The Bronze Eagle (15 page)

Crystal's gentle voice fell like dream-tones upon his
[Pg 117]
ear. Vaguely only
did he hear what she said. She was still speaking of France, of all that
the country had suffered and all that was due to her from her sons and
daughters: she spoke of the King, God's own anointed as she called him,
endowed with rights divine, and all the while his thoughts were far
away, flying on the wings of memory to the little hamlet among the
mountains where two enthusiasts had exhausted every panegyric in praise
of their own hero, whom this girl called a usurper and a brigand. He
remembered every trait in de Marmont's face, every inflexion of his
voice as he said with almost cruel cynicism: "She will learn to love me
in time."

That, Clyffurde knew now, Crystal de Cambray would never do. Indifferent
to de Marmont to-day, she would hate and loathe him the day that she
discovered how infamously he had deceived her: and to Clyffurde's
passionate temperament the thought of Crystal's future unhappiness was
absolutely intolerable.

Here indeed was a battle far more strenuous and difficult of issue than
that of a man's will against his passions: here was a problem far more
difficult to solve than any that had assailed Bobby Clyffurde throughout
his life.

His heart cried out "She must know the truth: she must. To-day! this
minute, while there was yet time! Anon she will be pledged irrevocably
to a man who has lied to her, whom she will curse as a renegade, a
traitor, false to his country, false to his king!"

And the words hovered on his lips: "Mademoiselle Crystal! do not plight
your troth to de Marmont! he is no friend of yours, his people are not
your people! his God is not your God! and there is neither blessing nor
holiness in an union 'twixt you and him!"

But the words remained unspoken, because the unwritten code—the bond
'twixt man and man—tried to still this natural cry of his heart and
reason argued that he must hold
[Pg 118]
his peace. His heart rebelled,
contending that to remain silent was cowardly—that his first duty was
to the woman whom he loved better than his soul, whilst ingrained
principles, born and bred in the bone of him, threw themselves into the
conflict, warning him that if he spoke he would be no better than an
informer, meriting the contempt alike of those whom he wished to help
and of the man whom he would betray.

It was one sound coming from below which settled the dispute 'twixt
heart and reason—the sound of de Marmont's voice which though he was
apparently speaking of indifferent matters had that same triumphant ring
in it which Clyffurde had heard at Notre Dame de Vaulx this morning.

The sound had caused Crystal to give a quick gasp and to clasp her hands
against her breast, as she said with a nervous little laugh:

"Imagine how happy we are to have M. de Marmont's support in this
terrible crisis! His influence in Grenoble and in the whole province is
very great: his word in the town itself may incline the whole balance of
public feeling on the side of the King, and who knows, it may even help
to strengthen the loyalty of the troops. Oh! that Corsican brigand
little guesses what kind of welcome we in the Dauphiné are preparing for
him!"

Her enthusiasm, her trust, her loyalty ended the conflict in Clyffurde's
mind far more effectually than any sober reasoning could have done. He
realised in a moment that neither abstract principles, nor his own
feelings in the matter, were of the slightest account at such a
juncture.

What was obvious, certain, and not to be shirked, was duty to a woman
who was on the point of being shamefully deceived, also duty to the man
whose hospitality he had enjoyed. To remain silent would be cowardly—of
that he became absolutely certain, and once Bobby had made up
[Pg 119]
his mind
what duty was no power on earth could make him swerve from its
fulfilment.

"Mlle. Crystal," he began slowly and deliberately, "just now, when I was
bold enough to offer you my friendship, you deigned to accept it, did
you not?"

"Indeed I did, Sir," she replied, a little astonished. "Why should you
ask?"

"Because the time has come sooner than I expected for me to prove the
truth of that offer to you. There is something which I must say to you
which no one but a friend ought to do. May I?"

But before she could frame the little "Yes!" which already trembled on
her lips, her father's voice and de Marmont's rang out from the further
end of the room itself.

The folding doors had been thrown open: M. le Comte and his son-in-law
elect were on the point of entering and had paused for a moment just
under the lintel. De Marmont was talking in a loud voice and apparently
in response to something which M. le Comte had just told him.

"Ah!" he said, "Mme. la Duchesse will be leaving Brestalou? I am sorry
to hear that. Why should she go so soon?"

"An affair of business, my dear de Marmont," replied the Comte. "I will
tell you about it at an early opportunity."

After which there was a hubbub of talk in the corridors outside, the
sound of greetings, the pleasing confusion of questions and answers
which marks the simultaneous arrival of several guests.

Crystal rose and turned to Bobby with a smile.

"You will have to tell me some other time," she said lightly. "Don't
forget!"

The psychological moment had gone by and Clyffurde cursed himself for
having fought too long against the promptings of his heart and lost the
precious moments
[Pg 120]
which might have changed the whole of Crystal's
future. He cursed himself for not having spoken sooner, now that he saw
de Marmont with glowing eyes and ill-concealed triumph approach his
beautiful fiancée and with the air of a conqueror raise her hand to his
lips.

She looked very pale, and to the man who loved her so ardently and so
hopelessly it seemed as if she gave a curious little shiver and that for
one brief second her blue eyes flashed a pathetic look of appeal up to
his.

M. le Comte's guests followed closely on the triumphant bridegroom's
heels: M. le préfet, fussy and nervous, secretly delighted at the idea
of affixing his official signature to such an aristocratic
contrat de
mariage
as was this between Mlle. de Cambray de Brestalou and M. Victor
de Marmont, own nephew to Marshal the duc de Raguse; Madame la préfète,
resplendent in the latest fashion from Paris, the Duc and Duchesse
d'Embrun, cousins of the bride, the Vicomte de Génevois and his mother,
who was Abbess of Pont Haut and godmother by proxy to Crystal de
Cambray; whilst Général Marchand, in command of the troops of the
district, fresh from the Council of War which he had hastily convened,
was trying to hide behind a
débonnaire
manner all the anxiety which
"the brigand's" march on Grenoble was causing him.

The chief notabilities of the province had assembled to do honour to the
occasion, later on others would come, lesser lights by birth and
position than this select crowd who would partake of the
souper des
fiançailles
before the
contrat
was signed in their presence as
witnesses to the transaction.

Everyone was talking volubly: the ogre's progress through France—no
longer to be denied—was the chief subject of conversation. Some spoke
of it with contempt,
[Pg 121]
others with terror. The ex-Bonapartists Fourier
and Marchand were loudest in their curses against "the usurper."

Clyffurde, silent and keeping somewhat aloof from the brilliant throng,
saw that de Marmont did not enter into any of these conversations. He
kept resolutely close to Crystal, and spoke to her from time to time in
a whisper, and always with that assured air of the conqueror, which
grated so unpleasantly on Clyffurde's irritable nerves.

The Comte, affable and gracious, spoke a few words to each of his guests
in turn, whilst Mme. la Duchesse douairière d'Agen was talking openly of
her forthcoming return journey to the North.

"I came in great haste," she said loudly to the circle of ladies
gathered around her, "for my little Crystal's wedding. But I was in the
middle of a Lenten retreat at the Sacred Heart, and I only received
permission from my confessor to spend three days in all this gaiety."

"When do you leave us again, Mme. la Duchesse?" queried Mlle. Marchand,
the General's daughter, in a honeyed voice.

"On Tuesday, directly after the religious ceremony, Mademoiselle,"
replied Madame, whilst M. le préfet tried to look unconcerned. He had
brought the money over as Mme. la Duchesse had directed. Twenty-five
millions of francs in notes and drafts had been transferred from the
cellar of the Hôtel de Ville to his own pockets first and then into the
keeping of Madame. He had driven over from the Hôtel de Ville in his
private coach, he himself in an agony of fear every time the road looked
lonely, or he heard the sound of horse's hoofs upon the road behind
him—for there might be mounted highwaymen about. Now he felt infinitely
relieved; he had shifted all responsibility of that vast sum of money on
to more exalted shoulders than his own, and inwardly he was marvelling
how coolly Mme.
[Pg 122]
la Duchesse seemed to be taking such an awful
responsibility.

Now Hector threw open the great doors and announced that M. le Comte was
served. Through the vast corridor beyond appeared a vista of liveried
servants in purple and canary, wearing powdered perruque, silk stockings
and buckled shoes.

There was a general hubbub in the room, the men moved towards the ladies
who had been assigned to them for partners. M. le Comte in his grandest
manner approached Mme. la Duchesse d'Embrun in order to conduct her down
to supper. An air of majestic grandeur, of solemnity and splendid
decorum pervaded the fine apartment; it sought out every corner of the
vast reception room, flickered round every wax candle; it spread itself
over the monumental hearth, the stiff brocade-covered chairs, the gilt
consoles and tall mirrors. It emanated alike from the graciousness of M.
le Comte de Cambray and the pompousness of his majordomo. Hector in fact
appeared at this moment as the high priest in a temple of good manners
and bon ton: the muscles of his face were rigid, his mouth was set as if
ready to pronounce sacrificial words; in his right hand he carried a
gold-headed wand, emblem of his high office.

But suddenly there was a disturbance—an unseemly noise came from the
further end of the corridor, where rose the magnificent staircase.
Hector's face became a study in rapidly changing expressions: from
pompousness, to astonishment, then horror, and finally wrath when he
realised that an intruder in stained cloth clothes and booted and
spurred was actually making his way through the ranks of liveried and
gaping servants and loudly demanding to speak with M. le Comte.

Such an unseemly disturbance had not occurred at the Château de
Brestalou since Hector had been installed there as majordomo nearly
twelve months ago, and he was on
[Pg 123]
the point of literally throwing
himself upon the impious malapert who thus dared to thrust his ill-clad
person upon the brilliant company, when he paused—more aghast than
before. In this same impious malapert he had recognised M. le Marquis de
St. Genis!

The young man looked to be labouring under terrible excitement: his face
was flushed and he was panting as if he had been running hard:

"M. le Comte!" he cried breathlessly as soon as he caught sight of
Hector, "tell M. le Comte that I must speak with him at once."

"But M. le Marquis . . . M. le Marquis . . ."

This was all that poor, bewildered Hector could stammer: his
slowly-moving brain was torn between the duties of his position and his
respect for M. le Marquis, and in the struggle the worthy man was
enduring throes of anxiety.

Fortunately M. le Comte himself put an end to Hector's dilemma. He had
recognised St. Genis' voice. Unlike his majordomo, he knew at once that
something terribly grave must have happened, else the young man would
never have committed such a serious breach of good manners. And M. le
Comte himself was never at a loss how to turn any situation to a
dignified and proper issue: he murmured a quick and courteous apology to
Mme. la Duchesse d'Embrun and a comprehensive one to all his guests,
then he hastened to meet St. Genis at the door.

Already St. Genis had entered. His rough clothes and muddy boots looked
strangely in contrast to the immaculate get-up of the Comte's guests,
but of this he hardly seemed to be aware. His face was flushed; with his
right hand he clutched a small riding cane, and his glowering dark eyes
swept a rapid glance over every one in the room.

And to the Comte he said hoarsely: "I must offer you
[Pg 124]
my humblest
apologies, my dear Comte, for obtruding my very untidy person upon you
at this hour. I have walked all the way from Grenoble, as I could not
get a hackney-coach, else I had been here earlier and spared you this
unpleasantness."

"You are always welcome in this house, my good Maurice," said the Comte
in his loftiest manner, "and at any hour of the day."

And he added with a certain tone of dignified reproach: "I did ask you
to be my guest to-night, if you remember."

"And I," said St. Genis, "was churlish enough to refuse. I would not
have come now only that I felt I might be in time to avert the most
awful catastrophe that has yet fallen upon your house."

Again his restless, dark eyes—sullen and wrathful and charged with a
look of rage and of hate—wandered over the assembled company. The look
frightened the ladies. They took to clinging to one another, standing in
compact little groups together, like frightened birds, watchful and
wide-eyed. They feared that the young man was mad. But the men exchanged
significant glances and significant smiles. They merely thought that St.
Genis had been drinking, or that jealousy had half-turned his brain.