Scaramouche (5 page)

CHAPTER V

THE RESCUE

The afternoon of the following day saw André-Louis at Schönbornlust, drawn thither by Aline as by a magnet. But this time when he presented himself the gentleman-usher who had passed him into the presence on the two former occasions affected not to know him. He inquired his name and sought it in a list he held of those who had the entrée. He announced that it was not there. Could he serve Monsieur Moreau? Whom particularly did Monsieur Moreau seek? There was a sly insolence in his manner that stung André-Louis. He perceived in it that, like half these courtiers, the fellow had the soul of a lackey. But he dissembled his vexation, pretended not to observe the nudges, glances and smiles of those others who, like himself now, must not aspire beyond the ante-chamber and who were enjoying the rebuff of one who had so confidently gone forward.

He desired, he announced after a moment's thought, a word with Madame de Plougastel. The gentleman-usher beckoned a page, a pert lad in white satin, and dispatched him to bear the name of Monsieur Moreau—Moreau, was it not?—to Madame la Comtesse de Plougastel. The page looked at Monsieur Moreau as if he were a tradesman who had come to collect a bill, and vanished beyond the sacred portal which was guarded by two officers in gold-laced scarlet coats, white waistcoats and blue breeches.

André-Louis took a turn in that spacious ante-chamber among the members of the lesser nobility and the subaltern officers who peopled it. They made up an oddly assorted crowd. Most of the officers glittered in uniforms, the purchase of which had rendered them bankrupt. The others and their womenfolk were in garments which showed every stage of wear, from some that were modishly cut and still bore the bloom of freshness, to others which, rubbed and soiled and threadbare, were at the last point of shabbiness. But those who wore them had in common with the rest at least the same assumptions of haughtiness, the same air of quiet, well-bred insolence, the same trick of looking down their aristocratic noses. All the airs and graces of the Oeuil de Boeuf were to be found here.

André-Louis suffered with indifference the cool stares and the levelling of quizzing glasses to scan his unpowdered hair, his plain long riding-coat and the knee-boots from which yesterday's mud had been laboriously removed. But he was not required to endure it long. Madame de Plougastel did not keep him waiting, and by her friendly wistful smile of welcome this great lady shattered the scorn with which those lesser folk had presumed to regard her visitor.

"My good André!" She set a fine hand upon his arm. "You bring me news of Quentin?"

"He is better to-day, madame. He shows signs, too, of a recovery of spirit. I came, madame...Oh, to be frank, I came with the hope to see Aline."

"And me, André?" There was gentle reproach in the tone. "Madame!" he said on a low note of protest.

She understood and sighed. "Ah yes, my dear. And they would not let you pass. You are out of favour. M. d'Artois was not pleased with your politics, and Monsieur does not regard you with too friendly an eye. But soon this will cease to matter, and you will be safely back at. Gavrillac. Perhaps in the years to come I shall see you there sometimes..." She broke off. Her eyes dwelt upon his lean, keen, resolute face, and they were sadly tender. "Wait here. I'll bring Aline to you."

When Aline came a ripple of fresh interest almost of mild excitement ran through the antechamber. There were whisperings, and from one woman whose whisper was not hushed enough André-Louis caught the words: "...the Kercadiou...and Madame de Balbi will need to look to herself. She will require all her wit to make up for her fading beauty. Not that she was ever beautiful."

The allusion to Mademoiselle de Kercadiou was obscure. But André-Louis was moved to inward anger by a suspicion that already the scandalmongers of the court were preying upon her name.

She stood before him radiant in her gown of coral taffetas with rich pointe de Venise about its décolletage. She was a little out of breath. She had but a moment, she declared. She had slipped away for just a word with him. She was in attendance upon Madame, and must not neglect her duties. Kindly she deplored in him the indiscretion which had procured his exclusion from the presence. But he could depend upon her to do her best to make his peace for him with the Princes.

He received the proposal coldly.

"I would not have you in any man's debt on my account, Aline."

She laughed at him. "Faith, sir, you must learn to curb this lordly independence. I have already spoken to Monsieur. though not yet with much result. The moment is not propitious. It is of..." She broke off. "But no. I must not tell you that."

If his lips smiled the crooked half-mocking smile she knew so well, his eyes were grave. "So that now you are to have secrets from me."

"Why, no. What does it matter, after all? Their highnesses are more mistrustful than usual because there is an emissary from the Assembly secretly in Coblentz at present."

André-Louis' face betrayed nothing. "Secretly?" said he. "A secret of Polichinelle, it seems."

"Hardly that, and, anyway, the emissary believes that no one knows save the Elector with whom he has come to treat." "And the Elector has betrayed him 2"

Mine appeared to be very well informed. "The Elector is in a dilemma. He confided in Monsieur d'Entragues. Monsieur d'Entragues, of course, has told the Prince."

"I don't perceive the need for mystery. Who is the man? Do you know?"

"I believe he is a person of some consequence in the Assembly."

"Naturally, if he comes as an ambassador to the Elector." With assumed idleness he asked: "They intend him no harm I suppose? Messieurs the émigrés, I mean."

"You do not imagine that they will allow him to depart again. Only M. de Batz is so squeamish as to advocate that. I h has reasons of his own."

"Do they know then where to find this man?"

"Of course. He has been tracked."

André-Louis continued with his air of half-interest. °But what can they do? After all, he is in ambassador Therefore his person is sacred."

"To the Elector, André. But not to Messieurs the émigrés,"

"We are in the Electorate, are we not? What can the émigrés do here?"

Aline's sweet face was solemn. "They will deal with him, I suppose, as his kind deals with ours."

"By way of showing that there is no fundamental difference between the two." He laughed to dissemble the depth of his interest and concern. "Well, well! It's a piece of wanton stupidity for which they may pay bitterly, and it's a gross breach of the Elector's hospitality, since it may bring down grave consequences upon him. Do you say, Aline, that the Princes are in this murder business? Or is it just the intention of some reckless hotheads?"

She became alarmed. Although he kept his voice low an undertone of vehemence, of indignation, quivered in it.

"I have talked too freely André. You have led me on. Forget what I have said."

He dismissed the matter with a careless shrug. "What difference if I remember?"

He was to display that difference the moment she had left him to return to her duties. He quitted the palace on the instant, and rode back into the town at the gallop. Leaving his horse at the stable of the Three Crowns, from which he had hired it, he made his way at speed through the thickening dusk to the little street behind the Liebfraukirche, praying that already he might not come too late.

He had assurance almost as soon as lie had entered the street that he was in time, but no more than in time; already the assassins were at their post. At his appearance three shadows melted into the archway of a porte-cochere almost opposite Le Chapelier's lodging.

He reached the door, and knocked with the butt of his riding-whip. This whip was his only weapon, and he blamed himself now for having neglected to arm himself.

The door was opened by the same broad woman whom yesterday he had seen.

"Monsieur...The gentleman who is lodged with you? Is he within?"

She scanned him by the light of the lamp in the passage behind her.

"I don t know. But if he is, he will receive no visitors.

"Tell him," said' André-Louis "that it is the friend who walked home with him last evening. You know me again, don't you?"

"Wait there." She closed the door in his face.

Presently whilst waiting, André-Louis dropped his whip. He stooped to recover it, and was some time about it. This because he was looking between his legs at the porte-cochere behind him. The three heads were there in view peering out, to watch him.

At last he was admitted. In the front room above stairs, Le Chapelier, neat of apparel as a petit-maitre, a gold-rimmed spy-glass dangling from a ribbon round his neck smiled a welcome.

"You've come to tell me that you have changed your mind that you will return with me."

"A bad guess, Isaac. I've come to tell you that there is more than a doubt about your own return."

The tired eyes flamed into alertness, the fine arched brows were raised in surprise. 'What's that? The émigrés, do you mean?"

"Messieurs the émigrés. Three of their assassins—at least three—are at this moment lying in wait for you in the street."

Le Chapelier lost colour "But how do they know? Have you...?"

"No I haven't. If I had I should not now be here. Your visit has placed the Elector in a delicate position. Clemens Wenceslaus has a nice sense of hospitality. He found himself between the wall of that and the sword of your demand. In his perplexity he sent for M. d'Entragues and told him of it in confidence. In confidence M. d'Entragues passed on the information to the Princes. In confidence the Princes appear to have told the whole court, and in confidence a member of it told me an hour ago, Has it ever occurred to you, Isaac, that but for confidential communications one would never get at any of the facts of history?"

"And you have come to warn me?"

"Isn't that what you gather?"

"This is very friendly, André." Le Chapelier was gravely emphatic. "But why should you suppose that they intend to murder me?"

"Isn't it what you would suppose, yourself?"

Le Chapelier sat down in the only armchair that plainly furnished room afforded. He drew a handkerchief from his pocket and mopped the sweat which had gathered in cold beads upon his brow.

"You are taking some risk," he said. "It is noble, but in the circumstances, foolish."

"Most noble things are foolish."

"If they are posted there as you say..." Le Chapelier shrugged. "Your warning comes too late. But I thank you for it none the less, my friend."

"Nonsense. Is there no back way out of this?"

A wan smile crossed the face of the deputy, which showed pale in the candlelight.

"If there were they would be guarding it."

"Very well, then. I'll seek the Elector. He shall send his guards to clear a way for you."

"The Elector has gone to Oberkirch. Before you could reach him and return it would be daylight. Do you imagine that those murderers will wait all night? When they perceive that I am not coming forth again they'll knock. The woman will open, and..." He shrugged, and left the sentence there. Then in hot, distressed anger he broke out: "It's an infamy! I am an ambassador, and my person is sacred. But these vindictive devils care nothing for that. In their eyes I am vermin to be exterminated, and they'll exterminate me without a thought for the vengeance they will bring down upon their host the Elector." He got to his feet again, raging. "My God! What a vengeance that will be! This foolish archbishop shall realize the rashness of having harboured such guests."

"That won't slake the thirst you'll have in Hell," said André Louis. "And, anyway, you're not dead yet."

"Why, no. Merely under sentence."

"Come, man. To be warned is already something. It's the unsuspecting who walks foolishly into the trap. If, now, we were to make a sally, both together, the odds are none so heavy. Two against three. We might bring you off."

Hope dawned in Le Chapelier's face. Doubt followed. "Do you know that there are but three? Can you be sure?"

André-Louis sighed. "Ah! That, I confess, is my own misgiving."

"Depend upon it, there will be more at hand. Go your way, my friend, while you may still depart. I'll await them here with my pistols. They will not know that I am warned. I may get one of them before they get me."

"A poor consolation." André-Louis stood in thought. Then: "Yes, I might go my way," he said. "They've seen me enter. They will hardly hinder my departure, lest by so doing they should alarm you." His eyes grew bright with inspiration. Abruptly he asked a question. "If you were out of this house, what should you do?"

"Do? I should make for the frontier. My travelling chaise is at the Red Hat." Despondently he added "But what's that to the matter?"