In the carriage Agatha related to her mistress what had occurred after her disappearance from La Haye. How she had sent Père Louchet with the message to Gaillard at Paris, and then had followed on to Tours and discovered where her mistress was imprisoned. Tournay and Gaillard, coming post haste to Tours, had reached there on the same day that saw the transfer of Mademoiselle de Rochefort to the prison-ship upon the Loire. Together with Agatha, they had formulated a plan of rescue and put it into immediate execution.
The two men had approached the vessel in a small skiff on the river, while Agatha had awaited them in a carriage on the other side. The moving of the prison ship down the river might have disconcerted their plans had not the watchful Agatha seen the movement, and following along the shore reached them when they had almost succumbed from the exposure and cold.
The carriage was a commodious one and well equipped for the long journey, and in a few minutes Agatha had her mistress in a change of warm clothing. As soon as Edmé was able, she bade Agatha call Tournay to the carriage door.
"Thanks are a small return for what you have done," she said as he rode by her side, "yet they are all I have to give." Then she stretched her hand out to him with an impulsive gesture,—"Robert Tournay, I misjudged you when you were last at La Thierry. Will you forgive it?"
It was the first time she had spoken to him as one addresses an equal, and it moved him greatly. He leaned forward and took the hand she gave him, looking down at her with a smile that lit up his face, as he said:—
"Mademoiselle, I forgave the words you spoke as soon as they were uttered. It is happiness enough to know that I have saved you." Before he released it, he thought he felt the hand in his tremble a little.
The remembrance flashed through her mind, how, years before, she had once noticed Tournay's manly bearing as he rode into the château-court upon a spirited horse. She had at that time thought him handsome, with an air about him superior to his station, and then had dismissed him from her thoughts. As he rode before her now, the water still dripping from his clothing, hatless, with damp locks clinging to his forehead, she thought she had never looked upon a nobler figure among all the gentlemen who in the old days frequented the château of the baron, her father.
"Where are we going?" she asked, with more emotion than such a simple question warranted.
"To the German frontier," was the reply. "We must travel rapidly night and day. I shall hardly dare to stop for rest until you are safely over the border."
"I leave myself in your charge," she said, leaning back in the carriage.
He gave a word of command and the coach rushed forward through the night.
Tournay's words had recalled vividly to Edmé her unhappy situation. Although innocent of all crime, she was proscribed and forced to fly from her own country to take refuge among those who were invading it. And the man who rode by the side of her carriage, and had undertaken to convey her in safety across the border, was a soldier, fighting for the government that persecuted her. Laying her head upon Agatha's shoulder she felt her heart swell with bitterness. For hours, during which Agatha imagined that she slept, she watched in silence through the window the dark outlines of the swiftly moving landscape. Finally long after Agatha's regular breathing announced her slumber, Edmé, worn out by the excitement and fatigue, leaned back in the opposite corner and slept like a tired child.
For five days the coach rolled toward the frontier, Tournay and Gaillard riding on horseback.
Through Blois, Orleans, Arcis sur-Aube to Bar-le-Duc and on toward Metz they went, stopping only to exchange their worn-out horses for fresh ones, and for such few hours of rest as were absolutely indispensable.
During all the journey, Tournay saw little of Mademoiselle de Rochefort, although her comfort and her safety were his constant care. The passport with which he was provided prevented all delay; and it was thought best that mademoiselle should remain as secluded in the carriage as possible. When she did step out for a breath of air or a few hours' rest at some inn she always wore a veil to hide her features. Whenever he approached her to inform her as to the route they traveled he always did so with the greatest deference, showing marked solicitude for her health and comfort; expressing deep regret that the nature of their journey rendered the great speed imperative.
One afternoon as they crossed the little stream of the Sarre, Tournay, who had been riding some fifty yards in advance, drew rein and waited for the carriage to come up to him.
"In an hour, mademoiselle," he said, as in obedience to his signal the vehicle drew up by the roadside, "we shall be across the frontier, and in Germany. At Hagenhof resides the Baron von Waldenmeer, who I think is known to you as your father's friend."
"He was one of my father's friends," Mademoiselle Edmé acquiesced.
"I remember having often heard his name mentioned at La Thierry," said Tournay. "So I took this direction rather than further south, which would have been somewhat shorter. A few hours will bring us to Hagenhof, where you will be able to put yourself under the baron's protection."
"And you?" inquired Edmé, "what are you going to do?"
"I shall return to France."
The armies of Prussia and Austria, three hundred thousand strong, were drawing in on France, to help to crush out the Republic and restore the old régime.
The Baron von Waldenmeer's division was already on the frontier, quartered at Falzenberg—waiting for other troops to come up before joining the Austrian army at Wissembourg, near which the French had concentrated a large force.
On a cold December afternoon two batteries of Prussian heavy artillery were proceeding through the wood on the road going east from Inweiler, whence they had been sent to join the main body of troops at Falzenberg. It was snowing and at five o'clock darkness was already settling down on the woodland road. Over the snow-carpeted leaves the wheels of the gun carriages rolled almost noiselessly.
"Paff," growled Lieutenant Saueraugen, wiping the flakes from his eyelashes for the twentieth time, as he thought of the hot sausages at that moment being devoured in the mess-room at Falzenberg, and ten miles between it and him. "A pest on such weather and such slow progress! at this rate we shall not be at Falzenberg before midnight."
"Donnerwetter!what is this?" he cried with his next breath, as along the road that crossed from the north came a two-horse carriage at a rapid gait. The driver of the vehicle saw the battery on the other road, and tried to check the speed of his horses. The rider on the nigh leader of the caisson whirled his horse to the left, but it received the carriage pole on the right foreleg and went to the ground, dragging its mate with it. Then followed a snorting of frightened animals and a rattling of harness, flavored with the shouts and oaths of the lieutenant and his men as they tried to bring order out of the entanglement.
Two men on horseback rode up from behind the carriage, and with their assistance the fallen horses were brought to their feet and the broken harness repaired.
"Who the devil are you that tear through these woods like this?" demanded the German, examining the abrasure on the leader's leg. "Come, give account of yourselves." The two riders had remounted and seemed anxious to be off.
"We are bound for Hagenhof," replied one of them. "We are in a great hurry, and regret this accident, for which we are entirely to blame. Name the amount which you think a proper compensation for your injured horse and broken harness and we will gladly pay it."
He had spoken in German and in the easy, careless manner of one who deemed the matter too trivial to be the cause of any controversy.
"You are French!" exclaimed the lieutenant, looking at the party closely.
"We are," replied the man who had spoken before.
"You must accompany me to Falzenberg," said the German officer, "and interview the general there."
"What does he say?" inquired the second Frenchman of his companion.
"Come, you had best not chatter your French before me," put in the surly lieutenant, as one of the Frenchmen proceeded to interpret to the other. "You may be spies for all I know, but that we shall find out when we get to Falzenberg."
The dark eyes of the second Frenchman looked inquiringly at his comrade. The other again translated the officer's words.
"We are most unfortunate, Gaillard, to have fallen in with this imbecile," was the reply.
"My friend commends your prudence and judgment," repeated the interpreter, his mouth widening and showing his white teeth, "and desires me to tell you that we have important business at Hagenhof. If you will send us there under an escort, we shall be able to prove that we are not spying upon the movement of your troops."
The lieutenant scowled. "Can so few words of your language stand for all that in German?" he demanded.
The Frenchman laughed lightly as he replied, "Our language is very flexible."
"So perhaps may be your necks," said the officer brutally, a suspicion entering his mind that he was being laughed at. "But you must come with me to Falzenberg, and there's an end of it."
"Why not to Hagenhof?" persisted Gaillard with perfect good-humor.
"To Falzenberg!" roared the Prussian officer, swearing roundly, "and before we start, let me see what sort of freight you are carrying along the road." He approached the carriage with the intention of opening the door.
Tournay wheeled his horse between him and the coach with a suddenness that made the German jump aside to avoid being trodden upon by the animal.
"We are going to General von Waldenmeer at Hagenhof," he said, speaking his own language, "and if you prevent or delay our journey you may rue it."
The lieutenant, infuriated at this interference, caught Tournay's horse by the bridle with one hand, while the other flew to his belt; but the mention of General von Waldenmeer's name and the ring of decision in the speaker's voice caused him to pause.
"General von Waldenmeer at Hagenhof," repeated Tournay slowly and distinctly, as if he were speaking to a person of defective hearing.
"Who is making so free with the name of Waldenmeer?" cried a voice in the French tongue but with a strong German accent; and half a dozen Prussian officers came riding out of the wood, the fresh-fallen snow flying from the evergreen branches like white down as their horses drove through them.
They circled round the group by the carriage, drawing their animals up with a suddenness that threw them on their haunches.
"Who is it that claims the friendship of von Waldenmeer?" repeated one of the number, this time speaking in German. He was a young man about twenty-two, with short, dark red hair, and a small mustache. He rode a black horse that pranced and curvetted nervously.
"These people, my colonel," said the lieutenant, growing suddenly polite. "I was about to tell them"—
"Never mind what you were about to tell them, Lieutenant Saueraugen," replied the colonel haughtily, "but inform me as briefly as possible what has occurred."
Confused by the thought that possibly he had been rude to friends of General von Waldenmeer, the lieutenant stammered through a recital which was far from clear.
While the lieutenant was speaking, the young Prussian colonel was slapping his boot sharply with his riding-whip, or checking the impatient pawing of his horse.
"Potstausend!" he exclaimed, interrupting the unhappy lieutenant in the middle of his story. "I cannot make head or tail of your account, Saueraugen. Broken harness, and French spies, closed carriage, and injured horses." Then, turning to Tournay, he addressed him in French:—
"I understand you are on your way to find General von Waldenmeer,—he is in the field, quartered at present at Falzenberg. You can accompany me there."
"We are bound for General von Waldenmeer's castle at Hagenhof," replied Tournay politely, "and with your permission we will proceed there."
"Do you know the general?" inquired the Prussian colonel.
"I have not that honor."
"I am his son, Karl von Waldenmeer, and I think it would be best for you to accompany me to Falzenberg, where I am going to join my father."
"Perhaps if the baroness is still at Hagenhof it would better suit the inclination of the lady whom I escort, Mademoiselle de Rochefort, to go forward rather than be compelled to go to Falzenberg."
Colonel von Waldenmeer sat in thought during the long space, for him, of five seconds. "I think you would better come with me as far as Falzenberg," he said.
"As you command," answered Tournay.
"Did I understand you to say that the occupant of that carriage was a Mademoiselle de Rochefort?" asked the young von Waldenmeer, as Tournay spoke aside to Gaillard.
"Yes."
"What is the nature of your business with the baron my father?" was the next question, abruptly put.
"Will you permit me to discuss that with the baron himself?"
"As you will," answered the Prussian colonel with hauteur. Then turning to the group of officers who had sat motionless upon their horses, he said:—
"Gentlemen, you will please accompany this carriage to Falzenberg. Lieutenant Saueraugen, bring up your batteries with all possible speed and report to me. Franz von Shiffen, you will please come with me." He gave his black charger a slight touch with the spur, the spirited animal sprang forward, and he was seen galloping down the road, with Franz von Shiffen riding hotly after him.
Baron von Waldenmeer, general of the division of the Rhine, was seated with a beer mug before him and his pipe freshly lit, enjoying his evening smoke, when word was brought to him that the party of Frenchmen, encountered by his son and some other members of his staff on the road from Inweiler, had arrived at Falzenberg, and was now awaiting his pleasure in the room below. His son, who had come in some time before, had told him of the incident of the meeting.
The baron blew a cloud of smoke out of his capacious mouth.
"Show the entire party up here at once. We can then hear their story and decide as to the probability of it. You, Karl, send word to General von Scrappenhauer that I shall have to defer our party of Skat for an hour. Ludwig, have your father's beer mug replenished. Would you have his throat become like the bed of a dried-up stream? And now send up your Frenchmen; I am waiting for them."
Ludwig von Waldenmeer, who was the picture of his younger brother Karl, except that he was heavier in build and larger of girth, passed the beer flagon from his end of the table to his father.
Karl gave a few commands to an orderly, then took a seat by the general's side. The latter was a man of about sixty. Around his shining bald pate was a fringe of grizzled hair that had once been red. His mustache was a bristling, scrubby brush of the same color. Although not of great height he was broad of chest and still broader about the waistband; and even in his lightest boots he rode in the saddle at two hundred pounds.
An orderly opened the door and ushered in the four French travelers. Mademoiselle de Rochefort entered first. She paused for a moment at the sight of a room full of officers. Then she took a few steps into the room and stood awaiting the baron's command. The baron took one look at the figure before him, then rose suddenly to his feet and came toward her; the other officers took the signal and rose from their places at the table and stood beside their chairs.
"You are the daughter of Honoré de Rochefort. One has no need to ask the question, it is answered by your face." And General von Waldenmeer took Edmé by the hand and led her to a seat by his side. Agatha kept at her mistress's elbow like a faithful guardian.
Tournay and Gaillard, travel-stained and splashed with mud from head to foot, remained standing by the door.
"If you have come, as I surmise, to find in Prussia a home denied you by your native land, let me say that nowhere will you find a warmer welcome than under the roof of von Waldenmeer," and the general put her hand to his lips.
"I have come," she replied, "to find a refuge from the persecution which follows me in my own unhappy country. Thanks to the devotion of these friends," and she turned toward Tournay with a look of gratitude, "I have been able to reach here in safety, to throw myself upon your protection, and to ask your advice as to my future movements."
"If you will pardon this reception in a rough soldier's camp, mademoiselle, and can put up with such poor accommodation as this house affords, to-morrow you shall be escorted on to Hagenhof, where my wife will receive you as one of her own daughters." And he bent over her hand for the second time.
This unusual show of gallantry on the part of their general caused Franz von Shippen to place his hand before his mouth to hide a smile, while Ludwig von Waldenmeer looked up at the ceiling.
"Franz," called out the general, "interview the good lady whose house we occupy and see that the best room she has is prepared for Mademoiselle de Rochefort. Ludwig, to-morrow you shall have the honor of escorting this lady to Hagenhof. There you shall be welcome, mademoiselle, as long as you choose to honor us with your company. But rest assured it will not be long before your own country will be rescued from the miscreants who are devouring it. All Europe is in arms to avenge outraged royalty; the Prussian army of two hundred thousand men is now prepared to march on Paris. With us are thousands of your own nobility. We make common cause against anarchy and murder. We shall not rest until we have restored the monarchy and chastised these insolent Republicans."
Edmé looked quickly in the direction of Tournay, fearful lest the baron's words should stir him to make a reply, but he and Gaillard stood listening imperturbably. From their quiet and unobtrusive demeanor the general had taken them for servants of Mademoiselle de Rochefort and had not given them a second look.
"But you are fatigued, mademoiselle," said von Waldenmeer. "To-morrow morning will be a more fitting time to discuss your affairs. The good hausfrau by this time is preparing your quarters. I will conduct you to them. Your followers will be comfortably cared for outside."
Edmé, glad of an opportunity to escape further conversation, was about to thank the general for his permission to retire to her room, when the outer door opened and a number of French noblemen, officers of the general's staff, entered the room.
Among them was the Marquis de Lacheville. His quick roving eye caught sight of Edmé instantly. He stopped in the middle of a conversation with a companion and looked over his shoulder hastily as if he would retrace his steps without attracting attention; but it was too late. The deep voice of General von Waldenmeer sounded in his ears.
"Ah, here are some of your brave countrymen, mademoiselle, who deem it no disgrace to serve under the flag of Prussia in order to reconquer the throne for their rightful sovereign."
The door behind de Lacheville was closed by the Count de Beaujeu, who was the last to enter, and the marquis, drawing a deep breath between his set teeth, stepped forward as one who suddenly resolves to take a desperate chance.
"Cousin Edmé!" he exclaimed, coming up to where she was seated and endeavoring to take her hand. "Thank Heaven you have escaped!"
"Yes, I am in a place of safety, thanks to a brave gentleman," she replied, drawing back her hand. "But do not call me cousin. I ceased to be your kinswoman when you deserted me at Rochefort. There are no cowards of our blood." And she turned from him with a look of unutterable contempt as if he were too mean an object to deserve her passing notice. She had spoken in a low voice, yet so distinctly that all in the room heard what she had said. A murmur of surprise ran round the entire group of officers. The marquis drew back under the rebuff, his face deadly pale, while he darted at Edmé a look of hatred as if he could have killed her.
"What's that?" roared the general as soon as he could master his astonishment. "One of my aides a coward?"
De Lacheville gave a quick glance around the room, as a hunted man, brought suddenly to bay, might seek some weapon to defend himself. As he caught sight of Tournay, his eyes gleamed wickedly.
"This mad girl," he exclaimed, pointing to Mademoiselle de Rochefort as soon as he could control his voice, "was once my affianced bride, but she has found a mate better suited to her liking. She has been traveling with him throughout France, and now she seeks to extenuate her own conduct by slandering me, whom she has wronged."
"If you are not the coward mademoiselle has called you, you will answer to me for that lie," said Tournay, throwing Gaillard's restraining hand off from his arm and advancing toward the marquis threateningly.
De Lacheville drew back. He remembered the duel in the woods at La Thierry. He looked again into the dark eyes of the stern man who confronted him, and his mouth twitched nervously. Then with an effort he turned to the French gentlemen at his side and said, speaking rapidly, "This fellow is a Republican, one of those who clamored for King Louis's death. Shall we forget our oath to kill these regicides wherever we may find them?"
Before he had finished speaking, three swords were out of their scabbards and three infuriated French noblemen sprang at Tournay.
"Gott in Himmel!" shouted General von Waldenmeer, as his Prussian officers beat down the points of the excited Frenchmen, "will you spill blood here under my very nose? Colonel Karl von Waldenmeer, place those French gentlemen under restraint, and let there be quiet here while I examine into these charges."
The Marquis de Lacheville had taken up a position near the door.
"He is Robert Tournay, an officer of the Republican army!" he cried out as he sheathed his sword. "While he is here in the disguise of a lackey in waiting to Mademoiselle de Rochefort, his intention is to play the spy and return with his information to France. For your own sake, General von Waldenmeer, you should place him where he can do you no such injury."
"What answer have you to make to this?" said the old general, addressing Tournay. "Are you a servant of Mademoiselle de Rochefort, or are you a spy of those Republican brigands? Speak! I condemn no man unheard."
Tournay looked round the room before replying.
"I am a colonel in the Republican army," he said quietly. "But I came here solely to bring mademoiselle to a place of safety; not to spy upon your army, which as a matter of fact I thought twenty miles further east."
General von Waldenmeer broke the silence that followed this avowal.
"You admit that you are an officer in the Republican army. You are within our lines under very peculiar circumstances. You may have taken advantage of Mademoiselle de Rochefort's confidence in you to play the spy. Until it is proven to the contrary, I must take the ground that both you and your companion are spies, and treat you accordingly. Colonel von Waldenmeer, you will send for a file of soldiers and place these two men under arrest."
"General von Waldenmeer!" said Edmé de Rochefort, turning toward the old baron with an appealing gesture, "you are about to commit an act of grave injustice. Colonel Tournay is guiltless of the charge of being a spy. The charge was brought against him out of malice and revenge by the man who has just slandered me so basely."
She did not look at the Marquis de Lacheville, but under the general gaze which was directed toward him as she spoke, he quailed and shrunk from the room, shivering as with ague.
"This gentleman," she went on, looking at Tournay gratefully, "has incurred great danger and endured much privation in order to bring me here in safety. He has been brave and devoted when others cravenly deserted me; and if he should be treated by you as a spy it would be as if I had decoyed him here only to destroy him."
"No, mademoiselle, no," said Robert Tournay in a low tone.
By a quick gesture she bade him be silent.
"General von Waldenmeer, you are a brave soldier. You have professed the greatest friendship for your old friend's daughter. She now asks you to release these gentlemen. As a soldier and a gentleman you are bound to grant her prayer."
She spoke the words simply and in the tone which was natural to her, as if the request admitted of no denial; and laying her hand upon the general's arm looked into his rough face.
For a moment he sat in silence. His heavy brows came down until they shaded his eyes completely. Then taking the hand that rested on his sleeve, he said:—
"At the risk of neglecting my duty as a soldier, I will grant your request. These men shall go free, but," he added hastily, as though his consent to their liberation had been given too quickly, "they must be kept under surveillance here until to-morrow, and then they shall be escorted back over the frontier. Colonel von Waldenmeer," he continued, addressing his son, "I leave you to conduct these French gentlemen to their quarters. I make you responsible for their keeping."
Edmé held out her hand to Tournay. "Good-night, Colonel Tournay," she said. "It is a great joy and relief to know that you are to come to no harm through having brought me here. And you, who have done so much for me, will surely overlook this last and slight indignity which you are called upon to endure for my sake."
"Mademoiselle," he replied, bending over her hand and speaking in a tone so low that none other in the room could hear, "there is nothing in the world I would not endure for your sake. To have you speak to me like this repays me a thousand-fold. Adieu, mademoiselle. Now, Colonel von Waldenmeer, I am ready;" and with Gaillard at his side he followed young von Waldenmeer from the room.
As the three men came out into the corridor, the large outer door opened and a sergeant of artillery stepped over the threshold, saluted the colonel, and stood awaiting orders. The fine snow drifted past him into the hall, stinging the faces of von Waldenmeer and his two prisoners.
The colonel turned toward the Frenchmen, and addressing them in his quick way, said:—
"It is a vile night. Give me your word not to leave the quarters to which I assign you until sent for, and I will permit you to pass the night more in comfort under this roof."
Tournay gladly assented, the young von Waldenmeer spoke a few words of command to the sergeant, who turned on his heel and repeated the order in guttural tones to some snow-covered figures behind him. The door closed with a loud bang and the escort was heard marching away.
Colonel Karl then led the way up a broad oaken staircase to a room at the end of a long corridor on the upper floor.
"My own room is just opposite," said he with a gesture of the head, as he threw open the door. "You will be more comfortable here than in the guard-house."
The house which General von Waldenmeer had chosen for his headquarters at Falzenberg was a commodious one, built around an open court, where in summer a fountain played in the centre of a green grass plot. Tournay stepped to one of the windows and looked out upon the scene. The bronze figure in the fountain was draped with ice, and a great mound of snow filled the centre of the square, where the soldiers had cleared a passage for themselves. On the opposite side were the stables, and from the neighing and stamping of hoofs, Tournay judged more than a dozen horses were kept there. Lights flashed here and there as a subaltern or private moved about in the performance of the night's duties.
The first thing which had struck Gaillard's eye on entering was a large canopied bed. This reminded him too forcibly of his fatigue to be resisted. He threw himself down upon it, boots and all, and was asleep as soon as his head touched the pillow.
Von Waldenmeer stood in the centre of the room, slapping his hessians with a little flexible riding-whip. Tournay began to thank him for the courtesy he had shown them, when the latter stopped him in his abrupt way, saying:—
"I was watching the Marquis de Lacheville's face while he was denouncing Mademoiselle de Rochefort, and if ever I saw liar written upon a man's countenance it was on his then. I wish that he had lied when he accused you of being a colonel in the Republican army." And Colonel Karl strode toward the door impatiently.
"Why should you have wished that?" demanded Tournay. "I am proud of my position."
"Bah!" exclaimed the German, with his hand on the latch, "you should be in the Prussian army. It is an honor to serve in the army that was built up by the great Frederick. A man of your courage should not be content to serve among those Republican brigands. Good-night,"—and he disappeared rapidly through the door, slamming it behind him.
Tournay roused Gaillard from his slumber. Both men were numb with fatigue. They had not taken off their clothes and slept in a bed since leaving Paris, and five minutes later they had thrown off their garments and sunk into a deep sleep in the large, white bed.
For ten hours Tournay slept without moving. Then he yawned, threw out both arms, opened his eyes a little, and was preparing to sleep again when he became conscious that a man was standing beside the bed. Opening his heavy eyes a little further, he recognized Gaillard and said to him drowsily:—
"Well! What is it, Gaillard? Can't I get a few minutes' sleep undisturbed?"
"The forenoon is half gone," replied Gaillard; "you've slept enough for one man."
"You don't mean to say that it's morning already!" exclaimed Tournay, leaning on one elbow and blinking at the light.
"Morning! The finest kind of a morning," replied Gaillard gayly. "I've been up these two hours. I gained permission to go to our carriage, and I have taken out a change of linen from our equipment in the boot."
Tournay sprang from the bed and looked out of the window. The sun was high in the heaven, and the day was bright and cold.
"That Lieutenant Sauerkraut, or whatever his name may be," said Gaillard, "has just come up to say that the general would like to see you at your convenience. The lieutenant was particularly civil, for him, so I surmise nothing will interfere with our early departure. It's astonishing how quickly an underling takes his tone from his superior officer. I suppose it will be better for you to wait upon the general at once, while the old gentleman is in a good humor," continued Gaillard, "and as I have been given the liberty of the courtyard, I will employ the time in looking after our horses."
"Very well," said Tournay. "I will go to General von Waldenmeer. I hope nothing will interfere with our immediate departure."
General von Waldenmeer was seated at his table with a pile of maps and papers before him. At Tournay's entrance the two officers who were standing at the general's side withdrew to the further end of the room. It was the same room in which the scene of the previous evening had taken place. On the table at the general's elbow stood his beer-mug, filled with his morning draught. The old soldier was evidently very much absorbed in the work before him, for his heavy brows were drawn over his eyes and his lips were moving as he studied the papers. From time to time he reached out his left hand mechanically and took up the beer-mug, refreshing himself with a long pull. With the exception of the two officers, there were no other occupants of the room.
The picture of Mademoiselle Edmé, as she had appeared when pleading to the general in his behalf, was so vivid in Tournay's mind that he stood silently before the table, oblivious to his surroundings. He remained in this position for some minutes when the general, upon one of his searches for inspiration at the bottom of the beer-mug, glanced over the rim and saw the Frenchman standing like a statue before him.
"Potstausend!" he exclaimed, as soon as he had set down the mug and wiped the white froth from his mustache. "You were so quiet that I forgot your existence and have been studying out a plan of campaign against General Hoche under your very nose. He's a clever little man, is Hoche," continued the old German musingly. "There is some sport in beating him."
Tournay smiled quietly at hearing his idol patronizingly spoken of by an officer who had not won half his fame.
"I wish you better success than your predecessor in the attempt, General von Waldenmeer," he said.
The general smiled grimly at this hit and then changed the subject by saying:—
"Last evening I told you that I would send you back to France with an escort to the frontier."
Tournay bowed affirmatively.
"Since then, Mademoiselle de Rochefort has told me in full the story of her escape from Tours, recounting your part in it, and dwelling most flatteringly upon your bravery and discretion."
Tournay bowed again in acknowledgment.
"The service you have rendered the daughter of my old friend, by effecting her rescue and bringing her here in spite of such great obstacles, makes my obligation to you deep, very deep. My honor and my inclinations are one, when they move me to accord you, not only your freedom, but to offer you a commission in my son's regiment, the Tenth Prussian heavy artillery."
If the general had ordered him out to instant execution or conferred upon him in marriage the hand of his daughter Gretchen, Tournay could not have felt more surprise. For a few moments he could find no words in which to answer, and the general turned to the papers he had just laid down.
"Is my entry into your service made a condition of my freedom?" he finally found breath to inquire.
The Prussian general looked up from the map he had been studying, pressing his fat finger upon it to mark the place.
"Certainly not," he replied, "I make no conditions in paying a debt."
"Then I will take my liberty, which you have promised to restore to me," answered Tournay, "and return to France."
It was now the general's turn to be surprised.
"You mean to say that you will go back to Paris?"
"I shall return to the French army at—It is needless to tell you where, as you have been studying the map so attentively."
"But," interrupted General von Waldenmeer, "within six months our allied armies will be in Paris. There will be no more Republic, and every one who has been instrumental in the death of King Louis XVI. and the destruction of the monarchy will have to pay the penalty. You are a young man. You have been led into this republicanism by older heads. I offer you an opportunity—not only of escaping the consequences of your folly but the chance of redeeming yourself by fighting on the right side—and you refuse?" and the general reached out for the beer-mug to sustain himself in his disappointment. He was so sincere in his offer and in his amazement at its refusal that the angry color on Tournay's cheek faded away and a smile crept to his lips.
"Come," said the old general, putting down his mug after an unusually long pull at the contents, "you are thinking better of it. I can understand a soldier's disinclination to desert his colors, but this is not as if I were asking you to be a traitor to your country. A von Waldenmeer would cut out his own tongue rather than propose that to any other soldier. I am putting it in your way to leave the service of a faction who by anarchy and rebellion have gained control of France. Under the banner of the allies are the true patriots of your country. You have only to throw off that red, white, and blue uniform and put on the colors of Prussia and you are one of them."
Again the flush of resentment rose to Tournay's cheek, but as he looked down upon the German general who in perfect good faith and seriousness made him such a proposal, and as he realized the utter impossibility of either of them ever seeing the subject in the same light, his look of anger changed to one of amusement, and a grim smile twitched at the corners of his mustache.
"I appreciate the honor you would do me, General von Waldenmeer, but I prefer to pay the penalty of my folly and remain loyal to the French Republic."
The general took up his papers again. "Very well," he said gruffly. "I will provide you with an escort over the frontier. It will be ready to start within the hour." His eyebrows came down and he became deeply immersed in the study of the map.
Tournay stood for a few moments looking at the fat forefinger of the old soldier as it traced its way over the surface of the map. His thoughts were of Mademoiselle de Rochefort. He wondered whether she had set out on her way to Hagenhof. He almost hoped that she had left and that he would be spared the pain of parting from her. Yet if she were still at Falzenberg he knew he never could force himself to leave and not make an attempt to bid her good-by.
It was with these conflicting emotions, mingled with a reluctance to mention her name to the gruff old general, that he said in a low voice:—
"Has Mademoiselle de Rochefort started on her journey to Hagenhof?"
He received no answer.
There had been a slight tremor in his voice as he spoke Edmé's name. Hesitating for a moment, he stepped to the table and placing one hand on it he asked again in a steady tone, "When does Mademoiselle de Rochefort go to Hagenhof?"
The one word "To-morrow" came abruptly out of the large head buried in the papers before him.
Tournay drew a sigh of relief. If she had gone away, leaving him no word, he would have been the most miserable of men. Without further words with the general he turned and left the room.
As he went along the hallway be heard the rustle of a woman's gown behind him, and turning, saw to his great satisfaction the figure of Agatha hurrying toward him.
"Agatha," he exclaimed, as she came up to him, "where is mademoiselle? Can I see her?"
"Mademoiselle is in Frau Krieger's apartment at the further end of the east wing. If you will come with me I will show you where it is. It is fortunate that I have met you as I do, else it would have been difficult to find you in this large place."
"Then you were sent to fetch me?" inquired Tournay eagerly.
"I did not say that," replied Agatha with a quiet smile.
"But you evidently were in search of me," persisted Tournay.
"I have no time to answer questions now," she replied, with a laugh. "Here is the room," and she ushered him into a long old-fashioned salon, whose uncomfortable pieces of furniture looked as if they had stood for generations staring at their own ugly reflections in the polished surface of the floor.
At one end of the room stood a porcelain stove in which a fire was burning; but the large white sepulchral object seemed to chill the atmosphere more than the fire could warm it. Two high windows hung with heavy curtains faced the square in front of the house, while in the rear two other windows looked out upon the courtyard.
Frau Krieger, the widow of a Prussian officer of high rank, had reserved the salon and one or two adjoining rooms for her own use, and saw with pride the remainder of her domicile turned into barracks by General von Waldenmeer and his staff.
"Wait here a moment and I will tell mademoiselle," said Agatha, traversing the salon and disappearing through a door in the further side. Tournay walked to the front window and glanced out on the street.
The sentinel at the porte-cochère was on the point of presenting arms to Ludwig von Waldenmeer, who rode out; and two of the general's staff officers stood smoking and chatting in front of the building. Tournay's alert ear caught the sound of light footsteps, and he turned just as Edmé crossed the threshold from the inner room.
He had told himself many times within the last few minutes that the interview must be a brief one if he were to retain complete mastery over his feelings. As he approached her, his face, in spite of his efforts to control it, expressed some of the emotions which the sight of her awakened.
She extended her hand to him in her graceful, natural way, and he bent over it, mechanically uttering the words he had been repeating over and over to himself.
"I have come, mademoiselle, to say adieu."
At this, the color which had mantled her cheek as he touched her fingers disappeared.
"You have not seen General von Waldenmeer, then?" she asked quickly.
"Yes, mademoiselle, and because I have seen him I intend to start at once."
"General von Waldenmeer says that in less than three months' time the Prussian army will be in Paris," said Edmé.
A slight smile of incredulity was Tournay's only reply.
"The monarchy will be restored," she continued; "little mercy will be shown the Republicans. They will have justice meted out to them by their conquerors."
"The allied armies will never reach Paris, mademoiselle, and before they restore the monarchy they must kill every Republican who stands between them and the throne."
"I do not want them to kill you," she said simply.
His heart beat wildly. For an instant he did not speak. When he could trust his voice to answer he said:—
"I thank you deeply for your solicitude, mademoiselle, but whatever happens I must go back to my duty."
Edmé hesitated a moment, then spoke, at first with evident effort; then warming into a tone of almost passionate entreaty.
"You have done much for an unhappy woman, Robert Tournay. The remembrance of the loyalty and devotion with which you watched over and protected me shall never pass out of my memory. The de Rocheforts do not easily forget such a debt as I owe you. In an attempt to repay it in some measure, I persuaded General von Waldenmeer to offer you an honorable position in his service. I am a proud woman, Monsieur Tournay, and it cost me something to make such an appeal to the Prussian officer, and now you reject his offer and present yourself before me so coolly and say carelessly, 'I have come, mademoiselle, to bid you adieu.'"
"You think it easy for me to say those words?" replied Tournay vehemently.
She did not wait for him to finish, but went on:—
"I place it in your power to serve the rightful cause, honorably and loyally,—the cause of the king;mycause, Robert Tournay, and you refuse to do so."
"Do you not see that what you propose would be my dishonor?" he asked gently.
"No," answered Edmé firmly. "You are a brave but obstinate man, who madly pursues a wicked course; because, having once espoused it, you think to desert it would be disloyal. You are mad, Robert Tournay, but I will rescue you from your folly. I will save you in spite of yourself. I command you to stay here!" and with the same imperious gesture which he knew so well of old, she stood before him, her dark blue eyes, as was their wont under stress of excitement, flashing almost black. The tone was one of command, but there was in it a note of entreaty that went to his heart. He caught the hand which she held out to him, and exclaimed fervently:—
"I would give ten years of life to be able to obey you, but it cannot be. You do not know what you are asking of me or you would not put my honor thus upon the rack. It is cruel of you, mademoiselle, but I forgive you. You cannot understand. How should you—you are of the Monarchy, and I am of the Republic. The Republic calls me and I must go."
"The Republic!" repeated Edmé, "Oh! execrable Republic! It has robbed me of everything in the world—family, estate, friends, and now"—She paused, the sentence incomplete upon her lips, and looked at him with an expression of pain upon her face as if some violent struggle were taking place within her. "And now you are going back to it. You may become its victim; you, who are so brave and strong and noble. Yes," she continued, "I will give the word its full meaning, Robert Tournay, you are noble—too noble to become a martyr in such a cause. I entreat you not to go. I fear for your safety."
Tournay's head swam. For a moment he felt that he must fold her in his arms and tell her that for her sake he would give up everything in the world for which he had striven,—country, liberty, and honor; the Republic itself.
With a mighty effort he threw off the feeling of weakness, passionately crying, "For God's sake, mademoiselle, do not speak to me like that. You will make me forget my manhood. You will make me act so that your respect, which I have been so fortunate as to win, will turn to contempt. You could almost make me turn traitor to the Republic."
"What is this Republic? this creature of the imagination which you place above all else in the world?" she asked impetuously. "What has it done for France? What has it done for you?"
Before Tournay could answer, the sound of martial music was heard outside, and the measured tread of passing troops shook the room. He stepped to the window and drawing aside the curtains motioned Edmé to come to his side.
Wonderingly she approached and saw a brigade of infantry passing in review of the general of division. They marched with absolute precision, the sun reflecting on the polished barrels of their guns as on a solid wall.
"There go the best troops in the world," said Tournay. Edmé looked up in his face with surprise at his sudden change of manner.
"The soldiers of Prussia: at the command of their officers they will march like that to the batteries' mouth, closing up the gap of the fallen men with clock-work movements. There are two hundred thousand of them, and they are preparing to attack France. Joined with them are the tried veterans of Austria. On the sea," he continued, "the fleets of England are bearing down upon the ports of France. In the south, Spain is pouring her soldiers over the Pyrenees. These allied armies have banded together to destroy France. Yet we shall throw them back again, as we did at Wattignes and at Jemappes. There the flower of the European armies was scattered by our raw French troops. Although outnumbered and outmanœuvred, themenof France hurled back their foes in broken and disordered array. And why? Because in the heart of every Frenchman burns the new-born fire of liberty. He is fighting for the freedom he has bought so dearly. He is fighting for that Republic which has made him what he is—aman! It is France against the world! and by the Republic alone will she triumph over her enemies. That is my answer, mademoiselle. The Republic has made a new France, andIam part of it. At her call I must leave everything and go to her defense."
While he spoke thus, Edmé saw his face animated with a light she had learned to know so well,—the same light that had shone from his eyes when he confronted the mob in her château; the same fire that flashed as he defended himself before General von Waldenmeer.
"You say I place my duty to the Republic above any earthly consideration," he said. "Let me tell you that I hold your respect still dearer. If I should desert my cause, the cause for which I have lived, should I not lose that respect? Ask your own heart, mademoiselle, would it not be so?"
She stood in silence. Then her eyes met his. He read her answer there before she spoke, and in the look she gave him he thought he read still more—something he dared not believe, scarcely dared hope.
"You are right," she replied, speaking slowly and distinctly. "Go back to France! It is I who bid you go."
"I knew you would tell me to go," he replied.
The sound of voices in the corridor outside fell upon their ears.
"There are Gaillard and the escort," said Tournay, sadly. "Mademoiselle, good-by! I may never see you again. But I thank God that you are here in safety, and I shall find some happiness in the thought that I have been an instrument in your deliverance."
She did not answer, but stretched out her hand to him. He took it, and dropping on one knee, put it to his lips. "It is for the last time," he said, looking up at her. His face was deadly pale, and there was a look of pleading in his brown eyes.
She placed her other hand upon his head. It was but the slightest touch, as if she yielded to a sudden impulse, and then with the same swift movement she drew away from him.
"As itmustbe, I pray you to go quickly," she said, and without waiting for a reply she turned and left him.
Tournay rose to his feet,—"I swear to you now, mademoiselle, that some day I shall see you again," and he rushed from the room to the courtyard below.
"Are the horses ready?" he whispered hoarsely, grasping Gaillard by the arm.
"At the door with an escort of Prussian officers," was the reply.
"What time is it?"
"Three hours before dark."
"We must be over the frontier and well into France by to-night," was Tournay's rejoinder. "Come!"
Standing by the window, Edmé saw him leap into the saddle. He gave one look in her direction, but could not see her, concealed as she was by the heavy curtains.
She heard the officers laughing and talking among themselves. She saw one of the men jump from his horse, tighten a saddle girth, and remount with an agile spring. Then Colonel von Waldenmeer approached and addressed some remark to Robert Tournay. The latter, who had been sitting erect and motionless upon his horse, turned slightly in the saddle to answer the Prussian officer.
Edmé could see that his features were set and their expression stern.
Colonel von Waldenmeer mounted his own horse, gave a word of command, and the party started forward.
Edmé watched them as they went up the road. Ten horses riding two abreast, the snow flying out from under the heels of the galloping hoofs. She watched them until the square shoulders of Colonel Tournay were hardly distinguishable from those of Colonel Karl who rode beside him. The cavalcade disappeared around a bend in the road, and Edmé turned from the wintry aspect without to the dreary salon with a heavy heart.
Under the escort of Karl von Waldenmeer and half a dozen of his French officers, Tournay and Gaillard rode rapidly toward the French boundary.
It had stopped snowing during the night, and the weather was clear and cold.
They rode in silence, no sound being heard but the regular dull beating of their horses' hoofs on the snow-covered ground.
They drew out of the wood and saw the frozen surface of the Rhine before them, the sun dazzling their eyes with its reflected light upon the ice.
With one accord the party reined in their horses and sat motionless, looking at the glorious sight of the ice-bound river.
Karl von Waldenmeer was the first to break the silence. Pointing with his gloved hand toward the opposite shore he said:—
"There, gentlemen, is France, and my road ends here."
Tournay merely made an inclination of the head in assent. He was thinking sadly of Edmé standing by the window in the cheerless old salon at Falzenberg; but as he looked out over the river towards his own land he remembered the army on the other side of the Vosges; the prospect of the impending campaign caused his spirits to revive, and he replied:—
"We owe you thanks, Colonel von Waldenmeer, for the kindness you have been pleased to show us. When we meet again it will doubtless be upon the field of battle, but I shall not even then forget your courtesy of to-day."
"It will always give me pleasure to meet you again, under any circumstances, Colonel Tournay," said the Prussian, "and if it be on the field, to cross swords with you. A brave foe makes a good friend, and I shall be glad to count you as both of these. And now, gentlemen, we will relieve you of our escort; there lies your way over that bridge, just below here. We return to Falzenberg."
"Let us cross upon the ice," said Gaillard to Tournay; "it will bear our weight easily."
They rode down the bank. At the brink their horses drew back, but being urged by their riders, went forward, feeling the ice daintily with their forefeet with cat-like caution. Seeing that the ice was quite safe, the Frenchmen put spurs into their horses and the animals swung into a gallop, their iron-shod feet cutting into the ice with a pleasant, crunching sound.
Reaching the further side, they rode up the steep bank, then reined in their horses and looked back. The declining rays of the sun tipped the snow-clad hemlock trees on the other side of the river with crimson, and against the dark outline of the forest behind, the figures of Colonel von Waldenmeer and his officers sat motionless as statues. Each party gave the military salute, and the Prussians rode back into the wood, while Tournay and Gaillard sat looking after them until they were no longer in sight.
"We are on French soil once more," exclaimed Tournay, "and now to join General Hoche and fight for it."
"I had best return to Paris," said Gaillard.
"I fear to have you return there now, after having put your head in danger by assisting me," said Tournay anxiously.
"I shall be as safe in Paris as anywhere in the world," replied his friend. "Nobody will suspect the actor Gaillard of having any connection with the flight of Mademoiselle de Rochefort. I cannot do better than to return to Paris and resume my usual mode of life there. While, if you are suspected, as is more likely, of instigating or effecting Mademoiselle de Rochefort's escape from Tours, you must look to your military reputation and your influence in the convention to protect you from an inquiry on the part of the rabid revolutionists."
"What you say, Gaillard, is sound reasoning. I will follow your advice. Embrace me, my friend, and let us part here."
"Good-by until we meet again, my colonel!" was Gaillard's only audible reply, and then he rode off toward the west, while Tournay turned his horse in the direction of the north, where the French troops lay encamped.
It was about noon of the next day when he reached the French army, and stopping only at his own tent to put on his uniform he hurried to the headquarters of General Hoche and reported for duty. He had traveled so rapidly from Tours that he reached the army almost as soon as General Hoche expected him, and the general attributed the delay of a day or so to the bad condition of the roads.
Tournay hesitated to set him right in the matter, as he deemed it more prudent to refrain from mentioning to anyone his part in Mademoiselle de Rochefort's escape.
"What news do you bring from the convention?" was the question of the general as they were seated alone.
"Bad!" replied Tournay, "as you can tell by the tone of these dispatches. The convention has many able men in it, but they are dominated too entirely by the Revolutionary Tribunal, and that body is dominated too much by one man. His power is ruining the Republic. Unless we get rid of Robespierre, we might as well go back to the monarchy."
After a few moments spent in reading the papers Tournay had put in his hand, General Hoche looked up with an expression of annoyance on his brow.
"Yes; the insulting tone of this dispatch is almost beyond endurance. I am glad after all that my business is out here fighting the external enemies of France. Were I at Paris, I should be embroiling myself daily with some of those who are in power. If we meet with the slightest reverses here at the front there is a howl from St. Just and that crowd that we are betraying the Republic. Meanwhile they furnish us with a beggarly equipment. It is they who are betraying the Republic. Were it not for Danton we should get nothing. He alone makes success against our enemies possible. And we must be successful, Colonel Tournay; look here at the plan of campaign."
And the young general, in his military ardor, forgetting entirely the insulting dispatch, turned with enthusiasm to the maps which lay spread out on the table.
"Here are the bulk of the Austrian forces at Wissembourg. That old German beer-barrel von Waldenmeer is at Falzenberg. He intends to concentrate his troops there and then bring them up to join the Austrian general, Wurmser."
Tournay started at his own general's accurate information in regard to the enemy's position and plans.
"We must attack Wurmser at once before he can receive reinforcements, and then proceed to Landau. They have beaten us once at Wissembourg and will not be looking for us to take the offensive again so soon. I have already given the order to mobilize the troops. I and my staff will ride forward this evening. By to-morrow night we shall have retaken Wissembourg."
"One moment, general," interrupted Tournay, as Hoche took up another map. "I wish to tell you that I have just seen General von Waldenmeer at Falzenberg."
Hoche looked at his officer with surprise.
"I went to the Prussian frontier on an errand, the nature of which I should prefer to keep secret for the present. I was suspected of being a spy, taken prisoner, and brought before General von Waldenmeer. He listened to my explanations and released me under circumstances no less peculiar than those which brought me within his lines." Here Tournay stopped, the blood coming to the surface under the bronze of his cheek at the steady gaze of General Hoche.
"Is that all?" inquired the latter.
"That is all," answered his colonel, "except that had I not made this detour I should have been here twenty-four hours earlier, and that as I got within the Prussian lines by mistake and did not go as a spy, I can give you no information which you have not already obtained."
"If you had arrived twenty-four hours later you would have missed the grandest opportunity of your life; I intend to give you, Colonel Tournay, the command of a brigade in the approaching battle."
"A brigade?" echoed Tournay in surprise.
"You shall atone for your breach of discipline by bearing great responsibility in the attack. I intend your brigade to be where the fight is hottest, and if there is anything left of it after the engagement, and of you, colonel, you shall continue to command it and I will recommend you for promotion."
Tournay grasped his chief by the hand.
"You may be sure, General Hoche, that I shall do my utmost to deserve the honor you have done me."
"I was persuaded of that before I determined to give you the command," replied Hoche; "now go forward and join your regiment. By midnight I shall be at Wissembourg and shall have one last word with all of my generals. I do not believe in protracted councils of war."
That evening Colonel Tournay was encamped before the field of Wissembourg. He sat in his tent waiting for the summons that should bring him to General Hoche's council board.
An orderly entered with the word that a commission of four men from the Committee of Public Safety at Paris wished to speak to him.
Tournay started from the reverie into which he had fallen. His thoughts had been dwelling upon the events of the past week, and the announcement struck a discordant note in his meditation. "Show them in," he replied briefly.
In another moment the four commissioners stood before him. Three of the men were unknown to him, but the fourth was Gardin. The latter, as spokesman, stood a little in advance of the others. On his face there was a look of mingled insolence and triumph.
Tournay's gorge rose at sight of the man, but remembering that he was the recognized emissary from the committee he controlled his impulse to kick him from the tent.
"Will you be seated, citizens?" he said, rising and addressing his remark more to the three commissioners who were not known to him than to Gardin. "Orderly, bring seats."
"Our business with you will be of such short duration that we shall have no need to sit down," answered Gardin curtly.
"Orderly, do not bring the seats," was Tournay's quick order, as he resumed his former place on a camp-chair and sat carelessly looking at the four men standing before him. This placed Gardin in just the opposite rôle from that he had intended to assume. He saw his mistake at once, and hastened to recover his lost ground.
"Citizen colonel," he said, drawing a paper from his pocket and putting it in Tournay's hands, "here is a document from the committee which even you cannot question. It is addressed to Robert Tournay."
Tournay broke the large red seal of the letter and read:—
Citizen Colonel Robert Tournay; with the Army of the Moselle, Citizen General Lazare Hoche commanding:—The Citizen Colonel Tournay is hereby summoned to appear before the Committee of Public Safety to answer charges affecting his patriotism and loyalty to the Republic. He will resign his command at once, and return to Paris in the company of the four commissioners who bring him this document.Signed: For the Committee of Public Safety,Couthon,St. Just.This 5th Pluviose, the year II. of the French Republic one and indivisible.
Citizen Colonel Robert Tournay; with the Army of the Moselle, Citizen General Lazare Hoche commanding:—
The Citizen Colonel Tournay is hereby summoned to appear before the Committee of Public Safety to answer charges affecting his patriotism and loyalty to the Republic. He will resign his command at once, and return to Paris in the company of the four commissioners who bring him this document.
Signed: For the Committee of Public Safety,
Couthon,St. Just.
Couthon,St. Just.
This 5th Pluviose, the year II. of the French Republic one and indivisible.
When he had finished reading the document Tournay folded it carefully and placed it in his pocket.
"Well?" demanded Gardin impatiently.
"I cannot at present leave the army," was the reply.
The four commissioners exchanged looks.
"We are on the eve of a decisive engagement with the enemy. When that is over—in a few days, if I am alive, I will answer the committee's summons."
"We were instructed to bring you back with us at once," said one of the commissioners.
"And we'll do it, too," muttered another under his breath.
The fourth pulled Gardin by the sleeve and whispered something in his ear.
"I regret, citizen commissioners," repeated Tournay, "that I cannot at present leave the army."
Then rising suddenly and confronting Gardin he said passionately:—
"Tell your masters that it is not necessary to drag Robert Tournay to Paris like a felon, that he will appear before the committee of his own free will; that he regards the welfare of France as paramount to everything else, and that his duty to her will take him to the field to-morrow."
"Your answer is not satisfactory to us," persisted Gardin, "nor will it be to the committee. Once more, and for the last time, citizen colonel, will you obey this summons as it is written?"
"No!" thundered Tournay.
"Then in the name of the Republic I suspend you from your command, and arrest you as a traitor. Lay hands upon him!"
Gardin himself, remembering his previous encounter with Tournay in which he had come off so poorly, merely gave the command, leaving the others to execute it. Two of them stepped forward with alacrity, one upon each side of Tournay, and grasped him by the arms.
He offered no resistance, but raising his voice a little called out:—
"Officers of the guard!"
Half a dozen of his Hussars who were in the adjoining tent hastened in at his call.
"Arrest these four men!" commanded Tournay quietly.
"Stop!" cried Gardin; "arrest us at your peril. We are the authorized emissaries of the Committee of Public Safety," and he flourished his commission in the soldiers' faces. "We are but carrying out our strict orders. To lay hands upon us will be to bring down upon your heads the vengeance of Robespierre."
The Hussars stood still. The name of the man who governed France under the cloak of the Republic made them hesitate.
"Conduct the prisoner away with as much dispatch as possible," said Gardin in a quick, low tone to his companions.
"Lieutenant Dessarts, arrest these four men instantly," repeated Tournay. There was a ring in his voice which his subordinates well understood, and without further hesitation they laid hands upon the Paris commissioners and proceeded to drag them from the tent by force.
"He has been relieved of his command and therefore has no right to give you orders. Are you slaves that you obey him thus?" yelled Gardin, struggling with the big corporal who held him.
"See that no harm is done them, Lieutenant Dessarts," Tournay called out as the men were led away. "Conduct them outside our lines and give orders that they shall not be permitted to return."
Following them to the door of his tent, Tournay coolly watched the unhappy commissioners as they were led away, protesting vehemently against the indignity of their arrest and vowing vengeance for it.
It was a cold winter night, and the wind blew down through the mountain passes of the Vosges with biting keenness. Throwing his cloak over his shoulder he strolled out through the camp. In spite of the chilling wind the soldiers showed the greatest enthusiasm. As he went down the long line of camp-fires, he was recognized and cheered roundly. Cries of "We'll beat them at Wissembourg to-morrow, colonel!" "Landau or death!" greeted him on all sides.
The next day showed that they had not uttered vain boasts.
Tournay's command, sweeping through a narrow defile in the face of a destructive fire, tore through the enemy's centre, and combining with Dessaix on the left, and Pichegru on the right, sent Wurmser's troops backward before his Prussian allies could come to his assistance.
With the cry of "Landau or death!" the victorious French dashed on toward the beleaguered city and raised the siege just as the brave garrison was in the last extremity for want of food and ammunition.
The day after the relief of Landau, Colonel Tournay entered the tent of the commander-in-chief. Hoche rose to meet him, and taking him by the hand said warmly:—
"Colonel Tournay, in the name of France I thank you for the efficiency and bravery displayed yesterday. The victory of Wissembourg will live in the annals of history, and a full share of the glory belongs to you. In my dispatches to the convention I have not omitted to mention your noble conduct."
The generous Hoche pressed the hand of his colonel in fraternal feeling. He was two years younger than Tournay, although care and fatigue gave him the looks of an older man. At twenty-four this remarkable man had risen to be preëminently the greatest general in France, and but for his premature death might in later years have contested with Napoleon for his laurels.
"I have come, general, to ask your permission to return to Paris," said Tournay, much gratified by the words of praise from the lips of one whom he regarded as the greatest military hero of the age.
"Again?" said Hoche, in a tone of surprise.
"The Committee of Public Safety have seen fit to summon me to appear before them," Tournay continued. "Some one has been found to impeach my loyalty, and I must answer the charge."
A shade passed over the face of Hoche.
"But I can ill spare you, Colonel Tournay. What does this committee mean by suspecting the integrity of an officer in whom I have implicit faith? By Heaven, I will not permit it! If they arrest you, I'll throw my commission back in their faces before I will allow you to answer their charges."
"That, my general, would but work injury to France, who depends upon such a man as you to save her. You surely will not desert her because a few overheated brains at Paris have seen fit to listen to some of my traducers. I will go back to Paris and confront my enemies. My conduct at Wissembourg will be an answer to their charge of treason." And the colonel drew himself up with a flash of pardonable pride in his dark eyes.