LI

Mario entered without difficulty, there being no door.

He put his hand upon Rosidor, whom he recognized by his accoutrements and his fine coat, as well as by his caressing voice; and the finding of his father's horse concealed in a ruin caused him to reflect.

He looked about, called his father cautiously, and, having satisfied himself that he was alone, conceived it to be his duty to imitate the example which seemed to be given him, by fastening Coquet beside Rosidor, and proceeding on foot, and as noiselessly as possible, toward the new inn.

He crept along the bushes and suddenly came upon a party of mounted men, who seemed to be pitching their camp in that place, some busied about their horses, which they were taking to the great stable opposite; others, who had already attended to that duty, stood in the road, exchanging in undertones and with a mysterious air words which Mario could not understand.

He glided among them unobserved; but when he stood in the doorway of the great kitchen of the inn, illuminated by the bright fire on the hearth which shone through the door, he felt a rough hand seize him by the collar, and a gruff voice said to him in French, but with a very pronounced German accent:

"No admittance!"

At the same time he saw two tall dark-skinned men, armed to the teeth, standing guard on each side of the door.

Thereupon Sancho's words recurred to his memory, and what Pilar had said of the reinforcement expected by the bandits.

"I have tumbled into a wasp's-nest," he thought; "but I am disguised and they will take me for a little beggar. I must find out if my father is here."

So he put out his hand and began to beg, in the piteous tone that he had heard the gypsies adopt and had sometimes adopted himself, laughing in his sleeve, during his travels with that honorable company.

They released him at once, but ordered him to go away, and, when he pretended not to understand, they threatened him by going through the motions of taking aim at him.

He was about to go, being fully determined to return, when another voice, coming from the inn, issued an order in German; whereupon, instead of turning him out-of-doors, they seized him by the collar again and pushed him into the kitchen.

There, before he had time to collect his thoughts, he found himself confronted by a tall, thin, dark individual, in military costume, who said to him with an Italian accent:

"Come here, boy, and if you have a letter, give it to me."

"I haven't any letter," replied Mario, looking the stranger in the face with perfect self-possession.

"A verbal message then, eh? Speak!"

"Before I speak," said the boy, with great presence of mind, "I must know to whom I am speaking."

"Diable!" said the stranger with a scornful smile, "we are a very wary youth; that is well enough! This is the countersign: Saccage and Macabre. What name has been given you?"

"La Flèche," replied Mario, at random.

"What? what is that?" said the Italian frowning. "There's no rhyme there."

"Wait!" cried Mario, inspired by that reply, "that isn't all. Isn't there a pillage in your countersign?"

"That rhymes better," said the other, smiling dismally; "but that isn't all yet, you little monkey! Your memory is failing you!"

"Perhaps so," said the child; "there's another word, I know. Isn't it Sancho?"

"There we are! Now then, stand in this corner and don't stir. I am Lieutenant Saccage; Captain Macabre will be here in a quarter of an hour. He's the one to whom you must give your message, which I care very little about, for my part. I say, you fellows, hold your tongues!" he shouted to the horsemen, who were going to and fro around the house, talking a little louder than seemed to be necessary.

Profound silence ensued, and he who styled himself Lieutenant Saccage said to Mario, who was meditating upon the means of gaining admittance to another room, to find his father or someone who could give him some news of him:

"My good friend, it is well that you should know the countersign, for your protection. We send away or arrest everyone who tries to enter this house; we fire on everyone who tries to go out. Do you understand that?"

"But I have no reason for trying to go out," replied Mario, cautiously; "I am looking round to see if there's anything to eat; I am hungry."

"That makes no difference to me, my boy. We are hungry too, and we're waiting for the captain to give us orders to eat."

Mario was not hungry. He was very anxious. In the room at the rear, which was a sort of pantry and serving-room, he saw Mistress Pignoux and her servant bustling about. It seemed to him that the former saw him and recognized him, and that she even spoke to the servant, as if to warn her not to mention the discovery.

But all this might well be a delusion, and Mario waited for a moment when Saccage's back should be turned, to try to exchange a word or a glance with the hostess. He knew that everybody in the house worshipped his father and himself.

He adopted the plan of pretending to fall asleep, and Saccage soon went out to give some order.

Thereupon the child rushed up to Madame Pignoux, saying:

"It is I! not a word! where is my father?"

"Upstairs!" replied Madame Pignoux hastily; although advanced in years, she was still a robust woman, with a firm foot and a keen eye.

She pointed to the wooden staircase leading to the dining-room, called the salle d'honneur at the Geault-Rouge.

But, as the child was already climbing the stairs, she detained him.

"No!" she said, "they don't know that he is here! Don't stir, my young master. They would kill him!"

"Who are these men?"

"A wicked lot! Do you know what arêtes are?"

"No! Wait a moment! Perhaps you mean reitres?"

"Yes, that's the word. My servant Jacques, who has served in the army, recognized them. They are brigands who burn and kill wherever they go."

"But they haven't done you any harm, have they?"

"No; they want food and drink; afterwards God only knows whether they won't burn the house and us with it! That's the way they pay their reckoning."

"Madame Pignoux, my father must escape from here! How can he do it?"

"Impossible at present! They are guarding all the doors, and your papa is too old to jump out of a window. Indeed, what would be the use? The house is surrounded, and they won't even let us go to the hen-coop and the cellar without following at our heels."

"But you must at least hide my father! Ah! I am very sure now that it's he they are after! Where is he?"

"In my man's room, who luckily isn't at home! He has gone to cook a wedding banquet at La Châtre and won't return till to-morrow. They called for him by name."

"Who? my father?"

"No, my man! I would like to know how it happens that they know him! I told them he was sick, and I said it very loud so that your papa could hear it upstairs. I hope that it will occur to him to get into bed."

"But didn't they suggest going upstairs?"

"Yes, indeed; they looked into the salle d'honneur, and they said——"

"But they are coming back; we must stop talking," said Mario.

And he hurried back to his corner in the kitchen and resumed his drowsy attitude.

"Come, old witch, make haste!" cried Saccage, returning with two of his followers; "lay the table and give us the best you have. Captain Macabre is here. Do you fellows see that the men observe the order: Silence and patience!" he said to his soldiers. "No one must think of eating before the captain is at the table. The captain halts here to obtain a good supper, and doesn't propose to have the pantry ransacked and nothing but bones left for him and his officers. Remember the fellows who were hanged at Linières for laying hands on the provisions! Go!—I spoke for your ears, madame she-ape," he added, addressing the hostess as soon as the soldiers had gone, "so that you might know that this is no time for snivelling and heaving sighs. Look alive and put on the spit. To work, I say! and if the joint is burned by your fault, look out for your old carcass!"

"How do you expect me to hurry, when I have to do everything almost alone?" said Madame Pignoux, unmoved by his insults. "There are only us two old women here. Let them give me back my servant so that he can lay the table. I can't be upstairs and down at the same time, can I?"

"Your servant is under suspicion, old woman. He acted as if he meant to run away when he saw us, and then he tried to hide the oats. He has had a good thrashing and is now working for us."

"Well, how about this urchin?" rejoined the hostess, talking away as she spitted her chickens; "is he one of your band? couldn't he help me?"

"Help her, good-for-naught," said Saccage to Mario, "and do your work neatly!"

Mario rose with affected indifference, and asked what he should do.

"What's that? go upstairs with the maid," cried Madame Pignoux, "and lay the cloth in a hurry."

Mario went up, and said to the servant:

"My father? which room is he in? Tell me quickly!"

She led him up to the second floor and the child scratched gently at the door, which was locked and bolted inside.

The marquis instantly recognized that little hand, which scratched so every morning at his bedroom door.

"O God!" he cried, hurriedly opening the door, "you here? But what does this costume mean? Whom did you come with? how? why?"

"I haven't any time to explain," replied Mario. "I am alone; I want you to escape from here. Do as I have done, father; disguise yourself."

"Yes, to be sure," said the servant; "here are master's clothes; put them on, monsieur le mar——"

"No marquises!" said Mario; "leave us, my good girl; and you, father, shall be Master Pignoux."

"But why show myself?" observed the marquis, as he mechanically unbuttoned his vest; "I shall not be able to act a part as you do, my child."

"Yes, you will, yes, you will, my father! But, tell me, don't you know a reitre named Macabre? It seems to me I have heard you mention that name."

"Macabre? Yes, to be sure, I know that name and the man too, if it's the same one who——"

"Is it a long time since he saw you?"

"The devil! yes! something like twenty or thirty years—perhaps more!"

"Well, that is all right! Show yourself without fear; play the inn-keeper, and we will find a way to escape."

"That will not be possible, my child," said the marquis, continuing to undress. "We have crafty rascals to deal with. Just fancy that they came up with no more noise than if it had been a troop of mules going at a footpace under the charge of a single man. I had no suspicion; the hostess was asleep in the chimney corner. I was in the living-room, reading Astrée, while waiting until it was time to start."

"Let us hide Astrée! Cooks do not read books bound in silk," said Mario, seizing the volume, which the marquis had instinctively placed beside his hat when he took possession of the inn-keeper's chamber.

And, as the marquis removed each piece of his clothing, the child concealed it also under the firewood in a small loft adjoining.

"But did they not recognize you as a gentleman, my poor child?" continued the marquis, intensely excited as we may believe. "Mon Dieu! have they done you no harm?"

"No, no; let us talk about you, father. Didn't you try to leave the house before they had stationed their sentinels?"

"No, certainly not. I had no suspicion! They made so little noise that I thought that some muleteer had stopped here; and not until they had surrounded the house did they raise their voices slightly, and then I saw through the window that I was caught in a trap by the worst sort of cutthroats and villains within my knowledge. I kept perfectly still, thinking that they would soon go away; but I heard some Italian words, which I partly understood. They intend, I believe, to stay here until daybreak. Thereupon I said to myself that my people, finding that I did not arrive at Brilbault, where I am expected at ten o'clock, would be anxious about me, and would come during the night to look for me here, where they know that I was to stop. It would be better to wait for them. There are only about a dozen of these reitres; I was able to count them pretty accurately, and when our people arrive I shall have no difficulty in cutting our way to them through these knaves with my sword."

"Father," said Mario, who was looking out of the window, "there are at least twenty-five of them! for here is another numerous party just riding up. Our people are not thinking as yet of coming to look for you, and at any moment these fellows may search the house from top to bottom for plunder."

"Well, my child, here I am disguised from top to toe. Stay with me, as if you were nursing the sick landlord. If they come up here, they will not disturb us. They maltreat and hold to ransom only well-dressed and well-mounted people. Ah! by the way, my horse will betray me. They must have seen him."

"Your horse is hidden, and so is mine."

"Really? Then it must have been that worthy ostler who found a way to put him out of sight. But what is the matter with the brigands that they are shouting so? Do you hear them?"

"They are calling me. Stay here, father; don't lock yourself in: that would arouse suspicion. Hark! they are going into the room below. I must go! Listen to everything; the partitions are very thin. Try to understand, and be all ready to come if I call you."

LII

Mario ran like a cat down the narrow staircase leading from the inn-keeper's chamber to the salle d'honneur, and found himself in the presence of Captain Macabre, who, at the same instant, entered the room with heavy tread by the staircase leading from the kitchen.

Lieutenant Saccage was also there with two or three other men of no less hang-dog aspect.

The appearance of the individual who bore the sinister name of Macabre was less repellent at first glance than his lieutenant's. The latter was treacherous and cold, with a fiendish laugh. Macabre's face indicated nothing worse than brutalized roughness, which strove to appear imposing.

There was no place for a smile upon that face stupefied by fatigue and dissipation. The muscles seemed to have grown stiff—to have become ossified; the light eyes had a fixed stare like eyes made of enamel. The strongly marked features resembled Mr. Punch's, minus the animated, sly expression. A great scar across the jaw had paralyzed one corner of the mouth and separated in a curious way the gray and red beard, which seemed to grow in different directions, and, as to part of it, against the grain. A great hairy mole emphasized the hump on his protuberant nose. His fingers bristled with gray hair to the roots of the nails.

He was short and thin, but broad-shouldered, and as compactly built as a wild-boar, with tawny coat and head set close to the shoulders, like that beast. He seemed quite old, but his appearance still indicated herculean strength. His rasping voice, still maintained at the high pitch of the military officer in the mouth of a fool, sounded like a peal of thunder with the influenza, and made the glasses on the table rattle.

He was dressed after the fashion of the reitres, in doublet and tassets of buffalo hide, with a helmet and breastplate of burnished iron. A wretched stripped black feather adorned that black and gleaming helmet. He carried the stout, broad German sword, against which the glistening lances of the French gendarmerie were easily shattered; flint-lock pistols, to which our soldiers foolishly preferred the old match-lock weapons; a short musket, and a bandoleer with little black leather compartments containing charges of powder and ball, completed this individual's campaign equipment.

His private escort, or, as was still said at this time, his lance, consisted of two carbineers for scouting purposes, and two coutilliers, who performed the twofold functions of pages and farriers.

He had also seven soldiers, well-armed and mounted as light-horse, who never left him, and who were the cream of his cornette, or troop of picked men. We may translate, in this way, by equivalent terms to those in use at this time, the titles and different grades of this tribe of foreign adventurers, whose organization, equipment and staff each leader modified, according to his whim or his power.

Mario had not erred in estimating at twenty-five men the band accompanying the captain, added to that already at the inn under his lieutenant's command.

"Here's a filthy tavern!" cried the captain in a disdainful tone, scraping the heavy soles of his great muddy boots on the clean and glistening rungs of a walnut chair. "What sort of a fire is that for travellers by night? Are you short of wood in this barrack?"

"Alas! monsieur," said the servant, tossing an armful of wood on the fire, which was already burning brightly, "we can do no better; this is a flat country and wood is scarce."

"What is the use of big words, Captain Macabre?" said she, putting her arms akimbo. "We know each other of old, and I know very well that you will pay your reckoning and that of your devils of lansquenets[8] with oaths and destruction of property. I don't receive you for my own pleasure, and I know very well that it is more likely to be for my ruin. But I am a reasonable woman and no more foolish than another. So I face ill fortune with a stout heart and serve you to the best of my ability, in order to escape bad treatment and be rid of your faces the sooner. If you are at all reasonable yourself, captain, you will say to yourself that you had better not injure me to no purpose, but let me alone, and remember that I know how to fry and roast as well as another."

"In God's name, who are you, old chatterbox?" said the captain, trying to turn his stiff neck in its iron gorget, in order to look at Madame Pignoux.

"My maiden name was Marie Mouton, and I was your cantinière during the siege of Sancerre; and one day I fricasseed a stale crust for you and you smacked your lips over it."

"That may be; I remember the crust, which was good, but not you, who are ugly. But if you have served the good cause, I forgive your chatter."

"And what do you call the good cause now? For you and your like have changed so many times!"

"Hold your tongue, my dear Bonbec. I don't talk religion with people of your sort."

"Understand, too," interposed Saccage with a sneer, "that the good cause is always the one we serve!"

"Is this the time for jabbering," continued Macabre, "when my Proserpine approaches and I order you to make haste?"

"I cannot work any faster," replied La Pignoux; "why did you call me upstairs?"

"Because I propose that your husband, who is supposed to be a decent sort of cook, shall get up, dead or alive, and put his hand to the dough."

"That is impossible; my man is all twisted up with pain, and hasn't cooked for a long time."

"You lie, my dear; your man is a tool of old—Enough! I know about you; my wife has told me——"

"Old who? what do you mean?"

"Methinks you question me, strumpet!" said the captain, with a burlesque dignity which he assumed in perfect good faith.

"Why not?" retorted the hostess. "And your wife, as you call her,—who is she, to have kept you so well informed?"

"Hold your tongue, and when my goddess arrives, serve her on your knees," said Macabre with a fatuous smile in which his crooked mouth extended to his left eye.

Then, recurring to his fixed idea, which was to feast bountifully and regale his goddess handsomely, he insisted that the inn-keeper should be made to get up.

"By hell!" exclaimed Saccage, drawing his sword, "there is no difficulty about that; I have always heard that you must grease stiff joints to make them work, and I will find a way to unearth this pretended dying man whatever hole he may be hiding in! Come with me, scouts! and run your swords everywhere, whether it's into flesh or marrow."

"That is unnecessary," said Mario, jumping in front of the unsheathed sword; "I will go and bring him; I know where Master Pignoux is! I know him, and when I tell him that he has the honor of receiving Captain Macabre in person, he will come at once."

"That is a pretty boy!" said Macabre, looking after Mario as he left the room. "I must give him to my wife to wait on her. She asks me every day for a trim little page."

"You will make nothing of a gypsy," said Saccage. "This imp has an impudent, sneering air."

"You are mistaken! I consider him very pretty myself!" rejoined the captain, who did not enjoy being contradicted too much, and with whom the lieutenant had been a little too outspoken for several days past, for reasons which we shall soon learn, and which Macabre was beginning to suspect.

The marquis, being anxious about Mario, was standing in a small passageway near the salle d'honneur and doing his utmost to hear everything; but his ear grasped only snatches of the conversation, and Mario, hurrying out in search of him, hastily told him what had taken place, in as few words as possible.

He had not time, nor indeed had he the inclination, to tell what was happening at Briantes; he felt that the marquis already had enough upon his mind to extricate himself from his present plight, and that he ought not to disturb him by giving him other motives for apprehension.

The reitres being as ignorant as he of the attack precipitated by the gypsies, there was no risk that the marquis would learn it from another mouth than his when the proper moment should arrive.

But would that moment arrive? The present situation would have seemed desperate to an experienced person, and the marquis, who knew only a part of it, deemed it very serious. But Mario had the happy faith of childhood: he saw only half of the danger.

"If we escape from here, as I hope," he thought, "my father and I will have a hearty laugh at the figure we cut at this moment!"

LIII

In truth, the poor marquis, disguised as a cook, was very laughable.

He had done the work conscientiously. He had taken off his wig and concealed his bare skull beneath an oilcloth cap shaped like a cake-mould.

His face, thus bereft of its ebon curls, and smeared with soot, was not recognizable; nor were his great white hands, which were stained to correspond with his face.

He had succeeded in hiding his fine white shirt under a countryman's smock, and was shod in shabby felt slippers; a coarse apron, thrown over the whole, covered his broadcloth breeches, which were not very magnificent, for he had attired himself very simply for the projected nocturnal expedition to Brilbault, which circumstance proved to be very fortunate in this emergency.

Being informed by Mario that Macabre seemed to be a stupid, vain-glorious clown, he realized that it was his cue to inspire confidence in him, and at the outset he saw that no flattery would be too rank for him to swallow.

"Illustrious and gallant captain," he said, bowing to the ground, "I beg you to excuse my poor fool of a wife, who did not know what a great warrior and scholar we had under our roof. It is quite true that I am ill with the gout, but your affable and martial air would bring the dead to life, and I remember too well my service under your banner not to be determined, though I must leave my life in my fires, to serve you to the extent of such small talents as heaven has given me."

"Good! good!" said Saccage to the captain, "there is nothing like threatening! They are all claiming to have served under you."

"That's all right," rejoined Macabre, "provided he serves me well now. And after all, monsieur le lieutenant, it's not impossible that the old fellow may have known me long ago, during the war in the province. I had enough share in it for everybody to remember me. Scullion! you may tell me of your campaigns at dessert, for I see from your manner and your gait that the gout hasn't spoiled the carriage of a soldier. You have a curious odor about you," he added, referring to the perfumes with which the marquis, despite his disguise, was thoroughly impregnated; "it smells like confectionery! No matter! I will bet that you have been a lansquenet in your day, eh?"

"I was one for a whole year," replied Bois-Doré, who knew by heart the whole of Master Pignoux's checkered existence and Macabre's villainous youth. "Why, I saw you worry the Huguenots of Bourges during the massacre in the prisons, in company with that terrible vine-dresser who was called Le Grand Vinaigrier."

"Oho!" cried the Italian, glancing at his captain with a mocking air, "didn't I tell you that you were a great Papist, my captain?"

"Everything in its season!" retorted Macabre, with philosophical tranquillity; "my father, who was the captain of the great tower of Bourges with the late Monsieur de Pisseloup, protected the poor heretics in the province as well as he could. For my part, I fired crooked when I couldn't do anything better. But I got back into the straight road, and I am more sincere than you, Monsieur l'Italien, with your relics hidden under your German breastplate."

The Italian made a sharp retort, and Macabre, angry with him for raising his voice in presence of his pages and his men-at-arms, although they understood very little French, bade him be silent, and asked the marquis what he could give him to eat.

Bois-Doré, who had referred to the incident of the Catholic massacres only to see in what waters young Macabre was sailing since he had grown old, felt more at ease.

This leader of partizans could not be acting under the patronage of the Prince de Condé. The marquis's knowledge was sufficiently extensive to enable him to talk of culinary matters like a man who knows his ground, and as, during his stay of two hours at the inn, he had discussed this momentous question with Madame Pignoux, to pass the time away, he was quite familiar with the contents of the pantry and the resources of the cellar.

"We shall have the honor to offer you," he said, "a quarter of wild-boar seasoned with spices, which will commend itself to you; a fine mess of Issoudun crabs cooked in beer——"

"And well peppered, I hope," said the captain. "My wife loves highly-seasoned dishes."

"We will put in a taste of Spanish pimento."

And, having enumerated all the dishes, the marquis added:

"But would not your illustrious lady like some sweet dishes after the joint?"

"The devil! yes. I had nearly forgotten that she recommended a certain omelette au musc."

"Perhaps your lordship means aux pistaches? That is a dish of my own invention."

"The deuce you say! She told me that it was invented by the old man."

"The old man? Who dares, boast of having discovered before me the omelette au riz and aux pistaches?"

"Faith, old Bois-Doré, if I must mention that idiot of idiots in good company!"

Bois-Doré bit his lips.

"Who, pray, does the marquis the honor to repeat his absurd boasts?" he said. "Does madame your wife deign to know him?"

"It would seem so!" retorted Macabre, "and I know, also, my old rascal, that you are that triple hound of a false marquis's humble servant, and that he taught you how to cook; but I don't care a straw! You are watched and your ears will answer to me for your ragouts."

The marquis saw that he had no other resource than to speak ill of himself, and he did not spare himself, ridiculing his own rank and character in most amusing terms; but he could not decide to couple with his accursed and calumniated name the epithet old, which his contemporary Macabre insolently used to decry him.

The captain persisted in a most offensive way.

"That old dyspeptic must be pretty well broken up," he said, "for when I saw him last he was like a long lath, with no beard on his chin, and I nearly broke him in two by mistake."

"Indeed?" said Bois-Doré, recalling the youthful adventure which he had recently related to Adamas; "did you do him the honor of measuring swords with him?"

"No, my good man, I didn't stoop to that. He was on horseback, carrying munitions of war to our enemies. I took him by one leg and, stretching him at my feet, I left him for dead and seized his convoy."

"Which consisted of powder and ball?" queried Bois-Doré, unable to refrain from laughing inwardly at the absurd boasting of the man whom he had overturned with a kick, and at the remembrance of that famous stock of munitions of war, consisting of children's toys.

"It was a good capture!" replied the captain. "But we have talked enough, old jabberer! Go downstairs and have an eye to everything."

Bois-Doré, relegated to his ovens, was compelled to leave Mario, whom the captain detained.

As he left the room he cast a glance at his son: a glance of intense apprehension, which the child returned with one of the utmost confidence. He felt that Macabre was not ill-disposed toward him.

"Now, my boy," said the captain, "come here and tell me, if you can, who you are!"

"Faith, I don't know anything about it; captain," replied Mario, who had not had time as yet to forget the gypsy mode of speech; "I was stolen or picked up on the road somewhere by the dark-skinned devils called Egyptians."

"What can you do?"

"Three fine things," replied Mario, opportunely remembering La Flèche's lofty maxims: "fast, watch, and run; with that we can go a long way and get out of any scrape."

"He's a sharp boy," said Macabre, glancing at his lieutenant, who, to display his ill-humor, had turned his back on him, sitting astride his chair, his head and hands resting on the back, and his side to the fire. Macabre considered his position disrespectful, and told him so in cynical terms. Saccage rose without speaking and left the room.

Mario observed everything, and the discord between the two leaders seemed to him a good omen. He determined to take advantage of it, if possible, and if opportunity offered.

Macabre resumed the conversation with him.

"How does it happen," he said, "that I didn't see you at Brilbault last night?"

Mario was not long embarrassed by that question.

"I wasn't there," he said; "I was collecting chickens in the neighborhood, just to save them from the foxes and the pip."

"Do you know how to steal chickens? Well, that is a natural accomplishment which may be very useful. But tell me if the Spaniard finished his dying?"

"Monsieur d'Alvimar?" said Mario, beginning to understand Pilar's story, and no longer to look upon it as a dream.

"Yes, yes," said Macabre, "that dog of a Papist who turned my stomach with his prayers!"

"He died this morning."

"He did well, the lunatic! And what about Sancho? He's much more of a man; bigoted as he is, he understands matters. Where is he now?"

"He is hiding."

"Why doesn't he join me here?"

"As I told you, you are in danger here, and he knows it."

"What danger? Will old Pignoux betray us?"

"No, the poor man doesn't know anything at all about it; what could he do against you?"

"But from whom are we in danger?"

"A party of gentlemen who are looking for you at Brilbault at this moment, and who will soon pass here, with a big escort, on their way to sleep at Briantes."

"Did you see them?"

"Yes."

"How many of them are there?"

"Perhaps two hundred mounted men!" said Mario trying to frighten his man.

"So the plan is discovered, is it?" said Macabre, evidently shaken.

"It seems so!"

The captain seemed to reflect, in so far as his stony or, more accurately, his horny face could be said to denote any mental preoccupation.

Mario's heart beat fast under his rags. For a moment he thought that his stratagem would be successful and that Macabre would decide to retrace his steps. But the captain began to talk German with his scouts, who left the room at once, and Macabre resumed his graceful attitude, one leg thrown over the andiron, the other across the chair the lieutenant had left.

Mario ventured to question him.

"Well, captain," he said, "are you going to turn back?"

"To Linières? No, indeed, my little monkey! My horses are tired and my men too. For my own part I slept so tittle at Brilbault last night that I propose to make it up here. Woe to the man who disturbs me!"

These plans for slumber aroused hope anew in Mario's heart.

"If these people are very tired," he thought, "a moment will come when we shall be able to escape."

He did not, as the marquis did, rely upon the arrival of his friends and servants. Pilar, by advising them of the capture of the basse-cour at Briantes, would lead them to hurry thither instantly, expecting that the marquis would take the same direction; for the little gypsy, whose intellect was shrewd beyond her years, would not fail to tell them that Mario had started off to warn his father.

As he was making these reflections, Lieutenant Saccage re-entered the room, and, addressing Macabre, who was dozing before the fire, said in a half-humble, half-insolent tone:

"Allow me to inform you, captain, that, thanks to your plan of dividing us up into small parties, we lose much time; your wife and her party have not arrived, and if you sit a long while at table, as you usually do, our whole plan may fail. The proper course would be not to have a feast, but to eat quietly, sleep a couple of hours, and go forward before the passers-by have time to speed the news of our coming."

"Detain the passers-by!" rejoined Macabre, calmly. "Didn't we agree on that? You will have no great task, for we didn't meet a cat from Linières here, and this country's as empty as a church in '62. But these are useless words. I hear my Proserpine's voice. She comes! Let us go to meet her!"

As he spoke, Macabre rose with an effort and went down to the kitchen.

"The captain's growing old!" said Saccage, in Italian, to one of the farriers who stood like statues in front of the door.

"No," was the reply, "he has taken a wife, and that is worse! He thinks of nothing but carousing, and he doesn't know when it's time to march."

Mario, who was studying Latin with Lucilio, understood the substance of this colloquy, and followed the lieutenant and the two troopers to the kitchen.

As soon as he arrived there, paying no heed to the new arrivals who were crowding through the door, he glided to Bois-Doré's side, who was cooking for dear life with Madame Pignoux, saying to himself that the sooner the enemy was at table, the sooner there might be some opportunity to escape.

"Ah! here you are, my child," said the marquis in an undertone; "have they maltreated you?"

"No, no," said Mario, "the captain and I are on the best of terms. Let me help you, father. We can talk while they are not thinking about us."

"Very well, but we must not look at each other; watch me when I speak to the hostess.—Madame Pignoux, give me the butter!" he called aloud; then added in an undertone: "What is going on by the door, my good woman?"

"A lady dismounting from her horse. Don't turn round, she may happen to know you."

"Mustard, boy!" said the marquis, tapping Mario on the shoulder.—"Don't you turn either," he whispered in his ear.—"Madame Pignoux," leaning toward the hostess, "try to see her face."

"I don't recognize her," said La Pignoux; "she has a mass of hair and feathers. She's a powerful woman!"

LIV

Our three friends were standing at the end of the kitchen by the oven, with their backs to the door and their faces turned toward a window, through which they could see the figures of the sentinels walking to and fro outside, carbine in hand.

There were two on each side of the house; an unnecessarily large supply, for the house had only two doors, one opening on the road, the other of the pantry, opening on a small garden enclosed by a hedge.

All the windows on the ground-floor and first floor were provided with stout bars. It was hopeless to think of forcing their way out.

And yet the marquis sighed with impatience.

"Ah! my son, why are you here?" he said to Mario. "With this stout kitchen knife I could soon get rid of the two sentinels walking back and forth in front of the pantry door. But with you—I should not dare; I am a coward."

"And if my man was here," rejoined Madame Pignoux, "old as he is, he and Jacques would take care of the others. But I am very much afraid they have killed my poor servant! Good God! there he is! Just see how those devils have treated him! He's all covered with blood!"

Jacques le Bréchaud, so-called because he was gap-toothed,[9] was ugly, crafty and bad-tempered, but brave and devoted.

"Don't pay any attention to me," he said, "but give me a dish-clout to wipe my face."

"Why, they have split your head open, my poor fellow!" said the marquis, passing him his lace handkerchief, which he found in his breeches, pocket.

Mario seized the handkerchief, which might have betrayed their identity, and tossed it into the hot fire, where it disappeared like a match.

Jacques wiped away the blood and bandaged his wound with a napkin.

"Don't be alarmed," he said to Madame Pignoux; "they let me come here to wait on them. Give me the larding-knife, and the night shall not pass without my ripping up one or two of them."

"You will get yourself killed," said the hostess. "That's of no consequence," replied Jacques.

"But you will get us killed too!"

"Jacques," said the marquis, "look at this child, and don't say a word. Help him to leave this house, if you can, but be prudent if you love us."

Jacques glanced stealthily at Mario, and, without making any reply, went several times to the pantry, as if to attend to his duties, but in reality to examine the men who were pacing back and forth with the regularity of machines.

"Those German curs!" he said to the marquis, "they don't eat nor drink nor sleep until they have killed off everybody."

"And they know what discipline means too!" rejoined the marquis, with a sigh. "Ah! it can't be denied that the reitres are stout soldiers! If our good Henri had had ten thousand of them, he would have been king ten years earlier!"

"Cook, father, cook!" said Mario, "the lieutenant is looking at you!"

"He may look at me all he chooses, my son; I know how to handle a saucepan as well as Master Pignoux himself."

"That's the truth," said the hostess; "anyone would swear that you had studied cooking!"

"I studied it in the field, Madame Pignoux; I have made a fricassee for my Henri with my sword at my side and my helmet on my head. Who would have dreamed that I would ever do the same for a Macabre and his better half? She is some prostitute, I fancy!"

At that moment Madame Proserpine's voice rose above the others, which had drowned it thus far.

"Pah! how it smells of burned fat!" she exclaimed; "it is enough to make one sick! Let's go up; let's go up at once! Come, lieutenant, give me your hand, sacrebleu!"

Monsieur de Bois-Doré and his son glanced at each other then looked down into their saucepans.

This amazon, who, after conversing confidentially with the captain and lieutenant at the door of the inn, now strode slowly across the kitchen, resplendent in her warlike costume, and tossing beneath the multicolored plumes of her headgear her abundant bright red mane, this Madame Proserpine, the more or less lawful spouse of Captain Macabre, was the marquis's former housekeeper, Mario's personal enemy, Guillette Carcat of La Châtre, Bellinde of Briantes.

"We are lost," thought the marquis; "she will surely recognize us!"

"We are saved," thought Mario; "she does not recognize us!"

And, to make his disguise more complete, he too enveloped himself in an enormous apron which came to his chin, and passed his little soot-begrimed hands over his red cheeks.

Bellinde passed on without turning. But it was impossible to think of flight. Madame desired to be served instantly.

The ex-housekeeper, formerly a prudish and demure damsel, had undergone a sudden metamorphosis. On becoming the companion of an old swash-buckler, she had adopted the military manners and the imperious and shrewish tone which were the natural expression of her real nature, long held in restraint and glossed over at Briantes. Her person had developed with corresponding luxuriance. Being no longer obliged to indulge secretly in stolen liquors and delicacies, she had abandoned herself greedily to her gluttonous instincts. Being abundantly supplied with money, provisions and spirits by the forethought of Macabre, who always appropriated the lion's share of all booty, she drowned each day, in the fumes of debauchery, the remorse and disgust born of her subjection to a species of monster.

The pleasure of doing nothing but ride about the country and issue orders was also some compensation to her. The vicissitudes and excesses of her new life as an adventuress had speedily altered her features and almost doubled her size. Her face, naturally high-colored, had already taken on the blotched, purplish appearance of dissipation and over-indulgence. Proud of her luxuriant red mane, she allowed it to fall over her shoulders with absurd ostentation, and bedizened herself, without a trace of discernment, with all sorts of objects which Master Macabre had collected, more frequently by treachery than in honorable warfare.

Madame therefore was in haste to eat and drink, after a long journey in the saddle, and was overjoyed to think that she was to taste at last the fine cooking of Master Pignoux, which she had so often heard extolled at Briantes.

It mattered little to her that five-and-twenty stout troopers—they were miserable rascals by the way, we must not forget that—were waiting at the door with empty stomachs. The dissatisfaction which her conduct caused them did not disturb her in the slightest degree; she had no suspicion of it, her idiot of a husband having given her the rank of lieutenant and the command of a portion of his band, with whom she shared her booty when she was in good humor, and who were devoted to her from interested motives.

The fifteen brigands whom she had brought, and who took possession of the kitchen, while the others were relegated to the stables or ordered to mount guard, displayed at first the greatest eagerness in the preparation of her supper; they counted upon her leavings, and while some laid the table, hustling and abusing the inn servants, others spurred on Bois-Doré the chef, his supposed wife and Mario, the improvised turnspit, to satisfy the lieutenantess's appetite as speedily as possible.

For this reason they could not think of exchanging a word or looking toward the door. There was nothing to be done but cook, and cook they did with might and main.

This was one of the crises in the marquis's life, when he rose to the occasion.

He made ragouts worthy of a better fate, seasoned and dressed the dishes, greased the spider and turned the omelet with the graceful ease of a science which at last imposed respect on those cutthroats, despite their impatience.

As he was about to serve the soup, the marquis saw Jacques le Bréchaud put out his hand as if to put in more salt. He instinctively declined that uncalled-for assistance; but he was surprised to find that Jacques persisted, and, on taking hold of his hand he saw that the salt had a peculiar look.

"Let me do it," said Jacques, "they like their soup well-salted."

And his face wore a strange smile which impressed the marquis.

"No poison, Jacques!" he whispered; "that is cowardly, and cowardice brings bad luck! God alone can save us! Let us not anger God!"

Jacques dropped the rat poison with which he had proposed to season the soup for the charming guests of the Geault-Rouge. The marquis's generous and sentimental outburst was inexplicable to him; but he submitted to his ascendancy with a sort of superstitious awe.

Bois-Doré handed the soup and the whole first course to Madame Proserpine's bearded pages; he breathed a little more freely; they seemed disposed to give him somewhat more liberty.

Mario went to the door from time to time, indeed he might have made his escape at that moment by pretending to go out to the shed to fetch wood; but he was careful not to mention the fact to his father. He would have insisted upon his taking advantage of it, and not for anything in the world would the child have parted from him.

"If my father is to be killed," he thought, "I will die with him; but I shall not abandon the hope of saving him until the last moment."

Madame Pignoux also began to hope. Madame Proserpine's men seemed more insolent but somewhat less forbidding than those who had been in the kitchen before.

They were almost all Frenchmen and young. They issued their orders as cynically as the others; but there was a sort of boisterous gayety in their manner which might mean that they were good fellows at bottom, or, at least, that they might forget themselves for a moment.

But an order from the top of the stairs fell like a thunderbolt on the captives: Madame Proserpine summoned Master Pignoux and his wife to her presence.

"I will come, I am coming, as fast as I can!" cried the hostess, hurrying upstairs.

And she appeared before the lieutenantess and respectfully requested to know her wishes, taking care not to seem to recognize her, or else to humble herself before her as a personage of vastly greater consequence than the servant who used to take the marquis's little dogs out to walk.

"My orders were for your husband to appear also," observed La Bellinde, flattered by Madame Pignoux's submission. "Go and call him, my good woman."

"Excuse me," said La Pignoux, "my husband is in a terrible heat, and too much smoked up to appear in a dirty cap and apron before a lady like you."

"Do you think that you are more enticing, you old gallows-bird?" cried the captain. "Bah! you can't fool me. I want to see the face of your donkey of a husband, and no excuse will go down. Look you, rascals," he said to La Proserpine's attendants, "how happens it that when your lieutenant gives an order, you make her repeat it? Death of my life! Must I go myself and fetch that double-dyed traitor?"

At that moment, Bois-Doré, who had been compelled by force to ascend the staircase, was pushed into the room, and so roughly that he well-nigh fell on his knees at La Proserpine's feet.

Poor Mario followed, trembling with fear for him and with wrath against the villainous troopers. If his old father had fallen, the child would have lost patience and have defended him at the risk of being cut in pieces.

Luckily for them both, the marquis did not lose his head and determined to risk everything, staking his fate on the success of his disguise.

As luck would have it, Proserpine paid no heed to his features. She knew the genuine Pignoux very well; she did not deign to raise her eyes to his face at once, engrossed as she was by the exceedingly familiar homage paid to her by Lieutenant Saccage, who, being seated by her side, made the most of every moment when Macabre was not watching them closely.

Thus the marquis was able to take his stand behind Proserpine, in the attitude of a humble retainer awaiting orders; and, with a clever manœuvre he caused Mario to stand behind him.

"Ah! there you are at last, gallows-bird!" cried the captain, bringing his fist down on the table. "Your fear betrays your treachery, and I see through your vile schemes!"

Bois-Doré, believing that he was detected, was on the point of casting his disguise to the winds and making such use of the carving-knife as to be sure of dying without ignominy; but Mario was there and paralyzed his courage. In his uncertainty as to the meaning of the words addressed to him, he refrained from replying and thus allowing La Proserpine to hear his voice.

He contented himself by staring at Macabre with a self-possessed air. That was, although he did not know it, the wisest attitude he could assume.

"Zounds! will you speak?" roared the captain, who had seemed somewhat disturbed and was evidently reassured by his innocent air. "You play the simpleton, you miserable rascal! but you must know that by failing to come here yourself so that we could pull your ears to bring you to your senses, you disregarded all the rules and all the proprieties of your beastly trade."

Bois-Doré, being determined not to speak, made a gesture equivalent to an interrogation point, with a shake of the head which seemed to say: "What is all this about?"

"Have you lost your tongue, with which you chattered so fast a little while ago?" continued Macabre; "or have you never learned, you triple idiot, that a landlord ought always to be the first to taste the food and drink he provides? Do you think that I am so sure of you that I am willing to take the risk of poison? Come, be quick about it, you infernal beast, swallow what you see on this plate and in this goblet, or mordieu! I'll make you swallow my sword!"

As he spoke he pointed to a plate on which he had placed a portion of all the dishes on the table and a goblet filled with wine from all the jars.

The marquis was greatly relieved when he learned why he was wanted, especially as La Proserpine did not glance at him when he stooped over the table to take the plate and the glass.

The custom of requiring an inn-keeper to taste his dishes had fallen into disuse since the close of the great civil wars, in the central provinces at least; travellers had ceased to exercise that privilege, as inn-keepers had ceased to require travellers to disarm before entering their houses.

But Macabre acted as if he were in a conquered province, and it was useless to argue with the stronger party. So the marquis performed his task courageously, with a smile of disdain for the affront put upon his honor. He swallowed the contents of the plate and glass in silence, bestowing upon Jacques le Bréchaud an eloquent glance, which said:

"Generosity brings good luck, you see, Jacques!" And Jacques, who adored the marquis, crossed himself and returned to the kitchen.