The Red Cockade

by Stanley John Weyman

  CHAPTER XIX.

  AT NIMES.

  It will be believed that I looked on the city with no common emotions.I had heard enough at Villeraugues--and to that enough M. de Geol hadadded by the way a thousand details--to satisfy me that here and notin the north, here in the Gard, and the Bouches du Rhone, among theolive groves and white dust of the south, and not among thewheatfields and pastures of the north, the fate of the nation hung inthe balance; and that not in Paris--where men would and yet would not,where Mirabeau and Lafayette, in fear of the mob, took one day a steptowards the King, and the next, fearful lest restored he shouldpunish, retraced it--could the convulsion be arrested, but here! Here,where the warm imagination of the Provencal still saw something holyin things once holy, and faction bound men to faith.

  Hitherto the stream of revolution had met with no check. Obstaclesapparently the strongest, the King, the nobles, had crumbled and sunkbefore it, almost without a struggle; it remained to be seen whetherthe third and last of the governing powers, the Church, would farebetter. Clearly, if Froment were right, and faith must be met byfaith, and bigotry of one kind be opposed by bigotry of another kind,here in the valley of the Rhone, where the Church still kept its hold,lay the materials nearest to the enthusiast's hand. In that case--andwith this in my mind, I took my first long look at the city, and thewide low plain that lay beyond it, bathed in the sunset light--in thatcase, from this spot might fly a torch to kindle France! Hence mightstart within the next few days a conflagration as wide as the land;that taken up, and roaring ever higher and higher through all LaVendee, and Brittany, and the Cotes du Nord, might swiftly ring roundParis with a circle of flame.

  Once get it fairly alight. But there lay the doubt; and I lookedagain, and looked with eager curiosity, at this city from which somuch was expected; this far-stretching city of flat roofs and whitehouses, trending gently down from the last spurs of the Cevennes tothe Rhone plain. North of it, in the outskirts rose three low hills,the midmost crowned with a tower, the eastern-most casting a shadowalmost to the distant river; and from these, eastward and southward,the city sloped. And these hills, and the roads near us, and the plainalready verdant, and the great workshops that here and there rose inthe faubourgs, all, as we approached, seemed to teem with life andpeople; with people coming and going, alone and in groups, saunteringbeyond the walls for pleasure, or hastening on business.

  Of these, I noticed all wore a badge of some kind; many the tricolour,but more a red ribbon, a red tuft, a red cockade--emblems at sight ofwhich my companions' faces grew darker, and ever darker. Another thingcharacteristic of the place, the tinkling of many bells, calling tovespers--though I found the sound fall pleasantly on the eveningair--was as little to their taste. They growled together, andincreased their pace; the result of which was that insensibly I fellto the rear. As we entered the streets, the traffic that met us, andthe keenness with which I looked about me, increased the distancebetween us; presently, a long line of carts and a company of NationalGuards intervening, I found myself riding alone, a hundred pacesbehind them.

  I was not sorry; the novelty of the shifting crowd, the changingfaces, the southern patois, the moving string of soldiers, peasants,workmen, women, amused me. I was less sorry when by-and-bysomething--something which I had dimly imagined might happen when Ireached Nimes--took real shape, there, in the crooked street; andstruck me, as it were, in the face. As I passed under a barred windowa little above the roadway, a window on which my eyes alighted for aninstant, a white hand waved a handkerchief--for an instant only, justlong enough for me to take in the action and think of Denise! Then, asI jerked the reins, the handkerchief was gone, the window was empty,on either side of me the crowd chattered, and jostled on its way.

  I pulled up mechanically, and looked round, my heart beating. I couldsee no one near me for whom the signal could be intended; and yet--itseemed odd. I could hardly believe in such good fortune; or that I hadfound Denise so soon. However, as my eyes returned doubtfully to thewindow, the handkerchief flickered in it again; and this time thesignal was so unmistakably meant for me that, shamed out of myprudence, I pushed my horse through the crowd to the door, and hastilydismounting, threw the rein to an urchin who stood near. I was shy ofasking him who lived in the house; and with a single glance at thedull white front, and the row of barred windows that ran below thebalcony, I resigned myself to fortune, and knocked.

  On the instant the door flew open, and a servant appeared. I had notconsidered what I would say, and for a moment I stared at himfoolishly. Then, at a venture, on the spur of the moment, I asked ifMadame received.

  He answered very civilly that she did, and held the door open for meto enter.

  I did so, confused and wondering; none the less when, having crossed aspacious hall, paved with black and white marble, and followed him upa staircase, I found everything I saw round me, from the man's quietlivery to the mouldings of the ceiling, wearing the stamp of eleganceand refinement. Pedestals, supporting marble busts, stood in theangles of the staircase; there were orange trees in jars in the hall,and antique fragments adorned the walls. However, I saw these only inpassing; in a moment I reached the head of the stairs, and the manopening a door, stood aside.

  I entered the room, my eyes shining; in a dream, an impossible dream,that held possession of me for one moment, that Denise--notMademoiselle de St. Alais, but Denise, the girl who loved me and withwhom I had never been alone, might be there to receive me. Instead, astranger rose slowly from a seat in one of the window bays, and, aftera moment's hesitation, came forward to meet me; a strange lady, tall,grave, and very handsome, whose dark eyes scanned me seriously, whilethe blood rose a little to her pure olive cheek.

  Seeing that she was a stranger, I began to stammer an apology for myintrusion. She curtsied. "Monsieur need not excuse himself," she said,smiling. "He was expected, and a meal is ready. If you will allowGervais," she continued, "he will take you to a room, where you canremove the dust of the road."

  "But, Madame," I stammered, still hesitating. "I am afraid that I amtrespassing."

  She shook her head, smiling. "Be so good," she said; and waved herhand towards the door.

  "But my horse," I answered, standing bewildered. "I have left it inthe street."

  "It will be cared for," she said. "Will you be so kind?" And shepointed with a little imperious gesture to the door.

  I went then in utter amazement. The man who had led me upstairs wasoutside. He preceded me along a wide airy passage to a bedroom, inwhich I found all that I needed to refresh my toilet. He took my coatand hat, and attended me with the skill of one trained to suchoffices; and in a state of desperate bewilderment, I suffered it. Butwhen, recovering a little from my confusion, I opened my mouth to aska question, he begged me to excuse him; Madame would explain.

  "Madame----?" I said; and looked at him interrogatively, and waitedfor him to fill the blank.

  "Yes, Monsieur, Madame will explain," he answered glibly, and withouta smile; and then, seeing that I was ready, he led me back, not to theroom I had left, but to another.

  I went in, like a man in a dream; not doubting, however, that now Ishould have an answer to the riddle. But I found none. The room wasspacious, and parquet-floored, with three high narrow windows, ofwhich one, partly open, let in the murmur of the street. A small woodfire burned on a wide hearth between carved marble pillars; and in onecorner of the room stood a harpsichord, harp, and music-stand. Nearerthe fire a small round table, daintily laid for supper, and lighted bycandles, placed in old silver sconces, presented a charming picture;and by it stood the lady I had seen.

  "Are you cold?" she said, coming forward frankly, as I advanced.

  "No, Madame."

  "Then we will sit down at once," she answered. And she pointed to thetable.

  I took the seat she indicated, and saw with astonishment that coverswere laid for two only. She caught the look, and blushed faintly, andher li
p trembled as if with the effort to suppress a smile. But shesaid nothing, and any thought to her disadvantage which might haveentered my mind was anticipated, not only by the sedate courtesy ofher manner, but by the appearance of the room, the show of wealth andease that surrounded her, and the very respectability of the butlerwho waited on us.

  "Have you ridden far to-day?" she said, crumbling a roll with herfingers as if she were not quite free from nervousness; and lookingnow at the table and now again at me in a way almost appealing.

  "From Sauve, Madame," I answered.

  "Ah! And you propose to go?"

  "No farther."

  "I am glad to hear it," she said, with a charming smile. "You are astranger in Nimes?"

  "I was. I do not feel so now."

  "Thank you," she answered, her eyes meeting mine without reserve."That you may feel more at home, I am going presently to tell you myname. Yours I do not ask."

  "You do not know it?" I cried.

  "No," she said, laughing; and I saw, as she laughed, that she wasyounger than I had thought; that she was little more than a girl. "Ofcourse, you can tell it me if you please," she added lightly.

  "Then, Madame, I do please," I answered gallantly. "I am the Vicomtede Saux, of Saux by Cahors, and am very much at your service."

  She held her hand suspended, and stared at me a moment in undisguisedastonishment. I even thought that I read something like terror in hereyes. Then she said: "Of Saux by Cahors?"

  "Yes, Madame. And I am driven to fear," I continued, seeing the effectmy words produced, "that I am here in the place of some one else."

  "Oh, no!" she said. Then, her feelings seeming to find sudden vent,she laughed and clapped her hands. "No, Monsieur," she cried gaily,"there is no error, I assure you. On the contrary, now I know who youare, I will give you a toast. Alphonse! Fill M. le Vicomte's glass,and then leave us! So! Now, M. le Vicomte," she continued, "you mustdrink with me, _a l'Anglaise_, to----"

  She paused and looked at me slily. "I am all attention, Madame," Isaid, bowing.

  "To _la belle_ Denise!" she said.

  It was my turn to start and stare now; in confusion as well assurprise. But she only laughed the more, and, clapping her hands withchildish abandon, bade me, "Drink, Monsieur, drink!"

  I did so bravely, though I coloured under her eyes.

  "That is well," she said, as I set down the glass. "Now, Monsieur, Ishall be able--in the proper quarter--to report you no recreant."

  "But, Madame," I said, "how do you know the proper quarter?"

  "How do I know?" she answered naively. "Ah, that is the question."

  But she did not answer it; though I remarked that from this moment shetook a different tone with me. She dropped much of the reserve whichshe had hitherto maintained, and began to pour upon me a fire of witand badinage, merriment and _plaisanterie_, against which I defendedmyself as well as I could, where all the advantage of knowledge laywith her. Such a duel with so fair an antagonist had its charms, themore as Denise and my relations to her formed the main objects of herraillery: yet I was not sorry when a clock, striking eight, produced asudden silence and a change in her, as great as that which hadpreceded it. Her face grew almost sombre, she sighed, and sat lookinggravely before her. I ventured to ask if anything ailed her.

  "Only this, Monsieur," she answered. "That I must now put you to thetest; and you may fail me."

  "You wish me to do something?"

  "I wish you to give me your escort," she answered, "to a place andback again."

  "I am ready," I cried, rising gaily. "If I were not I should be arecreant indeed. But I think, Madame, that you were going to tell meyour name."

  "I am Madame Catinot," she answered. And then--I do not know what sheread in my face, "I am a widow," she added, blushing deeply. "For therest you are no wiser."

  "But always at your service, Madame."

  "So be it," she answered quietly. "I will meet you, M. le Vicomte, inthe hall, if you will presently descend thither."

  I held the door for her to go out, and she went; and wondering, andinexpressibly puzzled by the strangeness of the adventure, I paced upand down the room a minute, and then followed her. A hanging lampwhich lit the hall showed her to me standing at the foot of thestairs; her hair hidden by a black lace mantilla, her dress under acloak of the same dark colour. The man who had admitted me gave me insilence my cloak and hat; and without a word Madame led the way alonga passage.

  Over a door at the end of the passage was a second light. It fell onmy hat--as I was about to put it on--and I started and stood. Insteadof the tricolour I had been wearing in the hat, I saw a small redcockade!

  Madame heard me stop, and turning, discovered what was the matter. Shelaid her hand on my arm; and the hand trembled. "For an hour,Monsieur, only for an hour," she breathed in my ear. "Give me yourarm."

  Somewhat agitated--I began to scent danger and complications--I put onthe hat and gave her my arm, and in a moment we stood in the open airin a dark, narrow passage between high walls. She turned at once tothe left, and we walked in silence a hundred, or a hundred and fifty,paces, which brought us to a low-browed doorway on the same side,through which a light poured out. Madame guiding me by a slightpressure, we passed through this, and a narrow vestibule beyond it;and in a moment I found myself, to my astonishment, in a church, halffull of silent worshippers.

  Madame enjoined silence by laying her finger on her lip, and led theway along one of the dim aisles, until we came to a vacant chairbeside a pillar. She signed to me to stand by the pillar, and herselfknelt down.

  Left at liberty to survey the scene, and form my conclusions, I lookedabout me like a man in a dream. The body of the church, faintly lit,was rendered more gloomy by the black cloaks and veils of the vastkneeling crowd that filled the nave and grew each moment more dense.The men for the most part stood beside pillars, or at the back of thechurch; and from these parts came now and then a low stern muttering,the only sound that broke the heavy silence. A red lamp burning beforethe altar added one touch of sombre colour to the scene.

  I had not stood long before I felt the silence, and the crowd, and theempty vastnesses above us, begin to weigh me down; before my heartbegan to beat quickly in expectation of I knew not what. And then atlast, when this feeling had grown almost intolerable, out of thesilence about the altar came the first melancholy notes, the wailingrefrain of the psalm, _Miserere Domine!_

  It had a solemn and wondrous effect as it rose and fell, in the gloom,in the silence, above the heads of the kneeling multitude, who onemoment were there and the next, as the lights sank, were gone, leavingonly blackness and emptiness and space--and that spasmodic wailing. Asthe pleading, almost desperate notes, floated down the long aisles,borne on the palpitating hearts of the listeners, a hand seemed tograsp the throat, the eyes grew dim, strong men's heads bowed lower,and strong men's hands trembled. _Miserere mei Deus! Miserere Domine!_

  At last it came to an end. The psalm died down, and on the darknessand dead silence that succeeded, a light flared up suddenly in oneplace, and showed a pale, keen face and eyes that burned, as theygazed, not at the dim crowd, but into the empty space above them,whence grim, carved visages peered vaguely out of fretted vaults. Andthe preacher began to preach.

  In a low voice at first, and with little emotion, he spoke of the waysof God with His creatures, of the immensity of the past and thelittleness of the present, of the Omnipotence before which time andspace and men were nothing; of the certainty that as God, theAlmighty, the Everlasting, the Ever-present decreed, it _was_. Andthen, in fuller tones, he went on to speak of the Church, God's agenton earth, and of the work which it had done in past ages, converting,protecting, shielding the weak, staying the strong, baptising,marrying, burying. God's handmaid, God's vicegerent. "Of whom alone itcomes," the preacher continued, raising his hand now, and speaking ina voice that throbbed louder and fuller through the spaces of thechurch, "that we are more than animals, that knowing who is behind theveil w
e fear not temporal things, nor think of death as the worstpossible, as do the unbelieving; but having that on which we rest,outside and beyond the world, can view unmoved the worst that theworld can do to us. We believe; therefore, we are strong. We believein God; therefore, we are stronger than the world. We believe in God;therefore, we are of God, and not of the world. We are above theworld! we are about the world, and in the strength of God, who is theGod of Hosts, shall subdue the world."

  He paused, holding the crowd breathless; then in a lower tone hecontinued: "Yet how do the heathen rage and the people imagine a vainthing? They trample on God! They say this exists, I see it. Thatexists, I hear it. The other exists, I touch it. And that is all--thatis all. But does it come of what we see and hear and feel that a manwill die for his brother? Does it come of what we see and hearand feel that a man will die for a thought? That he will die for acreed? That he will die for honour? That, withal, he will die foranything--for anything, while he may live? I trow not. It comes ofGod! Of God only.

  "And they trample on Him. In the streets, in the senate, in highplaces. And He says, 'Who is on My side?' My children, my brethren, wehave lived long in a time of ease and safety; we have been longuntried by aught but the ordinary troubles of life, untrained by theimminent issues of life and death. Now, in these late years of theworld, it has pleased the Almighty to try us; and who is on His side?Who is prepared to put the unseen before the seen, honour before life,God before man, chivalry before baseness, the Church before the world?Who is on His side? Spurned in this little corner of His creation,bruised and bleeding and trampled under foot, yet ruler of earth andheaven, life and death, judgment and eternity, ruler of all thecountless worlds of space, He comes! He comes! He comes, God Almighty,which was, and is, and is to be! And who is on His side?"

  As the last word fell from his lips, and the light above his head wentsuddenly out, and darkness fell on the breathless hush, the listeninghundreds, an indescribable wave of emotion passed through the crowd.Men stirred their feet with a strange, stern sound, that spreading,passed in muttered thunder to the vaults; while women sobbed, and hereand there shrieked and prayed aloud. From the altar a priest in avoice that shook with feeling blessed the congregation; then, even asI awoke from a trance of attention, Madame touched my arm, and signedto me to follow her, and gliding quickly from her place, led the waydown the aisle. Before the preacher's last words had ceased to ring inmy ears or my heart had forgotten to be moved, we were walking underthe stars with the night air cooling our faces; a moment, and we werein the house and stood again in the lighted salon where I had firstfound Madame Catinot.

  Before I knew what she was going to do, she turned to me with a swiftmovement, and laid both her bare hands on my arm; and I saw that thetears were running down her face. "Who is on My side?" she cried, in avoice that thrilled me to the soul, so that I started where I stood."Who is on My side? Oh, surely you! Surely you, Monsieur, whosefathers' swords were drawn for God and the King! Who, born to guide,are surely on the side of light! Who, noble, will never leave the taskof government to the base! O----" and there, breaking off before Icould answer, she turned from me with her hands clasped to her face."O God!" she cried with sobs, "give me this man for Thy service."

  I stood inexpressibly troubled; moved by the sight of this woman intears, shaken by the conflict in my own soul, somewhat unmanned,perhaps, by what I had seen. For a moment I could not speak; when Idid, "Madame," I said unsteadily, "if I had known that it was forthis! You have been kind to me, and I--I can make no return."

  "Don't say it!" she cried, turning to me and pleading with me. "Don'tsay it!" And she laid her clasped hands on my arm and looked at me,and then in a moment smiled through her tears. "Forgive me," she saidhumbly, "forgive me. I went about it wrongly. I feel--too much. Iasked too quickly. But you will? You will, Monsieur? You will beworthy of yourself?"

  I groaned. "I hold their commission," I said.

  "Return it!"

  "But that will not acquit me!"

  "Who is on My side?" she said softly. "Who is on My side?"

  I drew a deep breath. In the silence of the room, the wood-ashes onthe hearth settled down, and a clock ticked. "For God! For God and theKing!" she said, looking up at me with shining eyes, with claspedhands.

  I could have sworn in my pain. "To what purpose?" I cried almostrudely. "If I were to say, yes, to what purpose, Madame? What could Ido that would help you? What could I do that would avail?"

  "Everything! Everything! You are one man more!" she cried. "One manmore for the right. Listen, Monsieur. You do not know what is afoot,or how we are pressed, or----"

  She stopped suddenly, abruptly; and looked at me, listening; listeningwith a new expression on her face. The door was not closed, and thevoice of a man, speaking in the hall below, came up the staircase;another instant, and a quick foot crossed the hall, and sounded on thestairs. The man was coming up.

  Madame, face to face with me, dumb and listening with distended eyes,stood a moment, as if taken by surprise. At the last moment, warningme by a gesture to be silent, she swept to the door and went out,closing it--not quite closing it behind her.

  I judged that the man had almost reached it, for I heard him exclaimin surprise at her sudden appearance; then he said something in a tonewhich did not reach me. I lost her answer too, but his next words wereaudible enough.

  "You will not open the door?" he cried.

  "Not of that room," she replied bravely. "You can see me in the other,my friend."

  Then silence. I could almost hear them breathing. I could picture themlooking defiance at one another. I grew hot.

  "Oh, this is intolerable!" he cried at last. "This is not to be borne.Are you to receive every stranger that comes to town? Are you to becloseted with them, and sup with them, and sit with them, while I eatmy heart out outside? Am I--I _will_ go in!"

  "You shall not!" she cried; but I thought that the indignation in hervoice rang false; that laughter underlay it. "It is enough that youinsult me," she continued proudly. "But if you dare to touch me, or ifyou insult him----"

  "Him!" he cried fiercely. "Him, indeed! Madame, I tell you at once, Ihave borne enough. I have suffered this more than once, but----"

  But I had no longer any doubt, and before he could add the next word Iwas at the door--I had snatched it open, and stood before him. Madamefell back with a cry between tears and laughter, and we stood, lookingat one another.

  The man was Louis St. Alais.