CHAPTER X.
THE RESCUE.
The little Chevalier had no intention of saving himself, and desertinghis friends, when, on Santerre's approach, he ran off, leaving Agathaand the Marquis at the garden door of the chateau. He knew that Chapeauwas at the smith's forge, with his own pony. He had himself sent himthere; and as soon as he perceived, on running round the side of thehouse, that the whole front was occupied by the blues, his first ideawas to go after his pony, and ride as fast as the animal could carry himto Echanbroignes, and bring the royalists from thence to the rescue oftheir friends at Durbelliere. With this object he clambered over thegarden-wall, and well knowing every foot of the ground, reached theforge in a few minutes. Chapeau and the smith were there, as was alsothe pony, and a breathless countryman was already telling them that thechateau was surrounded by the whole army of blues.
"Here's the Chevalier," said Chapeau, stopping the peasant in his story."In the name of Heaven, M. Arthur, what is all this?"
"That traitor, Denot, has brought a parcel of blues down upon thechateau," said the Chevalier. "The Marquis and Mademoiselle Agatha arealready in their hands; they will be murdered before morning. What isto be done? Oh! Chapeau, what are we to do to save them?"
"M. Denot!" said Chapeau. "You don't mean to say M. Denot has turnedblue--"
"I saw him with my own eyes," said the boy; "he was one of the officerscommanding the men; but there was another over him, a big, clumsy, noisyman; he it was I saw first of all, and Denot was behind him; and thenthere was a crowd of horsemen following them. Both drawing-rooms werefull before we knew they were in the house at all."
"And how did you get through them, M. Arthur?" said Chapeau.
"I got over the wall behind the stables. I never went into the house atall. But what on earth are we to do, Chapeau? Can't we get the men fromEchanbroignes to come to the rescue?"
The matter was then discussed between them, and it was decided thatChapeau should take the pony, and collect the men at Echanbroignes andon the road thither, and that he should return with them, if possible,during the night; that the smith should go off to St. Laud, and getFather Jerome to bring with him the men from thence, and that Arthurshould return to the chateau.
"No," said he, when Chapeau pressed him to undertake the mission toEchanbroignes, "I will not leave Mademoiselle Agatha and the Marquis anylonger. They will think I have run away. Besides, maybe, I can be ofsome service to them there. At any rate, I will go and see what is goingon; but, Chapeau, our lives depend on you. Don't lose one single minutenow, even though you should ride poor Bayard to death," and he put hishand on the neck of the pony, whom he had named after the flower ofchivalry.
Chapeau and the smith started on their important missions, and theChevalier slowly, but manfully, walked back to the chateau. No onestopped him as he walked through the open gates, and in at the backdoor. On getting into the hall, he heard the sound of the Marquis'svoice, as he was praying Santerre to preserve his daughter from Denot,and then, hurrying into the room, he made use of the little cherry stickwhich he carried, in the manner which has been described.
None of the inhabitants of the chateau went to bed that night; indeed,the beds were all occupied by the troopers, who threw themselves downto sleep, without taking off their boots, wherever they could find anyconvenient place to lie down. To do Santerre justice, he repeatedlypressed the Marquis to go to his own room, assuring him that he shouldnot be further disturbed than by the presence of a sentinel; but the oldman insisted on remaining in the salon, and Agatha and the Chevalier satwith him. Santerre, and Denot, and a cavalry sergeant, remained in thesame room, and a couple of sentinels were stationed on the top of thesteps at the back of the house, and four at the front. None of the partyin the salon slept, excepting Santerre; but they all sat silent; neitherArthur nor Agatha dared to speak to each other on the subject which atthat time filled their thoughts. The night seemed dreadfully long toArthur, and yet hardly long enough. He discovered soon after his return,that it was Santerre's purpose to burn the chateau early in the morning,and then to take the inhabitants away with him as prisoners; and hegreatly feared that Chapeau would not be able to return in time toprevent the conflagration. He anxiously watched the first break of day,and listened intently, but for a long time in vain, for the noise ofcoming feet. About half-past two, a soldier came and whispered to thesergeant, who then woke Santerre, and whispered to him, but the Generalwas sleepy, and did not wish his dreams should be disturbed. He mutteredsomething to the sergeant, who again left him, and resumed the seat inwhich he had sat since he first entered the room. Denot had risen twoor three times during the night, and paced rapidly and uneasily about.Whenever he had done so, Agatha had firmly grasped both her father'schair and the Chevalier's hand, as though she feared he was about torenew his attempts to drag her away, but he did not either touch her orspeak to her. He was probably aware that the sergeant, who sat therewithout once closing his eyes through the long hours, had orders toprevent him from doing so.
The Chevalier had no watch, and could not see how the hours were going,but it seemed to him as though it were broad day. He thought it must befive, six, nay seven o'clock; and he could not understand why the lazyrepublicans remained so passive and so quiet, nor could he imagine whyChapeau was so long in coming. The whole affair seemed to him so strangethat he could hardly help fancying that he was dreaming. There sat closeto him his dear friend Agatha, with her eyes wide open, fixed on Denot,and she had been gazing in this way for hours after hours, withoutspeaking a word. There was the Marquis close to her, equally silent, butalso wide awake, though his eyes were closed. Arthur was sure that hewas awake. There was Denot marching to and fro. Adolphe Denot, who butthe other day was in the house, not only as a friend, but as a comrade,eager in the cause in which they were all embarked, as much at home inthe chateau as Henri Larochejaquelin himself: and now he was the worstof traitors, and the most cruel of enemies--there was the sergeant ofthe republican army, sitting as quiet and composed as though he weremerely idling his time away in his own barracks; and there wasSanterre--the much talked of republican brewer and General; thesanguinary, remorseless, fanatic democrat; the sworn enemy of all thatwas noble, loyal and gentle, the dreaded Santerre; for the Chevalier hadnow learned the name of the big, clumsy, noisy man, whom he had seenleading his troops into the salon where he was now sleeping--there hewas, sleeping fast: while care, anxiety, or a sense of duty banishedsleep from all the others, he, who had so much more need than others tobe watchful, was snoring loud, and dreaming of the denizens of thefaubourgs, who used to love him so well. All this seemed to Arthur likea dream from which he could not awake--there were his enemies, hisdeadly enemies, before and around him. He knew that it was the practiceof the republican soldiers to massacre all whom they took bearing armsagainst the Republic he had even heard that it was now their horridpurpose to go further than this, and to slaughter the inhabitants of thewhole district which had revolted; at any rate his own doom would bedeath; he was certain that he had not many days, probably many hours,to live, unless Chapeau should arrive in time, and with sufficientforce, to rescue the whole party. Yet he felt no fear; he could notsufficiently realize the position in which he found himself, to feel thefull effects of its danger. The republican sergeant sat immediately infront of him, and each kept his eye fixed on the other's face; not thateither of them had any object in doing so, any particular motive forwatching the other's countenance, but soon after day-break the gaze ofeach had become fixed, and it seemed as though neither of them were ableto turn away his eyes.
Arthur occupied his mind in speculating on the character of the soldier,in trying to guess from his features whether he were a cruel or akind-hearted man; whether he were a ferocious democrat, eager for theblood of all who had been born in a rank above him, or merely awell-trained soldier, obeying the behests of those under whose orders itwas his duty to act. The Chevalier had no idea that his own or hisfriends' fate depended in any way on the man's
disposition; but suchthoughts came across his brain unwittingly, and he could not restrainthem. At last, he felt that he had a kind of intimacy with the sergeant;that if he should chance to meet him after three or four years hadpassed, he should greet him as an old acquaintance, whom he had wellknown, and he was sure that the sergeant had the same feeling respectinghim.
The day dawned soon after two o'clock, and as by degrees the clearsun-light streamed in at the uncurtained windows, Arthur, in hisimpatience, thought that the day was advancing; but in reality it wasnot yet five o'clock, when Santerre, waking with a tremendous yawn,stretched his huge limbs, and then jumped up from the sofa on which hehad been lying.
"Now for a bonfire," said he, "and then for breakfast; or perhaps we hadbetter get our breakfast first, and have our bonfire afterwards. Oldgentleman, I have no doubt my men took strange liberties with yourcellar and larder last night. I hope they have left enough about theplace to furnish you with the last meal you will ever eat in thischateau."
"I know, Sir, what soldiers are in a house," said the old man. "I willnot say that your men are welcome here, for that would be falsehood; butI begrudge them nothing that they eat and drink."
"Well, that's kind of you; but, considering that all which is not noweaten and drunk, will be immediately wasted and spoilt, you wouldcertainly be foolish to allow the consumption of your provisions to makeyou uneasy. Here, sergeant," and then Santerre spoke aside to thesergeant, and gave him various orders, which the man departed to obey.
"And now, General Santerre," said Denot, marching close up to him, "areyou prepared to make good your promise to me? Are you prepared to giveme an escort for myself and this lady, and to allow us to commence ourjourney from hence to Saumur?"
Denot's personal appearance had not been at all improved by the blowwhich Arthur had given him across his face. Both his cheeks were muchswollen immediately beneath the eyes, and one of them was severely cut.He felt that his looks were against him, and he endeavoured to make upfor the injury his countenance had sustained by the sternness of hisvoice, and the determined rigour of his eye. "I presume, GeneralSanterre," added he, "that your plighted word is sufficient warrant tome for your good faith."
"There is the lady," said Santerre, pointing to Agatha. "I did notundertake to protect you from the wrath of any rivals you might have inher affections. It seems to me that at present she prefers that youngdare-devil slip of aristocracy to your patriotic ardour. If she won'tgo to Saumur with you, I can't make her."
"By all the powers of heaven and hell, she shall go with me!" saidDenot, advancing towards her.
"Beware the switch--beware the switch again, thou false knave!" said thelittle Chevalier, jumping up, and standing immediately before Agatha,with his cherry stick in his hand. Denot had no other arms about him buthis dagger, and that he drew, as he advanced towards the boy.
"No daggers--I will have no daggers," shouted Santerre. "Sergeant, takethe dagger from him, unless he puts it up."
"Beware the switch, thou traitor! beware the switch, thou knave!"continued the Chevalier, shaking the stick at Denot, upon whose arm thestrong hand of the sergeant, who had returned to the room, was now laidheavily.
"I will choke the brat as I would an adder," said Denot, attempting toshake off the sergeant's hand. "There, take the dagger," and he droppedit on the ground, and rushing at the boy, got inside the swing of hisstick, and made a grasp at his throat. Arthur, however, was too quickfor him, and pushing away his hand, fastened his own arms round hisadversary. They were now close locked in each other's embrace, andkicking, plunging, and striving, each did his best to throw the otherto the ground.
"Oh! Sir, kind Sir, for mercy's sake separate them!" said Agatha,appealing to Santerre; "he is but a boy, a child, and that wretched manis mad. He'll murder the boy before your eyes, if you do not separatethem."
"He won't find it so easy though," said the Chevalier, panting, and outof breath; but still holding his own, and, indeed, more than his own;for he had fixed his left hand in Denot's hair, and was pulling his headbackwards with such force, that he nearly broke his neck.
"I think the young one has the best of it," said Santerre; "but come,citizen Denot, your loves and your quarrels are troublesome to us; wehave other work to attend to. Get up, man, get up, I tell you."
Denot, by his superior weight and strength, had succeeded in getting theChevalier to the ground, but Arthur still kept his hold in his hair, andthough Adolphe was on the top of his foe, he did not find it very easyto get up.
"Get up, I say," said Santerre. "You'll gain nothing by wrestling withthat fellow; he's more than a match for you. Well, Captain, what's thematter?"
The room in which the party had passed the night looked out into thegarden at the back of the house. The front room communicated with thisby folding-doors, which during the night had been closed. These doorswere now violently thrown open, and one of the officers, followed byabout a dozen men, rushed into the room.
"The road is crowded with men," said the officer; "thousands of thesebrigands are on us. The chateau will be surrounded in five minutes."
"H---- and the d----," said Santerre between his teeth. "This comes ofplaying the fool here," and he hurried out of the room in company withthe officer.
"Hurrah!" said the Chevalier, jumping to his feet. "I knew they'd behere soon--I knew they'd be here soon," and running to Agatha's side hecaught hold of her hand, and covered it with kisses.
Denot also arose. He had also heard the officer say that the peasantswere coming on them, and he felt that if he were taken, he could expectno mercy from those who had so lately been his friends. He did not,however, attempt to fly, but he stood still on the spot where he got up,and after wiping his hot brow with his handkerchief, he said slowly andmournfully--"Agatha Larochejaquelin, you now see to what your conducthas reduced me; and with my last breath I tell you that I owe mydisgrace, my misery, and my death--ay, and the loss of my eternal soul,to you, and to you only. Ay, shudder and shake, thou lovely monster ofcruelty. Shake and grieve with remorse and fear. You may well do so. Myliving form shall trouble you no more, but dead and dying I will be withyou till the last trump sounds on the fearful day of judgment."
Agatha did not answer him. She felt assured that he was mad, and sheonly pitied him. She had now too reason to hope that she and her father,and their whole household, would be relieved from their horribleposition, and she no longer felt anything like anger against theunfortunate wretch whom uncontrolled passions had absolutely maddened.Arthur, in his anxiety to see what was going forward, was about to leavethe room, but Agatha laid her hand upon his arm to detain him, merelylooking towards Denot as she did so.
"And do you think," said Denot, "that puny boy could really stop my way,if I chose to put out my right hand against him. Boy, I despise anddisregard you! would before I die that it might be allowed me to measurearms with any man, who would dare to say that he would advocate yourcause!"
"Beware the switch, traitor--beware the switch!" repeated the Chevalier.
"Be quiet, Arthur, do not anger him," whispered Agatha. "It is notgenerous, you know, to insult a fallen foe."
"There are no terms to be kept with a traitor, Agatha. If we get thebetter of this, Santerre, as I am sure we shall now, you shall see thatI know how to treat a generous foe generously."
When Santerre reached the front of the house, he at once saw that anyattempt on his part to oppose the crowd of armed peasants who were nowclose upon him, would be futile. The only mode of escape which appearedto him at all practicable, was to attempt to ride through them. He gavethe command "to horse," and got so far himself as to mount into hissaddle; but it was of no use, he was surrounded by a crowd of peasantsbefore he got to the gate, and he soon found himself on foot again, andunarmed. Some ten or twenty of his men, who were ready to jump into thesaddle at the moment when they were first aware of the approach of theroyalists, escaped, but the remainder in a few minutes found themselvesprisoners in the chateau.
/> The peasants were headed by Father Jerome, the priest of St. Laud, andit was he who first mounted the steps leading up to the front door ofthe house. "Thank God," said he, speaking more to himself than to thosearound him. "Thank God!" and he stood up against the pedestal of one ofthe lions, the heavy wooden crucifix which he had carried in his handas he marched, or rather ran, to the succour of his friends atDurbelliere; and then he took off his cap, and with the sleeve of hisdusty grey coat he wiped the perspiration from off his brow. "And theMarquis and Mademoiselle are unhurt? Thank God--thank God! we were justin time, but we had a smart run for it."
Chapeau had already dived into the kitchen through the window, and hadlearnt that at any rate the republicans had as yet shed no blood.
"And how did the Marquis bear it, Momont?" said he. "It was enough tokill the old gentleman."
"'Why, yes," said Momont. "We had to bear a good deal, but we did bearit manfully and well. We were all led out to be shot, you know."
"What, the Marquis and Mademoiselle and all?" said Chapeau.
"No, not the Marquis and Mademoiselle; they were to be beheaded afterus, but the rest of us were all taken out--the muskets loaded--the mento shoot us all in a line."
"Oh! Chapeau, it was so awfully dreadful," said the cook. "If I live athousand years I shall never get over this night."
"Oh, yes! most dreadfully awful," said the laundress. "I was carried infrom the spot, and have not been able to move a limb since. I doubt Inever shall put a foot to the ground again."
"The muskets were to their shoulders," continued Momont. "We heard themcocked: each man took deliberate aim; the women here were screeching andscreaming."
"Of course we were," said the confidential maid. "Hadn't we good causeto scream, waiting to be killed every minute. I'm sure I wonder I evercame to my senses again. I declare when they came to pick me up, Ithought it was all over, and that I'd been shot already."
"Well, I don't think anybody heard me scream," said Momont: "but there'sa difference I know between a man and a woman. 'It's all for my King andmy master,' said I to myself. Besides a man can die but once, and it'sa great thing to die honourably." The old man turned round to receivethe approbation, which he considered was due to the sentiment he hadexpressed, and found that Chapeau was gone. The kitchen, however, wasfilled with peasants, and in them Momont found ready listeners and warmadmirers.
Both Chapeau and the priest had spent the greater portion of the nightin collecting what they considered would be a sufficient number of mento enable them to attack, with any chance of success, the republicansoldiers who had taken possession of Durbelliere. They had neither ofthem the slightest idea what amount of force had been brought againstthe chateau, and, consequently, wasted much time in procuring many moremen than were necessary for the purpose. The three hundred, who wereimmediately got together on the sounding of the tocsin in the villageof Echanbroignes, would have been sufficient to have done the workwithout further assistance, for they were all well armed, and, by thistime, tolerably well trained in the use of their arms.
There was ten times more confusion now in the chateau, than there hadbeen during the night: every room and passage was crowded with peasants,who took up their positions there under the plea of guarding theirprisoners, and with the girls and women of the neighbourhood who flockedto that place, as soon as they heard that the horrible blues were allprisoners, and that the Marquis and Mademoiselle were once more atliberty. Agatha's troubles were by no means ended. Provisions of somekind were to be procured for the friends who had come so far and doneso much to relieve them; and she had no one on whom she could depend toassist her in procuring them: the servants all considered themselvesutterly unfitted for anything, except talking of the events of theevening; and though every one was burning with affection and zeal forMonseigneur and Mademoiselle, no one appeared willing to make himselfuseful.
The reaction on his feelings was too much for the poor Marquis. Duringthe long evening and night, in which he had been a prisoner and lookingforward to nothing but death; in which he had sat beside hisfondly-loved daughter, whose fate he feared would be so much morehorrible than death itself, he had patiently and manfully born hissufferings; he had even displayed a spirit for which few gave himcredit, who were accustomed to his gentle temper and mild manners; butthe unexpected recovery of his own and his daughter's liberty upset himentirely. As soon as he had pressed Father Jerome's hand, and thankedChapeau fur what he had done, he begged that he might be carried off tohis bed, and left there quietly till the return of his son, for whom,he was told, a messenger had been sent.
Santerre and Denot were both kept under a strong guard in the saloon inwhich they had passed the night; and there the priest, Chapeau, and theyoung Chevalier passed the greater part of the day, anxiously waitingthe arrival of Henri Larochejaquelin.
"I never liked that man," said the priest, whispering to Arthur andChapeau, for the latter, from his exertion and zeal was looked uponrather as an officer in the royalist army, than as a servant. "I neverliked Adolphe Denot, but I could never say why. The tone of his voicewas disagreeable to me, and the expression of his features aroused inme both dislike and distrust. It is not long since M. Henri rebuked mefor being hard on him, and judging him harshly; and I was angry withmyself for having done so. I knew, however, there was something wrongwithin him. He has turned out to be as base a creature as ever trod theearth."
"It will be a desperate blow to M. Henri," said Chapeau, "for he lovedhim as though he were his brother."
"I will be his brother now," said Arthur; "he shall love me in hisplace."
"Ah! M. Arthur," said Chapeau, "his heart is large enough to love usboth; but when he hears how nobly you behaved last night, how you stoodby Mademoiselle Agatha, and protected her, you will be his real brotherindeed."
The little Chevalier's heart rose high within him, as he attempted tospeak slightingly of his own services. "Oh!" said he, "I couldn't domuch, you know, for I had only a stick; but of course we red scarfs willalways stick to each other. Denot, you know, never was a red scarf Well,thank heaven for that; but I tell you what, Father Jerome, that Santerreis not such a bad fellow; and so I shall tell Henri; he is not a badfellow at all, and he scorns Denot as he deserves to be scorned."