CHAPTER XI.
ANNOT STEIN.
It will be remembered that the party escaping from the Chateau ofClisson met Jean Stein, when they had come within four or five leaguesof Durbelliere. He had been sent from Echanbroignes, by Chapeau, to tellHenri what had happened, to assure him that every possible effort wouldbe made to rescue his father and sister from the republicans, and ifpossible to save the chateau, and to beg him to return home as speedilyas he possibly could. Jean was spared the greatest portion of hisjourney, and having told his tale, added that perhaps "Messieurs wouldnot think it prudent to take the ladies with them to Durbelliere justat present."
"Oh heavens! what are we to do?" said Madame de Lescure; "we are runningfrom one hostile army into the middle of another. Poor Agatha! my poorAgatha! what will become of her?"
"Had we not better send them to Chatillon?" said Henri, speaking to deLescure. "They will, at any rate, be safe there for a time."
"We won't be sent any where--indeed we won't--will we, Marie?" saidMadame de Lescure. "Pray, Charles, pray do not send us away. Let us gowhere you go. It cannot be worse for us than it is for you."
"You cannot go to the chateau, dearest, when we have every reason tosuppose it is in the hands of the republicans, and more than probablyburnt to the ground by this time."
"Oh! don't send me back to Chatillon," said Marie; "it would be hoursand hours before we should hear what happens to you, and what hashappened to Agatha."
"If the ladies wouldn't think ill of going to Echanbroignes," said JeanStein, "they would be safe there, and near at hand to learn all as itgoes on at Durbelliere. I am sure father and Annot would do their bestto make the ladies comfortable, as long as they might be pleased to staythere."
After considerable discussion this plan was adopted. The party travelledon together, till the roads to Durbelliere and Echanbroignes separated;and then, with many charges, the two ladies were entrusted to the careof the smith's son.
"We will come to you, or send to you the moment we are able," said deLescure, "whether our news be good or bad. I trust we shall find themsafe, and that we shall all be together tomorrow at Durbelliere."
Marie and Madame de Lescure reached the village safely late in theevening, and found no one in the smith's house but Annot. Even MichaelStein himself had been moved by hearing that the republicans wereabsolutely in possession of the chateau, and, old as he was, he had madehis way over to Durbelliere, and had not yet returned. Annot, however,received them with good news; she had heard different messages from thechateau during the day, and was able to tell them not only that theMarquis, Agatha, and the house were safe, but that the republicansoldiers were all prisoners, and that Santerre--that object of horrorto many Vendean royalists, had himself been captured by the strong handand bold heart of Jacques Chapeau.
Neither of the ladies knew Annot Stein, or had even heard of her; butAnnot, though at present she was rather doleful, was not long in makingherself known to them, and explaining to them her own particularconnexion with the chateau.
She made up her own bed for one of them, and her father's for the other.They were not, she said, such as ladies like them were accustomed tosleep on, but the sheets were clean, and perhaps for one night theywould excuse the want of better accommodation. Madame de Lescure andMarie declared that they were only too happy in being able to restquietly, with the knowledge that their friends were in safety. Poorladies! they were destined before long to encounter worse hardships thanAnnot Stein's little bed, and frugal supper.
"But, Madame," said Annot, as she sat demurely on the corner of herchair, "this Santerre is not the sort of man at all we all took him tobe. Peter was over here, though he has gone back again now, and Petersays he is quite a good fellow in his way."
"What, Santerre!" said Marie, shuddering. "Oh! he is a most horridmonster! It was he that led out our dear sainted King to be murdered;it was he that urged on the furious mob to spill so much blood. They saythat in all Paris there is not a greater wretch than this Santerre."
"I don't know, Mademoiselle," said Annot, "but he certainly wasn't sobad last night, for he might have killed them all had he chosen: andinstead of that he didn't kill any one, or let any of his party killthem either, only he frightened poor old Momont nearly to death."
"God may have softened his heart," said Madame de Lescure; "if he hasreally spared our friends, we will not speak ill of him."
"If he has done so," said Marie, "he will have his reward; for I am sureCharles and Henri will spare him now that he is in their power."
"That's just what the people say," said Annot; "they say that it's M.Henri's turn to be generous now, and that they're sure he won't hurt ahair of this Santerre. Only they're determined on one thing--and it wasall Chapeau and Father Jerome could do to stop them till M. Henri camehome--they are determined to hang that horrid wretch Denot, themonster! I shouldn't wonder if he were swinging by this time."
"And is it really true," said Madame de Lescure, "that it was M. Denotwho led the republicans to Durbelliere?"
"Oh! that's a positive fact," said Annot, "there's no doubt on earthabout that; and behaved most brutally to Mademoiselle Agatha. He wouldhave killed her with his own hand, before her father, only M. Santerrewouldn't let him. He had his dagger out and all, and M. Santerre tookit from him with his own hand, and wouldn't let him speak another word.Oh! indeed, ladies, M. Santerre is not half so bad as he looks to be."
"People say that the father of evil himself is painted blacker than hereally is," said Marie.
"I don't know about that, Mademoiselle, and I didn't hear that thisSanterre was painted black at all; and if he were so, I think Peterwould have told me. But then, ladies, the little Chevalier Mondyon camein in the middle. It was he that sent Chapeau over here to bring the redscarfs to the rescue. He is a little darling, is the Chevalier. Isuppose you know him, Mademoiselle?"
"Indeed I do, Annot, and love him dearly; he is an old sweetheart ofmine."
"He's too young to have a sweetheart yet, Mademoiselle; but you'll seesome of the ladies will be quarrelling for him yet, when he's a year ortwo older. Well, after sending Jacques over here, he went back as boldas possible into the middle of the republicans, before Santerre and all.M. Denot was at his worst then. He had hold of Mademoiselle Agatha, andwas dragging her away from the Marquis, in spite of Santerre and thewhole of them, when the Chevalier raises his stick, and strikes himacross the face. I warrant you he let go Mademoiselle's hand when hefelt the sharp stick come across his eyes."
"It must have been a horrid sight for Agatha," said Madame de Lescure.
"Oh! indeed it was, Madame. Only fancy that traitor Denot going on inthat way, right before her eyes all night, and no one to protect her butthe little Chevalier; for when it got late M. Santerre threw himself onthe floor, and slept and snored like a hog. They say it was all forlove, Mademoiselle. They say this Denot was greatly in love withMademoiselle Agatha, and that she wouldn't look at him. Is it true, shewas so very scornful to him?"
"She was never scornful to any one," said Marie; "but if he ever askedher for her love, I have no doubt she told him that she could not giveit to him."
"That's just what they say; and that then he asked her more and more,and went down on his knees to her, and prayed her just as much as tolook at him; and kissed her feet, and cried dreadfully; and that all shedid was to turn aside her face, and bid him rise and leave her."
"What would you have had her say, Annot, if she felt that she could notlove him?"
"Oh! I'm not presuming to find fault with her, Mademoiselle; heavenforbid! Of course, if she couldn't love him, she could do nothing butrefuse him. But, heigho! it's a very dreadful thing to think of that anice young man like him--for I'm told that this Denot was a very niceyoung man--should be so bewildered by love as he has been."
"Love couldn't make a man a traitor," said Marie, "nor yet a coward."
"I don't know, Mademoiselle, love is a very fearful thing when itdoesn't go right.
Perhaps love never made you feel so angry that you'dlike to eat your lover's heart?"
"Gracious goodness, no," said Marie; "why, Annot, where did you get sucha horrid idea as that?"
"Ah! Mademoiselle, your lover's one in a hundred! So handsome, so noble,so good, so grand, so amiable, so everything that a young lady couldwish to dream about: one, too, that never has vagaries and jealousies,and nasty little aggravating ways. Oh! Mademoiselle, I look upon you asthe happiest young lady in the world.
"What on earth, Annot, do you know about my lover, or how on earth canyou know that I have a lover at all? Why, child, I and my cousin Agathaare both going to be nuns at St. Laurent."
"The blessed Virgin forbid it," said Annot. "Not but what MademoiselleAgatha would look beautiful as a nun. She has the pale face, and thelong straight nose, and the calm melancholy eyes, just as a nun oughtto have; but then she should join the Carmelite ladies at the richconvent of our Blessed Lady at St. Maxent, where they all wear beautifulwhite dresses and white hoods, and have borders to their veils, and lookso beautiful that there need hardly be any change in them when they goto heaven; and not become one of those dusty-musty black sisters ofmercy at St. Laurent."
"That's your idea of a nun, is it?" said Madame de Lescure.
"I'm sure, Madame, I don't know why any girl should try to make herselflook ugly, if God has made her as beautiful as Mademoiselle Agatha."
"And you think then Mademoiselle de Lescure is not fit for a nun atall?"
"Oh, Madame, we all know she is going to be married immediately to thefinest, handsomest, most noble young nobleman in all Poitou. Oh! I'dgive all the world to have such a lover as M. Henri just for tenminutes, to see him once kneeling at my feet."
"For ten minutes," said Marie. "What good would that do you? that wouldonly make you unhappy when the ten minutes were gone and past."
"Besides, what would you say to him in that short time?" said Madame deLescure.
"Say to him! I don't know what I'd say to him. I don't think I'd say oneword, but I'd give him such a look, so full of affection and gratitude,and admiration, and--and--and downright real true love; that, if he hadany heart in him at all, I don't think he'd be so base as to go awayfrom me when the ten minutes were over."
"That's what you call borrowing a lover for ten minutes, is it?" saidMarie; "and if, as you say, this young gentleman is my property, whatam I to do for a lover the while?"
"I was only wishing, Mademoiselle, and you know there's no harm inwishing. Besides, the finest lady in the world couldn't rob you of yourlover, let alone a poor girl like me. He is so true, and so noble, andso good."
"And have not you a lover of your own, Annot?"
"Oh, indeed I have, and a very good one. For all my talking in that way,I was never badly off for lovers, and now I've chosen one for good andall; and I love him dearly, Madame; dote on him, and so does he on me,but for all that there was a time when I really would have eaten hisheart, if I could have got at it."
"But that was before you had accepted each other."
"Not at all, Mademoiselle; not long since. I loved then as dearly as Ido now, but he let me walk home by myself three long leagues withoutspeaking a word to me, and all because I said that a man in a picturehad fine whiskers."
"A man in a picture! why this lover of yours must be a very jealous man,or else he must be very badly off for whiskers himself?"
"No he's not, Mademoiselle; he's as nice a pair as you'd wish to see;that is, begging your pardon, as nice a pair as I'd wish to see; andhe's not a jealous man either about other things."
"And when do you mean to marry him, Annot?"
"Oh, Mademoiselle, we are only waiting for you."
"Waiting for me, child! What on earth do you mean? who told you I wasgoing to be married at all?"
It was no wonder that Marie should be astonished at finding her weddingso confidently spoken of by a stranger in Echanbroignes, consideringthat it was not yet twenty-four hours since Henri had declared his lovefor her at Clisson.
"But you are going to be married to M. Henri, are you not,Mademoiselle?"
"Who told you all this? how is it you come to know so much about thisyoung lady and M. Henri?" said Madame de Lescure.
"Why, Jacques Chapeau told me. My own husband, that is, as is to be."
"Oh! that explains the mystery," said Marie; "and so Chapeau is yourlover is he? Chapeau is the man who couldn't bear the mention of thefine pair of whiskers you saw in the picture? and did he tell you thathis master was going to be married immediately?" and Marie blushed asshe asked the question.
"Indeed he did, Mademoiselle, and he said besides--"
"Well, what did he say besides?"
"Why, I hardly like to say now, Mademoiselle; it will look like askinga favour when I thought you could not well refuse it; and perhapsJacques was wrong to say anything at all about it."
Marie, however, was not long in inducing Annot to reveal to herChapeau's little plan of taking his own wife over to Durbelliere to waitupon his master's wife, and she, moreover, promised that, as far as sheherself was concerned, she would consent to the arrangement, if, whichshe expressly inserted, she should ever marry M. Larochejaquelin.
"But an't you engaged to him, Mademoiselle?"
"Well, Annot," answered she, "as you have told me so much, I don't mindtelling you that I am. But it will be long, probably, before I ammarried, if ever I am. Men have other things to think of now thanmarriage, and, alas! women too. We must wait till the wars are over,Annot."
"But I thought the wars were over now, Mademoiselle. Haven't they gotthat Santerre prisoner up at Durbelliere?"
"There's much, very much, I fear to do yet, and to suffer, before thewars will be really over," said Madame de Lescure. "Heaven help us, andguide us, and protect us! Come, Marie, let us go to rest, for I trustCharles will send for us early in the morning."
Annot gave such assistance to her two guests as they required, and waswithin her power, and then seating herself in her father's large armchair in the kitchen, pondered over the misery of living in times whenmen were so busy fighting with their enemies, that they had not evenleisure to get married.
"And what, after all, is the use of these wars?" said she to herself"What do they get by taking so many towns, and getting so many guns, andkilling so many men? I don't know who's the better for it, but I knowvery well who's the worse. Why can't they let the blues alone; and theblues let them alone? I worked my poor fingers to the bone making awhite flag before they went to Saumur, and all they did was to leave itin the streets of Nantes. There's not so much as a bottle of beer, andhardly a bushel of flour left in Echanbroignes. There's the poor dearlovely Cathelineau dead and gone. There's M. Henri engaged to the girlof his heart, and he can't so much as stay a day from fighting to gethimself married; and there's Jacques just as bad. If Jacques cares a bitfor me, he must take himself off, and me with him, to some place wherethere's not quite so much fighting, or else I'll be quit of him and gowithout him. I've no idea of living in a place where girls are not, tobe married till the wars are over. Wars, wars, wars; I'm sick of thewars with all my heart."