Not Artamène de la Vergne himself had received the command to boot and saddle, which set the Clos-aux-Grives in such a pleasurable commotion1 at sunrise that morning, more jubilantly than Lucien du Boisfossé. None of the three had been more thrilled than he with the joyful2 news about the English frigate3 and its cargo4, and the prospect5 of a brush with the Blues6 before that cargo could be secured.
But alas7 for those bright anticipations8! The youthful philosopher was destined9 to have no hand in disembarking barrels of powder on the beach of Sainte-Brigitte. Because M. de Kersaint considered him the youngest officer with a head on his shoulders—how gladly would poor Lucien have foregone that flattering opinion!—he had been left behind with thirty men or so to guard the deserted10 headquarters. And there, late the next afternoon, he still was, trying to read Rabelais in the empty ‘nursery,’ in spite of a headache. For on top of his head, bandaged up like a mummy’s, there was a fairly extensive sabre cut—though there had been no fighting at the Clos-aux-Grives. But Lucien had seen some rather murderous fighting, for all that.
It was M. de Brencourt who was the fons et origo of that headache—M. de Brencourt who had so mysteriously disappeared, who could not be found for any searching before the column started on its march to the sea . . . but who had just as mysteriously reappeared, about four hours after its departure, to fall into such a paroxysm of rage and despair when he learnt what had happened as Lucien hoped never to witness again. It was plain that the Comte feared Lucien and everyone else would attribute his strange defection (of which he offered no explanation) to cowardice11, an idea which had never entered the youth’s head, and which he endeavoured tactfully to convey to his superior would enter the head of no living man who knew him. In the end the Comte did what du Boisfossé had seen from the first he would do—rode off like a madman along the road to the sea.
In a couple of hours he was back again, his roan horse a lather12. It seemed that when he had got a certain distance he had heard a piece of news which had sent him back as hard as he could gallop13. The Blues had got wind of the convoy14, and it seemed likely that they would attack the Chouans in force from the far side of Sainte-Brigitte. That could not concern M. de Brencourt now, but what had sent him back was the news that a smaller body—of cavalry15, it was said—were probably setting out to fall upon their rear from the north-east. This contingent16 would pass within some six or seven miles of Lanvennec. And, since every available Chouan in the district who possessed17 arms had gone with the Marquis de Kersaint, M. de Brencourt proposed to take the headquarters guard, all but a man or two, and ambush18 this column at a certain ford19 which it must cross—if he could get there in time.
It was not for Lucien to protest; M. de Brencourt was not merely his superior officer, but the second-in-command. And the youth was only too pleased at the prospect of seeing some fighting after all, and perhaps doing a great service to his departed comrades. For this was how its originator seemed to regard the enterprise. So they set out, and they did get there in time, and yesterday, almost at this hour, Lucien had found himself, musket20 in hand, kneeling with the rest behind a fringe of willows21 on the bank of a broadish stream. And as they waited, and the willow22 leaves tickled23 his nose, M. du Boisfossé, who had only just learnt from the Comte the numerical strength of the enemy, began to realise that thirty men, even posted as they were, with all the advantage of a surprise, could hardly hope to stop or account for two hundred and fifty horsemen, and that M. de Brencourt was doing something that was a great deal more than rash. Could it be that he wanted to get himself killed? If so, he possibly had a right to indulge this fancy, but hardly to include him, du Boisfossé, and the major part of the headquarters guard in his desire. However . . .
Now, looking back on yesterday’s mêlée, the young philosopher, though he had no reason to modify this view of the Comte’s motives24 when he remembered how recklessly that gentleman had exposed himself throughout, knew at least that the second-in-command could congratulate himself on having caused the foe25, after all, something worse than confusion and delay. For the Republicans, counting presumably on annexing26 the English muskets27 to their own use, had with them, and in the front of the column too, some empty ammunition28 waggons29, and these were their bane. At the very first volley, poured into their unsuspecting ranks just as they were about to ford the stream, the now riderless horses of one of these waggons had dashed down into the river, and being there instantly shot, and the waggon30 overturned by their dying struggles, the narrow passage was for some time entirely31 blocked, while a hail of bullets came from the invisible marksmen on the opposite bank. Undoubtedly32 the Blues lost their heads in the surprise of it, or they would have rushed the ford and discovered how lightly it was held, but in the turmoil33 many saddles were emptied before the passage was clear. When at last they splashed over they were in too much haste to investigate the willows, but their infuriated rear ranks, without drawing rein34, did use the sabre on anyone they could see—and Lucien happened to be one of these.
He woke up to find himself lying on the trampled35, muddy bank, amid a strong smell of bruised36 peppermint37. M. de Brencourt himself was bathing his head, and told him that he had had a nasty knock, but that, luckily, the blade had turned. Two of their men had been less fortunate.
But the ford! Lucien dreamed of it that night; yet what he still saw with most particularity was none of the slain38 cavalrymen, but one dead rawboned chestnut39 horse, which lay pathetically with outstretched neck in the stream which was not deep enough to float it, the cut traces bobbing on the current.
And now the youth, relieved of his command, since the Comte was at the farmhouse40, sat in the nursery and longed for its other occupants. M. de Brencourt had been unwontedly genial41 to him, and really solicitous42 about his hurt, but his manner was sometimes very strange, he was restless to an extraordinary degree, and looked as if he had not slept for nights. And though rumours43 were beginning to come in of the complete success of the expedition, rumours indeed that it had beaten off the enemy and was on its way back with what it had gone to fetch, M. de Kersaint’s chief of staff seemed in no way uplifted by them. Lucien could not make him out.
He was in fact thinking about him now when the door of the nursery opened a little way and a small barefooted boy looked timidly in.
“Hallo!” said the young man. “What do you want, mon gars? Come in!”
“Yes, go in, child, and tell us what you want,” commanded de Brencourt, appearing at that moment behind him. “Why, you are from the Ferme des Vieilles, are you not—Le Blé-aux-Champs’ brother?”
The boy, half frightened, half alert, looked up with dark eyes at the gentleman who had him by the shoulder. “Yes, Monsieur le Comte.”
“You came to see if he was back, I suppose?”
“No, Monsieur le Comte. I came on a message,” said the boy, rubbing one bare and dirty foot against the ankle of the other. “I knew they were not back. But soon they will be. There is dust hanging over the road from the sea.”
“Ah, a good scout44 already,” observed M. de Brencourt, releasing him. “How is that head, du Boisfossé?”
“Better, thank you, sir,” responded Lucien politely. “How soon do you think they will be here?”
The Comte gave an odd little movement of the shoulders, as if to say that the matter did not interest him. He was certainly very strange.
“Well, and what did you come here for, child?” he asked carelessly.
“Only to say that there is a lady from Paris at our farm,” responded the small messenger, “and that she wishes to wait on M. le Marquis when he returns. That is all, Monsieur.”
It seemed, however, to be more than enough for the Comte de Brencourt. He grabbed hold of the small shoulder again, almost throwing the child off his balance.
“What did you say! A lady from Paris asking for the Marquis?”
“Well, go on!” said the Comte, shaking him.
“There is nothing else,” muttered Mercury. “She came yesterday. She is waiting. And when M. le Marquis returns . . . Let me go, Monsieur le Comte—I have to drive the cow home.”
Without another word M. de Brencourt dragged the boy out of the room. The expression on his face was startling. So was the amazement46 on Lucien’s.
And about two minutes later the young man was craning his swathed head recklessly out of the window. There had been a sudden clatter47 of hoofs48 on the cobbles of the yard, but the rider was already gone.
“Well,” thought M. du Boisfossé, “the mysterious lady may have intended to interview M. le Marquis, but I think it is M. le Comte whom she will see first. Here, perhaps, is some explanation of—everything! Oh, why are Roland and Artamène not back!”
(2)
They were not far away. That dust above the road from the sea hung over a column winding49 triumphantly50 along, with a string of country carts in its midst piled high with the cases and barrels which, since dawn, they had been receiving from the English sailors on the beach at Sainte-Brigitte. The Chouans were intoxicated51 with their success; had they not yesterday, before ever arriving at the little bay, routed what seemed to them a huge body of Blues; had not hostile cavalry, too, broken harmlessly during the night on the covering force which M. le Marquis had so wisely stationed on the road to protect his operations? Vaguely52 they themselves realised that they had been brilliantly handled, and assented53 without hesitation54 to the opinion of hardbitten veterans of former wars like Sans-Souci and Fleur d’Epine when they said, “We have a great general—another Charette, perhaps.”
At the head of his victorious55 array, rather weary from strain and want of sleep, his right arm still in a sling56, but erect57 and easy as ever, rode Gaston de Trélan on the beautiful black horse which had once been Marthe de la Vergne’s. By his side was M. du Ménars, and the two were already discussing the best method of distributing the muskets and ammunition through the department, and how far they would meet their needs till the gold of Mirabel could procure58 more.
“Still, this is an excellent beginning,” observed M. du Ménars contentedly59. “We shall be in soon now. . . . I wonder if we shall find any news of de Brencourt when we get back? His disappearance60 at this juncture61 is the most inexplicable62 thing I ever heard of. Has it occurred to you, Marquis, that it might conceivably be the result of foul63 play?”
His leader looked round at him, evidently startled. Du Ménars knew that he had had very little time for any speculation64 about his missing subordinate.
“Foul play?” he ejaculated. “No, I had not thought of that. I know no more than you why . . . My God!”
And his horse suddenly bounded forward as if he had unconsciously driven in the spurs. Checking him, he turned his head sharply aside, then addressed his aide-de-camp over his shoulder.
“Monsieur de Céligny, have the goodness to ride back till you come to the Abbé, and tell him that I must speak to him at once. I will wait for him here, by the side of the road. Don’t halt the column, du Ménars; go on and I will catch you up.”
And as Roland turned to obey he rode across to the side of the road, and sat there waiting while the ranks trudged65 past. In these, sooner or later, would come the Abbé, who always marched with the men. At last the priest came abreast66, and stepping aside, stood by the black horse and its rider, while the loaded carts and their escort passed. When the embroidered67 jacket, baggy68 breeches and wide-brimmed hat of the last Chouan had gone by, his foster-brother swung off his steed. His face was fearfully stern.
“Pierre,” he said in a voice unlike his own, “a terrible thought has just come to me. I cannot understand why I have not had it earlier. As de Brencourt knew my wife in the old days,” he paused; the priest guessed only too well what was coming, “—as he knew her personally, he must have been aware that she was alive—was at Mirabel—and . . . deliberately69 kept the knowledge from me!”
The priest looked down at the dusty road. “I am afraid that he did, Gaston.”
“God!” said Gaston de Trélan, and smote70 his fist upon his saddle. The thoroughbred reared a little, and the Abbé caught the reins71.
“I tried to force him to tell you. But my own position was so difficult,” he began.
“To keep silent after I had consented to meet him,” exclaimed the Duc, his eyes blazing, “after he had taken my hand . . . it revolts me! I can hardly believe it—be quiet, Zéphyr!”
“He was mad, I suppose, at seeing her again,” said the priest, shaking his head. “It has revolted me, too. Perhaps his disappearance—Where are you going, Gaston?”
For M. de Trélan, already back in the saddle, was turning his horse’s head in the opposite direction.
“I must get away for a little,” he said, very grim. “This is a thunderbolt—horrible. I must have time to get accustomed to it before I can face anybody. Go on after the men, Pierre; do not get left behind.”
He set spurs to his horse in earnest; Zéphyr went half across to the opposite bank, tried vainly to get his head down, and next moment was going down the road like an arrow, and, annoyed at his cavalier treatment, pulling so hard that for a moment or two his rider thought that he would prove too much for his bridle72 hand, and regretted his disabled right arm. The struggle for mastery, however, gave him some physical relief in the black whirlwind of repulsion and horror that had broken on him. Between the demands of leadership and the overwhelming news about his wife, he had had no time or inclination73 these two days to think out the part de Brencourt had played—scarcely time, indeed, till this homeward march, to think of him at all, in spite of his singular disappearance. And now the realisation of the Comte’s cold-blooded treachery and deceit, coming on top of his provocations74, on top of the duel75, on top of his own sparing of him, despite his resolve to the contrary—for Gaston de Trélan was no more exclusively right-handed than another—and, most repulsive76 of all, on top of their reconciliation77 . . . it was surely enough to put any decent man beside himself, and how much more the man who had been his victim! He turned Zéphyr on to a track that made for the lande, and for a space, in which time hardly seemed to exist, galloped78 him madly over the heather.
Gradually he began to regain79 control over himself, too. The man had probably taken himself off for good; though he could never forgive him, nor forget what he had done, he would not be called upon to meet him again. And he had not succeeded in his devil’s work. So he himself would rather think of this tremendous news of Valentine’s survival—if indeed it were not after all some mistake, some cruel imposture80, which he would discover for such when he got to Mirabel.
—No, the evidence was too strong! She was there—no impostress, but the real Valentine; not the dead Valentine whom he had grown to love and look to, but the living. And so their meeting was to be in this world after all—though he himself in the last few days had so nearly gone to another. And how would the living Valentine receive him? Perhaps she would altogether turn from him. Could he blame her if she did?
He rode off the lande by way of the Ferme des Vieilles, Zéphyr by this time quieted, indeed exhausted81. “Poor Zéphyr!” said his master remorsefully82. “Because I have been treated like a brute83, I have treated you like one!”
As he drew near the farm he saw the old mother of the family outside, violently agitating84 her arms and crying, “Monsieur le Marquis! Monsieur le Marquis!”
He drew rein. “What is it, mother? Your sons are safe; Le Blé-aux-Champs has done very well.”
The old woman’s wrinkled face lighted up. “Ste. Anne be praised! But it is not that, Monsieur le Marquis. I thought I had better make sure if you had met the lady out there on the lande—among the Stones, I think she is.”
“Lady! what lady?”
“You have not come from the Clos-aux-Grives, then? You have not had the message I sent by Yvot?”
“What message?—No, I have not been there yet. Out with it, in Heaven’s name!”
“A lady has come from Paris to see you, Monsieur le Marquis; she arrived yesterday. So we gave her a bed here—poor lying, but the best we could do till you——”
“Here! Now! With you?” And in a second he was on the road by her side.
“Ma Doué, Monsieur le Marquis, how you startled me, getting off so quickly! No, she is not here now—she went out on the lande a little while ago, and I thought I saw her walking in the Allée. Being from Paris she does not understand how evil they are, the Old Ones, about sundown, though I warned her . . . Bless us, Monsieur le Marquis, you look as if someone had put a spell on you!”
For, stricken with an odd silence, and very pale, the leader of Finistère had taken a step or two backwards85, till he was brought up by his horse’s quarter, and there he was staring at her, his hand to his head.
“No, it is the breaking of a spell, please God!” said he, recovering himself. “I will go and find this lady on the lande. It may be that . . . that she will not return to you, Mère Salaun.”
He took Zéphyr by the bridle, and went back on to the heather. But, once out of sight, he drew a long shuddering86 breath, and throwing his arm over Zéphyr’s crest87, pressed his forehead against the warm satin of his neck, and so remained for a while.
And Zéphyr, convinced by now that the master he knew had returned to him, put his head round and lipped at his shoulder. Then he cocked his little ears and listened. Far away, the beat of another horse’s hoofs was audible on the highroad. His rider gave no sign of having heard it, but in a moment or two took the bridle again and went forward towards the Allée des Vieilles.
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1
commotion
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| n.骚动，动乱 | |
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joyful
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| adj.欢乐的，令人欢欣的 | |
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frigate
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| n.护航舰，大型驱逐舰 | |
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cargo
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| n.(一只船或一架飞机运载的)货物 | |
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prospect
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| n.前景，前途；景色，视野 | |
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blues
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| n.抑郁，沮丧；布鲁斯音乐 | |
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alas
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| int.唉(表示悲伤、忧愁、恐惧等) | |
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8
anticipations
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| 预期( anticipation的名词复数 )； 预测； （信托财产收益的）预支； 预期的事物 | |
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destined
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| adj.命中注定的；(for)以…为目的地的 | |
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deserted
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| adj.荒芜的，荒废的，无人的，被遗弃的 | |
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cowardice
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| n.胆小，怯懦 | |
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lather
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| n.(肥皂水的)泡沫，激动 | |
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gallop
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| v./n.(马或骑马等)飞奔；飞速发展 | |
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convoy
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| vt.护送，护卫，护航；n.护送；护送队 | |
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cavalry
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| n.骑兵；轻装甲部队 | |
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contingent
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| adj.视条件而定的；n.一组，代表团，分遣队 | |
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possessed
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| adj.疯狂的；拥有的，占有的 | |
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ambush
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| n.埋伏(地点)；伏兵；v.埋伏；伏击 | |
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Ford
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| n.浅滩，水浅可涉处；v.涉水，涉过 | |
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musket
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| n.滑膛枪 | |
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willows
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| n.柳树( willow的名词复数 )；柳木 | |
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willow
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| n.柳树 | |
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tickled
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| （使）发痒( tickle的过去式和过去分词 )； （使）愉快，逗乐 | |
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motives
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| n.动机，目的( motive的名词复数 ) | |
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foe
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| n.敌人，仇敌 | |
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annexing
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| 并吞( annex的现在分词 )； 兼并； 强占； 并吞（国家、地区等） | |
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muskets
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| n.火枪，（尤指）滑膛枪( musket的名词复数 ) | |
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ammunition
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| n.军火，弹药 | |
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waggons
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| 四轮的运货马车( waggon的名词复数 )； 铁路货车； 小手推车 | |
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waggon
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| n.运货马车，运货车；敞篷车箱 | |
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entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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undoubtedly
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| adv.确实地，无疑地 | |
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turmoil
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| n.骚乱，混乱，动乱 | |
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rein
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| n.疆绳，统治，支配；vt.以僵绳控制，统治 | |
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trampled
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| 踩( trample的过去式和过去分词 )； 践踏； 无视； 侵犯 | |
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bruised
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| [医]青肿的，瘀紫的 | |
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peppermint
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| n.薄荷，薄荷油，薄荷糖 | |
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slain
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| 杀死，宰杀，杀戮( slay的过去分词 )； (slay的过去分词) | |
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chestnut
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| n.栗树，栗子 | |
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farmhouse
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| n.农场住宅（尤指主要住房） | |
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genial
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| adj.亲切的，和蔼的，愉快的，脾气好的 | |
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solicitous
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| adj.热切的，挂念的 | |
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rumours
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| n.传闻( rumour的名词复数 )；风闻；谣言；谣传 | |
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scout
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| n.童子军，侦察员；v.侦察，搜索 | |
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45
wriggling
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| v.扭动，蠕动，蜿蜒行进( wriggle的现在分词 )；（使身体某一部位）扭动；耍滑不做，逃避（应做的事等）；蠕蠕 | |
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amazement
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| n.惊奇，惊讶 | |
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clatter
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| v./n.(使)发出连续而清脆的撞击声 | |
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hoofs
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| n.（兽的）蹄，马蹄( hoof的名词复数 )v.（兽的）蹄，马蹄( hoof的第三人称单数 ) | |
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winding
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| n.绕，缠，绕组，线圈 | |
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triumphantly
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| ad.得意洋洋地；得胜地；成功地 | |
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51
intoxicated
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| 喝醉的，极其兴奋的 | |
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52
vaguely
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| adv.含糊地，暖昧地 | |
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53
assented
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| 同意，赞成( assent的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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hesitation
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| n.犹豫，踌躇 | |
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55
victorious
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| adj.胜利的，得胜的 | |
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56
sling
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| vt.扔；悬挂；n.挂带；吊索，吊兜；弹弓 | |
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57
erect
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| n./v.树立，建立，使竖立；adj.直立的，垂直的 | |
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procure
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| vt.获得，取得，促成；vi.拉皮条 | |
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contentedly
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| adv.心满意足地 | |
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disappearance
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| n.消失，消散，失踪 | |
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juncture
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| n.时刻，关键时刻，紧要关头 | |
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inexplicable
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| adj.无法解释的，难理解的 | |
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foul
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| adj.污秽的；邪恶的；v.弄脏；妨害；犯规；n.犯规 | |
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speculation
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| n.思索，沉思；猜测；投机 | |
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trudged
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| vt.& vi.跋涉，吃力地走（trudge的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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abreast
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| adv.并排地；跟上(时代)的步伐，与…并进地 | |
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embroidered
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| adj．绣花的 | |
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baggy
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| adj.膨胀如袋的，宽松下垂的 | |
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deliberately
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| adv.审慎地；蓄意地；故意地 | |
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smote
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| v.猛打，重击，打击( smite的过去式 ) | |
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reins
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| 感情，激情； 缰( rein的名词复数 )； 控制手段； 掌管； （成人带着幼儿走路以防其走失时用的）保护带 | |
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bridle
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| n.笼头，束缚；vt.抑制，约束；动怒 | |
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inclination
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| n.倾斜；点头；弯腰；斜坡；倾度；倾向；爱好 | |
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provocations
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| n.挑衅( provocation的名词复数 )；激怒；刺激；愤怒的原因 | |
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duel
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| n./v.决斗；(双方的)斗争 | |
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repulsive
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| adj.排斥的，使人反感的 | |
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reconciliation
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| n.和解，和谐，一致 | |
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galloped
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| （使马）飞奔，奔驰( gallop的过去式和过去分词 )； 快速做[说]某事 | |
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regain
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| vt.重新获得，收复，恢复 | |
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imposture
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| n.冒名顶替，欺骗 | |
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exhausted
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| adj.极其疲惫的，精疲力尽的 | |
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remorsefully
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| adv.极为懊悔地 | |
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brute
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| n.野兽，兽性 | |
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agitating
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| 搅动( agitate的现在分词 )； 激怒； 使焦虑不安； （尤指为法律、社会状况的改变而）激烈争论 | |
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backwards
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| adv.往回地，向原处，倒，相反，前后倒置地 | |
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shuddering
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| v.战栗( shudder的现在分词 )；发抖；（机器、车辆等）突然震动；颤动 | |
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crest
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| n.顶点；饰章；羽冠；vt.达到顶点；vi.形成浪尖 | |
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