For a long time the besiegers had given little evidence of their presence. Through the loop-holes in the shutters fires could be seen burning, figures coming and going. They were busy about something, but just what was not apparent. They had been unmolested by the defenders. Marteau had but three pistols and therefore three shots left. Pierre, upstairs, had but one. To kill one or two more Russians would not have bettered their condition. The pistols should be saved for a final emergency. He had called up to Pierre and had cautioned him. There was nothing to do but to wait.
From time to time the silence was broken by snatches of conversation. As, for instance, the Countess Laure, observing that Marteau wore upon his breast the Grand Cross of the Legion of Honor, thus began,
"You wear a great decoration for a simple——" She stopped awkwardly.
"For a simple peasant you were about to say, mademoiselle," answered Marteau, smiling with a little touch of scorn. "In France to-day even a simple peasant may deserve and receive the favor of the Emperor."
"I am sure that you are worthy of whatever distinction you may have achieved, monsieur," said the Countess gently, grieved at her lack of consideration and anxious to make amends. "And as one who takes pride in all associated with her ancient house will you tell me how you got that?"
"It was at Leipsic."
"Ah, we beat you there," said one Russian meaningly.
"Yes," said Marteau. "Perhaps after having seen your backs so many times we could afford to turn ours upon you once."
"I was there," said the other Russian triumphantly.
"Were you also at Friedland, at Eylau, at Borodino, at——" began Marteau angrily.
"Gentlemen!" said the Countess.
"Forgive, mademoiselle," said the Frenchman quickly. "I, at least, will not fight our battles over in the presence of a woman."
"But the cross?"
"It was nothing. I saved an eagle. The Emperor bestowed it on me."
"Tell me about it."
"I was on the bridge at Leipsic when it was blown up by that fatal mistake. The Port-Aigle was torn to pieces. The Colonel seized the Eagle as it fell from his hand. I was next to him—afoot. A storm of bullets swept over the river. As the Colonel on his horse was pushed over the parapet by the flying fugitives a shot struck him. He had just strength enough to gasp out, 'Save the Eagle' as he was swept away. I was lucky enough to catch the staff—a bullet had broken it—I seized the upper half with the Eagle and the flag which had almost been shot to pieces during the battle—the Fifth-of-the-Line had done its full duty that day—and I swam with it toward the bank. Really, mademoiselle, any soldier would have done as well. I only happened to be there."
"Go on, monsieur, I wish to hear everything."
"At your pleasure, then," said Marteau reluctantly, continuing his story.
"The river was filled with men and horses. Marshal Poniatowski was near me. He had been wounded, and guided his swimming horse with his left hand. The current was swift. We were swept down the stream. A cavalryman next to me was shot from his horse. He fell over upon me. I was forced under water a moment. Another horse, swimming frantically, struck my shoulder with his hoof, fortunately it was the left one. My arm was broken. I seized the tatters of the flag in my teeth—you know I am an expert swimmer, mademoiselle?"
"I know it," answered the girl, her eyes gleaming at the recital. "Have you forgot the day when, disregarding your warnings, I fell into the river and was swept away and how you plunged in and brought me to the shore and never told my father?"
"I have not forgot," said the young officer simply, "but it was not for me to remind you."
"And I have not forgot, either. But continue the story," said the young Countess, her eyes shining, her breath coming quicker, as she listened to the gallant tale so modestly set forth.
"With my right arm I swam as best I could. There was a horse nearby which had lost his rider. I grasped the saddle horn. Somehow I managed to reach the shore with the Eagle. I clambered up the bank, slippery with water and with blood, mademoiselle. The Russians were firing at us from the town. A bullet struck me."
"Where?"
"I am ashamed to say, in the back," said the soldier, flushing at the recollection. "But if I had stood up and faced them the Eagle would have been lost."
The Russian laughed scornfully.
"In the back," he cried meaningly, "a fine place for a soldier!"
"Shame," said the Countess quickly.
"If I had faced them," returned the French soldier simply, "I should have been shot in the breast and killed, perhaps, but I should have lost the Eagle. It was my business to save the Eagle at all hazards, even though I should be branded with cowardice for having done so," he went on hotly.
"I understand," said the Countess. "I, who have known you from a child, know that you are a brave man, monsieur. Proceed."
"I staggered up the bank. Fortune had brought me to the place where the Emperor stood watching. There were staff officers about him. Oh, very few. The slaughter had been dreadful, the confusion was inconceivable, mademoiselle. They made way for me. How well I remember the whole scene," continued the young Frenchman. "The Emperor stood a little apart, his face pale, his head bent. He was frowning and whistling."
"Whistling! Damme," burst out Sir Gervaise Yeovil, deeply interested in the unpretentious account of so heroic a deed. "What was he whistling?"
"Malbrook-s'en-va-t'en-guerre."
"By gad," roared the Englishman. "Marlborough beat you. Just wait until we come in touch with you."
"There was no Napoleon there," observed Marteau simply, as if that were adequate answer.
"Napoleon or no Napoleon, wait until Wellington——"
"We shall wait."
"Pardon, Monsieur Yeovil," said the Countess, "will you not allow Monsieur Marteau to proceed?"
"There is little more to tell, mademoiselle. The Emperor saw me come up. I was wet, my arm hung useless, the bullet had gone through my body. There was blood on my uniform coat. I thought that I was dying, that my end was at hand. My strength was ebbing. I concentrated all my will and power. Holding the Eagle, I lifted it up in salute. 'What have we here?' cried the Emperor, fixing his glance upon me. 'Lieutenant Marteau,' I answered. His voice came to me as in a dream and my own voice sounded far away. 'Of what regiment?' 'The Fifth-of-the-Line, Sire.' 'You have saved the Eagle.' 'Yes, Sire,' I replied. And then consciousness left me. As I fell I heard the Emperor say, 'See that he gets the Legion of Honor if he survives.' People caught me in their arms. When I woke up I was in France. Here, at Aumenier, in my father's house."
Young Marteau did not add to his story that, as he fell, he heard the Emperor, deeply moved, exclaim:
"With such men what resources does not France possess?"
"And did the Emperor give you the cross?" eagerly asked the girl.
"It was forgot until a few days since. When I recovered I rejoined the regiment. To take the duty of an officer suddenly ill I happened to be stationed on service near the Emperor at Nogent. When others were urging him to make terms, I, though a young soldier, ventured to express myself to the contrary."
"And then?"
"His Majesty pardoned the liberty, recognized me, gave me his own cross, made me a Major on his staff."
"And the Eagle?"
"It is still carried at the head of what remains of the Fifth-of-the-Line," said the young man proudly.
"When we have taken your Emperor we will do away with those Eagles, and after we restore her rightful king to France we shall give her back her ancient flag of golden lilies," said the Russian.
"Precisely," said Marteau sharply. "When you have taken the Emperor you may do all that. The men who have made France so great under him will care little what you do, monsieur, under such circumstances."
"And why will they be so indifferent, Monsieur Jean?" asked the Countess curiously.
"They will be dead, mademoiselle, and their Emperor, too, unless God preserve his life for some future use."
"Happy," said the young girl, "is the man who can inspire such devotion, monsieur. Although I have been trained differently I think that——"
What the Countess thought was never said for at that instant the door at the farther end of the great room was thrown open suddenly with a violent crash, and into the apartment came crowding the score of villains and scoundrels who had been imprisoned below stairs. They had managed to break out in some way and had returned to the great hall to seize again their captives and to wreak their vengeance upon their betrayer. They had got at the wine and were inflamed with drink as well as revenge and savage passion. They had realized, of course, that some enemies were outside but they had not clearly grasped the situation. All they thought of at the time were the people in the great hall. They came crowding through the big doorway, several of them handling pistols and all of them shouting savage and fearsome cries of revenge and triumph.
Instantly the pistols were presented, the triggers pressed and half a dozen bullets swept through the room. Marteau had seen the first movement of the door. He had divined what had happened. Before the pistols had been leveled he was by the side of the Countess. The table at which she sat was a huge and heavy one. With one movement he hurled her, chair and all, to the floor, with the other he threw the table on its side in front of her. One of the bullets grazed his cheek, the others swept harmlessly through the room. He seized from another table two of his remaining pistols and discharged them squarely into the face of the crowding mass at the other end of the room at point-blank range. The sounds of the shots still echoed when he cried out:
"The knife, Countess. Cut the bonds of the prisoners. We must fight here for our lives and your honor."
The Countess Laure was quick to understand.
"You are safe now. They have no more shots. Hasten," he urged, reaching down a hand and assisting her to her feet.
He clutched the barrels of his pistols thereafter and hurled them directly into the faces of the infuriated men. Five of them were down and his prompt action had given the people in the room a little respite.
"Gentlemen," cried Marteau, sweeping out his sword and stepping into the open space between the prisoners and the overturned table on one hand and the renegades on the other, "quick, take your swords for the honor of the Countess and for your lives."
The man who led the renegades had some idea of military tactics. He spoke a few sharp words and half a dozen of them backed out of the room, entered the outer hall and ran around to the door on the side of the apartment which gave access to the great hall. The little band of defenders retreated into a corner near the fireplace, which was raised a step or two above the floor of the room.
Meanwhile Laure had cut the lashings of the Russians, the Cossacks, and the Englishman. They staggered to their feet numb from their long bondage, but inspired by the frightful imminence of their peril they seized their swords and presented a bold front to the two-sided enemy. There was one pistol left charged. Marteau handed that to the girl.
"The last shot, mademoiselle," he said meaningly, "for yourself if——"
"I understand."
"If you could only get to the door," growled the Russian commander, "my men outside would make short work of——"
"It is impossible until we have dealt with these villains," said Marteau. "On guard!" he cried as the marauders suddenly leaped forward.
The big Englishman, burly, tremendously powerful for all his advancing years, dropped his sword for a moment, picked up one of the heavy oak chairs and hurled it full into the face of the larger body at the further end of the room. One stumbled over it, two others fell. The next moment both parties were upon the little group. In their haste, in their drunken excitement, the marauders had not thought to recharge their pistols. With swords, scythes and clubs they fell on the six men. Their numbers worked to their disadvantage. Three of the men surrounding the woman, the Frenchman and the two Russian guardsmen, were accomplished swordsmen. The Cossacks were not to be disdained in rough-and-tumble fighting and the Englishman was a valiant ally. Their racial antagonisms were forgot in their common danger and the deadly peril of the woman.
The swords of the soldiers flashed as they thrust and parried. The Cossacks, less skillful, strove to beat down the attackers by sweeping slashes—not the best method for such close fighting. One Cossack was pierced through the breast by a thrust from a renegade and another was cut from his neck almost to his heart by a blow from a scythe. One of the Russian officers was wounded, fell to his knees and was dispatched. The Englishman was hit by a billet of wood and dazed. Marteau and the other Russian were still unharmed. But it was going hard with them. In fact, a fierce blow on his blade from a bludgeon shivered the weapon of the Frenchman. A sword was aimed at his heart. There was a blinding flash, a detonation, and the man who held it staggered back. The Countess, the last pistol almost touching the man's body, had pulled the trigger. Marteau seized the sword of the man who had menaced him. The next instant the château was shaken by a terrific roar. The Russians outside having constructed a rude bomb had blown up the door.
For a second the combat ceased. The hall was full of smoke. From outside came shots, shrieks, cries, loud curses and groans, cheers, French and Russian voices, the galloping of horses, words of command. The French were there.
"To me," shouted Marteau at the top of his voice. "France!"
The first to heed the call was young Pierre. He descended the hall, watched the conflict a moment and, having possessed himself of a club, battered down the man nearest him, unsuspecting an attack from the rear, then ranged himself by the side of the surviving Russian and the Frenchman. He did not come through scathless, however, for one of the renegades cut him fiercely as he passed. He stood erect by an effort of will but it was evident he could now add little to the defense. The Russian took the pistol from his hand. The next second the great hall was filled with shouting figures of soldiers. Into the smoke and confusion of the room came Napoleon.
"The Emperor!" cried Marteau.
The Russian officer recognized Napoleon as quickly as the other. The Emperor advanced, the soldiers crowding after threw themselves upon the renegades immediately, while the Emperor strode forward alone. The young Russian noble was a quicker witted man than his countrymen ordinarily were. He saw a chance to end everything then and there, to do his country a great service, although his life would be forfeited instantly in the doing of it.
"My chance," he shouted, raising Pierre's pistol.
The shot was an easy one. It was impossible to miss. Marteau had stepped forward. The thrill in the tones of the man's voice attracted his attention. One glance and he saw all. He threw himself in front of the Emperor just as the Russian pressed the trigger. At the same moment the Countess Laure, who stood nearest him, struck up the Russian's arm. The bullet buried itself in the ceiling above.
"Thank God!" cried Marteau as the sound died away and he saw the Emperor standing unharmed.
Napoleon's keen eye had seen everything.
"It is this lady," said he gracefully, "to whom my safety is due. And I am not unmindful that you interposed your own body between the bullet and your Emperor."
"Your Majesty," cried Marteau, now that his Emperor was safe, fain to discharge his duty, "I have tidings of the utmost importance. I have held this château and detained this convoy the Russians had captured. It contains powder, food, guns——"
"I know," said the Emperor. "It comes in the nick of time."
"And I have to report, Sire, that the corps of Wittgenstein, Wrede and of the Field-Marshal Blücher, himself, are strung out at long intervals to the eastward of Champaubert. They have no idea of your proximity."
"Are the divisions in supporting distance of one another?"
"No, Sire. Olsuvieff's division lies isolated at Champaubert. As to the divisions of Sacken and Yorck I think——"
"I have already received information concerning them," said the Emperor, "from your friend, Bullet-Stopper. He should be here."
"I am here, your Majesty," roared the grenadier, stepping forward, "and saving your Imperial Presence I am glad to see the lad. It was I," continued the grenadier, addressing Marteau and presuming on the familiarity with which Napoleon sometimes treated his men, "that fired the shot that brought the man down from the window."
"And that shot saved us," said young Marteau. "This young peasant here——" he bent over Pierre—"he is not dead, Sire, but sorely wounded—he kept them out up there while we held the room here."
"But these?" asked Napoleon, looking at the prisoners.
"Renegades who had taken advantage of the absence of the Russians pursuing the escort to the wagon-train to seize the castle."
"Why did you not impress them for the defense thereof?" asked the Emperor. "They were French undoubtedly——"
"I found them fighting against us."
Rapidly and in few words Marteau told the story of the night, touching lightly upon his own part, but the Emperor was soldier enough to read between the words of the narration and reconstruct the scene instantly. He turned to one of his officers.
"Take those scoundrels out. Put them up against the wall and shoot them out of hand. They disgrace the name of France. Bid the surgeons of the command come here to look to the wounded."
"They are past hope, except the French boy, your Majesty," said Yeovil, who having recovered his own consciousness speedily had been examining them meanwhile. "I have some skill in wounds. One Cossack is already dead. It would be a mercy to put that other out of his misery with that horrible scythe slash."
"The Russian officer?"
"Gone, too."
"And who are you?"
"I am a barrister," answered the Englishman in bad but comprehensible French.
"A man of the law. You look it not," said the Emperor, smiling faintly.
"Necessity makes us all resort to the sword," said Sir Gervaise, looking at his bloody blade, for he had fought valiantly with the rest and would have been killed but he had been knocked senseless with that billet of wood which had hit him on the head and felled him to the floor.
"You are, by your language, an Englishman."
"I am, and proud of it."
"The English," said Napoleon slowly, "have been my bitterest enemies."
"Pardon, Sire," said the Russian bluntly, "we children of the white Czar will dispute that honor with them."
"And you sought to kill me?" said the Emperor, turning upon the other. "You are a brave man," he added.
"And I would have done so but for——"
"Bah!" interrupted Napoleon contemptuously. "The bullet is not molded that is destined for me. My career is not to be cut short by the hand of any young boy who wears the uniform of the Russian guard. Silence, monsieur! Take him prisoner. See that he be kept under close guard. When we have taken Olsuvieff's division to-morrow and then Sacken's there will be many of his comrades to bear him company to Paris. Did any of the men outside escape?"
"No, Sire," answered General Maurice, entering the room just in time to hear the question. "The wood around the château was completely filled with my men. Those we have not killed here we have taken prisoner. Most of them were shot down as they strove to break through."
"That is well," said the Emperor.
"And the convoy?" asked General Maurice.
"Detach a regiment to escort it back to Sézanne. Let it be distributed to the regiments and divisions as they arrive."
"And those who have gone on ahead?"
"Their arms, equipment and provisions are in the hands of the Prussians. We shall march immediately. As for you, mademoiselle, what is your name?"
"I am the Comtesse Laure d'Aumenier."
"H'm, the daughter of the Comte Robert d'Aumenier, who made his submission to the Empire and received back his estates, I believe?"
"The same, Sire."
"Where is he?"
"Dead, Sire, these two years."
"And you?"
"I went to my uncle in England."
"To the enemy!" exclaimed Napoleon sharply.
"To the enemy," answered the Countess, looking at him courageously.
"And you came back for what purpose?"
"The estates are to be sold. There were certain papers of which I alone knew the hiding place. There was no way for me to reach them save by the courtesy of the Czar Alexander. He sent me to Field-Marshal Blücher with instructions to provide me with an escort to this château. The Field-Marshal did so, and the rest you know."
"And you propose to sell estates that have been in the hands of the family for so long a period? It seems to me that I visited them once when I was a military student at Brienne. Was not your uncle there at the time, an officer in command?"
"I have heard him say so."
"I remember him very well now."
"And he you, your Majesty."
"And he intends now to sell the estates?"
"He did, Sire, but now that there is a possibility of the re—of the——"
"The return of the Bourbons," said Napoleon, divining her thought as the Countess paused in confusion, "There is no possibility of that, mademoiselle. In three weeks the armies opposing me will have been hurled back beyond the frontier. Your family has forfeited its rights to any consideration at my hands. Your uncle is anemigréwho has never made his submission. I find you, a Frenchwoman, in the company of my enemies. Your estates are forfeited. Major Marteau, I make you Comte d'Aumenier. The domains are yours."
"I accept them, your Majesty."
"What! Is it possible——" cried the Countess Laure, her face flaming.
"Silence, mademoiselle. By the laws of war I could have you shot. It would be a fine example. No Frenchman, however high in rank and station, no Frenchwoman, however young or beautiful, can fight against me and France with impunity. Have you anything to say why I should not mete out to you this well-deserved punishment?"
"Nothing," said the young woman with proud disdain. "The revolution has taken the lives of many of my people. I am not better than they. You are the very spirit of the revolution incarnate, Sire, and——"
"Your Majesty," interposed General Maurice.
"Well, sir?" said Napoleon.
General Maurice, a famous light horseman, otherwise known as the Count de Vivonne, was an old friend and a devoted follower of the Emperor. He had interfered before on occasion between Napoleon and his victims. He knew the Emperor thoroughly and loved him. He realized that it was his time to interpose, or someone's, and he had intuition enough to suspect that his interposition would be most welcome, that indeed Napoleon was playing, as he sometimes loved to do, a little comedy. With a wave of his hand the general checked Marteau, whom he knew slightly, who had sprung forward to protest to the Emperor at the words of the woman he loved.
"Allow me a word, Sire," asked the General with that exquisite mixture of courtesy, deference and resolution which characterized his intercourse with the Emperor.
"I am always glad to hear from you, my good Maurice," said the Emperor familiarly. "What have you to say?"
"This young woman is no traitor to you or to France, Sire, however strange her position."
"How do you make that out?" asked the Emperor, the flickering of a smile playing about his lips.
"It was her hand that struck up the Russian's pistol so that the bullet went there," the General of cavalry pointed upward a moment and then his hand fell until his index finger was trained upon the Emperor's heart, "instead of there," he added meaningly.
"Very good," said the Emperor graciously. "But had she not struck up that hand it was in Marteau's heart that the bullet would have lodged, not in mine, if I remember rightly."
"And if that gives me a claim, Sire, to your consideration——"
"Have I not rewarded you enough," asked the Emperor, "in adding the official stamp of a patent to the nobility of heart which is already yours and by giving you the forfeited lands of Aumenier to boot?"
"And I would give them all for the safety of the lady yonder, whose family mine have served for eight hundred years, with whom I played when a boy, and be content to follow your Majesty as the simple soldier I have always been."
"Brave heart and true," said the Emperor, touched. "Mademoiselle, you cannot go back to Blücher. Within two days his army will be no more. I will give you a safe conduct. You can remain here for the night. Couriers will be dispatched to Troyes and to Paris under escort in the morning. They will take you there. You have friends there, I presume?"
"Many."
"You can remain there or, if opportunity arises, I will give orders to have you safely conducted so you can go back to England."
"And me, Sire?" growled out Sir Gervaise Yeovil.
The Emperor laughed.
"I am too good a soldier to fight with men of the law," he said. "You may go with your protégée and share her fortunes."
"I thank your Majesty," said the Englishman, touched in his blunt nature by this extraordinary magnanimity. "I will report your consideration to my king and his people and——"
"And say to them that I long for the moment when I can measure swords with the Duke of Wellington."
"And may that moment come speedily," returned Sir Gervaise.
"As for the rest," said the Emperor, turning away in high good humor, "Marteau, you have been continuously on service for two days and two nights and you are wounded——"
"It is nothing."
"Remain here with old Bullet-Stopper, who, true to his name, has had another touch of the enemy's lead. General Maurice, detail a score of the weakest of your command, those slightly wounded, to whom a night's rest would be useful. They shall remain here until the courier stops for the lady and her English friend, and then under Marteau's command rejoin me in the morning."
"Very good, Sire," said General Maurice, turning away.
"I thank your Majesty," said Marteau, "for all you have done for me, and for the Comtesse d'Aumenier."
"And I thank the Emperor also," said the young woman, smiling at him. "Your Majesty's generosity almost wins me to an imperial allegiance."
Napoleon laughed.
"Not even the Emperor," he said proudly, "is as black as he is painted by traitors and the English, Mademoiselle!" he bowed abruptly but not ungracefully. "Come, gentlemen," he said, turning on his heel, "we must march."
As the Emperor left the room, followed by the officers and men, a little silence fell over the three people remaining therein.
"Monsieur le Comte d'Aumenier!" exclaimed the Countess Laure, wonder, derision and disdain in her voice. "Your château, your domain!"
She looked about the great hall and laughed scornfully. Young Marteau turned crimson. He threw up his head proudly.
"Mademoiselle——" he began sternly, his voice full of indignant protest and resentment.
"Don't be too hard on the lad, Countess," interposed the Englishman, his interest aroused. "By gad, he saved your honor, your life, and——"
"And, if I mistake not, I repaid the obligation by saving his life also, sir."
"And I recognize it, and am grateful, mademoiselle."
"I am ordered to report to you, sir," said a young man, coming into the room followed by a file of dismounted soldiers, and relieving a situation growing most tense.
"Very good," said Marteau, devoutly thankful for the interruption. "You will dispose your men so as to guard the approaches of the château at every hand. You will keep a strict lookout, and you will awaken me at dawn. I think there is nothing to be apprehended from the enemy. The advance of the Emperor will have cleared all this section of even wandering troops of Cossacks by this time, but there are masterless men abroad."
"I shall know how to deal with them," said the young officer, saluting.
"You will also send men to remove these dead bodies and clear up this room. Take this poor lad"—pointing to Pierre—"and see that he is cared for. You will find a place for him upstairs. Your regimental surgeon——"
"Is attending to the wounded. I will see that the boy gets every care, sir."
"And Bal-Arrêt?"
"His arm is dressed, and he is the admiration of the camp-fire."
"I suppose so."
"Any other orders, Major?"
"None; you may go."
"Mademoiselle," said Marteau, facing the Countess as the officer turned away, his men taking the dead bodies and the wounded peasant with them, "you wrong me terribly."
"By saving your life, pray?" she asked contemptuously.
"By—by—your——" he faltered and stopped.
"In what way, Monsieur le Comte?" interrupted the young woman, who knew very well what the young man meant.
In her irritating use of his new-found title, and in the way in which it fell from her lips, she cut him like a whip-lash, and she did it deliberately, too—he, the Count, forsooth!
"Call me Marteau," he protested, stepping toward her, at which she fell back a little. "Or, better still, as when I was a boy, your faithful follower, Jean."
"If the Emperor has the power, he has made you a Count; if he has not, you are not."
"What the Emperor makes me is of little consequence between us, mademoiselle. It is what I am that counts."
"And you remain, then, just Jean Marteau, of the loyal Marteaux?"
"One does not wipe out the devotion of years in a moment. My father served yours, your grandfather, your uncle, your father. I am still"—he threw up his head proudly as he made the confession—"your man."
"But the title——"
"What is a title? Your uncle is in England. He does not purpose to come back to France unless he whom he calls his rightful king again rules the land. Should that come to be, my poor patent of nobility would not be worth the parchment upon which it was engrossed."
"And the lands?"
"In any case I would but hold them in trust for the Marquis——"
"My uncle is old, childless. I am the last of the long line."
"Then I will hold them for you, mademoiselle. They are yours. When this war is over, and France is at peace once more, I will take my father's place and keep them for you."
"I could not accept such a sacrifice."
"It would be no sacrifice."
"I repeat, I cannot consent to be under such obligation, even to you."
"There is a way——" began the young Frenchman softly, shooting a meaning glance at the young woman.
"I do not understand," she faltered.
"I am peasant born," admitted Marteau, "but, though no gentle blood flows through my veins, my family, I think, is as old as your own."
"It is so," agreed the Countess, trembling as she began to catch the meaning. "Oh, monsieur, stop."
"As there has never a d'Aumenier failed to hold the château so there has never failed a Marteau to follow him," went on the young man, unheeding her protest.
"I care as little for distinctions of rank as any demoiselle of old France, perhaps, but——"
"Mademoiselle is right. As for myself, I am a republican at heart, although I follow the Emperor. I, too, care little for the distinctions of rank, for titles, yet I have earned a title in the service of the Emperor. Through him, even humble men rise high and go far. Will you——"
"Monsieur, you must not go on!" cried the girl, "thrusting out her hand, as if to check him.
"Pardon," said the young Frenchman resolutely. "Having gone thus far I must go further. Humble as I am, obscure though I be, I have dared to raise my eyes to heaven—to you, mademoiselle. In my boyhood days you honored me with your friendship, your companionship. I have made something of myself. If mademoiselle would only deign to—— It is impossible that she should love me—it would be an ineffable condescension—but is there not some merit in the thought that the last survivors of the two lines should unite to——"
"Impossible!" cried the Countess, her face flushing. "My uncle would never consent. In my veins is the oldest, the noblest blood of France. Even I could not——"
"Be it so," said Marteau, paling, but standing very erect. "It is, of course, impossible. There is not honor enough or merit enough in the world," he went on bitterly, "to obliterate the difference in station between us. The revolution, after all, changed little. Keep the title, keep the estates, mademoiselle, I want them not," continued the young soldier bitterly. "Having aspired to you, do you think these are compensations?"
"You saved my life," said the girl falteringly.
"It was nothing. You did as much for me."
"And my honor," she added.
"I ask no reward."
"By gad!" said Yeovil at this juncture, "I'm damned if I see how you can withstand him. He is a gallant lad. He has fought bravely and he has pleaded nobly. You may not win the Countess—as a matter of fact she is pledged to my son—but you deserve her. I've never been able to understand any kind of women, much less Frenchwomen, saving your presence, mademoiselle. Base-born you may be, Major Marteau, but I know a gentleman when I see him, I flatter myself, and, damme, young man, here's my hand. I can understand your Emperor better since he can inspire the devotion of men like you."
The two men clasped hands. The Countess looked on. She stepped softly nearer to them. She laid her hand on Marteau's shoulder.
"Monsieur—Jean," she said, and there was a long pause between the two words, "I would that I could grant your request, but it is—you see—you know I cannot. I am betrothed to Captain Yeovil, with my uncle's consent, of course. I am a very unhappy woman," she ended, although just what she meant by that last sentence she hardly knew.
"And this Captain Yeovil, he is a soldier?" asked Marteau.
"Under Wellington," answered the father.
"Now may God grant that I may meet him!"
"You'll find him a gallant officer," answered the sturdy old Englishman proudly.
"When I think of his father I know that to be true," was the polite rejoinder.
The little Countess sank down on the chair, buried her face in her hands and burst into tears.
"Well, of all the——" began the Englishman, but the Frenchman checked him.
"Mademoiselle," he said softly, "were every tear a diamond they could not make for me so precious a diadem as they do when I think that you weep for me. I wish you joy with your English captain. I am your humble servant ever."
And Laure d'Aumenier felt very much comforted by those words. It was absurd, inconceivable, impossible, of course, and yet no handsomer, braver, truer, more considerate gentleman had ever crossed her horizon than this descendant of an ancient line of self-respecting, honorable yeomen. She contrasted him with Captain Yeovil, and the contrast was not to Marteau's disadvantage! No, decidedly not!
On the tenth of February, 1814, for the first time in many days, the sun shone brightly. Nevertheless there was little change in the temperature; the thaw still prevailed. The sun's heat was not great enough to dry the roads, nor was the weather sufficiently cold to freeze them. As the Emperor wrote to his brother, with scarcely any exaggeration, there was still six feet of mud on highways and by-paths.
Napoleon, by rapid marching at the head of Maurice's Squadrons d'Élite, mounted grenadiers, chasseurs, hussars and dragoons, had easily attained a position in front of the van of the army commanded by Marmont, which had rested a few hours at St. Prix, where the road crossed the Petit Morin on a bridge. His requisition on the peasantry had been honored, and great numbers of fresh, vigorous draft horses had been brought in from all sides. There was not much speed to be got out of these farm animals, to be sure, but they were of prodigious strength. The ordinary gun teams were relieved, and numbers of these plow-horses attached to the limbers pulled the precious artillery steadily toward the enemy.
Scouts had discovered the fact that Olsuvieff's division was preparing breakfast on the low plateau upon which was situated the village of Champaubert, which had been observed by Marteau and Bal-Arrêt. Napoleon reconnoitered the place in person from the edge of the wood. Nansouty's cavalry had earlier driven some Russian skirmishers out of Baye, but Olsuvieff apparently had no conception of the fact that the whole French army was hard by, and he had contented himself with sending out a few scouts, who, unfortunately for him, scouted in the wrong direction.
While waiting for the infantry under Marmont to come up, Napoleon sent Nansouty's cavalry around to the left to head off Olsuvieff's advance and interpose between him and the rear guard of Sacken's division. Even the noise of the little battle—for the skirmish was a hot one—a mile down the road, did not apprise the Russian of his danger, and it was not until the long columns of the French came out of the wood and deployed and until the guns were hauled into the clearing and wheeled into action, that he awoke to the fact that an army was upon him and he would have to fight for his life.
With his unerring genius Napoleon had struck at the key position, the very center of Blücher's long drawn-out line. With but thirty thousand men attacking eighty thousand he had so maneuvered as to be in overwhelming force at the point of contact! In other words, he had got there first with the most men. Blücher's army was separated into detachments and stretched out over forty miles of roads.
Olsuvieff's division comprised five thousand men with twenty guns. At first Napoleon could bring against him not many more than that number of men and guns, to which must be added Nansouty's small cavalry division. And Olsuvieff, with all the advantages of the position, made a magnificent defense. As a defensive fighter the stubborn Russian took a back seat for no soldier in Europe. But the most determined resistance, the most magnificent courage, could not avail against overwhelming numbers, especially directed and led by Napoleon in person, for with every hour the numbers of the assailants were increased by the arrival of fresh troops, while with every hour the defense grew weaker through casualties.
Olsuvieff might have surrendered with honor at midday, but he was a stubborn soldier, and he realized, moreover, that it was his duty to hold Napoleon as long as possible. Even the most indifferent commander could not fail to see the danger to Blücher's isolated corps. Couriers broke through to the east to Sacken and Yorck, who together had over thirty-five thousand men under their command, and to the west to Blücher, with as many more men, telling all these commanders of the extreme peril of the center and of the frightfully dangerous situation in which their carelessness and the ability of their great enemy had involved them. The noise of the firing, too, was carried far and wide over the broad open fields and cultivated farms of the rolling prairie of Champagne.
Blücher, however, could not credit the intelligence. He believed it impossible for Napoleon to have escaped from Schwarzenberg. He could not conceive that Napoleon would leave the Austrians unopposed to march to Paris if they would. He could not think that even Napoleon would venture to attack eighty thousand men with thirty, and, if he did, he reasoned that Sacken and Yorck and Olsuvieff, singly or in combination, were easily a match for him. The messengers must surely be mistaken. This could only be a raid, a desperate stroke of some corps or division. Therefore, he halted and then drew back and concentrated on his rear guard waiting for further news.
Sacken and Yorck were nearer the fighting. They could hear and see for themselves. They at once gave over the pursuit of Macdonald and retraced their steps. Olsuvieff made good his defense until nightfall, when the survivors gave up the battle. Fifteen hundred men of his brave division had been killed on the plateau. As many more were wounded and captured, most of whom subsequently died, and there were about two thousand unhurt prisoners. Their ammunition was exhausted. They were worn out. They were overwhelmed by massed charges at last. Blücher's line was pierced, his center crushed, and one of the finest divisions of his army was eliminated.
In the wagon train recaptured at Aumenier had been found arms and provisions and ammunition. Another Prussian wagon train, blundering along the road, was seized by Maurice's cavalry, which had been sent scouting to the eastward. From the Russian camp the starving French had got food, more arms and clothing. The dead were quickly despoiled, even the living were forced to contribute to the comfort of their conquerors. It was night before the last French division got up from Sézanne, but there was enough food and weapons for all.
A new spirit had come over that army. What had seemed to them a purposeless, ghastly march through the mud was now realized to be one of the most brilliant manoeuvres Napoleon had ever undertaken. The conscripts, the raw boys, the National Guards, many of whom had been in action for the first time that day, were filled with incredible enthusiasm. They were ready for anything.
But the army must have rest. It must be permitted to sleep the night. Accordingly the divisions were disposed in the fields. Those who had fought hardest were given quarters in the village; the next were placed in the captured Russian camp; the others made themselves as comfortable as they could around huge fires. The poor prisoners had little or nothing. The ragged French were at least better clothed than they were in the morning. The defenseless had arms and the whole army had been fed. There was wine, too; the Russian commissariat was a liberal one. There was much laughter and jovialness in the camps that night. Of course, the guard and the other veterans expected nothing else, but to the youngsters the brilliant stroke of Napoleon was a revelation.
As the little Emperor rode from division to division, sometimes dismounting and walking through the camps on foot, he was received with such acclaim as reminded him of the old days in Italy. And, indeed, the brief campaign which he had so brilliantly inaugurated can be favorably compared to that famous Italian adventure, or to any other short series of consecutive military exploits in the whole history of war.
They said that the Emperor had hesitated and lost his great opportunity at Borodino. They said that he had frightfully miscalculated at Moscow, that his judgment had been grievously at fault in the whole Russian campaign. They said that he had sat idle during a long day when the fortunes of his empire might have been settled at Bautzen. They said that, overcome by physical weariness, he had failed to grasp his great opportunity after the victory at Dresden. They said that Leipsic and the battles that preceded it showed that he had lost the ability to see things with a soldier's eye. They declared that he made pictures and presented them to himself as facts; that he thought as an Emperor, not as a Captain. They said that in this very campaign in France, the same imperial obsession had taken such hold upon him that in striving to retain everything from Holland to the end of the Italian peninsula he stood to lose everything. They said that, if he had concentrated all his armies, withdrawn them from outlying dependencies, he could have overwhelmed Blücher and Schwarzenberg, the Czar Alexander, the Emperor Francis and King William, and that, having hurled them beyond the Rhine, these provinces in dispute would have fallen to his hand again. They said that his practical omnipotence had blinded his judgment.
Those things may be true. But, whether they be true or not, no man ever showed a finer strategic grasp of a situation, no man ever displayed more tactical ability on a given field, no man ever conducted a series of more brilliant enterprises, no man ever utilized a small, compact, well-handled force opposed to at least two and a half times its number, no man ever conducted a campaign which stood higher from a professional point of view than this one which began with the march from Nogent and the destruction at Champaubert.
There was no rest for Napoleon that night. Undoubtedly he was not now the man he had been. Paralyzing physical disabilities before and after interfered with his movements. The enormous strains to which he had subjected his body and brain sometimes resulted in periods of mental blindness and physical prostration. It was whispered that a strange malady—was it some form of epilepsy?—sometimes overcame the Emperor so that his faculties and abilities were in abeyance for hours. No man had ever abused such wonderful mental and physical gifts as he originally had possessed by subjecting them to such absolutely impossible strains as he, and Nature was having her revenge. But for that week in February and for a time thereafter there was a strange and marvelous return of the Emperor's physical powers.
He had sustained more fatigue than any man in the army, because to all of the personal sufferings of the march in the long day and the sleepless night and the conduct of the battle had been added responsibility, but he was as fresh as a boy. His pale cheek showed rare color; his eyes sparkled; his voice was clear and sharp. The nervous twitching of his mouth ceased. The gray look vanished. He was once more the boyish Captain of the Army of Italy, at whom the huge grenadiers laughed and the gray-headed veterans marveled.
The Emperor's scouts had been hard at work during the day. They were constantly coming and going at his headquarters at Champaubert with detailed accounts of the situation of the Russians and the Prussians. The Emperor had a momentous decision to make. From the position he had gained it was equally as easy for him to strike east as to strike west. He decided at last to strike west, realizing that no captain, much less fiery old Blücher, without an absolute forfeiture of his reputation as a soldier could afford to leave his van unsupported, but that the Prussian Field Marshal must advance to its support. If the Emperor's plans worked out, he could destroy that van, and then turn back and mete out the same fate to the main body coming to its rescue.
Just about ten miles away to the westward, on the main road to Paris by way of La Ferte-sous-Jouarre, lay the village of Montmirail. As many miles beyond Montmirail, on the same Paris road, Sacken, with twenty thousand men, had been advancing. From Montmirail a road led northward to Château Thierry and the crossing of the Marne, behind which Macdonald had been driven by Yorck, with perhaps fifteen thousand more. The Emperor decided to seize Montmirail, throw out a corps to hold back Yorck on the northern road, while he crushed Sacken on the other with the remainder of the army, except one corps, which he would leave at Champaubert to delay Blücher's advance. These army corps were in reality nothing more than weak divisions, less than seven thousand strong.
Early in the afternoon Marteau, with old Bullet-Stopper and the little squadron of Maurice's cavalry, had rejoined the Emperor. He had been greatly refreshed by his night's sleep. He had taken advantage of the early hours of the morning to bury his father and sister, saying such prayers as he could remember, in default of the parish priest, who had been murdered. The Emperor having sent a courier with an escort back to Nogent, the Countess Laure and her English friend had elected to go with them. They feared to be left alone in the château all day, in the disturbed state of the country, and it was easier, perhaps, to reach Paris from Nogent by way of the Seine than by going direct from Sézanne. Marteau had approved of their decision.
The parting between the young people had been as formal as possible. The Englishman, on the contrary, with true British hospitality, had said that if peace ever came he would indeed be glad to welcome him at his home in England. Marteau had sworn to hold the château and its land in trust for the Countess, although she protested she would not hear of anything of the kind. And then he had bade her farewell. He had arrived in time to take part in the hard fighting at the close of the day, and had been busy during the early part of the night in carrying messages and resuming his duties at headquarters.
At two o'clock in the morning Napoleon threw himself down on a peasant's bed in a hut and slept until four. At that hour he awakened and summoned the officer on duty. Marteau presented himself. The Emperor, as refreshed by his two hours of sleep as if he had spent the night in a comfortable bed, addressed the young man familiarly. None could unbend better than he.
"My good Marteau," he began. "But stop—Monsieur le Comte d'Aumenier"—he smiled—"I have not forgot. Berthier has orders to send to Paris to have your patent of nobility made out and to see that the confiscated Aumenier lands are transferred to you."
"I thank your Majesty," said the young aide, deeming it wiser to say nothing of his ultimate intentions regarding the patent of nobility and the estates.
"It would be a fine thing," said the Emperor, "if you and that girl should come together. She is the last of her line, I understand, save her old uncle in England, who is unmarried and childless. Is it not so?"
"That is true, Sire."
"Well, you couldn't do better. She is a woman of spirit and resolution. Her prompt action in the château last night showed it. I commend her to your consideration. Were I your age and in your station I should like nothing better."
"Your Majesty anticipated my desire, my own proposition, in fact."
"What? You struck while you had the opportunity? That was well."
"But, unlike you, Sire, I struck unavailingly."
"The lady refused?"
"Positively. She is of the oldest family in France, while I——"
"Marteau," said the Emperor sharply, "no more of that. If you cannot be a descendant, be an ancestor. Look at me. My family began at Montemotte, and to-day the mother of my son is a Hapsburg!"
"But she is engaged to the son of that Englishman, Sire."
"Bah, what of that? Engagements can be broken, marriages even dissolved. The Holy Father at Rome will refuse me nothing. When I have beaten the allies I will take your affair in hand. There are few powers in Europe that will turn a deaf ear to the suggestions of the Emperor of the French, believe me. The lady shall be yours."
"Your Majesty's power," said the young officer dubiously, "does not extend to women's hearts."
"Does it not?" laughed the Emperor grimly. "You shall see. My word shall be law again everywhere. With my favor you will go far. There are no patents of nobility that stand higher than mine, for mine are based on my recognition of merit alone, not on accident of birth. You served me well, and you shall see that I am not ungrateful. Meanwhile, to you a new duty is assigned."
"I welcome it gladly."
Napoleon took an order prepared the night before from a table.
"This to General Nansouty. I want him to march at once. Read it. You will see," he continued, "that Nansouty's cavalry is to hold Sacken in check until I have seized Montmirail. He has guns with him. Let him deploy, attack vigorously. Keep the enemy occupied and gradually fall back upon Montmirail. Ride with him yourself, and rejoin me at Montmirail about ten in the morning. We should be up then. You understand?" said the Emperor, ready to explain his orders more fully, believing that an order could be more intelligently delivered if the purport were explained verbally to the bearer, especially in the case of a skilled and trusted young soldier like Marteau.
"I understand, Sire."
"Away, then. Continue to merit my favor, for upon that favor rests"—he laughed, he was in high good spirits and humor that morning—"the lady."
Marteau saluted. In spite of himself a certain hope began to spring up in his heart. That Emperor was almost a demi-god to his men. Whatever he had essayed he had generally achieved in times past, and who could tell? Certainly they were on the eve of great events.