Chapter 28

HOW MONSIEUR JOSEPH WENT OUT INTO THE DAWN

At Les Chouettes, in those early hours of the morning, they were waiting for Angelot's return. Monsieur Joseph, the softest-hearted, most open-natured man who ever posed as a dark and hard conspirator, could not now forgive himself for having sent the boy away. "Why did I not go myself?" he muttered. Faithfulness to the cause, honour towards César d'Ombré, a touch of severity, really born of love, towards Angelot's light-hearted indifference; these had led him into something like cruelty towards the girl who had been thrown with such wild and passionate haste into Angelot's arms. Monsieur Joseph regarded Hervé de Sainfoy's sudden action as a great embarrassment for the family, though he himself had once suggested such a marriage, out of indulgence for his nephew. He saw that the situation would be terribly awkward for Urbain and Anne, that they would hardly welcome such a daughter-in-law; yet, though he said sharp words about women to Angelot, he was heartily sorry for Hélène.

"Pauvre petite!" he said to himself. "No, it was not right of Hervé. Ange is too young for such responsibility; there might have been other ways of saving her. But in the meanwhile, she is dreadfully frightened and lonely, and I have sent her little lover away. God grant he fall into no traps--but the police may be anywhere. Well, Riette must do her best--the woman-child--she seemed to me just now older than Angelot's wife--Angelot's wife--what an absurdity!"

The child had led the girl away to her own room above; the house was still. Monsieur Joseph went back to his room, walked up and down its length, from the west to the east window and back again; rather nervously examined his arms, and laid a sword and a pair of pistols on the table. He knew of no special danger; but for the last fortnight he had been living in a state of watchfulness which had sharpened all his senses and kept him unusually sleepless. Now he longed for the night to be over; for his present charge weighed upon him heavily. It was certain that in sending Angelot away to keep the tryst with César he had made himself responsible for Hélène. He thought over all the foolish little love-story, in which at first he had had some part, though nobody was more angry with Angelot when he took things into his own hands and climbed the old ivy-tree to visit his love.

"And now--is the fellow rewarded or punished? we shall see!" he thought. "In any case, I must stand by him now. He has not always been grateful or wise--but there, he is young, and I love the boy. Riette talks of 'the last drop of our blood.' Verily, I believe she would give it for Angelot--and I--well, I told Hervé and his mother that I would cut off my right hand for him. That was saying something! But Anne knew I meant it--and God knows the same."

Monsieur Joseph glanced up at the Crucifix hanging over his bed, and, presently, seeing a glimmer of dawn through the shutters, knelt down and said his morning prayers.

He had scarcely finished when all the dogs began to bark, and there was a frightful growling and snarling outside his window. He opened it, and pushed back the shutters. The woods were grey and misty in a pale, unearthly dawn, and the house threw a shadow from the waning moon, which had risen behind the buildings and trees to the east. The howling wind of the night had gone down; the air was cold and still.

Monsieur Joseph saw a man with his head tied up, armed with a police carbine, making a short cut over the grass from the western wood. It was this man, Simon, whom the dogs were welcoming after their manner. Monsieur Joseph's voice silenced them. He stepped out, unarmed as he was, and met Simon in the sandy square.

"Ah no, no, my friend!" he said. "Your tricks are over, your work is done."

"Pardon, monsieur!" said Simon, respectfully enough.

"Do you understand me? Come, now, what authority had you for arresting my nephew? You are going to find it was a serious mistake. Be off with you, and let him alone in the future."

"I know all about that, monsieur," Simon answered coolly. "Your nephew is lucky enough to have a loyal father, who can pull him out of his scrapes. Your nephew has plenty of friends--but even his connections won't save him, I think, if he is mixed up in this new plot of yours. I must search your house at once, if you please."

"What do you mean, you scoundrel? You will not search my house," said Monsieur Joseph, fiercely.

"By order, monsieur."

"Whose order? The Prefect's? Show it me."

"Pardon! There has not been time to apply to Monsieur le Préfet. We have intelligence of a plot, hatched here in your house, a plan for a rising. We know that certain gentlemen are starting this very morning on a mission to England, to bring back arms and men. They will be caught--are caught already, no doubt--at their rendezvous. There was not time to go to Sonnay for orders and warrants; we had to strike while the iron was hot. We applied to General Ratoneau, who was at the ball at Lancilly. He not only gave us authority to search your house for arms and conspirators--he accompanied us himself. He is there, beyond the wood, with enough men to enter your house by force, if you refuse to let us enter peaceably."

For a moment Monsieur Joseph said nothing. Simon grinned as well as his stiff and aching head would let him, as he watched the little gentleman's expressive face.

"We have got them, Monsieur le Général!" he said to himself. He added aloud and insolently: "An unpleasant experience for the young gentleman, so soon after his wedding, but a final warning, I imagine. If he comes free and happy out of this, he will have done with Chouannerie!"

"Silence!" said Monsieur Joseph. "If you want conspirators, there is one here, and that is myself. I will go to Sonnay with you--though your accusations are ridiculous, and there is no plan for a rising. But I will not allow you to search my house, if there were ten generals and an army behind the wood there. I will shoot down any one who attempts it."

"So much the worse for you, monsieur," said Simon.

"Go back to General Ratoneau and tell him what I say," said Monsieur Joseph. "He will not doubt my word. Wait. I will speak to him myself. Tell him I will meet him in ten minutes under the old oaks up there. I wish for a private word with him."

"Ten minutes, monsieur,"--Simon hesitated.

"Do as you are told," said Monsieur Joseph; and he stepped back into his room, pulled the shutters sharply to, and shut the window.

Simon lingered a minute or two, looking round the house, giving the growling dogs a wide berth, then went back with his message to the wood, and took the precaution of sending a man to watch the lanes on the other side. He did not, of course, for a moment suppose that there was any one there, except, most probably, Ange de la Marinière and his bride; but it would not do to let him once again escape the General. What his plans might be, Simon only half guessed; but he knew they were desperate, and he knew that the man who balked him would repent it. And besides all this, he had not yet received a sou for all the dirty work he had lately done. But in the bitter depths of his discontented mind, Simon began to suspect that he had made a mistake in committing himself, body and soul, to General Ratoneau.

Monsieur Joseph took a small pistol from a cabinet, loaded it, then ran lightly upstairs and called Riette, who came flying to meet him. He took her in his arms and kissed her shaggy pate.

"Your hair wants brushing, mademoiselle," he said. "You are a contrast to your beautiful cousin."

"Oh, papa, isn't it glorious to think that Hélène has married Angelot? They do love each other so. She has been telling me that if only he were back safe from the Étang des Morts, she would be the very happiest woman in the world."

"I hope she will be, and soon," said Monsieur Joseph. But he trembled as he spoke, for if Simon was right, Angelot and César might be even now in the hands of the police.

"Listen, Riette," he said. "There are some men outside, police and officials--General Ratoneau is with them. Once again there are fancies in these people's heads about me and my friends. They want to search the house. There is no reason for it, and I will not have it done. I am going out now to speak to the General. Look at the clock. If I am not back in ten minutes, go out at the back with your cousin, take the path behind the stables, and make all the haste you can to La Marinière. It will be light, you cannot lose your way. Only keep in the shelter of the trees, that those people over in the wood may not see you."

Riette gazed at him with dark large eyes which seemed to read something behind his words.

"Why do you think you will not come back, papa? Because General Ratoneau is a wicked man?"

"Because Imperial justice may carry me to Sonnay. But the Prefect is my friend," said Monsieur Joseph, gravely. "Go back, and do as I tell you. Remember, Angelot's wife is in your care. Take this pistol, and defend her if necessary."

He left her without another word and ran downstairs. In the ground-floor rooms he found the servants waiting, the two men armed, Marie wildly excited, all talking at once, for they had heard from an upper window their master's conversation with Simon.

Before he could give them any orders, two tall shadows came across the white sand in that unearthly light of moon and dawn, and old Joubard and his son, pushing at the window, were immediately let in by Gigot. They explained that Monsieur Angelot, on his way to the Étang des Morts, had stopped at La Joubardière. He had found Martin, not long returned from Lancilly, busy telling his father the events of the night. He had begged them both to go down to Les Chouettes, to watch quietly about there till his return. They understood very well that his greatest treasure in life was there, and they had started off, Joubard with his gun, not intending to go to the house or disturb Monsieur Joseph. But coming down they found the man Simon had just sent to keep the eastern road, who told them the place was besieged by police and the house to be searched immediately. They took the liberty of depriving him of his carbine, tying him to a tree, and setting a dog to watch him there. Old Joubard explained this to Monsieur Joseph with an air of apology.

"Thank you. You could not have done better, Joubard. Listen, I am going out to speak to General Ratoneau. I have told Mademoiselle Henriette, if I am not back in ten minutes, to take Madame Ange to La Marinière. If the General insists on my going off to Sonnay, this will not be a place for ladies. Perhaps, Marie, you had better go with them. The police will try to insist on searching the house. I will not have it searched, without a warrant from Monsieur le Préfet. You four men, I leave it in your care. Defend the house, as you know I should defend it."

Tobie chuckled. "Spoil their beauty, eh!" and went on loading his gun. Old Joubard's face had lengthened slightly. "Anything within the law," he muttered. "But I am not a Chouan, dear little monsieur, nor is Martin--no!"

"Chouan or not, you are my friends, all of you," said Monsieur Joseph; and he turned and left them.

He went back to his room, wrote a short letter to his brother Urbain, and left it on the table. Then he took his sword, crossed himself, and went out into the slowly lightening day.

Ratoneau was waiting for him under the trees, just out of sight of the house, and they were practically alone. A groom held the General's horse at some little distance; Simon waited in the background, skulking behind the trees, and the other men were watching the house from various points. The road which passed Les Chouettes on the north crept on westward, and skirted that same wood of tall oaks, chestnuts, and firs where Monsieur Joseph's Chouan friends had been hidden from the Prefect and the General. The wood, with little undergrowth, but thickly carpeted with dead leaves, sloped down to the south; on its highest edge a line of old oaks, hollow and enormous, stood like grim sentinels. It was under one of these, hidden from the house by a corner of the wood, that Monsieur Joseph met the General.

Ratoneau was considerably cooler than when he had left Lancilly. His manner was less violent, but even more insolent than usual. He looked at his watch as Monsieur Joseph came up, walking over the rough grass with the light step of a boy.

"What do you mean, monsieur, by keeping an Imperial officer waiting?" he said. "Ten minutes? I have been standing here twenty, and you had no right to ask for one. You forget who you are, monsieur, and who I am."

"Kindly enlighten me on these points, Monsieur le Général," said Monsieur Joseph, smiling cheerfully.

"I will enlighten you so far--that you are twice a traitor, and the worst of a whole band of traitors."

"Et puis, monsieur? Once--it is possible from your point of view, but how twice?" said Monsieur Joseph, with that air of happy curiosity which had often, in earlier years, misled his enemies to their undoing.

Ratoneau stared at him, muttered an oath, and stammered out: "Not content with plotting against His Majesty's government--why you--you, monsieur--are aiding and abetting that nephew of yours in this scandalous affair of his marriage. Sapristi! you look as innocent as a new-born child! You laugh, monsieur! Do you suppose the Emperor will not learn the truth about this marriage? Yes, I can tell you, you will bitterly repent this night's work--Monsieur de Sainfoy and all of you. And to begin with, that accursed nephew of yours will spend his honeymoon in prison. I have not yet seen my way through the ins and outs of the affair--I do not know how Monsieur de Sainfoy heard of the Emperor's intention--but at least I can have my revenge on your nephew and I will--I will!"

"Ah!" Monsieur Joseph laughed slightly. "I would not be too sure, monsieur. You can prove nothing against Ange. His father, let me tell you, has set him right with the Emperor. He is in no danger at all, unless from your personal malice. The prize you intended to have has been given to him. It is no doing of his family. I do not believe the Emperor will punish him or them. And--unless he values your services more highly than I should think probable, I fancy he will see excuses for Monsieur de Sainfoy!"

"No doing of his family! The intrigue has been going on for weeks," cried Ratoneau. "When have I not seen that odious boy pushing himself at Lancilly? Detestable little hound! as insolent as yourself, and far more of a fool. I have always hated him--always--since the day I first saw him in your house, the day when we met a herd of cattle in the lane, and he dared to laugh at my horse's misbehaviour. Little scum of the earth! if I had him under my heel--What are we losing time for? What do you want to say to me? It is my duty to arrest you, and to search your house for conspirators and arms, in the name of the Emperor."

"Yes; I know all that," said Monsieur Joseph, gently, with his head a little on one side.

He was wondering, as he wondered on first acquaintance with this man, for how long he would be able to refrain from striking him in the face. He was afraid that it would not, at this juncture, be a wise thing to do. The two girls in the house were much on his mind; perhaps a presentiment of something of this sort had made him arrange for their escape.

"I told that police fellow," he went on very mildly, "that I was ready to go with you to Sonnay, where the Prefect, of course, is the right person to deal with any suspected conspiracy. I also told him, and I tell you, that I will not have my house searched without the Prefect's warrant."

"And pray, how are you going to prevent it?" said Ratoneau, staring at him.

"Try it, and you will see," said Monsieur Joseph.

"Your nephew is shut up there, I know. He is taking care of his bride, and is afraid to come out and face me," said Ratoneau, with a frightful grin. "He will not dare to resist by force--miserable little coward!"

"All this shall be paid for by and by," Monsieur Joseph said to himself, consolingly. Aloud he said, "It happens that my nephew is not there, Monsieur le Général."

"Not there! where are they gone then? I believe that is a lie."

Monsieur Joseph bowed politely, with his hand on his sword.

"Allow me to remark, Monsieur le Général Ratoneau, that you are a cheat and a coward."

Ratoneau turned purple, and almost choked.

"Monsieur! You dare to use such words to me! I shall call my men up, and--"

"Call the whole of the usurper's army," said Monsieur Joseph, with unearthly coolness. "As they follow him they may follow you, his pasteboard image. But I am quite of your opinion, my words need explanation. I see through you, Monsieur le Général. You tried to cheat the Comte de Sainfoy out of his daughter, whom he had refused you. And I am sure now, that my nephew's arrest the other day was a scoundrelly piece of cheating, a satisfaction of your private spite, a means of getting him out of your way. Yes, I see through you now. A fine specimen of an Imperial officer, bribing police spies to carry out his private malice. Coward and cheat! Defend yourself!"

Both swords were out, and the fight began instantly. The steel clashed and darted lightly, flashing back the rising day. It was no ordinary duel, no mere satisfaction of honour, though each might have had the right to demand this of the other. It was a quarrel of life and death, personal hatred that must slay or be slain.

Monsieur Joseph, with all his grace and amiability, had the passionate nature of old France; his instincts were primitive and simple; he longed, and his longing had become irresistible, to send a villain out of the world. Perhaps, too, in Ratoneau's overbearing swagger, he saw and felt an incarnation of that Empire which had crushed his native country under its iron feet. But all mixed motives were fused together and flamed up in the fighting rage that drew that slight hand to the sword-hilt, and darted like lightning along the living blade.

Monsieur Joseph was a splendid swordsman. But Ratoneau, too, had perfect command of his weapon; and besides this, he was a taller and heavier man. And the fury of disappointment, of revenge, the dread of being found out, of probable disgrace, if Joseph de la Marinière could prove his keen suspicions true; all this added to his caution, while he never lacked the bull-dog courage of a fighting soldier. Though foaming with rage, he was at that moment the cooler, the more self-possessed of the two.

Simon tried at first to interfere. He stepped out from among the trees, exclaiming, "Messieurs--messieurs!" but then withdrew again, for the very sight of the two men's faces, the sound of their breath, the quick clash of the swords, showed that this was a quarrel past mending. Simon watched. He was conscious, in the depths of his mind, of a knowledge that he would not mourn very deeply if General Ratoneau should be the one to fall. He hastily made his own plans. In that case he would slip away behind the trees, take the horse from the groom without a word, and ride away to Paris, trusting that he might never be called to account for any dark doings in Anjou. For there was not only the false arrest of Angelot; there were also certain dealings with the Prefect's secretary; there were tamperings with papers and seals, all to set forward that marriage affair that had failed so dismally, he hardly understood how. But he had hoped that the Prefect would die, and the news of his rapid recovery seemed strangely inopportune. It appeared to Simon that General Ratoneau's star was on the wane; and so, for those entangled in his rascally deeds, a lucky thrust of Monsieur de la Marinière's swiftly flashing sword--Ah, no! the fortune of war was on the wrong side that morning. A few passes; a fight three or four minutes long; a low cry, then silence, and the slipping down of a light body on the grass. General Ratoneau had run his adversary through the heart, had withdrawn his sword and stood, white but unmoved, looking at him as he lay.

Monsieur Joseph turned himself once, and stretched his slight limbs, as if composing himself to sleep. His face was towards his house and the rising dawn, and he gazed that way with dark eyes wide open. His lips moved, but no one heard what he said. All the fighting fury was gone from his face, and as a thin thread of blood trickled down from his side and began to redden the grass beneath, his look, at first startled and painful, became every moment more peaceful, more satisfied. His eyelids slowly drooped and fell; he died smiling, his whole attitude and expression so lifelike that the two witnesses, Ratoneau and Simon, could scarcely believe that he was dead.

The General stood immovable. Simon, after a minute, knelt down and felt the pulse and examined the wound. It had been almost instantly fatal, the pulse was still.

"Mon Dieu, Monsieur le Général, you have killed him!" Simon said, under his breath.

Ratoneau glared at him for a moment before he spoke.

"He tried to kill me," he said. "You were there, you can bear witness, he challenged and attacked me, the little fighting-cock. I wish it had been his nephew. But now for him! Come, leave the body there; the servants will fetch it in presently."

He started to walk towards the house, carrying his drawn sword in his hand. In the middle of the slope he turned round with a furious look to his follower.

"Those who insult me, and stand in my way--you see the lessons I teach them!" he said hoarsely, and walked on.

The western front of Les Chouettes, the tower rising into the slowly lightening sky, presented a lifeless face to the woods where its master lay. All the windows were closed and shuttered; dead silence reigned. When the General shouted an order to open, beating with his sword-hilt at a window, he was only answered by the growling and barking of the dogs, whom the defenders had called in. He walked round by the south to the east front; the same chorus accompanied him, but of human voices there were none. He whistled up the rest of the gendarmes, and ordered them to force the dining-room window. Then the shutters of a window above it were pushed open, and a white-haired man looked out into the court.

"Now, old Chouan, do you hear me?" shouted Ratoneau, in his most overbearing tones. "Come down and open some of these windows."

"Pardon, monsieur," old Joubard answered quietly. "I have Monsieur de la Marinière's orders to keep them shut."

"Have you, indeed? Well, it makes no difference to him whether they are shut or open. Tell his nephew, Monsieur Ange, with my compliments, to come down and speak to me. Tell him I want to see his pretty wife, and to congratulate him on his marriage. Tell him to bring a sword, if he knows how to use one, and to revenge his uncle."

There was a dead pause. The two Joubards and the servants, all together in that upper room, looked strangely at each other.

"Tiens, Maître Joubard, let me come to the window and I'll shoot that man dead!" groaned Tobie in the background.

"No, you fool, Tobie," Joubard said angrily. "Do you want us all to be massacred? Anyhow, let us first know what he means."

"I wonder where the master is!" said Gigot, and his teeth chattered.

"He has killed him," Martin whispered, looking at his father.

"This will be the ruin of us all," said old Joubard aside to him. "You, at least, keep out of the way. Those men have carbines. You have not come home from Spain to be shot by mistake for a Chouan. I will try to speak civilly. Monsieur le Général," he said, leaning out of the window, "your worship is mistaken. There are no Chouans here, and no ladies. And Monsieur Angelot is not here. Only we, a few harmless servants and neighbours, taking care of the house, left in charge while Monsieur de la Marinière went to speak to you, waiting till he comes back. We can do nothing without his orders, Monsieur le Général."

"Then you will do nothing till doomsday," said Ratoneau. "Don't you understand that he is dead, old fool, whoever you may be?"

"Dead! Impossible!" old Joubard stammered. "Monsieur Joseph dead--murdered! And the gendarmes on your side, monsieur! Why, he was here giving us our orders, a quarter of an hour ago."

In the horrified look he turned on Martin, there was yet the shadow of a smile. For Martin's eager persuasions had sent Hélène and Riette away with Marie Gigot through the woods to La Marinière, almost before Monsieur Joseph's appointed time.

Joubard leaned again out of the window, his rugged face in the full light of the morning.

"This is a bad business, Monsieur le Général," he said. "If it is true that you have killed Monsieur Joseph, you have done enough for one day. Take my advice, draw your men off and go away. Justice will follow you; and you have no right here. I am not a Chouan. I am Joubard, of La Joubardière, Monsieur Urbain de la Marinière's best tenant, and my only son lost his limbs fighting for the Emperor."

Simon drew near, with his bandaged head, and looked up at the window. "Ah! He has limbs enough left to do some mischief," he growled savagely. "Is he there, your precious cripple of a son? I shall have something to say to him, one of these days."

"Begone with you all," cried old Joubard, "for a pack of thieves and murderers! You are a disgrace to the Emperor, his police and his army!"

"Silence, old fool!" shouted Ratoneau. "What do you say about murder, you idiot? Did you never hear of a man being killed in a duel? Come down, some of you, I say, or I force my way in."

He would have done so, and easily, but for a sudden interruption.

There was a wild howl of pain from among the trees beyond the kitchen, where one of Monsieur Joseph's faithful dogs followed him to the land where all faithfulness is perhaps rewarded; and then the gendarme whom Joubard had tied to a tree came running down to the house with the comrade who had freed him and killed his guard. He was eager to tell the General what he had seen while every one but himself was away in the western wood. He had seen two women and a child escape from the house, and hurry away by the footpath under the trees towards La Marinière. One of the women was dressed in white; he could see it under her cloak; she spoke, and it was a lady's voice; they had passed quite near him. How long ago? Well, perhaps a quarter of an hour. General Ratoneau stamped his foot and ground his teeth.

"Bring my horse!" he said; and then he looked up again at the window, at old Joubard's stern face watching him.

"Monsieur Ange de la Marinière!" he shouted in tones of thunder. "Come out of your hole, little coward, if you are there. I will teach you to marry against the Emperor's commands! You shall meet me before you see your wife again. I will give account of you, and I will have what is my own. What! you dare not come out? Then follow me to Sonnay, monsieur, by way of La Marinière."

He flung himself into the saddle and rode off at a furious pace, turning round to shout back to Simon, "I shall overtake her! Go on--shoot them all--burn the house, if you must."

His horse plunged down into the shadows of the narrow lane, and they heard the heavy thud of its hoofs as it galloped away.