She was sobbing, and a little blood was flowing from a cut in her lip; and she trembled all over. At sight of the blood and her tears the woman seemed to be transported. Snatching up a saucepan, she sprang towards the ladder with a gesture of rage, and in a moment would have ascended if her husband had not followed and dragged her back. The girl also, as soon as she could speak, added her entreaties to his, while Maignan and La Trape looked sharply at me, as if they expected a signal.
All this while, the bully above continued his maledictions. “Send that slut back to me!” he roared. “Do you think that I am going to be left alone in this hole? Send her back, or—” and he added half-a-dozen oaths of a kind to make an honest man’s blood boil. In the midst of this, however, and while the woman was still contending with her husband, he suddenly stopped and shrieked in anguish, crying out for the salt-bath.
But the woman, whom her husband had only half-pacified, shook her fist at the ceiling with a laugh of defiance. “Shriek; ay, you may shriek, you wretch!” she cried. “You must be waited on by my girl, must you — no older face will do for you — and you beat her? Your horses must eat corn, must they, while we eat grass? And we buy salt for you, and wheaten bread for you, and are beggars for you! For you, you thieving wretch, who tax the poor and let the rich go free; who—”
“Silence, woman!” her husband cried, cutting her short, with a pale face. “Hush, hush; he will hear you!”
But the woman was too far gone in rage to obey. “What! and is it not true?” she answered, her eyes glittering. “Will he not to-morrow go to Le Mesnil and squeeze the poor? Ay, and will not Lescauts the corn-dealer, and Philippon the silk-merchant, come to him with bribes, and go free? And de Fonvelle and de Curtin — they with a DE, forsooth! — plead their nobility, and grease his hands, and go free? Ay, and—”
“Silence, woman!” the man said again, looking apprehensively at me, and from me to my attendants, who were grinning broadly. “You do not know that this gentleman is not—”
“A tax-gatherer?” I said, smiling. “No. But how long has your friend upstairs been here?”
“Two days, Monsieur,” she answered, wiping the perspiration from her brow, and speaking more quietly. “He is talking of sending on a deputy to Le Mesnil; but Heaven send he may recover, and go from here himself!”
“Well,” I answered, “at any rate, we have had enough of this noise. My servant shall go up and tell him that there is a gentleman here who cannot put up with a disturbance. Maignan,” I continued, “see the man, and tell him that the inn is not his private house, and that he must groan more softly; but do not mention my name. And let him have his brine bath, or there will be no peace for anyone.”
Maignan and La Trape, who knew me, and had counted on a very different order, stared at me, wondering at my easiness and complaisance; for there is a species of tyranny, unassociated with rank, that even the coarsest view with indignation. But the woman’s statement, which, despite its wildness and her excitement, I saw no reason to doubt, had suggested to me a scheme of punishment more refined; and which might, at one and the same time, be of profit to the King’s treasury and a lesson to Gringuet. To carry it through I had to submit to some inconvenience, and particularly to a night passed under the same roof with the rogue; but as the news that a traveller of consequence was come had the effect, aided by a few sharp words from Maignan, of lowering his tone, and forcing him to keep within bounds, I was able to endure this and overlook the occasional outbursts of spleen which his disease and pampered temper still drew from him.
His two men, who had been absent on an errand at the time of my arrival, presently returned, and were doubtless surprised to find a second company in possession. They tried my attendants with a number of questions, but without success; while I, by listening while I had my supper, learned more of their master’s habits and intentions than they supposed. They suspected nothing, and at day-break we left them; and, the water having duly fallen in the night, we crossed the river without mishap, and for a league pursued our proper road. Then I halted, and despatching the two grooms to Houdan with a letter for my wife, I took, myself, the road to Le Mesnil, which lies about three leagues to the west.
At a little inn, a league short of Le Mesnil, I stopped, and instructing my two attendants in the parts they were to play, prepared, with the help of the seals, which never left Maignan’s custody, the papers necessary to enable me to enact the role of Gringuet’s deputy. Though I had been two or three times to Villebon, I had never been within two leagues of Le Mesnil, and had no reason to suppose that I should be recognised; but to lessen the probability of this I put on a plain suit belonging to Maignan, with a black-hilted sword, and no ornaments. I furthermore waited to enter the town until evening, so that my presence, being reported, might be taken for granted before I was seen.
In a larger place my scheme must have miscarried, but in this little town on the hill, looking over the plain of vineyards and cornfields, with inn, market-house, and church in the square, and on the fourth side the open battlements, whence the towers of Chartres could be seen on a clear day, I looked to have to do only with small men, and saw no reason why it should fail.
Accordingly, riding up to the inn about sunset, I called, with an air, for the landlord. There were half-a-dozen loungers seated in a row on a bench before the door, and one of these went in to fetch him. When the host came out, with his apron twisted round his waist, I asked him if he had a room.
“Yes,” he said, shading his eyes to look at me, “I have.”
“Very well,” I answered pompously, considering that I had just such an audience as I desired — by which I mean one that, without being too critical, would spread the news. “I am M. Gringuet’s deputy, and I am here with authority to collect and remit, receive and give receipts for, his Majesty’s taxes, tolls, and dues, now, or to be, due and owing. Therefore, my friend, I will trouble you to show me to my room.”
I thought that this announcement would impress him as much as I desired; but, to my surprise, he only stared at me. “Eh!” he exclaimed at last, in a faltering tone, “M. Gringuet’s deputy?”
“Yes,” I said, dismounting somewhat impatiently; “he is ill with the gout and cannot come.”
“And you — are his deputy?”
“I have said so.”
Still he did not move to do my bidding, but continued to rub his bald head and stare at me as if I fascinated him. “Well, I am — I mean — I think we are full,” he stammered at last, with his eyes like saucers.
I replied, with some impatience, that he had just said that he had a room; adding, that if I was not in it and comfortably settled before five minutes were up I would know the reason. I thought that this would settle the matter, whatever maggot had got into the man’s head; and, in a way, it did so, for he begged my pardon hastily, and made way for me to enter, calling, at the same time, to a lad who was standing by, to attend to the horses. But when we were inside the door, instead of showing me through the kitchen to my room, he muttered something, and hurried away; leaving me to wonder what was amiss with him, and why the loungers outside, who had listened with all their ears to our conversation, had come in after us as far as they dared, and were regarding us with an odd mixture of suspicion and amusement.
The landlord remained long away, and seemed, from sounds that came to my ears, to be talking with someone in a distant room. At length, however, he returned, bearing a candle and followed by a serving-man. I asked him roughly why he had been so long, and began to rate him; but he took the words out of my mouth by his humility, and going before me through the kitchen — where his wife and two or three maids who were about the fire stopped to look at us, with the basting spoons in their hands — he opened a door which led again into the outer air.
“It is across the yard,” he said apologetically, as he went before, and opening a second door, stood aside for us to enter. “But it is a good room, and, if you please, a fire shall be lighted. The shutters
are closed,” he continued, as we passed him, Maignan and La Trape carrying my baggage, “but they shall be opened. Hallo! Pierre! Pierre, there! Open these shut—”
On the word his voice rose — and broke; and in a moment the door, through which we had all passed unsuspecting, fell to with a crash behind us. Before we could move we heard the bars drop across it. A little before, La Trape had taken a candle from someone’s hand to light me the better; and therefore we were not in darkness. But the light this gave only served to impress on us what the falling bars and the rising sound of voices outside had already told us — that we were outwitted! We were prisoners.
The room in which we stood, looking foolishly at one another, was a great barn-like chamber, with small windows high in the unplaistered walls. A long board set on trestles, and two or three stools placed round it — on the occasion, perhaps, of some recent festivity — had for a moment deceived us, and played the landlord’s game.
In the first shock of the discovery, hearing the bars drop home, we stood gaping, and wondering what it meant. Then Maignan, with an oath, sprang to the door and tried it — fruitlessly.
I joined him more at my leisure, and raising my voice, asked angrily what this folly meant. “Open the door there! Do you hear, landlord?” I cried.
No one moved, though Maignan continued to rattle the door furiously.
“Do you hear?” I repeated, between anger and amazement at the fix in which we had placed ourselves. “Open!”
But, although the murmur of voices outside the door grew louder, no one answered, and I had time to take in the full absurdity of the position; to measure the height; of the windows with my eye and plumb the dark shadows under the rafters, where the feebler rays of our candle lost themselves; to appreciate, in a word, the extent of our predicament. Maignan was furious, La Trape vicious, while my own equanimity scarcely supported me against the thought that we should probably be where we were until the arrival of my people, whom I had directed my wife to send to Le Mesnil at noon next day. Their coming would free us, indeed, but at the cost of ridicule and laughter. Never was man worse placed.
Wincing at the thought, I bade Maignan be silent; and, drumming on the door myself, I called for the landlord. Someone who had been giving directions in a tone of great, consequence ceased speaking, and came close to the door. After listening a moment, he struck it with his hand.
“Silence, rogues!” he cried. “Do you hear? Silence there, unless you want your ears nailed to the post.”
“Fool!” I answered. “Open the door instantly! Are you all mad here, that you shut up the King’s servants in this way?”
“The King’s servants!” he cried, jeering at us. “Where are they?”
“Here!” I answered, swallowing my rage as well as I might. “I am M. Gringuet’s deputy, and if you do not this instant—”
“M. Gringuet’s deputy! Ho! ho!” he said. “Why, you fool, M. Gringuet’s deputy arrived two hours before you. You must get up a little earlier another time. They are poor tricksters who are too late for the fair. And now be silent, and it may save you a stripe or two to-morrow.”
There are situations in which even the greatest find it hard to maintain their dignity, and this was one. I looked at Maignan and La Trape, and they at me, and by the light of the lanthorn which the latter held I saw that they were smiling, doubtless at the dilemma in which we had innocently placed ourselves. But I found nothing to laugh at in the position; since the people outside might at any moment leave us where we were to fast until morning; and, after a moment’s reflection, I called out to know who the speaker on the other side was.
“I am M. de Fonvelle,” he answered.
“Well, M. de Fonvelle,” I replied, “I advise you to have a care what you do. I am M. Gringuet’s deputy. The other man is an impostor.”
He laughed.
“He has no papers,” I cried.
“Oh, yes, he has!” he answered, mocking me. “M. Curtin has seen them, my fine fellow, and he is not one to pay money without warrant.”
At this several laughed, and a quavering voice chimed in with “Oh, yes, he has papers! I have seen them. Still, in a case—”
“There!” M. Fonvelle cried, drowning the other’s words. “Now are you satisfied — you in there?”
But M. Curtin had not done. “He has papers,” he piped again in his thin voice.
“Still, M. de Fonvelle, it is well to be cautious, and—”
“Tut, tut! it is all right.”
“He has papers, but he has no authority!” I shouted.
“He has seals,” Fonvelle answered. “It is all right.”
“It is all wrong!” I retorted. “Wrong, I say! Go to your man, and you will find him gone — gone with your money, M. Curtin.”
Two or three laughed, but I heard the sound of feet hurrying away, and I guessed that Curtin had retired to satisfy himself. Nevertheless, the moment which followed was an anxious one, since, if my random shot missed, I knew that I should find myself in a worse position than before. But judging — from the fact that the deputy had not confronted us himself — that he was an impostor, to whom Gringuet’s illness had suggested the scheme on which I had myself hit, I hoped for the best; and, to be sure, in a moment an outcry arose in the house and quickly spread. Of those at the door, some cried to their fellows to hearken, while others hastened off to see. Yet still a little time elapsed, during which I burned with impatience; and then the crowd came trampling back, all wrangling and speaking at once.
At the door the chattering ceased, and, a hand being laid on the bar, in a moment the door was thrown open, and I walked out with what dignity I might. Outside, the scene which met my eyes might have been, under other circumstances, diverting. Before me stood the landlord of the inn, bowing with a light in each hand, as if the more he bent his backbone the more he must propitiate me; while a fat, middle-aged man at his elbow, whom I took to be Fonvelle, smiled feebly at me with a chapfallen expression. A little aside, Curtin, a shrivelled old fellow, was wringing his hands over his loss; and behind and round these, peeping over their shoulders and staring under their arms, clustered a curious crowd of busybodies, who, between amusement at the joke and awe of the great men, had much ado to control their merriment.
The host began to mutter apologies, but I cut him short. “I will talk to you to-morrow!” I said, in a voice which made him shake in his shoes. “Now give me supper, lights, and a room — and hurry. For you, M. Fonvelle, you are an ass! And for the gentleman there, who has filled the rogue’s purse, he will do well another time to pay the King his dues!”
With that I left the two — Fonvelle purple with indignation, and Curtin with eyes and mouth agape and tears stayed — and followed my host to his best room, Maignan and La Trape attending me with very grim faces. Here the landlord would have repeated his apologies, but my thoughts beginning to revert to the purpose which had brought me hither, I affected to be offended, that, by keeping all at a distance, I might the more easily preserve my character.
I succeeded so well that, though half the town, through which the news of my adventure had spread, as fire spreads in tinder, were assembled outside the inn until a late hour, no one was admitted to see me; and when I made my appearance next morning in the market-place and took my seat, with my two attendants, at a table by the corn-measures, this reserve had so far impressed the people that the smiles which greeted me scarcely exceeded those which commonly welcome a tax-collector. Some had paid, and, foreseeing the necessity of paying again, found little that was diverting in the jest. Others thought it no laughing matter to pay once; and a few had come as ill out of the adventure as I had. Under these circumstances, we quickly settled to work, no one entertaining the slightest suspicion; and La Trape, who could accommodate himself to anything, playing the part of clerk, I was presently receiving money and hearing excuses; the minute acquaintance with the routine of the finances, which I had made it my business to acquire, rendering the work easy to me.<
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We had not been long engaged, however, when Fonvelle put in an appearance, and elbowing the peasants aside, begged to speak with me apart. I rose and stepped back with him two or three paces; on which he winked at me in a very knowing fashion, “I am M. de Fonvelle,” he said. And he winked again.
“Ah!” I said.
“My name is not in your list.”
“I find it there,” I replied, raising a hand to my ear.
“Tut, tut! you do not understand,” he muttered. “Has not Gringuet told you?”
“What?” I said, pretending to be a little deaf.
“Has not—”
I shook my head.
“Has not Gringuet told you?” he repeated, reddening with anger; and this time speaking, on compulsion, so loudly that the peasants could hear him.
I answered him in the same tone. “Yes,” I said roundly. “He has told me; of course, that every year you give him two hundred livres to omit your name.”
He glanced behind him with an oath. “Man, are you mad?” he gasped, his jaw falling. “They will hear you.”
“Yes,” I said loudly, “I mean them to hear me.”
I do not know what he thought of this — perhaps that I was mad — but he staggered back from me, and looked wildly round. Finding everyone laughing, he looked again at me, but still failed to understand; on which, with another oath, he turned on his heel, and forcing his way through the grinning crowd, was out of sight in a moment.
Complete Works of Stanley J Weyman Page 200
