The sight of her predicament filled the young Frenchman with rage and horror. Drawing his pistol, he strode into the room. What he intended to do, or how he intended to do it was not clear even to him. There stood the woman he loved in the clutch of wretches whose very touch was pollution. He must help her. All duties and intentions gave way to that determination.
A dead silence fell over the room as he entered and the people caught sight of him. He stood staring at the occupants and they returned his stare in good measure. Finally the biggest ruffian, who seemed to be the leader, found his voice and burst out with a savage oath:
"Another Russian! Well, the more the merrier."
He raised a huge horse pistol as he spoke. His words were greeted with jeers and yells from the band. With a flash of inspiration Marteau, realizing into what he had been led, dropped his own weapon and instantly threw up his hands.
"I am French, messieurs," he cried loudly as the pistol clattered on the floor at his feet.
"What are you doing in that uniform, then?" roared the leader.
Marteau tore open the heavy green coat, disclosing beneath it his French uniform. He had a second to make up his mind how to answer that pertinent question. He was quite in the dark as to the meaning of the mysterious situation. He opened his mouth and spoke.
"It is quite simple," he began, "I am——"
What should he say? What was he? Were these men for the Emperor or for the king, or were they common blackguards for themselves? The latter was probably the true state of the case, but did it please them to pose as royalists? He took a long chance after a quick prayer because he wanted to live not so much for himself as for the woman.
"I am deserting the Emperor," he said. "I am for the king."
"No king could have brought us to worse straits than we are now in," said the leader, lowering his pistol uncertainly, but still keeping the young man covered.
"Right, my friend," continued Marteau exultantly, realizing that he had made the right choice. "Bonaparte is beaten, Blücher is marching on Paris, Schwarzenberg has the Emperor surrounded. I thought I might as well save myself while I had the chance, so I stole this Russian coat to keep myself from freezing to death, and here I am. I belong to Aumenier."
"You'll join us, then?"
"With pleasure. Who do you serve?"
"Ourselves," laughed the leader grimly. "We're from Fére-Champenoise way. We're all of the village and countryside that the Cossacks and the Prussians have left of our families. We're hungry, starving, naked. Do you hear? We were hiding in the woods hard by to-day. There was a wagon-train. A regiment of Cossacks surprised it, killed its defenders, brought it here. We saw it all."
"And where are the Cossacks gone?" asked the young man, coolly picking up his pistol from the floor and nonchalantly sitting upon the nearest table in a careless way which certainly belied the beating of his heart. He took careful notice of the men. They were ignorant fellows of the baser sort, half-mad, starving, ferocious peasants, little better than brute beasts, made so by the war.
"An order came for them. They marched away, leaving a company of other soldiers like those yonder." He pointed to the men on the floor.
"And what became of them?"
"There was an attack from the woods at night—a little handful of French soldiers. They beat them off and followed them down the road. They have been gone half an hour. We heard the firing. We came out thinking to plunder the train. We opened wagon after wagon but found nothing but arms. We can't eat steel or powder. We killed two sentries, made prisoners of the officers. We'll set fire to the house and leave them presently. As for this man, we'll kill him, and as for this woman——"
He laughed meaningly, basely, leering at the girl in hideous suggestiveness that made her shudder; and which his wretched companions found highly amusing.
"You have done well," said the young officer quickly, although he was cold with rage at the ruffian's low insinuation. "I hope to have some interest with the king later. If you will give me your names I will see that you are rewarded."
"Never mind our names," growled the leader, still suspicious, evidently.
"Food and drink would reward us better now," shouted a second.
"Aye," yelled one of the others, seconding this happy thought. "We have eaten nothing since yesterday, and as for drink, it is a week since my lips have tasted a swallow of wine."
"And what would you give me if I could procure you some of the fine wine of the country, my friends?" said Marteau quietly, putting great restraint upon himself to continue trafficking with these scoundrels.
"Give? Anything," answered several in chorus, their red eyes gleaming.
"If you've got it we'll take it for nothing," said the brutal leader with ferocious cunning.
"Do I look as if I concealed wine and provisions on my person?" asked the officer boldly, confident now that he had found the way to master these men.
"No," was the answer. "But where is it?"
"And be quick about it," cried a second threateningly. "Those Russians may be back at any moment."
"Is this a jest?" asked a third with a menacing gesture.
"It would be ill-done to joke with men as hungry as you are, I take it," answered Marteau.
"Hurry, then," cried a fourth.
"In good time, my friends. First, a word with you. What are you going to do with those two prisoners?"
"Knock the men in the head, I told you," answered the leader.
"And the woman?"
"We are trying to settle who should have her—first."
"It's a pity there's only one, still——" began another.
"I'll make a bargain with you, then," interrupted Marteau quickly, fingering his weapon while he spoke. "Food and drink in plenty for you, the woman for me."
"And what do you want of the woman?"
"Before I was a soldier I lived in Aumenier, I told you. I served these people. This woman is an aristocrat. I hate her."
It was an old appeal and an old comment but it served. These were wild days like those of the revolution, the license and rapine and ravagings of which some of the older men present could very well recall.
"She treated me like dirt under her feet," went on the officer. "Now I want to have my turn."
"Marteau!" cried the woman for the first time, recognizing him as he turned a grim face toward her, upon which he had very successfully counterfeited a look of hatred. "Is it indeed——"
"Silence," thundered the young soldier, stepping near to her and shaking his clenched fist in her face. "These worthy patriots will give you to me, and then——"
There was a burst of wild laughter throughout the room.
"It's these cursed aristocrats that have brought these hateful Russians upon us," cried one.
"Give her to the lad and let us have food and drink," cried another.
"He'll deal with her," cried a third.
"You hear?" asked the chief.
"I hear," answered Marteau. "Listen. My father kept this house for its owners. He is dead in the village yonder."
"The wine, the wine," roared one, licking his lips.
"Food. I starve," cried another, baring his teeth.
"Wait. Naturally, fleeing from the army, I came to him. My sister is dead too, outraged, murdered. You know?"
"Yes, yes, we know."
"I want to get my revenge on someone and who better than she?"
The young officer did not dare again to look at the young woman. He could feel the horror, the amazement, the contempt in her glance. Was this one of the loyal Marteaux?
"Make her suffer for us!"
"Our children!"
"Our mothers!"
"Our daughters!" cried one after the other, intoxicated with their wrongs, real or fancied, their faces black with rage, their clenched hands raised to heaven as if invoking vengeance.
"Have no fear," said Marteau. "Because of my father's position I know where the wine cellar is, and there is food there."
"Lead on," said the chief. "We've talked too much."
"This way," replied the young captain, lifting the only candlestick from the table. "Leave two men to watch the woman and give the alarm, the rest follow me."
Marteau knew the old castle like a book. He knew where the keys were kept. Chatting carelessly and giving them every evidence of his familiarity, he found the keys, unlocked the doors, led them from room to room, from level to level, until finally they reached the wine cellar. It was separated from the cellar in which they stood by a heavy iron-bound oaken door. In spite of his easy bearing and manner, suspicions had been aroused in the uneasy minds of the rabble, but when Marteau lifted the candle and bade them bring their own lights and see through an iron grating in the door what the chamber beyond contained and they recognized the casks and bottles, to say nothing of hams, smoked meats and other eatables, their suspicions vanished. They burst into uproarious acclamation.
"Hasten," cried the leader.
"This is the last door."
"Have you the key?"
"It is here."
Marteau lifted the key, thrust it in the lock and turned it slowly, as if by a great effort and, the door opening outward, he drew it back.
"Enter," he said. "Help yourselves."
With cries of joy like famished wolves the whole band poured into the wine cellar. All, that is, but Marteau. As the last men entered he flung the door to and with astonishing quickness turned the key in the lock and turned away. The door had shut with a mighty crash, the noise had even stopped the rioting plunderers. The first man who had seized a bottle dropped it crashing to the floor. All eyes and faces turned toward the door. The last man threw himself against it frantically. It held as firmly as if it had been the rock wall. They were trapped. The leader was quicker than the rest. He still had his weapon. Thrusting it through the iron bars of the grating in the door he pulled the trigger. There was a mighty roar, a cloud of smoke, but fortunately in the dim light his aim was bad. Marteau laughed grimly.
"Enjoy yourselves, messieurs. The provisions are good and you may eat as much as you like. The wine is excellent. Drink your fill!"
The next instant he leaped up the stairs and retraced his steps. It was a long distance from the wine-cellar to the great room, but through the grating that gave entrance to the courtyard the sound of shots had penetrated. One of the ruffians, committing the woman to the care of the remaining man, started to follow his comrades. He had his pistol in his hand. He went noisily, muttering oaths, feeling that something was wrong but not being able to divine exactly what. Marteau heard him coming. He put the candle down, concealed himself and, as the man came, struck him heavily over the head with the butt of his remaining pistol. He fell like a log. Leaving the candle where it was, the young officer, dispossessing his victim of his pistols, entered the hall and, instead of entering the great room by the door by which he had left it, ran along the hall to the main entrance and thus took the remaining brigand in the rear.
This man was one of those who had seized the Countess Laure. In spite of herself the girl started as the officer appeared in the doorway. The man felt her start, wheeled, his eyes recognized the officer. He had no pistol, but his fingers went to his belt and with the quickness of light itself he hurled a knife straight at Marteau. The woman with equal speed caught the man's arm and disturbed his aim. Her movement was purely instinctive. According to his own words she had even more to fear from Marteau than from this ruffian. The young officer instantly dropped to his knees and as he did so presented his pistol and fired. The knife whistled harmlessly over his head and buried itself in the wood paneling of the door. The bullet sped straight to its mark. The unfortunate blackguard collapsed on the floor at the feet of the girl, who screamed and shrank back shuddering.
"Now, mademoiselle," said the young man, advancing into the room, "I have the happiness to inform you that you are free."
The woman stared at him in wild amazement. That she was free temporarily at least, could not be gainsaid. Her captors had not seen fit to bind her and she now stood absolutely untouched by anyone. The shooting, the fighting, had confused her. She had only seen Marteau as an accomplice and friend of her assailants, she had no clew to his apparent change of heart. She did not know whether she had merely exchanged masters or what had happened. Smiling ironically at her bewilderment, which he somehow resented in his heart, Marteau proceeded to further explanation.
"You are free, mademoiselle," he repeated emphatically, bowing before her.
"But I thought——"
"Did you think that I could be allied with such cowardly thieves and vagabonds as those?"
"But you said——"
"It was simply a ruse. Could you imagine that one of my family, that I, should fail in respect and devotion to one of yours, to you? I determined to free you the instant I saw you."
"And will you not complete your good work?" broke out the man tied to the chair in harsh and foreign but sufficiently comprehensible French, "by straightway releasing me, young sir?"
"But who is this?"
"This is Sir Gervaise Yeovil," answered Mademoiselle Laure, "my attorney, an English officer-of-the-law, of Lord Castlereagh's suite, who came with me from Chatillon to get certain papers and——"
"Why all this bother and explanation?" burst out Sir Gervaise. "Tell him to cut these lashes and release me from this cursed bondage," he added in English.
"That is quite another matter, sir," said Marteau gravely. "I regret that you are an enemy and that I can not——"
"But we are not enemies, Monsieur," cried one of the officers, who had just succeeded in working a gag out of his mouth. "We are Russian officers of the Imperial Guard and since you have deserted the cause of the Corsican you will——"
"Deserted!" thundered Marteau, his pale face flaming. "That was as much a ruse as the other."
"What, then, do you mean by wearing a Russian coat over your uniform and——"
"He is a spy. He shall be hanged," said the other, also freeing himself of his gag.
"Indeed," laughed Marteau. "And do you gentlemen ask me to release you in order that you may hang me?"
"I won't hang you," burst out the Englishman. "On the contrary, I'll give you fifty pounds if you'll cut these cords and——"
Marteau shook his head.
"Countess," bellowed Yeovil angrily, "there's a knife on the table yonder, pray do you——"
The young woman made a swift step in that direction, but the Frenchman was too quick for her.
"Pardon me, mademoiselle, I beg that the first use you make of your new life be not to aid my enemies."
"Your enemies, Marteau?"
"The enemies of France, then."
"Not my uncle's France," said the girl.
"But your father's, and I had hoped yours."
"No, no."
"In any event, these gentlemen must remain bound for the time being. No harm shall come to you from me," continued Marteau, addressing the two officers. "But as for these hounds——" He stepped over to the two Cossacks, who lay mute. He bent over them with such a look of rage, ruthless determination and evil purpose in his face as startled the woman into action.
"Monsieur!" she cried, stepping over to him and striving to interpose between him and the two men. "Marteau, what would you do?"
"My sister—dead in the cottage yonder after—after——" he choked out. He stopped, his fingers twitching. "My old father! If I served them right I would pitch them into yonder fireplace or torture them, the dogs, the cowards!"
"My friend," said the young Countess gently, laying her hand on his arm.
Marteau threw up his hands, that touch recalled him to his senses.
"I will let them alone for the present," he said. "Meanwhile——" He seized the dead man and dragged the body out of sight behind the tables.
"Will monsieur give a thought to me?" came another voice from the dim recesses of a far corner.
"And who are you?" asked Marteau, lifting the light and staring.
"A Frenchman, sir. They knocked me on the head and left me for dead, but if monsieur would assist me I——"
Marteau stepped over to him, bent down and lifted him up. He was a stout, hardy looking peasant boy, pale cheeked, with blood clotted around his forehead from a blow that he had received. Feverish fire sparkled in his eyes.
"If monsieur wishes help to put these brutes out of the way command me," he said passionately.
"We will do nothing with them at present," answered Marteau.
"Quick, Laure, the knife," whispered the Englishman.
The Frenchman heard him, however, and wheeled around.
"Mademoiselle," he cried, "on your honor I charge you not to abuse the liberty I have secured for you and that I allow you."
"But, my friends——"
"If you had depended on your friends you would even now be——" he paused—"as my sister," he added with terrific intensity.
"Your pleasure shall be mine," said the young woman.
"If I could have a drink of wine!" said the young peasant, sinking down into a chair.
"There is a flask which they did not get in the pocket of one of the officers yonder," said the young Frenchwoman, looking sympathetically at the poor exhausted lad.
Marteau quickly recovered it, in spite of the protestations of the officer, who looked his indignation at this little betrayal by the woman. He gave some of it to the peasant and then offered it to mademoiselle and, upon her declining it, took a long drink himself. He was weak and trembling with all he had gone through.
"Now, what's to be our further course?" asked the countess.
"I don't know yet. I——"
But the answer was never finished. Shots, cries, the sound of galloping horses came faintly through the open door.
"My men returning!" cried the Russian officer triumphantly. "Our turn will come now, sir."
Two courses were open. To run or to fight. Duty said go; love said stay. Duty was stronger. After a moment's hesitation Marteau dashed for the door. He was too late. The returning Russian cavalry was already entering the courtyard. Fate had decided against him. He could not go now. He thought with the swiftness of a veteran. He sprang back into the hall, threw the great iron-bound door into its place, turned the massive key in its lock, thanking God that key and lock were still intact, dropped the heavy bars at top and bottom that further secured it, just as the first horseman thundered upon the door.
In his rapid passage through the house the young Frenchman had noticed that all the windows were shuttered and barred, that only the front door appeared to have been opened. He was familiar with the château. He knew how carefully its openings had been secured and how often his father had inspected them, to keep out brigands, the waifs and strays, the wanderers, the low men of the countryside. For the moment he was safe with his prisoners, one man and a boy guarding a score of men and one woman, and holding a château against a hundred and fifty soldiers! Fortunately, there would be no cannon with that troop of cavalry, there were no cannon in that wagon train, so that they could not batter down the château over his head. What his ultimate fate would be he could not tell. Could he hold that castle indefinitely? If not, what? How he was to get away and reach Napoleon with his vital news he could not see. There must be some way, however. Well, whatever was to be would be, and meanwhile he could only wait developments and hold on.
The troopers outside were very much astonished to find the heavy door closed and the two sentries dead on the terrace. They dismounted from their horses at the foot of the terrace and crowded about the door, upon which they beat with their pistols, at the same time shouting the names and titles of the officers within. Inside the great hall Marteau had once more taken command. In all this excitement Laure d'Aumenier had stood like a stone, apparently indifferent to the appeals of the four bound men on the floor and the Englishman in the chair that she cut the ropes with which they were bound, while the French officer was busy at the door. Perhaps that young peasant might have prevented her, but as a matter of fact, she made no attempt to answer their pleas. She stood waiting and watching. Just as Marteau reëntered the room the chief Russian officer shouted out a command. From where he lay on the floor his voice did not carry well and there was too much tumult outside for anyone to hear. In a second Marteau was over him.
"If you open your mouth again, monsieur," he said fiercely, "I shall have to choose between gagging and killing you, and I incline to the latter. And these other gentlemen may take notice. You, what are you named?"
"Pierre Lebois, sir," answered the peasant.
"Can you fire a gun?"
"Give me a chance," answered the young fellow. "I've got people dead, yonder, to avenge."
The brigands had left the swords and pistols of the officers on chairs, tables and the floor. There were eight pistols. Marteau gathered them up. The English baronet yielded one other, a huge, heavy, old-fashioned weapon.
"There are loopholes in the shutters yonder," said the officer. "Do you take that one, I will take the other. They will get away from the door in a moment and as soon as you can see them fire."
"Mademoiselle," said the Russian officer desperately, "I shall have to report to the commander of the guard and he to the Czar that you gave aid and comfort to our enemies."
"But what can I do?" asked the young woman. "Monsieur Marteau could certainly shoot me if I attempted——"
"Assuredly," said Marteau, smiling at her in a way anything but fierce.
It was that implicit trust in her that restrained her and saved him. As a girl the young countess had been intensely fond of Jean Marteau. He certainly appeared well in his present role before her. In the revulsion of feeling in finding him not a bully, not a traitor, but a devoted friend and servitor, he advanced higher in her estimation than ever before. Besides, the young woman was by no means so thoroughgoing a loyalist as her old uncle, for instance.
"I can see them now, monsieur," said the young peasant from the peep-hole in the shutter.
Indeed, the men outside had broken away from the door, groups were running to and fro seeking lights and some other entrance. Taking aim at the nearest Marteau pulled the trigger and Pierre followed his example. The noise of the explosions was succeeded by a scream of anguish, one man was severely wounded and another killed. Something mysterious had happened while they had been off on the wild goose chase apparently, the Russians decided. The château had been seized, their officers had been made way with, it was held by the enemy.
"They can't be anything more than wandering peasants," cried an imperious voice in Russian outside. "I thought you had made thorough work with them all, Scoref," continued the speaker. "Your Cossacks must have failed to complete the job."
"It will be the first time," answered Scoref, thehetmanof the raiders. "Look, the village burns!"
"Well, what's to be done now?" said the first voice.
"I don't know, Baron," was the answer. "Besieging castles is more in your line than in mine."
"Shall we fire again, monsieur?" asked Pierre within.
"No," was the answer. "Remember we've only got eight shots and we must wait."
"Let us have lights," cried the commander of the squadron. "Here, take one of those wagons and——"
In a few moments a bright fire was blazing in the courtyard.
"The shots came from those windows," continued the Russian. "Keep out of the way and—— Isn't that a window open up there?"
"It is, it is!" came the answer from a dozen throats.
All the talk being in Russian was, of course, not understood by the two Frenchmen.
"One of you climb up there," continued the Russian. "You see the spout, and the coping, that buttress? Ten roubles to the man who does it."
A soldier sprang forward. Those within could hear his heavy body rub along the wall. They did not know what he was doing or what was toward. They were in entire ignorance that a shutter had become detached from its hinges in the room above the drawing-room and that they would soon have to face an attack from the rear. The man who climbed fancied himself perfectly secure, and indeed he was from those within. It was a hard climb, but presently he reached the window-ledge. His hands clasped it, he made a brave effort, drew himself up and on the instant from beyond the wagons came a pistol shot. The man shrieked, released his hold and fell crashing to the ground. The besiegers broke into wild outcries. Some of them ran in the direction whence the shot had come. They thought they caught the glimpse of a figure running away in the darkness. Pistols were fired and the vicinity was thoroughly searched, but they found nothing.
The shot, the man's cry overhead, the body crashing down to the ground, enlightened Marteau. He handed Pierre two of the six remaining pistols, told him to run to the floor above and watch the window. The young peasant crossed himself and turned away. He found the room easily enough. It was impossible to barricade the window, but he drew back in the darkness and waited.
Having found no one in the grove beyond the baggage-wagons, the Russians called for another volunteer and a second man offered. Pierre heard him coming, permitted him to gain the ledge and then thrust the pistol in his face and pulled the trigger. At the same time a big Cossack coming within easy range and standing outlined between the loophole and the fire, Marteau gave him his second bullet, with fatal effect. There flashed into his mind that the shot which had come so opportunely from outside bespoke the arrival of his friend, the grenadier. He hoped the man would have sense enough to go immediately to Sézanne and report the situation. If he could maintain the defense of the castle for two hours he might be rescued. He stepped to the hall and called up to Pierre. Receiving a cheery reply to the effect that all was well and that he would keep good watch, he came back into the great hall and resumed his ward.
Mademoiselle d'Aumenier had seated herself at a table and remained there in spite of the entreaties and black looks of the prisoners. Marteau did not dare to leave his loophole, but the necessity for watching did not prevent him from talking. The men outside seemed to have decided that nothing more could be done for the present. They withdrew from out of range of the deadly fire of the defenders and, back of the wagons, kindled fires, and seemed to be preparing to make a night of it.
The best officers of the detachment were prisoners in the château. The subordinate who had been entrusted with the pursuit was young and inexperienced; the Cossack commander was a mere raider. They themselves belonged to the cavalry. They decided, after inspecting the whole building carefully as nearly as they dared in view of the constant threat of discharge, that they would have to wait until morning, unless something occurred to them or some chance favored them. They trusted that at daylight they would have no difficulty in effecting an entrance somewhere. A total of three men dead and one wounded, to say nothing of the sentries and officers, had a discouraging effect on night work. They did not dream that there was an enemy, a French soldier, that is, nearer than Troyes. They supposed that the castle had been seized by some of the enraged country people who had escaped the Cossacks and that they could easily deal with them in the morning.
Incidentally, the wine cellars in which the peasants had been shut had openings to the outer air, and through them came shouts and cries which added to the mystification of the besiegers and increased their prudence. The walls of the château were massive, the floors thick, the wine cellar far away, and no sound came from them to the inmates of the great hall. Indeed, in the exciting adventure that had taken place, the raiders had been completely forgot by Marteau and the others.
The conversation in the hall was not animated. The Countess Laure, womanlike, at last began to ask questions.
"Monsieur Marteau," she asked persuasively, "will you hear reason?"
"I will hear anything, mademoiselle, from you," was the instant reply.
"Think of the unhappy state of France."
"I have had reason enough to think of it to-night, mademoiselle. My father and my sister——" his voice faltered.
"I know," said the girl sympathetically, and, indeed, she was deeply grieved for the misfortunes of the faithful and devoted old man and the young girl she had loved. She waited a moment and then continued. "The Emperor is at last facing defeat. His cause is hopeless."
"He yet lives," answered the soldier softly.
"Yes, of course," said the woman. "I do not understand the military situation, but my friends——"
"Will monsieur allow me the favor of a word?" interposed the chief Russian officer courteously.
"If it is not to summon assistance you may speak," replied Marteau.
"As a soldier you know the situation as well as I," continued the Russian. "Prince Von Schwarzenberg has Napoleon in his grasp. He will hold him until he is ready to seize him, while Field-Marshal Blücher takes Paris."
"The Emperor yet lives," said Marteau, repeating his former remark with more emphasis and smiling somewhat scornfully. "It is not wise to portion the lion's skin while it covers his beating heart," he added meaningly.
"Not even the genius of your Emperor," persisted the Russian more earnestly, "will avail now, monsieur. He is lost, his cause as well. Why, this very convoy tells the story. We intercepted letters that told how pressing was its need. Your army is without arms, without food, without clothes."
"It still has its Emperor."
"Death!" cried the Russian impatiently. "Must we kill him in order to teach you a lesson?"
"You will not kill him while there is a soldier in France to interpose his body."
"Very heroic, doubtless," sneered the Russian, beginning to get angry. "But you know your cause is lost."
"And if it were?"
"Be reasonable. There are many Frenchmen with the allied armies. Your rank is——?"
"I am a Major on the Emperor's staff if you are interested to know."
"Major Marteau, I have no doubt that my interest with my Emperor, the Czar Alexander, with whom I am remotely connected—I may say I am a favorite officer in his guard—would doubtless insure you a Colonel's commission, perhaps even that of a General of Brigade, with my gracious master, or in the army of King Louis after we have replaced him on his throne if——"
"If what?"
"If you release us, restore us to our command. Permit us to send for horses to take the place of those we have killed to take the wagons of the valuable convoy to our own army."
"And you would have me abandon my Emperor?"
"For the good of France," urged the Russian meaningly.
"Will you answer me a question, monsieur?" continued the young man after a moment's deep thought.
"Certainly, if it be not treason to my master."
"Oh, you have views on treason, then," said the Frenchman adroitly and not giving the other time to answer he continued. "To what corps are you attached?"
"Count Sacken's."
"And whose division?"
"General Olsuvieff's."
"Monsieur," said the young Frenchman calmly, "it is more than probable that before to-morrow your division will be annihilated and the next day the corps of General Sacken may meet the same fate."
The Russian laughed scornfully at what seemed to him the wildest boasting.
"Are you mad?"
"Not so mad as you will be when it happens."
The Russian controlled himself with difficulty in the face of the irritating observations.
"And who will do this?" he asked, at last.
"The Emperor."
"Does he command the lightning-flash that he could hurl the thunder-bolt from Troyes?"
"Upon my word, I believe he does," laughed the Frenchman.
"This is foolish jesting, boy," broke out the Englishman. "I am a man of consideration in my own country. The lady here will bear me out. I offered you fifty pounds. I will give you five hundred if you will release us and——"
"And I offer you my—friendship," said the Countess, making a long pause before the last word.
How much of it she meant or how little no one could say. Any ruse was fair in war like this. Marteau looked at her. The color flamed to her cheek and died away. It had flamed into his cheek and died away also.
"Gentlemen," he said, "you offer me rank, money——" he paused—"friendship——" he shot a meaning glance at the young girl. He paused again.
"Well?" said the Russian.
"Speak out," said the Englishman. "Your answer, lad?"
"I refuse."
"Don't be a fool," roared Sir Gervaise bluntly.
"I refuse, I repeat," said Marteau. "While the Emperor lives I am his man. Not rank, not money, not friendship, not love itself even could move me. Enough, gentlemen," he continued imperiously as the two Russians and the Englishman all began to speak at once. "No more. Such propositions are insults."
"There is another appeal which ought to be brought to your attention, young sir," said the second Russian officer when he could be heard.
"And what is that?"
"Your life. You know that as soon as day breaks the château will be seized. You are a self-confessed spy. You came here wearing a Russian uniform. As soon as we are released we shall hang you as a spy. But if you release us now, on my word of honor you shall go free."
"Monsieur is a very brave man," said Marteau smiling.
"Why?"
"To threaten me with death while he is in my power. You are the only witnesses. I could make way with you all."
"You forget the Countess and the English gentleman."
"Although the Countess is the enemy of France——"
"Nay, nay, the friend," interposed the girl.
"Be it so. Although she is the enemy of the Emperor then, I cannot believe that she could condemn to death by her testimony the man who has saved her from worse than death, and as for the English gentleman——"
"Damme if I'd say a word to hurt you, if only for what you have done for her, whether you release me or not," cried Yeovil.
"You see?"
"Monsieur Jean," said the Countess, "you put me under great obligations to you."
"By saving your life, your honor, mademoiselle! I gladly——"
"By giving me your confidence," interrupted the girl, who in her secret heart was delighted at the stand the young officer had taken. She would have despised him if he had succumbed to the temptation of which she herself was part.
"I could do no less, mademoiselle," returned Marteau. "I and my forbears have served your house and known it and loved it for eight hundred years."
"I know it," answered the girl. "I value the association. I am proud of it."
"And since you know it and recognize it perhaps you will tell me how you happen to be here."
"Willingly," answered Mademoiselle Laure. "The estates are to be sold. There are deeds and papers of value in the château without which transactions could not be completed. I alone knew where they were. With Monsieur Yeovil, my uncle's friend and the father of——" she hesitated and then went on, "so I came to France."
"But with the invading armies——"
"There was no other way. The Czar Alexander gave me a safe conduct. A company of his guards escorted us. Sir Gervaise Yeovil was accredited to Lord Castlereagh, but with his permission he brought me here first. My uncle was too old to come. Arrived here we found the Cossacks, the wagon-train. There was a battle, a victory, pursuit. Then those villains seized us. They stole upon us unsuspecting, having murdered the sentries, and then you came."
"I see. And have you the papers?"
"They are—— Not yet, but I may take them?"
"Assuredly, so far as I am concerned," answered Marteau, "although I regret to see the old estate pass out of the hands of the ancient family."
"I regret it also, but I am powerless."
"We played together here as children," said Marteau. "My father has kept it well since. Your father died and now mine is gone——"
"And I am very sorry," answered the young woman softly.
Marteau turned away, peered out of the window and sank into gloomy silence.
Sézanne was a scene of the wildest confusion that night. It was congested with troops and more and more were arriving every minute. They entered the town in fearful condition. They had been weary and ragged and naked before. Now they were in a state of extreme prostration; wet, cold, covered with mud. The roads were blocked with mired artillery, the guns were sunk into the mud to the hubs, the tired horses could no longer move them. The woods on either side were full of stragglers, many of whom had dropped down on the wet ground and slept the sleep of complete exhaustion. Some, indeed, sick and helpless, died where they lay. Everything eatable and drinkable in Sézanne had vanished as a green field before a swarm of locusts when Marmont's division had come through some hours before.
The town boasted a little square or open space in the midst. A huge fire was burning in the center of this open space. A cordon of grenadiers kept the ground about the fire clear of stragglers. Suddenly the Emperor rode into the midst. He was followed by a wet, cold, mud-spattered, bedraggled staff, all of them unutterably weary. Intense resolution blazed in the Emperor's eyes. He had had nothing to eat or drink since morning, but that ancient bodily vigor, that wonderful power of endurance, which had stood him in such good stead in days gone by, seemed to have come back to him now. He was all fire and energy and determination. So soon as his presence was known, couriers reported to him. Many of them he stopped with questions.
"The convoy of arms, provisions, powder," he snapped out to an officer of Marmont's division approaching him, "which was to meet us here. Have you seen it?"
"It has not appeared, Sire."
"Has anything been heard of it?"
"Nothing yet, your Majesty."
"Have you scouted for it, sent out parties to find it? Where is the Comte de Grouchy?"
"I come from him, Sire. He is ahead of the Duke of Ragusa's corps."
"Has he come in touch with the enemy?"
"Not yet, Sire."
"The roads?"
"Worse than those we have passed over."
"Marshal Marmont?"
"I was ordered by General Grouchy to report to him and then——"
"Well, sir?"
"He sent me back here."
"For what purpose?"
"To find you, Sire, and to say to you most respectfully from the Marshal that the roads are absolutely impassable. He has put four teams to a gun and can scarcely move them. To advance is impossible. He but awaits your order to retrace his steps."
"Retrace his steps!" shouted Napoleon, raising his voice. "Never! He must go on. Our only hope, our only chance, salvation lies in an instant advance. He knows that as well as I."
"But the guns, Sire?"
"Abandon the guns if necessary. We'll take what cannon we need from the enemy."
And that admission evidenced the force with which the Emperor held his convictions as to the present movement. Great, indeed, was the necessity which would induce Napoleon to order the abandonment of a single gun.
"But, Sire——"
"Monsieur," said Napoleon severely, "you are a young officer, although you wear the insignia of a Colonel. Know that I am not accustomed to have my commands questioned by anyone. You will return to Marshal Marmont at once. Exchange your tired horse for one of my own. I still have a fresh one, I believe. And spare him not. Tell the Duc de Ragusa that he must advance at all hazards. Advance with the guns if he can, if not then without them. Stay, as for the guns—— Where is the Mayor of the town?"
"Here, Sire," answered a plain, simple man in civilian's dress standing near.
"Are there any horses left in the countryside, monsieur?"
"Many, your Majesty, wherever the Russians have not passed."
"I thought so. Gentlemen," the Emperor turned to his staff, "ride in every direction. Take the mounted escort. Bid them scatter. Go to every village and farm. Ask my good French people to bring their horses in, to lend them to the Emperor. It is for France. I strike the last blow for them, their homes, their wives and children. Fortune smiles upon us. The enemy is delivered into our hands. They shall be liberally rewarded."
"The men are hungry," cried a voice from a dark group of officers in the background.
"They are weary," exclaimed another, under cover of the darkness.
"Who spoke?" asked the Emperor, but he did not wait for an answer, perhaps he did not care for one. "I, too, am hungry, I, your Emperor, and I am weary. I have eaten nothing and have ridden the day long. There is bread, there are guns in the Field-Marshal's army. We shall take from Blücher all that we need. Then we can rest. You hear?"
"We hear, Sire."
"Good. Whose division is yonder?"
"Mine, Sire," answered Marshal Ney, riding up and saluting.
"Ah, Prince," said Napoleon, riding over toward him. "Michael," he added familiarly as he drew nearer, "I am confident that the Prussians have no idea that we are nearer than Troyes to them. We must get forward with what we can at once and fall on them before they learn of our arrival and concentrate. We must move swiftly."
"To-morrow," suggested Ney.
"To-night."
"The conscripts of my young guard are in a state of great exhaustion and depression. If they could have the night to rest in——"
Napoleon shook his head.
"Advance with those who can march," he said decisively. "We must fall on Blücher in the morning or we are lost."
"Impossible!" ejaculated Ney.
"I banished that word from my vocabulary when I first went into Italy," said Napoleon. "Where are your troops?"
"Here, your Majesty," answered Ney, turning, pointing back to dark huddled ranks drooping over their muskets at parade rest.
Napoleon wheeled his horse and trotted over to them. The iron hand of Ney had kept some sort of discipline and some sort of organization, but the distress and dismay of the conscripts was but too plainly evident.
"My friends," said the Emperor, raising his voice, "you are hungry——" a dull murmur of acquiescence came from the battalion—"you are weary and cold——" a louder murmur—"you are discouraged——" silence. "Some of you have no arms. You would fain rest. Well I, your Emperor, am weary, I am hungry, I am old enough to be the father of most of you and I am wet and cold. But we must forget those things. You wonder why I have marched you all the day and most of the night through the cold and the wet and the mud. The Prussians are in front of us. They are drawn out in long widely separated columns. They have no idea that we are near them. One more effort, one more march, and we shall fall upon them. We shall pierce their lines, cut them to pieces, beat them in detail; we shall seize their camps, their guns, their clothes, their food. We shall take back the plunder they have gathered as they have ravaged France. They have stolen and destroyed and murdered—you have seen it. One more march, one more battle for——" he hesitated a moment—"for me," he said with magnificent egotism and audacity. "I have not forgotten how to lead, nor you to follow. We will show them that at the great game of war we are still master players. Come, if there be one too weary to walk, he shall have his Emperor's horse and I will march afoot as I have often done for France."
He spoke with all his old force and power. The tremendous personal magnetism of the man was never more apparent. The young men of Ney's corps thrilled to the splendid appeal. There was something fascinating, alluring in the picture. They hated the Prussians. They had seen the devastated fields, the dead men and women, the ruined farms. The light from the fire played mystically about the great Emperor on his white horse. He seemed to them like a demi-god. There were a few old soldiers in the battalion. The habit of years was upon them.
"Vive l'Empereur," one veteran shouted.
Another caught it up and finally the whole division roared out that frightful and thrilling battle cry in unison.
"That's well," said the Emperor, a little color coming into his face. "If the lads are of this mettle, what may I expect of the old soldiers of the guard?"
"Forward! Forward!" shouted a beardless boy in one of the front ranks.
"You hear, Marshal Ney?" said Napoleon, turning to his fighting Captain. "With such soldiers as these I can go anywhere and do anything."
"Your Majesty," cried a staff officer, riding up at a gallop, "the peasants are bringing their horses in. There is a section of country to the eastward which has not yet been ridden over by the enemy."
"Good," said the Emperor. "As fast as they come up dispatch them to Marmont. You will find me there by the fire in the square for the next hour. Meanwhile I want the next brigade of horse that reaches Sézanne to be directed to scout in the direction of Aumenier for that missing wagon-train for which we——"
There was a sudden confusion on the edge of the line. The grenadiers forming a circle around the fire had caught a man wearing a Russian greatcoat and were dragging him into the light.
"What's this?Mon Dieu!" exclaimed Napoleon, recognizing the green uniform which he had seen on many a battlefield. "A Russian! Here!"
"A soldier of France, Sire," came the astonishing answer in excellent French from the supposed prisoner.
At this amazing remark in their own tongue the bewildered grenadiers on guard released him. He tore off the green cap and dashed it to the ground.
"Give me a shako. Let me feel the bearskin of the guard again," he cried impetuously, as his hands ripped open his overcoat, disclosing his uniform. "I am a grenadier of the line, Sire."
Napoleon peered down at him.
"Ah," he said, "I know you. You are called——"
"Bal-Arrêt, your Majesty."
"Exactly. Have you stopped any more this time?"
"There is one in my left arm. Your guards hurt when they grasped it. But it is nothing. I didn't come here to speak of bullets, but of——"
"What?"
"The Russians, the Prussians."
"Where did you get that coat and cap?"
"I rode with Jean Marteau," answered the grenadier, greatly excited.
"What of him? Is he alive?"
"I think so."
"Did you leave him?"
"I did, Sire."
"And why?"
"To bring you news."
"Of Marshal Blücher's armies?"
The grenadier nodded his head.
"What of them? Quick man, your tidings? Have you been among them?"
"All day long."
"Where are they?"
"General Yorck with his men is at Étampes."
"And Macdonald?"
"Fighting a rearguard action beyond Château-Thierry."
"On what side of the Marne?"
"The north side, Sire. Right at La Ferte-sous-Jouarre."
"What else?"
"Sacken's Russians are advancing along the main road through Montmirail toward Paris. Olusuvieff's Russian division is at Champaubert."
"And where are Blücher and Wittgenstein and Wrede?"
"Major Marteau will have to tell you that, Sire. He went that way."
"You separated?"
"Yes, Sire."
"You were to meet somewhere?"
"At the Château d'Aumenier."
"Did you go there?"
"I did, Sire."
"And you found?"
"The ground around the château filled with wagons."
"A train?"
"Of arms, clothing, ammunition, everything the army lacks."
"What was it doing there?"
"There had been a battle. Horses and men were slain; Frenchmen, Cossacks, Russians. I pillaged one wagon," continued the grenadier.
He drew forth from the pocket of the coat a bottle and a handful of hard bread, together with what remained of the roast pig.
"Will you share your meal with a brother soldier?" asked the Emperor, who was ordinarily the most fastidious of mortals, but who could on occasion assume the manner of the rudest private soldier.
"Gladly," said the proud and delighted grenadier, handing the bottle, the bread and the meat to Napoleon, who took them and drank and ate rapidly as he continued to question amid the approving murmurs of the soldiers, who were so delighted to see their Emperor eat like a common man that they quite forgot their own hunger.
"What were the wagons doing there unguarded?"
"I think the men who captured the train were pursuing its guard. Just as I approached the chateau they came riding back. I remained quiet, watching them ride up to the door of the house, which they found barred apparently, for I could hear them beat on it with the butts of their sabers and pistols. They built a fire and suddenly I heard shots. By the light I could see Russians falling. It came into my mind that Major Marteau had seized the castle and was holding it."
"Alone?"
"One soldier of yours, Sire, ought to be able to hold his own against a thousand Russians, especially inside a castle wall."
"And what did you then?"
"I made ready my pistol, Sire, and when I saw a man climbing the wall to get in an open window I shot him."
"And then?"
"They ran after me, fired at me but I escaped in the darkness."
"You ran?"
"Because I knew that you must have the news and as Marteau was there it was necessary for me to bring it."
"You have done well," said the Emperor in great satisfaction. "I thank you for your tidings and your meal. I have never tasted a better. Do you wish to go to the rear?"
"For a scratch in the arm?" asked old Bullet-Stopper scornfully. "I, who have carried balls in my breast and have some there now?"
"I like your spirit," said the Emperor, "and I will——"
At this instant a staff officer rode up.
"General Maurice's cavalry is just arriving, Sire," he said.
"Good," said the Emperor. "The brave light-horseman! My sword hand! I will ride with him myself. Tell the Comte de Vivonne to lead his division toward Aumenier, I will join him at once." He turned to those of his staff who remained in the square. "Remain here, gentlemen. Tell the arriving troops that at daybreak we shall beat the Russians at Champaubert. Bid them hasten if they would take part in the victory and the plunder. The rest will be easy."
"And you, Sire?"
"I ride with the cavalry brigade to Aumenier. Tell the men that the wagon-train has arrived. We shall seize it. Food, arms, will be distributed in the morning. Is that you, Maurice?" he continued, as a gallant young general officer attended by a few aides rode up.
"At your service, Sire," answered a gay voice.
"Your cavalry?"
"Weary but ready to follow the Emperor anywhere."
"Forward, then. There is food and drink at the end of our ride. It is but a few miles to Aumenier."
"May I have a horse and go with you, Sire?" asked the old grenadier.
"Assuredly. See that he gets one and a Cross of the Legion of Honor, too. Come, gentlemen," continued the Emperor, putting spurs to his tired horse.