CHAPTER XLI. THE HOTEL DE LA POSTE
That same morning, about six o'clock, at the cold gray breaking of aFebruary day, a rider, spurring a post-hack and preceded by a postilionwho was to lead back the horse, left Bourg by the road to Macon orSaint-Julien.
We say Macon _or_ Saint-Julien, because about three miles from thecapital of Bresse the road forks; the one to the right keeping straighton to Saint-Julien, the other, which deviates to the left, leading toMacon.
When the rider reached this bifurcation, he was about to take the roadleading to Macon, when a voice, apparently coming from beneath an upsetcart, implored his pity. The rider called to the postilion to see whatthe matter was.
A poor market-man was pinned down under a load of vegetables. He hadevidently attempted to hold up the cart just as the wheel, sinking intothe ditch, overbalanced the vehicle. The cart had fallen on him, butfortunately, he said, he thought no limbs were broken, and all he wantedwas to get the cart righted, and then he could recover his legs.
The rider was compassionate to his fellow being, for he not onlyallowed the postilion to stop and help the market-man, but he himselfdismounted, and with a vigor one would hardly have expected from soslight a man, he assisted the postilion not only to right the cart, butto replace it on the roadbed. After which he offered to help the man torise; but the latter had said truly; he really was safe and sound, andif there were a slight shaking of the legs, it only served to provethe truth of the proverb that God takes care of drunkards. The man wasprofuse in his thanks, and took his horse by the bridle, as much, it wasevident, to hold himself steady as to lead the animal.
The riders remounted their homes, put them to a gallop, and soondisappeared round a bend which the road makes a short distance before itreaches the woods of Monnet.
They had scarcely disappeared when a notable change took place in thedemeanor of our market-man. He stopped his horse, straightened up, putthe mouthpiece of a tiny trumpet to his lips, and blew three times. Aspecies of groom emerged from the woods which line the road, leadinga gentleman's horse by the bridle. The market-man rapidly removed hisblouse, discarded his linen trousers, and appeared in vest and breechesof buckskin, and top boots. He searched in his cart, drew forth apackage which he opened, shook out a green hunting coat with goldbraidings, put it on, and over it a dark-brown overcoat; took fromthe servant's hands a hat which the latter presented him, and whichharmonized with his elegant costume, made the man screw his spurs tohis boots, and sprang upon his horse with the lightness and skill of anexperienced horseman.
"To-night at seven," he said to the groom, "be on the road betweenSaint-Just and Ceyzeriat. You will meet Morgan. Tell him that he _whomhe knows of_ has gone to Macon, but that I shall be there before him."
Then, without troubling himself about his cart and vegetables, which heleft in his servant's charge, the ex-marketman, who was none other thanour old acquaintance Montbar, turned his horse's head toward the Monnetwoods, and set out at a gallop. His mount was not a miserable post hack,like that on which Roland was riding. On the contrary, it was a bloodedhorse, so that Montbar easily overtook the two riders, and passed themon the road between the woods of Monnet and Polliat. The horse, exceptfor a short stop at Saint-Cyr-sur-Menthon, did the twenty-eight orthirty miles between Bourg and Macon, without resting, in three hours.
Arrived at Macon, Montbar dismounted at the Hotel de la Poste, the onlyone which at that time was fitted to receive guests of distinction. Forthe rest, from the manner in which Montbar was received it was evidentthat the host was dealing with an old acquaintance.
"Ah! is it you, Monsieur de Jayat?" said the host. "We were wonderingyesterday what had become of you. It's more than a month since we'veseen you in these parts."
"Do you think it's as long as that, friend?" said the young man,affecting to drop his r's after the fashion of the day. "Yes, onmy honor, that's so! I've been with friends, the Trefforts and theHautecourts. You know those gentlemen by name, don't you?"
"By name, and in person."
"We hunted to hounds. They're finely equipped, word of honor! Can Ibreakfast here this morning?"
"Why not?"
"Then serve me a chicken, a bottle of Bordeaux, two cutlets, fruit--anytrifle will go."
"At once. Shall it be served in your room, or in the common room?"
"In the common room, it's more amusing; only give me a table to myself.Don't forget my horse. He is a fine beast, and I love him better than Ido certain Christians, word of honor!"
The landlord gave his orders. Montbar stood before the fire, hiscoat-tails drawn aside, warming his calves.
"So you still keep to the posting business?" he said to the landlord, asif desirous of keeping up the conversation.
"I should think so!"
"Then you relay the diligences?"
"Not the diligences, but the mail-coaches."
"Ah! tell me--I want to go to Chambery some of these days--how manyplaces are there in the mail-coach?"
"Three; two inside, and one out with the courier."
"Do I stand any chance of finding a vacant seat?"
"It may happen; but the safest way is to hire your own conveyance."
"Can't I engage a place beforehand?"
"No; for don't you see, Monsieur de Jayat, that if travellers takeplaces from Paris to Lyons, they have the first right."
"See, the aristocrats!" said Montbar, laughing. "Apropos of aristocrats,there is one behind me posting here. I passed him about a mile the otherside of Polliat. I thought his hack a little wind-broken."
"Oh!" exclaimed the landlord, "that's not astonishing; my brothers inthe business have a poor lot of horses."
"Why, there's our man!" continued Montbar; "I thought I had more of alead of him."
Roland was, in fact, just passing the windows at a gallop.
"Do you still want chamber No. 1, Monsieur de Jayat?" asked thelandlord.
"Why do you ask?"
"Because it is the best one, and if you don't take it, I shall give itto that man, provided he wants to make any stay."
"Oh! don't bother about me; I shan't know till later in the day whetherI go or stay. If the new-comer means to remain give him No. l. I willcontent myself with No. 2."
"The gentleman is served," said the waiter, looking through the doorwhich led from the kitchen to the common room.
Montbar nodded and accepted the invitation. He entered the common roomjust as Roland came into the kitchen. The dinner was on the table.Montbar changed his plate and sat down with his back to the door.The precaution was useless. Roland did not enter the common room,and Montbar breakfasted without interruption. When dessert was over,however, the host himself brought in his coffee. Montbar understood thatthe good man was in talkative humor; a fortunate circumstance, for therewere certain things he was anxious to hear about.
"Well," said Montbar, "what became of our man? Did he only changehorses?"
"No, no, no," said the landlord; "as you said, he's an aristocrat. Heordered breakfast in his own room."
"His room or my room?" asked Montbar; "for I'm certain you put him inthat famous No. 1."
"Confound it! Monsieur de Jayat, it's your own fault. You told me Icould do as I liked."
"And you took me at my word; that was right. I shall be satisfied withNo. 2."
"You'll be very uncomfortable. It's only separated from No. 1 by apartition, and you can hear everything that happens from one room to theother."
"Nonsense, my dear man, do you think I've come here to do improperthings, or sing seditious songs, that you are afraid the stranger shouldhear or see what I do?"
"Oh! that's not it."
"What is it then?"
"I'm not afraid you'll disturb others. I'm afraid they'll disturb you."
"So your new guest is a roisterer?"
"No; he looks to me like an officer."
"What makes you think so?"
"His manner, in the first place. Then he inquired what regiment was ingarriso
n at Macon; and when I told him it was the 7th mounted Chasseurs,he said: 'Good! the colonel is a friend of mine. Can a waiter take himmy card and ask him to breakfast with me?'"
"Ah, ha!"
"So you see how it is. When officers get together they make so muchracket and noise. Perhaps they'll not only breakfast, but dine and suptogether."
"I've told you already, my good man, that I am not sure of passing thenight here. I am expecting letters from Paris, _paste restante_, whichwill decide me. In the meantime, light a fire in No. 2, and make aslittle noise as possible, to avoid annoying my neighbors. And, at thesame time, send me up pen and ink, and some paper. I have letters towrite."
Montbar's orders were promptly executed, and he himself followed thewaiter to see that Roland was not disturbed by his proximity.
The chamber was just what the landlord had said. Not a movement couldbe made, not a word uttered in the next room, that was not heard.Consequently Montbar distinctly heard the waiter announce ColonelSaint-Maurice, then the resounding steps of the latter in the corridor,and the exclamations of the two friends, delighted to meet again.
On the other hand, Roland, who had been for a moment disturbed by thenoise in the adjoining room, forgot it as soon as it had ceased, andthere was no danger of its being renewed. Montbar, left alone, seatedhimself at the table, on which were paper, pen and ink, and remainedperfectly motionless.
The two officers had known each other in Italy, where Roland was underthe command of Saint-Maurice, the latter being then a captain and Rolanda lieutenant. At present their rank was equal, but Roland had besidea double commission from the First Consul and the minister of police,which placed all officers of his own rank under his command, and even,within the limits of his mission, those of a higher rank.
Morgan had not been mistaken in supposing that Amelie's brother was inpursuit of the Companions of Jehu. If Roland's nocturnal search at theChartreuse of Seillon was not convincing, the conversation between theyoung officer and his colleague was proof positive. In it, it developedthat the First Consul was really sending fifty thousand francs as agift to the monks of Saint-Bernard, by post; but that this money was inreality a trap devised for the capture of the Companions of Jehu, if allmeans failed to surprise them in the Chartreuse of Seillon or some otherrefuge.
It now-remained to be seen how these bandits should be captured.The case was eagerly debated between the two officers while they hadbreakfast. By the time dessert was served they were both agreed upon aplan.
That same evening, Morgan received the following letter:
Just as Adler told us, next Friday at five o'clock the mail-coach will leave Paris with fifty thousand francs for the fathers of Saint-Bernard.
The three places, the one in the coupe and the two in the interior, are already engaged by three travellers who will join the coach, one at Sens, the other two at Tonnerre. The travellers are, in the coupe, one of citizen Fouche's best men: in the interior M. Roland de Montrevel and the colonel of the 7th Chasseurs, garrisoned at Macon. They will be in civilians' clothes not to excite suspicion, but armed to the teeth.
Twelve mounted Chasseurs, with muskets, pistols, and sabres, will escort the coach, but at some distance behind it, so as to arrive during the fray. The first pistol fired will be the signal for putting their horses to a gallop and falling upon us.
Now my advice is that, in spite of these precautions, in fact because of these precautions, the attack should be made at the place agreed upon, namely the Maison-Blanche. If that is also the opinion of the comrades, let me know it. I will myself take the coach, as postilion, from Macon to Belleville. I will undertake to settle the colonel, and one of you must be responsible for Fouche's agent.
As for M. Roland de Montrevel, no harm will befall him, for I have a means, known to me alone and by me invented, by which he can be prevented from leaving the coach.
The precise day and hour at which the mail to Chambery will pass the Maison-Blanche is Saturday at six in the evening. Answer in these words, "Saturday, six of the evening," and all will go on rollers. MONTBAR.
At midnight Montbar, who had complained of the noise his neighbor made,and had removed to a room at the opposite end of the inn, was awakenedby a courier, who was none other than the groom who had brought him hishorse ready bridled and saddled in the morning. The letter containedonly these words, followed by a postscript:
Saturday, six of the evening. MORGAN.
P.S.--Do not forget, even when fighting, above all when fighting, that Roland de Montrevel's life is safeguarded.
The young man read this reply with visible satisfaction. The matter wasno longer a mere stoppage of a diligence, but a species of affair ofhonor among men of differing opinions, with clashes of courage andbravery. It was no longer a matter of gold spilled upon the highroad,but of blood to be shed--not of pistols loaded with powder, and wieldedby a child's hands, but of deadly weapons handled by soldiers accustomedto their use.
For the rest, as Montbar had all the day that was dawning and the morrowbefore him in which to mature his plans, he contented himself withasking his groom to inquire which postilion would take the coach atMacon at five o'clock for the two stages between Macon and Belleville.He also sent him to buy four screw-rings and two padlocks fastening withkeys.
He already knew that the mail was due at Macon at half past four, waitedfor the travellers to dine, and started again punctually at five.No doubt all his plans were previously laid, for, after giving thesedirections, Montbar dismissed his servant and went to sleep like a manwho has long arrears of slumber to make up.
The next morning he did not wake, or rather did not come downstairsuntil nine o'clock. He asked casually what had become of his noisyneighbor, and was told that he had started in the Lyons mail at sixin the morning, with his friend the colonel of the Chasseurs; but thelandlord thought they had only engaged places as far as Tonnerre.
If Monsieur de Jayat had interested himself in the young officer,the latter, in turn, had made inquiries about him, asking who he was,whether he came habitually to the hotel, and whether he would be willingto sell his horse. The landlord had replied that he knew Monsieur deJayat well, for he was in the habit of coming to the hotel wheneverbusiness brought him to Macon, and that, as for the horse, he did notbelieve, considering the affection the young gentleman showed for theanimal, that he would consent to part with him for any price. On whichthe traveller had departed without saying any more.
After breakfast M. de Jayat, who seemed to find time hanging heavily onhis hands, ordered his horse, mounted it, and rode out from Macon by theLyons road. As long as he was in the town he allowed his horse to takethe pace his fancy dictated, but once beyond it, he gathered up thereins and pressed the animal with his knees. The hint sufficed, and theanimal broke into a gallop.
Montbar passed through the villages of Varennes, La Creche,and Chapelle-de-Guinchay, and did not stop until he reached theMaison-Blanche. The spot was exactly as Valensolle had described it, andwas admirably adapted for an ambuscade.
The Maison-Blanche stood in a tiny valley between a sharp declivity anda rise in the ground. A little rivulet without a name flowed past thecorner of the garden and made its way to the Saone just above Challe.Tall bushy trees followed the course of the little stream, and describeda half-circle, inclosing the house on three sides. The house itself wasformerly an inn which proved unproductive to the innkeeper. It had beenclosed for seven or eight years, and was beginning to fall into decay.Before reaching it, the main road coming from Macon made a sharp turn.
Montbar examined the locality with the care of an engineer choosinghis ground for a battlefield. He drew a pencil and a note-book from hispocket and made an accurate plan of the position. Then he returned toMacon.
Two hours later his groom departed, carrying the plan to Morgan, havinginformed his master that Antoine was the name of the postilion who wasto take the coach from Macon to Belleville. The groom also gave him thefour
screw-rings and the two padlocks he had purchased.
Montbar ordered up a bottle of old Burgundy, and sent for Antoine.
Ten minutes later Antoine appeared. He was a fine, handsome fellow,twenty-five or six years of age, about Montbar's height; a fact whichthe latter, in looking him over from head to foot, remarked withsatisfaction. The postilion paused at the threshold, and, carrying hishand to his hat in a military salute, he said: "Did the citizen send forme?"
"Are you the man they call Antoine?" asked Montbar.
"At your service, and that of your company."
"Well, you can serve me, friend. But close the door and come here."
Antoine closed the door, came within two steps of Montbar, salutedagain, and said: "Ready, master."
"In the first place," said Montbar, "if you have no objections, we'lldrink a glass of wine to the health of your mistress."
"Oh! oh! My mistress!" cried Antoine. "Can fellows like me affordmistresses? They're all very well for gentlemen such as you."
"Come, you scamp!" said Montbar. "You can't make me believe that, withyour make-up, you've made a vow of chastity."
"Oh! I don't say I'm a monk in that particular. I may have a bit of alove-affair here and there along the high-road."
"Yes, at every tavern; and that's why we stop so often with our returnhorses to drink a drop or fill a pipe."
"Confound it!" said Antoine, with an indescribable twist of theshoulders. "A fellow must have his fun."
"Well, taste the wine, my lad. I'll warrant it won't make you weep." Andfilling a glass, Montbar signed to the postilion to fill the other.
"A fine honor for me! To your health and that of your company!"
This was an habitual phrase of the worthy postilion, a sort of extensionof politeness which did not need the presence of others to justify it inhis eyes.
"Ha!" said he, after drinking and smacking his lips, "there'svintage for you--and I have gulped it down at a swallow as if it wereheel-taps!"
"That was a mistake, Antoine."
"Yes, it was a mistake."
"Luckily," said Montbar, refilling his glass, "you can repair it."
"No higher than my thumb, citizen," said the facetious postilion, takingcare that his thumb touched the rim of the glass.
"One minute," said Montbar, just as Antoine was putting his glass to hislips.
"Just in time," said the postilion; "it was on its way. What is it?"
"You wouldn't let me drink to the health of your mistress, but I hopeyou won't refuse to drink to mine."
"Oh! that's never refused, especially with such wine. To the health ofyour mistress and her company."
Thereupon citizen Antoine swallowed the crimson liquor, tasting andrelishing it this time.
"Hey!" exclaimed Montbar, "you're in too much of a hurry, my friend."
"Pooh!" retorted the postilion.
"Yes. Suppose I have several mistresses. If I don't name the one wedrink to what good will it do her?"
"Why, that's true!"
"Sad; but you'll have to try again, my friend."
"Ha! Try again, of course! Can't do things half-way with a man like you.The sin's committed; we'll drink again." And Antoine held out his glass.Montbar filled it to the brim.
"Now," said Antoine, eying the bottle, and making sure it was empty,"there must be no mistake. Her name?"
"To the beautiful Josephine!" said Montbar.
"To the beautiful Josephine!" repeated Antoine.
And he swallowed the Burgundy with increasing satisfaction. Then, afterdrinking, and wiping his lips on his sleeve, he said, as he set theglass on the table: "Hey! one moment, citizen."
"What now?" exclaimed Montbar. "Anything wrong this time?"
"I should say so. We've made a great blunder but it's too late now."
"Why so?"
"The bottle is empty."
"That one, yes; but not this one."
So saying, Montbar took from the chimney corner another bottle, alreadyuncorked.
"Ah! ah!" exclaimed Antoine, a radiant smile lighting his face.
"Is there any remedy for it?" asked Montbar.
"There is," replied Antoine, holding out his glass.
Montbar filled it as scrupulously full as he had the first three.
"Well," said the postilion, holding the ruby liquid to the light andadmiring its sparkle, "as I was saying, we drank to the health of thebeautiful Josephine--"
"Yes," said Montbar.
"But," said Antoine, "there are a devilish lot of Josephines in France."
"True. How many do you suppose there are, Antoine?"
"Perhaps a hundred thousand."
"Granted. What then?"
"Well, out of that hundred thousand a tenth of them must be beautiful."
"That's a good many."
"Say a twentieth."
"All right."
"That makes five thousand."
"The devil! You're strong in arithmetic!"
"I'm the son of a schoolmaster."
"Well?"
"Well, to which of those five thousand did we drink, hey?"
"You're right, Antoine. The family name must follow. To the beautifulJosephine--"
"Stop. This glass was begun; it won't do. If the health is to do her anygood, we'll have to empty it and fill it again."
He put the glass to his lips.
"There, it's empty," he said.
"And full," added Montbar, putting the bottle to the glass.
"I'm ready. To the beautiful Josephine--"
"To the beautiful Josephine--Lollier!"
And Montbar emptied his glass.
"By the Lord!" exclaimed Antoine. "Wait a moment. Josephine Lollier!Why, I know her."
"I didn't say you didn't."
"Josephine Lollier! Why, she's the daughter of the man who keeps thepost-horses at Belleville."
"Exactly."
"Damn it!" exclaimed the postilion, "you're not to be pitied--a prettyslip of a girl! To the health of beautiful Josephine Lollier."
And he swallowed his fifth glass of Burgundy.
"Now," asked Montbar, "do you understand why I had you sent up here, mylad?"
"No; but I don't bear you any grudge for it, all the same."
"That's very kind of you."
"Oh! I'm a pretty good devil."
"Well, I'll tell you why I sent for you."
"I'm all ears."
"Wait. You'll hear better if your glass is full than if it's empty."
"Are you a doctor for deaf folk?" asked the postilion, banteringly.
"No; but I've lived a good deal among drunkards," replied Montbar,filling Antoine's glass again.
"A man is not a drunkard because he likes wine," said Antoine.
"I agree with you, my good fellow," replied Montbar. "A man is only adrunkard when he can't carry his liquor."
"Well said," cried Antoine, who seemed to carry his pretty well. "I'mlistening."
"You told me that you didn't understand why I had sent for you."
"That's what I said."
"Still, you must have suspected that I had an object?"
"Every man has an object, good or bad, according to our priest,"observed Antoine, sententiously.
"Well, my friend," resumed Montbar, "mine is to make my way by night,without being recognized, into the courtyard of Master Nicolas-DenisLollier, postmaster at Belleville."
"At Belleville," repeated Antoine, who had followed Montbar's wordswith all the attention he was capable of. "You wish to make your wayby night, without being recognized, into the courtyard of MasterNicolas-Denis Lollier, postmaster at Belleville, in order to see thebeautiful Josephine? Ah, ha! my sly dog!"
"You have it, my dear Antoine; and I wish to get in without beingrecognized, because Father Lollier has discovered everything, and hasforbidden his daughter to see me."
"You don't say so. Well, what can I do about it?"
"Your wits are still muddled, Antoine. Drink another glass of wine tob
righten them up."
"Right you are," exclaimed Antoine.
And he swallowed his sixth glass of wine.
"You ask what you can do, Antoine?"
"Yes, what can I do? That's what I ask."
"Everything, my friend."
"I?"
"You."
"Ha! I'm curious to know what. Clear it up, clear it up!" And he heldout his glass.
"You drive the mail to Chambery to-morrow, don't you?"
"Yes; at six o'clock."
"Well, suppose that Antoine is a good fellow?"
"No supposing about it; he is!"
"Well, this is what Antoine does--"
"Go on; what does he do?"
"In the first place, he empties his glass."
"Done! that's not difficult."
"Then he takes these ten louis."
Montbar spread ten louis on the table.
"Ah, ha!" exclaimed Antoine, "yellow boys, real ones. I thought thoselittle devils had all emigrated."
"You see there are some left."
"And what is Antoine to do to put them in his pocket?"
"Antoine must lend me his best postilion's suit."
"To you?"
"And let me take his place to-morrow night."
"Ah, yes; so that you can see the beautiful Josephine to-morrow night."
"Of course. I reach Belleville at eight, drive into the courtyard, andsay the horses are tired and must rest from eight till ten, and fromeight to ten--"
"You can fool Pere Lollier."
"Well, there you are, Antoine!"
"There I am! When a fellow's young he goes with the young 'uns; whenhe's a bachelor he's in with the bachelors; when he's old and a papa, hecan go with the papas, and cry, 'Long live the papas.'"
"Then, my good Antoine, you'll lend me your best jacket and breeches?"
"I've just got a new jacket and breeches that I've never worn."
"And you'll let me take your place?"
"With pleasure."
"Then I'll give you five louis for earnest money."
"And the rest?"
"Tomorrow, when I pull on the boots; only--there's one precaution youmust take."
"What is it?"
"There's talk of brigands robbing diligences; you'll be careful to putthe holsters on the saddle."
"What for?"
"For pistols."
"No, no! Don't you go and shoot those fine young fellows."
"What! do you call robbers who pillage diligences fine young men?"
"A man's not a robber because he takes government money."
"Is that your opinion?"
"I should say so; besides, it's the opinion of a good many other people,too. As for me, if I were a judge, I'd never in the world condemn them."
"Perhaps you would drink to their health?"
"Of course, if the wine was good."
"I dare you to do it," said Montbar, emptying the last of the secondbottle into Antoine's glass.
"You know the proverb?" said the postilion.
"What is it?"
"Never defy a fool to commit his folly. To the health of the Companionsof Jehu."
"Amen!" responded Montbar.
"And the five louis?" asked Antoine, putting his glass on the table.
"There they are."
"Thank you; you shall have the holsters on your saddle; but take myadvice and don't put pistols in 'em; or if you do, follow Pere Jerome'sexample--he's the conductor of the Geneva diligence--and put powder andno balls in 'em."
And with that philanthropic advice, the postilion took his leave, andwent down the stairway singing a postilion's song in a vinous voice.
Montbar followed the song conscientiously through two verses, then, asthe voice died away in the distance, he was obliged to forego the restof the song, however interesting he may have found it.