The Bronze Eagle (25 page)

For some few moments the sound of the horses' hoofs on the hard road
kept the echoes of the night busy with their resonance, but soon that
sound grew fainter and fainter still—after five minutes it died away
altogether.

M. de Comte put his head out of the window.

"Eh bien, Pierre," he called, "why don't we start?"

[Pg 195]
The postillion cracked his whip; Pierre shouted to his horses; the heavy
coach groaned and creaked and was once more on its way.

In the interior no one spoke. Jeanne's terror had melted in a silent
flow of tears.

Lyons was reached shortly before midnight. M. le Comte's carriage had
some difficulty in entering the town, as by orders of M. le Comte
d'Artois it had already been placed in a state of defence against the
possible advance of the "band of pirates from Corsica." The bridge of La
Guillotière had been strongly barricaded and it took M. le Comte de
Cambray some little time to establish his identity before the officer in
command of the post allowed him to proceed on his way.

The town was fairly full owing to the presence of M. le Comte d'Artois,
who had taken up his quarters at the archiepiscopal palace, and of his
staff, who were scattered in various houses about the town. Nevertheless
M. le Comte and his family were fortunate enough in obtaining
comfortable accommodation at the Hotel Bourbon.

The party was very tired, and after a light supper retired to bed.

But not before M. le Comte de Cambray had sent a special autographed
message to Monseigneur le Comte d'Artois explaining to him under what
tragic circumstances the sum of twenty-five million francs destined to
reach His Majesty the King had fallen into a common highwayman's hands
and begging that a posse of cavalry be sent out on the road after the
marauders and be placed under the orders of M. le Marquis de St. Genis,
who would be on the look-out for their arrival. He begged that the posse
should consist of not less than thirty men, seeing that some armed
followers of the Corsican brigand were also somewhere on the way.

[Pg 196]

The weather did not improve as the night wore on: soon a thin, cold
drizzle added to the dreariness and to Maurice de St. Genis'
ever-growing discomfort.

He had started off gaily enough, cheered by Crystal's warm look of
encouragement and comforted by the feeling of certainty that he would
get even with that mysterious enemy who had so impudently thrown himself
athwart a plan which had service of the King for its sole object.

Maurice had not exchanged confidences with Crystal since the adventure,
but his ideas—without his knowing it—absolutely coincided with hers.
He, too, was quite sure that no common footpad had engineered their
daring attack. Positive knowledge of the money and its destination had
been the fountain from which had sprung the comedy of the masked
highwayman and his little band of robbers. Maurice mentally reckoned
that there must have been at least half a dozen of these bravos—of the
sort that in these times were easily enough hired in any big city to
play any part, from that of armed escort to nervous travellers to that
of seeker of secret information for the benefit of either political
party—loafers that hung round the wine-shops in search of a means of
earning a few days' rations, discharged soldiers of the Empire some of
them, whose loyalty to the Restoration had been questioned from the
first.

[Pg 197]
Maurice had no doubt that whatever motive had actuated the originator of
the bold plan to possess himself of twenty-five million francs, he had
deliberately set to work to employ men of that type to help him in his
task.

It had all been very audacious and—Maurice was bound to admit—very
well carried out. As for the motive, he was never for a moment in doubt.
It was a Bonapartist plot, of that he felt sure, as well as of the fact
that Victor de Marmont was the originator of it all. He probably had not
taken any active part in the attack, but he had employed the
men—Maurice would have taken an oath on that!

The Comte de Cambray must have let fall an unguarded hint in the course
of his last interview with de Marmont at Brestalou, and when Victor went
away disgraced and discomfited he, no doubt, thought to take his revenge
in the way most calculated to injure both the Comte and the royalist
cause.

Satisfied with this mental explanation of past events, St. Genis had
ridden on in the darkness, his spirits kept up with hopes and thoughts
of a glaring counter revenge. But his limbs were still stiff and bruised
from the cramped position in which he had lain for so long, and
presently, when the cold drizzle began to penetrate to his bones, his
enthusiasm and confidence dwindled. The village seemed to recede further
and further into the distance. He thought when he had ridden through it
earlier in the evening that it was not very far from the scene of the
attack—a dozen kilomètres perhaps—now it seemed more like thirty; he
thought too that it was a village of some considerable size—five
hundred souls or perhaps more—he had noticed as he rode through it a
well-illuminated, one-storied house, and the words "Débit de vins" and
"Chambres pour voyageurs" painted in bold characters above the front
door. But now he had ridden on and on along the dark road for what
seemed endless hours—uncon
[Pg 198]
scious of time save that it was dragging on
leaden-footed and wearisome . . . and still no light on ahead to betray
the presence of human habitations, no distant church bells to mark the
progress of the night.

At last, in desperation, Maurice de St. Genis had thought of wrapping
himself in his cloak and getting what rest he could by the roadside, for
he was getting very tired and saddle-sore, when on his left he perceived
in the far distance, glimmering through the mist, two small lights like
bright eyes shining in the darkness.

What kind of a way led up to those welcome lights, Maurice had, of
course, no idea; but they proclaimed at any rate the presence of human
beings, of a house, of the warmth of fire; and without hesitation the
young man turned his horse's head at right angles from the road.

He had crossed a couple of ploughed fields and an intervening ditch,
when in the distance to his right and behind him he heard the sound of
horses at a brisk trot, going in the direction of Lyons.

Maurice drew rein for a moment and listened until the sound came nearer.
There must have been at least a score of mounted men—a military patrol
sent out by M. le Comte d'Artois, no doubt, and now on its way back to
Lyons. Just for a second or two the young man had thoughts of joining up
with the party and asking their help or their escort: he even gave a
vigorous shout which, however, was lost in the clang and clatter of
horses' hoofs and of the accompanying jingle of metal.

He turned his horse back the way he had come; but before he had
recrossed one of the ploughed fields, the troop of mounted men—whatever
they were—had passed by, and Maurice was left once more in solitude,
shouting and calling in vain.

There was nothing for it then, but to turn back again, and to make his
way as best he could toward those inviting
[Pg 199]
lights. In any case nothing
could have been done in this pitch-dark night against the highway
thieves, and St. Genis had no fear that M. le Comte d'Artois would fail
to send him help for his expedition against them on the morrow.

The lights on ahead were getting perceptibly nearer, soon they detached
themselves still more clearly in the gloom—other lights appeared in the
immediate neighbourhood—too few for a village—thought Maurice, and
grouped closely together, suggesting a main building surrounded by other
smaller ones close by.

Soon the whole outline of the house could be traced through the
enveloping darkness: two of the windows were lighted from within, and an
oil lamp, flickering feebly, was fixed in a recess just above the door.
The welcome words: "Chambres pour voyageurs. Aristide Briot,
propriétaire," greeted Maurice's wearied eyes as he drew rein. Good luck
was apparently attending him for, thus picking his way across fields, he
had evidently struck an out-of-the-way hostelry on some bridle path off
the main road, which was probably a short cut between Chambéry and
Vienne.

Be that as it may, he managed to dismount—stiff as he was—and having
tried the door and found it fastened, he hammered against it with his
boot.

A few moments later, the bolts were drawn and an elderly man in blue
blouse and wide trousers, his sabots stuffed with straw, came shuffling
out of the door.

"Who's there?" he called in a feeble, querulous voice.

"A traveller—on horseback," replied Maurice. "Come, petit père," he
added more impatiently, "will you take my horse or call to one of your
men?"

"It is too late to take in travellers," muttered the old man. "It is
nearly midnight, and everyone is abed except me."

"Too late, morbleu?" exclaimed the young man peremp
[Pg 200]
torily. "You surely
are not thinking of refusing shelter to a traveller on a night like
this. Why, how far is it to the nearest village?"

"It is very late," reiterated the old man plaintively, "and my house is
quite full."

"There's a shake-down in the kitchen anyway, I'll warrant, and one for
my horse somewhere in an outhouse," retorted Maurice as without more ado
he suddenly threw the reins into the old man's hand and unceremoniously
pushed him into the house.

The man appeared to hesitate for a moment or two. He grumbled and
muttered something which Maurice did not hear, and his shrewd eyes—the
knowing eyes of a peasant of the Dauphiné—took a rapid survey of the
belated traveller's clothes, the expensive caped coat, the well-made
boots, the fashionable hat, which showed up clearly now by the light
from within.

Satisfied that there could be no risk in taking in so well-dressed a
traveller, feeling moreover that a good horse was always a hostage for
the payment of the bill in the morning, the man now, without another
word or look at his guest, turned his back on the house and led the
horse away—somewhere out into the darkness—Maurice did not take the
trouble to ascertain where.

He was under shelter. There was the remnant of a wood-fire in the hearth
at the corner, some benches along the walls. If he could not get a bed,
he could certainly get rest and warmth for the night. He put down his
hat, took off his coat, and kicked the smouldering log into a blaze;
then he drew a chair close to the fire and held his numbed feet and
hands to the pleasing warmth.

Thoughts of food and wine presented themselves too, now that he felt a
little less cold and stiff, and he awaited the old man's return with
eagerness and impatience.

The shuffling of wooden sabots outside the door was a
[Pg 201]
pleasing sound: a
moment or two later the old man had come back and was busying himself
with once more bolting his front door.

"Well now, père Briot," said Maurice cheerily, "as I take it you are the
proprietor of this abode of bliss, what about supper?"

"Bread and cheese if you like," muttered the man curtly.

"And a bottle of wine, of course."

"Yes. A bottle of wine."

"Well! be quick about it, petit père. I didn't know how hungry I was
till you talked of bread and cheese."

"Would you like some cold meat?" queried the man indifferently.

"Of course I should! Have I not said that I was hungry?"

"You'll pay for it all right enough?"

"I'll pay for the supper before I stick a fork into it," rejoined
Maurice impatiently, "but in Heaven's name hurry up, man! I am half dead
with sleep as well as with hunger."

The old man—a real peasant of the Dauphiné in his deliberate manner and
shrewd instincts of caution—once more shuffled out of the room, and St.
Genis lapsed into a kind of pleasant torpor as the warmth of the fire
gradually crept through his sinews and loosened all his limbs, while the
anticipation of wine and food sent his wearied thoughts into a happy
day-dream.

Ten minutes later he was installed before a substantial supper, and
worthy Aristide Briot was equally satisfied with the two pieces of
silver which St. Genis had readily tendered him.

"You said your house was full, petit père," said Maurice after a while,
when the edge of his hunger had somewhat worn off. "I shouldn't have
thought there were many travellers in this out-of-the-way place."

"The place is not out-of-the-way," retorted the old man
[Pg 202]
gruffly. "The
road is a good one, and a short cut between Vienne and Chambéry. We get
plenty of travellers this way!"

"Well! I did not strike the road, unfortunately. I saw your lights in
the distance and cut across some fields. It was pretty rough in the
dark, I can tell you."

"That's just what those other cavaliers said, when they turned up here
about an hour ago. A noisy crowd they were. I had no room for them in my
house, so they had to go."

St. Genis at once put down his knife and fork.

"A noisy crowd of travellers," he exclaimed, "who arrived here an hour
ago?"

"Parbleu!" rejoined the other, "and all wanting beds too. I had no room.
I can only put up one or two travellers. I sent them on to Levasseur's,
further along the road. Only the wounded man I could not turn away. He
is up in our best bedroom."

"A wounded man? You have a wounded man here, petit père?"

"Oh! it's not much of a wound," explained the old man with unconscious
irrelevance. "He himself calls it a mere scratch. But my old woman took
a fancy to him: he is young and well-looking, you understand. . . . She
is clever at bandages too, so she has looked after him as if he were her
own son."