The Bronze Eagle (11 page)

She had stepped back into the room at sight of him, for obviously
something very much amiss must have occurred thus to ruffle Hector's
ingrained dignity, and even M. le Comte was involuntarily dragged out of
his aristocratic aloofness and almost—though not quite—jumped up from
his chair.

"What is it, Hector?" he exclaimed, peremptorily.

"M. le Comte," gasped Hector, who seemed to be out of breath from sheer
excitement, "the Corsican . . . he has come back . . . he is marching on
Grenoble . . . M. le préfet is here! . . ."

But already M. le Comte had—with a wave of the hand as it were—swept
the unwelcome news aside.

[Pg 86]
"What rubbish is this?" he said wrathfully. "You have been dreaming in
broad daylight, Hector . . . and this excitement is most unseemly. Show
Mme. la Duchesse to her apartments," he added with a great show of calm.

Hector—thus reproved, coloured a yet more violent crimson to the very
roots of his hair. He made a great effort to recover his pomposity and
actually took up the correct attitude which a well-trained servant
assumes when he shows a great lady out of a room. But even then—despite
the well-merited reproof—he took it upon himself to insist:

"M. le préfet is here, M. le Comte," he said, "and begs to be received
at once."

"Well, then, you may show him up when Mme. la Duchesse has retired,"
said the Comte with quiet dignity.

"By your leave, my brother," quoth the Duchesse decisively, "I'll wait
and hear what M. le préfet has to say. The news—if news there be—is
too interesting to be kept waiting for me."

And accustomed as she was to get her own way in everything, Mme. la
Duchesse calmly sailed back into the room, and once more sat down in the
chair beside her brother's bureau, whilst Hector with as much grandeur
of mien as he could assume under the circumstances was still waiting for
orders.

M. le Comte would undoubtedly have preferred that his sister should
leave the room before the préfet was shown in: he did not approve of
women taking part in political conversations, and his manner now plainly
showed to Mme. la Duchesse that he would like to receive M. le préfet
alone. But he said nothing—probably because he knew that words would be
useless if Madame had made up her mind to remain, which she evidently
had, so, after a brief pause, he said curtly to Hector:

"Show M. le préfet in."

He took up his favourite position, in his throne-shaped
[Pg 87]
chair—one leg
bent, the other stretched out, displaying to advantage the shapely calf
and well-shod foot. M. le préfet Fourier, mathematician of great renown,
and member of the Institut was one of those converted Bonapartists to
whom it behoved at all times to teach a lesson of decorum and dignity.

And certainly when, presently Hector showed M. Fourier in, the two
men—the aristocrat of the old regime and the bureaucrat of the
new—presented a marked and curious contrast. M. le Comte de Cambray
calm, unperturbed, slightly supercilious, in a studied attitude and
moving with pompous deliberation to greet his guest, and Jacques
Fourier, man of science and préfet of the Isère department, short of
stature, scant of breath, flurried and florid!

Both men were conscious of the contrast, and M. Fourier did his very
best to approach Mme. la Duchesse with a semblance of dignity, and to
kiss her hand in something of the approved courtly manner. When he had
finally sat down, and mopped his streaming forehead, M. le Comte said
with kindly condescension:

"You are perturbed, my good M. Fourier!"

"Alas, M. le Comte," replied the worthy préfet, still somewhat out of
breath, "how can I help being agitated . . . this awful news! . . ."

"What news?" queried the Comte with a lifting of the brows, which was
meant to convey complete detachment and indifference to the subject
matter.

"What news?" exclaimed the préfet who, on the other hand, was unable to
contain his agitation and had obviously given up the attempt, "haven't
you heard? . . ."

"No," replied the Comte.

And Madame also shook her head.

"Town-gossip does not travel as far as the Castle of Brestalou," added
M. le Comte gravely.

"Town gossip!" reiterated M. Fourier, who seemed to
[Pg 88]
be calling Heaven
to witness this extraordinary levity, "town gossip, M. le Comte! . . .
But God in Heaven help us all. Bonaparte landed at Antibes five days
ago. He was at Sisteron this morning, and unless the earth opens and
swallows him up, he will be on us by Tuesday!"

"Bah! you have had a nightmare, M. le préfet," rejoined the Comte drily.
"We have had news of the landing of Bonaparte at least once a month this
half-year past."

"But it is authentic news this time, M. le Comte," retorted Fourier,
who, gradually, under the influence of de Cambray's calm demeanour, had
succeeded in keeping his agitation in check. "The préfet of the Var
department, M. le Comte de Bouthillier, sent an express courier on
Thursday last to the préfet of the Basses-Alpes, who sent that courier
straight on to me, telling me that he and General Loverdo, who is in
command of the troops in that district, promptly evacuated Digue because
they were not certain of the loyalty of the garrison. The Corsican it
seems only landed with about a thousand of his old guard, but since
then, the troops in every district which he has traversed, have deserted
in a body, and rallied round his standard. It has been, so I hear, a
triumphal march for him from the Littoral to Digne, and altogether the
news which the courier brought me this morning was of such alarming
nature, that I thought it my duty, M. le Comte, to apprise you of it
immediately."

"That," said M. le Comte condescendingly, "was exceedingly thoughtful
and considerate, my good M. Fourier. And what is the alarming news?"

"Firstly, that Bonaparte made something like a state entry into Digne
yesterday. The city was beflagged and decorated. The national guard
turned out and presented arms, drums were beating, the population
acclaimed him with cries of 'Vive l'Empereur!' The préfet and the
general in command had intended to resist his entry into the
[Pg 89]
city, but
all the notabilities of the town forced them into submission. Duval, the
préfet, fled to a neighbouring village, taking the public funds with
him, while General Loverdo with a mere handful of loyal troops has
retreated on Sisteron."

Though M. le Comte de Cambray had listened to the préfet's narrative
with all his habitual grandeur of mien, it soon became obvious that some
of his aristocratic sangfroid had already abandoned him. His furrowed
cheeks had become a shade paler than usual, and the slender hand which
toyed with an ivory paper-knife on his desk had not its wonted
steadiness. Mme. la Duchesse perceived this, no doubt, for her keen eyes
were fixed scrutinisingly upon her brother; she saw too that his thin
lips were quivering and that the reason why he made no comment on what
he had just heard was because he could not quite trust himself to speak.
It was she, therefore, who now remarked quietly:

"And in your department, M. le préfet, in Grenoble itself, is the
garrison equally likely to go over to the Corsican brigand?"

M. Fourier shrugged his shoulders. He was not at all sure.

"After what has happened at Digne, Mme. la Duchesse," he said, "I would
not care to prophesy. Général Marchand does not intend to trust entirely
to the garrison. He has sent to Vienne and to Chambéry for
reinforcements . . . but . . ."

The préfet was hesitating, evidently he had not a great deal of faith in
the loyalty of those reinforcements either.

M. le Comte made a vigorous protest. "Surely, M. Fourier," he said, "you
don't mean to suggest that Grenoble is going to turn traitor to the
King?"

But M. le préfet apparently had meant to suggest it.

"Alas, M. le Comte!" he said, "we must always bear
[Pg 90]
in mind that the
whole of the Dauphiné has remained throughout a bed of Bonapartism."

"But in that case . . ." ejaculated the Comte.

"Général Marchand is doing all he can to ensure effectual resistance, M.
le Comte. But we are in the hands of the army, and the army has never
been truly loyal to the King. At the bottom of every soldier's haversack
there is an old and worn tricolour cockade, which is there ready to be
fetched out at a moment's notice, and will be fetched out at the mere
sound of the Corsican's voice. We are in the hands of the army, M. le
Comte, and in the Dauphiné; alas! the army is only too ready to cry:
'Vive l'Empereur!'"

There was silence in the stately room now, silence only broken by the
tap-tap of the ivory paper-knife with which M. le Comte was still
nervously fidgeting. M. Fourier was wiping the perspiration from his
overheated brow.

"For God's sake, André, stop that irritating noise," said Mme. Duchesse
after awhile, "that tapping has got on my nerves."

"I beg your pardon, Sophie," said the Comte loftily.

He was offended with her for drawing M. Fourier's attention to his own
nervous restlessness, yet grateful to be thus forcibly made aware of it
himself. His attitude was on the verge of incorrectness. Where was the
aristocratic sangfroid which should have made him proof even against so
much perturbing news? What had become of the lesson in decorum which
should have been taught to this vulgar little bureaucrat?

M. le Comte pulled himself together with a jerk: he straightened out his
spare figure, put on that air of detachment which became him so well,
and finally turned once more to the préfet a perfectly calm and
unruffled countenance.

Then he said with his accustomed urbanity:

[Pg 91]
"And now, my good M. Fourier, since you have so admirably put the
situation before me, will you also tell me in what way I may be of
service to you in this—or to Général Marchand?"

"I am coming to that, M. le Comte," replied the préfet. "It will explain
the reason of my disturbing you at this hour, when I was coming anyhow
to partake of your gracious hospitality later on. But I do want your
assistance, M. le Comte, as the matter of which I wish to speak with you
concerns the King himself."

"Everything that you have told me hitherto, my good M. Fourier, concerns
His Majesty and the security of his throne. I cannot help wondering how
much of this news has reached him by now."

"All of it at this hour, I should say. For already on Friday the Prince
d'Essling sent a despatch to His Majesty—by courier as far as Lyons and
thence by aërial telegraph to Paris. The King—may God preserve him!"
added the ex-Bonapartist fervently, "knows as much of the Corsican's
movements at the present moment as we do; and God alone knows what he
will decide to do."

"Whatever happens," interjected the Comte de Cambray solemnly, "Louis de
Bourbon, XVIIIth of his name, by the Grace of God, will act like a king
and a gentleman."

"Amen to that," retorted the préfet. "And now let me come to my point,
M. le Comte, and the chief object of my visit to you."

"I am at your service, my dear M. Fourier."

"You will remember, M. le Comte, that directly you were installed at
Brestalou and I was confirmed in my position as préfet of this
department, I thought it was my duty to tell you of the secret funds
which are kept in the cellars of our Hôtel de Ville by order of M. de
Talleyrand."

"Yes, of course I remember that perfectly. French
[Pg 92]
money, which the
unfortunate wife of that brigand Bonaparte was taking out of the
country."

"Quite so," assented Fourier. "The funds are in a convenient and
portable form, being chiefly notes and bankers' drafts to bearer, but
the amount is considerable, namely, twenty-five millions of francs."

"A comfortable sum," interposed Mme. la Duchesse drily. "I did not know
that Grenoble sheltered so vast a treasure."

"The money was seized," said the Comte, "from Marie Louise when she was
fleeing the country. Talleyrand did it all, and it was his idea to keep
the money in this part of the country against likely emergencies."

"But the emergency has arisen," exclaimed M. Fourier excitedly, "and the
money at Grenoble is useless to His Majesty in Paris. Nay! it is worse
than useless, it is in danger of spoliation," he added with unconscious
naiveté
. "If the Corsican marches into Grenoble, if the garrison and
the townspeople rally to him, he will of a truth occupy the Hôtel de
Ville and the brigand will seize the King's treasure which lies now in
one of its cellars."

"True," mused the Comte, "I hadn't thought of that."

"Well!" exclaimed Madame with light sarcasm, "seeing that the money was
originally taken from his wife, the brigand will not be committing an
altogether unlikely act, I imagine, by taking what was originally his."

"His, my good Sophie?" exclaimed the Comte, highly shocked. "Money
robbed by that usurper from France—his?"

"We won't argue, André," said Madame sharply, "let us hear what M. le
préfet proposes."

"Propose, Mme. la Duchesse," ejaculated the unfortunate préfet, "I have
nothing to propose! I am at my wits' end what to do! I came to M. le
Comte for advice."

[Pg 93]
"And you were quite right, my dear M. Fourier," said the Comte affably.

He paused for a few seconds in order to collect his thoughts, then
continued: "Now let us consider this question from every side, and then
see to what conclusion we can arrive that will be for the best. Firstly,
of course, there is the possibility of your following the example of the
préfet of the Basses-Alpes and taking yourself and the money to a
convenient place outside Grenoble."

But at this suggestion M. Fourier was ready to burst into tears.