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There had scarcely been time enough for them to be brought, but I saw my four men come running back along the dusky street; and they brought the alarming news that our horses, stablemen, and all had disappeared.
This put another face on our affairs. We had exactly three horses champing quietly in the courtyard, and nineteen men, not counting Gaston Cheverny, needing to ride to save their skins.
And before we could draw breath, the open place in front of the drawbridge grew black with men; the restless, serpentine shadows were, in truth, Bibikoff’s Russians.
In half a minute our men were tugging at the chains of the drawbridge. They had raised it about a foot when out of the gloomy night rode a horseman, straight upon the drawbridge. The weight of man and horse slowly brought the bridge down again. It was Gaston Cheverny. He turned his horse’s head toward the town, and sat motionless, holding the bridge down. There had been no moon until that moment, when softly and quickly the murky clouds parted, and a great, white moon glared out, making all things light as day. Then we saw plainly the Russian soldiers duly ranked, with their officers. The moonlight fell full upon Gaston Cheverny sitting upon his horse. The only sounds that broke the silence were the horse’s pawing gently on the bridge and a growl from our men that the bridge was held down.
But presently another sound was heard—a very dreadful and menacing sound, though faint and muffled—that of a hundred muskets raised and leveled upon the85man and the horse, which made the finest target in the world. When Gaston Cheverny saw the gleam of the musket barrels in the moonlight I believe he thought his hour had come, and determined to meet it as a man who knows how to die; for he brought his sword to the salute, so that he might meet the Great Commander as became an officer and a gentleman. And as I have seen a hundred times and known of a thousand times, the coolness of his courage was his shield and breastplate; for no man among the Russians could slay so brave a man. Even the murmuring among our own men at his holding the drawbridge down ceased, when they saw Gaston Cheverny standing at salute as if the king were passing.
I knew instantly why Gaston Cheverny waited, in such imminent peril; it was for Francezka Capello, and, incidentally, Madame Riano. It was but a scant five minutes by Count Saxe’s watch that he had to wait for them, but it was the longest five minutes I had known for many a day.
86CHAPTER VIIIOUR CITY OF REFUGE
At last the rumbling of wheels was heard and a large traveling chaise appeared. It was at once stopped by a Russian officer, but we saw that he permitted Madame Riano to alight, and another person—a slim young figure in a crimson mantle—and that, I knew, was Francezka Capello.
There was a parley between Madame Riano and the officer, but he escorted her and Mademoiselle Capello to the drawbridge, Gaston Cheverny standing his ground until the ladies were well in the courtyard. Then he dismounted, and advancing, bent and whispered in Mademoiselle Capello’s ear, as she followed Madame Riano, who stalked ahead. The Russian officer remained on the farther edge of the bridge. I could not see Francezka’s face clearly, as it was shaded by her large black hat and she kept her eyes downcast. I think she was not without embarrassment at the position in which she found herself, for Madame Riano was insisting on accompanying Count Saxe in his retreat to Uzmaiz. These were her words as she marched up to him:
“Well, Maurice of Saxe, I told you long ago, that this Courland business was an egg that would never hatch.87Lacy, the old fox, will bag you yet, if you are not very sharp. I warned you to beware of him—for he is a Scotchman, is Lacy—and his great-great aunt married the wife’s cousin of an ancestor of mine. However, I don’t care to trust myself to those blessed Russians and Courlanders, and I have determined to cast my lot, and my niece’s, and my man Peter, and my two waiting maids, and my chaise, and my horses, with you.”
Here was a pretty addition to men supposed to be in the lightest possible marching order, and expecting to flee for their lives. I never saw Count Saxe disconcerted by any woman except Madame Riano—but she could disconcert a graven image.
“But, Madame,” said my master lamely, “we shall be running great risks; we have a fight on our hands at this moment; for we shall not be allowed to depart in peace.”
“No Kirkpatrick has ever yet avoided a fight,” replied Madame Riano, firmly. “Life with us was ever a battle.”
“But, Madame, it is not only a fight but a flight, I am looking for.”
“Well, the Kirkpatricks were ever better at fighting than running away, but I will agree to stand my ground, so as to give you a chance to run!”
This she said to Count Saxe, the greatest warrior in the world! And she looked like Bellona as she spoke.
“The Russian officer allowed me to speak with you,” she continued, “upon my promise to return; so I must go back, but only for a moment. I will have the traveling88chaise brought here, but, if need be, both my niece and myself can ride a-horseback.”
With that, she turned back, and walked across the drawbridge, Count Saxe accompanying her to the middle of it, where the Russian officer met her, and escorted her to where the chaise still stood.
Meanwhile, Francezka and Gaston had withdrawn into the shadow of the courtyard wall, where Gaston continued to whisper in her ear. Count Saxe, however, speaking to me by name, Francezka glanced up, and instantly coming toward me, laid her hand on my arm.
“This is my good friend Babache,” she said, smiling into my face.
“Yes, Mademoiselle,” I answered, “this is your good friend Babache.”
I saw her face plainly by the light of the lantern swinging overhead. She was handsomer than she had been the year before, her features having lost the sharp outline of immaturity; her eyes were wells of light, her eloquent red mouth wore a charming smile; the child had become a woman.
“It seems my destiny always to trouble you,” she said, smiling, and yet blushing a little; for her pride was offended at being thus thrown upon us, as it were.
I replied as well as I could, and then we heard Madame Riano’s voice raised on the other side of the drawbridge. She was giving the Russian officer the worst rating in her repertoire. Everything Russian, from their religion to their cookery, she heaped anathema on, when, suddenly, this farce became a tragedy. The Russians closed about her; her voice ran high, and then suddenly stopped as if she had been gagged. We89saw her thrust into the chaise; a Russian soldier jumped on the box, and it rattled off.
And, at the same moment, there was a rush for the drawbridge, but we were too quick for them; it was up and fast before they knew it. Count Saxe then turned to Mademoiselle Capello, and offering her his hand as if he were at the king’s levee, said:
“Mademoiselle, permit me to conduct you to a place of comfort—I will not say safety, for all is safe here; the walls are nine feet thick and our friends, the Russians, have nothing but musketry.”
Francezka’s face grew very pale, but her eyes did not falter. Her courage was in truth greater than Madame Riano’s, for madame loved battle; Francezka did not love it, neither did she fear it.
She accepted Count Saxe’s hand, and he led her across the courtyard and up the stairway, where she disappeared within the door, first making a curtsy to us all as well as to Count Saxe.
My master came down the stairway three steps at a time.
“The Russians are but poor tacticians,” he said, “or they would never have freed us from Peggy Kirkpatrick. As it is, we must not be captured with this fair girl among us. Fancy what story of it would go forth to the world. No; we must save her or die with her.”
“Yes,” repeated Gaston Cheverny, standing near us, “we must save her or die with her.”
For, in spite of Count Saxe’s reassuring words to Mademoiselle Capello, that was really the sum of it. The Russians had begun a heavy fusillade which, in truth, was no more than hail against our nine feet of90stone walls. Could we but exist without ammunition and food, and could we do without sleep, we twenty men could laugh at the eight hundred Russians. But, unluckily, men must eat and sleep. I was turning this over in my mind while our men were replying briskly out of the loopholes—and with effect, for soon cries went up to the heavens; our bullets had found their billets. At the first sight of blood the Russians howled like hungry wolves. I believe they would have torn us limb from limb could they have caught us. There is nothing on earth more horrible, or more terrifying, than a great and loud cry for blood.
I, Babache, a soldier from my fourteenth year, trembled behind nine feet of stone, at this yell from the beast in man. Nor is it without its effect on the most seasoned soldiers. They, the common men, laugh at it at first, but it soon penetrates to the marrow of their bones, and they perform miracles of valor under the spur offear—for it is as often fear as courage that drives a storming party into the breach. I have read in the essays of Monsieur Michel Eyquem de Montaigne, of Périgord, that he feared nothing butfear—and it is a wise saying of that Périgord gentleman. So it was in the schloss at Mitau that August night—we were afraid of nothing but fear, for we were certainly not afraid to meet death in any shape. There was plenty for all of us to do, Count Saxe himself shouldering a musket, and firing through the slits of windows; but I knew that he was not the man to be trapped like a rat in a hole, and I made sure he had some scheme in his head by which we were to be saved from hoisting a handkerchief on a ramrod—and waited for him to tell us what it was.
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Meanwhile, the demoniac yelling kept up, together with the volleys of musketry. The Russians had not then learned to transport light guns on wheels, the King of Prussia having to teach them that trick near twenty years later; so that we knew, what men do not often know in our circumstances, exactly what we had to contend against. After an hour of this volleying and yelling on the part of the Russians to which we replied by putting leaden bullets in them, Count Saxe came up to me. It was then after one o’clock—in those latitudes a time that is neither day nor night, nor morning, nor evening, but a ghostlike hour, in which all shapes, all things, the very sky and earth, are strange to human beings. I saw by the faint half-light a smile on my master’s face; he was ever the handsomest man alive, and when he had the light of battle in his eye, he was more beautiful than Apollo, lord of the unerring bow. He was still in his court costume, but there was a great rent in his velvet coat made by the musket he had occasionally used, his gem-embroidered waistcoat was soiled with powder, and his lace cravat and ruffles were in rags.
“Babache,” said he, “I have it. Do you see yonder brick wall to the left where the Russians have just tethered thirty or forty horses? The moon is sinking fast,—and as soon as it fades, the drawbridge goes down like lightning; you and I and Beauvais on horseback dash across it to the left, the other sixteen men rush after us, seize each man a horse, and make for the highway to Uzmaiz, not a quarter of a mile away. I believe every man of us stands a good chance to escape.”
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“And Mademoiselle Capello and Gaston Cheverny?” I asked.
“They must go by way of the tunnel. It will bring them out at the market-place, where there will be a crowd long before sunrise and they may easily escape notice. Gaston will take Mademoiselle Capello to the palace, and presenting himself boldly, ask refuge for her, which could hardly be refused. As for himself, he may be thrown in prison, he may be torn limb from limb; he must take his desperate chance, as the rest of us take ours.”
“He takes it cheerfully,” said Gaston, at my elbow. He was grimed with powder, and was rubbing his shoulder, which his piece had greatly bruised, but I never saw a more smiling countenance. At the idea of being charged with Mademoiselle Capello’s safety, he looked as if he had just come into a great estate.
Count Saxe then gave him a pocket map, and took him within to give him a considerable sum of money. When they were gone, I heard a soft voice behind me whispering my name, and, turning, I saw Francezka’s fair face at a lower window, near to me.
“So we have met but to part,” she said, leaning out of the window, her delicate round chin on her hand.
“We shall perhaps meet again, Mademoiselle,” said I. “I think it will not be long before you will be setting out for Paris with Madame Riano. This, no doubt, will cure Madame Riano of traveling for the present.”
Francezka shook her head. “You do not know my aunt. As long as she can have adventures, she is in heaven. And I like adventures, too. I have heard of some one who said he cared not much which way the93coach was going, so it went at a rattling gait and he was inside. So do I feel.”
“If you like adventures, Mademoiselle, you will always have them,” I replied.
“Do you think,” she said, after a pause, “that in taking care of me Monsieur Cheverny is running a greater risk than any of you?”
“No, Mademoiselle. His chance seems to me rather the better. At best, he can demand to be sent to the palace, while for us, we must run the gantlet of the Russians; sixteen men must take their chances of getting horses, and we must travel in company. But Count Saxe is with us, and he is the favorite of fortune as well as of nature.”
She remained silent a while, then spoke again:
“So this may be the last time we shall speak together in this world.”
“I hope not, Mademoiselle,” I replied. “I hope to have the honor of speaking to you in Paris before the year is out.”
“No, not Paris, but at my château of Capello. It is only twelve miles from the highroad between Brussels and Paris. I would not be boastful, but it is the charmingest place, at the foot of the Ardennes. I have not seen it since I was a child. Monsieur Gaston Cheverny remembers it better than I. He says he even remembers me, a little child but six years old, and so did Monsieur Regnard Cheverny tell me that at Paris last year. I think I remember Monsieur Gaston Cheverny a little—perhaps because he is nearer my age.”
“Then,” said I, humoring her as a child, “we shall stop and dine with you on our way to Paris, for, of94course, I can not go anywhere unless my master, Count Saxe, be asked, too.”
“He will be asked, never fear. Good fortune will attend us all, no doubt. I do not feel the least afraid of what is before me, unless the tunnel be damp, and there be toads in it, then I shall die of fright, for all that I am a Kirkpatrick.”
How light-hearted she was, in the midst of things terrifying to most women!
Count Saxe, wishing to spare her the sight of our outrush, then returned with Gaston Cheverny, who had received his money and instructions. Gaston wore a black hat and cloak of Count Saxe’s; and, since the count is a very tall man, and Gaston only of the middle height, the cloak hung down upon his heels, and we could but smile at the figure he made. Yet he looked not ungraceful. Then Mademoiselle Capello came out, wearing her hat and mantle. She said to Count Saxe, very earnestly:
“Monsieur, you may depend upon it, that whatever dangers encompass Monsieur Cheverny and me, I will not play the coward.”
“I am sure of it, Mademoiselle,” replied Count Saxe, smiling, “but I do not look for any dangers for either of you.”
This was not strictly true, for there was great danger for Gaston Cheverny, although little, if any, for Mademoiselle Capello, as we then thought.
“Do you mean, Monsieur,” asked Francezka, “you think we shall be suffered to walk quietly from the market-place to the palace?”
“Yes, Mademoiselle.”
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“And if we reach the palace, there will not be a price put upon our heads?”
“No, indeed, Mademoiselle. I think you will find Madame Riano at the palace, and may resume your journey to-morrow.”
“Then,” cried Francezka, rather crossly, “the only real danger seems to be from the toads in the tunnel! Come, Monsieur Cheverny, let us begin our promenade.”
“Certainly, Mademoiselle,” said Gaston, and then to Count Saxe: “Monsieur, may we meet at Uzmaiz, and may we return in triumph to Mitau, to take our own. Good by, Babache—the next time I see you I hope your face will be washed, for it is like a blackamoor’s now, with burnt powder.”
Mademoiselle curtsied low to Count Saxe, and said sweetly, as if in amends for her pettishness:
“Good by, and a thousand thanks for your goodness, Monsieur de Saxe. My house of Capello is yours whenever you are in its neighborhood. Good by, Captain Babache. When my eyes rest on you again, you will be the welcomest sight in the world.”
If I had been a ready man, like François Marie Voltaire, for example, I could have replied to this kind speech with something handsome. But being only Babache, a Tatar prince from the Marais, all I could think of to say was:
“Good by, Mademoiselle; may God help you.”
I saw them depart and my heart was heavy. True, it would require some ingenuity on their part to get them into trouble, but I suspected both of them had talents as well as a taste in that line.
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But now we had serious business of our own on hand. Beauvais brought us the three horses, which had been tethered in the courtyard. Everything was arranged; the firing kept up to the last, although our last was done with bits of broken nails and of silver pieces of money. At last the great dusky moon showed only a rim upon the far horizon, and then seemed suddenly engulfed in a great abyss of darkness.
At a signal, the drawbridge fell with a crash. We were already on horseback, and dashed across the bridge into the open place and toward the brick wall. Every man of ours was at our heels. The Russians were completely dazed. Half of them rushed into the courtyard only to find it empty. The rest ran hither and thither, afraid to fire in the darkness, and before they could rally, or could find out what we were really after, every man of us was mounted and away. We had a good twenty minutes’ start, for the noise among the Russians drowned the sound of our hoofbeats. We had only one street of the town to traverse before we struck the highway. The Russians had no inkling that we were making for Uzmaiz, and not half an hour from the time we started came a deluge of rain, the welcomest imaginable; for in that downpour the Russians lost us and never found us again. We fared on, knowing every foot of the way, for Count Saxe had made himself thoroughly familiar with this road to his island fortress. Bridges were down, and the roads were mere quagmires, but these were small difficulties to nineteen seasoned men, riding for their lives.
We bivouacked that night, and for four other nights, in those rocky and almost impassable woods with which97that country abounds, and which seem devised for the security of the hunted. It was easy enough to get food and forage, for we were well supplied with money. The argument of gold was supplemented by another argument of death, if the seller was disobliging; we had twenty good horse pistols, and their united reasoning never failed to convince. From the first day until the last but one of our flight, the weather was bad: torrents of rain, wild winds roaring, nature in a tumult night and day. At last the air grew soft, the sun shone, and on a heavenly August evening, after passing through a country green with deep-embosoming woods, and with sunny, verdant slopes and many trickling crystal waters, we came upon a great mirror of a lake, with a fair, wooded island in the midst of it; and that was our city of refuge—the lake and island of Uzmaiz.
98CHAPTER IXA CRIMSON MANTLE
I shall never forget the August evening when first we saw that island of enchanted beauty in Lake Uzmaiz. The lake lay blue and still, with an opaline sky, shot with gold, reflected in it. The green island, fringed with trees, and with a small, half-ruined castle on a gentle knoll in the middle, was mirrored in that fair expanse. There were two towers of the castle left standing, and they gave upon a broad terrace of which the escarpment was gone to soft decay, moss-grown and beautiful. There was a little point of land, rock-fringed, against which the water lapped like a mother crooning to her babe, and opposite to it, a point on the mainland, grassy and bordered with alder bushes. It was still and quiet and placid, like a dream of peace. Over all, the declining sun shone golden, bathing the wooded peaks afar with soft splendor. The beauty and the peacefulness of it went to the heart of one. Oh, what loveliness there was in that lake, that island, that darkly blue horizon, that sunset sky, glowing with amethyst and pale green!
But there were beauties other than those of nature on the island. The first I reckon to be our three hundred stout fellows, who owned as much ragged valor as99any three hundred soldiers in the world. They were delighted to see Count Saxe, and each man had a kind of leathern grin upon his countenance that was as satisfactory to us as beauty’s most bewitching smile. They had not lost a day in intrenching, and the natural strength of the island was such that Count Saxe declared, if he could have but a few weeks, even with his small force, he could intrench himself so that it would take ten thousand to dislodge him.
We had great stores of arms and ammunition, together with some heavy guns—these last conveyed to the island by a miracle of ingenuity and determination—and we had victuals in abundance. It began to look as if we could give Bibikoff and his Russians, and even Lacy, some trouble yet to get us out of Courland.
Count Saxe, on landing, went straight to refresh himself in the old castle, where two or three rooms in the towers, at each end of the terrace, were still habitable. The terrace was overgrown with ivy and periwinkle, and some ancient rose trees were still living and blooming. On this terrace, which seemed steeped in age and tranquillity, Count Saxe determined to mount two of his four great guns which had been transported to Uzmaiz.
Our rest was short before we set to work, with pick and shovel, every man of us. Count Saxe did not disdain to show us how to work. We labored day and night, with but short intervals for sleep. Sleeping or working, however, my mind was always full of Francezka. With discretion on Gaston Cheverny’s part there was no reason to fear for her; but although his wit and courage were above cavil, his discretion was an100unknown quantity. For him, much as I loved him, I felt no immediate concern. He was a soldier, whose trade was danger, and he had known a plenty of it since leaving France; but for Francezka, that delicately nurtured creature, who had never slept but in a soft bed, who was accustomed to waiting maids and valets, who was so young and so charming, so adventurous—what of her?
We scarcely reckoned upon hearing from Gaston Cheverny very promptly, still there was room for anxiety when a whole week passed and we heard nothing. Gaston was amply supplied with money, and Count Saxe had charged him to lose no time in communicating with us, nor was he likely to delay—so that the failure to hear from him was slightly disquieting.
One week went by, and then another, and we heard nothing of Francezka and Gaston. We had other things to give us thought, for we got news that Bibikoff was looking for us, with four thousand Russians, and, as soon as we were found, General Lacy was to step in and finish us—if he could. This only put more strength into our thews and sinews, for if the Russians caught us before our defenses were completed, it would go hard with us. So we had enough to think about. But it did not diminish our courage or our industry. If only Mademoiselle Capello were safe! That was the thought in my heart.
On the fifteenth day after our arrival, about noon, as I stood on the terrace making some changes, under Count Saxe’s eye, for one of the guns to be planted there, I happened to glance toward the point of the mainland, and saw a strange figure standing there waving101a crimson mantle by way of a signal; and it was Francezka’s mantle.
Count Saxe saw it as soon as I, and recognized it.
“Go you at once, with a boat,” he said, and I lost no time.
When I stepped out of the boat on the mainland, the fellow who had been signaling came up to me. He was barelegged, and wore the tattered uniform of a Russian foot soldier, with a sheepskin mantle, but he spoke remarkably good French for a foot soldier.
“I have a letter,” he said in French, “for Count Saxe.”
“You mean,” I replied, “for his Highness, the Duke of Courland. Give it me then, and, also, that mantle.” And I shoved a gold piece into his hand. He grinned and gave up both the mantle and the letter.
With them, I returned to the island. Count Saxe met me at the landing place, and I handed him the letter, which was from Gaston Cheverny. It read:
Your Highness:Here I am with my young brother François, in the hands of the Russians. François is young and delicate, and must be succored. A ransom of ten thousand crowns is asked for us both—nor will the Russians agree to part with one of us without the other. François must be succored, I say. My estate in France is not great, but it is ten thousand crowns at least, and I think the ransom not excessive. François, I repeat, must be succored. Your Highness’s ever faithfulGaston Cheverny.
Your Highness:
Here I am with my young brother François, in the hands of the Russians. François is young and delicate, and must be succored. A ransom of ten thousand crowns is asked for us both—nor will the Russians agree to part with one of us without the other. François must be succored, I say. My estate in France is not great, but it is ten thousand crowns at least, and I think the ransom not excessive. François, I repeat, must be succored. Your Highness’s ever faithful
Gaston Cheverny.
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Count Saxe looked at me reflectively, after I had read the letter.
“Of course, she must be succored. Ten thousand crowns is a large sum for some purposes; not large to pay as ransom for a lady.”
“Not for some ladies,” I answered. “Not for Mademoiselle Capello.”
“Babache, you are a Tatar and have the sentiments of a Tatar,” said my master; and then he got with me into the boat and we pulled across the bright blue water to where the rascal awaited us, sunning himself with great enjoyment in the August noon.
Count Saxe saw through the fellow’s disguise at once. He liked not to deal with rascals, but knew how to perfectly, and said at once in French:
“What will be done to Monsieur Cheverny and the lad if we decline to pay the ransom?”
For answer the fellow grinned, and drew his hand, as an executioner draws his sword, across his neck.
Count Saxe said not a word in reply, but went through the pantomime of a platoon of soldiers firing at the order “One! Two! Three!” upon the condemned.
The Russian understood very well, and laughed.
“But we have not yet come to that,” said Count Saxe. “Here is a man, Captain Babache, who will go with you and see the young man and the lad. On his report depends whether we shall pay anything or not.”
“He must take the ten thousand crowns with him,” said the fellow. “It would be a pity to shoot the lad, François. He is such a brave lad. We marched him far and fast; he was footsore and weary, but he marched, and not a moan escaped him.”
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At that my heart was like to burst. I could see Francezka—that pale, beautiful face—those eyes, so seductive, yet so undaunted—that lofty spirit which made her soul the captain of her body. And surely, Gaston must have committed some great folly to have brought them to that pass. All this went galloping through my mind while Count Saxe was saying:
“My friend, I see you are a determined rascal, and that you know the boy at least must be ransomed. So, Babache here will return with you, and ten trusty men shall carry the ten thousand crowns. But I warn you that you are dealing with Maurice of Saxe, and if harm comes to a hair of the heads of those prisoners, or of Babache and his men, I will give over the pursuit of the crown of Courland, until every soul of you rests in Abraham’s bosom. Do you hear me?”
“Yes, and know you and believe you,” replied the fellow. “We will do them no harm. We are gentlemen, if you please; I, myself, have danced with the lady, Anna Iwanowna, whom you, Count Saxe, refused to marry, and though you have not asked my views upon political affairs in this my native land of Courland, I will say to you that you will rest in Abraham’s bosom before you become Duke of Courland.”
“Ah,” replied Count Saxe, coolly, “may I take you as a fair representative of Courland?”
“Hardly,” replied he of the bare legs; “but your objects, most noble Count, and mine and those of my comrades, are not unlike. Your Highness comes to Courland, and tells us to make you Duke of Courland, or you will give us our fill of civil war. It is stand and deliver in either case.”
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To my amazement Count Saxe actually laughed!
For my part, the picture conjured up of Francezka tramping wearily through the fields and forests, in the company of cutthroats, her tender feet aching and wounded, put all thoughts of laughter out of my head. I was impatient only to be gone, and Count Saxe saw it.
Ten thousand crowns is a great sum of money, I think. It made a hole in Count Saxe’s military chest to pay it; but when was he ever backward in handing out money when he had it, or could get it from some one else? And the services of eleven men, when time was so precious to us, could ill be spared; but Count Saxe took no note of these things.
He talked a little longer with the Russian, who had a German name, Schnelling. This Schnelling had the impudence to claim to be a part of Bibikoff’s force, and when Count Saxe asked him what he was doing holding prisoners for ransom, the rascal replied that the money was to be applied for a fund of defense against Count Saxe!
At this my master could not help laughing, and expressed himself as being entirely at ease about a single crown of his money going to the fund for driving him out of Courland.
On being asked, Schnelling told us his encampment, as he called it, was three days’ march from Uzmaiz.
Now Count Saxe was a good judge of whether a man was telling the truth or not. He had enjoyed remarkable opportunities for more than a year of studying the Courland vintage of lies—for every nation has its own style of lies. A Frenchman lies not like a105German. A Courlander lies—however, it has been said that the devil and ninety-nine Courlanders make a hundred liars.
Count Saxe replied to this last lie of Schnelling’s by saying:
“You are a marvelous soldier, to travel three days without escort of commissariat, for the village hen-roosts can not always be depended on. I guarantee that your prisoners are not half a day’s march from here.”
“Monsieur,” said our bare-legged captain, in a tone and manner not unworthy of Jacques Haret, “I take no offense at your calling me a liar, by implication; in war, lies are stratagems. But your allusion to village hen-roosts is exceedingly painful to a gentleman like myself, who has danced at a court ball with the Duchess Anna Iwanowna. However, passing that over, I will admit that we are just half a day’s march from here and looking for General Bibikoff every hour.”
“Pray make General Bibikoff my compliments when you meet him,” replied Count Saxe, gravely. “And since your prisoners can be reached to-night, not a moment must be lost in setting out.”
It was high noon when we had perceived Schnelling, and by two o’clock all the arrangements were made, the money was put in two leather bags, I had picked out ten men and had started. I had not much fear of treachery on the part of our Russian-Courland friends. They knew Maurice of Saxe too well to try any tricks on him. We struck out through a green, well-wooded country, avoiding the highroads and ever going deeper into the forests of larch and fir that led toward the106west from Uzmaiz. If my heart had not been full of Francezka, I should have enjoyed the conversation of that rascal, Schnelling. He frankly gave up his attempt to pass for a private soldier and appeared like a genuine fine gentleman, in spite of his bare legs and sheepskin cloak. He had known many adventures in the world, and told of them, laughing uproariously at things that I would have killed any man for, had he told them on Captain Babache.
I did not wish to speak of Mademoiselle Capello to him, but in spite of me the words came out. I asked him, trying meanwhile to look unconcerned, about the boy François. He glanced at me sidewise, and I believe he read my heart, and delighted in torturing me.
“A lad of fine spirit, but delicate in many ways. The elder—Monsieur Gaston Cheverny—could not take better care of him if he were a sister instead of a brother. Monsieur Gaston never leaves him by day, and by night watches him. It would have been as easy, as far as Monsieur Gaston was concerned, to have got twenty thousand crowns as ten thousand.”
We trudged for five hours, and the sun sank, and there was no moon. I walked on like a blind man. Schnelling seemed to know his way perfectly, but occasionally he stopped and struck his flint; when by that small, pale gleam, the abysses of darkness seemed vaster and more menacing. At last, toward ten o’clock at night, there came, on the faintly stirring dense air, the odor of smoke, of burning boughs. Then a twinkle of light was visible, and the next minute we came upon an open space, in which a huge fire of resinous wood blazed and roared. There were pickets about. This107precious gang of rascals, who impudently claimed to be a part of General Bibikoff’s force, had all served some time or other as soldiers, all wore uniforms, and knew perfectly well how to take care of themselves—nay, how to make themselves at ease, as far as their circumstances permitted. It is, after all, a wonderful thing that man does not seem able to rid himself wholly of either sense or virtue. These rogues were brave, and as Count Saxe anticipated, they kept their word scrupulously about their prisoners.
As soon as my eyes became accustomed to the glare of light, I looked about me for Francezka, but saw no sign of either her or Gaston Cheverny. Schnelling walked up to a man in a colonel’s uniform, and saluting, said:
“Colonel Pintsch, this gentleman, Captain Babache, brings you ten thousand crowns, with the compliments of Count Saxe, and is prepared to receive the prisoners.”
Colonel Pintsch—whether he was a colonel or not, I never knew—bowed politely, and said:
“I am ready to deliver the prisoners on the spot and to receipt for the money.”
I thought it best to hand the money over at once, knowing if they wished to play us false it was as easy to do it at one time as another; for it was clear that we could not undertake to return until daylight came to assist us. We were obliged to trust them partly, and I thought it best to trust them wholly. Therefore I had my men bring forward the two leathern bags. Colonel Pintsch wrote a receipt, meanwhile gravely assuring me that the money would go to the defense fund for108Courland, and he would certainly inform General Bibikoff of the whole affair. I listened, longing to throttle him, and he concluded by saying to Schnelling:
“Show Captain Babache our guests.”
Guests they were now, no longer prisoners. What rags of politeness will sometimes cling to the worst of villains!
Schnelling led me a little way toward the edge of the open space, where the forest closed in its dark ramparts. There was a kind of screen formed by fir boughs stuck into the ground, and behind these a smaller fire was blazing. Under a low hanging larch tree was a bed of boughs, and on it lay Francezka, sleeping. The huge black cloak given Gaston Cheverny by Count Saxe was thrown over her, covering her completely, except her delicate, clear-cut face.
The young and the innocent always look like infants when they are asleep. Although Francezka was then nearly sixteen, she looked like the merest child, with her long lashes lying on her cheek, and the little rings of damp hair on her forehead. I gazed upon her one moment in rapture, and then turned away in reverence. Gaston Cheverny, who had been sitting by the fire, had sprung up and was giving me an embrace which all but cracked my ribs.
“Babache,” he said, in a low voice, so that Francezka would not be awakened, “I can say, like the patriarch of old, ‘Lord, now lettest Thou Thy servant depart in peace.’”
I shook myself free from his embrace.
“Come,” said I, “tell me what particular folly brought you to this pass?”
109
He scowled at me for a moment and then said hotly—and I suppose I had spoken angrily—
“My report shall be made to Count Saxe. I—” And then we both smiled involuntarily.
“Babache,” continued Gaston in the meekest tone, “I swear to you, I can not now recall one thing I have done since we parted in the courtyard of the schloss at Mitau, that seems to me on reflection rash, or ill-considered. Listen and I believe you will agree that I am in no way to blame for what has come to pass.”
Schnelling interrupted us to say that food was being prepared for us; but, had it been before me, I could not have eaten nor drunk until Gaston had told me his story. He spoke softly, glancing often toward the spot under the larch tree where Francezka’s face, like a lily flower, lay.
110CHAPTER XA PILGRIM AND A WAYFARER
“We passed through the tunnel easily enough, except that Francezka”—he spoke her name unconsciously—“was frightened to tears by the toads. She, a Kirkpatrick, wept with terror at a harmless toad, but when it comes to real danger, she is as brave as my sword. We got to the market-place, just as the drenching rain came down. There was an inn near-by, and we ran to that for shelter. We were well received, no one suspecting anything, and ordered breakfast in a private room. We heard the people about the inn discussing Count Saxe’s escape, and we concluded he had got away safely. It lifted a load from our hearts. We were very merry while we were at breakfast. It seemed no more than a delightful escapade, and we spoke of how we should tell it in the saloons of Paris. We were afraid, however, it would sound very tame.”
This was the way these two young people took their predicament to heart—a predicament which involved the reputation of the one and the life of the other!
“After we had breakfasted, Francezka retired to a room to rest, and I slipped into the town to learn something of Madame Riano. It was then about six o’clock, and cataracts of rain poured. I went straight111to the palace. Just as I came near it, a traveling chaise with an escort of dragoons rolled out of the gates. On the box of the chaise sat old Peter, Madame Riano’s man, and within was Madame Riano, alone. She had her head out of the chaise window, haranguing the dragoon officer upon the iniquity of so treating a Kirkpatrick, the widow of a grandee of Spain five times over, of the Ricos Hombres, whatever that may be—whom the Queen of Spain rose to greet, and much more of the same sort. To this the dragoon officer paid no attention, and the party rattled and clattered off.
“Here was a predicament, was it not? I managed to get speech of some of the servants in the palace, and found that Madame Riano’s tongue had got her in serious trouble with the Russians, with whom the Duchess Anna Iwanowna had taken sides vigorously, and Madame Riano was being escorted to the Russian frontier in consequence. I doubted if they really meant to be so severe on her, but that was not the question. It was how to put Francezka under proper protection, according to Count Saxe’s directions. I managed, by bribing the servants, to be smuggled into the palace. I did not suppose the duchess to be out of her bed, but I found she had not been in it since the ball closed. She was bent on being revenged on Count Saxe. I had done his bidding only too well, having told at least a dozen ladies of his high regard for the duchess’s worth—and she longed then for news of his capture. Instead of that, she had found out that he had got away.
“She stormed like fury at that, and in the midst of it Madame Riano was brought in. I judge the meeting between the two ladies was like an irresistible112force meeting with an immovable body. The very rooks on the palace roofs soared away, cawing in terror, and the dogs in the kitchens, with their tails between their legs, skulked into hiding places. You may imagine this was not an auspicious time for me to appear with a request that the duchess take charge of Madame Riano’s niece. I own that when I at last succeeded in getting into the duchess’s august presence I thought she would eat me up, crunching my bones and lapping my blood. However, I ventured to ask protection for Mademoiselle Capello, and the duchess swore like a trooper—yes, actually swore. She demanded I should tell her where Count Saxe proposed to take refuge. I refused. She said:
“‘Sir, you shall tell or you shall hang.’
“‘Madame,’ said I, ‘I will neither tell nor hang.’
“Then, seeing it was time for adieu, I ran for it; a great hue and cry was raised after me, but I managed to get out of the palace by an open window on the ground floor, and by doubling and twisting like a hare, I got back, unmolested, to the inn. Now, Babache, was there any indiscretion there?”
I was forced to admit that I could not name any fault he had committed; for surely, his not betraying Count Saxe was not a fault.
“The torrents of rain still continued, and it seemed to me best that we should not lose a moment in getting out of Mitau; and so I told Francezka. I proposed to her that we should cross the river by the bridge of boats. This she at once agreed to; in fact, she proved the most docile creature imaginable in moments of real danger. The crossing of the bridge was not easy, the113boats being rickety, and the wind and rain making our footing insecure; but she accomplished it without a sign of alarm—even with gaiety. Once on the other side of the river, we walked briskly, our cloaks protecting us well, and kept to the highroad. I thought it likely the town of Mitau would be well searched for me before the seekers crossed the river. And presently the rains ceased and the sun came out. It seemed as if good fortune had adopted us, and we fared along gaily enough.”
Yes, the two no doubt were in great spirits and much laughter, still thinking it a mere escapade.
“Toward noon we reached a considerable village with a good inn and posting house, and going boldly to the inn, I demanded horses. The people seemed to be touched by our youth; they thought—” here a flush showed under Gaston’s tan and sunburn—“they thought we were a couple running away to be married, and their sympathy for us was not diminished by the liberal way in which I paid for all I wanted. Here Francezka rested for an hour or two, and I worked out my plan for reaching Uzmaiz with her, as that was our only refuge. I told her all the risks we ran, and offered to follow any other plan which seemed good to her. But she assured me of her confidence in me, and, in truth, there was but one thing for us to do—to make for Uzmaiz. While she was resting I had gone out and bought a handsome riding suit for her; for it was clearly best that she should travel as my young brother François. When I produced the riding suit, and told her gently the necessity for wearing it, she turned pale and burst into tears. What strange creatures women are, after all!