Robert Tournay: A Romance of the French Revolution

by William Sage

  CHAPTER VIII

  PERE LOUCHET'S GUESTS

  In the southern part of the province of Touraine, in the village of LaHaye, lived Pierre Louchet, or as his neighbors called him, PereLouchet.

  Logically speaking, Louchet, being a bachelor, had no right to thistitle, but as he took a paternal interest in all the young people of thevillage, they had fitted him with this sobriquet, partly in a spirit ofgentle irony and partly in affectionate recognition of his fatherlyattitude toward them.

  Pere Louchet lived alone in a little cottage that was always as neat andwell-kept as if some feminine hand held sway there. Indeed, if he fellsick, or was too busy with the crops on his small farm to pay properattention to his household duties, there were plenty of women from theneighboring cottages who were glad to come in and make his gruel orsweep up his hearth, so it was not on account of any unpopularity withthe gentler sex that he lived on in a state of celibacy.

  In a society where marriage was almost universal, such an eccentricityas that exhibited by Pierre Louchet in remaining single did not escapecomment. Indeed at the age of fifty he was as often bantered on thesubject as he had been at thirty. But neither the raillery andinnuendoes of the neighbors nor the entreaties, threats, and cajoleriesof his sister, Jeanne Maillot, had ever moved him to take a wife.

  "It's a family disgrace," said Jeanne, putting her red hands on herhips, and regarding her elder brother with a look of scorn. "Here am Iten years younger than you, and with five children. And Marie who livesat Fulgent has eight. And you, the only man in our family, sit there bythe chimney and smoke your pipe contentedly, and let the young girls ofLa Haye grow up around you one after another, marry, settle down, andhave daughters who are old enough to be married by this time; and you donothing to keep up the name of Louchet."

  "'T is not much of a name," replied Pierre.

  "It is one your father had, and was quite good enough for me, until Itook Maillot."

  "If I should marry, there would be less for your own children when I amgone."

  "I'm sure it was your happiness I was thinking of before all," repliedJeanne, mollified at this presentation of the case.

  "If it's my happiness you are thinking about, let me stay as I am. I andmy pipe are quite company enough, and if I want more I only have to stepacross a field and I can find you and your good husband Maillot." AndPere Louchet's eyes would twinkle kindly while his pipe sent up athicker wreath of smoke.

  One young woman once declared maliciously that Pere Louchet squinted.But those who heard the remark declared that it was because he wasalways endeavoring to look in any direction except towards her whosought to attract his attention, and after that the slander was neverrepeated.

  One morning in December the neighborhood of La Haye was set all in aflutter of curiosity by a sudden increase in the family in PereLouchet's cottage.

  As an explanation of it he remarked with his eyes twinkling more thanusual: "I am getting old and need help about the place, and that is whya nephew and a niece of my brother-in-law Maillot have come to live withme."

  Paul and Elise Durand were natives of "up north" and had never beforebeen as far south as La Haye. The woman was about twenty-five years old,brown as a berry, with a sturdy figure and strong arms. Her brother wastall and slender. He said he was nearly twenty, yet he was small for hisage and his entire innocence of any beard gave him a still more boyishappearance. He spoke with a softer accent than most country lads inthose parts, but that was because he came from the neighborhood ofParis; and then he and his sister had both been in the service of agreat "Seigneur" before the Revolution.

  In the neighboring province of La Vendee the peasants, led by thepriests and nobles, were threatening to take up arms in support of themonarchy. But the inhabitants of La Haye took little interest inpolitical affairs, and although they shared somewhat the sentiment ofopposition in La Vendee to the new government in Paris, they busiedthemselves generally with their vineyards and their crops and took noactive part in politics. Paul and Elise were content in the fact thattheir new home was so quiet and so remote from the strife that wasraging so fiercely all about them.

  One morning, shortly after her arrival, Elise was resting by the stilewhich divided the field of Pere Louchet from that of his brother-in-law.She had placed on the stile the bucket containing six fresh cheeseswrapped in cool green grape leaves, while she herself sat down upon thebottom step beside it, to remove her wooden sabot and shake out a littlepebble that had been irritating her foot. The wooden shoe replaced, shetook up her pail and was about to spring blithely over the stile, whenshe drew back with a little cry of surprise mingled with alarm. Standingon the other side, his arm resting on the top step, leaned a young manwho had evidently been watching her closely.

  Drawing a short pipe from between a row of white teeth, his mouthexpanded in a wide grin.

  "Did I frighten you?" he said, in a slight foreign accent but with anextremely pleasant tone of voice.

  "Not at all," answered Elise, looking at him frankly. "I'm not easilyfrightened. If you will move a little to one side, I can cross the stileand go about my affairs."

  "What have you in the pail?" asked the man, as he complied with herrequest.

  "Cheeses," she answered, as he came lightly over the wall. "It's clearyou're not of this part of the country or you would never have askedthat question."

  "I am not from this part of the country," said the stranger. "You oughtto know that by my accent."

  "Where is your native place?" asked Elise, her curiosity aroused.

  "A long distance from here--Prussia. Have you ever heard of thatcountry?"

  "Yes."

  "We are most of us against the Republic--there," said he. "I am, forone," and he looked at her out of the corner of his eyes. She made noreply. "Let me carry your cheeses," he said, laying his hand upon thebucket.

  "They are not heavy," said Elise, "and I must hurry home."

  "All ways are the same to me and I will go along with you," he said,taking the bucket from her. "It's heavy for you."

  "It's no burden for me, and as I don't know you I prefer to go home bymyself," she said frankly.

  "Oh, I'm a merry fellow--you need not fear me. I am your friend."

  "I have no way of being sure of that," was the reply, "though you don'tlook as if you could be an enemy."

  "I should be glad for an opportunity to prove myself your friend. And Icould prove that I am no stranger by telling you a good deal aboutyourself and your brother Paul."

  "Indeed," was all Elise vouchsafed in reply, but she looked a littleuncomfortable.

  "I might tell you of an order of arrest that was not carried out; of achateau burned; of the midnight flight of two women and the arrival atLa Haye of a woman and her younger brother; all this I might tell you,with the assurance that these secrets are safe in the keeping of afriend."

  "How will you prove that you are a friend?" Elise said in a low voicewith apparent unconcern, although she felt her heart beating with fear.

  "The fact that I have just told you what I know and shall tell no oneelse, should be one proof," he said. Elise did not answer, but looked athim with a keen expression as if she would read his thoughts.

  He had a frank, open face, the very plainness of which bespoke thehonesty of the man.

  "Suppose I should say that I came from Hagenhof in Prussia and that Iwas sent here by friends of your brother who have gone there. Suppose Ishould say that they wanted you to join them and that I could take youthere with little risk to yourselves, would you be inclined to trust methen?"

  "What risk do we incur by remaining where we are?" inquired Elise,without answering his question.

  "You will always run the risk of discovery while in France," he replied."But tell me, are you inclined to trust me?"

  "Yes," answered Elise, stopping and looking him full in the face. "Iam."

  "Good," he cried, setting down the pail and extending his hand.

  "I am disposed to trust y
ou," she went on, "but in order to do so fullyI should wish to see a letter from the friend you speak of."

  "It is dangerous to carry such a writing," he replied significantly.

  "True, but you can mention names."

  "I can, and will,--names your brother will know well. The Baron vonValdenmeer, for instance. Besides, if I were your enemy I need not comethus secretly. Your enemies can use open means."

  "I said"--Elise hesitated--"I am disposed to believe you are what youclaim to be, but I can do nothing without the consent of my brother."

  "Good! will you obtain his consent?"

  "I will try."

  "Good again. You will succeed. Talk with him and get his consent toleave here. And as soon as possible I will make all the arrangements forthe journey so that we may leave in a week or at the latest a fortnight.Then if you have not persuaded your brother that it is for his interestto go with me, I will try and add my arguments to yours."

  "I trust you will find us ready," said Elise; "but in the mean timeshall you remain here?"

  "No, I must go to Paris," was the Prussian's answer. "If you should haveoccasion to communicate with me, a word sent to Hector Gaillard, 15 Ruedes Mathurins, will reach me. But do not send any word unless it is ofthe greatest importance, and then employ a messenger whom you cantrust."

  "Is that your name?" asked the woman.

  "That is my name while in France. Can you remember that and theaddress?"

  "I can."

  "Then good-by. And a word at parting," he said--turning after he hadleaped the fence. "It is perhaps needless to caution you, but my advicewould be that your brother should not go too often to the village. Hishands are too small. Good-by." And he walked off up the lane smoking hisshort pipe, and whistling gayly.

  Two days later Gaillard joined his friend Tournay in Paris. He foundTournay much more hopeful than when he had left him, and his spiritsrose still more as he heard Gaillard's news.

  "It is Wednesday," Tournay said. "On Saturday the convention haspromised to send me back with my dispatches. Can you be ready for LaHaye by Saturday morning?"

  "Yes," said Gaillard, "twelve hours earlier if necessary."

  "It is agreed then for Saturday, unless the convention delays."

  Three days after her meeting with Gaillard, Elise, on returning from aneighboring town where she had gone to dispose of some butter, found thekitchen deserted and the fire out. She had expected to find a bowl ofhot potato soup and a plate of sausage and garlic. Instead she found acold hearthstone and an empty casserole.

  As usual, the first thought of the devoted sister was of Paul, and shecalled his name loudly. It did not take long to ascertain that the housewas empty, and with her heart beating wildly with anxiety she ranoutside the cottage crying, "Oh, Paul, my child,--my brother, Paul!"There was no answer save from the cattle in the outhouse who shook theirstanchions, impatient for their evening meal. She looked about for PereLouchet. He also was absent. Evidently he had driven in the cows and hadbeen prevented from feeding them. Something serious had happened, and itmust have occurred within an hour, for at this time the cattle wereusually feeding.

  Elise sat down for a moment on an upturned basket to collect herself.Her first thought was to go to Maillot's in search of them. They mightbe there, yet it would take an hour to go to Maillot's and return. Andthen what if Louchet and Paul were not there! What if the couple hadbeen murdered and the bodies were still on the farm? Elise shuddered atthe thought, and called loud again, "Paul, Paul, my brother, art thounot here?"

  From the hay in the loft above came a smothered sound. With a glad cryElise sprang up the stairs, to see Pere Louchet's head and shouldersemerging from under a pile of clover.

  "Where is Paul?" cried Elise, pouncing upon him before he had freedhimself from the hay, and almost dragging him to his feet. He blinked ather for a moment while he picked the stray wisps of straw from his hairand neck.

  "Gone," he said laconically.

  "Gone! Where?" cried Elise, frantically taking him by the shoulders andshaking him so that the hayseed and straw flew from his coat. "PereLouchet, what is the matter? I never saw you like this before; have youbeen drinking?"

  "No," he said slowly, and then as if the thought occurred to him for thefirst time, he went toward a cask of cherry brandy which stood in acorner of the granary and drew almost a tin-cupful.

  With blazing eyes Elise saw him measure out the liquor slowly, with ahand that trembled slightly, and put the cup to his lips. She felt as ifshe must spring upon him and dash the cup from his hands, but shecontrolled herself with an effort. Louchet drained off the brandy to thelast drop, straightened up, and looked at Elise. He acted like adifferent man.

  "Paul was taken from here about an hour ago by three men. They hadpapers and red seals and tricolor cockades enough to take a dozen."

  "And you let them take him?" cried Elise.

  Pere Louchet looked at his niece quizzically with his twinkling eye.

  "There were three of them, Elise, my child, and they had big red sealsand swore a great deal."

  "Of course," admitted the woman hastily, "you could do nothing byforce."

  "I did try to prevent them from going upstairs where Paul was," the oldman replied, "but one of them knocked me on the head and into a cornerwhere I lay like a log."

  "Oh that I had been here," moaned Elise, as she and Louchet went towardthe house. "If I could only know where they have taken Paul!"

  "To Tours," replied Pere Louchet with decision.

  "How do you know?" asked Elise quickly.

  "I remember it plainly now. When I lay in the corner with a kind ofdazed feeling in my head, not wishing to get up and stir around, I sawone of the men--not the one who hit me, but a smaller man with a largerhat and more cockades and more seals, take a paper out of his pocket andread it to Paul. I tried to make out what it said, for although I couldhear every word that was uttered, I could not get an idea in my headthat would hold together; but I was able to catch the word Tours; I amsure they have gone to Tours."

  "How is your head now, Pere Louchet?" asked Elise with feverisheagerness.

  "As clear as a bell," was the reply. "Let me have one little nip more ofthat brandy and it will be clearer."

  "Can you ride?"

  "Like a boy."

  "Good! Make up a bundle of food and clothing for a two-days' journey andI'll have a horse at the door by the time you are ready."

  Ten minutes later Pere Louchet, with a bundle of necessities strapped onhis back, was mounted on one of his best horses which Elise had saddledfor him.

  "Now, where am I to ride to?" he demanded, directing his twinkling eyedown upon his niece.

  "Ride to Paris. Seek out Gaillard, 15 Rue Mathurins; give him thisletter. That is all I ask of you."

  "And you--what are you going to do?" said Pere Louchet, putting theletter in his inside breast pocket with a slap on the outside toemphasize its safety.

  "I ride toward Tours," replied the intrepid woman.