Scaramouche (6 page)

"Are your papers in order? Could you pass the guard at the bridge?"

"Oh yes. My passport is countersigned by the Electoral Chancellor."

"Why then, it's easy, I think."

"Easy?"

"We're much of a height and shape. You will take this riding-coat, these white breeches and these boots. With my hat on your head and my whip tucked under your arm, the woman of the house will light Monsieur André-Louis Moreau to the door. On the doorstep you will pause, turning your back upon that gateway across the street; so that whilst your figure is clear in the light, your face will not be seen. You will say to the woman something like this: 'You had better tell the gentleman upstairs that if I do not return within an hour he need not wait for me.' Then you plunge abruptly from the light into the gloom and make off, a hand in each pocket, a pistol in each hand for emergencies."

The colour was stirring again in the deputy's pale cheeks. "But you?"

"I?" André-Louis shrugged. "They will let you go because they will suppose that you are not Isaac Le Chapelier. They will let me go because they will see that I am not Isaac Le Chapelier."

The deputy wrung his hands nervously. He was white again. "You tempt me damnably."

André-Louis began to unbutton his coat. "Off with your clothes."

"But the risk to you is more than you represent it."

"It is negligible, and merely a risk. Your death, if you wait, is a certainty. Come, man. To work!"

The change was effected, and at least the back view presented I y Le Chapelier in André-Louis' clothes must in an uncertain light be indistinguishable from that of the man whom those watching eyes had seen enter the house a half-hour ago.

"Now call your woman. Dab your lips with a handkerchief as you emerge. It will help to mask your face until you've turned."

Le Chapelier gripped both his hands. His myopic eyes were moist. "I have no words my friend."

"Praised be Heaven! Away with you You have an hour in which to be out of Coblentz."

A few minutes later when the door opened, something stirred in the archway across the street. The watching eyes beheld the man in the riding-coat and sugar-loaf hat who had entered a half-hour before. They heard his parting message, loudly spoken, and saw him go striding down the street. They made no move to hinder or to follow.

André-Louis above, peering past the edge of the blind, his ears attentive, was content.

A full hour he waited, and whilst waiting he considered. What if these gentlemen issued no challenge, made no covert attack, but, persuaded that he was Le Chapelier, shot him as he walked down the street? It was a risk he had not counted. Counting it now, he decided that it would be better to receive them here in the light where, face to face, they would perceive their error.

Another hour he waited now sitting, now pacing the length of the narrow chamber in a state of nervousness induced by the suspense, conjecture chasing conjecture through his mind. Then, at long last, towards ten o'clock, a rattle of approaching steps on the kidney stones of the street below a mutter of voices directly under the window, announced that the enemy was moving to the assault.

Considering what the odds would be, André-Louis wished that he had pistols. But Le Chapelier had taken the only pair. He fingered the cut steel hilt of the light delicate sword which Le Chapelier had left him; but he did not draw it. A loud knock fell on the door, and was twice repeated.

He heard the shuffling steps of the woman, the click of the lifted latch, her voice raised in challenge, deeper voices answering her, then her voice again, in an outcry of alarm, and at last a rush of heavy feet along the passage and upon the stairs.

When the door was flung rudely open, the three men who thrust into the room beheld an apparently calm young gentleman standing beyond the barrier of the table, with brows interrogatively raised, considering them with a glance no more startled than the intrusion warranted.

"What's this?" he asked. "Who are you? What do you want here?"

"We want you sir," said the foremost, under whose half-open cloak André-Louis perceived the green and silver of the guards of M. d'Artois. He was tall and authoritative, in air and voice a gentleman. The other two wore the blue coats with yellow facings and fleur-de-lys buttons of the Auvergne Regiment.

"You are to come with us, if you please," said green-and-silver.

So! It was not proposed to butcher him on the spot. They were to lead him forth. Down to the river, perhaps. Blow his brains out and thrust his body into the stream. Thus the Deputy Le Chapelier would simply disappear.

"Come with you?" André-Louis echoed the words like a man who has not understood them.

"At once, if you please. You are wanted at the Electoral Palace."

Deeper showed the surprise on André-Louis' face. "At the Electoral Palace? Odd! However, I come, of course." He turned aside to take up hat and cloak. "Faith, you are only just in time. I was about to depart, tired of waiting for Monsieur Le Chapelier." In the act of flinging the cloak about his shoulders, he added: "I suppose that it was he who sent you?"

The question stirred them sharply. The three of them were craning their necks to scrutinize him.

"Who the devil are you?" demanded one of the Auvergnats. "If it comes to that, who the devil may you be?"

"I've told you, sir," said green-and-silver, "that we are—" He was interrupted by an oath from one of his companions. "This is not our man."

The colour deepened in green-and-silver's face. He advanced a step. "Where is Le Chapelier?"

"Where is he?" André-Louis looked blank. "Where is he?" he repeated. "Then he hasn't sent you?"

"I tell you we are seeking him."

"But if you come from the Electoral Palace, then? It is very odd." André-Louis assumed an air of mistrust. "Le Chapelier left me two hours ago to go there. He was to have returned in an hour. If you want him, you had better wait here for him. I can wait no longer."

"Two hours ago!" the Auvergnat was saying. "Then it was the man who..."

Green-and-silver cut sharply across the question which must betray the watch they had kept. "How long have you been here?"

"Three hours at least."

"Ah!" Green-and-silver was concluding that the man in the riding-coat whom they had supposed a visitor must have been the deputy himself. It was bewildering. "Who are you?" he asked aggressively. "What was your business with the deputy?"

"Faith! I don't know what concern that may be of yours. But there's no secret. I had no business with him. He's an old friend met here by chance, that's all. As to whom I am, I am named André-Louis Moreau."

"What? You are Kercadiou's bastard?"

The next moment green-and-silver received André-Louis' hand full and hard upon his cheek. There was a twisted smile on André-Louis' white face.

"To-morrow," said he coldly, "there will be one liar the less in the world. To-night if honour spurs you fiercely."

The officer, white in his turn, his lip in his teeth, bowed formally. The other two stood at gaze, startled. The entire scene and their respective roles in it had abruptly changed.

"To-morrow will serve," said the officer, and added: "My name is Tourzel, Clement de Tourzel."

"Your friends will know where to find me. I am lodged at the Three Crowns with my godfather—my godfather, gentlemen, be good enough to remember—Monsieur de Kercadiou."

His glance for a moment challenged the two Auvergnats. Then, finding the challenge unanswered, he flung one wing of the cloak over his left shoulder and stalked past them, out of the room, down the stairs and so out of the house.

The officers made no attempt to detain him. The Auvergnats stared gloomily at green-and-silver.

"Here's a nice blunder," said one of them.

"You fool, Tourzel!" cried the other. "You're a dead man."

"Peste!" swore Tourzel. "The words slipped out of me before I knew what I was saying."

"And it must be a lie, anyway," said the first. "Does anyone suppose that Kercadiou would allow his bastard to marry his niece?"

Tourzel shrugged and attempted a laugh of bravado. "We'll leave to-morrow till it dawn. Meanwhile we have this rat of a patriot to settle to-night. It will be better after all to await him in the street."

Meanwhile André-Louis was walking briskly back to the Three Crowns.

"You are late, André," his godfather greeted him. Then, as André-Louis loosed his cloak, and the Lord of Gavrillac perceived his black satin breeches and buckled shoes, "Parbleau! You're neat," he said.

"In all my undertakings," answered André-Louis.

CHAPTER VI

THE APOLOGY

In the course of the following morning, as André-Louis sat expecting Monsieur de Tourzel's friends, he was visited by an equerry with a command to wait instantly upon Monsieur at Schönbornlust. The carriage which had brought the equerry waited at the door of the inn. The matter had almost the air of an arrest.

André-Louis, who had no taste for wearing another man's clothes longer than he must, and who was spurred in addition on this occasion by less personal considerations, had sought a tailor early that morning, and was once more characteristically arrayed in a long fawn riding-coat with wide lapels. He professed himself ready, and took leave of the Lord of Gavrillac, who, suffering from a chill, was constrained to keep the house.

At Schönbornlust he was received in the ante-chamber, almost empty at this early hour, by the swarthy, hollow-cheeked Monsieur d'Entragues, whose narrow close-set eyes looked him over coldly. André-Louis', of course, was not a proper dress in which to come to court, and was of a kind tolerated there only because the impecunious state of many of the émigrés had perforce relaxed the etiquette in these matters.

Monsieur d'Entragues surprised him with questions on the subject of his relations with Le Chapelier. André-Louis made no mystery. Le Chapelier and he had been friends, and at various times associates, from the days of the Assembly of the States of Brittany at Rennes, five or six years ago, He had met him by chance in the street two evenings ago, and last night he had called at Le Chapelier's lodging to pay him a friendly visit.

"And then 2" quoth Monsieur d'Entragues, peremptory.

"And then? Oh, when I had been with him an hour or so, he informed me that he was expected at the Electoral Palace, and begged me to await his return, saying that he would not be more than an hour away. I waited two hours, and then, when a Monsieur de Tourzel and two other gentlemen called to see him, I departed."

M. d'Entragues' dark eyes had shifted from André-Louis', "It is all very odd."

"Very odd, indeed, to leave me waiting there like that."

"Especially as he can have had no intention of returning."

"But what do you tell me?"

"This man Le Chapelier left his lodging at nine o'clock."

"Yes. That would he the time."

"At a quarter past nine he was at the Red Hat Inn where he kept his travelling chaise. At half-past nine the guard at the bridge passed him over. He Was on his way to France. Clearly he must have been acting upon intentions formed before he left you, as you tell me, to await his return."

"It must have been so if your information is correct. It is very odd, as you say."

"You did not know that he would not return?" d'Entragues' eyes were like gimlets.

André-Louis met their searching glance with a crooked smile.

"Oh, but I am honoured. You take me for a half-wit. I sit for two hours awaiting the return of a man who I know will not return. Ah, but that is droll." And he laughed outright.

M. d'Entragues did not join in the laugh. "If you intended, for instance. to cover his retreat?"

"His retreat?" André-Louis was suddenly grave again. "His retreat? But from what then, was he retreating? Was he threatened? Peste, Monsieur d'Entragues, you'll not mean that the visit of Monsieur de Tourzel and his friends—"

"Bah!" snapped d'Entragues to interrupt him. "What are you assuming?" There was a flush on his dark face. He was uncomfortably conscious that his zeal of investigation had half betrayed a design which, having failed in execution, must never now be known.

But André-Louis, maliciously vindictive, pursued him. 'It is you, monsieur, who make assumptions, I think. If you assume that I stayed to cover a retreat, you must know that there was cause for it. That is plain enough."

"I know nothing of the kind, sir. I only fear lest Monsieur Le Chapelier should have suspected some danger, and so have been led to make a departure which looks like a flight. Naturally Monsieur Le Chapelier as an agent of these revolutionaries would know that here he has only enemies, and this may have made him start at shadows. Enough, sir! I'll conduct you to his highness."

In a small room communicating with the white-and-gold pillared salon that served as presence chamber, the King's brother was seated quill in hand at a table strewn with papers. He was attended by the Comte d'Avaray, his favourite, a slight, pale, delicate-looking man of thirty, with thin fair hair, who in appearance, dress and manner affected the airs of an Englishman. He was a protégé of Madame de Balbi, to whom he owed a position which his own talents had very materially strengthened.

Devoted to Monsieur, it was his wit and resource which had made possible the Prince's timely escape from Paris. Gentle, courteous and affable, he had earned the esteem of the entire court if we except the ambitious Monsieur d'Entragues, who beheld in him a dangerous rival for Monsieur's favour.

His highness slewed himself half round in his chair to confront André-Louis. André-Louis bowed profoundly. The Comte d'Entragues remained watchful in the background.

"Ah, Monsieur Moreau." There was a smile on Monsieur's full lips, but his prominent eyes under their heavy arched brows were hardly friendly. "Considering your services to some persons we esteem, I must deplore that my brother, M. d'Artois, should have found your opinions and principles of such a complexion that he has not been able to offer you any post in the army which is about to deliver Throne and Altar from the enemy."

He paused there, and André-Louis felt it incumbent upon him to say something in reply.

"Perhaps I did not make it sufficiently clear to his highness that my principles are strictly monarchical, monseigneur."

"Strictly perhaps, but inadequately. You are, I understand, a constitutionalist. That, however, is by the way." He paused a moment. "What was that officer's name d'Entragues?"

"Tourzel, monseigneur. Captain Clement de Tourzel."

"Ah, yes. Tourzel. I understand, Monsieur Moreau, that you had the misfortune to enter into a quarrel last night with Captain de Tourzel."

"Captain de Tourzel had that misfortune, monseigneur."

The great eyes bulged at him. Monsieur d'Avaray looked startled. D'Entragues in the background clicked softly with his tongue.

"To be sure, you have been a fencing-master," said Monsieur. "A fencing-master of considerable repute, I understand." His tone was cold and distant. "Do you think, Monsieur Moreau, that it is quite proper, quite honourable, for a fencing-master to engage in duels? Is it not a little like...like gaming with cogged dice?"

"That circumstance, monseigneur, should prevent unpardonable utterances. A fencing-master is not to be insulted with impunity because he is a fencing-master."

"But I understand, sir, that you were the aggressor: that you struck Monsieur de Tourzel. That is so d'Entragues, is it not? A blow was struck?"

André-Louis saved the Count the trouble of answering. "I certainly struck Monsieur de Tourzel. But the blow was not the aggression. It was the answer to an insult that admitted of no other answer."

"Is this so, d'Entragues?" His highness became peevish. "You did not tell me this, d'Entragues."

"Naturally, monseigneur, there must have been some provocation for the blow."

"Then why am I not told? Why am I but half informed? Monsieur Moreau, what was this provocation?"

André-Louis told him, adding: "It is a lie, monseigneur, that peculiarly defames my godfather since I am to marry his niece. I could not let it pass even if I am a fencing-master."

Monsieur breathed noisily. He showed signs of discomfort, of distress. "But this is very grave, d'Entragues. Almost...almost it touches the honour of Mademoiselle de Kercadiou." It annoyed André-Louis that his highness should make this the reason for his change of attitude. "You agree that it is grave, d'Entragues?"

"Most grave, monseigneur."

Did this lantern-jawed fellow smile covertly, wondered André-Louis in suppressed fury.

"You will say two words from me to this Captain de Tourzel. You will tell him that I am not pleased with him. That I censure his conduct in the severest terms. That I regard it as disgraceful in a gentleman. Tell him this from me, d'Entragues; and see that he does not approach us again for at least a month."

He turned once more to André-Louis. "He shall make you an apology, Monsieur Moreau. Let him know that, too, d'Entragues: that he must formally retract to Monsieur Moreau, and this at once. You understand, Monsieur Moreau, that this matter can go no further. For one thing, there is an edict in the Electorate against duelling and we who are the Elector's guests must scrupulously respect his laws. For another, the time is not one in which it consorts with honour that gentlemen should engage in private quarrels. The King needs—urgently needs—every blade in his own cause. You understand, sir?"

André-Louis bowed. "Perfectly, monseigneur."

"Then that is all, I think. I thank you for your attention. You may retire, Monsieur Moreau." The plump white hand waved him away, the heavy lips parted in a cold half-smile.

In the ante-chamber Monsieur Moreau was desired to wait until Monsieur d'Entragues should have found Captain de Tourzel.

It was whilst he was cooling his heels there, the only tenant of that spacious, sparsely-furnished hall, that Aline, accompanied Icy Madame de Plougastel, entered by the folding doors from the salon. He started towards them.

"Aline!"

But her expression checked his eagerness. There was a pallor about the lower half of her face, a little pucker between the fine brows, a general look of hurt sternness.

"Oh, how could you? How could you?"

"How could I what?"

"Break faith with me so. Betray what I told you in secret!"

He understood, and was not abashed. "It was to save a man's life: the life of a friend. Chapelier was my friend."

"But you did not know that when you drew from me the confidence."

"I did. I knew that Le Chapelier was in Coblentz, and, therefore, that he must be the man concerned."

"You knew? You knew?" She looked at him in deepening anger. Behind her stood Madame de Plougastel, sad-eyed after her little smile of greeting. "And you said nothing of your knowledge. You led me on to talk. You drew it all from me with pretended indifference. That was sly, André. Horribly sly. I'd not have believed it of you."

André-Louis was almost impatient. "Will you tell me what harm is done? Or do you tell me that you are angry because a man, a friend of mine, has not been assassinated?"

"That is not the point."

"It is very much the point."

Madame de Plougastel sought to make peace. "Indeed, Aline, if it was a friend of André's—"

But Aline interrupted her. "That is not the point at all, madame, between André and me. Why was he not frank? Why did he use me so slyly, luring me into betraying a confidence Monsieur had reposed in me, using me as if...as if I were a spy."

"Aline!"

"Did you do less? Will it appear less when it becomes known that this man, this dangerous agent of your revolutionary friends, made his escape because I betrayed the intentions concerning him?"

"It will never become known," said André-Louis. "I've talked to Monsieur d'Entragues. I've stopped his questions. His mind is satisfied."

"There, Aline. You see," said Madame de Plougastel. "All is well, after all."

"All is very far from well How can there be any confidence between us after this? I must keep a guard upon my tongue. How can I be sure when I talk to André whether I am talking to my lover or to a revolutionary agent? If Monsieur knew what would he think of me?"

"That, of course, is important,'' said André-Louis, unable now to repress his irony.

"Do you sneer? Certainly it is important. If Monsieur honours me with his confidence, am I to betray it? I am to appear in his eyes either as a traitress or a little fool who cannot set a guard upon her tongue. A pleasant choice. This man has escaped. He has gone back to Paris to work evil against the Princes, against the King."

"It comes to this then that you are sorry he was not assassinated."

Being true, and yet not the whole truth, his put her further out of patience.

"It is not true that he was to have been assassinated. And if it were that is but the effect and I am dealing with the cause. Why wilt you confuse them?"

"Because they are always inseparable. Cause and effect are but the two sides of a fact. And in justice to me remember that he was my friend."

"You mean that you think more of him than you do of me," she said with feminine perversity. "For his sake you lied to me; for your silence amounted to no less. You duped me, tricked me by your seemingly idle questions and your false air of indifference. You are too clever for me, André."