Part 35

When St. Just and his men had cut their way through the square, sending, in their passage, many a gallant Scotsman to his account, his sword was red with blood, and yet he could scarce remember that he had used it; in his excitement, he had not had time to think, and had hardly realized what was going on.

His men and himself, mad with the lust of battle and the desire to kill, their appetite for blood increased by what it fed on, now threw themselves on a body of Black Brunswickers. It was reckless folly, for the latter far out-numbered them, and both horses and men were fresh; whereas St. Just's were blown. Blindly and madly, they rushed upon the Germans, but their foe stood firm. They retired and charged again, but not the least impression could they make upon the serried mass before them; St. Just's men were beaten back with frightful loss. Seeing the hopelessness of further fighting, St. Just ordered a retreat. At a short distance on the left was a glade with trees, and to these the discomfited Dragoons betook themselves, in the hope of finding temporary shelter. But the Brunswickers swooped down upon them with shouts of triumph.

In and out between the trees they fought with desperation, dyeing the ground crimson with their blood. More of the victorious Belgians came up, and the glade rang with oaths and shrieks, the clash of arms and the crack of pistol shots; and mingled with them, the cries of the wounded and the dying.

St. Just's horse was killed under him and, in falling, brought his rider to the ground, entangling his leg in the stirrup, so that he could not rise. Thus he was taken prisoner. His captors hurried him through the wood till they came to the highway leading from Brussels to Quatre Bras.

At this point, a mounted general officer with a prominent Roman nose, and dressed in a plain uniform and wearing a cocked hat devoid of plumes, confronted them. He was accompanied by an aide-de-camp.

"Who are you, Sir?" he asked sharply, addressing the prisoner.

St. Just drew himself up and saluted.

"Colonel St. Just," he answered, "of the Emperor's Imperial Guard."

"Hah!" said the aide-de-camp, and, leaning forward, he spoke in a low tone to his companion, who immediately called out to the soldiers, "Fall back there!" Then to St. Just, "A word with you, Sir. Now, Sir, I know who you are, and all about you. I also know your wife. Now, tell me what are Buonaparte's plans, or--" and he paused ominously.

"Or what?" St. Just asked promptly.

"I will have you shot for a spy. You are well known for one."

"I refuse to say a word," was the unflinching answer, and he looked the general officer boldly in the face.

The latter wasted no time in argument. He turned to the aide-de-camp. "Matthews, see this man shot." Then, without another word, he rode away, satisfied that his order would be carried out. As St. Just learned afterwards, he was the Duke of Wellington.

St. Just's position was desperate indeed; for all that, he did not lose his presence of mind. If he should go quietly, he would infallibly be shot. He resolved to make a dash for life; should he fail, the result would be the same as if he had not tried; he would be shot--in the back instead of in the face--a distinction without a difference. Suddenly the thought flashed on him of how Tremeau had acted in somewhat similar circumstances--before his house in Sussex. St. Just was alone before the officer, his captors having fallen back some paces, in obedience to the orders of the Duke. Instantly his resolution was taken. Before any one could dream of his intention, he had dashed upon the officer, hurled him from his horse and vaulted into the vacant saddle. Then, wheeling the horse round, he set off at a gallop, shouting "Vive L'Empereur."

The whole affair had been so sudden, that his captors were dumfounded with astonishment, and, for the moment, were at a loss how to act.

The officer sprang to his feet and shouted, "Fire on him!"

But, by this time, the fugitive had got many yards away. He heard the order given and instantly bent low in his saddle. Crack, crack, crack, went three musket shots. He could feel the bullets whistle past him. Before they could load again, he was out of range.

He rode for his life, tearing down the road at topmost speed. A few stragglers--English--blocked his path.

"Despatches from the Duke!" he shouted. "Make way!"

They did; his English words had saved him. On he flew. Presently he became conscious of a horse's hoofs striking the ground rapidly behind him. He was convinced he was being pursued. It was the officer who had been charged to see him shot. He had caught a Dragoon's stray horse, and was thundering after the runaway. St. Just could feel that his pursuer was gaining on him. Just when life and liberty seemed his, was he to be deprived of both?

But now a greater danger than the officer in his wake assailed him. In a field a few yards from the road was a man in the dreaded scarlet uniform. The officer shouted to him to shoot St. Just. The English soldier leveled his musket, taking a steady aim, his object plainly being to fire point blank, just when St. Just was passing. The Frenchman saw his peril and suddenly ducked his head.

Bang! he felt a sudden, scorching smart and a bullet cut a channel across his forehead; then the blood began to trickle down his face.

All at once, on the other side of a ploughed field on his right, he espied a troop of the Emperor's Polish Lancers. They were sabering some Belgian infantry. He turned into the field and crossed it at a gallop. His strength was failing him, for the blood was pouring from his wound. A few more strides and he had gained his comrades. He was saved! He swayed unsteadily in his saddle, then rolled off and fell unconscious at their feet.

When he awoke to consciousness, he found himself in a clean white bed with a French officer by his side. His comrade also had been wounded, for his head was swathed in a bloodstained cloth.

"Where am I?" St. Just asked in a weak voice, and looking, bewildered, first into the other's face and then around the room.

"At La Belle Alliance, a farm house," was the reply; continuing, "The decisive battle will be fought to-morrow. Hark! what is that? A carriage!"

He went to the window and looked out. "'Tis the Emperor's carriage; and he is getting out."

In less than a minute, a staff officer entered the room, followed immediately by Napoleon.

At the sight of him, St. Just first raised himself to a sitting posture on the bed, then staggered to his feet and saluted. He felt weak and dizzy.

The Emperor, who was now paler than his wont, and looked ill and worried, spoke to him kindly, making a few inquiries about his wound and how he got it. Then he repeated what the officer had said, that the decisive battle would be fought on the morrow, and inquired whether St. Just would be able to take part in it.

To this St. Just replied that nothing should prevent him; that his wound was a mere scratch, and that he was merely a little weak, and that a night's rest would put him on his feet.

The Emperor moved to the window and gazed out. "To-morrow," he muttered musingly, "to-morrow."

* * * * *

The morning of the 18th of June was ushered in with pouring rain. It came down in heavy showers, almost in sheets, drenching the expectant combatants to the skin, and making the ground so soft and spongy that much of it was like a swamp; so that the movements of the artillery were slow and difficult; often the men had to assist the horses in getting the wheels out of the furrows of slush and mud. Thus, it was half past ten before the army had taken up its position.

Before this, the Emperor had posted himself on the heights of Rossome. St. Just, still weak, was by his side. From ten in the morning till six in the evening he remained there, inactive, following with his eyes, as well as he could, the movements of the army.

The Emperor sat motionless on his horse, continually bringing his telescope to his eye to watch the progress of the battle, and sending frequent messages by his aides-de-camp to his generals in all parts of the field. His countenance betrayed the terrible anxiety he felt. Every now and then he gazed out into the far distance for the first sign of reinforcements.

"Grouchy," he murmured, "why does not Grouchy come? He should have been here long ere this."

He turned suddenly to St. Just and spoke to him for the first time for hours. It was now six o'clock.

"Tarry no longer. Say to Kellermann, the cavalry is to advance; and the day is ours. Tell him to sound the charge at once."

St. Just saluted and dashed off.

By the time he had reached General Kellermann, his mind misgave him as to the Emperors meaning. Did he intend all the cavalry to take part in the charge, or only Kellermann's division? There was now no means of ascertaining. All he could do was to repeat to General Kellermann the Emperor's words, and leave him to put his own construction on them. But he did it with great misgiving. "The Emperor's orders are," he said, "that the cavalry is to advance, and that you are to sound the charge at once."

Kellermann thought the whole body of cavalry was to charge, and passed on the order to General Guyot, who commanded a division of seven thousand horse, who had been waiting for hours in ungovernable excitement. This was not what the Emperor had intended; these seven thousand were the reserve.

It was a fatal error, and, too late, Napoleon saw it. It lost the day, for, at this critical period, the battle was drawn. The English could not advance, and, in consequence of the Emperor's having despatched ten thousand men to hold Bulow, the Prussian general, in check, the French were not in a position to follow up any advantage the cavalry charge might give them.

St. Just joined himself to General Kellermann's command and charged with them. They rushed off at a gallop, the thousands of hoofs making the ground shake beneath them. Again and again they dashed with desperate valor at the English infantry, but could make no permanent impression; frequently they broke the line opposed to them; but the stubborn Englishmen had a valor equal to their own, and always rallied, closing up their ranks as fast as they were broken. More and more furiously did the Frenchmen fight, but it was all of no avail. They had made their final throw, and it had proved a blank. Their loss of men was fearful, and, before reinforcements could be hurried up, Blucher, with his Prussians had come up.

This was the turning point of the day. From that moment, the French case was hopeless, and they had to admit defeat. The Retreat was sounded; but soon all order was abandoned, and it became a rout, and the cry of "sauve qui peut" went up. The worsted French scattered pell-mell in all directions.

St. Just, forced back in the rout that followed this welcome and almost indispensable accession to the strength of the "thin red line," of English, once more regained the Emperor's side.

Night was advancing and the Emperor could no longer direct his routed troops. It was too dark for practical orders either to be given, or, if given, carried out. But he still lingered, and was only forced away in the general rush, St. Just and two or three others with him.

Across that ghastly field they rode; and what a ride! Every now and then some bivouac fire, not yet expired, would flicker up in the darkness and show the flying Emperor to the host of wounded that bestrewed his path. Many of the poor creatures, when they recognized him, would raise themselves upon their elbows and, even while they groaned with pain, would faintly cheer, then sink back exhausted by their effort, only to be trampled to death alike by friend and foe in the mad flight of pursuer and pursued.

On and on and on the little party rode, wearied and dejected, almost without a word. A short halt was made at Genappe, merely to obtain fresh horses. At one o'clock on the morning of the 19th they reached Quatre Bras. Here they remained, and rested for an hour, and the Emperor despatched orders to try to check the rout and collect the scattered fragments of the army. Also St. Just says, to inform General Grouchy of their defeat.

At dawn the journey was resumed by way of Laon, and thence, by rapid stages, to Paris.

*CHAPTER VI.*

It was the 28th of June. Much had happened in the ten days that had elapsed since the battle of Waterloo. Napoleon had returned to Paris; had found both the Chamber of Peers and the Chamber of Representatives determined no longer to retain him as the ruler of the country; had abdicated in consequence; and was now on his way to Rochefort with the intention of escaping to the United States.

Near the Tuileries was a cul de sac, called the Ruelle de Dauphin, and here was situated at this time the Hotel Mirabeau, where St. Just was living by himself.

On the afternoon of the day last mentioned a woman, closely veiled, and followed by two men, entered this building and proceeded to the third story. Here a latch-key in the woman's hand admitted them to a small vestibule that led to a long, narrow room. In one corner of this apartment was a door, which, on being opened, disclosed a closet.

The movements of the persons who had just entered were peculiar.

The woman crossed the room, opened the door of the closet, and motioned to the men to enter; "When I kiss him," she said, then closed the door upon them.

Then she took off her cloak and removed her veil, placing both on a chair. There was a mirror in the room and, naturally, the next thing she did was to step up to it. It reflected the face of Halima, and on it was a look of triumph, tinged with hatred. She turned away with a scornful smile, and sat down to wait. Evidently she was expecting some one. She was still a woman of rare beauty, but long-continued determination, in the face of repeated disappointments, had imparted to her expression a certain hardness, that, in former days, had not been there. For the rest, as regards appearance, she was somewhat fuller in figure than of yore.

Napoleon's return from Elba had been a dreadful blow to her, and, for the moment, she had reeled under it. To find that, only a few months after she had thought his fall complete, he was once more supreme in France, had at first taken all the spirit out of her. But, when the initial shock had passed, she had soon plucked up again and set her busy, vindictive brain to work to devise fresh plans for her betrayer's overthrow. It was not that she now resented, or even thought of, the act that had been the original cause of her vindictiveness; if she had dwelt on it, it would have been rather with a feeling of complacency, and even pride, that a man who had risen to such a height of power should have honored her with his amorous regard.

Rather, what moved her now, what fostered her desire for vengeance, added virulence to her malice, and strengthened her resolve, was the revelation of her own importance, in contra-distinction to Napoleon's power, the frequency with which her plottings had been baffled, the little there was to show for all the wealth she had so lavishly expended in the prosecution of her schemes. For, though, in her self-sufficiency, she tried to persuade herself that she had taken a leading part in causing the Emperor's misfortunes; yet her own heart told her it was a very small one.

Now, for the second time, Napoleon's downfall seemed complete and permanent. Surely this time there would be no recovery. She thought out the position calmly, and decided that it was impossible. His defeat at Waterloo had been so overwhelming, and the Allies were so resolute to crush him, and so strong.

These were her reflections while she sat there waiting, and her smile deepened in malignant triumph.

Since she had fooled her husband in his mission to the Empress Marie Louise, they had not met. On their return to France on that occasion, he had separated from her and had resolutely declined all her advances to resume cohabitation. Heart and soul, he was now devoted to the Emperor, and her power to make him swerve from his allegiance was gone. But she knew all that he was doing, or nearly all, for in all his movements her spies dogged his steps.

Presently she heard on the stairs a footfall that she knew. The door opened and St. Just came in.

At the sight of her, he started and stood still. "Halima!" he exclaimed slowly, his surprise showing in his tone, "what brings you here?" The usual ring of welcome in his voice no longer sounded.

She noted its absence and, though not surprised, resented it. A sullen curtain veiled the brightness of her face; but only for an instant; then she became all smiles and sweetness. She had a part to play, and was an adept in all the wiliness of the Oriental.

"Fie, uncourteous man," she answered playfully, "to speak like that and look so cross; and just because his loving wife has come to see him, when he won't come to her. Oh! Henri, dear, I cannot bear this separation. And it is not right; husband and wife should not be parted. I have come to ask forgiveness for the trick I played you in Vienna; but I little guessed you would take it so to heart, or I would not have done it. Surely, by this time, you have forgiven me. Oh! Henri, let me come back to you!"

She paused and looked at him expectantly.

But he made no reply; only stood there immovable; and his face was full of trouble and indecision.

"What!" she resumed, "still unforgiving? Nay, Henri, I did not think it of you. But I will kiss you into acquiescence. I will lay my heart against your own, and you shall feel its throbs, and its mate within you shall leap to meet it, and I will soften you to pardon."

All this time St. Just was standing with his back towards the closet door, to which Halima's eyes had several times been furtively directed. Noiselessly and gradually this door was opening.

Halima's last words had hardly left her mouth--deceiver that she was--when she rushed at St. Just with her arms wide open, and threw them round his neck, drawing his face down to her own. "Kiss me, my Henri," she cooed in the note he knew so well; and, unconsciously, at the magic of her voice, his arms embraced her and he pressed his lips to hers.

The door behind St. Just was now wide open, and, stealthily, with the sinuous movements of a panther, the two men glided towards their unsuspecting victim. Then, when close to him, suddenly they threw themselves upon him, pinioning his arms so that he was helpless. At the same moment, Halima loosened her hold on him and freed herself from his embrace, standing away from him with a look of triumph on her face. In another instant, before he had realized what had happened, he was on his back and held in an iron grip by his assailants. They were powerful men, each far stronger than St. Just, so that he was like an infant in their hands. He saw the futility of resistance, and did not attempt it. But he turned on Halima such a look of sad reproach and grief as would have touched the heart even of a Lucretia Borgia. And it touched Halima's; still she did not falter in her purpose.

"Delilah!" The tone told what was in his mind; sorrow and indignation, reproach and murdered love, failure and despondency; it expressed them all.

"I know all you feel," she answered, "all you think of me; but it had to be, there was no other way. You have that about you that I was resolved to see; and I knew that no persuasion of mine would make you part with it. Force was the only instrument at my disposal. It saves your reputation, too; there is no disgrace in yielding to superior strength, so you have nothing for which to blame yourself. No harm whatever is intended you; only a temporary inconvenience. You must see the hopelessness of resistance; bow to the inevitable, therefore, and show your sense by not attempting it. But, in any case, I mean to have those papers."

She faced him without flinching, with stern, unbending aspect, and her tone was resolute.

Her warning had been almost needless, for held as he was, he could move neither hand nor foot.

He laughed scornfully; then answered bitterly, "Doubtless your advice, Madame, was well-intended, but you might have spared yourself the giving it, for no one knows better than myself my utter helplessness. Even with one of these lusty rogues I should, unarmed, have had no chance. But, were my arms but free, even though I know that death would be the outcome, I would struggle, while life lasted, to defend my trust. Oh! God! to be thus constrained!"

His despairing accents thrilled her.

"I know it, Henri," she replied; "there lives no braver man than you." Then she turned to the men. "Bind him hand and foot, and search him."

She looked on calmly, though her heart was in a tumult, while they took strong cords from their pockets, and proceeded to tie first his hands and then his feet together. St. Just made no resistance; where would have been the use? But he glared savagely at Halima, all the while, in a way that made her tremble.

Then they searched him carefully. Their quest resulted in the discovery of a sealed letter, the object of Halima's proceedings. In a fever of excitement, she tore it open and began to read it.

"Ha!" she cried suddenly, "so Napoleon thinks to escape to the United States; I had half expected it." She drew herself up, and her voice was raised almost to a scream. "But never while Halima lives to bar the way. Fouche must know of this at once. He may be trusted to take measures to prevent it." Then, in a calmer tone, she addressed herself to the two men.

"Guard well your prisoner till my return. Allow him to communicate with no one. Should he attempt to call out, gag him. But harm him not, or you shall suffer for it." Then turning once more to St. Just, "Au revoir, my husband, I shall return anon."

St. Just scowled at her, but made no reply. Then she left him.

Two days later, on the 30th of June, Captain Maitland commanding H.M.S. Bellerophon received a quill that contained a note inscribed on tissue paper. It was to warn him that Napoleon purposed leaving Rochefort for America on the 3rd July, and to keep a sharp look-out to frustrate the attempt.

It is a matter of history how, in consequence of the vigilance of the English--eleven British men-of-war were cruising off the port--who had received intelligence of his intention, Napoleon found it impossible to get away.

Thus Halima's interview with Fouche had not been abortive, and, at last, she had the satisfaction of feeling that she had struck a decisive blow at the man she had chosen to consider as her enemy, and had so persistently and, for the most part, fruitlessly conspired against.

Two hours later Halima returned to St. Just's apartments in the Hotel Mirabeau. She found him seated in a chair, with his hands and feet still bound and the two men guarding him.

The look of triumph on her face at her departure was no longer there; now she showed trouble and depression--even fear. She had had time to think, and, with reflection, had come the dread that she had offended her husband past forgiveness. For years she had been dominated by two emotions--a craving to achieve the ruin of Napoleon; and passion for her husband--not, for a moment, that she was true to him when he was absent. Of these, the former had been far the stronger. But now, this was satisfied. She was free to devote herself entirely to her husband, to let her passion for him have full play. More than anything, she now desired to regain his love. But alas! she greatly feared she had strained it past resilience; it was like a spring that had been over-bent. She came in, shame-facedly, almost abjectly, tremblingly, walking, like Agag, "delicately."