‘To whom should you speak freely if not to your own relative?’
‘It is true; and yet I never expected that I should be on such terms with you. I looked forward to your coming with dread and sorrow. No doubt I showed something of my feelings when my father brought you in.’
‘Indeed you did,’ I answered. ‘I feared that my presence was unwelcome to you.’
‘Most unwelcome, both for your own sake and for mine,’ said she. ‘For your sake because I suspected, as I have told you, that my father’s intentions might be unfriendly. For mine—’
‘Why for yours?’ I asked in surprise, for she had stopped in embarrassment.
‘You have told me that your heart is another’s. I may tell you that my hand is also promised, and that my love has gone with it.’
‘May all happiness attend it!’ said I. ‘But why should this make my coming unwelcome?’
‘That thick English air has dimmed your wits, cousin,’ said she, shaking her stately head at me. ‘But I can speak freely now that I know that this plan would be as hateful to you as to me. You must know, then, that if my father could have married us he would have united all claims to the succession of Grosbois. Then, come what might — Bourbon or Buonaparte — nothing could shake his position.’
I thought of the solicitude which he had shown over my toilet in the morning, his anxiety that I should make a favourable impression, his displeasure when she had been cold to me, and the smile upon his face when he had seen us hand in hand.
‘I believe you are right!’ I cried.
‘Right! Of course I am right! Look at him watching us now.’
We were walking on the edge of the dried moat, and as I looked up there, sure enough, was the little yellow face toned towards us in the angle of one of the windows. Seeing that I was watching him, he rose and waved his hand merrily.
‘Now you know why he saved your life — since you say that he saved it,’ said she. ‘It would suit his plans best that you should marry his daughter, and so he wished you to live. But when once he understands that that is impossible, why then, my poor Cousin Louis, his only way of guarding against the return of the de Lavals must lie in ensuring that there are none to return.’
It was those words of hers, coupled with that furtive yellow face still lurking at the window, which made me realise the imminence of my danger. No one in France had any reason to take an interest in me. If I were to pass away there was no one who could make inquiry — I was absolutely in his power. My memory told me what a ruthless and dangerous man it was with whom I had to deal.
‘But,’ said I, ‘he must have known that your affections were already engaged.’
‘He did,’ she answered; ‘it was that which made me most uneasy of all. I was afraid for you and afraid for myself, but, most of all, I was afraid for Lucien. No man can stand in the way of his plans.’
‘Lucien! ‘The name was like a lightning flash upon a dark night. I had heard of the vagaries of a woman’s love, but was it possible that this spirited woman loved that poor creature whom I had seen grovelling last night in a frenzy of fear? But now I remembered also where I had seen the name Sibylle. It was upon the fly-leaf of his book. ‘Lucien, from Sibylle,’ was the inscription. I recalled also that my uncle had said something to him about his aspirations.
‘Lucien is hot-headed, and easily carried away,’ said she. ‘My father has seen a great deal of him lately. They sit for hours in his room, and Lucien will say nothing of what passes between them. I fear that there is something going forward which may lead to evil. Lucien is a student rather than a man of the world, but he has strong opinions about politics.’
I was at my wit’s ends what to do, whether to be silent, or to tell her of the terrible position in which her lover was placed; but, even as I hesitated, she, with the quick intuition of a woman, read the doubts which were in my mind.
‘You know something of him,’ she cried. ‘I understood that he had gone to Paris. For God’s sake tell me what you know about him!’
‘His name is Lesage?’
‘Yes, yes. Lucien Lesage.’
‘I have — I have seen him,’ I stammered.
‘You have seen him! And you only arrived in France last night. Where did you see him? What has happened to him?’ She gripped me by the wrist in her anxiety.
It was cruel to tell her, and yet it seemed more cruel still to keep silent. I looked round in my bewilderment, and there was my uncle himself coming along over the close-cropped green lawn. By his side, with a merry clashing of steel and jingling of spurs, there walked a handsome young hussar — the same to whom the charge of the prisoner had been committed upon the night before. Sibylle never hesitated for an instant, but, with a set face and blazing eyes, she swept towards them.
‘Father,’ said she, ‘what have you done with Lucien?’
I saw his impassive face wince for a moment before the passionate hatred and contempt which he read in her eyes. ‘We will discuss this at some future time,’ said he.
‘I will know here and now,’ she cried. ‘What have you done with
Lucien?’
‘Gentlemen,’ said he, turning to the young hussar and me,’ I am sorry that we should intrude our little domestic differences upon your attention. You will, I am sure, make allowances, lieutenant, when I tell you that your prisoner of last night was a very dear friend of my daughter’s. Such family considerations do not prevent me from doing my duty to the Emperor, but they make that duty more painful than it would otherwise be.’
‘You have my sympathy, mademoiselle,’ said the young hussar.
It was to him that my cousin had now turned.
‘Do I understand that you took him prisoner?’ she asked.
‘It was unfortunately my duty.’
‘From you I will get the truth. Whither did you take him?’
‘To the Emperor’s camp.’
‘And why?’
‘Ah, mademoiselle, it is not for me to go into politics. My duties are but to wield a sword, and sit a horse, and obey my orders. Both these gentlemen will be my witnesses that I received my instructions from Colonel Lasalle.’
‘But on what charge was he arrested?’
‘Tut, tut, child, we have had enough of this!’ said my uncle harshly. ‘If you insist upon knowing I will tell you once and for all, that Monsieur Lucien Lesage has been seized for being concerned in a plot against the life of the Emperor, and that it was my privilege to denounce the would-be assassin.’
‘To denounce him!’ cried the girl. ‘I know that it was you who set him on, who encouraged him, who held him to it whenever he tried to draw back. Oh, you villain! you villain! What have I over done, what sin of my ancestors am I expiating, that I should be compelled to call such a man Father?’
My uncle shrugged his shoulders as if to say that it was useless to argue with a woman’s tantrums. The hussar and I made as if we would stroll away, for it was embarrassing to stand listening to such words, but in her fury she called to us to stop and be witnesses against him. Never have I seen such a recklessness of passion as blazed in her dry wide-opened eyes.
‘You have deceived others, but you have never deceived me,’ she cried. ‘I know you as your own conscience knows you. You may murder me, as you murdered my mother before me, but you can never frighten me into being your accomplice. You proclaimed yourself a Republican that you might creep into a house and estate which do not belong to you. And now you try to make a friend of Buonaparte by betraying your old associates, who still trust in you. And you have sent Lucien to his death! But I know your plans, and my Cousin Louis knows them also, and I can assure you that there is just as much chance of his agreeing to them as there is of my doing so. I’d rather lie in my grave than be the wife of any man but Lucien.’
‘If you had seen the pitiful poltroon that he proved himself you would not say so,’ said my uncle coolly. ‘You are not yourself at present, but when you return to your right mind you will be ashame
d of having made this public exposure of your weakness. And now, lieutenant, you have something to say.’
‘My message was to you, Monsieur de Laval,’ said the young hussar, turning his back contemptuously upon my uncle. ‘The Emperor has sent me to bring you to him at once at the camp at Boulogne.’
My heart leapt at the thought of escaping from my uncle.
‘I ask nothing better,’ I cried.
‘A horse and an escort are waiting at the gates.’
‘I am ready to start at this instant.’
‘Nay, there can be no such very great hurry,’ said my uncle. ‘Surely you will wait for luncheon, Lieutenant Gerard.’
‘The Emperor’s commissions, sir, are not carried out in such a manner,’ said the young hussar sternly. ‘I have already wasted too much time. We must be upon our way in five minutes.’
My uncle placed his hand upon my arm and led me slowly towards the gateway, through which my cousin Sibylle had already passed.
‘There is one matter that I wish to speak to you about before you go. Since my time is so short you will forgive me if I introduce it without preamble. You have seen your cousin Sibylle, and though her behaviour this morning is such as to prejudice you against her, yet I can assure you that she is a very amiable girl. She spoke just now as if she had mentioned the plan which I had conceived to you. I confess to you that I cannot imagine anything more convenient than that we should unite in order to settle once for all every question as to which branch of the family shall hold the estates.’
‘Unfortunately,’ said I, ‘there are objections.’
‘And pray what are they?’
‘The fact that my cousin’s hand, as I have just learned, is promised to another.’
‘That need not hinder us,’ said he, with a sour smile; ‘I will undertake that he never claims the promise.’
‘I fear that I have the English idea of marriage, that it should go by love and not by convenience. But in any case your scheme is out of the question, for my own affections are pledged to a young lady in England.’
He looked wickedly at me out of the corners of his grey eyes.
‘Think well what you are doing, Louis,’ said he, in a sibilant whisper which was as menacing as a serpent’s hiss. ‘You are deranging my plans, and that is not done with impunity.’
‘It is not a matter in which I have any choice.’
He gripped me by the sleeve, and waved his hand round as Satan may have done when he showed the kingdoms and principalities. ‘Look at the park,’ he cried, ‘the fields, the woods. Look at the old castle in which your fathers have lived for eight hundred years. You have but to say the word and it is all yours once more.’
There flashed up into my memory the little red-brick house at Ashford, and Eugenie’s sweet pale face looking over the laurel bushes which grew by the window.
‘It is impossible!’ said I.
There must have been something in my manner which made him comprehend that it really was so, for his face darkened with anger, and his persuasion changed in an instant to menace.
‘If I had known this they might have done what they wished with you last night,’ said he, ‘I would never have put out a finger to save you.’
‘I am glad to hear you say so,’ I answered, ‘for it makes it easier for me to say that I wish to go my own way, and to have nothing more to do with you. What you have just said frees me from the bond of gratitude which held me back.’
‘I have no doubt that you would like to have nothing more to do with me,’ he cried. ‘You will wish it more heartily still before you finish. Very well, sir, go your own way and I will go mine, and we shall see who comes out the best in the end.’
A group of hussars were standing by their horses’ heads in the gateway. In a few minutes I had packed my scanty possessions, and I was hastening with them down the corridor when a chill struck suddenly through my heart at the thought of my cousin Sibylle. How could I leave her alone with this grim companion in the old castle? Had she not herself told me that her very life might be at stake? I had stopped in my perplexity, and suddenly there was a patter of feet, and there she was running towards me.
‘Good-bye, Cousin Louis,’ she cried, with outstretched hands.
‘I was thinking of you,’ said I; ‘your father and I have had an explanation and a quarrel.’
‘Thank God!’ she cried. ‘Your only chance was to get away from him.
But beware, for he will do you an injury if he can!’
‘He may do his worst; but how can I leave you here in his power?’
‘Have no fears about me. He has more reason to avoid me than I him. But they are calling for you, Cousin Louis. Good-bye, and God be with you!’
CHAPTER IX
THE CAMP OF BOULOGNE
My uncle was still standing at the castle gateway, the very picture of a usurper, with our own old coat-of-arms of the bend argent and the three blue martlets engraved upon the stones at either side of him. He gave me no sign of greeting as I mounted the large grey horse which was awaiting me, but he looked thoughtfully at me from under his down-drawn brows, and his jaw muscles still throbbed with that stealthy rhythmical movement. I read a cold and settled malice in his set yellow face and his stern eyes. For my own part I sprang readily enough into the saddle, for the man’s presence had, from the first, been loathsome to me, and I was right glad to be able to turn my back upon him. And so, with a stern quick order from the lieutenant and a jingle and clatter from the troopers, we were off upon our journey. As I glanced back at the black keep of Grosbois, and at the sinister figure who stood looking after us from beside the gateway, I saw from over his head a white handkerchief gleam for an instant in a last greeting from one of the gloomy meurtriere windows, and again a chill ran through me as I thought of the fearless girl and of the hands in which we were leaving her.
But sorrow clears from the mind of youth like the tarnish of breath upon glass, and who could carry a heavy heart upon so lightfooted a horse and through so sweet an air? The white glimmering road wound over the downs with the sea far upon the left, and between lay that great salt-marsh which had been the scene of our adventures. I could even see, as I fancied, a dull black spot in the distance to mark the position of that terrible cottage. Far away the little clusters of houses showed the positions of Etaples, Ambleterre, and the other fishing villages, whilst I could see that the point which had seemed last night to glow like a half-forged red-hot sword-blade was now white as a snow-field with the camp of a great army. Far, far away, a little dim cloud upon the water stood for the land where I had spent my days — the pleasant, homely land which will always rank next to my own in my affections.
And now I turned my attention from the downs and the sea to the hussars who rode beside me, forming, as I could perceive, a guard rather than an escort. Save for the patrol last night, they were the first of the famous soldiers of Napoleon whom I had ever seen, and it was with admiration and curiosity that I looked upon men who had won a world-wide reputation for their discipline and their gallantry. Their appearance was by no means gorgeous, and their dress and equipment was much more modest than that of the East Kent Yeomanry, which rode every Saturday through Ashford; but the stained tunics, the worn leathers, and the rough hardy horses gave them a very workmanlike appearance. They were small, light, brown-faced fellows, heavily whiskered and moustached, many of them wearing ear-rings in their ears. It surprised me that even the youngest and most boyish-looking of them should be so bristling with hair, until, upon a second look, I perceived that his whiskers were formed of lumps of black wax stuck on to the sides of his face. The tall young lieutenant noticed the astonishment with which I gazed at his boyish trooper.
‘Yes, yes,’ said he, ‘they are artificial, sure enough; but what can you expect from a lad of seventeen? On the other hand, we cannot spoil the appearance of the regiment upon parade by having a girl’s cheeks in the ranks.’
‘It melts terribly in this warm weather, l
ieutenant,’ said the hussar, joining in the conversation with the freedom which was one of the characteristics of Napoleon’s troops.
‘Well, well, Caspar, in a year or two you will dispense with them.’
‘Who knows? Perhaps he will have dispensed with his head also by that time,’ said a corporal in front, and they all laughed together in a manner which in England would have meant a court-martial. This seemed to me to be one of the survivals of the Revolution, that officer and private were left, upon a very familiar footing, which was increased, no doubt, by the freedom with which the Emperor would chat with his old soldiers, and the liberties which he would allow them to take with him. It was no uncommon thing for a shower of chaff to come from the ranks directed at their own commanding officers, and I am sorry to say, also, that it was no very unusual thing for a shower of bullets to come also. Unpopular officers were continually assassinated by their own men; at the battle of Montebello it is well known that every officer, with the exception of one lieutenant belonging to the 24th demi-brigade, was shot down from behind. But this was a relic of the bad times, and, as the Emperor gained more complete control, a better feeling was established. The history of our army at that time proved, at any rate, that the highest efficiency could be maintained without the flogging which was still used in the Prussian and the English service, and it was shown, for the first time, that great bodies of men could be induced to act from a sense of duty and a love of country, without hope of reward or fear of punishment. When a French general could suffer his division to straggle as they would over the face of the country, with the certainty that they would concentrate upon the day of battle, he proved that he had soldiers who were worthy of his trust.
One thing had struck me as curious about these hussars — that they pronounced French with the utmost difficulty. I remarked it to the lieutenant as he rode by my side, and I asked him from what foreign country his men were recruited, since I could perceive that they were not Frenchmen.
‘My faith, you must not let them hear you say so,’ said he, ‘for they would answer you as like as not by a thrust from their sabres. We are the premier regiment of the French cavalry, the First Hussars of Bercheny, and, though it is true that our men are all recruited in Alsace, and few of them can speak anything but German, they are as good Frenchmen as Kleber or Kellermann, who came from the same parts. Our men are all picked, and our officers,’ he added, pulling at his light moustache, ‘are the finest in the service.’
Delphi Complete Works of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle (Illustrated) Page 432