Scaramouche (44 page)

"Success?" the Regent echoed. He leaned forward eagerly. "Success, sir?"

"Your highness shall judge."

André-Louis was very cold and formal in his manner. He began with the fall of the Girondins, stressing the part which de Batz and he had played in this by their propaganda.

"They were the most dangerous of all the foes of monarchy," he explained, "because they were sane and moderate in their notions. If they had prevailed they would have set up an orderly republican government under which the people might have been content. Therefore their removal was a great forward step. It left the government entirely in the hands of incompetent men. Disruption and famine followed. Discontent arose and a disposition to violence which only required clear direction so as to be turned into the proper channels.

"This is what we set out to do; to expose for the venal scoundrels that they were the men whom the people trusted; and to show the connection between this rascality and the sufferings and privations which in the name of Liberty the people were undergoing."

Briefly he sketched the India Company scandal in which they had implicated Chabot, Bazire and the other prominent men of the Mountain party, momentarily bringing that party into disrepute and suspicion. He showed how again their active propaganda had intensified the feeling.

"It was a bad moment for the Robespierrists. They knew themselves sorely shaken in the public esteem. But they rallied. Saint-Just, the ablest of them all, the champion and guiding spirit of Robespierre, boldly grasped the nettle and preached a crusade of purification against all those who trafficked in their mandate, to which trafficking he assigned the public distress.

"For a moment confidence was restored. But it left the Robespierrists shaken, and another such blow at the right moment must lay them low."

He went on to mention the return of Danton, and to dwell upon Danton's moderate and rather reactionary spirit, aroused by the excesses of the Hébertistes and Robespierrists. He showed how confidently de Batz counted upon Danton to bring back the monarchy once the others were out of the way, and he went on to the measures taken for their elimination. Danton had begun by attacking Hébert and his gang, and he had destroyed them, aided at the last moment by Robespierre.

And then, at last, he came to the steps which he personally had taken so as to expose the venality, hypocrisy and secret tyranny of that popular idol Saint-Just, clearly convincing the Regent that the revolution would never survive Saint-Just's fall.

"I come back to Paris," he said, "with the completest proofs of Saint-Just's villainy and corruption." He detailed them, and went on; "Desmoulins is to expose him in the Vieux Cordelier as a beginning. Then another—and that other will be Danton himself—will follow up the publication by an attack in the Convention; an attack which is not to be met; an attack under which Saint-Just must inevitably go down, dragging Robespierre with him, and leaving the party discredited, despised, detested. Danton will remain at the head of a state faced by a people weary of revolution and finally disillusioned on the subject of revolutionists, finally persuaded that their faith has been abused."

He paused. They were silent, intent, moved by an excitement which had been visibly growing in a measure as the clear narrative proceeded. As he paused there was a movement almost of impatience from d'Avaray, whose pale eyes were fixed upon him. The Regent, no less intent, mumbled:

"Well, sir? Well?"

D'Entragues' keener wits had been a little puzzled by the tense André-Louis was employing. "Do you mean," he asked, "that this is the situation which is now established?"

"This is the situation we had established just before I left Paris. It was something to compensate for the fall of Toulon, and the royalist defeat in the South; something worth a dozen, royalist victories in the field, for it opens the door for the-unopposed return of the monarchical party. Your highness perceives this?"

The Regent was trembling in his excitement.

"Of course I perceive it. It is astounding. I can scarcely-believe in so much good fortune at last, after all that we have suffered."

"I am glad that you perceive the inevitability of the success: to follow, monseigneur."

"By now it must have followed," cut in d'Avaray. "If this was the state of affairs you left in Paris. The rest must already have happened."

André-Louis stood looking at them with brooding eyes. The, normal pallor of his face had deepened in the last moment or two; the ghost of an oddly-mocking smile had crept round the-corners of his lips.

"Come, sir," cried the Regent breathlessly. "Have you any doubt of what Monsieur d'Avaray says? Surely no doubt is possible."

"No doubt would have been possible if the plan for which we had laboured had been executed. If the weapons of success of which I had obtained possession had been wielded."

D'Entragues took a step towards him. The Regent and d'Avaray leaned forward. From the three of them simultaneously came the awed question: "What do you mean?"

"I should not be troubling you with this report if the Baron de Batz had not desired me to lay it before you," said André-Louis by way of preface. Then he explained himself. "On my return front Blérancourt with those proofs which I had employed my wits and: risked my head to obtain, I made the discovery that during all those months when I had been braving death in Paris in the service of the monarchical cause, the head of that cause had been, taking advantage of my absence to seduce the lady whom he-knew was promised to me in marriage. It is only now, since my arrival here this morning, that I have discovered the full extent of this betrayal. So as to remove the barriers which the lady's, honour and loyalty must present to his ignoble aims, this disloyal prince did not scruple to have me represented as dead, and to suppress my letters to her which would have proved me living. An incredible story is it not, messieurs?"

In the momentary pause that he made, they were too dumbfounded to interpose a word. Dispassionately he continued.

"When I discovered this, I perceived that no good could come to any country under the rule of a prince so treacherous and base. 'Therefore I thrust into the fire those papers which by destroying the Robespierrists must have opened the gates for your highness's speedy return to France.

"That is all my report, messieurs," he concluded quietly. "I should not, I repeat, have troubled to journey here to make it, tut that the Baron de Batz considered that your highness should 'have it. He perceives a moral in the tale, which he hopes—since he remains behind to continue to labour in your service—your highness will also perceive, and, perceiving it, perhaps study to 'become worthy of the high destiny to which you may yet be called."

"You dare?" said d'Avaray, leaping to his feet.

"Oh no. These words are not mine. They are the message from Monsieur de Batz. Myself, I nourish no such hope. If I had no illusions on the subject of the gratitude of princes, at least I had illusions on the subject of their honour when I set out at the risk of my life to become a kingmaker. But it has never been .among my illusions that a man can run counter to his nature." He shrugged, and ceased at last, his dark eyes travelling from one to the other of them, the curve of his lips expressing his unutterable contempt.

The Prince sat back, white to his twitching mouth, his body limp. D'Avaray, with eyes flaming in a livid face, remained standing where he had risen. D'Entragues, the only one to preserve his colour, faced André-Louis at closer quarters and conned him with narrowing, wicked eyes.

"You scoundrel! Not only have you committed this atrocious crime, but you dare to come here and tell us of it to our face, so lost to respect of his highness that you can permit yourself to speak as you have done."

"Did you use the word 'respect', Monsieur d'Entragues?" He laughed into the dark countenance that was within a foot of his .own. "It need not surprise you or him that my feeling is something very different. Let him be thankful that his royal blood places him beyond the reach of the satisfaction it is my right to 'claim."

The Regent rocked in his chair "This insolence! My God, this insolence! To what have I fallen?"

"To what, indeed!" said André-Louis.

But now, d'Avaray, quivering with anger for his master, came swiftly round the table. "It shall be punished, monseigneur. I claim to act for you where your rank forbids you to act for yourself." He confronted André-Louis. "That for your insolence, you poor rascal," he said, and swept his fingers across the young man's cheek.

André-Louis fell back, and bowed to him, even as the Regent struggled to his feet.

"No, no! D'Avaray! It shall not be. I forbid it, do you hear? I forbid it. Let him go. What do his words matter? You cannot meet a man so base, a nameless bastard. To the door with him. D'Entragues, Monsieur Moreau to the door."

"The door for me, certainly, Monsieur, d'Entragues," said André-Louis, and turned on his heel.

D'Entragues, stepping swiftly ahead of him, flung wide the door, and stood haughtily aside to let him pass. On the threshold André-Louis paused and turned.

"I am lodged at the Two Towers, Monsieur d'Avaray. And I shall be there until to-morrow if you want me, or if you feel that this is a matter which you may pursue in honour."

But the Regent anticipated his favourite. "If you are still there to-morrow, by God I'll send my grooms to give you the thrashing you deserve."

André-Louis smiled his contempt. "You are consistent, monseigneur." And on that went out, leaving rage and shame behind him.

CHAPTER XLV

BACK TO HAMM

André-Louis carried away from the Casa Gazzola a bitterness that choked him. For all the calm self-command he had exhibited to the end, he had that day torn open again the dreadful wound in his soul so that the Regent might behold it. And the compensating satisfaction to him had been less than he had thought to find in the discharge of that scornful errand upon which de Batz had sent him.

He had failed, he knew, to pierce the armour of egotism n which Monsieur was empanoplied. Monsieur, whilst affronted and angry, had yet remained untouched in his conscience by any sense of having merited the outrage to his dignity which André-Louis Moreau had perpetrated. He resented the words uttered in his presence much as he might have resented an offensive gesture from some urchin in the streets of Verona. Fools and egotists remain what they are because of their self-complacency and lack of the faculty of self-criticism. It is not within their power to view their actions in the light in which they are revealed to others. Blind to the cause which they may have supplied, they have only indignation for effects which are hostile to themselves.

Something of this André-Louis considered as he rode back to the Two Towers. It did not sweeten his mood or provide balm for his suffering. His vengeance had failed because the man at whom it was aimed could not perceive that it was deserved. It required more than words to hurt such men as the Comte de Provence. He should have given them more. He should have insisted upon satisfaction from that fool d'Avaray. Or, better still, he should have put a quarrel upon d'Entragues, that sly scoundrel who had played the pander to the extent of suppressing his letters, or, at least, of being a party to their suppression. He had forgotten d'Entragues' part in the business in the concentration of his resentment against the chief and unassailable offender. But, after all, it was no great matter. What real satisfaction could lie in visiting upon those lackeys, d'Entragues and d'Avaray, the sins of their master?

As he dismounted in the courtyard of the Two Towers he was suddenly overwhelmed by a sense of his aimlessness. It was as if his life had suddenly come to an end. He knew not whither now to turn his steps, for nowhere did any purpose await him.

The landlord met him on the threshold with the information that a room had been prepared for him, and at the same time with a message from Madame de Plougastel, requesting him to wait upon her at the earliest moment.

"Conduct me to her," he said indifferently.

Still with the dust of travel upon him and his fast unbroken, he was ushered into that same room in which a couple of hours ago he had left her. She was alone when he entered, standing by the window, from which she had witnessed his return. She turned eagerly as the door opened, and came some little way to meet him. Her manner was strained and anxious.

"You are kind to come so promptly, André-Louis. I have so much to say to you. You left so hurriedly before I could even begin. Where have you been?"

"To the Casa Gazzola to let them know that I am still alive."

"It was what I feared. You have not been imprudent? You have done nothing hasty or rash, André-Louis?" She was trembling.

His lips writhed as he answered her. "There was nothing I could do, madame. The harm is past repairing. I could only talk. I doubt if I impressed them."

He saw relief in her face.

"Tell me about it. Ah, but sit down, child."

She waved him to one of two chairs that stood by the window, and herself took the other one. He sank down wearily, dropping hat and whip upon the floor beside him, and turned all the misery of his haggard eyes upon her gentle, wistful, face.

"You saw Monsieur?" she asked him.

"I saw him, madame. I had a message for him from Monsieur de Batz." Briefly he repeated what he had told the Regent. She heard him out, a little colour creeping into her cheeks, a bitter little smile gradually taking shape about her sensitive lips. When at last he had done, she nodded.

"It was merited. All of it was merited. Although in doing what you did in Paris you betrayed a cause, yet I cannot blame you. And I am glad with you that you had the satisfaction of telling him. Never think that the bitterness of it will not penetrate to his heart, or that he will not understand how his own treachery and disloyalty have brought this failure upon him. He is very fitly punished."

"I am not so easily satisfied, madame. I doubt if any punishment I could have visited upon him would have been enough to satisfy me for the ruin he has wrought in wantonness."

"Ruin?" she echoed. She was staring at him with widening eyes. "The ruin he has wrought?"

"Is that too much to call it?" He was bitter. "Can any power undo it, or repair it?"

She paused before replying. Then quietly asked him "What has been reported to you, André?"

"The vile truth, madame; that he made Aline his mistress; that he—"

"Ah, no! That, no!" she cried, and came to her feet as she spoke. "It is not true, my André."

He raised his head, and looked at her with his weary eyes. "Pity misleads you into deceiving me. I have it on the word of a witness, and he a man of honour."

"You must mean Monsieur de La Guiche."

"How well you know. Yes, it was La Guiche who told me, without knowing how much he was telling me La Guiche who discovered her in the Regent's arms, when he—"

Again he was interrupted. "I know, I know. Ah, wait, my poor André! Listen to me. What La Guiche reported that he had seen is true. But all the rest, all the assumptions from it are false. False! And you have been tortured by this dreadful belief. My poor child /" She was beside him, her hand upon his head, soothing, caressing, gathering to her starved mother's heart some comfort for the comfort that she brought him. And whilst she went on to speak, to give him the facts within her knowledge, he held his breath and kept his body rigid.

"How could you have thought that your Aline is of those who yield. Not even the belief in your death could have robbed her of her pure strength. Long and patiently Monsieur laid siege to her. In the end, I suppose, that patience wearied. He was required elsewhere. They were demanding his presence in Toulon. So, to be rid of Monsieur de Kercadiou, he sent him to Brussels on a pretexted errand, and went that night to bear Aline company in her loneliness. Feeling herself helpless because alone there, and terrified by his vehemence, she suffered the embrace which Monsieur de La Guiche surprised, and which Monsieur de La Guiche interrupted. Wait, André! Hear the end. The Regent left her upon the insistence of Monsieur de La Guiche, who was very angry, and, I believe, very unmeasured in his terms, wanting even in respect to his highness. They went into another room, so that Monsieur might hear the message of which the Marquis was the bearer. No sooner had they gone than Mine came down to me with the tale of what had passed. She was filled with horror and loathing of Monsieur, and between terror of what had been and the fear of its repetition, she implored me to keep her with me and to shelter her." A moment Madame de Plougastel paused, and then added slowly and solemnly: "And she did not leave my side again until two days later, after Monsieur had departed from Hamm."

André-Louis came to his feet. He stood before her, his eyes level with her own, his sight blurred.

"Madame! Madame! Is this the truth?" His tone was piteous.

She took his hands in hers. She spoke wistfully. "Could deceive you, André-Louis? You know that whoever might lie to you, I never should. Not even out of charity, my child, in such a matter as this."

There were tears in his eyes. "Madame," he faltered, "you give me life."

She smiled upon him with an ineffable sadness. "Then I give it to you for the second time. And I thank God that it is in my power to give it." She leaned forward and kissed him. "Go to your Aline, André-Louis. Go with confidence. Give no further thought to Monsieur. You have punished him for the evil of his intentions. Be thankful that there was no more to punish."

"Where is she? Aline?" he asked.

"At Hamm. When we left to follow the Regent to Turin, Monsieur de Kercadiou had not yet returned from Brussels. So that she was compelled to await him there. Besides, she had nowhere to go, poor child. I left her money enough to suffice them for some time. Make haste to her, André-Louis."

He set out next day, fortified by the blessing and prayers of the gentle lady who was his mother, and who took consolation for the thought that perhaps she might never see him again in the reflection that he went at last to his happiness.

He spared on that journey neither himself nor horseflesh. He was well supplied with money. In addition to a bundle of assignats with which he had paid his way in France, he had received from de Batz at patting a belt containing fifty louis in gold to which he had scarcely yet had recourse. But he had recourse to it freely now. It went prodigally on horseflesh, and to surmount all obstacles and smooth all difficulties.

Within a week, on a fair April day, he came worn and jaded, but with his heart aglow, into the little Westphalian town on the Lippe. He rolled almost exhausted from the saddle at the door of the Bear Inn, and staggered across the threshold looking like the ghost for which he was presently to be taken.

When the gaping landlord in answer to his questions had told him that Monsieur de Kercadiou and his niece were above stairs, André-Louis bade him go tell the Lord of Gavrillac that a courier had just arrived for him.

"Say no more than that. Do not mention my name to him, within Mademoiselle's hearing."

Then he reeled to a chair and sank into it. But he was on his feet again a few moments later when his godfather came down in answer to the summons.

Monsieur de Kercadiou checked at sight of him, and changed colour; then uttered his name in a voice that rang through the inn, and came running to embrace him, repeating his name again and again between tears and laughter.

André-Louis babbled foolishly in his godfather's arms.

"It is I monsieur my godfather. It is indeed I. I have come back. I have done with politics. We are going farming. We are going to my farm in Saxony. I always knew that farm would be useful to us one day. Now let us go and find Aline if you please."

But there was no need to go in quest of her. She was there mid-way upon the stairs. Her uncle's voice pronouncing André-Louis' name had drawn her forth. Her lovely face was piteously white, and she was trembling so violently that she could scarcely stand.

At sight of her André-Louis disengaged himself from the arms of Monsieur de Kercadiou, and casting off his weariness as if it had been a cloak, he leapt up to meet her. He came to a halt a step below her, his upturned face on a level with her throat. She put her arms round his neck, and drew his dark head against her breast. Holding him so, she whispered to him. "I was waiting for you, André. I should always have been waiting for you. To the end."

THE END