mother,the natural protectress of all imperilled virgins.

  Nearer she felt herself drawn to her tormentor, in whose thoughts theredwelt now little recollection of the vengeful character of his purpose.For a second her wrists were released; then she felt his arms goinground her as the coils of a snake go round its prey. With a suddenreassertion of self, with a panting gasp of horror, she tore herselffree. An oath broke from him as he sprang after her. Then the unexpectedhappened. Above his head something bright flashed up, then down. Therewas a dull crack, and the Captain stopped short in his rush; his handswere jerked to the height of his breast, and like a pole-axed beast hedropped and lay prone at her feet.

  Across his fallen body she beheld La Boulaye standing impassively, theghost of a smile on his thin lips, and in his hand one of the heavysilver candlesticks from the table.

  Whilst a man might count a dozen they stood so with no word spoken.Then:

  "It was a cowardly blow, Citoyenne," said the Deputy in accents ofregret; "but what choice had I?" He set down the candlestick, andkneeling beside Charlot, he felt for the Captain's heart. "The door,Citoyenne," he muttered. "Lock it."

  Mechanically, and without uttering a word, she hastened to do hisbidding. As the key grated in the lock he rose.

  "It has only stunned him," he announced. "Now to prepare an explanationfor it."

  He drew a chair under the old brass lamp, that hung from the ceiling. Hemounted the chair, and with both hands he seized the chain immediatelyabove the lamp. Drawing himself up, he swung there for just a second;then the hook gave way, and amid a shower of plaster La Boulayehalf-tumbled to the ground.

  "There," said he, as he dropped the lamp with its chain and hook uponthe floor by Charlot. "It may not be as convincing as we might wish,but I think that it will prove convincing enough to the dull wits ofthe landlady, and of such of Charlot's followers as may enter here. I amafraid," he deplored, "that it will be some time before he recovers. Hewas so far gone in wine that it needed little weight to fell him."

  Her glance met his once more, and she took a step towards him with handsoutstretched.

  "Monsieur, Monsieur!" she cried. "If you but knew how in my thoughts Iwronged you a little while ago."

  "You had all reason to," he answered, taking her hands, and there camethe least softening of his stern countenance. "It grieved me to add toyour affliction. But had I permitted him to do so much as suspect thatI was anything but your implacable enemy, I had no chance of saving you.He would have dismissed me, and I must have obeyed or been compelled,for he is master here, and has men enough to enforce what he desires."

  And now she would have thanked him for having saved her, but he cut hershort almost roughly.

  "You owe me no thanks," he said. "I have but done for you what mymanhood must have bidden me do for any woman similarly situated. Forto-night I have saved you, Citoyenne. I shall make an effort to smuggleyou and your mother out of Boisvert before morning, but after that youmust help yourselves."

  "You will do this?" she cried, her eyes glistening.

  "I will attempt it."

  "By what means, Monsieur Caron?"

  "I do not yet know. I must consider. In the meantime you had best returnto your coach. Later to-night I shall have you and your mother broughtto me, and I will endeavour to so arrange matters that you shall notagain return to your carriage.

  "Not return to it?" she exclaimed. "But are we then to leave it here?"

  "I am afraid there is no help for that."

  "But, Monsieur, you do not know; there is a treasure in that carriage.All that we have is packed in it, and if we go without it we godestitute."

  "Better, perhaps, to go destitute than not to go at all, Mademoiselle. Iam afraid there is no choice for you."

  His manner was a trifle impatient. It irritated him that in such amoment she should give so much thought to her valuables. But in realityshe was thinking of them inasmuch as they concerned her mother, who wasbelow, and her father and brother who awaited them in Prussia, whitherthey had separately emigrated. The impatience in his tone stung her intoa feeling of resentment, that for the moment seemed to blot out the muchthat she owed him. A reproachful word was trembling on her lips, whensuddenly he put out his hand.

  "Hist!" he whispered, the concentrated look of one who listens stampedupon his face. His sharp ears had detected some sound which--perhapsthrough her preoccupation--she had not noticed. He stepped quickly tothe Captain's side, and taking up the lamp by its chain, he leapt intothe air like a clown, and came down on his heels with a thud that shookthe chamber. Simultaneously he dropped the lamp with a clatter, and senta shout re-echoing through the house.

  The girl stared at him with parted lips and the least look of fear inher eyes. Was he gone clean mad of a sudden?

  But now the sound which had warned him of someone's approach reachedher ears as well. There were steps on the stairs, which at that alarmingnoise were instantly quickened. Yet ere they had reached the top LaBoulaye was at the door vociferating wildly.

  Into the room came the hostess, breathless and grinning with anxiety,and behind her came Guyot, who, startled by the din, had hastened up toinquire into its cause.

  At sight of the Captain stretched upon the floor there was a scream fromMother Capoulade and an oath from the soldier.

  "Mon Dieu! what has happened?" she cried, hurrying forward.

  "Miserable!" exclaimed La Boulaye, with well-feigned anger. "It seemsthat your wretched hovel is tumbling to pieces, and that men are notsafe beneath its roo
f." And he indicated the broken plaster and thefallen lamp.

  "How did it happen, Citoyenne-deputy?" asked Guyot; for all that he drewthe only possible inference from what he saw.

  "Can you not see how it happened?" returned La Boulaye, impatiently."As for you, wretched woman, you will suffer for it, I promise you. Thenation is likely to demand a high price for Captain Charlot's injuries."

  "But, bon Dieu, how am I to blame?" wailed the frightened woman.

  "To blame," echoed La Boulaye, in a furious voice. "Are you not to blamethat you let rooms in a crazy hovel? Let them to emigres as much as youwill, but if you let them to good patriots and thereby endanger theirlives you must take the consequences. And the consequences in this caseare likely to be severe, malheureuse."

  He turned now to Guyot, who was kneeling by the Captain, and looking tohis hurt.

  "Here, Guyot," he commanded sharply, "reconduct the Citoyenne to hercoach. I will perhaps see her again later, when the Captain shall haverecovered consciousness. You, Citoyenne Capoulade, assist me to carryhim to bed."

  Each obeyed him, Guyot readily, as became a soldier, and the hostesstrembling with the dread which La Boulaye's words had instilled intoher. They got Charlot to bed, and when a half-hour or so later herecovered consciousness, it was to find Guyot watching at his bed-side.Bewildered, he demanded an explanation of his present position andof the pain in his head, which brought him the memory of a sudden andunaccountable blow he had received, which was the last thing that heremembered. Guyot, who had never for a moment entertained a doubt of thegenuineness of the mise-en-scene La Boulaye had prepared, answered himwith the explanation of how he had been struck by the falling lamp,whereupon Charlot fell to cursing lamps and crumblings with horridvolubility. That done he would have risen, but that La Boulaye, enteringat that moment, insisted that he should remain abed.

  "Are you mad?" the Deputy expostulated, "or is it that you do notappreciate the nature of your hurt? Diable! I have known a man diethrough insisting to be about with a cracked skull that was as nothingto yours."

  "Name of a name!" gasped Charlot, who in such matters was profoundlyignorant and correspondingly credulous. "Is it so serious?"

  "Not serious if you lie still and sleep. You will probably be quitewell by to-morrow. But if you move to-night the consequences may well befatal."

  "But I cannot sleep at this hour," the Captain complained. "I am verywakeful."

  "We will try to find you a sleeping potion, then," said La Boulaye."I hope the hosteen may have something that will answer the purpose.Meanwhile, Guyot, do not allow the Captain to talk. If you would havehim well to-morrow, remember that it is of the first importance that heshould have utter rest tonight."

  With that he went in quest of Dame Capoulade to ascertain whether shepossessed any potion that would induce sleep. He told her that theCaptain was seriously injured, and that unless he slept he might die,and, quickened by the terror of what might befall her in such a case,the woman presently produced a small phial full of a brown, viscousfluid. What it might be he had no notion, being all unversed in themysteries of the pharmacopoeia; but she told him that it had belonged toher now defunct husband, who had always said that ten drops of it wouldmake a man sleep the clock round.

  He experimented on the Captain with ten drops, and within a quarter ofan hour of taking the draught of red wine in which it was administered,Charlot's deep breathing proclaimed him fast asleep.

  That done, La Boulaye sent Guyot below to his post once more, andreturning to the room in which they had supped, he paced up and down fora full hour, revolving in his mind the matter of saving Mademoiselle andher mother. At last, towards ten o'clock, he opened the casement, andcalling down to Guyot, as Charlot had done, he bade him bring the womenup again. Now Guyot knew of the high position which Caron occupied inthe Convention, and he had seen the intimate relations in which he stoodto Tardivet, so that unhesitatingly he now obeyed him.

  La Boulaye closed the window, and crossed slowly to the fire. He stirredthe burning logs with his boot, then stood there waiting. Presently thestairs creaked, next the door opened, and Guyot ushered in Mademoiselle.

  "The elder citoyenne refuses to come, Citizen-deputy," said the soldier."They both insisted that it was not necessary, and that the Citoyennehere would answer your questions."

  Almost on the point of commanding the soldier to return for theMarquise, Caron caught the girl's eye, and her glance was so significantthat he thought it best to hear first what motives she had for thusdisobeying him.

  "Very well," he said shortly. "You may go below, Guyot. But holdyourself in readiness lest I should have need of you."

  The soldier saluted and disappeared. Scarce was he gone whenMademoiselle came hurrying forward.

  "Monsieur Caron," she cried "Heaven is surely befriending us. Thesoldiers are drinking themselves out of their wits. They will be keepinga slack watch presently."

  He looked at her for a moment, fathoming the purport of what she said.

  "But," he demanded at last, "why did not the Marquise obey my summons,and accompany you?"

  "She was afraid to leave the coach, Monsieur. Moreover, she agreed withme that it would not be necessary."

  "Not necessary?" he echoed. "But it is necessary. When last you werehere I told you I did not intend you should return to the coach. This ismy plan, Citoyenne. I shall keep Guyot waiting below while you and yourmother are fortifying yourselves by supper here. Then I shall dismisshim with a recommendation that he keep a close watch upon the carriage,and the information that you will not be returning to it to-night. Ahalf-hour later or so, when things are quiet, I shall find a way out foryou by the back, after which the rest must remain in your hands. More Icannot do."

  "You can," she cried; "you can."

  "If you will enlighten me," said he, with the faintest touch of irony.

  She looked at his stern, sardonic face and solemn grey eyes, and for amoment it almost seemed to her that she hated him more than anybody inthe world. He was so passionless, so master of himself, and he addressedher in a tone which, whilst it suggested that he accounted himself mostfully her equal, made her feel that he was really her better by much.If one of these two was an aristocrat, surely that one was theCitizen-deputy La Boulaye.

  "If you had but the will you would do it, Monsieur," she answered him."It is not mine to enlighten you; I know not how."

  "I have the very best will in the world, Citoyenne," said he. "Of that Ithink that I am giving proof."

  "Aye, the will to do nothing that will shame your manhood," sherejoined. "That is all you think of. It was because your manhood badeyou that you came to my rescue--so you said when you declined my thanks.It is this manhood of yours, I make no doubt, that is now prevailingupon you to deliver two unprotected women out of the hands of thesebrigands."

  "In Heaven's name, Citoyenne," quoth the astonished Deputy, "out of whatsentiment would you have me act, and, indeed, so that I save you, howcan it concern you by what sentiment I am prompted?"

  She paused a moment before replying. Her eyes were downcast, and some ofthe colour faded from her cheeks. She came a step nearer, which broughther very close to him.

  "Monsieur," she faltered very shyly, "in the old days at Bellecour youwould have served me out of other sentiments."

  He started now in spite of himself, and eyed her with a sudden gleam ofhope, or triumph, or mistrust, or perhaps of all three. Then his glancefell, and his voice was wistful.

  "But the old days are dead, Mademoiselle."

  "The days, yes," she answered, taking courage from his tone. "But loveMonsieur, is everlasting--it never dies, they say."

  And now it was La Boulaye who drew closer, and this man who hadso rigidly schooled himself out of all emotions, felt his breathquickening, and his pulses throbbing faster and faster. To him it seemedthat she was right, and that love never died--for the love for her,which he believed he had throttled out of existence long ago, seemed ofa sudden to take life as
vigorously as ever. And then it was as if somebreeze out of the past bore to his nostrils the smell of the violets andof the moist earth of that April morning when she had repulsed him inthe woods of Bellecour. His emotion died down. He drew back, and stoodrigid before her.

  "And if it were to live, Citoyenne," he said--the resumption of theRepublican form of address showed that he had stepped back into thespirit as well as in the flesh "what manner of fool were I to againsubmit it to the lash of scorn it earned when first it was discovered?"

  "But that belonged to the old days," she cried, "and it is dead with theold days.'

  "It is vain to go back, Citoyenne," he cut in, and his voice rang harshwith determination.

  She bit her lip under cover of her bent head. If she had hated himbefore how much more did she not hate him now? And but a moment back ithad seemed to her that she had loved him. She had held out her hands tohim and he had scorned them; in her eagerness she had been unmaidenly,and all that she had earned had been humiliation. She quivered withshame and anger, and sinking into the nearest chair she burst into apassion of tears.

  Thus by accident did she stumble upon the very weapon wherewith to makean utter rout of all Caron's resolutions. For knowing nothing of thefountain from which those tears were springing, and deeming them theexpression of a grief pure and unalloyed--saving, perhaps, by a worthypenitence--he stepped swiftly to her side.

  "Mademoiselle," he murmured, and his tone was as gentle and beseechingas it had lately been imperious. "Nay, Mademoiselle, I implore you!"

  But her tears continued, and her sobs shook the slender frame as if toshatter it. He dropped upon his knees. Scarcely knowing what he did, heset his arm about her waist in a caress of protection.

  A long curl of her black, unpowdered hair lay against his cheek.

  "Mademoiselle," he murmured, and she took comfort at the soothing tone.

  From it she judged him malleable now, that had been so stern andunyielding before. She raised her eyes, and through her tears she turnedtheir heavenly blue full upon the grey depths of his.

  "You will not believe me, Monsieur," she complained softly. "You willnot believe that I can have changed with the times; that I see thingsdifferently now. If you were to come to me again as in the woods atBellecour--" She paused abruptly, her cheeks flamed scarlet, and shecovered them with her hands.

  "Suzanne!" he cried, seeking to draw those hands away. "Is it true,this? You care, beloved!"

  She uncovered her face at last. Again their eyes met.

  "I was right," she whispered. "Love never dies, you see."

  "And you will marry me, Suzanne?" he asked incredulously.

  She inclined her head, smiling through her tears, and he would havecaught her to him but that she rose of a sudden.

  "Hist!" she cried, raising her finger: "someone is coming."

  He listened, holding his breath, but no sound stirred. He went to thedoor and peered out. All was still. But the interruption servedto impress him with the fact that time was speeding, and that allunsuspicious though Guyot might be as yet, it was more than possiblethat his suspicions would be aroused if she remained there much longer.

  He mentioned this, and he was beginning to refer to his plan for theirescape when she thrust it aside, insisting that they must depart intheir coach, so that their treasure might also be saved.

  "Be reasonable, Suzanne," he cried. "It is impossible."

  A cloud of vexation swept across her averted face.

  "Nay, surely not impossible," she answered. "Listen, Caron, there aretwo treasures in that coach. One is in money and in gold and silverplate; the other is in gems, and amounts to thrice the value of therest. This latter is my dowry. It is a fortune with which we can quitFrance and betake ourselves wherever our fancy leads us. Would you askme to abandon that and come to you penniless, compelled thereby to livein perpetual terror in a country where at any moment an enemy might castat me the word aristocrate, and thereby ruin me?"

  There was no cupidity in La Boulaye's nature, and even the prospect ofan independent fortune would have weighed little with him had it notbeen backed by the other argument she employed touching the terror thatwould be ever with her did they dwell in France.

  He stood deep in thought, his hand to his brow, thrusting back the longblack hair from his white forehead, what time she recapitulated herargument.

  "But how?" he exclaimed, in exasperation "Tell me how?"

  "That is for you to discover, Caron."

  He thrust his hands deep into his pockets, and set himself to pace thechamber. And now his fingers came in contact with something foreign.Idly he drew it forth, and it proved to be the phial Mother Capouladehad given him, and from which he had poured the ten drops for theCaptain's sleeping potion. His eyes brightened with inspiration. Herewas a tool whose possibilities were vast. Then his brows were knitagain.

  "Wait," he said slowly. "Let me think."