CHAPTER IX. THE AFTERMATH
Dusk of the following day was falling when the homing Andre-Louisapproached Gavrillac. Realizing fully what a hue and cry there wouldpresently be for the apostle of revolution who had summoned the peopleof Nantes to arms, he desired as far as possible to conceal the factthat he had been in that maritime city. Therefore he made a wide detour,crossing the river at Bruz, and recrossing it a little above Chavagne,so as to approach Gavrillac from the north, and create the impressionthat he was returning from Rennes, whither he was known to have gone twodays ago.
Within a mile or so of the village he caught in the fading light hisfirst glimpse of a figure on horseback pacing slowly towards him. Butit was not until they had come within a few yards of each other, and heobserved that this cloaked figure was leaning forward to peer at him,that he took much notice of it. And then he found himself challengedalmost at once by a woman's voice.
"It is you, Andre--at last!"
He drew rein, mildly surprised, to be assailed by another question,impatiently, anxiously asked.
"Where have you been?"
"Where have I been, Cousin Aline? Oh... seeing the world."
"I have been patrolling this road since noon to-day waiting foryou." She spoke breathlessly, in haste to explain. "A troop of themarechaussee from Rennes descended upon Gavrillac this morning in questof you. They turned the chateau and the village inside out, and atlast discovered that you were due to return with a horse hired from theBreton arme. So they have taken up their quarters at the inn to waitfor you. I have been here all the afternoon on the lookout to warn youagainst walking into that trap."
"My dear Aline! That I should have been the cause of so much concern andtrouble!"
"Never mind that. It is not important."
"On the contrary; it is the most important part of what you tell me. Itis the rest that is unimportant."
"Do you realize that they have come to arrest you?" she asked him, withincreasing impatience. "You are wanted for sedition, and upon a warrantfrom M. de Lesdiguieres."
"Sedition?" quoth he, and his thoughts flew to that business at Nantes.It was impossible they could have had news of it in Rennes and actedupon it in so short a time.
"Yes, sedition. The sedition of that wicked speech of yours at Rennes onWednesday."
"Oh, that!" said he. "Pooh!" His note of relief might have told her,had she been more attentive, that he had to fear the consequences of agreater wickedness committed since. "Why, that was nothing."
"Nothing?"
"I almost suspect that the real intentions of these gentlemen of themarechaussee have been misunderstood. Most probably they have come tothank me on M. de Lesdiguieres' behalf. I restrained the people whenthey would have burnt the Palais and himself inside it."
"After you had first incited them to do it. I suppose you were afraid ofyour work. You drew back at the last moment. But you said things ofM. de Lesdiguieres, if you are correctly reported, which he will neverforgive."
"I see," said Andre-Louis, and he fell into thought.
But Mlle. de Kercadiou had already done what thinking was necessary, andher alert young mind had settled all that was to be done.
"You must not go into Gavrillac," she told him, "and you must get downfrom your horse, and let me take it. I will stable it at the chateauto-night. And sometime to-morrow afternoon, by when you should be wellaway, I will return it to the Breton arme."
"Oh, but that is impossible."
"Impossible? Why?"
"For several reasons. One of them is that you haven't considered whatwill happen to you if you do such a thing."
"To me? Do you suppose I am afraid of that pack of oafs sent by M.Lesdiguieres? I have committed no sedition."
"But it is almost as bad to give aid to one who is wanted for the crime.That is the law."
"What do I care for the law? Do you imagine that the law will presume totouch me?"
"Of course there is that. You are sheltered by one of the abuses Icomplained of at Rennes. I was forgetting."
"Complain of it as much as you please, but meanwhile profit by it. Come,Andre, do as I tell you. Get down from your horse." And then, as hestill hesitated, she stretched out and caught him by the arm. Her voicewas vibrant with earnestness. "Andre, you don't realize how serious isyour position. If these people take you, it is almost certain that youwill be hanged. Don't you realize it? You must not go to Gavrillac.You must go away at once, and lie completely lost for a time until thisblows over. Indeed, until my uncle can bring influence to bear to obtainyour pardon, you must keep in hiding."
"That will be a long time, then," said Andre-Louis. "M. de Kercadiou hasnever cultivated friends at court."
"There is M. de La Tour d'Azyr," she reminded him, to his astonishment.
"That man!" he cried, and then he laughed. "But it was chiefly againsthim that I aroused the resentment of the people of Rennes. I should haveknown that all my speech was not reported to you."
"It was, and that part of it among the rest."
"Ah! And yet you are concerned to save me, the man who seeks the life ofyour future husband at the hands either of the law or of the people? Oris it, perhaps, that since you have seen his true nature revealed in themurder of poor Philippe, you have changed your views on the subject ofbecoming Marquise de La Tour d'Azyr?"
"You often show yourself without any faculty of deductive reasoning."
"Perhaps. But hardly to the extent of imagining that M. de La Tourd'Azyr will ever lift a finger to do as you suggest."
"In which, as usual, you are wrong. He will certainly do so if I askhim."
"If you ask him?" Sheer horror rang in his voice.
"Why, yes. You see, I have not yet said that I will be Marquise deLa Tour d'Azyr. I am still considering. It is a position that hasits advantages. One of them is that it ensures a suitor's completeobedience."
"So, so. I see the crooked logic of your mind. You might go so far asto say to him: 'Refuse me this, and I shall refuse to be your marquise.'You would go so far as that?"
"At need, I might."
"And do you not see the converse implication? Do you not see thatyour hands would then be tied, that you would be wanting in honour ifafterwards you refused him? And do you think that I would consent toanything that could so tie your hands? Do you think I want to see youdamned, Aline?"
Her hand fell away from his arm.
"Oh, you are mad!" she exclaimed, quite out of patience.
"Possibly. But I like my madness. There is a thrill in it unknown tosuch sanity as yours. By your leave, Aline, I think I will ride on toGavrillac."
"Andre, you must not! It is death to you!" In her alarm she backed herhorse, and pulled it across the road to bar his way.
It was almost completely night by now; but from behind the wrack ofclouds overhead a crescent moon sailed out to alleviate the darkness.
"Come, now," she enjoined him. "Be reasonable. Do as I bid you. See,there is a carriage coming up behind you. Do not let us be found heretogether thus."
He made up his mind quickly. He was not the man to be actuated by falseheroics about dying, and he had no fancy whatever for the gallows of M.de Lesdiguieres' providing. The immediate task that he had set himselfmight be accomplished. He had made heard--and ringingly--the voice thatM. de La Tour d'Azyr imagined he had silenced. But he was very far fromhaving done with life.
"Aline, on one condition only."
"And that?"
"That you swear to me you will never seek the aid of M. de La Tourd'Azyr on my behalf."
"Since you insist, and as time presses, I consent. And now ride on withme as far as the lane. There is that carriage coming up."
The lane to which she referred was one that branched off the road somethree hundred yards nearer the village and led straight up the hillto the chateau itself. In silence they rode together towards it, andtogether they turned into that thickly hedged and narrow bypath. At adepth of fifty yards she halted him.
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p; "Now!" she bade him.
Obediently he swung down from his horse, and surrendered the reins toher.
"Aline," he said, "I haven't words in which to thank you."
"It isn't necessary," said she.
"But I shall hope to repay you some day."
"Nor is that necessary. Could I do less than I am doing? I do not wantto hear of you hanged, Andre; nor does my uncle, though he is very angrywith you."
"I suppose he is."
"And you can hardly be surprised. You were his delegate, hisrepresentative. He depended upon you, and you have turned your coat. Heis rightly indignant, calls you a traitor, and swears that he will neverspeak to you again. But he doesn't want you hanged, Andre."
"Then we are agreed on that at least, for I don't want it myself."
"I'll make your peace with him. And now--good-bye, Andre. Send me a wordwhen you are safe."
She held out a hand that looked ghostly in the faint light. He took itand bore it to his lips.
"God bless you, Aline."
She was gone, and he stood listening to the receding clopper-clop ofhooves until it grew faint in the distance. Then slowly, with shouldershunched and head sunk on his breast, he retraced his steps to themain road, cogitating whither he should go. Quite suddenly he checked,remembering with dismay that he was almost entirely without money. InBrittany itself he knew of no dependable hiding-place, and as long ashe was in Brittany his peril must remain imminent. Yet to leave theprovince, and to leave it as quickly as prudence dictated, horses wouldbe necessary. And how was he to procure horses, having no money beyond asingle louis d'or and a few pieces of silver?
There was also the fact that he was very weary. He had had little sleepsince Tuesday night, and not very much then; and much of the time hadbeen spent in the saddle, a wearing thing to one so little accustomedto long rides. Worn as he was, it was unthinkable that he should go farto-night. He might get as far as Chavagne, perhaps. But there he mustsup and sleep; and what, then, of to-morrow?
Had he but thought of it before, perhaps Aline might have been able toassist him with the loan of a few louis. His first impulse now was tofollow her to the chateau. But prudence dismissed the notion. Before hecould reach her, he must be seen by servants, and word of his presencewould go forth.
There was no choice for him; he must tramp as far as Chavagne, find abed there, and leave to-morrow until it dawned. On the resolve he sethis face in the direction whence he had come. But again he paused.Chavagne lay on the road to Rennes. To go that way was to plunge furtherinto danger. He would strike south again. At the foot of some meadows onthis side of the village there was a ferry that would put him across theriver. Thus he would avoid the village; and by placing the river betweenhimself and the immediate danger, he would obtain an added sense ofsecurity.
A lane, turning out of the highroad, a quarter of a mile this side ofGavrillac, led down to that ferry. By this lane some twenty minuteslater came Andre-Louis with dragging feet. He avoided the little cottageof the ferryman, whose window was alight, and in the dark crept down tothe boat, intending if possible to put himself across. He felt for thechain by which the boat was moored, and ran his fingers along this tothe point where it was fastened. Here to his dismay he found a padlock.
He stood up in the gloom and laughed silently. Of course he might haveknown it. The ferry was the property of M. de La Tour d'Azyr, and notlikely to be left unfastened so that poor devils might cheat him ofseigneurial dues.
There being no possible alternative, he walked back to the cottage, andrapped on the door. When it opened, he stood well back, and aside, outof the shaft of light that issued thence.
"Ferry!" he rapped out, laconically.
The ferryman, a burly scoundrel well known to him, turned aside to pickup a lantern, and came forth as he was bidden. As he stepped from thelittle porch, he levelled the lantern so that its light fell on the faceof this traveller.
"My God!" he ejaculated.
"You realize, I see, that I am pressed," said Andre-Louis, his eyes onthe fellow's startled countenance.
"And well you may be with the gallows waiting for you at Rennes,"growled the ferryman. "Since you've been so foolish as to come back toGavrillac, you had better go again as quickly as you can. I will saynothing of having seen you."
"I thank you, Fresnel. Your advice accords with my intention. That iswhy I need the boat."
"Ah, that, no," said Fresnel, with determination. "I'll hold my peace,but it's as much as my skin is worth to help you.
"You need not have seen my face. Forget that you have seen it."
"I'll do that, monsieur. But that is all I will do. I cannot put youacross the river."
"Then give me the key of the boat, and I will put myself across."
"That is the same thing. I cannot. I'll hold my tongue, but I will not--Idare not--help you."
Andre-Louis looked a moment into that sullen, resolute face, andunderstood. This man, living under the shadow of La Tour d'Azyr, daredexercise no will that might be in conflict with the will of his dreadlord.
"Fresnel," he said, quietly, "if, as you say, the gallows claim me, thething that has brought me to this extremity arises out of the shootingof Mabey. Had not Mabey been murdered there would have been no needfor me to have raised my voice as I have done. Mabey was your friend, Ithink. Will you for his sake lend me the little help I need to save myneck?"
The man kept his glance averted, and the cloud of sullenness deepened onhis face.
"I would if I dared, but I dare not." Then, quite suddenly he becameangry. It was as if in anger he sought support. "Don't you understandthat I dare not? Would you have a poor man risk his life for you? Whathave you or yours ever done for me that you should ask that? You do notcross to-night in my ferry. Understand that, monsieur, and go at once--gobefore I remember that it may be dangerous even to have talked to youand not give information. Go!"
He turned on his heel to reenter his cottage, and a wave of hopelessnessswept over Andre-Louis.
But in a second it was gone. The man must be compelled, and he had themeans. He bethought him of a pistol pressed upon him by Le Chapelier atthe moment of his leaving Rennes, a gift which at the time he had almostdisdained. True, it was not loaded, and he had no ammunition. But howwas Fresnel to know that?
He acted quickly. As with his right hand he pulled it from his pocket,with his left he caught the ferryman by the shoulder, and swung himround.
"What do you want now?" Fresnel demanded angrily. "Haven't I told youthat I..."
He broke off short. The muzzle of the pistol was within a foot of hiseyes.
"I want the key of the boat. That is all, Fresnel. And you can eithergive it me at once, or I'll take it after I have burnt your brains. Ishould regret to kill you, but I shall not hesitate. It is your lifeagainst mine, Fresnel; and you'll not find it strange that if one of usmust die I prefer that it shall be you."
Fresnel dipped a hand into his pocket, and fetched thence a key. He heldit out to Andre-Louis in fingers that shook--more in anger than in fear.
"I yield to violence," he said, showing his teeth like a snarling dog."But don't imagine that it will greatly profit you."
Andre-Louis took the key. His pistol remained levelled.
"You threaten me, I think," he said. "It is not difficult to read yourthreat. The moment I am gone, you will run to inform against me. Youwill set the marechaussee on my heels to overtake me."
"No, no!" cried the other. He perceived his peril. He read his doom inthe cold, sinister note on which Andre-Louis addressed him, and grewafraid. "I swear to you, monsieur, that I have no such intention."
"I think I had better make quite sure of you."
"O my God! Have mercy, monsieur!" The knave was in a palsy of terror. "Imean you no harm--I swear to Heaven I mean you no harm. I will not say aword. I will not..."
"I would rather depend upon your silence than your assurances.Still, you shall have your chance. I am a fool, perhaps, but I have arel
uctance to shed blood. Go into the house, Fresnel. Go, man. I followyou."
In the shabby main room of that dwelling, Andre-Louis halted him again."Get me a length of rope," he commanded, and was readily obeyed.
Five minutes later Fresnel was securely bound to a chair, andeffectively silenced by a very uncomfortable gag improvised out of ablock of wood and a muffler.
On the threshold the departing Andre-Louis turned.
"Good-night, Fresnel," he said. Fierce eyes glared mute hatred at him."It is unlikely that your ferry will be required again to-night. Butsome one is sure to come to your relief quite early in the morning.Until then bear your discomfort with what fortitude you can,remembering that you have brought it entirely upon yourself by youruncharitableness. If you spend the night considering that, the lessonshould not be lost upon you. By morning you may even have grown socharitable as not to know who it was that tied you up. Good-night."
He stepped out and closed the door.
To unlock the ferry, and pull himself across the swift-running waters,on which the faint moonlight was making a silver ripple, were mattersthat engaged not more than six or seven minutes. He drove the nose ofthe boat through the decaying sedges that fringed the southern bankof the stream, sprang ashore, and made the little craft secure. Then,missing the footpath in the dark, he struck out across a sodden meadowin quest of the road.
BOOK II: THE BUSKIN
Scaramouche: A Romance of the French Revolution Page 9
