The Road to Paris: A Story of Adventure

  CHAPTER XVI.

  PASTORAL AND TRAGEDY.

  The morrow, March 2d, was Sunday, and with it came a change to soft andsunny weather. As Dick soon learned, this was a day to bring Parisiansout into the fields; a day on which the people would go to church andthen to pleasure, in their gayest clothes; a day on which a strangerentering Paris in Dick's circumstances would be out of harmony with thegeneral picture. Moreover, gladdened by the unexpected foretaste ofspring, St. Denis itself looked charming. Therefore, Dick decided topostpone the long-anticipated entrance till Monday.

  He went in the morning to the famous abbey church where the kings ofFrance were buried; and after that he walked to the banks of the Seine,whose waters sparkled in the sunlight or flowed green beneath the treesalong the edge. Doing as he saw some others do, Dick hired a boat, witha boatman, and started to row up the Seine,--that is to say, southward,towards St. Ouen and the more immediate environs of Paris.

  Keeping to the right or eastern bank of the river, the boat had reacheda place between an island and a terraced park, when it was suddenly runinto by a larger craft, which contained a pleasure party rowing down theriver. Dick's boat was upset, and himself thrown out in such a way thathe had to dive to save his head from collision. He made a few powerfulstrokes under water, to put himself clear of the boats, and when he cameto the surface he found that his boatman had been taken aboard by thepleasure party and was proceeding down the river, the smaller boat intow. There was evidently no intention, on any one's part, to pick upDick.

  "French politeness, in the lower classes, is so thick on the top thatthere's none left at bottom," thought Dick, thus abandoned; and then hestruck out for the noble park that rose on the right bank of the river.Thanks to the evergreens among its trees, and to its grass streaked hereand there with sunshine, this park had even now a verdant appearance,and it was made inviting by little pavilions and summer-houses here andthere, and by glimpses of a charming chateau in its midst.

  Dick had no sooner clambered ashore and risen to let the water drip fromhis clothes, than a slender girl, eleven years old, came out of asummer-house, carrying a cane, as was the fashion of the time, andaccompanied on one side by a footman who held a parasol over her, andon the other by a large, bounding black dog. She had an extremelyintelligent face, the hair turning back from a thoughtful forehead. Hermanner and, as Dick soon found out, her speech were those of a womantwice her age.

  "Monsieur has been emulating Leander," said this young lady of eleven,the instant she was within speaking distance of Dick, one glance of herfine eyes having enabled her to estimate him to her own satisfaction.

  Surprised at such a speech, made with such nonchalance by such a child,Dick gazed for a moment in silence. She bore his gaze with perfectsang-froid. So he said, smiling:

  "It would be worth while, if mademoiselle were the daughter of Sestos."

  "Has monsieur swum all the way from England?" asked the girl, evidentlyto show that she recognized his way of speaking French.

  "Mademoiselle mistakes, doubtless for the first time in her life," saidDick. "I am an American, and if I have not swum all the way fromAmerica, I am at least as wet as if I had."

  "Monsieur is indeed a veritable rain-storm. Alphonse, show monsieur to aroom where he may dry his clothes. If he went home in them as they are,he might catch cold,--America is some distance away. You may leave mealone,--yonder comes Monsieur Marmontel."

  The footman, resigning to her the parasol at a gesture, immediately ledDick, over gravel walks flanked by lime-trees and foliage, to a sideentrance of the handsome house, and thence up-stairs to a chamber, inwhich another servant soon started a fire. After taking off his clothesto dry them, Dick donned a dressing-gown brought him by the footman. Thechamber having been placed entirely at his service, he made use of itstoilet articles to restore his best appearance. This done, and hisclothes dried, he put them on again, and went out the way he had come,looking around, when he reached the front of the house, for some one tothank.

  "The weather has changed as to monsieur," came a voice from a clump ofshrubs, and the girl stepped into view, attended, as before, by thefootman.

  "It is true, mademoiselle. I no longer weep tears of Seine water.Instead, I smile in my heart with gratitude. May I know to whom mythanks are due? I am--"

  "No, no, do not say who you are! One is far more interesting who remainsunknown, and I am dying to meet an interesting person."

  "I am sure mademoiselle would remain interesting, even if I knew hername."

  "No, for as long as you don't know me I shall be just as interesting toyou as your imagination can make me. Besides, the luxury of beingunknown, at St. Ouen, where everybody knows me, is refreshing. It makesme seem another person."

  She had led the way farther from the chateau while talking, and now shesat down on a rustic bench, and motioned Alphonse to take away theparasol. Dick saw no reason for an immediate departure, so he stoodbehind the bench, looking now at the girl, now at the large trees on theterrace.

  "Do you know, an idea has come to me," said the girl, when Alphonse hadtaken his station some distance away. The dog now came bursting throughsome leafless foliage, and stood beside her, receiving her lightcaresses while the conversation went on.

  "If ideas are as uncommon in France as they are elsewhere," said Dick,"you will be famous."

  "I shall doubtless be famous some day, but not through this idea. It isnot original. The Abbe Raynal and I used to amuse ourselves by means ofit, but I knew all the while that he was the Abbe Raynal, and he knewthat I was Germaine--_mon Dieu_, I nearly spoiled all by telling myname!"

  "Germaine," repeated Dick. "I shall remember that, at least."

  "I give you permission to remember it, only on condition that youpromise not to find out who I am, or whose house this is."

  "Very well. After all, I like mystery. I promise."

  "So much the better. This is the idea. When I was younger, I used tohave a little make-believe theatre, with miniature actors that I cut outof paper. The Abbe overheard me one day rehearsing them in a littlecomedy I had written, and offered to act with me whatever piecesrequired only two characters. We began with a piece containing ashepherd and a shepherdess, and, from acting that, we went a stepfarther, and continued to pretend that we were the shepherds, carryingout the illusion without premeditated speech or action. The Abbe haddone similar things at Sceaux, in the time of the Duchess du Maine."

  "I have read of the French nobility having amused themselves in thatway," said Dick.

  "Yes, when all the world was reading 'Astree,' and a hundred yearslater, when Watteau and the opera brought shepherds into fashion again,"replied this youthful prodigy of information. "It was a charmingamusement, was it not? But the trouble was, when we attempted it, thatno amount of imagination could transform the Abbe, with his 'History ofthe Two Indies' in mind, into a shepherd. You understand, I knew him sowell. But you, of whom I know nothing, and who have come into my view inso strange a manner--"

  "More like a river god than like a shepherd," commented Dick.

  "Oh, shepherds often fell into brooks! Nothing could be more incharacter. Well, we are to play that you are a shepherd called--notCeladon; we sha'n't take our names from d'Urfe,--let me think--"

  "Silvius," suggested Dick, remembering the shepherds of Arden, inShakespeare.

  "Yes, Silvius is a good name. And I shall be Amaryllis."

  "And where are the sheep?"

  "We shall have to imagine the sheep at present, though I can obtain someeasily enough. Well, you shall come every day in a boat, in theafternoon, and I will be waiting somewhere near the place at which youlanded this morning."

  "And must I come as wet as I was this morning?"

  "No. You shall be a dry shepherd hereafter. Come about two o'clock, ifthe weather is clear; but remember, I am not to know where you comefrom, or whither you go when you leave, any more than you are to knowwho I am. Now, that is all settled! Till to-morrow, Silvius!"

/>   "But how am I to get home to-day? Would you have me swim?"

  "No. Alphonse will show you out by the gate to-day, and you can go byland to your lodge,--remember, shepherds dwell in lodges. But afterthis you will come in a boat, and leave it at the shore to return by.So, till to-morrow, Silvius!"

  "Till to-morrow, Amaryllis!" said Dick, with a bow not veryshepherd-like. Obedient to a word from the girl, Alphonse, who hadheeded nothing of her talk if he had heard it, conducted Dick past thehouse and through more of the park, to a gate, which opened on atree-lined avenue. Dick turned to the left, and a walk of about a mileand a half brought him to St. Denis, where he dined and spent the restof the day thinking of his odd adventure.

  He found himself looking forward to the next day with pleasure. Thebright face and the expressive eyes seemed to draw him back towards St.Ouen. He could not get them out of his mind. The knowledge of theirproximity gave the whole neighborhood a new life and charm. He no longerwished to hasten from that neighborhood. Paris no longer lured him aswith irresistible seductions. He found it now quite easy to tarry at thevery threshold of the city.

  "Can it be possible," he thought, "that I am falling in love with thischild?"

  He knew not that men twice and thrice his age--great men, whose namessounded through the world of philosophy and letters--had askedthemselves the same question, regarding the same child.

  The next morning, Dick visited one or two small shops in St. Denis, andadded to his meagre supply of linen, handkerchiefs, and hosiery.Considering the small stock of money he had left, this was a piece ofextravagance, but he counted on immediate employment by Mr. Franklin, onreaching Paris. Such is the confidence of youth.

  In the afternoon he hired a boat, this time without a boatman, and rowedalone to the appointed landing-place. As soon as he had made his boatfast, he saw his shepherdess approaching down the terrace, herselfcarrying the parasol, the footman standing back within hearing distance.

  "Good day, Amaryllis!" he called out.

  "Good day, Silvius! Follow me to my lodge." She led the way to a rusticopen summer-house veiled by a clump of trees, the smaller ones forming asemicircle that enclosed a sunlit, grassy space descending graduallyfrom the summer-house to a row of shrubs that grew along the river.

  "This is my lodge," she said, sitting on the bench that ran around theinside of the structure.

  Dick sat on the step at the entrance, near her feet, and said, glancingat the clear space before them:

  "I see your lodge is situated so that you can sit in it and keep yoursheep in sight while they graze."

  "Yes, this spot is their favorite pasture, as you can see."

  Dick looked at the invisible sheep dotting the clean sward. "So Iperceive. But let me understand. Is this flock yours alone, or are mysheep also here?"

  "Oh, you have left your flock on your own hillside, and have come up thestream to see me. Neglectful shepherd!"

  "When a shepherd neglects his own sheep, and hies to the lodge of aneighboring shepherdess, you know what it is a sign of," said Dick.

  "It is a sign that he likes to gossip."

  "No; it is a sign that Cupid is at work."

  Amaryllis blushed ever so slightly, but seemed pleased, and did not loseher composure. "Well, to be sure, that is what invariably occurs betweenshepherds and shepherdesses. I suppose there is no way of getting aroundit."

  "Not when Amaryllis is the shepherdess, by Jupiter!" said Dick, withgenuine enthusiasm.

  So the game went on, and, whether or not it was all fun with Amaryllis,it soon became half in earnest with Silvius. By a miracle, the balmyweather, a premature promise of spring, lasted a week. Every day Silviuscame to the tryst, and, when he did not find Amaryllis waiting, he hadnot long to wait for her. They strolled along the wooded banks of theSeine, fancying those banks to be now those of the Lignon, now those ofthe Tiber, now those of some Hellenic or Sicilian stream.

  Sometimes a dainty luncheon, set out in the lodge or under the trees,varied the monotony of this shepherd life. Sometimes the conversationrose far out of the ken of ordinary shepherds, and invaded such subjectsas philosophy and religion, sentiment and the passions, art and letters,music and the drama. Amaryllis described the acting of LeKain, andSilvius gave an account of the last appearance of Garrick, which Dickhad witnessed from the first gallery of Drury Lane Theatre the previousJune 10th, when the English actor played "Don Felix" in "The Wonder" andmade a farewell speech that drew tears from himself and his brilliantaudience. But Dick learned far more than he could impart. His week ofmake-believe pastoral was an education, and did more to fit him for thefine world than all his former years had done. Of course that week hadresults of the heart as well as of the intellect.

  One afternoon, the second Tuesday of their acquaintance, after they hadsat some time at the lodge in silence, Dick gazing pensively at thegreen space before him, he let his thought take the form of speech:

  "After all, when you are eighteen I shall be only twenty-six."

  "That will be seven years from now," she said, lightly. "Seven years isa very long time."

  "So much the better. It gives a man like me time to attain a positionworthy of a woman like you."

  "Oh, position, rank, and that sort of thing, what are they, after all?Have you heard what the Empress of Russia said to Monsieur Diderot? Youknow that by devoting himself to the encyclopaedia, Monsieur Diderot haskept himself poor, and his threadbare coat is no affectation. Well,Catherine II., aware of this, and appreciating the great sacrifice madein the interest of knowledge, bought Monsieur Diderot's library at afine price, and then ordered it left in Paris, and appointed him herlibrarian to take care of it. Monsieur Diderot went to St. Petersburgfour years ago, to thank her in person, and while he was there Catherineand he got into many disputes on questions of philosophy. One dayDiderot hinted that he was at a disadvantage in arguing with the Empressof all the Russias. 'Nonsense,' said Catherine, 'is there any differencebetween men?'"

  Dick sighed, perceiving that she had sought to divert him from the topiche had broached. He rowed back to St. Denis that evening an unmistakablylove-sick youth. He could hardly wait for the next afternoon, that hemight renew the subject at any hazard.

  On the morrow, to his dismay, the sky was dark, and chill winds wereblowing. Spring, having thrust her sunny face in at the door too soon,had been frightened far away, and might never have been present, sodifferent was to-day's world from yesterday's. Dick resolved,nevertheless, to make his usual voyage.

  Rain had already begun to fall on the agitated surface of the river,when he landed at the park. He hastened to the lodge and found it empty.How bleak and utterly forlorn the place now seemed! How disconsolate inheart was Dick! Well, he ought not to have expected her on such a day.He gazed with a heavy sigh at the spot where she usually sat.

  What was that white thing, lying under a pebble, on that very spot? Dickseized it eagerly, saw the name "Silvius" written on it, opened it outhastily with trembling fingers. It was indeed a note, written in acharming hand, and signed "Amaryllis." His disappointment turned togladness,--for the first sight of the beloved's handwriting, addressedto oneself, is as good as an interview,--and he read:

  "For a few days I must be away, yet Silvius will come as usual to the lodge, will he not? On the day of her return, he will find Amaryllis waiting. Since I last saw Silvius I have been thinking. It is true, seven years is not a very long time!"

  One knows, without being told, what demonstrations Silvius made overthis letter, how often he re-read it, what other things he did to it,and where he finally bestowed it as he returned to his boat to row backto St. Denis. He scarcely knew what he was doing, as he pulled his boatout into the current, or how disturbed the river was, how heavily therain came down. So overjoyed was he by the promise contained in the lastline of the letter, that he was not cognizant of outward circumstancesuntil he was half-way between St. Ouen and St. Denis. Then he becameaware of the work of wind and water. He saw, moreov
er, that the day wasas dark as late evening, and that all signs were growing morethreatening every minute.

  "The devil!" thought he. "This is not a time for taking chances, nowthat such prospects await me. I must guard my life and health, andachieve great things during those seven years."

  He therefore rowed to an old, abandoned landing, which led to a ruinedgarden, within whose crumbling walls stood a deserted house of roughgray stone. On Dick's first row up the river, he had been told by theboatman that this house had long been unoccupied.

  Making his boat fast to a wooden spile, Dick went through the halfunhinged, half opened gate which was partly sunk into the earth, and upthe weed-grown garden walk, to the house. The door yielded to hispressure, and he passed through a bare, dark, damp, mouldy corridor,into a room whose windows opened on the garden. Though otherwise empty,this room contained an old oak table, and several rough wooden chairs.Dick sat down and waited for the storm to abate.

  The doors and windows creaked, the wind sighed through the corridors andchambers overhead, the rains beat on what glass remained in thecasements. But what was that other sound? Surely it was of the footstepsof men. Peering through the window, Dick saw forms approaching throughthe shrubbery, from a small side gate in the garden wall. These were,doubtless, the last of a party whose foremost members were already inthe corridor.

  The intruders came cautiously, but as if familiar with the place.Evidently some organized meeting was at hand in this empty house. Dicknoticed the chairs and table anew. What were these men? A social club, agang of thieves, or a band of conspirators? In any one of these casesDick felt that he would be _de trop_. Manifestly the men wereapproaching the room in which he sat. They were already too near thedoor for him to escape unseen by the corridor. So he slipped into thewide, empty fireplace with which the room was provided, and whose rearwas quite in shadow. A moment later three men entered the room.

  Each took from beneath his cloak a bundle wrapped in cloth, and laid iton the table, then sat down and waited. Other men arrived, almostimmediately, and the number kept increasing at short intervals untilperhaps fifteen were gathered. Their conversation so far had consistedof brief remarks about the weather. They now sat in an irregularsemicircle, facing the table. The man who had first entered arose andopened the bundles. The gray light of the stormy afternoon disclosed thecontents of these bundles as three swords and several pistols.

  "Messieurs," said the man who had risen,--an erect, powerful, handsomeman of thirty,--"the hour is almost at hand. That all of us mayparticipate in the intention, though but one of us may strike the blow,I am to describe fully the plan agreed upon by the Committee of Three.As each one of us is potentially the chosen arm of the Brotherhood inthis honorable deed, it behooves each one to attend every detail as ifhe were, in fact, already the selected instrument."

  The men sat in perfect silence, their eyes fixed upon the speaker, everyattitude being that of breathless attention.

  "In this silken bag," continued the orator, producing from beneath hiscloak that which he mentioned, "are a number of beans. One of them isred, four are black, the others white. As soon as the plan of actionshall have been made known, each man shall draw from the bag a singlebean, in the order in which his name appears on our list. When all havedrawn, and not till then, each man shall disclose his bean to view atthe table. The possessor of the red bean will be God's choice for theperformance of this holy mission. He shall choose one of these swords,which differ in weight and size, though all have been blessed anddevoted to our righteous purpose. The four who hold black beans shallguide and guard the chosen instrument, both to protect him, and toassure the Brotherhood against the consequences of any possible weaknesson his part. The holders of the white beans shall not act in the presenttask; but, in the improbable event of its failure, the whole Brotherhoodshall assist the four, if necessary, as avengers against the brother whowill have failed, as spies to seek him out should he hide, as houndsupon his track should he flee, as executioners to compass his death whenhe is brought before us. Is it agreed?"

  "Agreed!" said every man, resolutely, with clenched fingers, set teeth,and gleaming eyes.

  "The procedure shall be in this wise," went on the leader. "In an hour,a carriage will be waiting outside the gate of this garden. The chosenman, armed with the sword, shall be conducted to it by the four, eachprovided with two of these pistols. Two of the four shall enter thecarriage with him, the other two shall take the place of the coachman,who will be dismissed. The carriage shall set forth at once. TheCommittee of Three has provided already for its passage through thebarrier, unhindered by the revenue collectors. The carriage will proceedthrough the Faubourg de St. Denis, cross the boulevard, turn into theRue Clery, and so continue to the corner of the Rue du Petit Carreau, atwhich corner, as we all know, the house is situated. The two gentlemenof the black bean, in the carriage, shall accompany him of the red beanto the door, their hands upon their pistols beneath their cloaks. Whenthe servant responds to their knock, the chosen man shall give the nameof Victor Mayet, and say that he must see Monsieur Necker immediately.Victor Mayet is a clerk in the General Control Office, and Necker willsuppose he comes on a matter of urgent importance. Necker also willsurely receive him alone. When the man enters, his two comrades shallreturn to the carriage, and wait for his reappearance. The man himselfwill keep his sword concealed until he is alone with Necker. At thatmoment, taking our enemy by surprise, he will thrust his sword intoNecker's body as many times as may be necessary to assure its reachinga vital spot. So shall fall the haughty bourgeois Protestant, whom theKing in his blindness has raised to the most powerful post in the land,and would doubtless soon, but for our intervention, raise higher; thusshall God's holy religion and the nobility of France obtain revenge andtriumph at our hands."

  There were murmurs of applause, repressed exclamations of "_Vive leroi!_" and other signs of intense enthusiasm.

  "Then, messieurs, he whose arm shall have struck this glorious blow,shall hasten back to the carriage, and it shall be driven at once to mylodgings in the Rue St. Honore, which, though not large enough for suchmeetings as this, will serve as a hiding-place for the five gentlemenuntil news comes, from other sources than the chosen man himself, of thedeath of Necker. When such news comes, the four guards shall release thehappy Instrument of the Brotherhood. Until such news comes, they shallguard him unremittingly; and, if it turn out that Necker still lives,the man who ought to have slain him shall die in his place, at the handsof the four. Thus are we assured against treason, weakness, or bungling,on the part of him whom God, in the guise of chance, shall elect to doour Brotherhood and France this service. Messieurs, each of youremembering that the red bean or a black one may fall to him, are youstill agreed?"

  The expressions of assent were as prompt and determined as before.

  "Let us proceed at once to the drawing," said the leader.

  "Pardon, brother," spoke up another. "It is so dark that, when we cometo show what beans we have drawn, we shall hardly be able to distinguishthe colors."

  "Bring the candles, then, from the mantel to the table, and light them,"said the leader.

  Dick's heart underwent a sudden jump. Two men came straight for thefireplace. Accustomed, now, to the half darkness of the room, bothdescried his form vaguely, and at the same moment. "The devil! A spy!"cried one. The other drew a pistol of his own, and instantly brought itto bear.

  "One moment!" cried Dick, stepping forth. "I am an unintentionalintruder. Rather, it was you that intruded upon me. I had sought shelterhere from the rain, when I heard you coming. Foolishly, thinking thismight be a refuge of thieves, I hid in the fireplace, hoping to remainunseen till you had gone."

  The assembled men, all of whom had risen, looked at Dick and then at oneanother.

  "I quite believe you, monsieur," said the speaker of the meeting,courteously, after some moments, "not only because it is my gift toperceive when a man is telling the truth, but also because a spy wouldbe sure of discover
y in such a hiding-place. Nevertheless, you haveoverheard everything that has been said here this afternoon."

  "How could I avoid doing so?" said Dick.

  "I do not say it was a fault on your part to overhear, monsieur," saidthe other, whose authority over his comrades was manifestly so completethat they left the present matter entirely to him, only waiting withsilent attention to carry out what orders he might give. "But what youhave heard, you would doubtless feel called upon, sooner or later, toreveal, unless you were entirely of the same mind with us."

  Here he paused, but Dick said nothing, for Dick did not choose to riskcertain death by admitting that he would feel so called upon. After amoment, during which the speaker seemed to read Dick's thoughts, he wenton:

  "You might give us an assurance that you would remember nothing of whathas passed here, but how could we let you go, on that assurance,monsieur? For, if you secretly meant to betray us, you would feeljustified in giving that assurance, for the sake of your life and ofdefeating our purpose. Or, you might give your word in all honesty, andyet at some future time feel justified in breaking it. You can plainlysee, monsieur, that there is nothing for us to do but to kill you on thespot--"

  Dick read the quiet resolution in the speaker's eyes, and the moreimpetuous determination in the eyes of the others; considered hisunarmed condition and the utter impossibility of a rush through the lineof stalwart forms that encircled him; and thought of Amaryllis, theseven years, and the long and brilliant future that seemed about toburst like a soap-bubble in a moment.

  "Or to receive you as a member of our Brotherhood," concluded theleader, calmly. Used to judging men instantly, he had doubtlessestimated Dick as a gentleman worthy of membership.

  Forgetting for the moment what this alternative entailed, seeing onlythe unexpected chance of life held out, Dick instantly grasped at thelatter. "Very well, I will join," he said.

  But the matter had to be thoroughly considered by the assembly, andthere was a careful discussion of it for half an hour, while Dick satsilent before the table, on which, in the meantime, candles had beenplaced and lighted. During this talk, he began to realize all that hewas taking on himself in joining what was neither more nor less than asecret society, whose present purpose was assassination. But a man withhis life in his hand must seize the first means of gaining time thatoffers, and face each consequence when it occurs. The chances were infavor of his having nothing to do with the sanguinary affair to beimmediately attempted; and he could probably give the Brotherhood theslip in the near future. In any case, it was impossible to prevent theattempt now under way, and the question as to whether he shouldeventually expose that attempt, was a river not to be crossed till heshould come to it. Perhaps, after all, this Necker, whose name he knewonly as that of Councillor of Finance and General Director of the RoyalTreasury, was a rascal who merited death, as many public officials did;certainly the Brotherhood showed a humane disposition in considering analternative by which Dick's life might be saved. Perhaps the removal oftheir chosen victim, even by death, would benefit humanity,--so littlewas Dick acquainted with matters of state.

  Well, it was decided to admit him. He had to repeat a long oath afterthe leader, kiss one of the swords, which, having been blessed, servedin place of a Bible, and sign his name at the foot of a list that thesecretary produced from a leather bag, which that officer carried to andfrom the meetings, and which contained materials for what few recordsthe society required.

  "And now," said the leader, "it is growing late. The carriage will be atthe gate at any moment. Let us draw for the honor that God holds readyfor one of us."

  He held the bag in his left hand, and thrust his right hand inside; whenhe withdrew the latter, he kept it closed, and passed silently, with thebag, from man to man; knowing, without reference to the list, in whatorder their names stood. Before this, he had put an additional whitebean into the bag, having been provided with several surplus ones. Eachman kept his hand closed on withdrawing it. When the bag reached Dick,there was only one bean left. He did as the others had done. Then, not aword being said, the leader laid aside the bag, and all pressed close tothe table, which they quite surrounded. Every right hand was laid out,palm down, on the bare oak surface. The leader was the first todisclose.

  "A black bean!" he cried. "That is something, at least! Who has the redone?"

  Every eye turned with intense eagerness, from the bean immediatelybefore it, to the beans right and left,--every eye but Dick Wetheral's,that is to say, for his remained fastened, with a kind of mildastonishment, on the palm of his hand, whereon lay a bean that was red.

  "Come, brother," the leader was saying, when Dick at last looked up."Choose a sword. I hear the carriage at the gate."

  Before he had recovered from his bewilderment, Dick was passing throughthe rain, towards the gate, clasping one of the swords tightly beneathhis coat. At his right arm was the leader, who carried one of the othertwo swords, as well as a pistol in each outer pocket; at the left armwas a second man, similarly armed. Two other men mounted the coachman'splace.

  "Which way, monsieur?" said one of these latter, in joking imitation ofa driver, when Dick and his guards were seated in the dark carriage.

  "The road to Paris," said the leader, and drew the coach door after himwith a bang.