The besieged had opened the gates and sluices of the pond to increase the depth of water in the moat and make it flow more swiftly.
A reddish gleam appeared above the door of the château; doubtless a fire had been lighted in the courtyard, so that they could see one another, reckon up their fighting strength and prepare their defence. The besiegers' fire had ceased to cast more than a sort of ruddy reflection, by which Mario could see many indistinct shadows moving rapidly to and fro.
Suddenly he heard footsteps and voices approaching him, and thought that they were coming to explore the garden.
He kept perfectly still and saw two fantastically arrayed individuals pass the gate, on the outer side, and go toward the entrance tower.
He held his breath and succeeded in overhearing this fragment of dialogue:
"The infernal curs will not arrive before him!"
"So much the better I our share will be all the bigger!"
"Idiots, to think that you alone can capture——"
XLIX
The voices died away, but Mario had recognized them. They were the voices of La Flèche and old Sancho.
His courage suddenly returned, although there was nothing encouraging in that discovery.
It had been impossible to keep Mario long in ignorance of the affair of La Rochaille, and he fully realized that his father's murderer, D'Alvimar's fidus Achates, was thenceforth the deadliest foe of the name of Bois-Doré; but La Flèche's complicity in this bold stroke led the child to hope that Sancho's auxiliaries were the band of gypsies who had been his companions in misery.
He reflected, justly enough, that those vagrants had in all probability joined forces with other more desperate rascals; but even so, an attack of that sort seemed to him much less to be dreaded than a regular raid organized by the provincial authorities, such as they had had reason to fear; and for a moment he had an idea of trying to win over La Flèche, if he could obtain an interview with him alone. But his distrust returned when he remembered the brutal and threatening air with which the gypsy had talked with him on that same spot months before.
Thereupon he began to reflect on the words he had just heard. He felt that he needed all his faculties in order to understand them and take advantage of them at need.
Doubtless the assailants expected reinforcements, whose arrival was delayed too long to suit Sancho. "They will not arrive before him!"—The him could be no other than the marquis, whose return they dreaded.—"So much the better, our share will be all the bigger!" indicated that La Flèche was impelled by the hope of pillage. "Idiots, to think that you alone can capture"—the château presumably—was a confession of the inability of the assailants to maintain a siege of the manor with any chance of success.
In short, Mario, who had seen the besmeared, masked, ghastly, grotesque faces,—disguises assumed by the gypsies in all probability to terrify the peasants of the village and the farm,—and who, despite his courage, had been himself terrified by them, was immensely relieved when he found that he had to do with villains of flesh and blood, rather than with supernatural creatures and mysterious dangers.
Being unable to do anything for the moment except remain in hiding, he waited until the voices and footsteps had died away, before leaving the gate himself to seek shelter from the cold night air in one of the little structures in the garden.
He thought, with good reason, that the labyrinth, with all the windings of which he was so familiar, would enable him to elude any possible pursuit for some time, and he entered it, bending his steps without hesitation toward the little cottage which was metaphorically called the Palace of Astrée.
He was no sooner inside than he fancied that he heard footsteps on the gravel of the circular path.
He listened.
"It is either the wind blowing the dry leaves about," he thought, "or some creature from the farm coming here for shelter. But, in that case, the garden gate must be open! If it is, I am lost! O God! have pity on me!"
The noise was so faint, however, that Mario made bold to look out through the curtain of ivy which covered the walls of his retreat, and he saw a tiny person who was looking all about, in apparent uncertainty, as if seeking refuge in the same place.
Mario had not had time to close the door of the cottage behind him; the small being entered, and said in a low voice:
"Are you here, Mario?"
"Why, is it you, Pilar?" said the child, with an involuntary thrill of pleasure, as he recognized his former little companion, whom he had believed to be dead.
But he added sadly:
"Are you looking for me, in order to betray me?"
"No, no, Mario!" she replied. "I want to run away from La Flèche. Save me, my Mario, for I am too unhappy with that accursed man!"
"But how can I save you, when I do not even know how to save myself?—Either go away from here, or else stay here without me, my poor Pilar; for those bandits, when they come to look for you, will find me too."
"No, no; La Flèche thinks that he left me over yonder with the dead man!"
"What dead man?"
"They called him D'Alvimar. He died the other night, and they buried him this morning."
"You are dreaming—or else I don't understand. No matter! You ran away?"
"Yes; I knew that they were coming here to take your château and your treasure; I climbed out of a little bit of a window, like a cat, and I followed them at a distance. I hoped they would kill La Flèche and those wicked villains, who have never had any pity on me."
"What villains?"
"The trick-playing gypsies whom you know, and many others whom you don't know, who have joined them. They made me suffer at Brilbault, I tell you!"
"Where is Brilbault? Isn't it an old ruin near——"
"I don't know. I never went out. They roamed about all day and left me with the wounded man, who was always dying, and his old servant, who hated me because he said I was the one who brought monsieur bad luck and prevented him from getting well. I would have liked to have him die sooner; for I hated them, too, the vile Spaniards! and I made lots of spells against them. At last the youngest one died, in the midst of those wild men, who drank and sang and yelled all night, and prevented me from sleeping. So I am sick. I am feverish all the time. Perhaps that's lucky for me, because it keeps me from being hungry."
"My poor girl, here is all the money I have about me. If you succeed in escaping, it will be of some use to you; but, although I don't in the least understand what you tell me, it seems to me that you were crazy to come here instead of going far away from La Flèche. It makes me afraid that you are acting in concert with him to——"
"No, no, Mario! keep your money! and, if you think that I mean to betray you, go and hide somewhere else; I won't follow you. I am not a wicked girl to you, Mario. You are the only person in the whole world that I love! I came here thinking that, while they were fighting, I might go into the château and stay with you. But your peasants were too frightened; some of them were killed, the others fled into your great courtyard. Your servants defended themselves bravely; but they weren't the strongest! I was hidden under some boards on the inside of the garden wall. I could see everything through a little crack. I saw you come into the courtyard on your horse: I saw a tall man lock you in here. I didn't recognize you right off, because of your fine clothes; but when you started to come to this little house and I saw you walk, I knew your gait, and I followed you."
"And now what are we going to do? Play at hide and seek, as well as we can, in this garden, where they will certainly come and search?"
"What do you suppose they will come into a garden for? They know very well that there's no fruit to steal in winter. Besides the villains have already found plenty to eat and drink in the big buildings yonder. That's the farm, isn't it? I know well enough what they do when they get into a house that isn't defended. I don't need to see them, I tell you! They kill the cattle and prepare the spit; they knock in the heads of wine casks; they burst open closets; they fill their pockets, their wallets and their bellies. In an hour, they will all be mad, they will fight among themselves and maim each other. Ah! if your stupid servant hadn't locked us in here, it wouldn't be hard to escape! But of course there must be a hole that we can crawl through somewhere in this garden wall! I am a bit of a creature and you are not stout. Sometimes you can reach the top of a wall by climbing a tree. Do you know how to climb and jump, Mario?"
"Yes, indeed; but I know that there isn't any hole or any tree that will help us. There's the pond at the end of the courtyard, but I don't know how to swim as yet. It has been so cold ever since I have been here that they couldn't teach me. There's a little boat that they could send us from the château if they knew we were here. But how are we to make them see us? it is too dark; and just listen! the water makes too much noise running over the dam! Ah! my poor Aristandre must be taken or dead, since——"
"No, my dear little count of the good Lord!" said a hoarse voice outside, trying to speak low; "Aristandre is here, looking for you and listening to you."
"Ah! my dear charioteer!" cried Mario, throwing his arms around the great head which was thrust through the low round window of the little cottage. "Is it really you! But how wet you are! Mon Dieu! is it blood?"
"No, it's water, thank God!" replied Aristandre, "cold water! But I didn't drink any of it, luckily for me! I was pushed, pushed, carried onto the stone bridge in spite of myself, by our devils of peasants as they fell back on the courtyard. I saw that I was going to be forced into the courtyard with them, and then I couldn't come out again to find you. So I fired my last pistol shot and jumped into the stream. Devilish stream! I thought I never should get out of it, especially as they fired on me from the château, taking me for an enemy. However, here I am! I have been looking for you for a quarter of an hour; I had an idea that you would be in the affinoire"—that was Aristandre's name for the labyrinth—"but, although I've known it ten years, I don't know how to find my way in it yet. Come! we must get away from here. Let us try! You must do just as I say. But who in the devil have you there?"
"Someone whom you must save with me, an unfortunate little girl."
"From the village? Faith! never mind, we will save her if we can. You first! I am going to see what is happening in the basse-cour; do you stay here and talk low."
Aristandre returned in a few moments. He seemed troubled.
"It is no easy matter to go away," he said to the children. "Ah! those villagers! how they must have bungled to let the farm be taken! And, now that the hounds are drinking themselves stupid, if they should make a sortie from the château, they could kill them like swine to the last man! They think that they have demons to deal with, but I say that they are human beings in disguise, pure canaille! Just hear them yell and sing!"
"Well, let us make the most of their carousing," said Mario; "let us cross yonder corner of the basse-cour, where there seems to be no one, and run to the tower of the huis."
"Oh! the deuce! to be sure! But the beggars have locked themselves in! They know well enough that monsieur le marquis may come during the night, and he will have to lay siege to his own tower."
"Yes," cried Mario, "that is why I saw Sancho go in that direction with La Flèche."
"Sancho? La Flèche? you recognized them? Ah! I have a mind to go by myself and fall upon those illustrious captains!"
"No, no!" said Pilar, "they are stronger and wickeder than you think!"
"But, if they have simply locked the gate, we can open it," said Mario, whose mind worked more quickly than the coachman's. "And if they have left anybody on guard there, why between us, Aristandre, we can try to kill them so that we can pass. Do you hesitate? We must do it, you see, my friend. We must hurry and warn my father. If we don't, our people here will allow the château to be taken, they are so terrified. When the villains have finished gorging themselves, they will try to set it on fire. Who knows what may happen? Come, come, coachman, my good fellow," added the child, drawing his little rapier, "take a stake, a club, a tree, no matter what, and let us go!"
"Stay, stay, my dear little master!" rejoined Aristandre, "there are some tools here; let me look. Good! I have a shovel; no! a spade! I like that better! Now, I am not afraid of any man! But, listen to me; do you know where your papa is?"
"No! you must take me to him."
"If I come out all right, yes; if not, you will have to go all alone. Do you know where Etalié is?"
"Yes, I have been there. I know the way."
"Do you know the Geault-Rouge inn?"
"The Coq-Rouge? Yes, I have been there twice. It isn't hard to find, it's the only house in the place. Well?"
"Your papa will be there until ten o'clock. If you arrive too late, go to Brilbault; he will be there."
"Brilbault at the foot of Coudray hill?"
"Yes. He will be there with his people. It's a long way; you will never be able to do it on foot!"
"I will go straight to Brilbault," said Pilar. "I know the way; I have just come from there!"
"Yes," said the coachman; "go, little one; you can warn Monsieur Robin. Do you know him? You don't belong about here, do you?"
"No matter, I will find him."
"Or Monsieur d'Ars; will you remember?"
"I know him, I saw him once."
"Off we go, then! Ah! Monsieur Mario, if I could only lay my hand on your horse! you could go faster and not kill yourself running."
"I know how to run," said Mario; "don't think about the horse, it is out of the question."
"One minute more," continued Aristandre, "and pay attention. The drawbridge is raised; you know how to drop it, don't you? It doesn't weigh much."
"That's very easy!"
"But the sarrasine is down! But don't be alarmed; I will go up into the room where we work it. If there's anybody there, so much the worse for them; I'll strike and kill, and raise one of the stakes! Don't lose time by waiting for me. Pass through, steal away, fly! If the stake falls on the girl, so much the worse for her; you cannot help it, nor I. God guard you! Keep on running, I will overtake you."
"But, if you are——"
Mario stopped short; his heart sank.
"If I am laid out, you mean? Well, it will be of no use for you to grieve, it will not help matters. If you stop to pity me, you will lose your head and your legs! You must think of nothing but running."
"No, my friend, your risk is too great; let us remain concealed here."
"And suppose, while we are hiding, they burn up Madame Lauriane, your Mercedes, Adamas—and my poor carriage horses in the stable yonder! Besides—Look you, I am going alone. When the road is clear you can pass."
"Come on! come on!" said Mario. "Everything for Lauriane and Mercedes!"
He was about to rush out of the garden, when Pilar detained him.
"Remember that other villains are to come here—I know it. If you meet them, hide carefully, for your gold buttons gleam in the darkness like diamonds, and they will kill you just to get your clothes."
"I have an idea!" exclaimed Mario. "I will put on my gypsy rags, which are right here."
The reader will remember the rustic, sentimental and philosophic trophy, which had been suspended in the cottage with great pomp.
Mario hastily took it down, and in two minutes, having laid aside silk, velvet and lace, he was dressed in his former costume; whereupon they proceeded to the huis, walking noiselessly and without speaking.
They had only about fifty paces to walks along the wall outside the garden. They walked that distance, without hindrance at least, if not without danger, to the sound of loud laughter, shrieks, blasphemies and hoarse singing from the farm-house.
The tower of the huis was dark and silent. Aristandre placed the two children close to the sarrasine, Mario in front, almost touching the first stake at the left. Then he took his hand and placed it on the ring of the chain which held the drawbridge in the air. There was nothing for him to do but to take that ring from the hook set in the wall.
They did not venture to exchange another word. All about them, on the staircase, over their heads, there might be, there undoubtedly were, sentinels, sleeping or careless.
Mario could not press the coachman's hand in his own, for his were clinging to the detached ring and the dragging chain. He put his lips to that rough hand and hurriedly imprinted a silent kiss upon it; perhaps it was an eternal farewell.
Aristandre, deeply moved, abruptly withdrew his great paw, none the less, as if to say: "Nonsense! don't think of anything but yourself;" and, crossing himself fervently in the darkness, he resolutely ascended the short steep staircase to the salle de manœuvre.
"Who goes there?" cried a deep voice which Mario instantly recognized as Sancho's.
And as the coachman continued to ascend and approached the left side of the gallery, the voice added:
"Will you answer, blockhead? Are you drunk? Answer, or I fire on you!"
In an instant there was a report; but the stake was raised, Mario let go the chain, darted across the bridge, and fled without looking back. It seemed to him that the alarm was given on the moucharabi, and that a bullet whistled by his ears; he did not hear the report, the blood was making so much noise in his head.
When he was out of range, he paused and leaned against a tree, for his strength failed him at the thought of what was taking place between Aristandre and the enemy's sentinels.
He heard a great uproar in the tower, and something that sounded like the blows of a pickaxe on stone. It was Aristandre's spade, which he kept whirling about his head in the darkness; but he prudently kept silent, in order to be taken for a drunken gypsy, and Mario, straining his ears to hear his loud voice among the others, lost hope, and, with hope, courage to fly without him.
The poor boy was thinking so little of himself that he did not even start when he felt a hand on his arm.
It was Pilar, who had run faster than he, and was retracing her steps to find him.
"Well, well, what are you doing here?" she said. "Come, while they are killing him! When they have finished killing him, they will chase us!"
The little gypsy's ghastly sang-froid horrified Mario. Reared amid scenes of violence and bloodshed, she hardly knew what fear meant, and had not the faintest conception of pity.
But, by virtue of some swift sequence of ideas, Mario thought of Lauriane, and all the resolution of which a child is capable returned to his heart.
He ran on once more, and, motioning to Pilar to take the lower road, turned into the road leading to the plateau of Le Chaumois. A few steps farther on he stumbled over an object which lay across the road. It was the second dead body which Aristandre had pointed out to him, but which they had not had time to examine. Feeling the body under him, Mario was bathed in cold perspiration; perhaps it was Adamas! He mustered courage to touch it, and having satisfied himself that the clothes were those of a peasant, he hurried forward.
The sight of the pale sky over the bare fields made him breathe more freely; the darkness was stifling him. He took a bee-line across the fields, but a new terror awaited him there. A pale, indistinct form seemed to be flitting over the furrows. It came toward him. He tried to elude it, but it followed him. It was an animal of some sort chasing him. All the old women's tales about the white greyhound, and the imp that cries: "Robert is dead!" flashed through his mind.
But of a sudden the beast neighed and came near enough to be recognized. It was Mario's dear little horse, which had scented him from afar and came to offer him his help.
"Ah! my dear Coquet!" cried the child seizing his mane, "you come in the nick of time! and did you recognize me, poor fellow, in spite of these clothes, which you never saw? You were terribly frightened during that horrid battle, weren't you? You ran off at once, before they raised the bridge, and you were eating dry thistles here instead of your oats! Let us be off! we will both of us sup when we have time!"
As he chattered thus to his horse, Mario rearranged the stirrups, which had suffered somewhat in the bushes. Then, having mounted, he rode away like an arrow.
We will leave him for the moment and return to Briantes, where the plight of the besieged garrison causes us some anxiety.
L
When Mario and Aristandre arrived at Briantes, not a quarter of an hour had elapsed since the bandits had made their sudden appearance there.
Lauriane was about sitting down to supper when she heard confused outcries and the report of firearms in the direction of the village—we might say, according to the custom in the province, the bourg, since the little settlement was fortified in very ancient times; but the old Gallo-Roman stone wall was demolished to the level of the ground in many places, and it was a long time since the people had ceased to incur the expense of maintaining gates.
These noises, which the people in the château and those at the farm-house as well, supposed at first to be caused by villagers turning out to hunt some creature that had stolen into their enclosures, speedily assumed a more alarming character.
Everyone seized upon the first weapon that came to hand, and the farmers, brandishing their flails, hurried to the tower of the huis. But they were instantly forced back and their efforts paralyzed by the people from the village, who, rushing from all directions, came together at the approaches to the bridge, and in their terror overturned and trampled on the men who were running to their assistance.
And yet the attacking party consisted of only about fifty men, followed by a number of women and children; but it will be remembered that the marquis had ordered out and despatched to the attack on Brilbault all the stout and intrepid men in his little fief, so that the population surprised by the brigands consisted at that moment of women and children, crippled old men, or weak, half-grown boys.
The sight of the horrible masks worn by the bandits produced the effect they had anticipated. A general panic seized the peasants, and fear afforded them only so much strength as was necessary to prevent the loyal retainers from the château from going forth to meet the foe.
One of the dead bodies that Mario found on the road was that of a deformed young man who fell and was trampled under foot by the fugitives; the other, a poor old fellow who alone tried to face the enemy and was struck down by Sancho with the butt of his gun.
They had barely time to cross the bridge, and could not raise it because of the stragglers who whined and cried and implored shelter for themselves and their cattle. The enemy took advantage of the confusion to overtake them.
Thereupon the battle began under the archway of the huis, where the defenders of the château, surrounded by crying children and animals that were either inert and stupid or wounded and frantic, were instantly forced to fall back.
They had no sooner retreated to the basse-cour than the peasants abandoned them and rushed madly to the stone bridge; so that the brave fellows, numbering no more than half a score, were surrounded by the brigands and forced to fall back to the huisset, heroically contesting every inch of the ground.
One of the bravest, Charasson the farmer, was killed; two others were wounded. They would all have fallen there, for the redoubtable Sancho fought with the frenzy of desperation, had it not been for the dastardly behavior of La Flèche and his consorts, "who were eager for pillage, and in nowise eager for hard knocks."
Reduced to seven, the gallant defenders were obliged to retreat into the courtyard; the which was no easy matter, because the courtyard was so crowded. They were so hotly pressed by Sancho that a great number of the beasts were left outside, or in their excitement plunged into the moat.
During this desperate struggle, which, however, had lasted barely ten minutes, Lauriane and Mercedes at first stood, silent and trembling, on the platform of the tower of the huisset.
When they saw their people give way, being simultaneously inspired by the courage which fear imparts to the weak when they are not idiots, they ran to the falconets, which were always ready to be discharged. They hurriedly lighted the matches, and held themselves in readiness to fire, encouraging each other, and trying to remember what they had seen Mario and the other young men of the household taught to do by way of practice. But it was not yet possible to fire on the enemy, they were so inextricably mingled with the defenders of the château.
But what was Adamas doing at that supreme moment? Adamas was in the bowels of the earth.
The reader will remember hearing of a secret passage, by means of which Lucilio's escape was to be effected, in case of need. This passage passed under the moat and led to a sunken road which had been filled with gravel by the freshets of the last few years. Adamas had imagined that to clear the opening would require only a few hours' labor on the part of his ditchers. But the damage was more extensive than he supposed, and in three days they had not succeeded in making the passage practicable.
He went every evening to see what had been done during the day, and he was buried there during the battle, making his daily inspection, taking measurements, without the slightest suspicion of the tumult that reigned out-of-doors.
When he emerged from his hole, the entrance to which was under the staircase in the turret, he was like a drunken man for some moments and believed that he was dreaming; but, being a man of expedients, he speedily recovered his presence of mind.
He arrived just at the moment when the besieged fell back into the courtyard and the enemy were on the point of forcing their way in as well, everyone having lost his head.
Active and always well shod, like the true homme de chambre that he was, he gave but one bound to the tower of the huisset and dropped the portcullis in the face of the assailants, and, in fact, on the backs of some of them, so that the base of that instrument of exclusion did not reach the ground. He discovered it in time.
"Clindor!" he shouted to the bewildered page, who was preparing to close the gates behind the portcullis, "stay, stay! What's the reason that the portcullis doesn't fall? I still have a foot of it above the groove."
Clindor, who was not very brave, although he did his utmost to be, looked and recoiled in horror.
"I should think so," he said, "there are three men under it!"
"Numes célestes! our men! Look, I say, you triple sucking calf!"
"No, no, theirs."
"So much the better, by Mercury! Come here, quickly, some of you! Get on top of the portcullis! Bear down! bear down! Don't you see that those dead bodies will enable the living to crawl under the iron teeth, and that, when they are once under the archway, they will set fire to our gates! Down, down, you fellows! Break the heads of anyone who tries to pass, with hammers or feet or musket-butts. Mow them down with your scythe, living and dead, good Andoche! And you, Châtaignier, have you another charge? Have at that red-nose protruding there! So! bravo! by the god Teutates, that is well! right in the mouth! That makes one less of them!"
Mingling thus eloquent appeals with colloquial phrases whereby he deigned to descend to the level of the common herd, Adamas had the satisfaction of seeing the portcullis flatten the bodies beneath it, and the assailants fall back to the end of the bridge.
"Now to the falconets!" he cried. "Move quicker than that, my Cupids! Come, come, ten thousand devils! Aim! aim! Make me a fricassee of these birds of darkness!"
The miniature artillery of the château disheartened the bandits, who had nothing with which to reply to it; so they carried away their wounded and decided, in default of anything better, to go and sack the abandoned farmhouse and banquet there.
They tossed live calves and sheep into the embers of the burned mill, whence there soon arose an acrid odor of burning wool. They pushed back with pitchforks the unfortunate creatures which sought to escape from that torture. They devoured them half raw, half charred. The casks in the farm-house cellar were burst in. One and all became more or less intoxicated, even the children and the wounded. They threw the body of the ill-fated farmer into the fire, and they would have dealt out the same treatment to the two servants who were prisoners in their hands, except for the hope of ransom; and even so they spared them against the wishes of Sancho, who was unwilling to give quarter to anyone.
The old Spaniard did not think of eating or drinking or stealing. It was against his will that the Brilbault band had gone before the more useful auxiliaries whose arrival he awaited with impatience in order to consummate his vengeance. He was anxious, not lest he should lose his own life, for he had made up his mind beforehand to sacrifice that, but lest his undertaking should fail by reason of the haste and greed of the wretched creatures whom he had enlisted in it.
Being unable to hold them back until the hour at which it was arranged that his real allies should open the march and lead the expedition, he had accompanied them in order that no other than himself should have the privilege of torturing the beaux messieurs de Bois-Doré, if they should have the ill-luck to fall into the hands of those marauders.
In the heat of the battle, he, the only fanatically brave man in the party, had naturally taken his place at their head. But, when the battle was won, he ceased to be of any consequence to them; and soon, as we have seen, he took upon himself the duty of guarding the tower of the huis, where a surprise was to be feared, and whence he watched anxiously for the arrival of those who were to effect the capture and sacking of the château, and, as a result, the destruction of all those who had been concerned in D'Alvimar's death, either as cause or instrument.
If the people in the château were more prudent than those in the basse-cour, they were no more tranquil, and they hastily took all the measures necessary to defend themselves against a fresh attack.
They saw and heard the carousing of the bandits, and if they had chosen to sacrifice the farm-house, it would have been easy enough to dislodge them with their long muskets.
But not only did they hope for the arrival of reinforcements during the night, before the wretches should think of setting fire to the buildings in the basse-cour, but they were afraid to fire, because of the prisoners, the number of whom they did not know, and of the cattle, which were too large to be taken whole into the stomachs of those starved creatures.
They counted heads, and the absence of the unfortunate fellows who had fallen or been taken was discovered.
Adamas ordered all the useless people of the village into the stables. They gave the poor creatures plenty of fresh straw, bidding them keep perfectly quiet and lament in whispers, which it was not easy to induce them to do.
Lauriane and Mercedes busied themselves nursing the wounded and feeding the children.
Meanwhile Adamas posted his force at all the places exposed to the fire of the assailants, in such manner that they could neutralize it by their fire; and to prevent anyone from sleeping on his post, he passed his time going from one to another, distributing words of praise and encouragement, exhibiting hope, fear, or absolute confidence in the result of the siege, according to the temperament of each person he addressed. The shrewd Adamas, who had never handled any other weapon than the comb and the curling-iron, manifestly played the rôle of the fly on the coach, a rôle which he was able to make very useful, and which those who are familiar with Berrichon moderation and apathy know to be very necessary.
When everything was arranged, Adamas, worn out with fatigue and excitement, threw himself on a chair in the kitchen to take breath, were it for no more than five minutes, and to collect his wits.
His heart was very heavy, and he dared not confide his distress to anyone. He alone knew that Mario was not to accompany his father to Brilbault, and that, if he were not already taken, he might arrive at any moment and fall into the hands of the enemy.
Neither Lauriane nor Mercedes shared his suffering; to avoid worrying them, the marquis had concealed his plans from them. So far as they knew, he had simply taken his people out for a battue. They had felt that something more serious was in the air, from his preoccupied manner and the frequent conferences he had held with his friends and servants throughout the day; but they were too well aware of his paternal affection to fear that he would expose Mario to any danger, and they both imagined that he would pass the night at the château of Ars or of Coudray.
Adamas was beset by innumerable perplexities, debating within himself whether he ought not to set everybody at work clearing the secret passage, in order to go out that way to meet Mario and send word to the marquis, at the same time enabling the women to escape. But he had measured the ground so many times that he knew that many hours' work would still be required, and during that time the château, being no longer guarded, might well be invaded. Then what would become of them, confined in that issueless underground passage, the entrance to which would not be likely to escape the notice of the plunderers?
He was interrupted in his agitated reflections by Clindor, who approached him on tiptoe.
"What are you doing here, you worthless page?" he demanded angrily.
And, forgetting that he was resting himself, he added:
"Is this a night to rest?"
"No, I know it isn't," replied the page; "but I am looking for——"
"For whom? Tell me quickly!"
"The coachman! haven't you seen him?"
"Aristandre? Have you seen him about here I ask, that you are looking for him? Answer me!"
"I haven't seen him in the château; but, as sure as you are sitting there, I saw him on the stone bridge, while they were fighting there."
"Death of my life! he isn't in the château, I will swear to that! But Mario! he was to bring Mario home! Did you see Mario?"
"No; I thought of him and I looked all about; Mario wasn't there."
"God be praised! If Mario had come with him, you wouldn't have seen one without the other. He wouldn't have gone a foot away from him. He wouldn't have taken part in the battle. Doubtless monsieur kept the child with him and sent the coachman back to tell us. But the poor coachman! You say that he was fighting?"
"Like thirty devils!"
"I am sure of it! and then what?"
"Then, then—the portcullis fell and I ran to shut the gates."
"Hell fire! perhaps it fell on—Here, take this torch, and come!"
"No, no! I saw the men that were crushed. He wasn't one of them."
"You didn't see clearly, you were frightened!"
"I, frightened! Upon my word!"
"No matter, come, I tell you!"
And Adamas ran and opened the gates and looked in fear and trembling at the bodies flattened under the iron teeth. They were so crushed and mutilated, that the ghastly spectacle caused the torch to fall from the page's hands.
Adamas rose with an oath; but, by the light of the smoking torch, sputtering and dying in the blood, he saw Aristandre standing beside him.
"Ah! my friend!" he cried, throwing his arms around his neck. "Mario! where is Mario?"
"Saved!" said the coachman, "and I too, but not without difficulty! A glass of gin or brandy, quick! my teeth are chattering and I don't want to die, sacrebleu! I may still be good for something inside here!"
"What a state you are in, my poor friend!" said Adamas, dragging him away to the kitchen, where Clindor gave him something to drink; "where the devil have you come from?"
"Parbleu! from the pond," replied the coachman, who was covered with mud; "how else could I have got in? For a quarter of an hour I have been stamping about in the grass and the mud."
He tore his clothes into strips and planted himself in front of the fire, saying:
"Look, Adamas, and see if I am not losing too much blood, and stop it for me, old fellow, for I feel very weak!"
Adamas examined him; he had something like ten wounds and as many bruises.
"Numes célestes!" cried Adamas; "I don't see a single sound spot on your poor corpse!"
"Corpse yourself!" cried the coachman, tossing off another bumper. "Do you take me for a ghost? To be sure I have come back from a long distance; but I'm better now; my hide's as thick as my horses', thank God! Don't let me bleed, that's all I ask. It's a bad thing for a man to lose all the blood in his body."
Adamas washed him and dressed his wounds with marvellous skill.
Thanks to the thickness of his skin and the herculean strength of his muscles, the wounded man had escaped serious injury.
"And the child?" said Adamas, as he dressed him in dry clothes which Clindor had brought; "was the child in danger?"
Aristandre told everything that had happened down to the time that he raised the stake of the sarrasine.
"The child got through," he said; "the beggars on the moucharabi fired at him but didn't hit him. I had that hound of a Sancho by the throat at that moment. I might have strangled him, but I let him go and ran out on the moucharabi, and I saw Mario running like the wind; then I fell on the other two curs. I had only a spade, but I routed them in fine shape, I tell you! Sancho came at me again with his broken rapier, and tried to scratch me with the hilt, I think, for he struck at my head and face when he couldn't reach my stomach. Ah! the old madman, how hard he strikes! And then, you see, I was already wounded and had not my strength! But it warmed me up a little all the same, because I had already swam across the pond once to join dear little Mario in the garden, and I was shivering. However, I couldn't make an end of the old devil, and that is all I regret. When I heard others coming to his assistance, I slipped down the staircase, and as his legs aren't so active as his arm is heavy, I succeeded in returning to the garden without his knowing where I had gone. And from there faith, I had no other choice than to come back here by way of the pond, and here I am!"
"Coachman!" cried Adamas, who, unlike many men, felt a sincere admiration for exploits of which he knew that he was incapable, "you are as great as Monsieur d'Urfé's greatest heroes! and if monsieur takes my advice, he will have you represented in tapestry in his salon, to perpetuate the memory of your courage and your stout heart."
"If it's only a question of being great," replied the artless Aristandre, "I can safely say that I have the size. But I am going to see my horses; after that, we will think about making a little sortie to clear the basse-cour of these vermin. What do you say about it, old fellow?"
The prudent Adamas was not heartily in favor of the plan.
While they are discussing projects of attack and defence, we will join Mario, who has just arrived in sight of the great tree by which the hill of Etalié is crowned to this day.
The child looked up at the stars which he had learned to know during his life among the shepherds: it was about half-past nine.
At that period there was a single house in that solitude; it was an inn and at the same time a sort of hunting rendezvous.
The hill, situated amid plains of vast extent and teeming with game, was often honored by the sojourn of noblemen of the province, who assembled to hunt the hare and to dine or sup at the sign of the Geault-Rouge.
This will explain the fact that an inn so small, situated so near a large town that it could not hope to entertain wealthy travellers, possessed in the person of Master Pignoux, landlord of the Geault-Rouge, a cook of the rarest excellence.
When the gentlemen of the neighborhood indulged in the sport of fishing in the ponds of Thevet, they always sent in haste for Master Pignoux, who would come with his wife, set up his canteen on the water's edge, and serve them, under some lovely arbor, those marvellous matelotes[6]—they were then called étuvées—which had made his reputation. He also went about to the towns and châteaux near by, for wedding and other festivals, and, it was said, could have taught Monsieur le Prince's master cooks a thing or two.
The Geault-Rouge was a solidly built structure, of two high stories, covered with tiles of a brilliant red which could be seen a league away. Through the influence of the noblemen of the neighborhood, Master Pignoux had obtained permission to put a vane on his roof, a privilege of the nobility to which he declared that he was entitled, as he so often had occasion to entertain the nobility. The incessant shrill shrieking of that vane, which seemed to be the objective point of all the winds of the plain, blended with the perpetual creaking of the great iron sign representing the Geault-Rouge in its glory, which swung haughtily at the end of a staff projecting from a window on the second floor.
Opposite the house, on the other side of the road, was a very large thatch-covered stable, and long sheds for the accommodation of the retinues by whom the noble sportsmen were commonly attended. The inn itself was specially reserved for the nobles themselves.
Everyone knows that in those days inns were distinguished as hostelleries, gîtes and repues. The gîtes gave special attention to providing lodging for the night, the repues to furnishing dinner for travellers; the latter were wretched taverns where well-to-do people stopped only in default of some better place, and where they were sometimes fed upon crow, ass's meat, and Sancerre eels, that is to say, snakes. The gîtes, on the contrary, were often very sumptuous.
Inns were also divided into those for people on foot and those for people on horseback. One could take two meals there. On the sign of the Geault-Rouge were these words, in huge letters:
HOSTELRY LICENSED BY THE KING
and below:
DINNER FOR MOUNTED TRAVELLERS, 12 SOLS;
LODGING FOR THE SAME, 20 SOLS
The inn-keeper's privilege was confirmed by letters-patent from the king. Pedestrians could not be entertained at an inn for the accommodation of mounted travellers, and vice versa.
"The French laws prevent the former from spending too much, the latter from spending too little."[7]
Mario, seeing that the inn was brilliantly lighted, was not surprised to hear his little horse neigh with pleasure when he was within two hundred yards. He supposed that he recognized his surroundings.
But he was surprised when he suddenly turned to the left and seemed unwilling to resume the straight road.
The child, who was on the alert, pricked up his ears. It seemed to him that he could hear the sound of horses's feet in the direction of the inn, which the night mist still prevented him from seeing distinctly. He was overjoyed.
"My father must be here," he said to himself, "with all his people; perhaps with Monsieur d'Ars and his suite. I will hurry on."
But Coquet required so much urging to go forward, that his young rider thought that he ought to try to fathom the intelligent creature's idea. He drew rein, and heard, much nearer at hand than the inn stable, the familiar neigh of Rosidor, the marquis's faithful palfrey.
"So my father is over there, is he?" he said to himself. "I must be careful not to pass him on the road."
And as he could distinguish nothing at his left except what seemed to be dense underbrush, he dropped the reins on Coquet's neck, feeling certain that he would find a way to join his stable companion.
Coquet entered the underbrush and halted in front of a dilapidated, tumble-down hovel.
It was the original Geault-Rouge inn, abandoned to its own destruction twenty years before; Bois-Doré, Guillaume and Monsieur Robin having cooperated to build the new one and present it to Master Pignoux as a token of their esteem for his probity and his culinary skill.