114
“She made no objection, however, and the only thing she showed obstinacy about was that her own garments should be carried with us. I believe she would have flatly refused to go if I had not agreed to this; and when I suggested to her that it would be well to leave her laced hat behind, she wept again. The laced hat has accompanied us on all our travels, and it is in my charge now. Our friend Schnelling took possession of her other clothes, and we must manage to get them from him; he does not seem to be an ill-natured dog, and will, no doubt, give them up without trouble. To go back to our travels. We got the best post-horses in the village and started for Uzmaiz. Francezka made the prettiest boy imaginable—” here we both glanced toward the sleeping Francezka—“with her locks curling upon her shoulders. I gave out that she was my brother, but nevertheless suspicion was excited by all who saw her. Such grace and beauty as hers can not be disguised.”
“Especially as you treated this alleged boy as if she were a princess,” I said.
“Would not you have done the same? At all events, we got three days’ travel away from Mitau, when, on the evening of the third day, we were apprehended by these rogues. They professed to be a part of General Bibikoff’s army, but I knew from the beginning that they were merely highwaymen. They sent the post-chaise back, and forced us to march on foot with them. This was nothing to me; but oh, Babache—the spectacle of the woman you love forced to tramp in the company of scoundrels like these! A woman softly nurtured, whose delicate feet were bruised with stones, with rough115climbing, bearing it all courageously, never an impatient or sorrowful word—no tears then—taking all the blame for our situation upon herself—you can not imagine my sufferings!”
Perhaps I understood those sufferings better than he dreamed.
“No insult was offered to Francezka. I told them that if any were many lives should pay for it; but I think they never contemplated that; we were held for vulgar ransom, and that only. Ten days ago we were brought to this place. I knew we were near Uzmaiz, although Schnelling stoutly denied it. I do not know how the days have passed; only, the strangest thing in the world has happened—Francezka told me to-day she had not been really unhappy a moment since we left Mitau. The time with both of us has flown fast. No one has molested us. We have spent the hours together in these wild forests, watched, it is true, but still virtually alone. At night Francezka has slept soundly on her bed of boughs, while I watched; and she has risen at dawn, while I slept.”
“And she watched,” I said.
Gaston blushed deeply and made no reply.
The fire was flaming redly; all else black—black sky, black earth, black trees. My eyes turned again to the larch tree under which Francezka slept. She had wakened, and raising herself upon her arm, was gazing at me with those eloquent eyes of hers. I went over toward her. She sat up on the edge of her bed of boughs, and disposing her cloak about her, so as to hide her masculine dress, she said, smiling:
116
“I knew you would come, and I thank you with all my heart. When do we depart?”
“To-morrow morning, Mademoiselle,” I replied.
“And why not to-night?” she asked, turning to Gaston Cheverny, who had also approached.
“It would be difficult for us men to travel through these wilds by night, and for you it would be impossible.”
Then Francezka said to me, most earnestly:
“It is I, and I alone, who should be blamed for this. I should have made Monsieur Cheverny leave me in the market-place at Mitau. I could have taken care of myself, and I should not have brought all this trouble and anxiety on Monsieur Cheverny or you, Captain Babache, and on Count Saxe—unfortunate that I am.”
“You could not have made me leave you, Mademoiselle,” replied Gaston. “And, besides, it is extremely dangerous in Mitau now for any one who is supposed to be connected with Count Saxe. No, Mademoiselle, no one is to blame, except these ruffians. Perhaps Madame Riano might have been more prudent, but Madame Riano can scarcely be reckoned a prudent woman.”
Francezka smiled again.
“You are right. My Aunt Peggy has the spirit of forty men, and Kirkpatricks at that, in her; and no risk has ever daunted her yet. She is not likely, at her time of life, to learn prudence.”
“But,” cried Gaston, hotly, “she may well take risks for herself; but for you—pardon, Mademoiselle—”
Francezka raised her hand warningly.
“My aunt takes no risks for me that she takes not117for herself. God made her entirely without fear, and so must we quarrel, not with her, but with God, for making her what she is.”
Francezka rose and came toward the little fire we had made. I noticed some of Schnelling’s rascals watching us through the screen of boughs, but there was nothing to see except the three of us, sitting around the fire under the solemn larches and firs, and our voices were kept low.
We told her our only plan was to take her to Uzmaiz, and from thence try to communicate with Madame Riano. None of us believed that any very severe measures would be taken against Madame Riano, and we spoke cheerfully of Francezka’s speedily rejoining her. To this Francezka listened attentively.
For an hour we sat thus, in the light of the fire’s red blaze. Francezka kept her mantle about her so that her masculine dress was concealed; with her cavalier’s hat upon her head, and her rich hair curling upon her shoulders, as Gaston had described, she made a beautiful boy—but one bound to excite suspicion. The innate coquetry of her glance, the frequent changes of color, the sudden frowns and smiles made any real masculine disguise impossible.
It was the first time I had really any conversation with Francezka. How far removed in every way from the scene of our first meeting—the ancient, well ordered garden of a splendid Paris hôtel. But there is certainly a subtile fascination in these singular and unexpected meetings. No one with a taste for the wine of life, but relishes the unusual, least of all Francezka; for I saw plainly, under all her softness, a soul like118Peggy Kirkpatrick’s. And the more I knew of her in after years, the more I knew that she had the courage of a Crusader only partly concealed by a pretty, affected shyness. After she had done her will, she trembled, hesitated, blushed, looked down in timidity, looked up for approval—and was very ready with tears, when she required them.
We three sat together for an hour, Francezka doing most of the speaking. She told us something of her travels with Madame Riano. They had set out from Paris very shortly after Count Saxe’s departure, and had spent nearly a year in visiting the various German courts. She was unflinchingly loyal to her aunt, but she would have been more or less than human could she have told without laughing of Madame Riano’s adventures, and Francezka was, herself, a wit, and a child of laughter. She told us some of the most vivid events of their scamperings over Europe—Francezka looking away meanwhile to avoid seeing me smile, and sometimes covering her face with her mantle to smother her merriment.
Scotch Peg had caused panics, earthquakes and convulsions at every court she had visited, especially the smaller German ones, where the pettiness, the rigidity and the absurdity of things were manifest to others besides Peggy Kirkpatrick. She had hectored over grand dukes, had flouted their mistresses, gibed at their prime ministers, and argued with their ecclesiastics. All this would have been easily checked in an ordinary woman; but Madame the Countess Riano del Valdozo y Kirkpatrick, with a vast fortune, with a powerful backing at the courts of France and Spain—for she119never lacked friends—was a considerable person, and as Francezka told us, with dancing eyes, Madame Riano had made good her promise never to leave any place until she was ready.
When the fire was dying to a bed of coals, Francezka rose to leave us. She thanked me with tears in her eyes for coming after her; stipulated that Schnelling must give up her clothes—I believe she would have lived and died in that forest if she could not have got her garments and her laced hat—and then, making us a curtsy, as if she were in her aunt’s great saloon at Paris, retired to her bed of boughs. Then I had some supper. Gaston Cheverny, wrapping himself in his cloak, lay down at Francezka’s feet. I slept, sitting with my back against the trunk of a tree; and though I had marched long and hard that day, I envied the two their quiet and unbroken slumber from then until daylight came.
We were up with the lark. The flush of dawn was in the pearly sky, but under the thick black fir trees all was darkly shadowed still. We went in search of Schnelling, who was already stirring. I had meant to ask him civilly for Mademoiselle Capello’s clothes, but this is the way Gaston Cheverny, with the hot blood of twenty, went about getting them:
“Schnelling,” he said, “give us Mademoiselle Capello’s clothes.”
“Or what?” asked Schnelling laughing.
“There are two of us who will have your heart’s blood!”
Schnelling, to my surprise, laughed again, and chose to accede to the request with mock humility; but no120doubt he saw that it was actually the part of wisdom to give them up. Gaston Cheverny told me afterward that when he took the clothes to Francezka she was overjoyed, and only consented to wear her masculine attire after his representing to her that she would tear her skirts to shreds in our march to Uzmaiz.
I was taken to Colonel Pintsch, who reiterated to me his story about being a part of Bibikoff’s force, which was a lie on the face of it, and a Courland lie at that. And then, some breakfast having been given us, we were suffered to depart. Schnelling went with us to guide us through the gloomy mazes of the forest. It was a brilliant August day, but all was dark in that melancholy region of chasms, rocks and hardy trees of the North. Francezka walked between Gaston Cheverny and me. We helped her as we could, over the rough places, but she was singularly active, and made her way lightly along. Happiness shone in her face. I began to fear that the lucky result of this catastrophe would not go far toward teaching her prudence.
When we reached, by degrees, the open champaign country, Schnelling bade us farewell, courteously. He had behaved handsomely about the clothes, so Francezka bade him the friendliest possible adieu. Then, with gaiety of heart, we fared on, at our leisure. When the forests were left behind, we had before us green fields, sweet streams, mills and homesteads, and a pleasant highroad. We marched slowly on Francezka’s account. Toward noon we passed a cottage, before which a peasant was feeding a stout cart-horse. At the cottage door stood a pleasant-faced woman, with a little army of bright-eyed children around her. By an inspiration it121came to me to offer the peasant a gold piece for the use of his horse for Mademoiselle Capello, as far as Uzmaiz. He gaped with delight at the sight of the money. Then, Francezka, blushing, proposed to go into the cottage and put on her own clothes. When she came out, dressed in her handsome robe of brown cloth, richly embroidered, her crimson mantle, and her laced hat, the little children all set up a cry of “Beautiful lady!” Francezka was openly charmed by such innocent flattery. Even our old clear-the-way boys paid her the tribute of an admiring grin; and Gaston Cheverny, like a young fool, showed his rapture.
But in truth she seemed to me as beautiful then as the rosy dawn. We perched her upon her charger, and put off again. Francezka was in the highest spirits, and was a fountain of laughter, like a child. She had seemed completely the woman up to this time, and now she seemed nothing more than a joyful, unthinking child. Never was any merrier journey than the last few miles, before we reached Uzmaiz. I judged that the payment of the ten thousand crowns would about swallow up Gaston Cheverny’s modest estate; but apparently he gave no more thought to it than he did to last year’s birds’ nests.
It was in the middle of the glorious summer afternoon that the fair blue lake of Uzmaiz came into view. As soon as we reached the shore of the lake we were perceived, and boats were sent for us. Count Saxe awaited us at the landing on the island. When Francezka stepped ashore he greeted her as if he had not paid ten thousand crowns out of his military chest for her, so great was the chivalry and gallantry of the man.122Nor did he give the smallest indication of the cruel embarrassment it was for a man in his position to have charge of a young and beautiful girl, an heiress of high quality. Francezka herself realized that and spoke to me of it later, with tears in her eyes; but the helplessness of her situation swallowed up, with every man of us, all thought of inconvenience.
The most habitable of the two or three rooms in the old tower had been made ready for her. Count Saxe had given up his own paillasse. Beauvais, who was the prince of valets, had got together such rude comforts as the stores on the island permitted. It is astonishing how much comfort can be achieved by simple means—so said Francezka, when Count Saxe led her into her apartment. It had a window giving upon the old terrace, where the rose trees were now in bloom and the ivy and periwinkle shone darkly green upon the crumbling parapet. From this window, where Beauvais had hung a blanket by way of a curtain, could be seen the blue lake lying between the terrace and the sunset. On one side were the far-off black gorges and purple forests we had left; and on the other, the rich, green-knolled cultivated country, with fields and orchards ripening under the August sun.
Francezka’s arrival scarcely for a moment interrupted the work of intrenching the island. As to her fate, or ours, no one could tell. We waited and worked from day to day, thinking every morning might see the Russians swarming toward us, and our great guns, of which we had four good loud bellowers, to say nothing of smaller pieces, pouring death from their iron throats upon every man who attempted to cross that narrow123blue strip of placid water. But yet, the Russians came not.
Francezka to me, in those days, was a marvel. This girl, so rash, and with a secret taste for danger, proved herself to be the most prudent as well as the most modest of women when thrown upon herself. In this she showed that vein of sound sense—Scotch sense, probably—that distinguished Madame Riano in spite of her vagaries. At the end of all Madame Riano’s outlandish proceedings she generally came out victorious with colors flying; or, if she was defeated, she, like Count Saxe, sold her defeats so dearly that the victor was nigh ruined.
Francezka kept herself as much as possible from the gaze of the three hundred and twenty men who were her sole companions on this island. The only time she showed herself was in the purple evening, when she would come out upon the terrace and take the air. That was at the hour when a little time of rest from our labors was given to us. Most of the men spent it in sleep, but not all of us. Count Saxe always took the occasion to go upon the terrace and pay Francezka his respects. So would Gaston Cheverny and a few of the other gentlemen with us. I never went unless I was sent for, but Francezka seldom let an evening pass without beckoning to me, or sending for me to speak a few kind words to me. There was nothing childish about her then. Not the most experienced lady of the great Paris world could have surpassed her in dignity. But withal, she was too guileless to conceal wholly her preference for Gaston Cheverny. They had passed through such adventures together; they had lived a124whole lifetime in those weeks of wandering, and it was not strange they had much to say to each other.
At this time, after Francezka had talked with Count Saxe and others a little, she would retire to her room in the half ruined tower. Then Gaston would bring his viol and, sitting near her window in the twilight, would sing to his own accompaniment. The singing helped us all. It made us forget for a while our solitary and dangerous situation—for we looked to be fighting for our lives and dying in the last ditch at any moment. It seemed to make us once more members of the great human family which lives peaceably and tranquilly, and whose breath is not war and conquest and defeat and war again.
One of Gaston’s favorite songs was that old, old one,O Richard, O mon roi, l’univers t’abandonne. There was some mutual understanding about this song between Francezka and Gaston Cheverny. They had sung it together sometimes in those black wastes and wilds where they had spent their time together. Gaston had several names besides Gaston—Richard was one of them; so this song appeared to refer particularly to him. When he sang it I noticed Francezka was always listening at her window, and although the curtain was drawn, and the room dark within, there would be some faint sign, such as a movement of the curtain, which showed that the singer was heard and attended to.
And so the days passed on. Every hour we improved our position, and at last the day came, when Count Saxe said to us:
“One more week of work, and we can stay here as long as this island stays.”
125
But those last days were the most important of all. Work relaxed not, and our time of rest in the evening was to be shortened still more. And on this evening, as Gaston Cheverny sat in the twilight on the terrace, all of us listening to his singing, after a day of labor, and a night of toil to come, Gaston stopped suddenly, rising to his feet—and so rose Count Saxe and all of us. For in the gray evening we saw on the mainland a moving mass, like a huge black serpent, unfolding itself from the distant woods and boscage upon the open country. The Russians were upon us.
Instantly all was life and movement. Count Saxe did not, even in that moment, forget Francezka, for tapping at her window, he said, when she appeared:
“Mademoiselle, here are our friends, the Russians. Be not alarmed; there is a place of safety for you below the terrace if there should be fighting.”
“I am not alarmed, Monsieur,” quietly replied Francezka. She had been reading by the light of a single candle that volume of Villon which Gaston Cheverny had carried in his pocket or at his saddle bow ever since we left France. She kept her finger at the page, and spoke in a calm voice, although she grew a little pale. “Whenever and wherever you will have me go, I am ready.”
As Gaston Cheverny said, she was the most docile creature alive when real danger was at hand. She knew how to obey like a soldier, and as she came of good soldierly stock, this was not strange.
The Russians, however, having now got within hearing of us, sounded a parley on the trumpet. Count Saxe instantly determined to send Gaston Cheverny to126the parley. Gaston had picked up some understanding of the Russian language while we were at Mitau, and especially while he was with Pintsch’s highwaymen, and had been artful enough to conceal it. So, Gaston, with a small escort, put off in a boat to meet the Russian envoys. The main body had halted about a mile from the shore, while we could see, by the starlight, a considerable number of them, presumably officers, making for the point of land which dipped into the lake.
We were all at our posts awaiting the outcome quietly. But one more week, and we should have been secure! Now, we were very far from secure; and we waited for Gaston Cheverny’s return and the news he might bring to know whether we should have a chance to fight, or be marched off to Russian prisons—as we supposed. As for Francezka—it was not yet time for her to seek a safe place—she came to the window and stood there in the half darkness, her one candle being out.
I made bold for once to go up and speak to her without being invited.
“Mademoiselle,” said I, “you may see your château of Capello sooner than you think, for surely the Russians will not detain you, but will provide you with a suitable escort and take you to a place of safety.”
“It will be as God wills,” replied Francezka, as coolly as you please.
We waited an hour before Gaston Cheverny’s return. Count Saxe took him into the other half-ruined tower room, where there were pens and ink, and a candle in a bottle. I was prepared to write anything required.
127
Gaston Cheverny had a queer look on his face, like a man who has seen for the first time, and unexpectedly, something hideous.
“It is General Bibikoff,” he said to Count Saxe, “with twelve hundred men, and he desires to speak with you, Monsieur, in person; and begs that you will come to the parley; but by my knack of understanding the Russian tongue, I found out that it is a ruse to get you away from the island and carry you off. Twelve hundred against one man—and that man, Count Saxe!”
Never saw I Maurice of Saxe in such a rage as at this scandalous breach of military honor. He roared out his wrath like a wild bull—oh, the lion voice of him! The old towers and escarpments echoed with it. When he grew a little calm he said to Gaston Cheverny:
“Bring Bibikoff to me. I warrant this traitor will not hesitate to trust my word.”
Which was true; and I ever thought it the highest tribute to Count Saxe’s honor that this treacherous general who himself had no honor knew that Maurice of Saxe had—and to it trusted his life and all his fortunes.
Gaston Cheverny again crossed to the mainland. The evening was clear, though moonless, and the pitying stars came out in the eastern sky, while the west glowed warmly with the great sinking sun, that left a track of glory behind it. In half an hour Gaston returned with Bibikoff. Count Saxe awaited them in the tower room. The Russian was, of course, blindfolded. He was a great bear of a man, with a goatlike face, very dirty and unshaven, but splendidly dressed.
There was present at that interview no one except128Count Saxe, General Bibikoff, Gaston Cheverny and myself. When Bibikoff’s bandage over the eyes was removed he found himself standing before Count Saxe, from whose eyes sparks seemed to be flying. And then in a voice that would have shriveled up an honest man as if he were a dead leaf, Count Saxe said:
“If I were not more generous than you I would poniard you on the spot. You would have enticed me to a place where I should have been bagged like a bird. Twelve hundred men against one! Thank you, my friend. Tell that to your commanding general, Lacy, and see what he will say to it.”
Bibikoff, barbarian that he was, withered under this reproof.
Count Saxe, however, controlled his anger enough to fool Bibikoff to the top of his bent. He pretended to be ready to surrender; asked for ten days in which to remove his baggage and ammunition—and Bibikoff consented. As a matter of fact, seven days more of work would have made us secure in that place for a year against any force that could be sent against us.
Bibikoff agreed, and actually looked ashamed when Count Saxe stipulated in writing that General Lacy’s signature should be secured before the agreement was binding, for he was not the man to trust to a scoundrel. Bibikoff also consented to that. General Lacy, he said, was two days’ march behind him, and that gave us two days more. Men have done marvels in two days.
We breathed freer. It was by that time near eleven o’clock. The sun takes long to sink in those far northern regions, and it was yet twilight. We dared not129resume our work until it grew darker; there were about four good hours of darkness between sun and sun.
While we were still standing on the terrace we saw a commotion on the mainland, and heard the trampling of many horses’ hoofs, as a body of cavalry appeared on the undulating plain; and there was a darker and more slowly moving mass of foot soldiers behind them.
Our hearts, that had been suddenly raised to heights of joy, sank to depths of woe. Such is war—one moment changes the face of all things. Then we heard the Russian trumpets calling to us again. For the third time that night Gaston Cheverny was sent across the lake. He returned with a letter from General Lacy; for he had overtaken Bibikoff, and was on the heels of him when supposed to be two days’ march behind.
Count Saxe read this letter in the same tower room where he had talked with Bibikoff. General Lacy knew Maurice of Saxe well. He knew that, give him ten days’ time and all the Russians, aided by Satan himself, could not make him surrender. So he wrote that Bibikoff’s arrangement was void; that Count Saxe must retire at daylight; that he, Lacy, declared upon his honor he had four thousand men at hand, and if compelled to attack, no quarter would be given. But Count Saxe was at liberty to retire, with a suite of not more than four persons; and in that case all his people would be paroled and would be allowed their personal arms and effects. General Lacy was a Scotchman, as Madame Riano had said, and was as shrewd as his countrymen generally are. He did not want the custody of Maurice of Saxe—to hold him was like holding a wolf by the130ears; and the best possible means were taken to induce Count Saxe to depart quietly—that threat of no quarter for his followers. Count Saxe read this letter without a change of countenance. In good fortune he was great; in evil fortune he was sublime. He was fleeing from a kingdom where he had expected to rule; he had to meet the laughter of that infernal town of Paris; he had to face, at some time, Monsieur Voltaire; but he was as cool, as smiling, as debonair, as ever I saw him. He merely said to us:
“General Lacy is a man of his word. We may believe all he says. If it were for the cause of honor, well might we all remain here, and die as becomes men. But the cause is the crown of Courland. For that, I can not see brave men put to the sword. I am for surrendering and departing.”
Not a word was spoken by any of us present, but we gave a silent acquiescence. I wrote and Count Saxe signed a few lines accepting General Lacy’s terms, and this was at once despatched.
Count Saxe assembled all of his followers upon the terrace, gave each man a sum of money and appointed a rendezvous in Königsberg. I think there was but one man who did not fully expect to return to Courland the next year in triumph. I was that one man. I had ever believed Count Saxe’s star led him not to statecraft, but to war.
He named me first to go with him, Gaston Cheverny and Beauvais, and, of course, Mademoiselle Capello. He told me to represent to Francezka it would be better for her to assume her boy’s dress on our retreat.
I went to the other end of the terrace, to Francezka’s131tower, and knocked softly on the window. She opened it, and I told her in a few words of our plans. She received my communication without blenching. To tell the truth, anything might well have seemed better to her than imprisonment in that half ruined tower, for that is what it really came to. When I told her she must resume her brown riding suit, she sighed, and her soft, pensive eyes filled with tears; but she made no protest, and said she would be ready to start at any moment. By heaven, she was a soldier!
In the golden dawn of the morning we saw Uzmaiz for the last time. An odorous wind blew from the pine forests. The lake was like molten silver as we pulled across it. Francezka sat silent and composed and beautiful in the boat. She wore her riding suit, and her crimson mantle, which, luckily, was sexless, was wrapped about her. I wondered what eager, tumultuous thoughts were in her mind, for now she was setting forth again, a pilgrim and a wayfarer. But the lives of four men, without fear, stood between her and harm.
132CHAPTER XIA LOST CAUSE
There is something in having a good horse under one which mightily uplifts a weary heart. It is like meat and drink, a consolation that rises in the blood and makes its way to the seat of the soul, which goes soaring. So it was with us on that September morning when we left Uzmaiz. We had been cooped up for over a month on the island, and every moment of our waking time had been full of labor and anxiety. Now, the worst had befallen us; and there is something of relief in the thought that there are no more bolts to fall. I believe that Count Saxe carried no delusions away from Uzmaiz. He did not at once give up his cause as lost, but I think he saw the game was not worth the winning. But for courage and smiling patience, one might have thought he had won the day, instead of being driven out, like a vagrant dog, from a strange fireside.
We mounted, and set forth in the dewy morning—the Russians civil enough, but General Lacy keeping out of sight for very shame at Bibikoff’s conduct, with which he was perfectly well acquainted. They gave us good horses. Count Saxe rode ahead, with Mademoiselle Capello, Gaston Cheverny and me following, and Beauvais133behind. Gaston Cheverny had a portmanteau strapped to his saddle, and in it was a treasure most precious to Francezka—her woman’s clothes. I had one equally valued by Count Saxe—his rescript of election by the Diet to the crown of Courland. I hid it between my skin and my shirt. For Francezka’s clothes and Count Saxe’s rescript we were ready to be hanged, drowned, or shot.
Count Saxe meant to make leisurely for our rendezvous at Königsberg. There was no need for rapid travel, as our three hundred and odd men could not reach there for some days after us, as they had to make the entire distance on foot. For ourselves, the presence of Mademoiselle Capello necessarily delayed us, for although hardy for a woman, she could by no means make a day’s ride like old campaigners such as we were.
Almost from the first hour of our journey Francezka began to importune Count Saxe to get her a woman’s saddle and let her resume her own dress. To this Count Saxe soon agreed, Francezka pleading with wet eyes and quivering lips, as if for her life. In truth, her disguise was very incomplete; her long hair, her every look and motion betrayed her sex.
When Francezka had carried this point her spirits rose. She dismounted joyfully at the first roadside inn, and disappearing as a very pretty boy, came out again, as Mademoiselle Capello, her rich locks curled and plaited, and her beloved laced hat, which had cost her so many tears, anxieties and palpitations, set upon her graceful head. Our complications with regard to her would end as soon as we reached Königsberg. Once134there it would be easy to make suitable arrangements for her, and until then she was the charge of us all, any one of whom would have laid down his life for her.
Thanks to the smallness of our party, no one suspected who we were. Count Saxe, from motives of prudence, gave himself out as Count Moritz. The weather was sunny, although the September air was sharp, but that only made our blood leap the faster. The roads were good, and the country far from tedious. Our road led us for a time toward the Baltic Sea, whose loud booming we could sometimes hear in the midnight silences.
We were seven days upon the road to Königsberg. They were not the unhappiest days of my life, for I was enabled to do something for Francezka. She turned to me for help in many of those small needs of a woman. It was agreed, when she resumed her own dress, that the best thing to do was to say she was a young lady of rank, accidentally separated from her family and going to meet them at Königsberg. This, and the extreme respect with which we treated her, secured her from the unpleasant comment of the vulgar. Beauvais always served her in her room at the inns where we stopped, and I think, on the whole, she made the journey with ease of mind and comfort of body.
On the seventh evening, toward sunset, we rode into Königsberg, across the new bridge, and up to the best inn of the town, The Rose. And as we rode through the narrow streets, with their tall gabled houses, and into the courtyard of the inn, we saw there the welcomest sight our eyes could have rested on—the traveling chaise135of Madame Riano, with old Peter on the box, and Madame Riano herself descending from the chaise. And she was assisted by Regnard Cheverny!
Francezka uttered a cry of joy when she recognized Madame Riano, sprang from her horse before any one of us could give her a hand, and ran to her; then laying her head upon Madame Riano’s arm, burst into tears, but not tears of pain. Madame Riano held her close and kissed her. I think the two were at heart passionately attached to each other. I saw tears also in Madame Riano’s handsome, intrepid, tawny eyes, and her usually loud and determined voice broke when she thanked Count Saxe for his goodness to Mademoiselle Capello.
I was staggered at the sight of Regnard Cheverny, having thought him many hundreds of leagues away; but there he was, in the life, and as handsome and debonair a young gentleman as one would wish to see. He and Gaston embraced with unusual affection even for brothers. Whatever their rivalry might be, there could be no question that each bore love for the other.
Francezka having recovered a little from her agitation, Regnard came forward to greet her, and I saw that in his eye which showed me that he had traveled from Paris to Königsberg for the sight of her. Gaston showed his admiration more openly.
We went into the inn, were shown the best room, and then exchanged the story of our adventures. As Gaston surmised, the Russians had not meant to be very severe on Madame Riano, and after detaining her a month at a small village not far from Mitau had let her go. Holding Madame Riano was as I have said of136Count Saxe—it was the holding of a wolf by the ears. Meanwhile, Regnard Cheverny had arrived at Mitau, and hearing of the lady’s mishaps, went to her, in the little town where she was under nominal surveillance. Madame Riano, with her usual acuteness had pitched upon Königsberg as the likeliest place to await news from Francezka, for she had found out that Count Saxe was at Uzmaiz, and concluded that Francezka was there or in that neighborhood. And so, all had fallen out fortunately, and here we were, with whole skins, sitting at ease at the inn, and like all people who have passed through agitating times, disposed to rejoice in our present peace.
Almost the first thing Francezka, womanlike, asked of Madame Riano was, whether she had saved their boxes. This, madame had been fortunate enough to do. Francezka, with sparkling eyes, called her maid, Elizabeth—an elderly woman, sister of Peter, and who seemed as happy to see her as was Madame Riano—and the two disappeared together. When Francezka came out again she was dressed in a robe of pale blue stuff, with a gauze kerchief folded across her beautiful white neck, and looked like a rose in bloom. No wonder neither of the Chevernys could keep his eyes from her!
Supper was served in Madame Riano’s room, and we were a merry party, for runaways. Madame Riano was more considerate of Count Saxe than I had ever known her to be before, and indulged in no flouts or gibes. We sang at table, according to the French custom, and Gaston Cheverny, who was easily master of us all in that craft, sang a song of the Cardinal de Rohan and137sang it with meaning in his voice—a meaning which brought deep blushes to Francezka’s cheek, a scowl to Regnard Cheverny’s face, and smiles to the rest of us.
There was an ancient and rickety harpsichord in the room, on which mademoiselle played with much skill, and with a dainty hand. Then Madame Riano made us all sing Jacobite songs, joining in herself, with a voice like the rasping of a saw, and forcing us all to rise and pay royal honors to the name of Prince Charles Edward Stuart; and the evening went cheerfully, with music and pleasant conversation.
When mademoiselle had retired, Madame Riano called a council of war. The first thing to settle was the matter of the ransom of ten thousand crowns. Gaston Cheverny, like a youngster of spirit, talked as if ten thousand crowns was a mere bagatelle, although we all knew it was enough to swallow up his whole estate. He would pay it all—yes, he would—and would run any man through who dared hint anything else. Madame Riano, however, and Count Saxe, getting him between them, fairly intimidated him, and he was finally brought to consent, sulky and fuming, to paying only one-half of the money, the other half being due, by common honesty, from Mademoiselle Capello’s great estates. Count Saxe meant, of course, to make the payment of Gaston’s part as easy as possible to him. This point settled, Madame Riano proposed that we should travel together through Germany, and on reaching Brabant we should stop and rest ourselves for a month before going to Paris.
“For,” she said to Count Saxe, “let them in Paris get done with their lampooning and verses and jokes upon138you, Maurice of Saxe. I wager that long-legged, lightning-eyed Voltaire will have something to say about you, before you get to Paris. But give those Paris people one month, and they will forget all about you.”
To which, Count Saxe, grinding his teeth, was obliged to agree. It was certainly true that Arouet, the notary’s son, would crack some of his infernal jokes upon our unhappy expedition. Then Madame Riano urged us to stop at Capello, which was directly upon our road from Brussels to Paris. Mademoiselle Capello, from the time she had first fallen into our hands, had never ceased to picture the pleasure she would one day have of our company at her château of Capello, and so Count Saxe thankfully accepted Madame Riano’s invitation. Gaston Cheverny’s house, a simple manor house, was in sight of the château of Capello, as Gaston had told us many times, while Castle Haret, which Regnard had so cleverly acquired, was some distance away.
We spent four days in Königsberg before the remainder of our poor fellows caught up with us. Count Saxe, on their arrival, harangued them, and promised to take them all into his service at Paris, where he proposed to buy a regiment. He gave them their wages and something handsome besides, provided the officers with money and horses, and they took their several ways, to meet at Paris the first of the year 1728.
Königsberg is a quaint place—I have seen few quainter in my time. It was explored thoroughly by Madame Riano, Mademoiselle Capello, and the two Chevernys. Regnard’s errand became plainer every day, but plainly, also, it was not well received by Francezka.139She had the art, in a remarkable degree, of combining perfect civility with the most discouraging coldness. I have often noticed that women need but little training or experience in the way of treating men. They seem to divine it all. This young girl had already mastered the whole art of managing the other sex, and she had scarcely passed her sixteenth birthday. She seemed to graduate her kindness by a novel rule. She was most sweet to me in words and looks, calling me her good Babache. To Gaston Cheverny, a younger brother, and by no means so great in estate and consideration as Regnard Cheverny, she was next in kindness. While to Regnard, who declared his passion for her in every look, she was smilingly distant, cool and radiant, like a full moon on a December night.
On the fifth day after our arrival in Königsberg we set out on our long journey toward Brabant. Madame Riano and Mademoiselle Capello, with their two waiting maids, were in the traveling chaise, with old Peter on the box. Sometimes we could get a good saddle horse for Mademoiselle Capello and then she often did the whole day’s travel on horseback. Count Saxe, the Chevernys and I were the escort, with Beauvais and Regnard Cheverny’s servant behind.
The season was remarkably fine, and we made the journey in extreme comfort. How wise it is, when one has had an irreparable loss, to prescribe travel as a means of resting the tired heart! The ever present necessities of the hour, the quick and constant changes, the dangers—for there are many dangers on the highways of the kingdoms—the good or bad inn which awaits one—all these small things fill up a great horizon.140All the politics of Europe sank into nothing when it became a question of supper and beds at the end of a hard day’s journey.
Madame Riano proved herself, as always, to have a basis of good sense, and much liberality. She never haggled over anything, albeit she was a Scot; was good-humored generally, or if ill-humored was diverting to everybody except the victim of her wrath. I noticed she was much less dictatorial to Mademoiselle Capello than one would expect; and I shrewdly suspected that Madame Riano knew Francezka was of a nature not to be driven, and chose rather to abate some of her arrogance before this young girl. One thing was plain: Mademoiselle Capello assumed all the honors of the chatelaine of her Brabant château, and gave us to understand that she was mistress there,de factoif notde jure; for she would not become actual mistress of her estates or herself until her eighteenth birthday. Madame Riano, talking once with Count Saxe and me in the garden of an inn, on a pleasant morning, before it was time to start, told us some particulars of these matters.
“My niece and all her estates were left in my charge by my brother—God rest his soul. And I think neither has been mismanaged. But the Kirkpatricks are all given sense to manage themselves at a very early age—God having decreed it so. And especially is this true with Francezka. Seeing her bent on managing herself, at least, I have withdrawn some of my authority, for it is better that she should know what responsibility means, before herself and her fortune lie in her own hand. I am much mistaken if the chit does not spend141a good part of her time speculating on what she will do when she is her own mistress absolutely. My brother, in his will, recommended his daughter not to marry for at least two years after reaching her majority, and she professes to regard this as a solemn command. Oh, she means to have a fling or two, before she puts her head in the marriage noose! So, I am in control of my niece, very much as you, Count Saxe, are Duke of Courland: we both have the papers—that is, if Babache still has your rescript under his shirt, but neither one of us could precisely enforce our authority.”
This was the only gibe Madame Riano threw at us during the whole journey.
Often, when Mademoiselle Capello rode, she called me to her side. Gaston Cheverny was satisfied at this, reckoning me, and truly, as his friend. Regnard, on the contrary, was ill-pleased. Yet he showed excellent temper and judgment, always. It was to be a long chase, that of Mademoiselle Capello; and Regnard’s qualities, persistence, cheerfulness under defeat, and airy, indomitable spirit, often tell in the end.
142CHAPTER XIIONLY THE SUNNY HOURS
In those days of riding together along sunny highways, through wild forests, and upon barren moorlands, Mademoiselle Capello came to speak to me with the charming frankness that was a part of her nature. Madame Riano was right in saying that much of Francezka’s time was spent in speculation upon what she should do when she had a perfectly free hand. It was impossible for it to be otherwise, or that she should fail to be a little intoxicated at the splendid vista opening before her—youth, beauty, great riches and liberty, such as no French woman knew. Outwardly, Francezka was a French woman; inwardly, she was quite unlike a French woman. That mixture of Scotch and Spanish blood is a hot and riotous brew. But she was ever lofty, pure of heart, and with that modicum of strong Scotch sense that marked Madame Riano.
Francezka could but see the devotion of the two Chevernys to her. She quietly disregarded Regnard, and though it was plain that Gaston had touched her fancy, if not her heart, she sometimes gave herself the airs of a princess toward him, which Gaston hotly resented; the more so, as her fortune would seem to put her out of his reach. This invariably ended by Francezka’s143bringing the whole battery of her smiles and even her tears to bear on him, so that he was obliged to make an unconditional surrender.
The resemblance between the Chevernys had grown stronger, as Gaston lost his boyish look and became more the man of the world. The rest of us often mistook one for the other of them, coming upon them in dark places, or at a little distance; and sometimes by changing clothes and horses, they diverted themselves at our expense; but Francezka always knew them apart, and never once mistook one for the other.
Old Peter seemed to feel a secret grudge against Regnard Cheverny for acquiring Castle Haret. The old serving-man’s devotion to Jacques Haret was touching.
“Sometimes it is years that I do not see him,” he said to me; “but always, when I do, it is the same greeting—‘Well, Peter, my man, here is your old master’s son,’ and a real embrace, such as gentlefolk give each other.”
“And if you happen to have any money about you, do you not hand it over to Jacques Haret?” I asked.
Peter started, looked at me suspiciously and relapsed into sullen silence. I made no doubt that these few careless words of kindness and that condescending embrace were paid for in good, round, solid, yellow gold pieces, for Peter got good wages and was saving of them.
He talked with me often about his niece, Lisa, and told me a pitiful tale of having brought up two of Lisa’s sisters—beautiful, unstable creatures, who might have married well, in their own humble class, but who144went to the bad, each before her eighteenth year. The saddest part of it was that this old man reproached himself continually with some fancied carelessness on his part, that had driven these girls to ruin. But I believe the only fault he could reproach himself with was the same spirit of uncalculating devotion which had made him help Francezka in her escapade in the open-air theater, and made him hand over his humble wages to that rascal, Jacques Haret. Whenever I taxed him with this, he feebly denied the gift, calling it a loan; but loans to the Jacques Harets of this world are compulsory gifts.
Of Lisa, however, all good things were expected. He was never weary of telling me of her goodness, her gentleness, the impossibility that she should follow the road after her sisters. She was not, like them, fatally gifted with beauty. She was not beautiful at all, old Peter said. And he had kept her secluded in Brabant instead of taking her with him to Paris. The old man’s longing to see this girl, whom he had not seen for two years, was enough to make one weep.
And so we fared along, through North Germany, with its shaggy forests, its wild moors, its rugged mountains, into the softer air of South Germany, of well-tilled fields, handsome towns, bright-flowing rivers, its castles and country houses, until we reached the Rhine country. Thence we followed the great river until we came opposite Coblenz, where we crossed, and the town being pleasant, and the weather continuing clear and mild, we spent some days of rest and pleasure.
Count Saxe also wished to get a chance to study the great rock fortress on the other side of the river. He145still passed as Count Moritz—he was not looking for company then. As there were many officers about, it was far from certain that he could preserve his incognito, but, by great good fortune, he was not recognized.
On a misty evening—we were to leave Coblenz on the morrow—as I stood watching the fiercely flowing river, and the rich vine country around it, I saw an apparition—Jacques Haret. What he was doing in Coblenz, I neither knew nor cared. He came up, greeted me with effusion, and asked me if Count Saxe was going to visit his brother, the King of France, as Henry of England had visited Francis the First—and this with a grin which was most distasteful to me. I desired to fling the fellow into the ditch near-by, but I have lived long enough in this world not to provoke a battle with a wit, if I can help it. So, I referred him to Count Saxe for information; and even Jacques Haret dared not bell the Saxe cat. I turned to go to the inn where Count Saxe and his party were lodged, and Jacques Haret accompanied me, as if I had invited him.
When we reached the inn, it was near supper time, and leaving him very unceremoniously, I went to Count Saxe. He was about to join Madame Riano at supper in her rooms, for we usually dined and supped as one party, and we proceeded thither. Madame Riano, Francezka and the two Chevernys awaited us. The cloth was laid, and by accident, so it seemed, Peter had put an additional place at the table. I mentioned that I had come across Jacques Haret, for I made no doubt the fellow would intrude himself upon us, and I wished to prepare Mademoiselle Capello for146his advent. By my advice and Gaston Cheverny’s, she had not mentioned to Madame Riano her acting in Jacques Haret’s company in the garden. There was no telling to what heights Madame Riano’s wrath might rise; she would be capable of wringing Jacques Haret’s neck if she had a good mind to, and as the thing was not suspected by any except a few persons who had seen the last performance, it was undoubtedly best to keep it quiet.
Francezka blushed a little at the mention of Jacques Haret’s name. She was fully sensible of her folly and danger in acting in his company, but the follies of a young girl of fourteen are easily excused. Scarcely had I spoken of Jacques Haret, when the door opened and the gentleman himself appeared. He had come to pay his respects to Madame Riano, to tell her the latest news of Paris, and, incidentally, to get his supper. I understood why old Peter had put the extra place at the table.
Jacques was better dressed than usual, and, as always, handsome and at his ease. Madame Riano, who had ever a sneaking tolerance for the fellow, received him civilly, as did the others present. Jacques Haret speedily made it known that he had a whole budget of Paris news, but would by no means tell one single item, until Madame Riano, driven thereto by a raging curiosity, invited him to join us at supper. Madame Riano could not forbear asking him. Jacques accepted with the finest air in the world, seated himself with us and unfolded his napkin. Old Peter’s face shone with joy, and his usually melancholy eyes were full of delight.
Once certain of a good supper, with excellent wine,147Jacques Haret opened his bundle of news. He told us everything that had happened at Versailles. Old Cardinal Fleury’s fall from power was much to Jacques Haret’s relief, and the cardinal’s successor, Jacques thought, would make no trouble about his coming to Paris, and if he were clapped in prison, there would be at least alettre de cachetand the Bastille, as became a gentleman and a remote connection of the Kirkpatricks, and not the common prison of Paris; at which Madame Riano desired Peter to see that Monsieur Haret’s glass was kept filled. The king was getting tired of being virtuous, Jacques told us, and now the cardinal was out of the way, we might look for some gay doings. Mademoiselle Lecouvreur was winning all hearts as ever at the Comédie Française, but her health was visibly breaking. My master questioned him closely on this point and found, as usual, Jacques Haret knew what he was talking about. Monsieur Voltaire was still in England, but he was expected to return to Paris shortly, his exile being reckoned at an end. I made no doubt privately that the creature would be on hand in plenty of time to write some pasquinades about my master.
Many other things Jacques Haret told us; and for people who have once lived in Paris and have been away for a year and a half, it may be supposed there was much we wished to hear—I, least of all, because I always thought Paris a diabolical sort of place, and expected to like it none the better for what it would have to say about Count Saxe’s expedition to Courland.
Jacques was good-humoredly polite to Mademoiselle Francezka, who was a little embarrassed in his company.148The two Chevernys regarded him with the tolerance of youth for an entertaining fellow, and he seemed to have neither grudge nor envy of Regnard Cheverny’s possession of Castle Haret.
We sat late, and, before we parted, Jacques Haret had arranged to travel with us, riding one of theleadhorses. I knew not how it came about, but the whole company submitted, as always, to being taxed for Jacques Haret’s benefit. And, as he had got a horse out of somebody, I made no doubt he would get his tavern bills paid and perhaps a complete new outfit by the same sort of diplomacy.
Next morning we resumed our journey. Francezka, that day, rode a-horseback. She had not much fancy for Jacques Haret’s society, as soon as her appetite for news was satisfied, so one or the other of the Chevernys rode with her the whole day.
From the Rhine at Coblenz to Brussels is a short and easy road, and from thence we entered that rich country of Brabant, which famine never touches, which war can not ruin, and which is always fruitful and blessed of Heaven. And at last, on a fair October afternoon, we came within sight of the château of Capello.
For the last stage or two, Francezka had been so eager to get forward that her spirit far outran her body. Old Peter had been sent ahead to make the château ready for company. Mademoiselle Capello took horse on that last day, and choosing me to ride with her, galloped furiously ahead. Regnard Cheverny had no mind to be left behind, and he joined us. For once, Francezka was openly rude to him. She checked her horse and turning to him said, in that soft and insinuating149tone with which she veiled all of her impertinences:
“Monsieur, will you kindly ride back and ask your brother, Monsieur Gaston, to give me the pleasure of his company?”
No man could disguise his choler better than Regnard Cheverny, but that he was angry, his eyes and his face showed. He replied, however, with much smoothness, to her:
“Mademoiselle, I am the poorest hand in the world at delivering messages from a lady to a gentleman. I always forget them, or get them wrong. So, I will ride back, but if you wish my brother’s company, you will be compelled to find another messenger.”
And he rode back.
Francezka turned to me, her face sparkling with smiles. Our horses were at a standstill on the highway, the chaise and the rest of the party a good mile behind us already.
“Good Babache, was I not clever to get rid of him?” she said.
“Very clever, Mademoiselle,” I said. “But why should you choose to get rid of him? He is a well-appearing man, of great accomplishments, and good estate. Why were you so severe with him?”
“Do you really wish to know why?” She moved her horse up close to me so she could whisper in my ear. “Because he is always seeking my company; and because, in truth, I have more than enough of his now.”
“Is that ground for ill-treating a man?” I asked.
“Assuredly, if a woman mislikes him as I mislike Monsieur Regnard Cheverny.”