CHAPTER XXXV
THE STRANGER
It was M. des Coutures--a middle-aged man, military governor of LeHavre--who had caught Gaston de Stainville in his arms when the latterall but lost consciousness. A dozen willing pairs of hands were nowready to administer to the guest's comforts, from the loosening of hiscravat to the pulling off of his heavy riding boots.
"The mulled wine was too heavy for him," said M. le Maire Valledieu,"no doubt he had been fasting some hours and his stomach refused todeal with it."
"Tell the kitchen wench to hurry with that supper, Jean Marie," saidMortemar to mine host, "he'll be himself again when he has eaten."
"If there's a plate of soup ready, bring that," added M. Valledieu."Anything's better than an empty paunch."
"I thank you, friends," now murmured Stainville feebly. "I fear me Imust have turned giddy . . . the heat and . . ."
He was recovering quickly enough. It had been mere dizziness caused byfatigue; and then that awful blow which had staggered him physicallyas well as mentally! His newly found friends had dragged him back tothe table close to the open window: the keen sea-breeze quicklyrestored him to complete consciousness.
Already he had turned his head slowly round to watch that fastdisappearing three-decker, gleaming golden now in the distant haze.
His argosy which he had hoped to see returning from her voyage ladenwith golden freight! Somehow as first the hulk and then the gracefulsails were gradually merged into the Western glow, Gaston knew--by oneof those inexplainable yet absolutely unerring instincts which bafflethe materialist--that all hopes of those coveted millions werevanishing as surely as did the ship now from before his gaze. He wasstill weak in body as well as in mind, and it was as if in a dream,that he listened to de Mortemar's carelessly given explanations of theevent which meant the wreckage of so many fondly cherished hopes.
"Captain Barre broke his fast in this very room this morning," saidthe young man lightly, "several of these gentlemen here, as well asmyself, had speech with him. He had no idea then that he would have tostart on a voyage quite so soon. He left here at eleven o'clock andwent back to his ship. An hour later when I was strolling along theshore I met him again. He seemed in a vast hurry and told me in a fewcurt words that _Le Monarque_ had received orders to be under way assoon as the tide permitted."
"You did not ask him whither the ship was bound?" queried Gaston,speaking hoarsely like a man who has been drinking.
"He could not tell me," replied the other, "her orders were secret."
"Do you know who was the bearer of these secret orders?"
"No, but I heard later that a stranger had ridden into Le Havre atmidday to-day. His mare--a beautiful creature so I understand--droppednot far from here; she had been ridden to her death, poor thing; andher rider, so they say, was near to dropping too."
"I saw him," here interposed a young soldier, "he was just outsidethat God-forsaken hole, 'Le Gros Normand' and politely asked me if itwere the best inn in Le Havre."
"I hope you told him it was," said des Coutures with a growl, "we wantno stranger here."
"Nor do we want Le Havre to have a reputation for dirt anddiscomfort," corrected M. le Maire.
"And I certainly could not allow a gentlemen--for he was that--I'lllay any wager on it, with any one--to be made superlativelyuncomfortable on the broken beds of 'Le Gros Normand,'" asserted theyoung soldier hotly.
"You advised him to come here?" gasped Mortemar with genuine horror.He was the chief of that clique which desired to exclude, with utmostrigour from the sacred precincts of "Les Trois Matelots," everystranger not properly accredited.
"Ma foi! what would you have me do?" retorted the other sulkily.
"You did quite right, Lieutenant le Tellier," rejoined M. le Maire,who was jealous of the reputation of Le Havre. "Gentlemen must beunder no misapprehension with regard to the refinement and hospitalityof this town."
The entrance of mine host carrying a steaming bowl of soup broke upthe conversation for awhile. Jean Marie was followed by a fat andjovial-looking wench, who quickly spread a white cloth for Monsieur leComte's supper and generally administered to his wants.
De Mortemar, General des Coutures, and M. le Maire Valledieu hadconstituted themselves the nominal hosts of Gaston. They too sat roundthe table, and anon when Jean Marie brought huge jugs of red wine,they fell to and entertained their guest, plying him with meat anddrink.
This broke up the company somewhat. The other gentlemen had withdrawnwith all the respect which Frenchmen always feel for the solemnity ofa meal; they had once more assumed their old places at the varioustables about the room. But no one thought yet of returning home:"l'heure de l'aperitif" was being indefinitely prolonged.
Conversation naturally drifted back again and again to _Le Monarque_and her secret orders. Every one scented mystery, for was it notstrange that a noble cavalier like Monsieur le Comte de Stainvilleshould have ridden all the way from Versailles on the King's business,in order to have speech with the commander of one of His Majesty's ownships, only to find that he had been forestalled? The good ship hadapparently received orders which the King knew naught about, else HisMajesty had not sent Monsieur de Stainville all this way on a fool'serrand.
Eager, prying eyes watched him as he began to eat and drink, dreamilyat first, almost drowsily. Obviously he was absorbed in thought. Hetoo must be racking his brains as to who the stranger might be who hadso unexpectedly forestalled him.
His three genial hosts plied him continually with wine and soon thetraces of fatigue in him began to yield to his usual alertness andvigour. The well-cooked food, the rich liquors were putting life backinto his veins. And with renewed life came a seething, an ungovernablewrath.
He had lost a fortune, the gratitude of the King, the goodwill ofPompadour, two and a half millions of money through the interferenceof a stranger!
He tried to think, to imagine, to argue with himself. Treacherous andfalse himself, he at once suspected treachery. He imagined that somesycophant, hanging to the Pompadour's skirts, had succeeded in winningher good graces sufficiently to be allowed to do this errand for her,instead of himself.
Or had the King played him false, and sent another messenger to do thedelicate business and to share in the spoils?
Or had Lydie . . . ? But no! this was impossible! What could she havedone at a late hour of the night? How could she have found a messengerwhom she could trust? when earlier in the day she had herself admittedthat there was no one in whom she could confide, and thus turnedalmost unwillingly to the friend of her childhood.
Jean Marie's favoured customers sat at the various tables sippingtheir eau-de-vie; some had produced dice and cards, whilst others werecontent to loll about, still hoping to hear piquant anecdotes of thatdistant Court of Versailles, toward which they all sighed solongingly.
But the elegant guest was proving a disappointment. Even after thesecond bumper of wine Gaston de Stainville's tongue had not loosened.He was speculating on the identity of that mysterious stranger, andwould not allow his moodiness to yield to the joys of good cheer.To-morrow he would have to ride back to Versailles hardly moreleisurely than he had come, for he must find out the truth of how hecame to be forestalled. But he could not start before dawn, eventhough fiery impatience and wrath burned in his veins.
To all inquisitive queries and pointed chaff he replied with a sulkygrowl, and very soon the delight of meeting an interesting strangergave place to irritation at his sullen mood. He was drinking heavily,and did not seem cheerful in his cups, and anon even Mortemar'sboisterous hilarity gave way before his persistent gloom.
After an hour or two the company started yawning: every one had hadenough of this silent and ill-tempered stranger, who not only hadbrought no new life and animation into the sleepy town, but was illrepaying the lavish hospitality of "Les Trois Matelots" by hisreticence and sulky humour.
One by one now the habitues departed, nodding genially to mine host,as they settled for t
heir _consommations_, and bidding as hearty agood-night to the stranger as their disappointment would allow.
De Mortemar and Valledieu had tried to lure M. le Comte de Stainvilleto hazard or even to a more sober game of piquet, but the latter hadpersistently refused and sat with legs stretched out before him, handsburied in breeches' pockets, his head drooping on his chest, and ameditative scowl between his eyes.
The wine had apparently quite dulled his brilliant wit, and now heonly replied in curt monosyllables to queries addressed directly tohim.
Anon Valledieu and old General de Coutures pleading the ties of familyand home, begged to be excused. Now de Mortemar alone was left toentertain his surly guest, bored to distraction, and dislocating hisjaws in the vain efforts which he made to smother persistent yawns.
It was then close on half-past seven. The final glory of the settingsun had yielded to the magic wand of night which had changed the vividcrimson and orange first to delicate greens and mauves and then to thedeep, the gorgeous blue of a summer's evening sky. The stars one byone gleamed in the firmament, and soon the crescent moon, chaste andcold, added her incomparable glory to the beauty and the silent peaceof the night.
Tiny lights appeared at masthead or prow of the many craft lying atanchor in the roadsteads, and from far away through the open windowthere came wafted, on the sweet salt breeze, the melancholy sound ofan old Normandy ditty sung by a pair of youthful throats.
Fatigue and gloom had oppressed Gaston at first, now it wasunconquerable rage, seething and terrible, which caused him to remainsilent. De Mortemar was racking his brains for an excuse to break upthis wearisome _tete-a-tete_ without overstepping the bounds ofgood-breeding, whilst cursing his own impetuosity which had promptedhim to take this surly guest under his wing.
Jean Marie now entered with the candles, causing a welcome diversion.He placed one massive pewter candelabrum on the table occupied byGaston and de Mortemar: the other he carried to the further end of theroom. Having placed that down too, he lolled back toward de Mortemar.His rubicund face looked troubled, great beads of perspiration stoodout upon his forehead, and his fat fingers wandered along the velvetysurface of his round, closely-cropped crown.
"M'sieu le Comte . . ." he began hesitatingly.
"What is it?" asked Mortemar smothering a yawn.
"A stranger, M'sieu le Comte . . ." stammered Jean Marie.
"What, another? . . . I mean," added the young man with a nervouslittle laugh, feeling that the sudden exclamation of undisguisedannoyance was not altogether courteous to his guest, "I mean a . . .an . . . an . . . unknown stranger? . . . altogether different to M.le Comte de Stainville, of course!"
"A stranger, M'sieu," repeated Jean Marie curtly. "He came at midday.. . ."
"And you told us nothing about him?"
"I did not think it was necessary, nor that the stranger would troubleM'sieu le Comte. He asked for a clean room and a bed and said nothingabout supper at the time. . . . He seemed very tired and gave me acouple of louis, just if as they were half livres."
"No doubt 'twas the stranger with whom Lieutenant Tellier had speechoutside 'Le Gros Normand!'" suggested de Mortemar.
"Mayhap! mayhap!" rejoined Jean Marie thoughtfully. "I took him up abowl of sack and half a cold capon, but what he wanted most was alarge wash-tub and plenty of water . . . it seems he needed a bath!"
"Then he was English," commented Mortemar decisively.
But at these words, Gaston, who had been listening with half an ear tomine host's explanations, roused himself from his heavy torpor.
The stranger who had forestalled him and sent _Le Monarque_ on hersecret voyage to-day was English!
Then it was . . .
"Where is that stranger now?" he demanded peremptorily.
"That's just it, M'sieu le Comte!" replied Jean Marie, obstinatelyignoring Gaston and still addressing de Mortemar, "he slept all theafternoon. Now he wants some supper. He throws louis about as if theywere dirt, and I can't serve him in there!" he added with unanswerablelogic and pointing to the stuffy room in the rear.
"Pardi! . . ." began Mortemar.
But Gaston de Stainville was fully alert now; with sudden vigour hejumped to his feet and brought his fist crashing down on the table sothat the candelabrum, the mugs, and decanters of wine shook under theblow.
"I beseech you, friend, admit the stranger into this room withoutdelay," he said loudly. "Ma foi! you have found me dull and listless,ill-humoured in spite of your lavish hospitality; I swear to you byall the devils in hell that you'll not yawn once for the nexthalf-hour, and that Gaston de Stainville and the mysterious stranger,who thwarts his will and forestalls his orders, will afford you ameasure of amusement such as you'll never forget."
His face was flushed, and his eyes, somewhat hazy from the copiousnessof his libations, had an evil leer in them and an inward glow ofdeadly hate. There was no longer any weakness, nor yet ill-humour,visible in his attitude. His hands were clenched, one resting on thetable, the other roughly pushing back the chair on which he had beensitting.
"Admit the stranger, friend host!" he shouted savagely. "I'll vouchfor it that your patron will not regret his presence in this room."
"Ma foi! I trust not," said a quiet voice, which seemed to comesuddenly from out the gloom. "Gentlemen, your servant!"
Mortemar turned toward the door, whence had proceeded that gentle,courteous voice. Lord Eglinton was standing under the lintel,elegantly attired in full riding dress, with top boots andclosely-fitting coat. He wore no sword, and carried a heavy cloak onhis arm.
He made a comprehensive bow which included every one there present,then he stepped forward into the room.
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