[9]Brèche-dents.
LV
Everything went well.
Macabre and his subordinates, crushed by the haughty glance and haughty silence of the majestic cook, were delighted to be able to do honor to his toothsome dishes, and perhaps he would not have been required to appear again; but an unfortunate moment of distraction on his part spoiled everything.
La Proserpine dropped the feather fan which she carried in her belt, with a dagger and two pistols; and with the fatal instinct of courtesy which never failed him, even with respect to his housekeeper, the marquis stooped to pick up the trinket, which he handed to her with suppressed excitement, realizing his blunder too late.
There was an expression of surprise and uncertainty in La Proserpine's eyes for a moment, a moment that seemed as long as a century; at last the lady cried, putting her hand to her pistols:
"May I die in torment if this is Master Pignoux!"
"What? what does this mean?" cried Macabre in his turn. "Come here, old turnspit, and show your dirty snout to the company. By the death of the devil! if there's any trickery, and some scurvy spoil-sauce has usurped the duties of chief cook, I'll make a skimmer of his hide!"
The marquis did not listen to the brigand's threats; he felt that the crisis had come, and pushed Mario out of the room, saying:
"Go down stairs, my wife is calling you!"
Then he turned resolutely and faced La Proserpine, and looked her in the eye with that lofty dignity which only the brave man can summon to his aid against cowardly adversaries.
Despite her master's burlesque attire, Bellinde could not escape a sensation of respect and remorse. She held in her hands the life of the man whom she desired to humble and rob, but not to torture and murder. She hesitated another moment, then said:
"Faith, Master Pignoux, I do recognize you now! but mordi! you are much changed! Have you been very sick, pray?"
"Yes, madame," replied Bois-Doré, touched by her kindly impulse; "I have had a fatiguing time in my house since I was compelled to part with a person who served me well."
"I know whom you mean," rejoined Bellinde. "She was a treasure whom you didn't appreciate and turned out-of-doors like a dog. Yes, yes, I know how it happened. You were entirely in the wrong, and now you regret it! But it's too late, you see! she will never serve you again!"
"She will do well never to serve anyone, if she can do without it; but I flatter myself that, wherever she may be, she has not forgotten my generosity to her. I dismissed her without a word of reproach and did not treat her stingily; she may have told you so."
"Enough; we will speak of this later. Serve us with your best, and now go back to your work, old man. Go!"
As he went out, he saw her whisper to one of her men.
"We are saved!" he said to Mario in the hall. "She did not betray me, and she has given orders to let us go."
And the marquis, in his innocence, walked with Mario toward the kitchen door; but he was much mistaken: La Proserpine had, on the contrary, issued even stricter orders for the blockade.
So they had no choice but to continue to busy themselves with the composition of the famous omelette aux pistaches.
About an hour passed without any perceptible change in this absurd yet tragical situation.
There was a great uproar in the dining-room. Macabre was shouting and swearing and singing. There were alternations of brutal merriment and brutal rage.
This is what was taking place:
Lieutenant Saccage was as outspoken and concise as his name. It seemed ridiculous to him to prepare for a sharp and decisive blow, which demanded a swift and silent march, by a supper which he well knew would degenerate into a carouse.
Macabre was a desperado addicted to all the excesses which were the real motive of his expeditions. He had not, like his lieutenant, the qualities of the shrewd speculator, and, if I were not afraid of profaning words, I would say that, in his adventurous life, he wallowed in a sort of drunkenness, which was the poetry, a sombre and brutish sort of poetry, of that life. He was as much gypsy as thief, squandering all he acquired, and rich only by fits and starts.
The other amassed wealth in cold blood and put it aside. He understood business, spent nothing in dissipation, and was hoarding a fortune. In our day he would have been a sharper in higher station; he would have cheated in a black coat and lived in good society, instead of scouring the high roads and stripping wayfarers.
Each century has its own peculiar methods of traffic, and during the civil wars of the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, brigandage was a regular branch of industry, conducted on business principles.
Saccage hoped to get rid of Macabre. He would not have dared to attack him in front; but he did as monsieur le prince did with the King of France: he urged his master into danger, calculating that a volley of musketry would carry him off and leave his place empty for him.
Guided by this idea, he strove to make himself agreeable to La Proserpine, who had charge of the cash-box and the jewel-case; and the lady, while handling her chance husband with care, did not discourage the embryo husband whom the chances of war might make useful to her at any moment.
This system of coquetry was beginning to be manifest to Macabre, and he was torn between his natural inclination to allow himself to be led by the nose, and his desire to discipline his goddess in vigorous fashion.
He was sorely tempted too, every moment in the day, to break the pitcher over his rival's head, but he realized how essential the lieutenant's activity and never-failing soundness of judgment were to him, who could never resign himself to the necessity of remaining sober and living on the alert.
So that, fatigued by this alternation of angry outbreaks and reconciliations, which was repeated at every halting-place, the captain adopted the plan of drowning his cares in the vintage of the hills of La Châtre, and, after talking much nonsense, began to feel an unconquerable longing to take a nap, with his nose amid the remains of a pie on his plate.
Not until then could Saccage talk seriously with Proserpine.
"You see, my Bradamante," he said, "that this old sot is good for nothing, and if you follow my advice we shall leave him here to sleep off his wine and go on and pillage the château. To-morrow, when we return, we will pick up our noble commander, who would simply serve to embarrass our expedition now."
Proserpine was nourishing a newly conceived idea, a bold and extraordinary idea, which she was careful not to impart to the lieutenant. She pretended to accede to his wish to make all necessary preparations for departure.
"Go and see that the whole party have something to eat," she said; "I will watch this sleeping man, and if he wakes I will give him more drink so that he will go to sleep again."
Saccage went down to the pantry, demanded that the whole stock of salt pork and dried meats should be delivered to him, and then went to the stable where his men and the captain's were quartered.
The provisions and the wine were distributed under his eyes with careful parsimony; he assured himself that the sentries were at their stations. Proserpine's men were at table in the kitchen, regaling themselves with the abundant broken meats from the officers' supper.
Meanwhile the amazon summoned the chief cook, who found her warming her stout, booted legs, in a masculine attitude. They were alone, for the captain was snoring in his pie.
"Sit you down, marquis, and let us talk," she said with a laughable air of condescension. "It is necessary that you should understand your situation and mine, and I will tell you much in a few words, for time presses."
The marquis seated himself without speaking.
"I must tell you," continued the lady-brigand, "that when you discharged me so discourteously from your château, I entered the service of Madame de Gartempe, who was going away to the Messin country in Lorraine, where she has large estates."
"I know it," said the marquis, "you were employed by a lady of rank, and you did not lower yourself. How does it happen——"
"That I left her so soon? I had taken it into my head to be pious when I was with you, because one likes to do the opposite of what one's masters do; and that is why, finding my great lady too exacting for my conscience, I turned to the Reformers, which served to make her dismiss me, much more harshly than you did, I admit!
"About that time there came to the Messin country a band of adventurers of all nations, who had served under the gallant captain who is known thereabout as the Bastard of Mansfeld; they had been beaten by the Emperor's Catholic troops on the other side of the Rhine and were seeking their fortune in Alsace and Lorraine.
"Everybody was terribly afraid of those people, I myself with the rest; but chance brought me in contact with one of them, whom you see here, who, having saved a tidy sum, had just dismissed his men and was thinking about returning to Bourges to settle down and end his days in peace. He remembered Berry so well that we soon became acquainted, and he offered me his heart and his hand.
"I don't know why I hesitated to bind myself to him; but one thing that is very certain, my dear marquis, is that your château will be taken to-night and burned to-morrow morning."
"So that is really the object of your expedition?" said the marquis, affecting perfect tranquillity. "Was it you who suggested that idea to Captain Macabre? I cannot believe that you are such a wicked and revengeful person as that."
"The idea did not come from me; but I unintentionally suggested it to this rapacious beast, by imprudently mentioning your treasure. He no sooner found out that you had such a thing than he overwhelmed me with questions, and I, having no idea what he was coming at, gave him enough details to satisfy him that it would be easy to seize it. The effect of my imprudent words was increased by some letters which I was imprudent enough to show him. One came from Monsieur Poulain, the other from Sancho. Both of them gave news of Monsieur d'Alvimar; both believed me to be still devoted to what they call good principles; and as it is a good thing to have friends everywhere, I took care not to let them know what company I was in. And so, my dear marquis, Macabre went off to Alsace one day and hunted up several of his old reitres; he enlisted some others who asked nothing better than to take the field again, and took for his second in command Lieutenant Saccage, who is a clever and intelligent man; and, when all that was done, he came to Linières, and went from there last night, with some of his men, to Brilbault, having arranged to meet the others to-night at this isolated inn."
Bois-Doré listened with close attention, but succeeded in concealing the surprise and anxiety which all these disclosures caused him.
Recalling the ghosts at Brilbault, he mechanically looked at the wall of the room in which he then was, and saw reproduced there the face with the huge hooked nose and long moustaches, together with the plumed helmet of Captain Macabre. It was the same profile that he had seen at Brilbault, and doubtless Poulain the rector, whom he had thought that he recognized, was also of the party. Moreover had he not heard from Proserpine's lips that D'Alvimar had survived the duel at La Rochaille?
He abstained from any reflection and confined himself to questioning the lady, who confirmed all his apprehensions.
D'Alvimar had been horrified beyond measure to find the Huguenot Macabre by his deathbed. But Sancho had sworn to join the reitres, with as many of the gypsies as would consent to accompany him, as soon as D'Alvimar had breathed his last.
"Macabre returned to Thevet this morning," added Proserpine, "where Saccage and I were waiting for him, with our people camped outside the town, where we were careful not to frighten or injure anybody. In that way, thanks to the caution and good discipline of our troopers, we have been able to ride more than a hundred leagues through France without once having to fight. We passed ourselves off as mercenaries sold to the king, and exhibited false commissions. By that means, you see, those of our men who may want to go and seek their fortune in the Huguenot camp or elsewhere will be able to get to Poitou. Macabre expects to give them a free rein, reserving the right to decamp with your booty if he sees that they are getting into any too unsavory business. And so, my dear marquis, we are in a fair way to ruin you, and, unluckily for you, you have thrown yourself into the hands of people who are fully determined to take your life."
"That is to say that my fate is in your hands," replied the marquis, "and you tell me so to make sure that I understand how grateful I ought to be to you. Rest assured, Bellinde, that my gratitude will not be confined to words, and that, if you will abandon the plan of leading these men to Briantes, it will be more profitable to you than to share my property with this band of thieves!"
"So far as that goes, I have told you, marquis, that I am not the leader; but I can assist you to get rid of the captain and make the lieutenant listen to reason, for he loves money better than fighting."
"So you want a ransom for me and the château, do you? In the first place, fix the amount for my person, which is, I confess, defenceless and in your power. As for the château——"
"As for the château, you are thinking that, when you are once free, you will defend it! So you won't be free until we have got through with it, unless——"
"Unless I pay?"
"Unless you sign, monsieur le marquis! for your signature is sacred to anyone who knows, as your faithful Bellinde does, what the honor of a gentleman like you is worth."
"What do you want me to sign?" said the marquis, readily resigned to his fate whenever money was in question.
Proserpine kept silence for an instant. Her face assumed an expression of diabolical malice, mingled nevertheless with a strange perturbation, as if she were somewhat inclined to blush for her temerity.
"Come, come," said the marquis, "speak, and let us have done with it at once, before your companion wakes."
"My companion is not my husband, as you must know, monsieur le marquis," replied the amazon in a mincing tone. "He is very ugly and very stupid—and, although you are no younger than he, you still have attractions—to which I have not always been so insensible as I seemed."
"What nonsense are you talking, my poor Bellinde? Come, a truce to jesting. Let us have done!"
"I am not jesting, marquis! I have always had an intense longing to be a woman of quality, and, if I must conclude, this is my last and only word: Be free! no ransom! Go, hurry home and defend your château, if I cannot prevent them from attacking it; and whatever the result of the affair may be, you will keep the promise you are going to put in writing, to make me your lawful wife and sole legatee."
"My wife, you!" cried the marquis, recoiling in utter stupefaction; "can you dream of such a thing? My legatee? when Mario——"
"Ah! there we are! the pretty boy is the stumbling-block. But never fear, I will treat him well if he behaves to me as he ought, and at my death your property can go back to him, provided that I am satisfied with him."
"You are mad, Bellinde!" cried the marquis, rising, "unless this is all a game——"
"It is not a game; and if you don't write at once what I demand," she said, rising in her turn, "why, death of my life! I will wake the captain and call my people upstairs!"
"Have me murdered, if you think best," replied Bois-Doré; "I will never give my consent to your mad whim! But understand that I will not allow my throat to be cut like a sheep, and that——"
The marquis, unsheathing his knife, had rushed toward the door to receive the assassins, whom Bellinde, suffocated with anger, was trying in vain to call, when Macabre suddenly staggered to his feet and threw at his wife's head a jug which would certainly have killed her if his hand had been steadier.
"Miserable slut!" he cried, chasing her about the room. "Ah! so you propose to marry your old marquis, do you? Perhaps you think I am deaf, and you don't know that Captain Macabre sleeps with one eye and one ear open! Stay here, marquis! I have nothing against you, for you refused the offers of this damned Potiphar. Stay here, I say! Help me catch this she-devil! I propose to wring her neck in proper form and make a drum-head of her skin!"
Despite these alluring invitations, the marquis, leaving the lovers at odds, had rushed into the hall, and Mario, terrified at the noise in the dining-room, had started to go to him. But they could neither go up nor down. On the one hand, Proserpine, pursued by Macabre, who was belaboring her with the rung of a chair, tumbled upon them on the stairs; on the other hand, the amazon's reitres rushed to the spot to adjust the conjugal dispute.
It was soon done.
La Proserpine, all dishevelled, rose and threw herself into the midst of them, and they, with no respect for the captain, seized him roughly, carried him back into the dining-room and locked him in there, laughing at his outcries and his threats.
Proserpine, accustomed to these tempests, was not long in recovering herself. She had no sooner swallowed a glass of gin, which one of her pages handed her, than she looked about with the eye of a bird of prey for her victim, who had taken refuge in a corner.
"The cook, the cook!" she cried. "Bring the cook before me."
LVI
They dragged forward the marquis and Mario, who clung desperately to him.
Bellinde recognized the child at the first glance, and her face, blanched by fear, flushed purple with savage joy.
"My friends," she cried, "we have the wild boar and the shote, and there's a chance for a handsome ransom for us, for us alone, you understand! no sharing with the Germans,"—she designated thus the captain's reitres,—"nor with Monsieur Saccage and his Italians! The Bois-Doré and the young one belong to us alone, and vive la France, tudieu! Pen, paper and ink—and quickly! The marquis must sign his ransom! I know all about his property, and I warrant you that he'll not conceal any of it from me! A thousand gold crowns for each of these fine fellows, do you hear, marquis? and for myself the promise that I asked of you."
"I will give you my whole fortune, wicked woman, if my son's life is spared. Give me the pen—give it to me!"
"No," replied Proserpine. "It is not your property alone that I want, but your name, and you must sign the promise of marriage."
The marquis would not have believed that the termagant would dare to announce her aspirations before witnesses. But the reitres, far from being scandalized, applauded, as if it were a most excellent trick, and the blood mounted to Bois-Doré's face in his intense abhorrence of the abject and absurd rôle assigned to him.
"You ask too much of me, madame," he said, shrugging his shoulders; "take my gold and my estates, but my honor——"
"Is that your last word, old idiot? Come hither, comrades! a rope, and string up this brat!"
As she spoke, the degraded creature pointed to a great iron hook suspended from the ceiling in the kitchen, which was used to support the weights of the huge spit.
In a twinkling they seized Mario, who exclaimed:
"Refuse! refuse, father! I will endure anything!"
But the marquis could not endure for a second the thought of seeing his child tortured.
"Give me the pen," he cried; "I consent! I will sign whatever you choose!"
"Let us give him a jerk or two all the same," said one of the brigands, beginning to attach the rope to Mario; "it will make the old fellow's handwriting freer."
"Yes, do so," said Proserpine. "That wicked child well deserves it."
The marquis became frantic; but he soon calmed down when he looked at his poor child, whose cheeks were white with terror despite his courage. It was useless to resist. Mario was in their power.
Bois-Doré fell at Proserpine's feet.
"Do not torture my child!" he cried; "I yield, I submit, I will marry you; what more do you want than my word?"
"I want your hand and seal," was the reply.
The marquis took the pen in his trembling hand, and wrote at the dictation of that fury:
"I, Sylvain-Jean-Pierre-Louis Bouron du Noyer, Marquis de Bois-Doré, do promise and swear to Demoiselle Guillette Carcat, alias Bellinde, alias Proserpine——"
At that point a terrible uproar was heard outside, and Proserpine's men rushed to the door.
The tumult was caused by the captain's Germans, who, being summoned by him from the window, hastened to set him free. The guards at the door were Italians of Saccage's command, and their orders were not to allow any person to go in or out.
The three troops were constantly quarrelling among themselves, like their leaders, who upheld their own men while striving to keep them apart. But this time it was impossible; Saccage, who had also been attracted by Macabre's outcries, and thought that Proserpine was in the act of doing away with her tyrant, exerted himself to prevent the Germans from going to his assistance. As for the lieutenantess's Frenchmen, they had no love for either of the other factions; and they all began to attack one another, without resorting to their weapons as yet, but abusing one another savagely, and fighting with hands and feet.
This uproar was accompanied by the crashing of furniture in the room above, where Macabre was fighting like a demon to set himself free, and by the piercing shrieks of La Proserpine encouraging her partizans, for she was beginning to fear for her own life if they should be worsted.
We may imagine that the marquis did not await the result of the combat before thinking of flight. In one bound he was at his son's side, trying to unbind him, but the knot was so artistically tied that, in his excitement, he was unable to untie it.
"Cut it! cut it!" said Madame Pignoux.
But the old man's hand trembled convulsively. He was afraid of wounding the child with the knife.
"Let me do it!" said Mario, pushing them both away.
And with perfect self-possession he skilfully untied the knot.
The marquis took him in his arms and followed the landlady and her maid-servant, whom he saw running toward the pantry.
As he left the house he nearly fell at the threshold. A body lay across the doorway; it was Jacques le Bréchaud's. He was dead; but beside him lay the bodies of two reitres, one run through with a spit, the other half beheaded with the larding-knife, Jacques had had his revenge, and had cleared the path. His ugly but powerful face wore a terrifying expression; it seemed to be contracted by a triumphant laugh, and the teeth were parted as if they would bite.
The marquis saw at a glance that there was nothing to be done for the poor fellow. He held Mario close to his breast and ran as fast as he could.
"Put me down," said the child, "we can run better. Please put me down!"
But the marquis fancied that he could hear the clicking of the terrible flint-lock pistols behind him, and he wished to make his body a rampart for his son.
When he found that he was out of range, he decided to let him run too, and they hurried toward the thicket where the half-ruined roof of the former hostelry lay hidden.
As they ran they saw Madame Pignoux and her servant also making their escape. Those two old women made their hearts ache. But to call them would be to destroy them and themselves with them. They were running across the fields, apparently heading for some hiding place known to them as a place of safety.
The Beaux Messieurs de Bois-Doré leaped upon their horses. They were very careful not to descend the Terrier by the road, but took one of the narrow paths, bordered by tall blackthorns, which wind about between the fields.
The battle of the reitres might end abruptly at any moment. They were well mounted and able to follow close upon their prey; but the light gallop of Rosidor and Coquet made little noise on the wet earth, and as the path they were following was constantly intersected by others, the pursuers would have to separate to overtake them.
The first and most essential thing was to gain ground; so the Bois-Dorés thought of nothing at first but throwing the enemy off the scent by plunging at random into that labyrinth of muddy paths, which became blinder and blinder as they approached the valley.
After about ten minutes of hard riding, the marquis drew rein and bade Mario do likewise.
"Halt!" he said, "and open your sharp ears. Are we pursued?"
Mario listened, but the hard breathing of his breathless horse prevented him from hearing well.
He dismounted, walked away a few steps and returned.
"I can hear nothing," he said.
"So much the worse!" said the marquis; "they have finished fighting and they must be thinking of us. Mount again quickly, my boy, and let us ride on. We must succeed in reaching Brilbault, where our friends and servants are."
"No, father, no," said Mario, who was already in the saddle. "There is no one left at Brilbault now. We must ride to Briantes by the cross-road. Oh! please don't hesitate, father, and be sure that I am right. I am perfectly certain of what I say."
Bois-Doré yielded without understanding. It was no time for discussion.
They rode in a straight line toward the hamlet of Lacs, through the great grain-growing tract which, as it all belonged to the seignioral estate of Montlevy, was not, at that time, cut up into many smaller parcels enclosed by hedges.
Our fugitives rode half the distance without seeing any bands of mounted men on the road, which they followed on a parallel line at a distance of two or three gun-shots.
To the marquis's mind this was a bad sign. The quarrel among the reitres could not have been prolonged until then. As soon as the Germans discovered that Macabre was not being assassinated, but was simply locked into the room because of drunkenness, the whole trouble would subside, and La Proserpine was not the woman to forget the prisoners, for whom she hoped to obtain a substantial ransom, if nothing more.
"If they don't come down upon us by the travelled road," thought the marquis, "it must be because they have seen us crossing the flat, and are waiting for us by the wood of Veille, in the sunken roads with which Bellinde is probably familiar. Perhaps the knaves are nearer to us than we think; for the mist is becoming dense, and I am beginning to be doubtful whether those figures I see yonder are young oaks or mounted men waiting for us."
He stopped Mario again to tell him of his apprehensions.
Mario looked at the trees and said:
"Let us go on! there are no mounted men there."
They rode forward. But as they skirted the copse which, at that time, extended to the farm of Aubiers, they suddenly found themselves at close quarters with a party of horsemen who were approaching at their right, and who shouted "Halt!" in resounding tones.
They were French voices, but Bellinde's adventurers were Frenchmen.
The marquis hesitated an instant. It was no easy matter to recognize those men, who were still in the shadow of the trees, while the Bois-Dorés were far enough in the open to be fully exposed to them.
"Let us ride straight on!" said Mario. "If they are not enemies, we shall soon find it out."
"Vive Dieu!" replied the marquis, "they must be the reitres, for they are following us! Ride hard, my dear child."
And he thought:
"May God give my poor horses strength of leg!"
But the horses had travelled too far over the heavy ploughed land not to have lost their first freshness, and the men behind them pressed them so close that the marquis expected every moment to hear bullets whistling about his ears. He lost ground by trying, in spite of Mario's remonstrances, to keep behind him so that he might receive the first discharge.
One horseman, better mounted than the rest, almost overtook him and shouted:
"Will you stop, you knave, or must I kill you?"
"God be praised, it is Guillaume!" cried Mario; "I know his voice!"
They turned about and were not a little surprised when Guillaume charged upon them and threatened to pull the marquis from his horse.
"How now, cousin!" said Bois-Doré; "don't you recognize me?"
"Ah! who in the devil would recognize you in that rig?" replied Guillaume. "What is that white thing you have on your head, cousin, and what sort of a petticoat are you wearing floating about your hips? I was most anxious for news of you; then, when we approached, I thought that I recognized your horse and Mario's. But I concluded that you were robbers who had stolen the horses, perhaps after murdering you! Can that be Mario? Upon my word, you are both arrayed in strange fashion!"
"True," said the marquis, remembering his kitchen apron and his oilcloth cap, which he had not thought, nor indeed had leisure to remove; "I am not equipped as a warrior, and you will oblige me, cousin, by supplying me with a hat and arms, for I have nothing but a kitchen knife at my side, and we may have a fight on our hands at any moment."
"Here, here," said Guillaume, handing him his own hat, and the weapons of his most trusty servant; "put them on quickly and let us not delay; for it seems that your château is in danger."
Bois-Doré thought that Guillaume was ill-informed.
"No," he said, "the reitres were still at Etalié half an hour ago."
"The reitres at Etalié?" exclaimed Guillaume. "In that case we have nothing to lose by hurrying, unless we want to be caught between two fires!"
There was no time for explanations; they galloped at full speed toward Briantes.
On the way Guillaume's troop was increased by Bois-Doré's servants, who, after a vain search at Brilbault, had received the little gypsy's warning, and were returning to the château at all risks, not placing much faith in her message, but believing it to be some ruse on the part of her comrades to throw them off the scent.
They had decided to return only because Pilar had told them that their master was warned and was himself returning; having failed to meet him at the general rendezvous at Brilbault, they had concluded that the warning, whether true or false, had been conveyed to him, and that it would be useless to go to Etalié in search of him.
LVII
Monsieur Robin had not believed a word of Pilar's story. He had started none the less with his escort, but had made no great haste, and it was to be feared that he had fallen in with the reitres, for when the others came in sight of Briantes he had not overtaken them.
They were anxious too concerning Master Jovelin, who had started first for Brilbault with five or six of the Briantes men, and whom they were surprised not to pick up on the road, for they had ridden very fast; so fast that they had no time to communicate these reflections to one another.
In many novels I have read of long conversations carried on between the characters while their horses were cleaving the air and devouring space; but I have never been able to understand how such a thing could be possible in real life.
Although it was about one o'clock in the morning, it was as light as at noon-day when they rode through the village. The farm-buildings were in flames.
At that sight all doubt was at an end, and they rushed forward to attack the tower of the huis, which was closed and defended by Sancho and a few gypsies hastily collected by him when he first heard the gallop of the new-comers.
"What are we doing here, cousin?" said Guillaume to the marquis. "Our people are too much carried away by their ardor and do not wait for orders from anyone. We shall lose our best men, and probably gain nothing! Let us take measures to work in a useful way."
"Yes, to be sure," replied Bois-Doré, "try to keep them back. A moment more or less will not prevent my barn from burning; I care more for the lives of those good Christians than for all my crops. Call them back and calm them! I must attend first of all to this child, who causes me much anxiety."
As he spoke the marquis led Mario aside.
"My son," he said, "give me your word as a gentleman not to stir until I call you."
"Why, father!" cried Mario in dismay, "you talk to me just as Aristandre did a little while ago, and treat me like a baby in arms! Are these the lessons in honor and gallantry you give me to-day, when you——"
"Silence, monsieur, and obey!" said the marquis, speaking to his beloved son for the first time in an imperious tone. "You are not old enough yet to fight, and I forbid it!"
Great tears came to the child's eyes. The marquis looked away to avoid seeing them, and leaving Mario in charge of a small reserve force of his faithful servants, he hastened to join Guillaume d'Ars, who had succeeded in reducing his forces to order and submission.
"It is quite useless," said the marquis, "to try to force the huis; two men can hold it for an hour unless we choose to sacrifice a score of our own men. Ah! cousin, it is all very well to fortify the entrances to the château, but it is extremely inconvenient when you want to get in yourself. The moat is fifteen feet deep at this point, and the bank is so steep, you see, that swimmers cannot land without being shot down from the moucharabi. Do you know what we must do? Look! The barn has fallen in. Well, it must have fallen into the moat and partly filled it. That is where we must force our way in. I will go there with my people. Do you stay here as if you were looking for boards and timbers to replace the drawbridge, which is hoisted, to mislead the enemy, whom you will prevent from escaping when we fall upon him. We, my friends," he said to his servants, "will steal quietly along behind the wall; its shadow will conceal us, notwithstanding the bright fire that is consuming our crops."
The marquis's plan was very judicious, and what he foresaw had actually taken place. The moat was partly filled up and the wall crushed by the fall of the barn. But it was necessary to pass over blazing débris and through billows of flame and smoke. The horses recoiled in fright.
"Dismount, my friends, dismount!" cried the marquis, riding forward at a gallop into that hell.
Rosidor alone plunged fearlessly into it, leaped all the obstacles with marvellous agility, and, heedless of the risk of scorching his beautiful mane and the ribbons with which it was tressed, gallantly bore his master into the centre of the enclosure.
The marquis's luxuriant hair was in no danger. It was still reposing under the firewood at the Geault-Rouge.
His servants, already intensely wrought up by the desire to rejoin and rescue or else to avenge, their families, were electrified by their master's courage, and several of them followed him closely enough to prevent his falling into the hands of the enemy. But just as the bulk of the party were passing over the red-hot ruins, a shout of alarm uttered by one of the peasants of whom the party consisted, caused all the rest to halt and rush back in deadly terror.
The high gable end of the barn, which was still standing, began to crack under the action of the intense heat, and swayed outward, threatening to crush anyone who should attempt to pass. If they waited a second it would fall; then they would pass, however difficult the undertaking. That is what everyone thought, and they all waited. But seconds and minutes succeeded one another and the wall did not fall. And those seconds and minutes were centuries in the plight in which the marquis was at that instant. With about half a score of his men, he was face to face with the whole troop of gypsies, still numbering about thirty combatants.
Four hours had passed since Mario had escaped under the sarrasine; and in those four hours the bandits had not once thought of gorging themselves again. The first intoxication of their victory and the first gluttony of their appetite had soon given place to the persistent hope of obtaining possession of the château. They had tried all methods to make their way in by surprise. Several of them had fallen, thanks to the vigilance of Adamas and Aristandre, seconded by the presence of mind, sound advice and incessant activity of Lauriane and the Moor. Finding all their efforts unavailing, they had set fire to the barn, hoping to induce the besieged to make a sortie in order to save the buildings and crops. Not without expending vast treasures of eloquence did the sage Adamas succeed in restraining Aristandre, who would have thrown himself head foremost into the trap. Indeed it was necessary for Lauriane to exert her authority, and to point out to him that, if he should fall in his undertaking, all the poor creatures shut up in the château, beginning with herself, were irrevocably lost.
During the hour that the barn had been burning, Aristandre, in a frenzy of exasperation, had exhausted all the oaths and imprecations in his vocabulary. Condemned to inaction, he was fuming and fretting, and even cursing Adamas and Lauriane, Mercedes and young Clindor, who also preached patience—in a word all those who prevented him from acting—when Adamas, who had climbed to the top of the tower-staircase, shouted to him from the cupola:
"Monsieur is there! monsieur is there! I can't see him, but he is there. I will swear to it! for they are fighting, and I am sure that I recognized his voice above all the rest."
"Yes, yes!" cried Mercedes from one of the windows on the courtyard; "Mario must be there, for little Fleurial is like a mad creature; he has smelt him. Look! I cannot hold him!"
"Aristandre!" cried Lauriane, "go out! Let us all go out; it is time!"
Aristandre had already gone. Heedless whether anybody followed him or not, he darted to the marquis's side and delivered him from La Flèche, who, supple as a snake, had leaped to the saddle behind him, and was suffocating him in his wiry, muscular arms, but could not succeed in unhorsing him.
Aristandre seized the gypsy by one leg, at the risk of dragging the marquis with him. He hurled him to the ground and trampled upon him, taking care to crush his ribs; then, leaving him there, dead or unconscious, he threw himself upon the others.
The servants of the château had gone out also, even Clindor, and even poor little Fleurial, who slipped through the legs of the excited Moor, ran between the legs of the marquis, who was too much engrossed to notice him, and at last disappeared in the hurly-burly, to go in search of Mario.
Lauriane, intensely excited, armed herself and attempted to go out.
"In heaven's name," said Adamas, placing himself in front of her, "do not do that! If monsieur sees that his dear daughter is in danger, he will lose his wits, and you will be responsible for his being killed. And then you see, madame, there is nobody left here to help me close the gate, which may be the salvation of our friends. Who knows what may happen? Stay here to help me in case of need."
"But the Moor has gone!" cried Lauriane. "Look, Adamas, look! the dear creature is looking for Mario! She is following the little dog! Great heaven! great heaven! Mercedes, come back! you will be killed!"
Mercedes could not hear amid the din of the battle. Indeed, she did not choose to hear: she was thinking of her child and nothing else. She was literally passing through fire and steel; she would have passed through granite.
The marquis and Aristandre, being gallantly supported, were soon masters of the field, and began to force the gypsies back; a part toward the ruins of the barn, a part toward the tower of the huis. Those who passed the high wall of the barn, heedless of its impending fall, were greeted with pikes and clubs by the vassals of Bois-Doré, who had begun to cross that dreaded strip of territory.
They killed and captured several of them. The others turned back, and the whole band, now numbering no more than a score, retreated along the wall and entered the archway of the huis.
"Put out the fire!" cried Bois-Doré, seeing that it was spreading to the other farm buildings, "and leave us to complete the rout of these curs!"
He addressed the peasants and the women and children who had ventured forth from the château; then hurried away with his servants to the vaulted archway, where a strange battle was in progress between the fleeing bandits and Sancho, the sole guardian of the exit.
Sancho was guided by a single implacable idea. He had seen the marquis place Mario, with an escort, out of range behind a house in the village. The child was well sheltered and well guarded. But it was impossible that he would not, sooner or later, leave that shelter and come within range of an arquebus.
Sancho was standing there on the watch, his gun-barrel resting on one of the crenellations of the moucharabi, his body well hidden, his eye fixed on the corner of the wall at which his prey would appear sooner or later. The dark-browed Spaniard had the incalculable advantage that no anxiety concerning his own life could turn him aside from his purpose. He had no thought of the morrow in his mind, nor even of the passing moment, pregnant with perils. He asked of heaven but a single moment to gloat over and accomplish his revenge.
And so, when the routed gypsies came and threw themselves, howling with fear, against the heavy stakes of the sarrasine, Sancho moved no more than the stones of the arch. In vain did frantic, desperate voices shout to him:
"The bridge! the portcullis! the bridge!"
He was deaf; of what consequence were his confederates in his eyes?
The gypsies were compelled to rush to the chambre de manœuvre, in order to set themselves free. Their wives and children uttered piteous cries.
It was a counterpart of the scene of terror and confusion that had taken place on that same spot a few hours earlier, among the bewildered vassals of the estate.
Bois-Doré, still mounted and surrounded by his men, had all that was left of that horde of thieves and murderers in a cage. Their women, who had become veritable furies in defence of their children, turned upon him in the frenzy of desperation.
"Surrender! surrender all of you!" cried the marquis, seized with compassion; "I will spare you for the sake of the children!"
But no one surrendered: the miserable wretches did not believe in the generosity of the victor. They did not understand kindness—a rare quality among the noblemen of that period, we must agree.
The marquis was compelled to restrain his men, in order, as he said afterward, to prevent a massacre of the innocents, if, indeed, there were any innocents among those little savages, already trained to all the wickedness of which they were capable.
At last the sarrasine was raised and the bridge lowered.
Guillaume, who was as generous as the marquis, would have spared the weak; but, to the great surprise of Bois-Doré, the fugitives passed unhindered. Guillaume and his force were not there.
"Ten thousand devils!" cried Aristandre, "those demons will escape. Forward! forward! after them! Ah! monsieur, we ought to have chopped them up into small pieces while we had them here!"
He hurried away in pursuit, leaving the marquis alone under the archway, now open and unobstructed. He was very anxious concerning Mario, but dared not ride across the bridge for fear of riding down his own men, who were on foot and crowding across that narrow thoroughfare to overtake the fugitives.
At last the bridge was clear. Victors and vanquished had passed out of sight. The marquis was able to cross, and saw Mario coming toward him on his right. The child thought that he might safely leave his place of shelter now that the affray seemed to be at an end.
So far as the bandits were concerned, there was apparently no further danger; the fugitives had no thought but to escape as best they could in any direction; some concealed themselves here and there with much art, while the pursuers passed on.
A single one of the defeated assailants had not stirred, and no one gave a thought to him: that one was Sancho, who was still on his knees, completely hidden, in a corner of the moucharabi. From that little machicolated gallery he could have hurled stones down upon the men of Briantes, for there was always a supply of them in the chambre de manœuvre, of convenient size in respect to the openings. But Sancho did not desire to betray his presence. He wished to live a few moments longer; he was watching Mario approach, and taking aim at his leisure, when he saw the marquis at the other end of the bridge, much nearer, almost within reach.
Thereupon a violent conflict took place in his mind. Which victim should he select? In those days there were no double-barreled guns. The distance between the father and the child was too short to allow him to reload.
In his struggle with Aristandre, Sancho had broken one of his pistols, while the other was snatched from him by that powerful antagonist.
By a refinement of vindictive hatred, Sancho decided to kill Mario. To see him die would surely be more agonizing to the marquis than to die himself.
But that moment of hesitation had disturbed the equanimity of that cold-blooded ferocity. He fired, and the bullet struck a foot below Mario's breast, who was mounted on his little horse, and pierced the body of the Moor, who had joined him and was walking by his side.
Mercedes fell without a sound.