by Mary Dillon
CHAPTER XXV
THE COMTESSE DE BALOIT SENDS FOR HER HUNTER
"Take a straw and throw it into the air; you may see by that which way the wind is."
All my riding up and down the Champs-Elysees was like to have been fornaught. We had received orders to be in readiness to start on themorrow for Belgium, where Bonaparte was to make his headquarters whilepreparing for war with England, and still I had not seen the comtesse,and she had not seen my beautiful regimentals.
My packing was done, my last arrangements made, most of my good-byssaid; there was nothing left to do but to take my last ride down theavenue. And this time not in vain! There she sat in her gorgeous coachof scarlet and gold with the footmen and coachmen in dazzling liveriesof gold lace and scarlet plush, and beside her, not the stern duchessethis time, but a younger woman who looked as if she might be a lessformidable guardian.
She saw me, though for a moment she did not recognize me in my new andgaudy plumage. When she did, her eager look of welcome more thanrepaid me for my fruitless rides up and down the avenue. She signaledto her coachman to stop, and with a pretty little peremptory gesturesummoned me to her side. She seemed to have no fear of the lady besideher, and no doubt she was merely a paid companion, for she ignored herentirely, or noticed her presence only by using English when she hadanything of serious import to say.
"'Tis Fatima I wish to see, sir," she said as I drew up by her coach,my hat tucked under my arm. She put out her little hand and gentlystroked the white star on Fatima's forehead, and the mare whinniedsoftly and rubbed her nose against the little gloved hand as if tosay, "I remember you well; those were famous rides we had in old St.Louis."
"And 'tis you I wish to see," I responded boldly. "I have been lookingfor you for many days; why have you deserted the Champs-Elysees?"
She looked up at me quickly, as if pleased with the audacity of thefirst part of my speech, but as I finished with my question shedropped her eyes and seemed embarrassed. In a moment she spoke in alow, constrained voice, and in English:
"My aunt and I have had misunderstandings. She wishes me to appear inpublic with a man I do not like. In Paris that means fiance. I willstay in my hotel with headaches rather than ride on the avenue besidehim!" with sudden fire. Then she added with an attempt at her oldlightness:
"But I must drive on. Should it be reported to madame that I stoppedto talk to Monsieur, I might have to suffer for it."
A sudden horror seized me.
"Mademoiselle, they do not use force?" I cried. "You are not held aprisoner?"
"No--not yet," she said slowly.
"Mademoiselle," I said, looking steadily into her eyes, "I have triedto see you to say good-by; I leave Paris to-morrow."
I saw her go suddenly white, but in a moment she spoke very calmly,and in French:
"Do you go back to America, Monsieur?"
"No, to Belgium with the First Consul: to Antwerp, I believe."
I spoke also in French, but added in English:
"Mademoiselle, if you need me, I will not go to Belgium; I willresign."
She shook her head.
"No; I am sorry you are going, but I would not have you resign. TheFirst Consul is vindictive, they say; should you reject his favors, hemay remember your St. Cloud offense."
"I care not for that!" And then I added moodily, "They will compel youto marry him."
She threw up her head in much the same fashion Fatima throws up herswhen she scents conflict in the distance.
"They cannot coerce me!" she said proudly, and then she added, halfplayfully, half defiantly:
"They tell me I have royal blood; they shall see I know how to use myroyal prerogative." She held out her hand to me and spoke again inFrench:
"Good-by, Monsieur, and bon voyage!"
I bent low over her hand.
"Let me stay, Mademoiselle," I whispered.
"What! and lose your beautiful uniform! 'Tis too severe a test offriendship. No, no, Monsieur," with the old mocking laugh. But beforeI had time to resent her teasing speech, her mood had changed. Sheleaned far out of the carriage and threw her beautiful arm overFatima's arching neck.
"Good-by, Fatima," she cried--"dear, dear Fatima!" And as Fatima, inanswer to her caress, drew closer to her, she dropped a light kiss onher soft muzzle, leaned back in her carriage with a signal to thecoachman, and rolled away.
* * * * *
The weeks that followed were in some respects the strangest weeks ofmy life, and often in memory they return to me as a confused dream.War had been declared with England, and in Antwerp, in Dunkirk, on theLoire, in every little bay and inlet that indented the coast fromBrest, where a great squadron was gathered, to Boulogne, where anotherwas getting together, ships were building of every kind: floatingfortresses of wood, light pinnaces and yawls for carrying the swiftvan of an army, and heavy barges for the impedimenta of war. A mightyflotilla, gathering from the Scheldt to the Garonne, from Toulon andRochefort to Calais and Antwerp, to bear a vast invading army to theshores of England.
In constant communication with the great captain, I yet saw little ofhim, for day and night I was kept riding over the green fields ofFrance, through the beautiful May and June, carrying orders,sometimes to little inland streams where tiny yawls were building,sometimes to great city dockyards where mighty ships were on thestays. And though these were not the deeds of valor I had dreamed of,I began to realize what a wonderful mind was planning all thesewide-spread activities, and to understand that a great captain must besomething more than a good fighter, and prowess on the field of battlewas not all that was required of a soldier.
Yet I began to long for the din and stir of conflict and to see myhero, as in dreams I had often seen him, calm and unmoved, 'midstsmoke and carnage, directing with unerring genius masses of men,infantry, cavalry, artillery, through the mazes of battle; or himselfleading a resistless charge, sword extended, waving his men forward tovictory and glory.
So when an old officer who had seen many wars told me he had no doubtit would be two years before the preparations for war were finishedand war actually begun, my heart sank within me. Two years of hardwork day and night and no glory! To be aide to the First Consul wasnot what I had dreamed of, and my thoughts turned longingly back toParis and the Comtesse de Baloit. All the more did my thoughts turn inthat direction because the Chevalier Le Moyne, who was also on thegeneral's staff, had been for some weeks absent from headquarters. Ialways studiously avoided him if we happened to be in quarters at thesame time, and so I did not at first miss him; but when day after dayand even weeks passed without his reporting at mess, I began to begreatly troubled. My imagination pictured him as back in Paris urginghis suit to Pelagie, and I feared greatly, either that she would atlast yield to his importunities, seeing no way of escape, or that sometrouble would come to her if she persistently scorned him.
In the midst of my anxieties a letter was brought me from home. Theten weeks were up when I could begin to expect an answer to my uncle'sletter asking my father's permission for me to take service underBonaparte, and I tore it eagerly open, hardly knowing, sincehostilities would be so long delayed, whether I most hoped that itwould contain his permission or his refusal. In my haste I had notnoticed that it was not my father's writing on the outside, and thatmade it the greater shock to find within, in my mother's dearly lovedpenmanship, only these few words:
"Your father is very ill; come home at once."
I had never known my father to be ill even for a day. I knew this mustbe no ordinary illness to cause so brief and so peremptory a summonshome, and all my world seemed suddenly topsy-turvy.
I loved my father, but I had been much away from home, in school atPrinceton, and in my short vacations I had found him somewhat cold andstern in manner; so that my love for him was more of reverence andhonor than the tender affection I felt for my beautiful mother. Nonethe less was my heart torn with anguish at the thought of what mightbefall in the l
ong weeks before I could possibly reach his side, andhow vainly I wished that I had been a better son, and shown him moreof the love that was really in my heart for him.
There was no time to be lost, and my first duty was to seek the FirstConsul and show him my letter. He was more kind and considerate than Icould have expected.
"You have my sincerest sympathy," he said. "There is no question as toyour course. Your first duty is to your father. I am sorry to lose myofficer whom I have found even more efficient than I had expected andfor whom I predicted great glory as soon as actual war shouldcommence. But it may be possible you will find your father entirelyrecovered on your arrival at home; in that case, and should you havehis permission to return, your old position will be open to you."
I hardly knew how to thank him suitably and to express my regret atleaving his service, and I have no doubt I did it awkwardly enough. AsI was leaving the room he called me back.
"Will you go to Paris before you sail?"
There was nothing in the question to make me blush and stammer, yet Idid both.
"I must sail on the earliest packet, sir," I said; "but if one is notsailing immediately I would like your permission to return to Parisand settle my affairs there and say good-by to my aunt and uncle."
"It is no doubt the wiser course," replied Bonaparte. "In sailing fromAntwerp you are liable to fall into the hands of the English inpassing the Straits of Dover. From Paris you can find a ship sailingfrom Le Havre carrying the American flag. It will be safer, and youwill save time in going by Paris. Should you decide to do so, I shallhave a commission to intrust to you."
Since the First Consul advised it, I decided on the moment, and anhour later, saddle-bags packed, my man Caesar holding his own horse andFatima at the door, I was ready to start, only awaiting the Consul'scommission. An officer rode up and handed me a packet.
"From General Bonaparte, sir," he said; and as I opened my saddle-bagsto put the packet away for safe keeping, my eye caught the directionson the wrapper.
"To be delivered to the Comtesse de Baloit, Faubourg St. Germain."
The sight of the inscription gave me only pleasure, and I was temptedto think that the Consul had devised this commission especially togive me an opportunity of seeing the comtesse. It seemed to me anevidence of wonderful delicacy of feeling and thoughtfulness forothers on the part of the great general, and I could not sufficientlyadmire him or be grateful to him. There was no question but that hiscommission would be faithfully executed the very first possible momentafter my arrival in Paris.
It was early morning, the dew still on the hedges and the lark stillsinging his matins, as we entered the city with a stream ofmarket-carts bringing in fresh fruits and vegetables and flowers forthe early morning markets. Only working-people were in the streets:men going to their day's labor, blanchisseuses with their clothes inbundles on their heads, cooks and maids of all work with their basketson their arms going to the market for the day's supply of food for thefamily.
Crossing the Place de la Bastille, a man on horseback rode up besideus and gave us good day. He had evidently come in with the countryfolk and was himself without doubt a small market-gardener, for theloam of the garden was on his rough cowhide boots and his blue smockwas such as a countryman wears. I thought at first there was somethingstrangely familiar in his face, and then I remembered I had seen himthe evening before at the little country inn, twenty miles out fromthe city, where we had spent the night. He, like us, must have startedat early dawn to reach the city by seven o'clock, very like for thesame reason--to take advantage of the cool of the day; and like usalso, he must have had a very good horse to make that distance in thattime. I glanced at his horse as the thought occurred to me, and sawthat it was indeed a good horse. Coal-black, except for a white staron his forehead and one white stocking, he was powerfully built, andyet with such an easy stretch of limb as promised speed as well asendurance. I thought it a little strange that a country farmer shouldown a horse of such points and breeding as this one showed itself tobe, and perhaps my thought appeared in my face, for the countrymananswered it.
"'Tis a fine horse, Monsieur, is it not?" he said.
I noticed that he spoke with a very slight lisp, but that otherwiseboth his language and his intonations were better than I could haveexpected.
"Yes," I said. "Did you breed him yourself?"
"Not exactly," he answered, "but he was bred on an estate belonging tothe Comtesse de Baloit, where I work, and I have helped to train him."
He must have seen my irrepressible start when he mentioned Pelagie'sname, for he looked at me curiously with something like either alarmor suspicion in his glance. I was tempted to tell him that I knew hismistress and expected to see her that very day, but I was saved frommaking such a foolish speech by the fellow himself.
"I am bringing him into the city for the comtesse to try," he said."He is a very fine hunter."
"Then your mistress intends to follow the chase?" I asked, feeling aqueer little pang that I did not stop to explain to myself at thethought.
"I suppose so, Monsieur, since she has sent for her hunter."
We were now well down the Rue de la St. Antoine, just where the narrowstreet of Francois-Miron comes in; and as if a sudden thought hadstruck him, the countryman said:
"I go this way, Monsieur; adieu," turned into the narrow street, andCaesar and I rode on into the Rue de Rivoli, past the Hotel de Ville,and so toward my uncle's house.
"Marsa," said Caesar, as we turned off the Rue de Rivoli, "dat fellahhad a gold belt and a little dagger stuck in it under his smock. Iseed it when I's ridin' behind youse bof and de win' tuk and blew uphis smock-skirt."
I believed the "gold belt" and the "little dagger" were inventions ofCaesar's, for he loved to tell wonderful tales; but none the less was Iuneasy and troubled, for suppose it should be true! I liked not thethought of a man wearing a concealed weapon going on a plausibleerrand to the Comtesse de Baloit.