1 ,-IO:iV#^;j''g* ";-.v»> THE LIBRARY OF THE UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA RIVERSIDE THE RED COCKADE WOEKS BY STANLEY WE Y MAN. The House of the Woi.k. A Gentleman of France. Under the Red Robe. My Lady Rotha. The New Rector. The Story of Francis Cludde. The Man in Black. Fkom the Memoirs of a Minister of France The Red Cockade. ABERDEEN UNIVERSITY PRESS ■ MESSIEURS,' HE CRIED." Sec page 2 1 . THE KED COCKADE STANLEY WEYMAN AUTHOK OF "a gentleman OF FRANCE," ETC. J,(JN J)ON L O N f; M A N S, G R E EN, AND C O. 1895 CONTENTS. CHAPTER PAGE I. The Marqdis de St. Ai.ais - - . - . \ II. The Orde.vl - - - 17 III. In the Assembly 33 IV. L'Ami dd Peuple 48 V. The Deputation - - - - - - - 63 VI. A Meeting in the Road 79 VII. The Alarm - 95 VIII. Gargodf --..-..- 109 IX. The Tricolour 124 X. The Morning after the Storm - - - - 137 XI. The Two Camps - - - - - 1.51 XII. The Duel - - - 165 XIII. A la Lanterne 179 XIV. It Goes III 193 XV. At Milhau 206 XVI. Three in a Carriage 220 XVrr. Froment ok NImes ...--- 233 XVI 1 1. A Poor Figure 247 .\IX. At NiMEs 260 XX. The Search 275 XXI. Rivals 290 XXII. Noblesse Oblige 3()l XXIII. The Crisis 3Ih XXIV. The Millennii m 331 XXV. liEVoNi) the Shadow .... ;u(> THE EED COCKADE. CHAPTER I. THE MARQUIS DE ST. ALMS. When we reached the terraced walk, which my father made a httle before his death, and which, rmming mider the windows r^t the rear of the Chateau, separates the house from the new lawn, St. Alais looked round with eyes of scarcely-veiled contempt. "What have you done with the garden?" he asked, his lip curling. " My father removed it to the other side of the house," I answered. "Out of sight?" " Yes," I said ; " it is beyond the rose garden." " Knfdish fashion ! " he answered with a shrug and a polite sneer. " And you prefer to see all this grass from your windows? " "Yes," I said, "I do." "Ah! And that plantation ? It hidos the village, I suppose, froTTi the house?" " Yes." He lauf'hed. " Yes," he said. " I notice that that is the way of nil who prate of the people, jukI freedom, and fraternity. Tliey love the people ; but they love tluMu at a distance, on tlic fartlier side of a park or a hii,'h yew hedge Now, at St. Alais T like to have my folks under my eye, and then, if tliey 'h' 'T^'t hoiiave, I 2 TUK RED COCKADE. tliere is the carcan. By the way, what have you done with yours, Vicomte? It used to stand opposite the entrance." " I have hurned it," I said, feehng the hlood mount to my temples. "Your father did, you mean?" he answered, with a ghmce of surprise. "No," I said stuhbornly, hating myself for being ashamed of that before St. Alais of which I had been proud enough when alone. " I did. I burned it last winter. I think the day of such things is past." The Marquis was not my senior by more than five years ; but those five years, spent in Paris and Versailles, gave him a wondrous advantage, and I felt his look of contemptuous surprise as I should have felt a blow. However, he did not say anything at the moment, but after a short pause changed the subject and began to speak of my father ; recalling him and things in connec- tion with him in a tone of respect and affection that in a moment disarmed my resentment. " The first time that I shot a bird on the wing I was in his company! " he said, with the wonderful charm of manner that had been St. Alais' even in boyhood. " Twelve years ago," I said. "Even so, Monsieur," he replied with a laughing bow. " In those days there was a small boy with bare legs, who ran after me, and called me Victor, and thought me the greatest of men. I little dreamed that he would ever live to expound the rights of man to me. And, DieM ! Vicomte, I must keep Louis from you, or you will make him as great a reformer as yourself. However," he continued, passing from that subject with a smile and an easy gesture, " I did not come here to talk of him, but of one, M. le Vicomte, in whom you should feel even greater interest." THE MARQUIS DE ST. ALAIS. 3 I felt the blood mount to my temples again, but for a different reason. "Mademoiselle has come home'?" I said. " Yesterday," he answered. "She will go with my mother to Cahors to-morrow, and take her first peep at the world. I do not doubt that among the many new things she will see, none will interest her more than the Vicomte de Saux." " Mademoiselle is well? " I said clumsily. "Perfectly," he answered with grave politeness, " as you will see for yourself to-morrow evening, if we do not meet on the road. I daresay that you will like a week or so to commend yourself to her, M. le Vicomte? And after that, whenever Madame la Marquise and you can settle the date, and so forth, the match had better come off — while I am here." I bowed. I had been expecting to hear this for a week past ; but from Louis, who was on brotherly terms with me, not from Victor. The latter had indeed been my boyish idfjl ; but that was years ago, before Court life and a long stay at Versailles and St. Cloud had changed him into the splendid-looking man I saw before me, the raillery of whoso eye I found it as difficult to meet as I found it impossible to match the aplomb of liis niann(!r. Still, I strove to make; such acknowledg- ments as became me ; and to ado])t that nice mixture; of self-respect, politt;ness, and devotion wliicli I knew that the occasion, forinnlly ticatod, required. J3ut my tongue stumbled, and in a inoiiicnt lie reli(wcd me. "Well, you must tell lliat to Dcnisc," ]\r. said pleasantly; " douljtless you will lind Iki- a ))ali(Mit listener. At first, of course," he continuiid, ))ulling on his gauntlets and smiling faintly, " sIkj will be a little shy. I have no doubt tlmt the good sisters have brought her up to regard a man in nnirb Ibc same light as a 4 THE RED COCKADE. wolf ; and a suitor as something worse. But, eh bien, mon ami ! women are women after all, and in a week or two )'0U will commend yourself. We may hope, then, to see you to-morrow evening — if not before?" " Most certainly, M. le Marquis." " Why not Victor? " he answered, laying his hand on my arm willi a touch of the old bonhomie. "We shall soon be brothers, and then, doubtless, shall hate one another. In the meantime, give me your company to the gates. There was one other thing I wanted to name to you. Let me see — what was it?" But either he could not immediately remember, or he found a difficulty in introducing the subject, for we were nearly half-way down the avenue of walnut trees that leads to the vilhige when he spoke again. Then he plunged into the matter abruptly. " You have heard of this protest ? " he said. " Yes," I answered reluctantly and with a foresight of trouble. " You will sign it, of course? " He had hesitated before he asked the question ; I hesitated before I answered it. The protest to which he referred — how formal the phrase now sounds, though we know that under it lay the beginning of trouble and a new world — was one which it was proposed to move in the coming meeting of the noblesse at Cahors ; its aim, to condemn the conduct of our representatives at Versailles, in consenting to sit with the Third Estate. Now, for myself, whatever had been my original views on this question — and, as a fact, I should have preferred to see reform following the English model, the nobles' house remaining separate — I regarded the step, now it was taken, and legalised by the King, as irrevocable ; and protest as useless. More, I could not help know- ing that those who were moving the protest desired also THE MARQUIS DE ST. A LAIS. 5 to refuse all reform, to clino; to all privileges, to balk all hopes of better government ; hopes, which had been rising higher, day by day, since the elections, and which it might not now be so safe or so easy to balk. "With- out swallowing convictions, therefore, which were pretty well known, I could not see my way to supporting it. And I hesitated. "Well?"' he said at last, finding me still silent, " I do not think that I can," I answered, flushing. "Can support it?" "No," I said. He laughed genially. "Pooh!" he said. "I thnik that you will. I want your promise, Vicomte. It is a small matter ; a trifle, and of no importance ; but we must be unanimous. That is the one thing necessary." I shook my luad. We had both come to a halt under the trees, a little within the gates. His servant was leading the horses up and down the road. " Come," he persisted pleasantly : " you do not think that anything is going to come of tliis chaotic States General, which his Majesty was mad enough to let Neckar summon ? They met on the 4th of May ; this is the 17th of July ; and to this date they have done nothing but wrangle! Nothing! Presently they will be dismissed, ami ihcic will be an cam] of it ! " " Why protest, then ? " i said rather feebly. " I will tell you, my fri(md," he answered, smiling indulg(;ntly and tapping his l^oot with his whi)). "Have y(ju heard the latest news?" "What is it?" I replied cautiously. "Tlun I will tell you if I have luiard it." " Tlu! King has disniisscd Xeckar ! " "No!" I cried, unal)le to liidc iii\' sMr|irise, "Yes," he answered ; "the banker is (lismiss(>d. In a week his States General oi National .Vsscnihly, or 6 THE RED COCKADE. whatever he pleases to call it, will go too, and we shall be where we were before. Only, in the meantime, and to strengthen the King in the wise course he is at last pursuing, we must show that we are alive. We must show our sympathy with him. We must act. We must protest." " But, M. le Marquis," I said, a little heated, perhaps, by the news, " are you sure that the people will quietly endure this ? Never was so bitter a winter as last winter ; never a worse harvest, or such pinching. On the top of these, their hopes have been raised, and their minds excited by the elections, and " " Whom have we to thank for that ? " he said, with a whimsical glance at me. " But, never fear, Vicomte ; tlu y will endure it. I know Paris ; and I can assure you that it is not the Paris of the Fronde, though M. de Mirabeau would play the Eetz. It is a peaceable, sensible Paris, and it will not rise. Except a bread riot or two, it has seen no rising to speak of for a century and a half : nothing that two companies of Swiss could not deal with as easily as D'Argenson cleared the Cuur des Mn'acles. Believe me, there is no danger of that kind : with the least management, all will go well ! " But his news had roused my antagonism. I found it more easy to resist him now. "I do not know," I said coldly; "I do not tliink that the matter is so simple as you say. The King must have money, or be bankrupt ; the people have no money to pay him. I do not see how things can go back to the old state." M. de St. Alais looked at me with a gleam of anger in his eyes. "You mean, Vicomte," he said, "that you do not wish them to go back V " THE MARQUIS DE ST. ALAIS. 7 " I mean that the old state was impossible," I said stiffly. " It could not last. It cannot retm-n." For a moment he did not answer, and we stood con- fronting one another — he just without, I just within, the gateway — the cool foliage stretching over us, the dust and July sunshine in the road beyond him ; and if my face reflected his, it was flushed, and set, and determined. But in a twinkling his changed ; he broke into an easy, polite laugh, and shrugged his shoulders with a touch of contempt. " Well," he said, " we will not argue ; but I hope that you will sign. Think it over, M. le Vicomte, think it over. Because " — he paused, and looked at me gaily — "we do not know what may be depending upon it." " That is a reason," I answered quickly, " for tliink- ing more before I " "It is a reason for thinking more before you refuse," he said, bowing very low, and this time without smiling. Then he turned to his horse, and his servant held the stirrup while he mounted. When he was in the saddle and had gathered up the reins, he bent his face to mine. " Of course," he said, speaking in a low voice, and witli a searching look at me, " a contract is a contract, M. le Vicomte ; and the Montagues and Capulets, like your carcan, are out of date. But, all the same, we must go one way — comprenez-vous ? — we must go one way — or separate ! At least, I think so." And nodding pleasantly, as if he had nitcicd in these words a c(;mpliment instead ot a threat, he rode otf; leaving me to stand and fi-et and fume, and (inally to stride back inider iIh; tre(;s vvilii my tlHJiights in a whirl, and all my plans and hopes jarring one anotluM* ni a petty copy of the confusion that that day prevailctl, though I guessed it but dindy, from oiie end of France to the other. 8 THE RED COCKADE. For I could not be blind to his meaning ; nor ignorant that he had, no matter how politely, bidden me choose between the alliance with his family, which my father had arranged for me, and the political views in which my father had brought me up, and which a year's resi- dence in England had not failed to strengthen. Alone in the Chateau since my father's death, I had lived a good deal in the future — in day-dreams of Denise de St. Alais, the fair girl who was to be my wife, and whom I had not seen since she went to her convent school ; in day-dreams, also, of work to be done in spreading round me the prosperity I had seen in England. Now, St. Alais' words menaced one or other of these prospects ; and that was bad enough. But, in truth, it was not that, so much as his presumption, that stung me ; that made me swear one moment and laugh the next, in a kind of irritation not difhcult to understand. I was twenty- two, he was twenty-seven ; and he dictated to me ! We were country bumpkins, he of the haute politique, and he had come from Versailles or from Paris to drill us ! If I went his way I might marry his sister ; if not, I might not ! That was the position. No wonder that before he had left me half an hour I liad made up my mind to resist him ; and so spent the rest of the day composing sound and unanswerable reasons for the course I intended to take ; now conning over a letter in which M. de Liancourt set forth his plan of reform, now summarising the opinions with which M. de Rochefoucauld had favoured me on his last journey to Luchon. In half an hour and the heat of temper! thinking no more than ten thousand others, who that week chose one of two courses, what I was doing. Gargouf, the St. Alais' steward, who doubtless heard that day the news of Neckar's fall, and rejoiced, had no foresight of what it meant to him. Father THE MARQUIS DE ST. ALAIS. 9 Benoit, the cure, who supped with me that evening, and heard the tidings with sorrow — he, too, had no special vision. And the innkeeper's son at La Bastide, by Cahors — probably he, also, heard the news ; but no shadow of a sceptre fell across his path, nor any of a baton on that of the notary at the other La Bastide. A notary, a baton ! An innkeeper, a sceptre ! Mon Dieu ! what conjunctions they would have seemed in those daj's ! We should have been wiser than Daniel, and more prudent than Joseph, if we had foreseen such things under the old regime — in the old France, in the old world, that died in that month of July, 1789 ! And yet there were signs, even then, to be read by those with eyes, that foretold something, if but a tithe of the inconceivable future ; of which signs I mj^self remarked sufficient by the way next day to fill my njiud with other thougiits than private resentment ; with some nobler aims than self-assertion. Hiding to Cahors, with Gil and Andre at my back, I saw not only the havoc caused by the great frosts of the winter and spring, not only walnut trees blackened and withered, vines stricken, rye killed, a huge proportion of the land fallow, desert, gloomy and unsown : not only those common signs of poverty to which use had accustomed me— though on my first return from England I liad viewed tliem with horror — mud cabins, I mean, and ungla/ed windows, starved cattle, and women bent double, gathering weeds. But I saw other things more ominous; a strange herding of men at cross-roads and bridges, where they waited for they knew not what ; a something lowering in these men's silence, a something ex|)(!ctant in fheir faces ; worst of all, a soMK^thing dfingnrous in tiioir scowling eyes and, sunken cluM-ks. Hunger iiad pinched them; the elections had roused them. I trembled to think of the issue, and that in to THE RED COCKADE. Liu; hint of daiij^er I had given St. Alais, I. had been only too near the mark. A league farther on, where the woodlands skirt Cahors, I lost sight of these things ; but for a time only. They reappeared presently in another form. The first view of the town, as, girt by the shining Lot, and protected by ramparts and towers, it nestles under the steep hills, is apt to take the eye; its matchless bridge, and time-worn Cathedral, and great palace seldom failing to rouse the admiration even of those who know them. But that day I saw none of these things. As I passed down towards the market-place they were selling grain under a guard of soldiers with fixed bayonets ; and the starved faces of the waiting crowd that filled all that side of the square, their shrunken, half-naked figures, and dark looks, and the sullen muttering, which seemed so much at odds with the sunshine, occupied me, to the exclusion of every- thmg else. Or not quite. I had eyes for one other thing, and that was the astonishing indifference with which those whom curiosity, or business, or habit had brought to the spot, viewed this spectacle. The inns were full of the gentry of the province, come to the Assembly ; they looked on from the windows, as at a show, and talked and jested as if at home in their chateaux. Jiefore the doors of the Cathedral a group of ladies and clergymen walked to and fro, and now and then they turned a listless eye on what was passing ; but for the most part they seemed to be unconscious of it, or, at the best, to have no concern with it. I have heard it said since, that in those days we had two worlds in France, as far apart as hell and heaven ; and what I saw that evening went far to prove it. In the square a shop at which pamphlets and journals THE MARQUtS DE ST. ALA IS. 11 were sold was full of customers, though other shops in the neighbourhood were closed, their owners fearing mischief. On the skirts of the crowd, and a little aloof from it, I saw Gargonf, the St. Alais' steward. He was talking to a countryman; and, as I passed, I heard him say with a gibe, " Well, has your National Assembly fed you yet?" " Not yet," the clown answered stupidly, " but I am told that in a few days they will satisfy everybody." "Not they!" the agent answered brutally. "Why, do you think that they will feed you ? " " Oh, yes, by your leave ; it is certain," the man said. " And, besides, every one is agreed " But then Gargouf saw me, saluted me, and I heard no more. A moment later, however, I came on one of my own people, Buton, the blacksmith, in the middle of a muttering group. He looked at me sheepishly, finding liimself caught ; and I stopped, and rated him soundly, and saw him start for home before I went to my quarters. These were at the Trois liois, where I always lay when in town ; Doury, the innkeeper, providing a supper ordinary for the gentry at eight o'clock, at which it was the custom to dress and powder. The St. Alais had their own house in Caliors, and, as the Marquis liad forewarned me, entertained that evening. The greater part of the company, indeed, repaired to them after the meal. I went myself a little late, that 1 might avoid any private talk with the Mar- quis ; I found the rooms already full and brilhantly lighted, the staircase crowded with valets, and the strains of a harpsichord trickling melodiously fri»iii llic windows. Madame de St. Alais was in the h.-iltit of entertaining the best company in tin; province; with less splendfjur, perhaps, tiian some, but with so nnich ease, and taste, and go(Kl breeding, that 1 lo(jk in vain for such a house in these days. 12 THE RED COCKADE. Oi-diiicirily, she preferred to people her rooms with pleasant o;roups, that, f^racefully disposed, gave to a salon an air elegant and pleasing, and in character with the costume of those days, the silks and laces, powder and diamonds, the full hoops and red-heeled shoes. But on this occasion the crowd and the splendour of the entertainment apprised me, as soon as I crossed the threshold, that I was assisting at a party of more than ordinary importance ; nor had I advanced far before I guessed that it was a political rather than a social 'fathering. All, or almost all, who would attend the Assembly next day were here ; and tliough, as I wound my way through the glittering crowd, I heard very little serious talk — so little, that T marvelled to think that people could discuss the respective merits of French and Itahan opera, of Gretry and Bianchi, and the like, while so much hung in the balance — of the effect intended I had no doubt ; nor that Madame, in assembling all the wit and beauty of the province, was aiming at things higher than amusement. With, I am bound to confess, a degree of success. At any rate it was difficult to mix with the throng which filled her rooms, to run the gauntlet of bright eyes and witty tongues, to breathe the atmosphere laden with perfume and music, without falling under the spell, without forgetting. Inside the door M. de Gontaut, one of my father's oldest friends, was talking with the two Harincourts. He greeted me with a sly smile, and pointed politely inwards. " Pass on. Monsieur," he said. " The farthest room. Ah ! my friend, I wish I were young again ! " " Your gain would be my loss, M. le Baron," I said civilly, and slid by him. Next, 1 had to speak to two or three ladies, who detained me with wicked con- gratulations of the sajne kind ; and then I came on THE MARQUIS DE ST. ALAIS. 13 Louis. He clasped my hand, and we stood a moment together. The crowd elbowed us ; a simpering fool at his shoulder was prating of the social contract. But as I felt the pressure of Louis' hand, and looked into his eyes, it seemed to me that a breath of air from the woods penetrated the room, and swept aside the heavy perfumes. Yet there was trouble in his look. He asked me if I had seen Victor. " Yesterday," I said, understanding him perfectly, and what was amiss. "Not to-day." "Nor Denise?" " No. I have not had the honour of seeing Made- moiselle," " Then, come," he answered. " My mother expected you earlier. What did you think of Victor? " " That he went Victor, and has returned a great personage ! " I said, smiling. Louis laughed faintly, and lifted his eyebrows with a comical air of sufferance. " I was afraid so," he said. " He did not seem to be very well pleased with you. But we must all do his bidding — ^eli, Monsieur? And, in the meantime, come. My mother and Denise are in the farthest room." He led the way thither as he spoke ; but we had first to go tlirougli the card-room, and then the crowd about tlio farther doorway was so dense that wc could not innnediatcjly enter; and so I had time — while outwardly smiling and i)owing — to feel a little suspense. At last we slipped through and entered a smaller room, where wcrt; only MadauK! la Marquise — who was standing in ihc middle of the floor talking with the Abbe Mesnil — two or thi"ee ladies, and nciiisc ({>■ St. Alais. Miulemoiselle had her seat on u couch by one of tin; 14 THE RED COCKADE. ladies ; and naturally my eyes went first to her. She was dressed in white, and it struck me with the force of a blow how small, how childish she was ! Very fair, of the purest complexion, and perfectly formed, she seemed to derive an extravagant, an absurd, air of dignity from the formality of her dress, from the height of the powdered hair that strained upwards from her forehead, from the stiffness of her brocaded petticoat. But she was very small. I had time to note this, to feel a little disappointment, and to fancy that, cast in a larger mould, she would have been supremely handsome ; and then the lady beside her, seeing me, spoke to her, and the child — she was really little more — looked up, her face grown crimson. Our eyes met — thank God ! she had Louis' eyes — and she looked down again, blushing painfully. I advanced to pay my respects to Madame, and kissed the hand, which, without at once breaking off her conversation, she extended to me. "But such powers!" the Abbe, who had some- thing of the reputation of a jjhilosophe, was saying to her. " Without limit ! Without check ! Misused, Madame " " But the King is too good!" Madame la Marquise answered, smiling. " When well advised, I agree. But then the deficit ? " The Marquise shrugged her shoulders. "His Ma- jesty must have money," she said. "Yes — but whence?" the Abbe asked, with an- swering shrug. " The King was too good at the beginning," Madame replied, with a touch of severity. " He should have made them register the edicts. However, the Parlia- ment has always given way, and will do so again." "The Parliament — yes," the Abbe retorted, smiling THE MARQUIS DE ST. ALAIS. 15 indulgently. "But it is no longer a question of the Parliament; and the States General " " States General pass," Madame responded grandly. " The King remains ! " " Yet if trouble comes? " " It will not," Madame answered with the same grand air. " His Majesty will prevent it." And then with a word or two more she dismissed the Abbe and turned to me. She tapped me on the shoulder with her fan. "Ah! truant," she said, with a glance in which kindness and a little austerity were mingled. " I do not know what I am to say to you ! Indeed, from the account Victor gave me yesterday, I hardly knew whether to expect you this evening or not. Are you sure that it is you who are here ? " " I will answer for my heart, Madame," I answered, laying my hand upon it. Her eyes twinkled kindly. "Then," she said, "bring it where it is due, Mon- sieur." And she turned with a fine air of ceremony, and led me to her daughter. " Denise," she said, "this is M. le Vicomte de Saux, the son of my old, my good friend. .^^. le Vicomte — my daughter. Perhaps you will amuse her while I go back to the Abbe." Probably Mademoiselle had spent the cscning in an agony of shyness, expecting this nnjineiit ; I'm' she curtesied to the floor, and then stood duml) and con- fused, forgetting even to sit down, until I covcrcul her with fresh blushes by begging her to do so. \\ hi n she had complied, I tcKjk my stand befoic her, with my hat ill my hajid ; but between seeking for the right compli- ment, and trying to trace a likeness l)etween her imkI the wild, brown-faced cliihl "f tliiiteen, whom T liad known four years before — and from the dignified height of nineteen immeasuialjly despised — 1 grew shy myself. 1 6 THE RED COCKADE. " You came home last week, Mademoiselle?" I said at last. "Yes, Monsieur," she answered, in a whisper, and with downcast eyes. " It must be a great change for you ! " " l^es, Monsieur." Silence : then, " Doubtless the Sisters were good to you? " I suggested. " Yes, Monsieur." " Yet, you were not sorry to leave?" " Yes, Monsieur." But on that the meaning of what she had last said came home to her, or she felt the banality of her answers ; for, on a sudden, she looked swiftly up at me, her face scarlet, and, if I was not mistaken, she was within a little of bursting into tears. The thought appalled me. I stooped lower. " Mademoiselle ! " I said hurriedly, "pray do not be afraid of me. Whatever happens, you shall never have need to fear me. I beg of you to look on me as a friend — as your brother's friend. Louis is my " Crash ! While the name hung on my lips, some- thing struck me on the back, and I staggered forward, almost into her arms ; amid a shiver of broken glass, a flickering of lights, a rising chorus of screams and cries. For a moment I could not think what was happening, or had liappened ; the blow had taken away my breath. I was conscious only of Mademoiselle clinging terrified to my arm, of her face, wild with fright, looking up to me, of the sudden cessation of the music. Then, as people pressed in on us, and 1 began to recover, I turned and saw that the window behind me had been driven in, and the lead and panes shattered ; and that among the debris on the floor lay a great stone. It was that which had struck me. ^7 CHAPTER II. THE ORDEAL. as wonderful how quickly the room filled — filled with v faces, so that almost hefore I knew what had )ened, I found a crowd romid me, asking what it ; M. de St. Alais foremost. As all spoke at once, in the background where they could not see, ladies ■ screaming and chattering, I might have found it •ult to explain. But the shattered window and ,freat stone on the floor spoke for themselves, and more quickly than I could what had taken place. 1 the instant, with a speed which surprised me, the blew into a ilame passions already smouldering. )zen voices cried, "Out on the canaille!" In a ent some one in the background fdllnwcd tliis u]) " Swords, Messieurs, swords! " Then, in a tiice be gentlemen were ell)owing one another towards nor, St. Alais, wiio burned to avenge the insult ■d to bis guests, taking the lead. M. de (ronlauL >ne or two of the elders tried to rcsti'ain bnn, but remonstrances were in vain, and in a hkimk iit )()ni was idniost ejnptied ct' men. 'I'licy ji^incd iti) the street, and began to scoin- ii wiili diuwn s iiiid raised voices. A dozen valets, lunnniL; (Mil, )UH]y with flaml)eaux, iiidcd in tb<- searc^li ; lor a linutes the street, as we who lemained viewed it the windows, seemed to be nlivc with moving and figures. 2 iS THE RED COCKADE. But the rascals wlio liad flung the stone, whatever the motive which inspired them, had tied in time ; and presently our party returned, some a little ashamed of their violence, others laughing as they entered, and bewailing their silk stockings and spattered shoes ; while a few, less fashionable or more impetuous, con- tinued to denounce the insult, and threaten vengeance. At another time, the act might have seemed trivial, a childish insult ; but in the strained state of public feel- ing it had an unpleasant and menacing air which was not lost on the more thoughtful. During the absence of the street party, the draught from the broken window had blown a curtain against some candles and set it alight ; and though the stuff had been torn down with little damage, it still smoked among the debris on the floor. This, with the startled faces of the ladies, and the shattered glass, gave a look of disorder and ruin to the room, where a few minutes before all had worn so seemly and festive an air. It did not surprise me, therefore, that St. Alais' face, stern enough at his entrance, grew darker as he looked round. "Where is my sister?" he said abruptly, almost rudely. " Here," Madame la Marquise answered. Denise had flown long before to her side, and w^as clinging to lier. "She is not hurt?" " No," Madame answered, playfully tapping the girl's cheek. " M. de Saux had most reason to complain." " Save me from my friends, eh. Monsieur?" St. Alais said, with an unpleasant smile. I started. The words were not much in themselves, but the sneer underlying them was plain. I could scarcely pass it by, "If you think, M. le Marquis," THE ORDEAL. 19 I said sharply, " that I knew anything of this out- ra^re "That 3'on knew anything? Ma foi, no!" he re- phed hghtly, and with a courtly gesture of deprecation. " We have not fallen to that yet. That any gentleman in this company should sink to play the fellow to those — is not possible ! But I think we may draw a useful lesson from this, Messieurs," he continued, turning from me and addressing the company. "And that is a lesson to hold our own, or we shall soon lose all." A hum of approbation ran round the room. " To maintam privileges, or we shall lose rights." Twenty voices were raised in assent. " To stand now," he continued, his colour high, his hand raised, " or never ! " " Then now ! Now ! " The cry rose suddenly not from one, but fron a hundred throats — of men aiul women; in a moment the room catching his tone seemed to throb with enthusi- asm, with the pulse of resolve. Men's eyes grew bright under the candles, they breathed quickly, and with heightened colour. Even the weakest felt the influence ; the fool wlio had prated of the social contract and the rights of man was as loud as any. "Now! Now!" they cried with one voice. What followed on that I have never completc^Iy fathomed ; nor whether it was a thing ari'angcd, or merely an iiis))iration, born of tiie connnon cnLhusiasm. But while tin; windows still shook with that shout, and every eye was on liun, M. de Alais stepped forward, tlu^ most gallant and perfect figui'ts and with a splcinlid gesture drew his sword. " Gentlemen I " he cried, " wo are of one mind, of one voice. Let us be also in the fashion. If, while :ill the 20 THE RED COCKADE. world is fightiii<>' to get and hold, we alone stand still and on the defensive — we court attack, and, what is worse, defeat ! Let us unite then, while it is still time, and show that, in Quercy at least, our Order will stand or fall together. You have heard of the oath of the Tennis Court and the '20th of June. Let us, too, take an oath — this 22nd of July ; not with uplifted hands like a club of wordy debaters, promising all things to all men ; but with uplifted swords. As nobles and gentlemen, let us swear to stand by the rights, the privileges, and the exemptions of our Order ! " A shout that made the candles flicker and jump, that filled the street, and was heard even in the distant market-place, greeted the proposal. Some drew their swords at once, and flourished them above their heads ; while ladies waved their fans or kerchiefs. But the majority cried, "To the larger room! To the larger room ! " And on the instant, as if in obedience to an order, the company turned that way, and flushed, and eager, pressed through the narrow doorway into the next room. There may have been some among them less enthu- siastic than others ; some more earnest in show than at heart ; none, I am sure, who, on this, followed so slowly, so reluctantly, with so heavy a heart, and sure a presage of evil as I did. Already I foresaw the dilemma before me ; but angry, hot-faced, and uncer- tain, I could discern no way out of it. If I could have escaped, and slipped clear from the room, I would have done so without scruple ; but the stairs were on the farther side of the great room which we were entering, and a dense crowd cut me off from them ; moreover, I felt that St. Alais' eye was upon me, and that, if he had not framed the ordeal to meet jny case, and extort my support, he was at least deter- THE ORDEAL. 21 mined, now that his blood was fired, that I should not evade it. Still I would not hasten the evil day, and I lingered near the inner door, hoping; hut the Marquis, on reach- ing the middle of the room, mounted a chair and turned round ; and so contrived still to face me. The mob of gentlemen formed themselves round liiui, the younger and more tumultuous uttering cries of " Vive la No- blesse ! " And a fringe of ladies encircled all. The lights, the brilliant dresses and jewels on which they shone, the impassioned faces, the waving kerchiefs and bright eyes, rendered the scene one to be remembered, though at the moment I was conscious only of St. Alais' gaze. "Messieurs," he cried, "draw your swords, if you please ! " They flashed out at the word, with a steely glitter which the mirrors reflected; and M. de St. Alais passed his eye slowly round, while all waited for the word. He stopped ; his eye was on me. " M. de Saux," he said politely, " we are waiting i\)V you."' Naturally all turned to me. I strove to mutter some- thing, and signed Id hiiii with my liaiid to goon. But I was too much confused to speak clearl\' ; my only liope was that he would comply, out of prudence. lint that was the last thing he thouglit of doing. " Will you take your place. Monsieur?" he said smoothly. Then T could escape lu) longer. A hundnul eyes, .some inipati(!nt, some merely curious, rest('(l on me. My face burned. " I cannot do so," I answered. There fell a great silence from one end of the room to the othei'. " Wliv not, Monsieur, if T may ask? "' Si, .Mais said still smoothly. 2 2 THE RED COCKADE. " Because I am not — entirely at one with you," I Rtanimered, meeting all eyes as bravely as I could. " My opinions are known, M. de St. Alais," I went on more steadfastly. " I cannot swear." He stayed with his hand a dozen who would have cried out upon me. " Gently, Messieurs," he said, with a gesture of dignity, " gently, if you please. This is no place for threats. M. de Saux is my guest ; and I have too great a respect for him not to respect his scruples. But I think that there is another way. I shall not venture to argue with him myself But — Madame," he continued, smiling as he turned with an inimitable air to his mother, " I think that if you would permit Mademoiselle de St. Alais to play the recruiting- sergeant— for this one time — she could not fail to heal the breach." A murmur of laughter and subdued applause, a flutter of fans and women's eyes greeted the proposal. But, for a moment, Madame la Marquise, smiling and sphinx-hke, stood still, and did not speak. Then she turned to her daughter, who, at the mention of her name, had cowered back, shrinking from sight. "Go, Denise," she said simply. "Ask M. de Saux to honour you by becoming your recruit." The girl came forward slowly, and with a visible tremor; nor shall I ever forget the misery of that moment, or tlie shame and obstinacy that alternately surged through my brain as I awaited her. Thought, quicker than lightning, showed me the trap into which I had fallen, a trap far more horrible than the dilemma I had foreseen. Nor was the poor girl herself, as she stood before me, tortured by shyness, and stammering her little petition in words barely in- telligible, the least part of my pain. THE ORDEAL. 23 For to refuse her, in face of all those people, seemed a thing impossible. It seemed a thing as brutal as to strike her; an act as cruel, as churlish, as unworthy of a gentleman as to trample any helpless sensitive thing under foot ! And I felt that ; I felt it to the utmost. But I felt also that to assent was to turn my back on consistency, and my life ; to consent to be a dupe, the victim of a ruse ; to be a coward, though every one there might applaud me. I saw both these things, and for a moment I hesitated between rage and pity ; while lights and fair faces, inquisitive or scornful, shifted mazily before my eyes. At last — " Mademoiselle, I cannot," I muttered. " I can- not." " Monsieur!" It was not the girl's word, but Madame's, and it rang high and sharp through the room ; so that I thanked God for the intervention. It cleared in a moment the confusion from my brain. I became myself. I turned to her ; I bowed. "No, Madame, I cannot," I said firmly, doubting no longer, but stubborn, defiant, resolute. " My opin- ions are known. And I will not, even for Mademoiselle's sake, give the lie to them." As the last word fell from my lips, a glove, flung by an unseen hand, struck me on the cheek ; and then for a moment the room seemed to go mad. Amid a storm of hisses, of '' Vaurien /" and "A has le traitre!" a dozen blades were brandished in iii\- [\u'a% a dozen ciiallenges were flung at my head. I b;iiit the handwriting was Louis'. " (io home," it ran, "and do not show yourself at the Assembly. They will ehalhinge you one by one ; the event is certain. Leave Cahors at once, or yon are a dead njan." 26 THE RED COCKADE. That was all ! I smiled bitterly at the weakness of the man who could do no more for his friend than this. " Who gave it to you? " I asked Andre. " A servant, Monsieur." "Whose?" But he muttered that he did not know ; and I did not press him. He assisted me to change my dress ; when I had done, he asked me at what hour 1 needed the horses. "The horses! For what?" I said, turning and staring at him. " To return, Monsieur." "But I do not return to-day!" I said in cold dis- pleasure. "Of what are you speaking? We came only yesterday." " True, Monsieur," he muttered, continuing to potter over my dressing things, and keeping his back to me. " Still, it is a good day for returning." " You have been reading this note ! " I cried wrath- fully. " Who told you that " " All the town knows ! " he answered, shrugging his shoulders coolly. " It is, ' Andre, take your master home ! ' and, ' Andre, you have a hot-pate for a master,' and Andre this, and Andre that, until I am fairly muddled ! Gil has a bloody nose, fighting a Harin- court lad that called Monsieur a fool ; but for me, I am too old for fighting. And there is one other thing I am too old for," he continued, with a sniff. " What is that, impertinent ? " I cried. " To bury another master." I waited a minute. Then I said : " You think that I shall be killed ? " "It is the talk of the town!" I thought a moment. Then : " You served my father, Andre," I said. THE ORDEAL. 27 " Ah ! Monsieur." " Yet you would have me run away ? " He turned to me, and flung up his hands in despair. " Mon Bieu ! " he cried, " I don't know what I would have ! We are ruined by these canaille. As if God made them to do anything but dig and work ; or we could do without poor ! If you had never taken up with them, Monsieur " " Silence, man ! " I said sternly. " You know nothing about it. Go down now, and another time be more careful. You talk of the canaille and the poor ! What are you yourself? " "I, Monsieur?" he cried, in astonishment. " Yes — you ! " He stared at me a moment with a face of bewilder- ment. Then slowly and sorrowfully he shook his head, and went out. He began to think nie mad. When he was gone I did not at once move. I fancied it likely that if I showed myself in the streets, before the Assembly mot, I should be challenged, and forced to fight. I waited, therefore, until the hour of meeting was past ; waited in the dull upper room, feeling the bitterness of isolation, and thinking, sometimes of Louis St. Alais, who had let me go, and spoken no word in luy behalf, sometimes of men's umcasonableness ; for in some of the provinces half of the nol)ility were of my way of thinking. I thought of Saux, too ; and I will not say that I felt no temptation to adopt tiie course which Andre had suggested — to withdraw (|uietly thitber, and then at some later tinu;, when men's nunds were calmer, to vindicate my courage. P>ut a certain stubbornness, which my fatli{;r had Ixiforc me, and which I have heard people say comes of ;in hhiglish strain in the race, conspired with resentment to keep me m tlie way I had marked out. At a (juarter past 2 8 THE RED COCKADE. ten, therefore, when I thought that the last of the Meinhers would have preceded me to the Assembly, I went downstairs, with hot cheeks, but eyes that were stern enough ; and finding Andre and Gil waiting at the door, bade them follow nic to the Chapter House beside the Cathedral, where the meetings were held. Afterwards I was told that, had I used my eyes, I must have noticed the excitement which prevailed in the streets ; the crowd, dense, yet silent, that filled the Square and all the neighbouring ways ; the air of expectancy, the closed sliops. the cessatioxi of business, the whispering groups in alleys and at doors. But I was wrapped up in myself, like one going on a forlorn hope ; and of all remarked only one thing — that as I crossed the Square a man called out, " God bless you, Monsieur!" and another, ''Vive Saux !" and that thereon a dozen or more took off their caps. This I did notice ; but mechanically only. The next moment I was in the entry which leads alongside one wall of the Cathedral to the Chapter House, and a crowd of clerks and servants, who blocked it almost from wall to wall, were making way for me to pass ; not without looks of astonishment and curiosity. Threading my way through them, I entered the empty vestibule, kept clear by two or three ushers. Here the change from sunshine to shadow, from the life and light and stir which prevailed outside, to the silence of this vaulted chamber, was so great that it struck a chill to my heart. Here, in the greyness and stillness, the importance of the step I was about to take, the madness of the challenge 1 was about to fling down, in the teeth of my brethren, rose before me ; and if my mind had not been braced to the utmost by resentment and obstinacy, I must have turned back. But already my feet rang noisily on the stone pavement, and for- THE ORDEAL. 29 bade retreat. I could hear a monotonous voice droning in the Chamber beyond the closed door ; and I crossed to that door, setting my teeth hard, and preparing myself to play the man, whatever awaited me. Another moment, and I should have been inside. My hand was already on the latch, when some one, who had been sitting on the stone bench in the shadow under the window, sprang up, and luuried to stop me. It was Louis de St. Alais. He reached me before I could open the door, and, thrusting himself in front of me, set his back against the panels. " Stop, man ! for God's sake, stop !" he cried passion- ately, yet kept his voice low. "What can one do against two hundred 'r' Go back, man, go back, and [ will " ''You will!" I answered with fierce contempt, yet in the same low tone — the ushers were staring curiously at us from the door by which I had entered. "You will? You will do, I suppose, as much as you did last night, Monsieur." "Never mind that now!" he answered earnestly; though he winced, and the colonr rose to his brow. " Only go ! Go to Saux, and " " Keep out of the way ! " "Yes," he said, "and keep out of the way. If you will do that " " Keep out of the way ?" I repeated savagely. " Yes, yes; then everything will blow over." "Thank you!" I said slowly; and I treniMcd with rage. "And how miicli, may i ask, are you to have, M. le Comte, for ridding the Assembly of me?" He stared at me. " Adrien ! " lie cried. But 1 was ruthless. "No, Monsieur Ic Comte— not Adrien ! " I said proudly ; " I am that only to my friends." 3° THE RED COCKADE. " And I am no longer one '? " I raised my eyebrows contemptuously. "After last night?" I said. ''After last night? Is it possible, Monsieur, that you fancy you played a friendly part ? I came into your house, your guest, your friend, your all but relative ; and you laid a trap for me, you held me up to ridicule and odium, you " "I did?" he exclaimed. "Perhaps not with your own voice. But you stood by and saw it done ! You stood by and said no word for me ! You stood by and raised no finger for me ! If you call that friendship " He stopped me with a gesture full of dignity. " You forget one thing, M. le Vicomte," he said, in a tone of proud reticence. " Name it ! " I answered disdainfully. " That Mademoiselle de St. Alais is my sister ! " " Ah ! " "And that, whether the fault was yours or not, you last evening treated her lightly — -before two hundred people ! You forget that, M. le Vicomte." "I treated her lightly?" I replied, in a fresh excess of rage. We had moved, as if by common consent, a little from the door, and by this time were glaring into one another's eyes. "And with w^hom lay the fault if I did? With whom lay the fault. Monsieur? You gave me the choice — nay, you forced me to make choice between slighting her and giving up opinions and con- victions which I hold, in which I have been bred, in which " " Opinions /" he said more harshl}' than he had yet spoken. " And what are, after all, opinions? Pardon me, I see that I annoy you, Monsieur. But I am not philosophic ; I have not been to England ; and I cannot understand a man " THE ORDEAL. 3 1 " Giving up anything for his opinions ! " I cried, with a savage sneer. " No, Monsieur, I daresay you cannot. If a man will not stand by his friends he wnll not stand by his opinions. To do either the one or the other, M. le Conite, a man must not be a coward." He grew pale, and looked at me strangely. " Hush, Monsieur ! " he said — involuntarily, it seemed to me. And a spasm crossed his face, as if a sharp pain shot through him. But I was beside mj'self with passion. " A coward ! " I repeated. " Do you understand me, M. le Comte ? Or do you wish me to go inside and repeat the word before the Assembly?" " There is no need," he said, growing as red as he had before been pale. "There should be none," I answered, with a sneer. "May I conclude that you will ineet mo after the Assembly rises? " He bowed without speaking ; and then, and not till then, something in his silence and his looks pierced the armour of my rage ; and on a sudden I grew sick at heart, and cold. It was too late, however ; I had said that which could never be unsaid. The memory of his patience, of his goodness, of his foibearance, came after the event. I saluted liim formally; he replied ; and I turned grimly to the door again. But I was not to pass tlirf)Ugh it yet. A second titiic when I had the latch in my grasp, and the door an incii open, a hand jjluckod me l):ici< ; so forcibly, that the latch rattled as it fell, and I turned u\ a rage. To my astonishment it was Louis again, l)ut with a changed face — a face of strange excitenjciit. i !<■ retained his hold on me. " No," he said, between his teeth. " Vou have called me a coward, M. h; Yicomtt;, and T will not, wait ! Not 32 THE RED COCKADE. an lu)ur. You shall fight me now. There is a garden at the back, and " But I had grown as cold as he hot. "I shall do nothing of the kind," I said, cutting him short. " After the Assembly " He raised his hand and deliberately struck me with his glove across the face. "Will that persuade you, then?" he said, as 1 in- voluntarily recoiled. "After that, Monsieur, if you are a gentleman, you will fight me. There is a garden at the back, and in ten minutes " " In ten minutes the Assembly may have risen," I said. " I will not keep you so long ! " he answered sternly. " Come, sir ! Or must I strike you again ? " "I will come," I said slowly. "After you. Mon- sieur." 33 CHAPTER III. IN THE ASSEMBLY. The blow, and the insult with which he accompanied it, put an end for the moment to my repentance. But short as was the distance across the floor from the one door to the other, it gave me time to think again ; to re- member that this was Louis ; and that whatever cause I had had to complain of him, whatever grounds to suspect that he was the tool of others, no friend could have done more to assuage my wrath, nor the most honest more to withhold me from entering on an im- possible task. Melting quickly, melting almost in- stantly, I felt with a kind of horror that if kindness alone had led him to interpose, I had made him the worst return in the world ; in fine, before the outer door could be opened to us, I repented anew. When the usher held it for me to pass, I bade him close it, and, to Louis' surprise, turned, and, muttering some- thing, ran back. J>eforo ho, could do more than utter a cry I was across the vestibule ; a moment, and 1 had the door of the Assembly open. Instantly I saw before me — I suppose that my hand had raised the latch noisily — tiers of surprised faces all tnrii(!d my way. 1 heard ;i, iiiuiimir of iiiiiigl('(| mmoy- ance and laughtci'. The next moment I was tliread- ing my way to my place with the monotonous voice of the President in my ears, and the scone round me so changed — from thjit low-toned altcrcatif^n outside, to 3 34 THE RED COCKADE. this Chamber full of light and life, and thronged with starers — that I sank into my seat, dazzled and abashed; and almost forgetful for the time of the purpose which brought me thither. A little, and my face grew hotter still ; and with good reason. Each of the benches on which we sat held three. I shared mine with one of the Harincourts and M. d'Aulnoy, my place being between them. I had scarcely taken it five seconds, when Harincourt rose slowly, and, without turning his face to me, moved away down the gangway, and, fanning himself delicately with his hat, assumed a leaning position against a desk with his gaze on the President. Half a minute, and D'Aul- noy followed his example. Then the three behind me rose, and quietly and without looking at me found other places. The three before me followed suit. In two minutes I sat alone, isolated, a mark for all eyes ; a kind of leper in the Assembly ! I ought to have been prepared for some such demon- stration. But I was not, and my cheeks burned, as if the curious looks to which I was exposed were a hot fire. It was impossible for me, taken by surprise, to hide my embarrassment ; for, wherever I gazed, I met sneering eyes and contemptuous glances ; and pride would not let me hang my head. For many minutes, therefore, I was unconscious of everything but that scorching gaze. I could not hear what was going for- ward. The President's voice was a dull, meaningless drawl to me. Yet all the while anger and resentment were harden- ing me in my resolve ; and, presently, the cloud passed from my mind, and left me exulting. The monotonous reading, to which I had listened without understanding it, came to an end, and was followed by short, sharp interrogations — a question and an answer, a name and IN THE ASSEMBLY. 35 a reply. It was that awoke me. The drawl had been the reading of the cahier ; now they were voting on it. Presently it would be my turn ; it was coming to my turn now. With each vote — I need not say that all were affirmative — more faces, and yet more, were turned to the place where I sat ; more eyes, some hostile, some triumphant, some merely curious, were directed to my face. Under other circumstances this might have cowed me; now it did not. I was wrought up to face it. The unfriendly looks of so many who had called themselves my friends, the scornful glances of new men of ennobled families, who had been glad of my father's countenance, the consciousness that all had deserted me merely because I maintained in practice opinions which half of them had proclaimed in words — these things hardened me to a pitch of scorn no whit below that of ray opponents ; while the knowledge that to blench now must cover me with lasting shame closed the door to thoughts of surrender. The Assembly, on the other hand, felt the novelty of its position. Men were not yet accustomed to the war of the Senate ; to duels of words more deadly than those of the sword : and a certain doubt, a certain hesitation, held the; niajcjiity in suspense, watching to see what would happen. Moreover, the leaders, both M. de St. Alais, who luuided the hottci' nnd prouder party of the Court, and the nobh^s of llic liobc and Parliament, who had only lately discoveifd that theiv interest lay in th(; same direction, foinid them- selves embarrassed by tin; v(!ry sniallness of the opposi- tion ; since a substantial majority nuist linvc I n accepted as a fact, whereas one njan — one man old} standing in the way of unanimity — presented himself as a thing to be removed, if the way could be dis- covered. 36 THE RED COCKADE. " M. le Comte de Cantal?" the President cried, and looked, not at the person he named, but at nie. "Content!" " M. le Vicomte de Marignac ? " " Content ! " The next name I could not hear, for in my excitement it seemed that all in the Chamber were looking at me, that voice was failing me, that when the moment came I should sit dumb and paralysed, unable to speak, and for ever disgraced. I thought of this, not of what was passing ; then, in a .moment, self-control returned ; I heard the last name before mine, that of M. d'Aulnoy, heard the answer given. Then my own name, echoing in hollow silence. " M. le Vicomte de Saux ? " I stood up. I spoke, my voice sounding harsh, and like another man's. " I dissent from this cahier ! " I cried. I expected an outburst of wrath ; it did not come. Instead, a peal of laughter, in which I distinguished St. Alais' tones, rang through the room, and brought the blood to my cheeks. The laughter lasted some time, rose and fell, and rose again ; while I stood pil- loried. Yet this had one effect the laughers did not anticipate. On occasions the most taciturn become eloquent. I forgot the periods from Rochefoucauld and Liancourt, which I had so carefully prepared ; I forgot the passages from Turgot, of which I had made notes, and I broke out in a strain I had not foreseen or in- tended. " Messieurs ! " I cried, hurling my voice through the Chamber, " I dissent from this cahier because it is effete and futile ; because, if for no other reason, the time when it could have been of service is past. You claim your privileges ; they are gone ! Your exemptions ; 7A^ THE ASSEMBLY. 37 they are gone ! You protest against the union of your representatives with those of the people ; but they have sat with them ! They have sat with them, and you can no more undo that by a protest than you can set back the tide ! The thing is done. Tlie dog is hungry, you have given it a bone. Do you tliiuk to get the bone back, unmouthed, whole, without loss ? Then you are mad. But this is not all, nor the principal of my objec- tions to this cahier. France to-day stands naked, bankrupt, without treasury, without mone}'. Do you think to help her, to clothe her, to enrich her, by main- taining your privileges, by maintaining your exemptions, by standing out for the last jot and tittle of your rights? No, Messieurs. In the old days those exemptions, those rights, those privileges, wherein our ancestors gloried, and gloried well, were given to them because they were the buckler of France. They maintained and armed and led men ; the commonalty did the rest. But now the people fight, the people pay, the; peoph; do all. Yes, Messieurs, it is true ; it is true that which we liavc all heard, ' Le manant jjayc pour tout ! ' "' I paused ; expecting that now, at last, the long- delayed outburst of anger would come. Instead, before any in the Chamber could speak, there rose through the windows, which looked on the market-place, and had been widely opened on account of the heat, a great cry of applause; the shout of the street, that for (he first time heard its wrongs voiced. Tt was full of assent and rejoicing, y(;t no attack could have discon- certed mc more completely. 1 stood astonished, and silenced. The effect which it had on nic was sligiit, however, in comparison with that which it had on my opponents. The cries of dissent they were about to utter died still- born at the portent; and, for a moment, men stared at 38 THE RED COCKADE. one another as if they could not beheve their ears. For that moment a silence of rage, of surprise, prevailed through tlu! whole Chamber. Then M. de St. Alais sprang to his feet. "What is this?" he cried, his handsome face dark with excitement. " Has the King ordered us, too, to sit with the third estate? Has he so humiliated us? If not, M. le President — if not, I say," he continued, sternly putting down an attempt at applause, " and if this be not a conspiracy between some of our body and the canaille to bring about another Jacquerie " The President, a weak man of a Eobe family, inter- rupted him. " Have a care, Monsieur," he said. " The windows are still open." " Open ? " The President nodded. "And what if they are? What of it?" St. Alais answered harshly. " What of it, Monsieur?" he con- tinued, looking round him with an eye which seemed to collect and express the scorn of the more fiery spirits. " If so, let it be so ! Let them be open. Let the people hear both sides, and not only those who flatter them ; those who, by building on their weakness and ignorance, and canting about their rights and our wrongs, think to exalt themselves into Ketzs and Crom- wells ! Yes, Monsieur le President," he continued, while I strove in vain to interrupt him, and half the Assembly rose to their feet in confusion, " I repeat the phrase — who, to the ambition of a Cromwell or a Ketz add their violence, not their parts ! " The injustice of the reproach stung me, and I turned on him. " M. le Marquis ! " I cried hotly, " if, by that phrase, you refer to me " He laughed scornfully. "As you please, Monsieur," he said. IN THE ASSEMBLY. 39 " I fling it back ! I repuditate it ! " I cried. " M. de St. Alais has called me a Retz — a Cromwell " "Pardon me," he interposed swiftly; "a would-be Retz ! " " A traitor, either way ! " I answered, striving against the laughter, which at his repartee flashed through the room, bringing the blood rushing to my face. " A traitor either way ! But I say that he is the traitor who to-day advises the King to his hurt." "And not he who comes here with a mob at his back?" St. Alais retorted, with heat almost equal to my own. " Who, one man, would brow-beat a hundred, and dictate to this Assembly?" " Monsieur repeats himself," I cried, cutting him short in my turn, though no laughter followed my gibe. " I deny what he says. I fling back his accusations ; I retort upon him ! And, for the rest, I object to this cahier, I dissent from it, I " But the Assembly was at the end of its patience. A roar of "Withdraw! withdraw!" drowned my voice, and, in a moment, the meeting so orderly a few minutes before, became a scene of wild uproar. A few of the elder men continued to keep their seats, but the ma- jority rose ; some had already sprung to the windows, and closed them, and still stood with their feet on the ledge, looking down on the confusion. Others had gone to the door and taken their stand there, perhaps with the idea of resisting intrusion. The President in vain cried for silence. Jlis voice, equally with mine, was lost in tiie persistent clamour, wliich swelled to a louder pitch whenever I offered to speak, and sank only when I desisted. At length M. de St. Alais raised his hand, and with little difliculty procured silence. Before I could take advantage of it, the I'ntsidciit interposed. "'Vhv. As- 40 THE RED COCKADE. sembly of the iioblessu of Quercy," he said hurriedly, "is in favour- of this cahier, maintaining our ancient rights, privileges, and exemptions. The Vicomte de !Saux alone protests. The cahier will be presented." " I protest ! " I cried w^eakly. " I have said so," the President answered, with a sneer. And a peal of derisive laughter, mingled with shouts of applause, ran round the Chamber. " The cahier will be presented. The matter is concluded." Then, in a moment, magically, as it seemed to me, the Chamber resumed its ordinary aspect. The Mem- bers who had risen returned to their seats, those who had closed the windows descended, a few retired, the President proceeded with some ordinary business. Every trace of the storm disappeared. In a twinkling all was as it had been. Even where I sat ; for no isolation, no division from my felloW'S could exceed that in which I had sat before. But whereas before I had had my weapon in reserve and my revenge in prospect, that was no longer so. I had shot my bolt, and I sat miserable, fettered by the silence and the strange glances that hemmed me in, and growing each moment more depressed and more self-conscious ; longing to escape, yet shrinking from moving, even from looking about me. In this condition not the least of my misery lay in the reflection that I had done no good ; that I had suffered for a quixotism, and shown myself stubborn and obstinate to no purpose. Too late, I considered that I miglit have maintained my principles and yet conformed ; I might have stated my convictions and waived them in deference to the majority. I might have But alas ! whatever 1 might have done, 1 had not done it; and the die was cast. I had declared my- I.\ THE ASSEMBLY. 41 self against my order ; I had forfeited all I could claim from my order. Henceforth, I was not of it. It was no fancy that alread}^ men who had occasion to pass before me drew their skirts aside and bowed formally as to one of another class ! How long I should have endured this penance — these veiled insults and the courtesy that stung deeper — before I plucked up spirit to withdraw, I cannot say. It was an interposition from without that broke the spell. An usher came to me with a note. I opened it with clumsy fingers under a fire of hostile eyes, and found that it was from Louis. " If you have a spark of honour " — it ran—" you will meet me, without a moment's delay, in the garden at the back of the Chapter House. Do so, and you may still call yourself a gentleman. Kefuse, or delay even for ten minutes, and I will publish your shame from one end of Quercy to the other. He cannot call him- self Adrien du I'ont de Saux, wlio puts up with a blow!" I read it twice while the usher waited. The words had a cruel, heartless ring in them ; the taunting chal- lenge was brutal in its directness. Yet my heart grew soft as I read, and I had imicli ado to keep the tears from my eyes — under all those eyes. For Louis did not deceive me this time. This note, so unlike him, this desperate attempt to draw me out, and save me from opponents more ruthless, were too transparent to delude hk^; and, in ;i moment, tlic icy bands wbicli had been growing over nic nu-lti'd. I still sat alone ; hut 1 was not quite des(!rt(!d. t could hold up my head again, for 1 had a friend. 1 remembered that, after all, through nil, I was Adri(!ii ihi I'luit de Saux, guiltless of aught worse than holding in Quercy opinions which the Lameths and Miraljeaus, the fiiancourts and luichrfou- 42 THE RED COCKADE. caulds held in their provinces ; guiltless, I told myself, of aught besides standing for right and justice. But the usher waited. I took from the desk before nie a scrap of paper, and wrote my answer. " Adrien does not fight with Louis because St. Alais struck Saux." I Avrapped it up and gave it to the usher; then I sat back a different man, able to meet all eyes, with a heart armed against all misfortunes. Friendship, gener- osity, love, still existed, though the gentry of Quercy, the Gontauts, and Marignacs, sat aloof. Life would still hold sweets, though the grass should grow in the wal- nut avenue, and my shield should never quarter the arms of St. Alais. So I took courage, stood up, and moved to go out. But the moment I did so, a dozen Members sprang to their feet also ; and, as I walked down one gangway towards the door, they crowded down another parallel with it ; offensively, openly, with the evident intention of intercepting me before I could escape. The com- motion was so great that the President paused in his reading to watch the result ; while the mass of Members who kept their places, rose that they might have a better view. I saw that I was to be publicly insulted, and a fierce joy took the place of every other feeling. If I went slowly, it was not through fear ; the pent-up passions of the last hour inspired me, and I would not have hastened the climax for the world. I reached the foot of the gangway, in another moment we must have come into collision, when an abrupt explosion of voices, a great roar in the street, that penetrated through the closed windows, brought us to a halt. We paused, listen- ing and glaring, while the few who had not stood up before, rose hurriedly, and the President, startled and suspicious, asked what it was. IN THE ASSEMBLY. 43 For answer the sound rose attain — dull, prolonged, shaking the windows ; a hoarse shout of triumph. It fell — not ceasing, but passing away into the distance — and then once more it swelled up. It was unlike an}^ shout I had ever heard. Little by little articulate words grew out of it, or succeeded it ; until the air shook with the measured rhythm of one stern sentence. " A has la Bastille ! A has la Bastille ! " We were to hear many such cries in the time to come, and grow accustomed to such alarms ; to the hungry roar in the street, and the loud knocking at the door that spelled fate. But they were a new thing then, and the Assembly, as much outraged as alarmed by this second trespass on its dignity, could only look at its President, and mutter wrathful threats against the canaille. The canaille that had crouched for a century seemed in some unaccountable way to be changing its posture ! One man cried out one thing, and one another; that the streets should he cleared, the regiment sent for, or complaint made to tlio Intendant. They were still speaking when the door opened and a Member came in. It was Louis de St. Alais, and his face was aglow with excitement. Commonly the most modest and quiet of men, he stood forward now, and raised his hand im- peratively for silence. " Gentlemen," he said, in a loud, ringing voice, " tliore is strange news ! A courier with lett(;rs for my brotiier, M. de St. Alais, has spoken in the strcMjt. lie brings strange tidings." " What?" two or three cried. " The i^astilie has fallen ! " No one understood — how should they? — l)Ut all were silent. Then, " \\'liat do you hicmii, M. Si. Alais?" 44 THE RED COCKADE. the President asked, in bewilderment ; and he raised his hand that the silence might be preserved. " The Bastille has fallen ? How ? What is it ? " " It was captured on Tuesday by the mob of Paris," Louis answered distinctly, his eyes bright, " and M. de Launay, the Governor, murdered in cold blood." " The Bastille captured? By the mob V " the Presi- dent exclaimed incredulously. "It is impossible, Monsieur. You must have misunderstood." Louis shook his head. "It is true, I fear," he said. "And M. de Launay?" "That too, I fear, M. le President." Then, indeed, men looked at one another ; .startled, pale-faced, asking each nuite questions of his fellows ; while in the street outside the hum of disorder and re- joicing grew moment by moment more steady and continuous. Men looked at each other alarmed, and could not believe. The Bastille which had stood so many centuries, captured ? The Governor killed ? Im- possible, they muttered, impossible. For what, in that case, was the King doing ? What the army ? What the Governor of Paris ? Old M. de Gontaut put the thought into words. " But the King?" he said, as soon as he could get a hearing. " Doubtless his Majesty has already punished the wretches ? " The answer came from an unexpected quarter, in words as little expected. M. de St. Alais, to whom Louis had handed a letter, rose from his seat with an open paper in his hand. Doubtless, if he had taken time to consider, he would have seen the imprudence of making public all he knew ; but the surprise and mortification of the news he had received — news that gave the lie to his confident assurances, news that made IN THE ASSEMBLY. 45 the most certain doubt the ground on which they stood, swept away his discretion. He spoke. " I do not know what the King was doing," he said, in mocking accents, " at Versailles ; but I can tell you how the army was employed in Paris. The Garde Franqaise were foremost in the attack. Besenval, with such troops as have not deserted, has withdrawn. The city is in the hands of the mob. They have shot Flesselles, the Provost, and elected Bailly, Mayor. They have raised a Militia and armed it. They have appointed Lafayette, General. They have adopted a badge. They have " " But, moji Dieu ! " the President cried aghast. " This is a revolt ! " "Precisely, Monsieur," St. Alais answered. " And what does the King? " " He is so good — that he has done nothing," was the bitter answer. " And the States General ? — the National Assembly at Versailles ? " "Oh, they? They too have done nothing." " It is Paris, then ? " the President said. "Yes, Monsieur, it is Paris," the Marquis answered. " But Paris ? " the President exclaimed helplessly. " Paris has been quiet so many years." To this, however, the thought in every one's niiiid, there seemed to be no answer. St. Alais sat down again, and, for a moment, the Assembly remained stunned by astonishment, prostrate under these new, tliese marvellous facts. No better comment on the discussions in which it had been engaged a few minutes before could have been found Its Members bad been dreaming of their rights, their ])ri\ ileges, their exemp- tions ; they awoke to find I'aris in flames, th(^ army in revolt, order and law in the utmost peril. 46 THE RED COCKADE. But St. Alais was not tlie man to be long wanting to his part, nor one to abdicate of his free will a leadership which vigour and audacity had secured foi- him. He sprang to his feet again, and in an impassioned harangue called upon the Assembly to remember the Fronde. " As Paris was then, Paris is now ! " he cried. "Fickle and seditious, to be won by no gifts, but always to be overcome by famine. Eest assured that the fat bourgeois will not long do without the white bread of Gonesse, nor the tippler without the white wine of Arbois ! Cut these off, the mad will grow sane, and the traitor loyal. Their National Guards, and their Badges, and their Mayors, and their General? Do you think that these w"ill long avail against the forces of order, of loyalty, against the King, the nobility, the clergy, against France ? No, gentlemen, it is impossible," he continued, looking round him with warmth. " Paris would have deposed the great Henry and exiled Mazarin ; but in the result it licked their shoes. It will be so again, only we inust stand together, we must be hnu. We must see that these disorders spread no farther. It is the King's to govern, and the people's to obey. It has been so, and it will be so to the end ! " His words were not many, but they were timely and vigorous ; and they served to reassure the Assembly. All that large majority, which in every gathering of men has no more imagination than serves to paint the future in the colours of the past, found his arguments perfectly convincing ; while the few who saw more clearly, and by the light of instinct, or cold reason, discerned that the state of France had no precedent in its history, felt, nevertheless, the infection of his confidence. A universal shout of applause greeted his last sentence, and, amid tumultuous cries, the IN THE ASSEMBLY. 47 concourse, which had remained on its feet, poured into the ganojways, and made for the door ; a desire to see and hear what was going forward moving all to get out as quickly as possible, though it was not likely that more could be learned than was already known. I shared this feeling myself, and, forgetting in the excitement of the moment my part in the day's debate, I pressed to the door. The Bastille fallen '? The Governor killed ? Paris in the hands of the mob ? Such tidings were enough to set the brain in a whirl, and breed forgetfulness of nearer matters. Others, in the preoccupation of the moment, seemed to be equally oblivious, and I forced my way out with the rest. But in the doorway I happened, by a little chunsi- ness, to touch one of the Harincourts. He turned his head, saw who it was had touched him, and tried to stop. The pressure was too great, however, and he was borne on in front of me, struggling and muttering something I could not hear. I guessed what it was, however, by the maimer in which others, abreast of him, and as helpless, turned their heads and sneered at \nc ; and I was considering how I could best encounter what was to come, when the sight which met our gaze, as we at last issued from the narrow passage and faced tlie market-place — two steps below us — drove their exist- ence for a moment from my mind. 48 CHAPTEE IV. L'AMI DU PEUPLE. Theke were others who stood also ; impressed by a sight which, in the hght of the news we had just heard, that astonishing, that amazing news, seemed to have especial significance. We had not yet grown accustomed 'in France to crowds. For centuries the one man, the individual, King, Cardinal, Noble, or Bishop, had stood forward, and the many, the multitude, had melted away under his eye ; had bowed and passed. But here, within our view, rose the cold lowering dawn of a new day. Perhaps, if we had not heard what we had heard— that news, I mean— or if the people had not heard it, the effect on us, the action on their part, might have been different. As it was, the crowd that faced us in the Square as we came out, the great crowd that faced us and stretched from wall to wall, silent, vigilant, menacing, showed not a sign of flinching; and we did. We stood astonished, each halting as he came out, and looldng, and then con- sulting his neighbour's eyes to learn what he thought. We had over our heads the great Cathedral, from the shadow of which we issued. We had among us many who had been wont to see a hundred peasants tremble at their frown. But in a moment, in a twinkling, as if that news from Paris had shaken the foundations of Society, we found these things in question. The crowd in the Square did not tremble. In a silence that was L-AMI DU PEUPLE. 49 grimmer than howling it gave back look for look. Nor only that ; but as we issued, they made no way for us, and those of the Assembly who had already gone down, had to walk along the skirts of the press to get to the inn. We who came later saw this, and it had its weight with us. We were Nobles of the pro- vince ; but we were only two hundred, and between us and the Trois Eois, between us and our horses and servants, stretched this line of gloomy faces, these thousands of silent men. No wonder that the sight, and something that under- lay the sight, diverted my mind for a moment from M. Harincourt and his purpose, and that I looked abroad ; while he, too, stood gaping and frowning, and forgot me. Perforce we had to go down ; one by one re- luctantly, a meagre string winding across the face of the crowd ; sullen defiance on one side, scorn on the other. Til Cahors it came to be remembered as the first triumph (;f the people, the first step in the de- gradation of the privileged. A word had ])rought it al;out. A word, the Bastille fallen, had combined the floating groups, and formed of them this which we saw — the people. Under such circumstances it needed only the slightest spark to bring about an explosion ; and that was pre- sently supplied. M. de Gontaut, a tall, thin, old num, wlio could remember the early days of the late King, walked a little way in front of me. He was lame, and used a cane, and as a rule a servant's arm. Tliis morning, the lackey was not forthcoming, and lie felt the inconvenience of skirting instead of crossing the square. Nevertheless he was not foolish enough to thrust himself into the crowd ; iukI ;i11 iiii;4lil have gone well, if a rogue in the front rank of the throng liad not, perhaps by accident, tii[)p(;d up ihe cane with 4 so THE RED COCKADE. his foot. M. le Baron turned in a Hash, every hair of his eyebrows on end, and struck the fellow with his stick. " Stand back, rascal ! " he cried, trembling, and threatening to repeat the blow. "If I had you, I would soon " The man spat at him. M. de Gontaut uttered an oath, and in ungovernable rage struck the wretch two or three blows — how many I could not see, though I was only a few paces behind. Apparently the man did not strike back, but shrank, cowed by the old noble's fury. But those behind flung him forward, with cries of " Shame! A has la No- blesse ! " and he fell against M. de Gontaut. In a moment the Baron was on the ground. It was so quickly done that only those in the im- mediate neighbourhood, St. Alais, the Harincourts, and myself, saw the fall. Probably the mob meant no great harm ; they had not yet lost all reverence. But at the time, with the tale of De Launay in my ears, and my imagination inflamed, I thought that they in- tended M. de Gontaut's death, and as I saw his old head fall, I sprang forward to protect him. St. Alais was before me, however. Bounding for- ward, with rage not less than Gontaut's, he hurled the aggressor back with a blow which sent him into the arms of his supporters. Then dragging M. de Gontaut to his feet, the Marquis whipped out his sword, and darting the bright point hither and thither with the skill of a practised fencer, in a twinkling he cleared a space round him, and made the nearest give back with shrieks and curses. Unfortunately he touched one man ; the fellow was not hurt, but at the prick he sank down screaming, and in a second the mood of the crowd changed. Shrieks, L'AMI DU PEUPLE. 5 1 half-playful, gave way to a howl of rage. Some one flung a stick, which struck the Marquis on the chest, and for a moment stopped him. The next instant he sprang at the man who had thrown it, and would have run him through, but the fellow fled, and the crowd, with a yell of triumph, closed over his path. This stopped St. iVlais in mid course, and left him only the choice between retreating, or wounding people who were innocent. He fell back with a sneering word, and sheathed his sword. But the moment his back was turned a stone struck him on the head, and he staggered forward. As he fell the crowd uttered a yell, and half a dozen men dashed at him to trample on him. Their blood was up ; this time I made no mistake, I read mischief in their eyes. The scream of the man whom he had wounded, though the fellow was more frightened than hurt, was in their ears. One of the Harincourts struck down the foremost, but tiiis only enraged without checking them. In a moment he was swept aside and flung back, stunned ;ui(l reeling ; and the crowd rushed upon their victim. I threw myself before him. I had just time to do that, and cry " Shame ! shame ! " and force back one or two ; and then my intervention must have come to nothing, it nuist have fared as ill with me as with him, if in tJK; niek of time, with a ring of grimy faces threatening us, and a dozen hands upraised, I li.id not been recognised. Buton, the blacksmith of Saux — one of the foremost — screamed out my name, and turning with outstretch(jd arms, forced back his neighbours. \ man of huge strength, it was as nnich as he could do to stem the torrent ; but in a moment his frenzied cries became heard and understood. Others recog- nised me, the crowd fell back. Some one raised a cry 52 THE RED COCKADE. of " Vive Saiix ! Long live the friend of the people ! " and tlio shout being taken up first in one place and then in another, in a trice the Square rang with the words. I had not then learned the fickleness of the multi- tude, or tliat from A has to vive is the step of an in- stant ; and despite myself, and though I despised my- self for the feeling, I felt my heart swell on the wave of sound. " Vive Saiix ! Vive Vami dii peuple ! " My equals had scorned me, but the people — the people whose faces wore a new look to-day, the people to whom this one word, the Bastille fallen, had given new life — acclaimed me. For a moment, even while I cried to them, and shook my hands to them to be silent,, there flashed on me the things it meant ; the things they had to give, power and tribuneship ! " Vive Saux ! long live the friend of the people ! " The air shook with the sound ; the domes above me gave it back. I felt myself lifted up on it ; I felt my- self for the minute another and a greater man ! Theji I turned and met St. Alais' eye, and I fell to earth. He had risen, and, pale with rage, was wiping the dust from his coat with a handkerchief. A little blood was flowing from the wound in his head, but he paid no heed to it, in the intentness with which he was staring at me, as if he read my thoughts. As soon as something like silence was obtained, he spoke. " Perhaps if your friends have quite done with us, M. de Saux — we may go home?" he said, his voice trembling a little. I stammered something in answer to the sneer, and turned to accompany him ; though my way to the inn lay in the opposite direction. Only the two Harin- courts and M. de Gontaut were with us. The rest of the Assembly had either got clear, or were viewing the L'AMI DU PEUPLE. 53 fracas from the door of the Chapter House, where thej- stood, cut off from us by a wall of people. I offered my arm to M. de Gontaut, but he declined it with a frigid bow, and took Harincourt's ; and M. le Marquis, when I turned to him, said, with a cold smile, that they need not trouble me. " Doubtless we shall be safe," he sneered, " if j-ou will give orders to that effect." I bowed, without retorting on him ; he bowed ; and he turned away. But the crowd had either read his attitude aright, or gathered that there was an alterca- tion between us, for the moment he moved they set up a howl. Two or three stones were thrown, notwith- standing Buton's efforts to prevent it ; and before the party had retired ten yards the rabble began to press on them savagely. Embarrassed by M. de Gontaut's presence and helplessness, the othei- three could do nothing. For an instant I had a view of St. Alais standing gallantly at bay with the old noble behind him, and the blood trickling down his cheek. Then I followed them, the crowd made instant way for me, again the air rang with cheers, and the Square in the hot July sunshine seemed a sea of waving hands. M. de St. Alais turned to me. He could still smile, and with marvellous self-command, in one and the same instant he recovered from his discomfiture and changed his tactics. " I am afraid that after all we must trouble you," he said politely. " M. U) Baron is not a young man, and your people, M. de Sau.\, are somewhat obstreperous." "What can I do?" I said sullenly. I had not the heart to leave them to their fortunes ; at the same time I was as little disposed to accept the onus he would ];i,y on me. 54 THE RED COCKADE. " AcconipanjMis home," he said pleasantly, drawing out his snuff-box and takinf^ a pinch. The people had fallen silent again, but watched us heedful!}'. " If you think it will serve?" I answered. "It will," he said briskly. "You know, M. le Vi- comte, that a man is born and a man dies every minute ? Beheve me no King dies — but another King is born." I winced under the sarcasm, under the laughing con- tempt of his eye. Yet I saw nothing for it but to com- ply, and I bowed and turned to go with them. The crowd opened before us ; amid mingled cheers and yells we moved away. I intended only to accompany them to the outskirts of the throng, and then to gain the inn by a by-path, get my horses and be gone. But a party of the crowd continued to follow us through the streets, and I found no opportunity. Almost before I knew it, we were at the St. Alais' door, still with this rough attendance at our heels. Madame and Mademoiselle, with two or three women, were on the balcony, looking and listening ; at the door below stood a group of scared servants. While I looked, however, Madame left her place above and in a moment appeared at the door, the servants making way for her. She stared in wonder at us, and from us to the rabble that followed ; then her eye caught the bloodstains on M. de St. Alais' cravat, and she cried out to know if he was hurt. " No, Madame," he said lightly. " But M. de Gon- taut has had a fall." "What has happened?" she asked quickly. "The town seems to have gone mad ! I heard a great noise a while ago, and the servants brought in a wild tale about the Bastille." " It is true." L'AMI DU PEUPLE. 55 "What? That the Bastille " " Has been taken by the mob, Madame ; and j\I. de Launay mm'dered." " Impossible ! " Madame cried with flashing eyes. " That old man?" "Yes," M. de St. Alais answered with treacherous suavity. " Messieurs the Mob are no respecters of persons. Fortunately, however," he went on, smiling at me in a way that brought the blood to my cheeks, " they have leaders more prudent and sagacious than themselves." But Madame had no ears for liis last words, no thought save of this astonishing news from Paris. She stood, her cheeks on fire, her eyes full of tears ; she had known De Launay. " Oh, but the King will punish them!" she cried at last. "The wretches! The ingrates I They should all be broken on the wheel ! Doubtless the King has already punished them." " He will, by-and-by, if he has not yet," St. Alais answered. " But for the moment, you will easily un- derstand, Madame, that things are out of joint. Men's heads are turned, and they do not Iviiow themselves. We have had a little trouble here. M. de Gontaut has been roughly handled, and I have not entirely escaped. If M. de Saux had not had his people well in hand," hr continued, turning to me with a laughing eye, " 1 am afraid that we should have come off worse." Madame stared at me, and, beginning slo\\l\ In com- prehend, seemed to freeze before me. The light dicil out of her haughty face. She looked at mv. grimly. I had a glimpse of Madciinoiselle's startled eyes behind her, and of the peeping servants ; then Madame spoke. " Are these some of — M. de Saux's people? " slu; asked, stepping forward a pace, and pointing to the crew of 56 THE RED COCKADE. ruffians who had halted a few paces away, and were watching us doubtfully. " A handful," M. de 8t. Alais answered lightly. " Just his bodyguard, Madame. But pray do not speak of him so harshly ; for, being my mother, you must be obliged to him. If he did not quite save my life, at least he saved my beauty." " With those?" she said scornfully. " With those or from those," he answered gaily. " Besides, for a day or two we may need his protection. I am sure that, if you ask him, Madame, he will not refuse it." I stood, raging and lielpless, under the lash of his tongue ; and Madame de St. Alais looked at me. " Is it possible," she said at last, " that M. de Saux has thrown in his lot with wretches such as those ? " And she pointed with magnificent scorn to the scowling crew behind me. " With wretches who " " Hush, Madame," M. le Marquis said in his gibing fashion. " You are too bold. For the moment they are our masters, and M. de Saux is theirs. We must, therefore " " We must not ! " she answered impetuously, raising herself to her full height and speaking with flashing eyes. " What ? Would you have me palter with the scum of the streets ? With the dirt under our feet ? With the sweepings of the gutter ? Never ! I and mine have no part with traitors ! " " Madame ! " I cried, stung to speech by her in- justice. " You do not know what you say ! If I have been able to stand between your son and danger, it has been through no vileness such as you impute to ipe." " Impute ? " she exclaimed. " What need of im- putation, Monsieur, with those wretches behind you ? L'AMI DU PEUPLE. 57 Is it necessary to cry * A has le roi ! ' to be a traitor ? Is not that man as guilty who fosters false hopes, and misleads the ignorant ? Who hints what he dare not say, and holds out what he dares not promise ? Is he not the worst of traitors ? For shame, Monsieur, for shame ! " she continued. " If your father " " Oh ! " I cried. " This is intolerable ! " She caught me up with a bitter gibe. " It is ! " she retorted. "It is intolerable — that the King's fortresses should be taken by the rabble, and old men slain b}^ scullions ! It is intolerable that nobles should forget whence they are sprung, and stoop to the kennel ! It is intolerable that the King's name should be flouted, and catchwords set above it ! All these things are in- tolerable ; but they are not of our doing. Thej'^ are your acts. And for you," she continued — and suddenly stepping by me, she addressed the group of rascals who lingered, listening and scowling, a few paces away — " for you, poor fools, do not be deceived. This gentle- man has told you, doubtless, that there is no longer a King of France ! That there are to be no more taxes nor corvees ; that the poor will be rich, and everybod)^ noble ! Well, believe him if you please. There have been poor and rich, noble and simple, spenders and makers, since the world began, and a King in France. But believe him if yon please. Only now go ! Leave my house. Go, or I will call out my servants, and whip you through the streets like dogs ! To your kennels, I say ! " She stamped her foot, and to my astonisliment, the men, who must have known that her threat was an empty one, sneaked away like the dogs to wliicli slie had compared them. In a moment — I could scarccOy believe it — the street was empty. The in(;n who had come near to killing M. de Gontaut, who had stoned 58 THE RED COCKADE. M. de St. Alais, quailed before a woman ! In a twink- ling; the last man was gone, and she turned to me, her face flashed, her eyes gleaminf^ with scorn. " There, sir," she said, " take that lesson to heart. That is your brave people ! And now, Monsieur, do you go too ! Henceforth my house is no place for you. I will have no traitors under my roof — no, not for a moment." She signed to me to go with the same insolent con- tempt which had abashed the crowd ; but before I went I said one word. " You were my father's friend, Madame," I said before them all. She looked at me harshly, but did not answer. " It would have better become you, therefore," I con- tinued, " to help me than to hurt me. As it is, were I the most loyal of his Majesty's subjects, you have done enough to drive me to treason. In the future, Madame la Marquise, I beg that you will remember that." And I turned and went, trembling with rage. The crowd in the Square had melted by this time, but the streets were full of those who had composed it ; who now stood about in eager groups, discussing what had happened. The word Bastille was on every tongue ; and, as I passed, way was made for me, and caps were lifted. " God bless you, M. de Saux," and, " You are a good man," were muttered in my ear. If there seemed to be less noise and less excitement than in the morning, the air of purpose that everywhere prevailed was not to be mistaken. This was so clear that, though noon was barely past, shopkeepers had closed their shops and bakers their bakeliouses ; and a calm, more ominous than the storm that had preceded it, brooded over the town. The majority of the Assembly had dispersed in haste, for I saw none of the Members, though I heard that a large L'AMI DU PEUPLE. 59 body bad gone to the barracks. No one molested me — tbe fall of the Bastille served me so far — and I mounted, and rode out of town, without seeing any one, even Louis. To tell the truth, I was in a fever to be at home ; in a fever to consult the only man who, it seemed to me, could advise me in this crisis. In front of me, I saw it plainly, stretched two roads ; the one easy and smooth, if perilous, the other arid and toilsome. Madame had called me the Tribune of the People, a would-be Retz, a would-be Mirabeau. The people had cried my name, had hailed me as a saviour. Should I fit on the cap '? Should I take u]) the role ? My own caste had spurned me. Should I snatch at the dangerous honour offered to me, and stand or fall with the people '? With the people? It sounded well, but, in those days, it v/as a vaguer phrase than it is now ; and I asked myself who, that had ever taken up that cause, had stood? A bread riot, a tumult, a local revolt — such as tliis which had cost M. de Launay his life — of things of that size the people had shown themselves capable ; but of no lasting victory. Always the King had held his own, always the nobles had kept their privileges. Why should it be otherwise now ? There were reasons. Yes, truly ; but they seemed less cogent, the weight of precedent against them heavier, when I came to think, with a trembling heart, of acting on them. And the odium of deserting my order was no small matter to face. Jlitluuto I had been innocent ; if they 1i;hI |)ut out the lij) ;it nic, they had done it wrongfully. J>ut if I acceptcMl this ])art, the part they assigned to me, I must be prepared to face not only the worst in case of fiiilurc, but in success to be a pariah. 'J'o be Tribinic of the I'cdj)^', and an outcast from my kind 1 6o THE RED COCKADE. I rode hard to keep pace with these thoughts ; and I did not doubt that I should be the first to bring the tale to Saux. But in tliose days nothing was more marvellous than the speed with which news of tliis kind crossed the country. It passed from mouth to mouth, from eye to eye ; the air seemed to carry it. It went before the quickest traveller. Everywhere, therefore, I found it known. Known by people who had stood for days at cross-roads, waiting for they knew not what ; known by scowling men on village bridges, who talked in low voices and eyed the towers of the Chateau ; known by stewards and agents, men of the stamp of Gargouf, who smiled incredulously, or talked, like Madame St. Alais, of the King, and how good he was, and how many he would hang for it. Known, last of all, by Father Benoit, the man I would consult. He met me at the gate of the Chateau, opposite the place where the carcan had stood. It was too dark to see his face, but I knew the fall of his soutane and the shape of his hat, I sent on Gil and Andre, and he walked beside me up the avenue, with his hand on the withers of my horse. " Well, M. le Vicomte, it has come at last," he said. " You have heard ? " " Buton told me." "What? Is he here?" I said in surprise. " I saw him at Cahors less than three hours ago." " Such news gives a man wings," Father Benoit answered with energy. " I say again, it has come. It has come, M. le Vicomte." " Something," I said prudently. " Everything," he answered confidently. " The mob took the Bastille, but who headed them ? The soldiers ; the Garde Fran9aise. Well, M. le Vicomte, if the army cannot be trusted, there is an end of abuses, an end of L'AMI DU PEUPLE. 6 1 exemptions, of extortions, of bread famines, of Foulons and Berthiers, of grindinf^ the faces of the poor, of " The Cure's list was not half exhausted when I cut it short. "But if the army is with the mob, where will things stop ? " I said wearily. " We must see to that," he answered. " Come and sup with me," I said, " I have something to tell you, and more to ask you." He assented gladly. " For there will be no sleep for me to-night," he said, his eye sparkling. " This is great news, glorious news, M. le Vicomte. Your father would have heard it with joy." "And M. de Launay?" I said as I dismounted, "There can be no change without suffering," he answered stoutly, though his face fell a little. " His fathers sinned, and he has paid the penalty. But God rest his soul ! I have heard that he was a good man." " And died in his duty," I said rather tartly. "Amen," Father Benoit answered. Yet it was not until we were sat down in the Chestnut Parlour Twhich the servants called the l^jiiglish Boom), and, with candles between us, were busy with our cheese and fruit, that I appreciated to th(i full the impression which the news had made on llie Cure. Then, as he talked, as he told and listened, his long limbs and Ic^an form trembled with excitement ; liis tliiii face worked. "It is the end," ho said. "You may d(!p(MHl upon it, M. le Vicomt(!, it is tlu; end. Your fathci- told nu; many times tliat in money lay the secret of power. Money, he used to say, pays the ai-my, the army secures all. A while ago the money failed. Now tii(! army fails. There is nothing kift." " The King? " I said, unconsciously quoting Madame la Marquise. *' God bless his Majesty ! " l\n- C'ini' :iiisw(>rcd heartily. 62 THE RED COCKADE. "He means well, and now he will be able to do well, because the nation will be with liim. Vy\xi without the nation, without money or an army — a name only. And the name did not save the Bastille." Then, beginning with the scene at Madame de St. Alais' reception, I told him all tliat had happened to me ; the oath of the sword, the debate in the Assembly, the tumult in the Square — :last of all, the harsh words with which Madame had given me my conge ; all. As he listened he was extraordinarily moved. When I described the scene in the Chamber, he could not be still, but in his enthusiasm, walked about the parlour, muttering. And, when I told him how the crowd had cried " Vive Saux .' " he repeated the words softly and looked at me with deliglited eyes. But when I came — halting somewhat in my speech, and colouring and playing with my bread to hide my disorder — to tell him my thoughts on the way home, and the choice that, as it seemed to me, was offered to me, he sat down, and fell also to crumblim: his bread and was silent. 63 CHAPTEE V. THE DEPUTATION. He sat silent so long, with his eyes on the table, that presently I grew nettled ; wondering what ailed him, and why he did not speak and say the things that I expected. I had been so confident of the advice he would give me, that, from the first, I had tinged my story with the appropriate colour. I had let my bitter- ness be seen ; I had suppressed no scornful word, but supplied him with all the ground he could desire for giving me the advice 1 supposed to be upon his lips. And yet he did not speak. A hundred times I had heard him declare his sympathy with the people, his hatred of the corruption, the selfishness, the abuses of the Government ; within the hour I had seen his eye kindle as he spoke of the fall of the Bastille. It was at his word I had burned the carcan ; at his instance I li;ul spent a large sum in feeding the village during the famine of the past year. Yet now — now, when I ex]K!cted him to rise up and bid me do my part, he was silent ! 1 had to speak at last. "Well?" I said irritably. " Have you nothing to say, M. le Cure?" And I moved one of the candles so as to get a better view of his features. ]iiit he still looked down at the table, he still avoided my eye, his thin face thoughtful, his liiuid toying with the crumbs. At last, " M. le Vicomte," lie said softly, " thiough my motlK^r's niothei- I, too, am noble ". 64 THE RED COCKADE. I gasped ; not at the fact with which I was famihar, but at the apphcatiou I thought he intended. "And for that," I said amazed, "you would " He raised his hand to stop nie. "No," he said gently, "I would not. Because, for all that, I am of the people by birth, and of the poor by my calling. But " " But what ? " I said peevishly. Instead of answering me he rose from his seat, and, taking up one of the candles, turned to the panelled wall behind him, on which hung a full-length portrait of my father, framed in a curious border of carved foliage. He read the name below it. "Antoine du Pont, Yicomte de Saux," he said, as if to himself. " He was a good man, and a friend to the poor. God keep him." He lingered a moment, gazing ai the grave, hand- some face, and doubtless recalling many things ; then he passed, holding the candle aloft, to another pic- ture which flanked the table : each wall boasted one. " Adrien du Pont, Yicomte de Saux," he read, " Colonel of the Regiment Flamande. He was killed, I think, at Minden. Knight of St. Louis and of the King's Bed- chamber. A handsome man, and doubtless a gallant gentleman. I never knew him." I answered nothing, but my face began to burn as he passed to a third picture behmd me. "Antoine du Pont, Vicomte de Saux," he read, holding up the candle, "Marshal and Peer of France, Knight of the King's Orders, a Colonel of the Household and of the King's Council. Died of the plague at Genoa in 1710. I think I have heard that he married a Eohan." He looked long, then passed to the fourth wall, and stood a moment quite silent. "And this one?" he said at last. " He, I think, has the noblest face of all. Antoine, Seigneur du Pont de Saux, of the Order of St. John of Jerusalem, Preceptor of the French tongue. THE DEPUTATION. 6$ Died at Valetta in the year after the Great Siege — of his wounds, some say ; of incredible labours and exer- tions, say the Order. A Christian soldier." It was the last picture, and, after gazing at it a moment, he brought the candle back and set it down with its two fellows on the shining table ; that, with the panelled walls, swallowed up the light, and left only our faces white and bright, with a halo round them, and darkness behind them. He bowed to me. " M. le Vicomte," he said at last, in a voice which shook a little, " you come of a noble stock." I shrugged my shoulders. " It is known," I said. " And for that ? '' " I dare not advise you." " But the cause is good ! " I cried. "Yes," he answered slowly. "I have been saying so all ray life. I dare not say otherwise now. But — the cause of the people is the people's. Leave it to the people." " You say that ! " I answered, staring at him, angry and perplexed. " You, who have told me a hundred times that I am of the people ! that the nobility are of the people ; that there are only two things in France, the King and the people." He smiled somewhat sadly ; tapping on the table with his fingers. " That was theory," he said. " I try to put it into practice, and my heart fails me. Because I, too, have a little nobility, M. le Vicomte, and know what it is." " I don't understand you," I said in despair. " You blow hot and cold, M. le Cure. I told you just now that I spoke for the people at the meeting of the noblesse, and you approved." " It was nobly done." "Yet now?" " I say the same thing," Father Benoit answered, his 5 66 THE RED COCKADE. fine face illumined with feelin<^. " It was nobly done. Fight for the people, M. le Vicomte, hut among your fellows. Let your voice be heard there, where all you will gain for yourself will be obloquy and black looks. But if it comes, if it lias come, to a struggle l)etween your class and the commons, between the nobility and the vulgar ; if the noble must side with his fellows or take the people's pay, then "—Father Benoit's voice trembled a little, and his thin white hand tapped softly on the table — " I would rather see you ranked with your kind." " Against the people ? " " Yes, against the people," he answered, shrinking a little. I was astonished. " Why, great heaven," I said, " the smallest logic " " Ah ! " he answered, shaking his head sadly, and looking at me with kind eyes. " There you beat me ; logic is against me. Eeason, too. The cause of the people, the cause of reform, of honesty, of cheap grain, of equal justice, must be a good one. And who for- wards it must be in the riglit. That is so, M. le Vi- comte. Nay, more than that. If the people are left to fight their battle alone the danger of excesses is greater. I see that. But instinct does not let me act on the knowledge." "Yet, M. de Mirabeau?" I said. "I have heard you call him a great man." "It is true," Father Benoit answered, keeping his eyes on mine, while he drummed softly on the table with his fingers. " I have heard you speak of him with admiration." " Often." " And of M. de Lafayette ? " "Yes." THE DEPUTATION. 67 " And the Lameths ? " M. le Cure nodded. "Yet all these," I said stubbornly, "all those arc nobles — nobles leading the people ! " " Yes," he said. " And you do not blame them ? " "No, I do not blame them." " Nay, you admire them ! You admire them, Father," I persisted, glowering at him. " I know I do," he said. " I know that I am weak and a fool. Perhaps worse, M. le Vicomte, in that I have not the courage of my convictions. But, though I admire those men, though I think them great and to be admired, I have heard men speak of them who thought otherwise ; and — it may be weak — but I knew you as a boy, and I would not have men speak so of you. There are things we admire at a distance," he continued, looking at me a little drolly, to hide the affection that shone in his eyes, " which we, neverthe- less, do not desire to find in those we love. Odium heaped on a stranger is nothing to us ; on our friends, it were worse than death." He stopped, his voice trembling; and we were both silent for a while. Still, I would not let him soe how much his words had touclied me ; and by-and-by " ]^ut my father?" I said. "Tie was strongly on the side of reform ! " " Yes, by the nobles, for the people." "But the nobles have cast me out!" 1 answered. "Because I have gone a yard, I have lost all. Shall I not go two, and win all back?" " Win all," he said softly—" but lose how nnich?" "Yet if the people win? And you say they will?" " Kven then, Tribune of the Pcm|»1<>," ji.' imswcrcd gently, " ;i,iid an fxitcast ! " 68 THE RED COCKADE. They were the very words I had applied to myself as I rode ; and I started. With sudden vividness 1 saw the picture they presented ; and I understood why Father Benoit had hesitated so long in my case. With the purest intentions and the most upright heart, I could not make myself other than what I was ; I should rise, were my efforts crowned with success, to a point of splendid isolation ; suspected by the people, whose benefactor I had been, hated and cursed by the nobles whom I had deserted. Such a prospect would have been far from deterring some ; and others it might have lured. But T found myself, in this moment of clear vision, no hero. Old prejudices stirred in the blood, old traditions, born of centuries of precedence and privilege, awoke in the memory. A shiver of doubt and mistrust — such as, I suppose, has tormented reformers from the first, and caused all but the hardiest to flinch — passed through me, as I gazed across the candles at the Cure. I feared the people — the unknown. The howl of exultation, that had rent the air in the Market-place at Cahors, the brutal cries that had hailed Gontaut's fall, rang again in my ears. I shrank back, as a man shrinks who finds himself on the brink of an abyss, and through the wavering mist, parted for a brief instant by the wind, sees the cruel rocks and jagged points that wait for him below. It was a moment of extraordinary prevision, and though it passed, and speedily left me conscious once more of the silent room and the good Cure — who affected to be snufting one of the long candles — the effect it produced on my mind continued. After Father Benoit had taken his leave, and the house was closed, I walked for an hour up and down the walnut avenue ; now standing to gaze between the open iron gates that THE DEPUTATION. 69 gave upon the road ; now turning my back on them, and staring at the grey, gaunt, steep-roofed house with its flanking tower and round tourelles. Henceforth, I made up my mind, I would stand aside. I would welcome reform, I would do in private what I could to forward it ; but I would not a second time set myself against my fellows. I had had the courage of my opinions. Henceforth, no man could say that I had hidden them, but after this I would stand aside and watch the course of events. A cock crowed at the rear of the house — untimely ; and across the hushed fields, through the dusk, came the barking of a distant dog. As I stood listening, while the solemn stars gazed down, the slight which St. Alais had put upon me dwindled — dwindled to its true dimensions. I thought of Mademoiselle Denise, of the bride I had lost, with a faint regret that was al- most amusement, ^^'llat would she think of this sudden rupture ? I wondered. Of this strange loss of her fiance ! Would it awaken her curiosity, her interest? Or would she, fresh from her convent school, think that things ill the world went commonly so— that fiances came and passed, and receptions found their natural end in riot ? I laughed softly, pleased that I had made up my mind. But, had I known, as I listened to the rustling of the poplars in the road, and the sounds that came (Hit of tlie darkened world beyond them, what was passing there — had I known tiiat, 1 should have felt «;ven greater satisfaction. Vov tliis was Wednesday, the '22nd of .Inly; aiul that niglit Taris still pal|»itatcd after viewing strange things. l"'or tin' first lime she iiad heard tlif liorrid ciy. " .t In /nii/rr/ir .' " and seen a man, old and white-headed, hangt-d, and tortured, until death freed him. Siie had seen another, the very 70 THE RED COCKADE. Iiitendant of the City, flung down, trampled and torn to pieces in his own streets— pul)HcIy, in full day, in the presence of thousands. She had seen these things, trembling ; and other things also — things that had made the checks of reformers grow pale, and betrayed to all thinking men that below Lafaj^ette, below Bailly, below the Municipality and the Electoral Committee, roared and seethed the awakened forces of the Fau- bourgs, of St. Antoine, and St. Marceau ! What could be expected, what was to be expected, but that such outrages, remaining unpunished, should spread ? Within a week the provinces followed the lead of Paris. Already, on the 21st the mob of Strasbourg had sacked the Hotel de Ville and destroyed the Archives ; and during the same week, the Bastilles at Bordeaux and Caen were taken and destroyed. At Eouen, at Eennes, at Lyons, at St. Malo, were great riots, with fighting ; and nearer Paris, at Poissy, and St. Germain, the populace hung the millers. But, as far as Cahors was concerned, it was not until the astonishing tidings of the King's surrender reached us, a few days later — tidings that on the 17th of July he had entered insurgent Paris, and tamely acquiesced in the destruction of the Bastille — it was not until that news reached us, and hard on its heels a rumour of the second rising on the 22nd, and the slaughter of Foulon and Berthier — it was not until then, I say, that the country round us began to be moved. Father Benoit, with a face of astonishment and doubt, brought me the tidings, and we walked on the terrace discussing it. Probably reports, containing more or less of the truth, had reached the city before, and, giving men something else to think of, had saved me from challenge or moles- tation. But, in the country where I had spent the week in moody unrest, and not unfrequently reversing THE DEPUTATION. 71 in the mornino- the decision at which I had arrived in the night, I had heard nothing until the Cure came — I think on the morning of the 29th of July. " And what do you think now? " I said thoughtfully, when I had listened to his tale. " Only what I did before," he answered stoutly. " It has come. ^A'ithout money, and therefore without soldiers who will fight, with a stai'ving people, with men's minds full of theories and abstractions, that all tend towards change, what can a Government do?" " Apparently it can cease to govern," I said tartly; " and that is not what any one wants." " There must be a period of unrest," he replied, but less confidently. " The forces of order, however, the forces of the law have always triumphed. I don't doubt that they will again." " After a period of unrest ? " "Yes," he answered. "After a period of unrest. And, I confess, I wish that we were through that. But we must he of good heart, M. le Vicomte. We nmst trust the people ; we must confide in their good sense, their capacity for government, their modera- tion I had to interrupt bin). " What is it, Gil?" I said with a gesture of apology. The servant had come out of the house and was waiting to speak to me. " M. Doury, M. le Vicomte, from Cahors," he answered. "The inn-keeper?" " Yes, Monsicm- ; iiiid P>uti'n. Hiey ask to sec you." "Together?" 1 said, it seemed a strange conjunction. "Yes. Monsieur." " Well, show them here," I aiisvvci-cil, ;ifu;i- consult iiig my companion's face. "Jiut Doury ? I paid my hill. \\'hat can he want? " 72 THE RED COCKADE. " We shall bee," Father Benoit answered, his eyes on the door. "Here they come. Ah! Now, M. le Vicomte," he continued in a lower tone, " I feel less confident."" I suppose he guessed something akin to the truth ; but for my part I was completely at a loss. The inn- keeper, a sleek, complaisant man, of whom, though I had known him some years, I had never seen much be- yond the crown of his head, nor ever thought of him as apart from his guests and his ordinary, wore, as he advanced, a strange motley of dignity and subservience ; now strutting with pursed lips, and an air of extreme importance, and now stooping to bow in a shame-faced and half-hearted manner. His costume was as great a surprise as his appearance, for, instead of his citizen's suit of black, he sported a blue coat with gold buttons, and a canary waistcoat, and he carried a gold-headed cane ; sober splendours, which, nevertheless, paled be- fore two large bunches of ribbons, white, red, and blue, which he wore, one on his breast, and one in his hat. His companion, who followed a foot or two behind, his giant frame and sun-burned face setting off" the citizen's plumpness, was similarly bedizened. But though be-ribboned and in strange company, he was still Buton, the smith. His face reddened as he met my eyes, and he shielded himself as well as he could behind Doury's form. " Good-morning, Doury," I said. I could have laughed at the awkward complaisance of the man's manner, if something in the gravity of the Cure's face had not restrained me. " What brings you to Saux ? " I continued. "And what can I do for you? " " If it please you, M. le Vicomte," he began. Then he paused, and straightening himself— for habit had bent his back — he continued abruptly, " Public busi- THE DEPUTATION. 73 uess, Monsieur. And to have the honour of conferring \s'ith you on it." "With me?" I said, amazed. "On pubhc busi- ness ?" He smiled in a sickly way, but stuck to his text. " Even so, Monsieur," he said. " There are such great changes, and — and so great need of advice." '• That I ought not to wonder at M. Doury seeking it at Saux ? " "Even so, Monsieur." I did not try to hide my contempt and amusement ; but shrugged my shoulders, and looked at the Cure. " Well," I said, after a moment of silence, " and what is it ? Have you been selling bad wine ? Or do you want the number of courses limited by Act of the States General? Or " " Monsieui'," he said, drawing himself up with an attempt at dignity, "this is no time for jesting. In the present crisis inn-keepers have as much at stake as, with reverence, the noblesse ; and deserted by those who should lead them " "What, the inn-keepers?" I cried. He grew as red as a beetroot. " INI. Ic Aicomtc understands that I mean the people," he said stiffly. " Who deserted, I say, by their natural leaders " " For instance?" " M. le Due d'Artois, M. le I'rince do Conde, M. le Due de Polignac, M. " " Bah ! " I said. " How have they deserted ? " " Pardicu, Monsieui I I lave you not heard? " " Have I not heard wliat?" " That they liave left Fi'ance? Tlint (Hi th.' ni-lil of tlio 17tb, three days after the eaptiiie ul (lie llastille, the princes of the blo(Kl left France by stealth, and " 74 THE RED COCKADE. " Impossible ! " I said. " Impossible ! Why should the}' leave? " " That is the very question, M. le Vicomte," he answered, with eager forwardness, " that is being asked. Some say that they thought to punish Paris by withdrawing from it. Some that they did it to show their disapproval of his most gracious Majesty's amnesty, which was announced on that day. Some that they stand in fear. Some even that they antici- pated Foulon's fate " "Fool!" I cried, stopping him sternly — fori found this too much for my stomach — " you rave ! Go back to your menus and your bouillis ! What do you know about State affairs ? Why, in my grandfather's time," I continued wrath fully, " if you had spoken of princes of the blood after that fashion, you would have tasted bread and water for six months, and been lucky had you got off unwhipped ! " He quailed before me, and forgetting his new part in old habits, muttered an apology. He had not meant to give offence, he said. He had not understood. Never- theless, I was preparing to read him a lesson when, to my astonishment, Buton intervened. "But, Monsieur, that is thirty years back," he said doggedly. "Wliat, villain?" I exclaimed, almost breathless with astonishment, " what do you in this galere ? " " I am with him," he answered, indicating his com- panion by a sullen gesture. "On State business ? " " Yes, Monsieur." " Why, mon Dieu," I cried, staring at them between amusement and incredulity, "if this is true, why did you not bring the watch-dog as well ! And Farmer Jean's ram? And the good-wife's cat? And M. Doury's turnspit ? And " THE DEPUTATION. 75 M. le Cure touched my arm. " Perhaps you had better hear what they have to say," he observed softly. " Afterwards, M. le Yicomte " I nodded sulkily. " What is it, then ? " I said. " Ask what you want to ask." " The Intendant has fled," Doury answered, recover- ing something of his lost dignity, "and we are forming, in pursuance of advice received from Paris, and follow- ing the glorious example of that city, a Committee ; a Committee to administer the affairs of the district. From that Committee, I, Monsieur, with my good friend here, have the honour to be a deputation." " With him?" I said, unable to control myself longer. '■ But, in heaven's name, what has he to do with the Com- mittee ? Or the affairs of the district ? " And I pointed with relentless finger at Buton, who reddened under his tan, and moved his huge feet un- easily, but did not speak. "He is a member of it," the inn-keeper answered, regarding his colleague with a side glance, which seemed to express anything but liking. " This Committee, to be as perfect as possible, Monsieur le Vicomte will understand, nmst represent all classes." " Even mine, I suppose," I said, with a sneer. "It is on that business we have come," he answered awkwardly. "To ask, in a word, M. lo Vicomte, that yon will allow yourself to be elected a inonibo-, and not only a member " " What elevation ! " " But President of the Committee." After all —it was 110 nnire than I hail been lorcwjeing ! It had (•(line suddenly, but in the main it was only that in 8ob(;r fact which 1 had fortiseen in a dream. Styled the mandate of the jxioph;, it had sounded well ; by the nioulh of ])oury, the inn-keeper, P)Ut()ii assessor, it 76 THE RED COCKADE. jarred every nerve in nie. I say, it should not have surprised nie ; while such things were happening in the world, with a King who stood by and saw his fortress taken, and his servants killed, and pardoned the rebels ; with an Intendant of Paris slaughtered in his own streets ; with rumours and riots in every province, and flying princes, and swinging millers, there was really nothing wonderful in the invitation. And now, looking back, I find nothing surprising in it. I have lived to see men of the same trade as Doury, stand by the throne, glittering in stars and orders ; and a smith born in the forge sit down to dine with Emperors. But that July day on the terrace at Saux, the offer seemed of all farces the wildest, and of all impertinences the most absurd. " Thanks, Monsieur," I said, at last, when I had sufficiently recovered from my astonishment. " If I understand you rightly, you ask me to sit on the same Committee with that man ? " And I pointed grimly to Buton. " With the peasant born on my land, and sub- ject yesterday to my justice '? With the serf whom my fathers freed ? AVith the workman living on my wages ? " Doury glanced at his colleague. "Well, M. le Vicomte,"" he said, with a cough, " to be perfect, you understand, a Committee must represent all." " A Committee ! " I retorted, unable to repress my scorn. " It is a new thing in France. And what is the perfect Committee to do?" IJoury on a sudden recovered himself, and swelled with importance. " The Intendant has fled," he said, " and people no longer trust the magistrates. There are rumours of brigands, too ; and corn is required. With all this the Committee must deal. It must take measures to keep the peace, to supply the city, to satisfy the soldiers, to hold meetings, and consider future THE DEPUTATION. 77 steps. Besides, M. le Vicomte," he continued, puffing out his cheeks, "it will correspond with Paris; it will administer the law ; it will " "In a word," I said quietly, "it will govern. Thc King, I suppose, having abdicated." Doury shrank bodily, and even lost some of his colour. "God forbid!" he said, in a whining tone. "It will do all in his Majesty's name." " And by his authority '? " The inn-keeper stared at me, startled and nonplussed ; and muttered something about the people. " Ah ! " I said. " It is the people who invite me to govern, then, is it ? With an inn-keeper and a peasant ? And other inn-keepers and peasants, I suppose ? To govern ! To usurp his Majesty's functions ? To super- sede his magistrates ; to bribe his forces? In a word, friend Doury," I continued suavely, "to commit treason. Treason, you understand?" The inn-keeper did ; and he wiped his forehead with a shaking hand, and stood, scared and speechless, look- ing at me piteously. A second time the blacksmith took it on himself to answer. " Monseigneur," he muttered, drawing his great black hand across his beard. " Butoii," I answered suavely, "permit me. For a man who aspires to govern the country, you are too respectful." "You have omitted one thing it is for the Com- mittee to do," the smith answered hoarsely, looking — like a timid, yet sullen, dog — anywhere but in my face. "And that is?" " To protect the Seigneurs." I stared at him, between aiigfr and surprise. This was a new light. After a pause, " P'roni whom'/"' I said curtly. 78 THE RED COCKADE. " Their people," he answered. "Their Batons," I said. "T see. We are to be burned in our Invls, are we?" lie stood sulkily silent. " Thank you, Buton," 1 said. " And that is your return for a winter's corn. Thanks ! In this world it is profitable to do good ! " The man reddened through his tan, and on a sudden looked at me for the first time. " You know that you lie, M. le Vicomte ! " he said. "Lie, sirrah?" I cried. "Yes, Monsieur," he answered. "You know that I would die for the seigneur, as much as if the iron collar were round my neck ! That before fire touched the house of Saux it should bum me ! That I am my lord's man, alive and dead. But, Monseigneur," and, as he continued, he lowered his tone to one of earnestness, striking in a man so rough, " there are abuses, and there must be an end of them. There are tyrants, and they must go. There are men and women and children starving, and there must be an end of that. There is grinding of the faces of the poor, Monseigneur — not here, but everywhere round us — and there must be an end of that. And the poor pay taxes and the rich go free ; the poor make the roads, and the rich use them ; the poor have no salt, while the King eats gold. To all these things there is now to be an end — quietly, if the seigneurs will — but an end. An end, Monseigneur, though we burn chateaux," he added grimly. 79 CHAPTEK VI. A MEETING IN THE ROAD. The unlooked-for eloquence whicli rang in the black- smith's words, and the assurance of his tone, no less than this startling disclosure of tlioughts with which I had never dreamed of crediting him, or any peasant, took me so aback for a moment that I stood silent. Doury seized the occasion, and struck in. " You see now, M. le Vicomte," he said complacently, " the necessity for such a Committee. The King's peace must be maintained." " I see," I answered harshly, " that there are violent men abroad, who were better in the stocks. Committee? Let the King's officers keep the King's peace ! The proper machinery " " It is shattered ! " The words were Doury's. The next moment he quailed at his presumption. " Then let it be repaired ! " I thundered. " Man Dlcu! that a set of tavern cooks and base-born rascals should go about the C(nnitry prating of it, and prating to me ! Go, I will have nothing to do with you or your Connnittee. Go, I say! " Nevertheless — a little patience, M. le Vicomte," he persisted, chagrin on liis pale face — "nevertheless, if any of the nobility would give us countenance, you most of all " So THE RED COCKADE. " There would then be some one to hang instead of Doury ! " I answered bhnitly. " Some one behind whom he could shield himself, and lesser villains hide. But I will not be the stalking-horse." " And yet, in other provinces," he answered des- perately, his disappointment more and more pronounced, " M. de Liancourt and M. de Kochefoucauld have not disdained to " "Nevertheless, I disdain !" I retorted. "And more, I tell you, and I bid you remember it, you will have to answer for the work you are doing. I have told you it is treason. It is treason ; I will have neither act nor part in it. Now go." " There will be burning," the smith muttered. " Begone ! " I said sternly. " If you do not " "Before the morn is old the sky will be red," he answered. " On your head. Seigneur, be it ! " I aimed a blow at him with my cane ; but he avoided it with a kind of dignity, and stalked away, Doury fol- lowing him with a pale, hang-dog face, and his finery sitting very ill upon him. I stood and watched them go, and then I turned to the Cure to hear what he had to say. But I found him gone also. He, too, had slipped away ; through the house, to intercept them at the gates, perhaps, and dissuade them. I waited for him, querulously tapping the walk with my stick, and watching the corner of the house. Presently he came round it, holding his hat an inch or two above his head, his lean, tall figure almost shadowless, for it was noon. I noticed that his lips moved as he came towards me ; but, when I spoke, he looked up cheerfully. "Yes," he said in answer to my question, " I went through the house, and stopped them." " It would be useless," I said. " Men so mad as to A MEETING IN THE ROAD. 8 1 think that they could rephice his Majesty's Government with a Committee of smiths and pastrycooks " "I have joined it," he answered, smihng faintly. "The Committee?" I ejaculated, breathless with surprise. " Even so." " Impossible ! " "Why?" he said quietly. " Have I not always pre- dicted this day? Is not this what Rousseau, with his Social Contract, SLnd Beaumarchais, with his 'Figaro,' and every philosopher who ever repeated the one, and every fine lady who ever aj^plauded the other, have been teaching? Well, it has come, and I have advised you, M. le Vicomte, to stand by your order. But I, a poor man, I stand by mine. And for the Committee of what seems to you, my friend, impossible people, is not any kind of government" — this more warmly, and as if he were arguing with himself — "better than none? Under- stand, Monsieur, the old machinery has broken down. The Intendant has fled. The people def}^ the magis- trates. The soldiers side with the people. The huis- siers and tax collectors are — the Good God knows where ! " "Then," I said indignantly, "it is time for the gentry to " "Take tbc lead mid govern?" he rejoined. "By whom? A liiindi'ul of servants and game-kt-e^xTS? AgainsL the people? against such a niob as you saw in the Square at Cahors ? Impossil)lc, Monsieur." " But the world seems to be turning upside down," I said helplessly. "The greater need of a strong unchanging holdfast — not of the world," he answered reverently; and lie lifted his hat a jnoin(;nt from his head and stood in thought. Then he continiuul : " However, the matter is this. I 82 THK RED CUCKADE. hear from Doury that the gentry are gathering at Cahors, with the view of combining, as you suggest, and checking the people. Now, it must be useless, and it may be worse. It may lead to the very excesses they would prevent." ''In Cahors?" "No, in the country. Buton, be sure, did not speak without warrant. He is a good man, but he knows some who are not, and there are lonely chateaux in Quercy, and dainty women who have never known the touch of a rough hand, and — and children." " But," I cried aghast, " do you fear a Jacquerie? " '' God knows," he answered solemnly. " The fathers have eaten sour grapes, and the children's teeth are set on edge. How many years have men spent at Ver- sailles the peasant's blood, life, bone, flesh ! To pay back at last, it may be, of their own ! But God forbid, Monsieur, God forbid. Yet, if ever — it comes now." When he was gone I could not rest. His words had raised a fever in me. What might not be afoot, what might not be going on, while I lay idle? And, presently, to quench my thirst for news, I mounted and rode out on the way to Cahors. The day was hot, the time for riding ill-chosen ; but the exercise did me good. I began to recover from the giddiness of thought into which the Cure's fears, coming on the top of Buton's warning, had thrown me. For a while I had seen things with their eyes ; I had allowed myself to be carried away by their imaginations ; and the prospect of a France ruled by a set of farriers and postillions had not seemed so bizarre as it began to look, now that I had time, mounting the long hill, which lies one league A MEETING IN THE ROAD. 83 from Saux and two fioiu Cahors, to consider it calmly. For a moment, the wild idea of a whole gentry fleeing like hares before their peasantry, had not seemed so very wild. Now, on reflection, beginning to see thmgs in their normal sizes, I called myself a simpleton. A Jacquerie? Three centuries and more had passed since France had known the thing in the dark ages. Could any, save a child alone in the night, or a romantic maiden solitary in her rock castle, dream of its recurrence ? True, as I skirted St. Alais, which lies a little aside from the road, at the foot of the hill, I saw at the village-turning a sullen group of faces that should have been bent over the hoe ; a group, gloomy, discontented, waiting — waiting, with shock heads and eyes glittering under low brows, for God knows what. But I had seen such a gathering before ; in bad times, when seed was lack- ing, or when despair, or some excessive outrage on the part of the fermier, had driven the peasants to fold their hands and quit the fields. And always it had ended in nothing, or a hanging at most. Why should I suppose that anything would come of it lunv, or that a spark in Paris must kindle a fire here ? In fact, I as good as made up my mind ; and laughed at my simplicity. The Cure had let his predictions run away with him, and Teuton's ignorance and credulity had done the rest. What, T now saw, could be more absurd than to suppose that France, the first, the most stable, the most highly civilised of States, wherein for two centuries none had resisted the royal powtM- and stood, could become in a inonicnt tli(^ theatre of barbarous excesses V Wiiat more absurd tliun to con- ceive it turncnl into the Petit Tridito/i of a gang of rdturio'H and rjuuiillc .' At this point in my thoughts i l*r<»ki; olf, for, as L 84 THE RED COCKADE. reached it, a coach came slowl}- over the ridge before me and began to descend the road. For a space it hnng clear-cut against the sky, the burly figure of the coachman and the heads of the two lackeys who swung behind it visible above the hood. Then it began to drop down cautiously towards me. The men behind sprang down and locked the wheels, and the lumbering vehicle slid and groaned downwards, the wheelers pressing back, the leading horses tossing their heads impatiently. The road there descends not in lacets, but straight, for nearly half a mile between poplars ; and on the summer air the screaming of the wheels and the jingling of the harness came distinctly to the ear. Presently I made out that the coach was Madame St. Alais' ; and I felt inclined to turn and avoid it. But the next moment pride came to my aid, and I shook my reins and went on to meet it. I had scarcely seen a person except Father Benoit since the affair at Cahors, and my cheek flamed at the thought of the rencontre before me. For the same reason the coach seemed to come on very slowly ; but at last I came abreast of it, passed the straining horses, and looked into the carriage with my hat m my hand, fearing that I might see Madame, hoping I might see Louis, ready with a formal salute at least. Politeness required no less. But sitting in the place of honour, instead of M. le Marquis, or his mother, or M. le Comte, was one little figure throned in the middle of the seat; a little figure with a pale inquiring face that blushed scarlet at sight of me, and eyes that opened wide w'ith fright, and lips that trembled piteously. It was Mademoiselle ! Had I known a moment earlier that she was in the carriage and alone, I should have passed by in silence ; A MEETIXG IX THE ROAD. 85 as was doubtless my dutj' after what had happened. I was the last person who should have intruded on her. But the men, grinning, I dare say, at the encounter — for probabh' ^Madame's treatment of me was the talk of the house — had drawn up, and I had reined up instinc- tively ; so that before I quite understood that she was alone, save for two maids who sat with their backs to the horses, we were gazing at one another — like two fools ! " Mademoiselle ! " I said. " Monsieur ! " she answered mechanically. Now, when I had said that, I had said all that I had a right to say. I should have saluted, and gone on with that. But something impelled me to add — " Made- moiselle is going — to St. Alais?" Her lips moved, but I heard no sound. She stared at me like one under a spell. The elder of her women, however, answered for her, and said briskly : — " Ah, oui, Monsieur ". "And Madame de St. Alais?" " Madame remains at Cahors," the woman answered in the same tone, " with M. le Marquis, who has busi- ness." Then, at any rate, I sliould have gone on; \>u\ the girl sat looking at me, silent and blushing; and some- thing in the picture, something in the thought of her arriving alone and unprotected at St. Alais, taken with a niciMory of the lowering faces i had seen in the village, imperiled me to stand and hnger; and fiiiMJly to bliut out what I had in my mind. "Mademoiselle," I said miiiulsively, ignoring her attendants, " if you will take; my advice — you will not go on." One of the women muttered " .V*/ fni!" under her breath. The other said ' In(l<< join myself to the St. Alais faction, 1 found it iinpossihlc to reject their apologies on the spot, or explain on ihc instant tlic; i"eal pui'pos(; witli whic-h I had come to them. I was, in fact, the sport of circumstances; weak, it will be said, in the wrong place and stubborn m th(^ wrong; betraying a boy's petulance at onc^ tune, ami a boy's fickleness at anotlier; and now a tool and now a 92 rilE RED COCKADE. (.'lunl. Perhaps truly. But it was a time of trial ; nor was I the only man or the oldest man who, in those days, changed his opinions, and again within the week went back ; or who found it hard to find a cockade, white, black, red or tricolour, to his taste. Besides, flattery is sweet, and I was young ; more- over, I had Mademoiselle in my head and nothing could exceed Madame's graciousness. I think she valued me the more for my late revolt, and prided herself on my reduction in proportion as I had shown myself able to resist. " Few words are better, M. le Vicomte," she said, with a dignity which honoured me equally with her- self. " Many things have happened since I saw you. We are neither of us quite of the same opinion. Forgive me. A woman's word and a man's sword do no dis- honour." I bowed, blushing with pleasure. After a fortnight spent in solitude these moving groups, bowing, smiling, talking in low, earnest tones of the one purpose, the one aim, had immense influence with me. I felt the contagion. I let Madame take me into her confidence. " The King" — it was always the King with her — " in a week or two the King will assert himself. As yet his ear has been abused. It will pass ; in the meantime we must take our proper places. We must arm our servants and keepers, repress disorder and resist en- croachment." "And the Committee, Madame?" She tapped me, smiling, with the ends of her dainty fingers. " We will treat it as you treated it," she said. "You think that you will be strong enough?" "We," she answered. " We ? " I said, correcting myself with a blush. A MEETING IN THE ROAD. 93 "Why not? How can it be otherwise?" she re- phed, looking proudly round her. " Can you look round and doubt it, M. le Vicomte ? " "But France?" I said. " We are France," she retorted with a superb ges- ture. And certainly the splendid crowd that iilled her rooms was almost warrant for the words ; a crowd of stately men and fair women such as I have only seen once or twice since those days. Under the surface there may have been pettiness and senility ; the exhaustion of vice ; jealousy and lukewarmness and dissension ; but the powder and patches, the silks and velvets of the old regime, gave to all a semblance of strength, and at least the appearance of dignity. If few were soldiers, all wore swords and could use them. The fact that the small sword, so powerful a weapon in the duel, is useless against a crowd armed with stones and clubs had not yet been made clear. Nothing seemed more easy than for two or three hundred swordsmen to rule a province. At any rate I found nothing but what was feasible in the noti(jii ; and witli little real reluctance, if no groat enthusiasm, 1 pinned on the white cockade. Put- ting all thoughts of present refoiin fi-om my mind, T agreed that order — o)der was the one [)ressiiig need of the country. On that all were agreed, and all were lio])i,'rul. L heard no misgivings, but a good deal of vapouring, in which poor M. de Gontaut, with the palsy almost n|»on liim, li:ul his part. No one dropped a liinl nf danger in the country, or of a rcjvolt of (li<' |)easantH. iOven to ine, as I stood in the brilliant crowd, the danger grew to seem Sf) remote, and lun-eal, that, delicacy as W(>11 as the fear of ridicule, kept me silent. 1 could not speak 94 THE RED COCKADE. of Madumoisollu without awkwardness, and so the warning which I had come to give died on my hps. I saw that I should be laughed at, I fancied myself de- ceived, and I was silent. It was only when, after promising to return next day, I stood at the door prepared to leave, and found myself alone with Louis, that I let a word fall. Then I asked him with a little hesitation if he thought that his sister was quite safe at St. Alais. " Why not ? " he said easily, with his hand on my shoulder. " The trouble is not in the town only," I hinted. " Nor perhaps the worst of the trouble." He shrugged his shoulders. " You think too much of it, mon cher," he answered. " Believe me, now that we are at one the trouble is over." And that was the evening of the 4th of August, the day on which the Assembly in Paris renounced at a single sitting all immunities, exemptions, and privi- leges, all feudal dues, and fines, and rights, all tolls, all tithes, the salt tax, the game laws, capitaineries ! At one sitting, on that evening ; and Louis thought that the trouble was over ! 95 CHAPTEK VII. THE ALARM. At that time, a brazier in the market-place, and three or fom" lanterns at street crossings, made up the most of the public lighting. When I paused, therefore, to breathe my horse on the brow of the slope, beyond the Valandre bridge, and looked back on Cahors, I saw only darkness, broken here and there by a blur of yellow light ; that still, by throwing up a fragment of wall or eaves, told in a mysterious way of the sleeping city. The river, a faint, shimmering line, conjectured rather than seen, wound round all. Above, clouds were flying across the sky, and a wind, cold for the time of year — cold, at least, after the heat of the day — chilled the blood, and slowly filled the mind with the solemnity of night. As I stood listening to the breathing of the horses, the excitement in which I had passed the last few hours died away, and left me wondering — wondering, and a little regretful. The exaltation gone, I found the scene i had just left flavourless ; I even presently began to find it worse. Some false note in the cynical, boastful voices and the selfish — the utterly selfish- plans, to wliich I had been listening for hours, made itsc^lf heard in the stillness. Madame's " We are J^' ranee," wlnCli had sound(!d well amid the lights and glitto' of tiic fiulon, aUKMig laces and frijxnis and rose-pink coats, seemed folly in the face of the infinite; night, behind which lay twenty-five millions of Frenchmen. 96 THE RED COCKADE. However, what I had done, I had done. I had the white cockade on my breast ; I was pledged to order — and to my order. And it might be the better course. But, with reflection, enthusiasm faded ; and, by some strange process, as it faded, and the scene in which I had just taken part lost its hold, the errand that had brought me to Cahors recovered importance. As Madame St. Alais' influence grew weak, the memory of Mademoiselle, sitting lonely and scared in her coach, grew vivid, until I turned my horse fretfully, and en- deavoured to lose the thought in rapid movement. But it is not so easy to escape from oneself at night, as in the day. The soughing of the wind through the chestnut trees, the drifting clouds, and the sharp ring of hoofs on the road, all laid as it were a solemn finger on the pulses and stilled them. The men behind me talked in sleepy voices, or rode silently. The town lay a hundred leagues behind. Not a light appeared on the upland. In the world of night through which we rode, a world of black, mysterious bulks rising suddenly against the grey sky, and as suddenly sinking, we were the only inhabitants. At last we reached the hill above St. Alais, and I looked eagerly for lights in the valley ; forgetting that, as it wanted only an hour of midnight, the village would have retired hours before. The disappointment, and the delay — for the steepness of the hill forbade any but a walking pace — fretted me ; and when I heard, a moment later, a certain noise behind me, a noise I knew only too well, I flared up. " Stay, fool ! " I cried, reining in my horse, and turn- ing in the saddle. " That mare has broken her shoe again, and you are riding on as if nothing were the matter ! Get down and see. Do you think that I " THE ALARM. 97 " PardoD, Monsieur," Gil muttered. He had been sleeping in his saddle. He scrambled down. The mare he rode, a valuable one, had a knack of breaking her hind shoe ; after which she never failed to lame herself at the first opportunity. Buton had tried every method of shoeing, but without success. I sprang to the ground while he lifted the foot. My ear had not deceived me ; the shoe was broken. Gil tried to remove the jagged fragment left on the hoof, but the mare was restive, and he had to desist. " She cannot go to Saux in that state," I said angrily. The men were silent for a moment, peering at the mare. Then Gil spoke. " The St. Alais forge is not three hundred yards down the lane, Monsieur," he said. " And the turn is yonder. We could knock up Petit Jean, and get him to bring his pincers here. Only " " Only what ? " I said peevishly. "I quarrelled with him at Cahors Fair, Monsieur," Gil answered sheepishly ; " and he might not come for us." " Very well," I said gruffly, " I will go. And do you stay here, and keep the mare quiet." Andre held the stirrup for me to iiiount. The smithy, the first hovel in the village, was a quarter of a mile away, and, in reason, I should have ridden to it. l-Jut, in my irritation, I was ready to do anything they did not propose, and, roughly rejecting his help, I started on foot. Fifty paces brought me to the branch road that led to St. Alais, and, making out the turning with a little difficulty, I )ilini^'<ut I heard bis teeth chatter, and I saw that his eyes wandered this way and that, as do a hare's when (he dogs close on it ; and 1 knew that 1 had nothing to expect from him. A howl outside warned me at the same inonKUit that our respite was spent ; and I lliuig him ofT and turnod to the window. 8 114 THE RED COCKADE. Too late, however ; before I could reach it, a thunder- inj]; blow oil the doors below set the candles flickering and the women shrieking ; then for an instant I thought that all was over. A stone came through the window ; another followed it, and another. The shattered glass fell over us ; the draught put out one light, and the women, terrified beyond control, ran this way and that with the other, shrieking dismally. This, the yelling of the crowd outside, the sombre light and more sombre glare, the utter confusion and panic, so distracted me, that for a moment I stood irresolute, inactive, looking wildly about me ; a poltroon waiting for some one to lead. Then a touch fell on my arm, and I turned iuid found Mademoiselle at my side, and saw her face up- turned to mine. It was white, and her eyes were wide with the terror she had so long repressed. Her hold on me grew heavier ; she swayed against me, clinging to me. " Oh ! " she whispered in my ear in a voice that went to my heart. " Save me ! Save me ! Can nothing be done? Can nothing be done, Monsieur? Must we die?" " AVe must gain time," I said. My courage returned wonderfully, as I felt her weight on my arm. " All is not over yet," I said. "I will speak to them." And setting her on the seat, I sprang to the window and passed through it. Outside, things at a first glance seemed unchanged. The wavering flames, the glow, the trail of smoke and sparks, all were there. But a second glance showed that the rioters no longer moved to and fro about the fire, but were massed directly below me in a dense body round the doors, waiting for them to give way, I shouted to them frantically, hoping still to delay them. I called Petit Jean by name. But I could not make myself heard GARGOUF. 115 in the uproar, or they would not heed ; and while I vainly tried, the great doors yielded at last, and with a roar of triumph the crowd burst in. Not a moment was to be lost. I sprang back through the window, clutching up as I did so the gun Gargouf had given me ; and then I stood in amaze- ment. The landing was empty ! The rush of feet across the hall below shook the house. Ten seconds and the mob, whose screams of triumph already echoed through the passages, would be on us. But where was Mademoiselle? Where was Gargouf? Where were the servants, the waiting-maids, the boy, whom I had left here ? I stood an instant paralysed, like a man in a night- mare ; brought up short in that supreme moment. Then, as the first crash of heavy feet sounded on the stairs, I heard a faint scream, somewhere to my light, as I stood. On the instant I sprang to the door which, on that side, led to the left wing. I tore it open and passed through it — not a moment too soon. The slightest delay, and the foremost rioters must have seen me. As it was I had time to turn the key, which, fortunately, was on the inside. Then I hurried across tlie room, making my way to an open door at the fartlier end, from wliicli liglit issued ; I passed through the room beyond, which was empty, then into the last of the suite. Here I found the fugitives; wlio had ilcd so ])r('ci))i- tatoly that they had not fvcn thought of closing the doors behind them, in ihis last refuge — Madanic's boudoir, nil white; and gold — I found th(;m crouching among gilt-l)ack(!d (-hairs and flowered cushions. They had brought only '»nc candle with them ; ;iiid I he silks and gcw-gaws and knick-knacks on which its hj^lit shone dimly, gave a peculiar horror to their whih; faces Ii6 THE RED COCKADE. and f^laring eyes, as, almost mad with terror, they huddlod in the farthest corner and stared at me. They were such cowards that they put Mademoiselle foremost ; or it was she who stood out to meet me. She knew me l)efore they did, therefore, and quieted them. When 1 could hear my own voice, I asked where Gargouf was. They had not discovered that he was not with them, and they cried out, saying that he had come that way. " You followed him ? " " Yes, Monsieur." This explained their flight, but not the steward's absence. What matter where he had gone, however, since his help could avail little. I looked round — looked round in despair ; the very simpering Cupids on the walls seemed to mock our danger. I had the gun, I could fire one shot, I had one life in my hands. But to what end? In a moment, at any moment, within a minute or two at most, the doors would be forced, and the horde of mad brutes would pour in upon us, and " Ah, Monsieur, the closet staircase ! He has gone by the closet staircase ! " It was the boy who spoke. He alone of them had his wits about him. " Where is it ? " I said. The lad sprang forward to show me, but Mademoiselle was before him with the candle. She fiew back into the passage, a passage of four or five feet only between that room and the second of the suite; in the wall of this she flung open a door, apparently of a closet. I looked in and saw the beginning of a staircase. My heart leapt at the sight. " To the floor above ? " 1 said. " No, Monsieur, to the roof! " CrARGOUF. 117 " Up, up, then ! " I cried in a frenzy of impatience. " It will give us time. Quick. They are coming." For I heard the door at the end of the suite, the door I had locked, creak and yield. They were forcing it, at any moment it might give ; where I stood waiting to bring up the rear, their hoarse cries and curses came to my ears. But the good door held ; it held, long enough at any rate. Before it gave wa}^ we were on the stairs and I had shut the door of the closet behind me. Then, holding to the skirts of the woman before me, I groped my way up quickly — up and up through darkness with a close smell of bats in my nostrils — and almost before I could believe it, I stood with the panting, trembling group on the roof. The glare of the burning outhouses below shone on a great stack of chimneys beside us and reddened the sky above, and burnished the leaves of the chestnut trees that rose on a level with our eyes. But all the lower part of the steep roofs round us, and the lead gutters that ran between them, lay in darkness, the denser for the contrast. The flames crackled below, and a thick reek of smoke swept up past the coping, but the noise alike of fire and riot was deadened here. The night wind cooled our brows, and I had a minute in which to think, to Vjreathe, to look round. "Is there any other way to the roof?" I asked anxiously. " One other, Monsieur ! " "Where? Or do you stay here, and guard this door," I said, pressing my gun on the man who had answered. "And let the boy come and show mo. Mademoiselle, stay there if you please." The boy ran before me to the fartlier cihI of the loof, and in a lead walk, between two slopes, sliowed me a large trap-door. Ii liad 110 fastening on the outside, liS THE RED COCKADE. and for a moment I stood nonplussed; then I saw, a few I'cet awa5^ a neat pile of bricks, left there, I learned afterwards, in the course of some repairs. I began to remove them as fast as I could to the trap-door, and the boy saw and followed my example ; in two minutes we had stacked a hundred and more on the door. TeUing him to add another hundred to the number, I left him at the task and flew back to the women. They might burn the house under us ; that always, and for certain, and it meant a dreadful death. Yet I breathed more freely here. In the white and gold room below, among Madame's mirrors and Cupids, and silken cushions, and painted Venuses, my heart had failed me. The place, with its heavy perfumes, had stifled me. I had pictured the brutish peasants burst- ing in on us there — on the screaming women, crouch- ing vainly behind chairs and couches ; and the horror of the thought overcame me. Here, in the open, under the sky, we could at least die fighting. The depth yawned beyond the copmg ; the weakest had here no more to fear than death. Besides we had a respite, for the house was large, and the fire could not lick it up in a moment. And help might come. I shaded my eyes from the light below, and looked into the darkness in the direc- tion of the village and the Cahors road. In an hour, at furthest, help might come. The glare in the sky must be visible for miles ; it would spur on the avengers. Father Benoit, too, if he could get help — he might be here at any time. We were not without hope. Suddenly, while we stood together, the women sobbing and whimpering, the old man-servant spoke. "Where is M. Gargouf ? " he muttered under his breath. GARGOUF. 119 " Ah ! " I exclaimed ; " I had forgotten him." " He came up," the man continued, peering ahout him. " This door was open, M. le Vicomtc. when we came to it." " Ah ; then where is he ? " I looked round too. All the roof, I have said, was dark, and not all of it was on the same level ; and here and there chimneys broke the view. In the obscurity, the steward might be lurking close to us without our knowledge ; or he might have thrown himself down in despair. While I looked, the boy whom I had left by the bricks came flying to us. " There is some one there ! " he said. And he clung to the old man in terror. " It must be Gargouf I " I answered. " Wait here ! " And, disregarding the women's prayers that I would stay with them, I went quickly along the leads to the other trap-door, and peered about me through the gloom. P'or a moment I could see no one, though the light shining on the trees made it easy to discern figures standing nearer the coping. Presently, how- ever, I caught the sound of some one moving ; some one who was farther away still, at the very edge of the roof. I went on cautiousl}', expecting I do not know what ; and close to a stack of chimneys I found Gargouf. He was crouching on the coping in the darkest part, where the end wall of the east wing overlooked the garden by wiiich I had entered. This end wall had no windows, and the greater part of the garden below it lay it darkness ; the angle of the house standing between it and the burning buildings. I supposed that the steward had sneaked hither, therefore, to hide ; and set it down to the darkness that he did not know me, but, as I approached, he rose on his knees (ni tlic ledge, and turned on me, snarlnig hke a dog. I20 THE RED COCKADE. " Stand back ! " he said, in a voice that was scarcely human. " Stand back, or I will " " Steady, man," I answered quietly, beginning to think that fear had unhinged him. "It is I, M. de Saux." " Stand back !" was his only answer; and, though he cowered so low that I could not get his figure against the shining trees, I saw a pistol-barrel gleam as he levelled it. " Stand back ! Give me a minute ! a minute only" — and his voice quavered — "and I will cheat the devils yet ! Come nearer, or give the alarm, and I will not die alone ! I will not die alone ! Stand back ! " " Are you mad ? " I said. " Back, or I shoot!" he growled. " I will not die alone." He was kneeling on the very edge, with his left hand against the chimney. To rush upon him in that posture was to court death ; and I had nothing to gain by it. I stepped back a pace. As I did so, at the moment I did so, he slid over the edge, and was gone ! I drew a deep breath and listened, flinching and drawing back involuntarily. But I heard no sound of a fall ; and in a moment, with a new idea in my mind, I stepped forward to the edge, and looked over. The steward hung in mid-air, a dozen feet below me. He was descending ; descending foot by foot, slowly, and by jerks ; a dim figure, growing dimmer. Instinc- tively I felt about me ; and in a second laid my hand on the rope by which he hung. It was secured round the chimney. Then I understood. He had conceived this way of escape, perhaps had stored the rope for it beforehand, and, like the villain he was, had kept the thought to himself, that his chance might be the better, and that he might not have to give the first place to CARGO UF. 121 Mademoiselle and the women. In the first heat of the discovery, I almost found it in mj^ heart to cut the rope, and let him fall ; then I remembered that if he escaped, the way would lie open for others ; and then, even as I thought this, into the garden below me, there shone a sudden flare of light, and a stream of a dozen rioters poured round the corner, and made for the door by which I had entered the house. I held my breath. The steward, hanging below me, and by this time half-way to the ground, stopped, and moved not a limb. But he still swung a little this way and that, and in the strong light of the torches which the new-comers carried, I could see every knot in the rope, and even the trailing end, which, as I looked, moved on the ground with his motion. The wretches, making for the door, had to pass within a pace of the rope, of that trailing end ; yet it was possible that, blinded by the lights they carried, and their own haste and excitement, they might not see it. I held my breath as the leader came abreast of it; I fancied that he must see it. But he passed, and disappeared in the doorway. Three others passed the rope together. A fifth, then three more, tw(i more ; I began to breathe more freely. Only one remained — a woman, the same whose imprecations had greeted me on my appearance at the window. It was not likely that she would see it. She was running to overtake the others; she carried a flare in lir<)vince will be in a blaze from one end to the other," 144 THE RED COCKADE. I could not gainsay this ; at the same time there was one other thing I could not do, and that was change my views again. Having solemnly put on the white cockade in Madame St. Alais' drawing-room, I had not the courage to execute another volte-face. I could not recant again. "It is impossible — impossible in my case," I stam- iiirred at last peevishly, and in a disjointed way. " Why do you come again to me ? Why do you not go to some one else ? There are two hundred others whose names " " Would be of no use to us," M. le Capitaine answered brusquely; "whereas yours would reassure the fearful, attach some moderate men to the cause and not disgust the masses. Let me be frank with you, M. le Vicomte," he continued in a different tone. " I want your co-operation. I am here to take risks, but none that are unnecessary ; and I prefer that my com- mission should issue from above as well as from below. Add your name to the Committee and I accept their commission. Without doubt I could police Quercy in the name of the Third Estate, but I would rather hang, draw, and quarter in the name of all three." " Still, there are others " " You forget that I have got to rule the canaille in Cahors," he answered impatiently, " as well as these mad clowns, who think that the end of t\tB world is here. And those others you speak of " " Are not acceptable," Father Benuit said gently, looking at me with yearning in his kind eyes. The light morning air caught the skirts of his cassock as he spoke, and lifted them from his lean figure. He held his shovel hat in his hand, between his face and the sun. I knew that there was a conflict in his mind as in mine, and that he would have me and would THE MORNING AFTER THE STORM. 145 have me not ; and the knowledge strengthened me to resist his words. " It is impossible," I said. "AVhy?" I was spared the necessity of answering. I had my face to the door of the house, and as the last word was spoken saw Andre issue from it with M. de St. Alais. The manner in which the old servant cried, " M. le Marquis de St. Alais, to see M. le Vicomte ! " gave us a little shock, it was so full of sly triumph ; but nothing on M. de St. Alais' part, as he approached, betrayed that he noticed this. He advanced with an air perfectly gay, and saluted me with good humour. For a moment I fancied that he did not know what had happened in the night ; his first words, however, dispelled the idea. " M. le Vicomte," he said, addressing me with both ease and grace, " we are for ever grateful to you. I was abroad on business last night, and could do nothing ; and my brother must, T am told, have come too late, even if, with so small a force, he could elfect anything. I saw Mademoiselle as I passed through the house, and she gave me some particulars." " She has left her room ?" I cried in surprise. The other three had drawn back a little, so that we enjoyed a kind of privacy. " Yt.'s," he answered, smiling sligiitly at my tone. " .Viid 1 can assure you, M. le V'icomto, lias spoken as highly of you as a maiden dare, h'ov the rest, my mother will convey the thanks of the family to you more fitly than I can. Still, I may hope that you are none the worse." I muttered that I was not; but I h;ii tli<' contrast wliich the two presented as they stood a little apart, their upper clothes removed. Tiie Captain was tlie shortor by a head, and stiff and sturdy, willi a clear 17© THE RED COCKADE. eye and keen visage. M. le Marquis, on the other hand, was tall and lithe, and long in the arm, with a reach which threatened danger, and a sinile almost as deadl}'. I thought that if his skill and coolness were on a par with his natural gifts, M. Hugues But then again my head reeled. What did I wish ? "We are ready," M.Louis said impatiently; and L noticec\ that he glanced past me towards the gate of the garden. "Will you measure the swords, M. le Vicomte ? " I complied, and was about to place my man, when M. le Capitaine indicated by a sign that he wished to speak to me, and, disregarding the frowns of the other side, I led him apart. His face had lost the glow of passioii which had ani- mated it a few minutes before, and was pale and stern. " This is a fool's trick," he said curtly, and under his breath. " It will serve me right if that puppy goes through me. You will do me a favour, M. le Vicomte?" I muttered that I would do him any in my power. "I borrowed a thousand francs to fit myself out for this service," he continued, avoidnig my eye, "from a man in Paris whose name you will find in my valise at the inn. Should anything happen to me, I should be glad if you will send him what is left. That is all." " He shall be paid in full," I said. " I will see to it." He wrung my hand, and went to his station ; and Louis and I placed ourselves on either side of the two, ready, with our swords drawn, to interfere should need arise. The signal was given, the principals saluted, and fell on guard, and in a moment the grinding and clicking of the blades began, while the pigeons of the Cathedral flew in eddies above us, and in the middle of the garden a little fountain tinkled softly in the sunshine. They had not made three passes before the great THE DUEL. 171 diversity of their styles became apparent. While Hugues played vigorously with his body, stooping, and moving, and stepping aside, but keeping his arm stiff, and using his wrist much, M. le Marquis held his body erect and still, but moved his arm, and, fencing with a school correctness, as if he held a foil, disdained all artifices save those of the weapon. It was clear that he was the better fencer, and that, of the two, the Captain must tire first, since he was never still, and the wrist is more quickly fatigued that the arm ; but, in addition to this, I soon perceived that the Marquis was not putting forth his full strength, but, depending (jn his defence, was waiting to tire out his opponent. My eyes grew hot, my throat dry, as I watched breath- lessly, waiting for the stroke that must finish all — waiting and flinching. And then, on a sudden, some- thing happened. The Captain seemed to slip, yet did not slip, but in a moment, stooping almost prone, his left hand on the ground, was under the ()ther''s guard. His point was at the Marquis's breast, when the latter sprang back — sprang l)ack, and just saved himself. Jiefore the Captain could recover his footing, Louis dashed his sword aside. "Foul play!" he ci'ied ])assionately. " l-'oul [)lay ! A stroke dessuiis ! Il i^ nut cu rhjle." The Captain stood breathing ([uickly, his point to the ground. " l->nt why not, Monsieur?" he said. Then he looked to me. " 7 scarcely understand, M. iU- St. .Mais," I said stifHy. ■ The stroke " " Is not allowed." *'In the schools," I saifl. " I'.iit this is a duel." "I have never seen it used in a dud," \\r s.iid. " No niattei," I answered warmly. "To interfere on such provocation is absurd." 172 THE RED COCKADE. " Monsieur ! " " Is absurd ! " I repeated firmly. " After such treat- ment I have no resource but to withdraw M. le Capi- taine from the field." "Perhaps you will take his place," some one behind me said with a sneer. I turned sharply. One of the two persons whom we had found with St. Alais was the speaker. I saluted him. " The surgeon ? " I said. " No," he answered angrily. " I am M. du Marc, and very much at your service." "But not a second," I rejoined. "And, therefore, you have no right to be standing where you are, nor to be here. I must request you to withdraw." " I have at least as much right as those," he answered, pointing to the roof of the Cathedral, over the battle- ments of which a number of heads could be seen peer- ing down at us. I stared. " Our friends have at least as much right as yours," he continued, taunting me. " But they do not interfere," I answered firmly. "Nor shall you. I request you to withdraw." He still refused, and even tried to bluster ; but this proved too much for Louis' stomach ; lie intarvened sharply, and at a word from him the bully shrugged his shoulders and moved away. Then we four looked at one another. " We had better proceed," the Captain said bluntly. " If the stroke was irregular, this gentleman was right to interfere. If not " " I am willing," M. de St. Alais said. And in a moment the two fell on guard, and to it again ; but more fiercely now, and with less caution, the Captain more than once using a rough, sweeping THE DUEL. 173 pany, in greater favour with practical fighters than in the fencing school. This, though it left him exposed to a riposte, seemed to disconcert M. le Marquis, who fenced, I thought, less skilfully than before, and more than once seemed to be flurried by the Captain's at- tack. I began to feel doubtful of the result, my heart began to beat more quickly, the glitter of the blades as they slid up and down one another confused my sight. I looked for one moment across at Louis — and in that moment the end came. M. le Capitaine used again his sweeping parry, but this time the circle was too wide ; St. Alais' blade darted serpent-like under his. The; Captain staggered back. His sword dropped from his hand. Before he could fall I caught him in my arms, but blood was gushing already from a wound in the side of his neck. He just turned his eyes to mj^ face, and tried once to speak. I caught the words, " You will " and then blood choked his voice, and his eyes slowly closed. He was dead, or as good as dead, before the surgeon could reacli liim, before I could lay him on tlu> grass. I knelt a moment beside him perfectly stunned by tlie suddenness of the catastrophe ; watching in a kind of fascination the surgeon feeling pulse and heart, and striving with his thumb to stop the bleeding. For a moment or two my world was reduced to the sinking grey face, the quivering eyelids before me, and I saw- nothing, heeded nothing, thought <»1 nothing else. I could not l)elieve that the valiant spirit had fled al- ready ; tliat the stout man who had so quickly yet in- sensibly won my liking was in this moment dead ; dead and growing livid, while the pigeons still circled over- head, and the sparrows chirped, and the fountain tinkUul in the sunshine. 174 THE RED COCKADE. I cried out in my agony. " Not dead ? " I said. "Not dead so soon ? " '' Yes, M. le Yicoiute, it was bad luck," the surgeon answered, letting the passive head fall on tiie stained grass. " With such a wound nothing can be done." He rose as he spoke ; but I remained on my knees, wrapt and absorbed ; staring at the glazing eyes that a few minutes before had been full of life and keenness. Then with a shudder I turned my look on myself. His blood covered me ; it was on my breast, my arm, my hands, soaking into my coat. From it my thoughts turned to St. Alais, and at tlie moment, as I looked in- stinctively round to see where he was, or if he had gone, I started. The deep boom of a heavy bell, tolled once, shook the air ; while its solemn burden still hung mournfully on the ear, quick footsteps ran towards me, and I heard a harsh cry at my elbow. " But, mon Dieu ! This is murder ! They are murdering us ! " I looked behind me. The speaker was Du Marc, the bully w'ho had vainly tried to provoke me. The two St. Alais and the surgeon were with him, and all four came from the direction of the door by which we had entered. They passed me with averted eyes, and hur- ried towards a little postern which flanked the old tower, and opened on the ramparts. As they went out of sight behind a buttress that intervened the bell boomed out again above my head, its dull note full of menace. Then I awoke and understood ; understood that the noise which filled my ears was not the burden of the bell carried on from one deep stroke to another, but the roar of angry voices in the square, the babel of an approaching crowd crying : ''A la lanterne ! A la laii- terne ! " From the battlements of the Cathedral, from the louvres of the domes, from every window of the THE DUEL. 175 great crlooiuy structure that frowned above ine, men were making signs, and pointing with their hands, and brandishing their fists — at mie, I thought at first, or at the body at my feet. But then I heard footsteps again, and 1 turned and found the other four behind me, close to me ; tlie two St. Alais pale and stern, with bright eyes, the bully pale, too, but with a look which shot furtively here and there, and white lips. " Curse them, they are at that door, too ! " he cried shrilly. " We are beset. We shall be murdered. By God, we shall be murdered, and by these cauaiUe ! By these — I call all here to witness that it was a fair fight! I call you to witness, M. le Vicomte, that " " It will help us much," St. Alais said with a sneer, " if he does. If I were once at home " " Ay, but how are we to get there ? " Du Marc cried. He could not hide his terror. " Do you understand," he continued querulously, addressing me, " that we shall be murdered? Is there no other door? Speak, some one. Speak ! " His fears appealed to me in vain. I wolild scarcely have stirred a fingei- to save him. But the sight of the two St. Alais standing there pale and irresolute, while that roar of voices grew each moment louder and nearer, moved me. A moment, and the mob would break in ; perhaps finding us by Hugues' side, it might in its fury sacrifice all indifferently. It might ; and then I heard, to give poiiit to the thought, the crash of one of the doors of the garden as it gave way ; and I cried out almost involuntarily that there was another door — another door, if it was open. 1 diil not look to see if tlicy followed, but, leaving tlio dc-ad, f took the lead, and ran across the sward towards the wall of the (lathcdral. The crowd were already pouring into the garden, hut 17'^' THE RED COCKADE. a ciiuup of shrubs hid us from them as we fled ; and we gained unseen a Httle door, a low-browed postern in the wall of the apse, that led, I knew — for not long before I had conducted an Englisli visitor over the Cathedral — to a sacristy connected with the crypt. My hope of finding the door open- was slight ; if I had stayed to weigh the chances I should have thought them desperate. But to my joy as I came up to it, closely followed by the others, it opened of itself, and a priest, showing his tonsured head in the aperture, beckoned to us to hasten. He had little need to do so; in a moment we had obeyed, were by his side, and panting, heard the bolts shoot home behind us. For the moment we were safe. Then we breathed again. We stood in the twilight of a long narrow room with walls and roof of stone, and three loopholes for windows. Du Marc was the first to speak. " Mon Dieii, that was close," he said, wiping his brow, which in the cold light wore an ugly pallor. " We are " "Not out*of the wood yet," the surgeon answered gravely, " though we have good grounds for thanking M. le Vicomte. They have discovered us ! Yes, they are coming ! " Probably the people on the roof had watched us enter and denounced our place of refuge ; for as he spoke, we heard a rush of feet, the door shook under a storm of blows, and a score of grimy savage faces showed at the slender arrow-slits, and glaring down, howled and spat curses upon us. Luckily the door was of oak, studded and plated with iron, fashioned in old, rough days for such an emergency, and we stood comparatively safe. Yet it was terrible to hear the cries of the mob, to feel them so close, to gauge their hatred, and know while they beat on the stone as THE DUEL. 177 though they would tear the walls with their naked hands, what it would be to fall into their power ! We looked at one another, and — but it may have been the dim light — I saw no face that was not pale. Fortunately the pause was short. The Cure who had admitted us, unlocked as quickly as he could an inner door. " This way," he said — but the snarling of the beasts outside almost drowned his voice — " if you will follow me, I will let you out by the south entrance. But, be quick, gentlemen, be quick," he continued, pushing us out before him, " or they may guess what we are about, and be there before us." It may be imagined that after that we lost no time. We followed him as quickly as we could along a narrow subterranean passage, very dimly lit, at the end of which a flight of six steps brought us into a second passage. We almost ran along this, and though a locked door delayed us a moment— which seemed a minute, and a long one — the key was found and the door opened. We passed through it, and found our- selves in a long narrow room, the counterpart of that we had first entered. The cure opened the farther door of this ; I looked out. The alley outside, the same which led beside the Cathedral to the Chapter HoUse, was empty. " We are in time," 1 said, with a sigh of relief; it was pleasant to breathe the fresh air again. And [ turned, still panting with the haste we had made, to thank the good Cure who had saved us. M. de St. Alais, who followed nic, ;iinl h;ir. Flandre entered first, and, standing while he removed his hat, for an instant filled the doorway. I liad time to hear and note a burst of obscene singing, whicli came from a room fartiicr down the passage; and the frequent baying of a prison-dog, that, hearing us, flung itself against its chain, somewhere in the same direction. I noted, too, that the walls