CHAPTER VI.
A MEETING IN THE ROAD.
The unlooked-for eloquence which rang in the blacksmith's words, andthe assurance of his tone, no less than this startling disclosure ofthoughts with which I had never dreamed of crediting him, or anypeasant, took me so aback for a moment that I stood silent. Douryseized the occasion, and struck in.
"You see now, M. le Vicomte," he said complacently, "the necessity forsuch a Committee. The King's peace must be maintained."
"I see," I answered harshly, "that there are violent men abroad, whowere better in the stocks. Committee? Let the King's officers keep theKing'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. "_Mon Dieu!_ that a set oftavern cooks and base-born rascals should go about the country pratingof it, and prating to me! Go, I will have nothing to do with you oryour Committee. Go, I say!"
"Nevertheless--a little patience, M. le Vicomte," he persisted,chagrin on his pale face--"nevertheless, if any of the nobility wouldgive us countenance, you most of all----"
"There would then be some one to hang instead of Doury!" I answeredbluntly. "Some one behind whom he could shield himself, and lesservillains hide. But I will not be the stalking-horse."
"And yet, in other provinces," he answered desperately, hisdisappointment more and more pronounced, "M. de Liancourt and M. deRochefoucauld have not disdained to----"
"Nevertheless, I disdain!" I retorted. "And more, I tell you, and Ibid you remember it, you will have to answer for the work you aredoing. I have told you it is treason. It is treason; I will haveneither 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 yourhead, Seigneur, be it!"
I aimed a blow at him with my cane; but he avoided it with a kind ofdignity, and stalked away, Doury following him with a pale, hang-dogface, and his finery sitting very ill upon him. I stood and watchedthem 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 thehouse, to intercept them at the gates, perhaps, and dissuade them. Iwaited for him, querulously tapping the walk with my stick, andwatching the corner of the house. Presently he came round it, holdinghis hat an inch or two above his head, his lean, tall figure almostshadowless, for it was noon. I noticed that his lips moved as he cametowards 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 think that they couldreplace his Majesty's Government with a Committee of smiths andpastrycooks----"
"I have joined it," he answered, smiling faintly.
"The Committee?" I ejaculated, breathless with surprise.
"Even so."
"Impossible!"
"Why?" he said quietly. "Have I not always predicted this day? Is notthis what Rousseau, with his _Social Contract_, and Beaumarchais, withhis 'Figaro,' and every philosopher who ever repeated the one, andevery fine lady who ever applauded the other, have been teaching?Well, it has come, and I have advised you, M. le Vicomte, to stand byyour order. But I, a poor man, I stand by mine. And for the Committeeof what seems to you, my friend, impossible people, is not any kindof government"--this more warmly, and as if he were arguing withhimself--"better than none? Understand, Monsieur, the old machineryhas broken down. The Intendant has fled. The people defy themagistrates. The soldiers side with the people. The _huissiers_ andtax collectors are--the Good God knows where!"
"Then," I said indignantly, "it is time for the gentry to----"
"Take the lead and govern?" he rejoined. "By whom? A handful ofservants and game-keepers? Against the people? against such a mob asyou saw in the Square at Cahors? Impossible, 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 he lifted his hat a moment from his headand stood in thought. Then he continued: "However, the matter is this.I hear from Doury that the gentry are gathering at Cahors, with theview of combining, as you suggest, and checking the people. Now, itmust be useless, and it may be worse. It may lead to the very excessesthey would prevent."
"In Cahors?"
"No, in the country. Buton, be sure, did not speak without warrant. Heis a good man, but he knows some who are not, and there are lonelychateaux in Quercy, and dainty women who have never known the touch ofa rough hand, and--and children."
"But," I cried aghast, "do you fear a Jacquerie?"
"God knows," he answered solemnly. "The fathers have eaten sourgrapes, and the children's teeth are set on edge. How many years havemen spent at Versailles the peasant's blood, life, bone, flesh! To payback at last, it may be, of their own! But God forbid, Monsieur, Godforbid. 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 outon 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 ofthought into which the Cure's fears, coming on the top of Buton'swarning, 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 theprospect of a France ruled by a set of farriers and postillions hadnot seemed so bizarre as it began to look, now that I had time,mounting the long hill, which lies one league from Saux and two fromCahors, to consider it calmly. For a moment, the wild idea of a wholegentry fleeing like hares before their peasantry, had not seemed sovery wild.
Now, on reflection, beginning to see things in their normal sizes, Icalled myself a simpleton. A Jacquerie? Three centuries and more hadpassed since France had known the thing in the dark ages. Could any,save a child alone in the night, or a romantic maiden solitary inher rock castle, dream of its recurrence? True, as I skirted St.Alais, which lies a little aside from the road, at the foot of thehill, I saw at the village-turning a sullen group of faces thatshould have been bent over the hoe; a group, gloomy, discontented,waiting--waiting, with shock heads and eyes glittering under lowbrows, for God knows what. But I had seen such a gathering before; inbad times, when seed was lacking, or when despair, or some excessiveoutrage on the part of the _fermier_, had driven the peasants to foldtheir 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 ofit now, 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 Buton'signorance and credulity had done the rest. What, I now saw, could bemore absurd than to suppose that France, the first, the most stable,the most highly civilised of States, wherein for two centuries nonehad resisted the royal power and stood, could become in a moment thetheatre of barbarous excesses? What more absurd than to conceive itturned into the _Petit Trianon_ of a gang of _roturiers_ and_canaille?_
At this point in my thoughts I broke off, for, as I reached it, acoach came slowly over the ridge before me and began to descend theroad. For a space it hung clear-cut against the sky, the burly figureof the coachman and the heads of the two lackeys who swung behind itvisible above the hood. Then it began to drop down cautiously towardsme. The men behind sprang down and locked the wheels, and thelumbering vehicle slid and groaned downwards, the wheelers pressingback, the leading horses tossing their heads impatiently. The roadthere descends not in _lacets_, but straight, for nearly half a milebetween poplars; and on the summer air the scre
aming of the wheels andthe jingling of the harness came distinctly to the ear.
Presently I made out that the coach was Madame St. Alais'; and I feltinclined to turn and avoid it. But the next moment pride came to myaid, and I shook my reins and went on to meet it.
I had scarcely seen a person except Father Benoit since the affair atCahors, and my cheek flamed at the thought of the _rencontre_ beforeme. For the same reason the coach seemed to come on very slowly; butat last I came abreast of it, passed the straining horses, and lookedinto the carriage with my hat in my hand, fearing that I might seeMadame, 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 hismother, or M. le Comte, was one little figure throned in the middle ofthe seat; a little figure with a pale inquiring face that blushedscarlet at sight of me, and eyes that opened wide with fright, andlips that trembled piteously. It was Mademoiselle!
Had I known a moment earlier that she was in the carriage and alone, Ishould have passed by in silence; as was doubtless my duty after whathad happened. I was the last person who should have intruded on her.But the men, grinning, I dare say, at the encounter--for probablyMadame's treatment of me was the talk of the house--had drawn up, andI had reined up instinctively; so that before I quite understood thatshe was alone, save for two maids who sat with their backs to thehorses, 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. Ishould have saluted, and gone on with that. But something impelled meto add--"Mademoiselle is going--to St. Alais?"
Her lips moved, but I heard no sound. She stared at me like one undera spell. The elder of her women, however, answered for her, and saidbriskly:----
"Ah, _oui_, Monsieur."
"And Madame de St. Alais?"
"Madame remains at Cahors," the woman answered in the same tone, "withM. le Marquis, who has business."
Then, at any rate, I should have gone on; but the girl sat looking atme, silent and blushing; and something in the picture, something inthe thought of her arriving alone and unprotected at St. Alais, takenwith a memory of the lowering faces I had seen in the village,impelled me to stand and linger; and finally to blurt out what I hadin my mind.
"Mademoiselle," I said impulsively, ignoring her attendants, "if youwill take my advice--you will not go on."
One of the women muttered "_Ma foi!_" under her breath. The other said"Indeed!" and tossed her head impertinently. But Mademoiselle foundher voice.
"Why, Monsieur?" she said clearly and sweetly, her eyes wide with asurprise that for the moment overcame her shyness.
"Because," I answered diffidently--I repented already that I hadspoken--"the state of the country is such--I mean that Madame laMarquise scarcely understands perhaps that--that----"
"What, Monsieur?" Mademoiselle asked primly.
"That at St. Alais," I stammered, "there is a good deal of discontent,Mademoiselle, and----"
"At St. Alais?" she said.
"In the neighbourhood, I should have said," I answered awkwardly."And--and in fine," I continued very much embarrassed, "it would bebetter, in my poor opinion, for Mademoiselle to turn and----"
"Accompany Monsieur, perhaps?" one of the women said; and she giggledinsolently.
Mademoiselle St. Alais flashed a look at the offender, that made mewink. Then with her cheeks burning, she said:----
"Drive on!"
I was foolish and would not let ill alone. "But, Mademoiselle," Isaid, "a thousand pardons, but----"
"Drive on!" she repeated; this time in a tone, which, though it wasstill sweet and clear, was not to be gainsaid. The maid who had notoffended--the other looked no little scared--repeated the order, thecoach began to move, and in a moment I was left in the road, sittingon my horse with my hat in my hand, and looking foolishly at nothing.
The straight road running down between lines of poplars, thedescending coach, lurching and jolting as it went, the faces of thegrinning lackeys as they looked back at me through the dust--I wellremember them all. They form a picture strangely vivid and distinct inthat gallery where so many more important have faded into nothingness.I was hot, angry, vexed with myself; conscious that I had trespassedbeyond the becoming, and that I more than deserved the repulse I hadsuffered. But through all ran a thread of a new feeling--a quite newfeeling. Mademoiselle's face moved before my eyes--showing through thedust; her eyes full of dainty surprise, or disdain as delicate,accompanied me as I rode. I thought of her, not of Buton or Doury, theCommittee or the Cure, the heat or the dull road. I ceased tospeculate except on the chances of a peasant rising. That, that aloneassumed a new and more formidable aspect; and became in a momentimminent and probable. The sight of Mademoiselle's childish face hadgiven a reality to Buton's warnings, which all the Cure's hints hadfailed to impart to them.
So much did the thought now harass me, that to escape it I shook up myhorse, and cantered on, Gil and Andre following, and wondering,doubtless, why I did not turn. But, wholly taken up with the horridvisions which the blacksmith's words had called up, I took no heed oftime until I awoke to find myself more than half-way on the road toCahors, which lies three leagues and a mile from Saux. Then I drewrein and stood in the road, in a fit of excitement and indecision.Within the half-hour I might be at Madame St. Alais' door in Cahors,and, whatever happened then, I should have no need to reproach myself.Or in a little more I might be at home, ingloriously safe.
Which was it to be? The moment, though I did not know it, was fateful.On the one hand, Mademoiselle's face, her beauty, her innocence, herhelplessness, pleaded with me strangely, and dragged me on to give thewarning. On the other, my pride urged me to return, and avoid such areception as I had every reason to expect.
In the end I went on. In less than half an hour I had crossed theValaridre bridge.
Yet it must not be supposed that I decided without doubt, or wentforward without misgiving. The taunts and sneers to which Madame hadtreated me were too recent for that; and a dozen times pride andresentment almost checked my steps, and I turned and went home again.On each occasion, however, the ugly faces and brutish eyes I had seenin the village rose before me; I remembered the hatred in whichGargouf, the St. Alais' steward, was held; I pictured the horrors thatmight be enacted before help could come from Cahors; and I went on.
Yet with a mind made up to ridicule; which even the crowded streets,when I reached them, failed to relieve, though they wore anunmistakable air of excitement. Groups of people, busily conversing,were everywhere to be seen; and in two or three places men werestanding on stools--in a fashion then new to me--haranguing knots ofidlers. Some of the shops were shut, there were guards before others,and before the bakehouses. I remarked a great number of journals andpamphlets in men's hands, and that where these were, the talk roseloudest. In some places, too, my appearance seemed to createexcitement, but this was of a doubtful character, a few greeting merespectfully, while more stared at me in silence. Several asked me, asI passed, if I brought news, and seemed disappointed when I said I didnot; and at two points a handful of people hooted me.
This angered me a little, but I forgot it in a thing still moresurprising. Presently, as I rode, I heard my name called; and turning,found M. de Gontaut hurrying after me as fast as his dignity andlameness would permit. He leaned, as usual, on the arm of a servant,his other hand holding a cane and snuff-box; and two stout fellowsfollowed him. I had no reason to suppose that he would appreciate theservice I had done him more highly, or acknowledge it more gratefully,than on the day of the riot; and my surprise was great when he cameup, his face all smiles.
"Nothing, for months, has given me so much pleasure as this," he said,saluting me with overwhelming cordiality. "By my faith, M. le Vicomte,you have outdone us all! You will have such a reception yonder! andyou have brought two good knaves,
I see. It is not fair," hecontinued, nodding his head with senile jocularity. "I declare it isnot fair. But you know the text? 'There is more joy in heaven over onesinner that repenteth than----' Ha! ha! Well, we must not be jealous.You have taught them a lesson; and now we are united."
"But, M. le Baron," I said in amazement, as, obeying his gesture, Imoved on, while he limped jauntily beside me, "I do not understand youin the least!"
"You don't?"
"No!" I said.
"Ah! you did not think that we should hear it so soon," he replied,shaking his head sagely. "Oh, I can tell you we are well provided. Thecampaign has begun, and the information department has not beenneglected. Little escapes us, and we shall soon set these roguesright. But, for the fact, that damned rascal Doury let it out. I hearyou told them some fine home-truths. A Committee, the insolents! Andin our teeth! But you gave them a sharp set-back, I hear, M. leVicomte. If you had joined it, now----"
He stopped abruptly. A man crossing the street had slightly jostledhim. The old noble lost his temper, and on the instant raised hisstick with a passionate oath, and the man cowered away begging hispardon. But M. de Gontaut was not to be appeased.
"Vagabond!" he cried after him, in a voice trembling with rage, "youwould throw me down again, would you? We will put you in your placeby-and-by. We will; why, _Dieu!_ when I was young----"
"But, M. le Baron," I said to divert his attention, for two or threebystanders were casting ugly looks at us, and I saw that it neededlittle to bring about a fracas, "are you quite sure that we shall beable to keep them in check?"
The old noble still trembled, but he drew himself up with a gesture ofpathetic gallantry.
"You shall see!" he cried. "When it comes to hard knocks, you shallsee, Monsieur. But here we are; and there is Madame St. Alais on thebalcony with some of her bodyguard." He paused to kiss his hand, withthe air of a Polignac. "Up there, M. le Vicomte, you will see what youwill see," he continued. "And I--I shall be in luck, too, for I havebrought you."
It seemed to me more like a dream than a reality. A fortnight before,I had been spurned from this house with insults; I had been biddennever to enter it again. Now, on the balconies, from which prettyfaces and powdered heads looked down, handkerchiefs fluttered to greetme. On the stairs, which, crowded with servants and lackeys, shookunder the constant stream of comers and goers, I was received with ahum of applause. In every corner snuff-boxes were being tapped andcanes handled; the flashing of roguish eyes behind fans vied with theglitter of mirrors. And through all a lane was made for me. At thedoor Louis met me. A little farther on, Madame came half-way acrossthe room to me. It was a triumph--a triumph which I foundinexplicable, unintelligible, until I learned that the rebuff which Ihad administered to the deputation had been exaggerated a dozen times,nay, a hundred times, until it met even the wishes of the mostviolent; while the sober and thoughtful were too glad to hail in myadhesion the proof of that reaction, which the Royalist party, fromthe first day of the troubles, never ceased to expect.
No wonder that, taken by surprise and intoxicated with incense, I letmyself go. To have declared in that company and with Madame's graciouswords in my ears, that I had not come to join them, that I had come ona different errand altogether, that though I had repelled thedeputation I had no intention of acting against it, would haverequired a courage and a hardness I could not boast; while thecircumstances of the deputation, Doury's presumption and Buton'shints, to say nothing of the violence of the Parisian mob, had notfailed to impress me unfavourably. With a thousand others who hadprepared themselves to welcome reform, I recoiled when I saw thelengths to which it was tending; and, though nothing had been fartherfrom my mind when I entered Cahors than to join myself to the St.Alais faction, I found it impossible to reject their apologies on thespot, or explain on the instant the real purpose with which I had cometo them.
I was, in fact, the sport of circumstances; weak, it will be said, inthe wrong place and stubborn in the wrong; betraying a boy's petulanceat one time, and a boy's fickleness at another; and now a tool and nowa churl. Perhaps truly. But it was a time of trial; nor was I the onlyman or the oldest man who, in those days, changed his opinions, andagain within the week went back; or who found it hard to find acockade, white, black, red or tricolour, to his taste.
Besides, flattery is sweet, and I was young; moreover, I hadMademoiselle in my head and nothing could exceed Madame'sgraciousness. I think she valued me the more for my late revolt, andprided herself on my reduction in proportion as I had shown myselfable to resist.
"Few words are better, M. le Vicomte," she said, with a dignity whichhonoured me equally with herself. "Many things have happened since Isaw you. We are neither of us quite of the same opinion. Forgive me. Awoman's word and a man's sword do no dishonour."
I bowed, blushing with pleasure. After a fortnight spent in solitudethese moving groups, bowing, smiling, talking in low, earnest tones ofthe one purpose, the one aim, had immense influence with me. I feltthe contagion. I let Madame take me into her confidence.
"The King"--it was always the King with her--"in a week or two theKing will assert himself. As yet his ear has been abused. It willpass; in the meantime we must take our proper places. We must arm ourservants and keepers, repress disorder and resist encroachment."
"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.
"Why not? How can it be otherwise?" she replied, looking proudly roundher. "Can you look round and doubt it, M. le Vicomte?"
"But France?" I said.
"We are France," she retorted with a superb gesture.
And certainly the splendid crowd that filled her rooms was almostwarrant for the words; a crowd of stately men and fair women such as Ihave only seen once or twice since those days. Under the surface theremay have been pettiness and senility; the exhaustion of vice; jealousyand lukewarmness and dissension; but the powder and patches, the silksand velvets of the old _regime_, gave to all a semblance of strength,and at least the appearance of dignity. If few were soldiers, all woreswords and could use them. The fact that the small sword, so powerfula weapon in the duel, is useless against a crowd armed with stones andclubs had not yet been made clear. Nothing seemed more easy than fortwo or three hundred swordsmen to rule a province.
At any rate I found nothing but what was feasible in the notion; andwith little real reluctance, if no great enthusiasm, I pinned on thewhite cockade. Putting all thoughts of present reform from my mind, Iagreed that order--order was the one pressing need of the country.
On that all were agreed, and all were hopeful. I heard no misgivings,but a good deal of vapouring, in which poor M. de Gontaut, with thepalsy almost upon him, had his part. No one dropped a hint of dangerin the country, or of a revolt of the peasants. Even to me, as I stoodin the brilliant crowd, the danger grew to seem so remote and unreal,that, delicacy as well as the fear of ridicule, kept me silent. Icould not speak of Mademoiselle without awkwardness, and so thewarning which I had come to give died on my lips. I saw that I shouldbe laughed at, I fancied myself deceived, and I was silent.
It was only when, after promising to return next day, I stood at thedoor prepared to leave, and found myself alone with Louis, that I leta word fall. Then I asked him with a little hesitation if he thoughtthat 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 theworst of the trouble."
He shrugged his shoulders. "You think too much of it, _mon cher_," heanswered. "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 theAssembly in Paris renounced at a single sitting all immun
ities,exemptions, and privileges, 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 troublewas over!
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