CHAPTER IX - THE TOLEDO BLADE

"But in my terms of honourI stand aloof, and will no reconcilement,Till by some elder masters of known honourI have a voice and precedent of peace,To keep my name ungored."Hamlet, Act. v. Sc. 2.

"But in my terms of honour

I stand aloof, and will no reconcilement,

Till by some elder masters of known honour

I have a voice and precedent of peace,

To keep my name ungored."

Hamlet, Act. v. Sc. 2.

"'Sir,' said he, 'it is very fortunate for you that your face is so strong a letter of recommendation. Here am I, a tough old practitioner, mixing myself up with your very distressing business . . . and here is this lad . . . all, I take it, on the strength of your appearance. I wish I could imagine how it would impress a jury,' said he."Stevenson,St. Ives.

Stevenson,St. Ives.

"But, Sir, for the care and love I have for you, whilst I can bear a sword in my hand I will venture for you."Thomas Burton to Thomas Coke, June 5, 1703.

"But, Sir, for the care and love I have for you, whilst I can bear a sword in my hand I will venture for you."

Thomas Burton to Thomas Coke, June 5, 1703.

The owls were hooting round the little manoir at dusk almost loudly enough to disturb M. Nicolas de Fresne, as he sat at his monthly accounts, once more the country gentleman. Only a sword that was not his own, wrapped away in a press, and a certain very haunting memory, which some times followed him even into sleep, remained to mark his lieutenancy of the now extinct Eperviers. But Mademoiselle Berthe, the old lame sister who kept house for him, thought that he had aged during the last two months of inactivity.

She came halting in now with a lamp, and set it down by him on the table.

"You will ruin your eyes, mon frère."

"It is dark early this evening—early for the middle of July, that is," he said, looking up.

"It is raining," answered Mlle de Fresne. "—Dear me, was that a knock at the front door? Jeanne has gone to bed."

She went out, but was back in a moment. "It is a gentleman to see you on affairs, Nicolas. He did not give his name."

"Ask him to come in, then," said her brother, and, shuffling his papers together, went to put them in his desk. He had his back turned, the door was already ajar, and the lid of his desk, escaping at that moment from his hold with a bang, prevented his hearing it close.

"De Fresne!" said a well-known voice.

He jumped round as if he had been struck. "Great God!"

A gaunt young man in a cloak was standing just inside the door, the lamplight and the dark panelling behind him conspiring to accentuate his pallor and the ruddy gleam of his hair—a young man whom de Fresne had last seen (and felt he should always see) motionless against a grey tree trunk, ropes across him and a canopy of bright leaves above his bowed head. He was bereft of speech; a hand even sought the support of the desk behind him.

"I am afraid I have startled you," said Aymar gravely. "I am very sorry."

"I . . . I heard that you were dying . . . and therefore released," faltered the elder man. "But once I heard . . . I did not know what to believe . . ."

A brief, unmirthful smile flickered for an instant over the visitor's face. "Iwasreleased, but not because I was dying. I should like to speak to you, if I may."

De Fresne had pulled himself together. "Of course. Let me take off your cloak. Have you supped?"

"Yes, thank you. I have a room at the inn." He who had been L'Oiseleur was unfastening the cloak. "I must apologize for coming so late, but I was anxious to find you at home."

De Fresne took the cloak from him. "It is not late. It is only this cloak that is wet, I trust? You do not look . . ." He touched his arm. "Are you really flesh and blood, La Rocheterie?" he asked almost timidly.

"Well . . .flesh," responded Aymar, with the same little smile. "The other ingredient is somewhat to seek yet, I believe."

"I'll get you some wine," murmured his lieutenant. "Meanwhile, pray sit down—here."

"No wine, thank you," said Aymar, obeying him. "I shall not detain you long."

"But you must let me give you a bed to-night! I'll tell my sister at once."

"Thank you, but I am staying at the inn," replied his visitor for the second time, in a tone which did not admit of the renewal of the invitation.

De Fresne came slowly and sat down opposite him on the other side of the fireless hearth and felt uncomfortable. Although La Rocheterie's extremely quiet manner was free from any trace of hostility, it conveyed somehow a feeling of immense distance, as though he really were the ghost he looked like. And why would he not drink with him?

"I am sure," he burst out, "that you blame me—that cursed letter! And God knows I have blamed myself . . . bitterly, bitterly!"

"But why?" asked his guest calmly. "Surely I said to you in the wood that I did not blame you in the least, that you could have done no otherwise but bring back the letter and confront me with it. And as we neither of us had reason to suppose that I was not speakingin articulo mortis, that declaration should have had weight with you."

The faint flavour of irony, or imagined irony, and his own memories made his hearer turn his head away. "If you knew how it has haunted me," he groaned. "Surely I might somehow have prevented . . . what happened. At any rate, I swear to you, La Rocheterie, that I have not known a day's peace of mind since!"

"Then I am very sorry to hear it," replied Aymar. "Your unnecessary remorse only adds another item to the account against me. Yes," he added, with more warmth in his voice, "itisunnecessary, de Fresne. I give you my word of honour—if you will take it—that I have absolutely no condemnatory thoughts towards you. But, not having passed through purgatory yet, I am less charitably disposed towards—others. Tell me, what became of Magloire and Company?"

But de Fresne had dropped his head on to his hands. "It is no good," he said hoarsely. "You cannot really absolve me . . . for I cannot absolve myself. You saved me, and I let that happen to you."

Aymar sat up in his chair. His face softened. "My dear de Fresne! Will you accept my hand on it? Come—and think no more of it!"

He held it out; no handshake had passed between them as yet. De Fresne looked up and saw it, outstretched so far that a dull red weal was visible above the wrist. He took the hand.

"Now please let there be no more talk of haunting," said L'Oiseleur with a smile. "And tell me what you did with the remnants."

"I disbanded them. There was nothing else to be done. After . . . after the Bois des Fauvettes they turned against Magloire and Hervé, but they would not follow me. . . . I debated a long time, La Rocheterie, about having those two brought to justice, but at the moment the report was that you had died in the hands of the Imperialists. I may have been wrong, but it seemed to me that to rake up a scandal when you were not alive to defend yourself, and when, with the best will in the world, I could not properly defend you because I did not know the nature of your bargain with Colonel Richard, was not the happiest thing for your memory."

"I dare say you were right not to press for justice," said Aymar. "Indeed, as it happens, I am glad that you did not. For I have come to ask you a favour."

De Fresne got up. "I think I can guess what it is, and I shall do it with all my heart, and at once." He went to the black oak press, deeply carved with figures of saints, that stood against the wall, and returned with a long object wrapped in a strip of brocade.

"You want this back again. I have kept it carefully, you see. It is yours, L'Oiseleur." And across his guest's knees he laid his surrendered sword.

But Aymar shook his head and held it out to him again. "Not in that way, my friend! And what has happened that you should now restore it to me? The day I gave it up you said you could not serve under me if I retained it."

De Fresne flushed. "But since that interview——"

"Since that interview—what?" Aymar took him up. "I am further from being cleared than ever. You told me then, most truly, that I stood in a terrible situation. Do I stand in one less terrible now, with the scars of my own men's bullets on me?" And, seeing that de Fresne had nothing to answer he got up, laid the sword on the table, and went on: "Only one hand can give that back to me, and it must first be delivered to that hand. Yes, I am going to press for an enquiry, as you advised me. In a sense, therefore, you were right in thinking that I had come for my sword. I am here to ask you if you will assist me in the endeavour to regain it—but if I ask too much——"

"Too much! I am entirely at your service!"

"You mean that? Thank you. I want you then, if the General will give me a court of enquiry, to accuse me before it."

"What!" cried his lieutenant. "That! Never, never!"

"But it is what you would have had to do last May!"

De Fresne sat down again and ran his hands through his hair. "I would do anything to help you, La Rocheterie. But I cannot do that. You offered your life for mine—yes, I know that the circumstances demanded it, and I should, I hope, have done it as unhesitatingly myself in your place. But you did offer it. . . . No, nothing would bring me to it."

Aymar considered him. "Then I shall have to accuse myself," he said reflectively. "Or perhaps the General will appoint an accuser. Perhaps he will make a regular court-martial of it, and arrest me; or I can give myself up. But I have not thought out any details; I came to you first. And I should have liked the letter to produce. But I suppose Magloire——"

"The letter!" exclaimed de Fresne. "No, Magloire has not got it.You wish you could produce it!Are you mad?"

"I don't think so," said Aymar rather painfully. "But I wish to keep nothing back. Did you get possession of it again then?"

"I did," replied his lieutenant. "But I am thankful to say that you cannot possibly do anything so crazy as to produce it against yourself. I destroyed it that very night. I only wish I had done so a few hours earlier."

The faint colour crept over Aymar's lips again. "You destroyed it—for my sake! My dear de Fresne, that was very good of you! But, had it still been procurable, I should have felt in honour bound to lay it before the Court."

"Well, I am thankful to say that you cannot!" retorted de Fresne. "The only written evidence against you exists no longer. And if you will take my advice, La Rocheterie, you will leave the whole matter alone now. It's too risky. Think of the time that has elapsed—not, God knows, through any fault of yours!—Tell me, how long were you against that damned tree before the Bonapartists found you? When I came back you were gone; but that was some three hours afterwards."

"You came back!"

"Did you suppose I was going to leave you there, alive or dead? Were you . . . but perhaps you would rather not talk about it. . . . At any rate, let us settle this question first. I do implore you to give up the whole idea."

Aymar looked at the wrist of the hand which lay on his knee. "Do you know what people all over the district—all over Brittany, perhaps—are saying about me? Just what you prophesied, of course. Could I be worse off if the Court did not clear me?"

"Yes, indeed you could," said de Fresne earnestly. "The story would be even wider spread; you would be branded for ever. Whereas now it is always possible for it to be said that you disdain to take any notice of it. And there are always men who never will believe you capable of such a thing. I know there are; I have met them. I met a man the other day who knew you slightly, and he laughed at the idea; said that those who believed the charge did so from personal jealousy. If you go before a court and are not completely cleared, to all intents and purposes you will have done—what you did—with the worst of intentions. You will be utterly ruined."

Aymar shook his head and caressed de Fresne's sleepy spaniel. "Not more ruined than I am now."

De Fresne got up and took a turn distractedly about the room. "I don't think you look at all the possibilities of what might happen if you were not acquitted. You wear uniform; you hold the King's commission, if only for form's sake. They might degrade you; take away your cross. For the love of God, L'Oiseleur, don't run that risk!"

But Aymar was unmoved. He sat very still, as he had sat all the time; now he was plaiting the spaniel's silky ear.

"Our positions are indeed strangely reversed, my dear de Fresne, since that day! You were horrified then at my inclination to let things take their course." He stopped playing with the dog, least back in his chair, and looked straight up at him. "I can see why you are now opposed to my taking action; it is because you think my position so much more hopeless."

And once again de Fresne did not answer.

"I have been trying for some weeks," went on Aymar quietly, "merely to live down the charge. I had a good reason. That reason exists no longer . . . and the charge is not being lived down. I am going to take the other course now . . . even if it kills me."

"I should say it very probably would, then," commented the elder man, looking down at him. "I think it's crazy . . . but you always would take risks. . . . I will do what I can, however, so long as you do not require me to accuse you."

"You are not so Roman as I thought you were," murmured Aymar with a smile.

"I am not going to accuse you," repeated de Fresne doggedly. "For the rest, it is of no use appealing to you?"

"It is of no use."

"Then I will give evidence for you—anything you wish but bring an accusation."

"I do not know that you will be able entirely to avoid it," said Aymar with a faint suspicion of amusement. "But you shall not be a formal accuser; I promise you that.—Now I will tell you the true nature of my bargain with Colonel Richard."

"Undoubtedly," said Tante Clotilde dogmatically, "Laurent is in love; and I only pray, Virginia, that the object of his passion may be found to be suitable, for I have observed in our great-nephew a regrettable fund of obstinacy. But the head of the house of Courtomer cannot follow his own choice in marriage, irrespective of other considerations, as is so lightly done in the country where he has had the misfortune to be brought up."

"And as his father did," said Mme de Courtomer rather maliciously.

"Nonsense!" retorted the old lady. "As a Seymour, you were a perfectly suitable match for Henri."

"You are too good, ma tante," replied Virginia de Courtomer. "But Henri did follow his own choice, all the same. And why you should fear that Laurent's should fall on a soubrette or something of the kind I do not know. Moreover, I very much doubt if heisin love."

Mlle de Courtomer heaved in her armchair. "You will allow me, with a vastly longer experience of life than yours, Virginia, to differ from you! A young man who has fought and endured captivity for his King comes back to find that King replaced on the throne by a glorious victory, Paris in festive humour, himself not uncongratulated for having drawn the sword . . . and what is he like? Restless, moody, almost uninterested in the consummation towards which he has the honour of having contributed, wanting in the petits soins towards my sisters and myself in which, I will say, he has never yet failed, and—always anxious for the visit of the postman! There is only one inference to be drawn. He is in love, or entangled, with some woman he has met in the west. Odile thinks, and I agree with her, that it is probably this Mme de Villecresne at Sessignes, because he will not speak much of her and because he stayed on there unnecessarily long after his escape. And I only hope that his infatuation may not, in consequence, have led to a difference of opinion with her cousin, the Vicomte de la Rocheterie; for in spite of the admiration which Laurent has—which we must all have—for the hero of Penescouët, I have observed that he suffers, at times, from a considerable gêne in speaking of him."

To this summary of her son's condition, no count of which she could deny, Mme de Courtomer made no answer. She had observed all these symptoms herself. Certainly Laurent was not happy. Moreover, she knew something which, luckily, the old ladies did not—namely, that since his return he had withdrawn a large sum of money from his bankers . . . for an excellent object, he had assured her. She did not doubt his assurance, and sometimes she thought he was going to tell her what was troubling him, but, just because of the great confidence between them, she would not ask. Yes, the change in him was marked; she could hardly wonder, even if she resented it, that his great-aunts should talk him over in this fashion. He had become so pensive, and certainly did display an extraordinary interest in the postman.

That afternoon an old friend of her husband's, a general of distinction, called upon her. Laurent came in at the end of his visit.

"Ah, here is our captive hero!" observed the visitor as he shook hands. "You do not look any the worse for your imprisonment, so I hope that it was not rigorous. More boring, probably—eh, young man?"

"I do not fancy that Laurent found it exactly boring, General," said his mother, smiling. "He had a wounded companion whom he helped to nurse; that gave him employment. He has the happiness of having contributed to the Vicomte de la Rocheterie's restoration to health—L'Oiseleur, you know."

The old soldier stiffened curiously. "Ah—really!" he remarked, and looked hard at Laurent for a moment. Then he changed the subject.

But as he was taking his leave he held Mme de Courtomer's hand and said gravely, "My dear lady, if a very old friend may venture on a word of advice, I think it would be as well if you kept silence as to your son's charity in imprisonment."

"Mon Dieu, why?" exclaimed the Comtesse in astonishment.

"Because," said the General still more gravely, "I grieve to say that it was mistaken charity."

"—Monsieur——" began Laurent hotly, but the guest went on, unheeding.

"—Since it was bestowed on an unworthy object. And, in point of fact, it was no charity at all. It would have been a thousand times better to have allowed that—that incredibly treacherous young man to die. But your son, no doubt, did not know what he was doing."

"I did know!" said Laurent, white, his head flung back. "I knew all the time of the abominable slander on a man as honourable as you or I! . . . My God! my God! and now it is going about Paris!"

The distinguished soldier looked at him and was perhaps a little moved by his distress. But he spoke no less sternly, "Can you wonder, Monsieur de Courtomer? What steps have been taken to check it? An innocent man must have cleared himself by now of a charge so infamous.—La Rocheterie betrayed . . . sold . . . his own men to the enemy," he explained to his hostess. "You did not know, of course. I am sorry to have shocked you, but you see why I counsel you, Madame, in your son's best interests, to be discreet." He looked once more towards that son, who had turned his back and laid his head against the mantelshelf—and he forbore to utter a farewell which would obviously have gone unreciprocated.

And when Mme de Courtomer came back across the great salon Laurent had flung himself down in an armchair and buried his head at the side. Herself rather pale, she put her arms about him. "My dearest boy, this is what has been troubling you, then! Tell me, my darling, if you can!"

But all that Laurent could get out for a long time was: "It's not true—it's not true!" And later the cry changed to, "If only he could do something—if only I knew where he was now—his last letter said so little . . . and there were such difficulties."

It was therefore quite in accordance with probability that there was borne in to Laurent next morning, with his coffee and roll, a letter sealed with a swan. He tore it open, and read, in the handwriting which he hardly yet knew, these words:

"MY DEAR LAURENT,—Since I last wrote the difficulties which Sol de Grisolles saw in the way of granting my request for a court of enquiry have disappeared, and the Court will sit to investigate my case at Aurannes on August 12th. I shall have de Fresne, Colonel Richard, and Saint-Etienne to give evidence on my behalf, and through the latter I have hopes of getting that M. du Parc who was present, as you may remember, at my meeting with him at Keraven.

"I do not think that you can bring evidence on any point which is likely to arise, or I should not hesitate to call you as a witness, though I am summoning as few as possible, not wishing to involve them in an unpleasant business. As things stand, therefore, it is quite unnecessary for you to take the tiresome journey to Aurannes. But I know that I can count on your good wishes. I shall need them.

"I will let you know the finding of the Court, though you will probably learn it from other sources. Should it be unfavourable I see nothing before me but to leave France. I might go to the United States perhaps."

"Thank God!" said Laurent aloud, laying down the letter on the bed. And indeed his first feeling was one of unmitigated relief. This was the only door. But that thankfulness was succeeded by a deep disappointment. Why had Aymar in the past said those things about his friendship if he could thus easily dispense with it in this most critical hour? He read the letter, so brief and restrained, again. No, he did not seem to want him to come—he who would almost give his own good name to clear his friend's. Or was the desire for his presence there, kept with difficulty in leash, in the words which looked so colourless? Aymar had given him date and place . . . though with only just time enough to get there.

The letter, which occupied only one page (for Aymar wrote a very small hand) had fallen open as it lay, and . . . yes, therewassomething added on the inner page! Laurent snatched it up, and read these words, in marked contrast, even in the handwriting, to the composure of the rest:

"I doubt if I can face it, when the time comes, without you, Laurent!"

Two minutes later, gulping his coffee, he was thus addressing his hastily summoned valet: "I want my valise packed immediately—put my uniform in—and find out the Brittany diligences . . . and get hold of Mme la Comtesse's maid, and ask her how soon my mother can receive me. I am going away at once."

It was quite dusk when Laurent rode into Aurannes, but the little Breton town was stirred by the presence of troops into an animation which it could never have known in ordinary times at that hour. He put up his hired horse at the Hôtel de l'Ecusson, was told there where to find the little house where M. de la Rocheterie was believed to be lodging, enquired of the old woman who owned it in what room he should find her guest, and went up unannounced. Only, outside the door, he paused a moment as once at La Baussaine; then he opened it and went in.

Aymar was sitting at the table facing him, under the lamp, the dear and well-known head bent over some papers. He did not instantly look up, and Laurent had time to take in the rather comfortless little room, the remains of a meal of cheerless aspect at one end of the table, and the fact that there were at least three grey hairs in the bright, lamplit bronze. Then L'Oiseleur abstractedly raised his head.

And all that Laurent had ever done or suffered for him was trebly repaid in that one moment of time when he saw the sudden incredulous joy on his face. The papers went to the floor.

"You, Laurent, you!"

"Who else?" asked Laurent. "Didn't you mean me to see that postscript?"

"I was only afraid that you wouldn't," said Aymar, half laughing, half choking, as they embraced. "Have you really forgiven me, then, for leaving you in that abominable fashion at Sessignes?"

"I forgive you nothing," responded Laurent ambiguously, and, holding him at arm's length, surveyed him with critical eyes. Aymar was very thin, but there was a trace of colour in his lips if nowhere else. He was in uniform, the very uniform in which Laurent had so admired him in Paris, and once more he was wearing the Cross of St. Louis on his breast. But he had no sword.

"I do not think much of your choice of lodging," observed the newcomer after a little, looking round the room. "Could you not have found something more comfortable?"

"Very likely," responded Aymar, unperturbed. "But the first consideration was to find someone who would take me in without demur. And I knew that Mme Leblanc would do that."

Laurent opened his lips to say something, and thought better of it. But it seemed horrible that L'Oiseleur should make this statement without a shadow of his old bitterness, as if it were the most natural thing in the world for his presence to be objected to.

"I did not, however, propose to condemn you to Mme Leblanc's cooking if you did come," went on his friend. "De Fresne tells me that there is still a room or two at the Hôtel de l'Ecusson."

Laurent shrugged his shoulders. "I shall stay here—if there is a corner anywhere. You won't say, 'If you do, I shall not sleep under this roof,' will you?"

Aymar gave him a strange, sweet little smile, and put his hand for a moment over his. "I know better now than to argue with you, mon ami; but I would like to make one appeal to you, on the score of your own reputation. It will not do you any good, and it might do you untold harm, to be seen with me, to lodge with me. You know——"

"Is that why M. de Fresne has so carefully installed himself at the Hôtel de l'Ecusson?" broke in Laurent hotly. "And your friend Saint-Etienne, where is he? Has he been equally prudent?"

Aymar looked at him rather oddly. "Saint-Etienne is . . . much further away," he said, with what seemed an effort. "And I implore you, Laurent, not to harbour a grudge against the excellent de Fresne. He does so hate this whole affair; it is against his better judgment, he puts himself in rather an unpleasant position, and yet he is giving evidence at my request."

"It is the least he can do," retorted the implacable Laurent. "But what about Saint-Etienne, your most important witness, it seems to me—unless you have secured that M. du Parc. Why do you say he is far away? I hope you have both of them?"

Aymar looked down at the floor. "Laurent, I ought not to have allowed you to come here—I ought not, indeed! I did try in my letter not to let you see how much I wanted you, but it was too strong for me. Yet at least I did not know the worst when I wrote. . . . I have neither of those two as witnesses; Saint-Etienne I can never have."

"Good God! why not? Aymar, your whole case——"

"Saint-Etienne is dead," answered Aymar gravely. And he told his stunned hearer how, when he made up his mind to court enquiry, he had written to Saint-Etienne to ask him if he would give evidence on his behalf, and where M. du Parc could be found. No answer came. Meanwhile, Sol de Grisolles made arrangements and fixed the date. Then came a letter from Saint-Etienne's relatives telling Aymar of his death from wounds received in a skirmish in July. Of M. du Parc they knew nothing whatever; and the name was so little uncommon that to trace him—Aymar had already tried—was hopeless.

"But, Laurent," he concluded, "I could not draw back now. Think of inviting an enquiry and then, on the eve, withdrawing from it! Sol de Grisolles could not give me any longer because he is disbanding. And in any case I think the result was doubtful. Only, for the sake of the name I bear, I felt that I must face it. I came to that resolve at Eveno's, but it was a struggle; it took three days to bring me to it." He smiled. "And now it seems hopeless. But I shall make a fight for it, though, as far as direct testimony goes, I am now empty-handed My only chance is that what testimony I can bring will produce a favourable general impression. Several people here have personally assured me that they would believe me on my bare word. Perhaps the Court also may have an inclination to believe me because of my former reputation. I had one once."

Again he spoke without bitterness; but Laurent shivered. The new Aymar discomposed, a little frightened him. He asked of whom the Court consisted.

Aymar told him. And when he came to one name, Laurent gave a joyful exclamation.

"Du Tremblay! Du Tremblay himself! Oh, luck at last! I overheard him speak so warmly of you in Paris, and when he learns what he owes you——"

"Owes me? Oh, you mean that cipher business. But he will not hear anything about that, my dear Laurent. The only evidence which I might call on you to give would be why I was unable to court enquiry earlier, if the point were brought up against me. My story, as I shall give it, will end with the last bullet. I am afraid that they are sure to want to hear something about that affair, and I should prefer to tell them details rather than to have them dragged out. But you need not fear that I shall dilate upon it."

How, feeling about it as he did, he could face the prospect of having that horrible business in the wood gone into at all, Laurent could not conceive. If he were of less sensitive fibre . . . but then, perhaps, he would not have also "the ice-brook's temper."

But he had already become aware of a singular and subtle change in Aymar, the advent of a strange kind of calm, as if a man should come out of very deep waters with something of himself washed away, yet with something added. His composure seemed perfectly natural and effortless, but, considering what he had to face to-morrow, and what hung on the results of that ordeal, Laurent could not believe that it had been achieved, was being maintained now, without heavy cost. And had it to do with that last, that cruellest hurt of all? He thought so. But perhaps the hand which gave the wound had already tried to heal it?

"Does Mme de . . . de la Rocheterie know of the enquiry?" he asked suddenly.

"Yes. But she does not realize how serious it is for me, because when I wrote a few days ago I merely told her that I had asked for an investigation into the rumours of treachery at Pont-aux-Rochers. I have had a line in return, approving of my action." He smiled, a little ironically. "And I hope that, whatever the verdict, she may never learn the details of the evidence."

Laurent knew what he meant by that phrase. After a moment Aymar added, "I wrote to my cousin also, saying that I hoped at least to keep her name out. Thatismy hope."

But had he heard from her? Presumably not, since he immediately changed the conversation, and began to talk about the way in which he was laying out the first instalment of Laurent's money on the disabled and widows. After which he got up and took something off the mantelpiece.

"Such an extraordinary coincidence, Laurent! I threw this away, as you know. When I put on my uniform, for which I had sent to Sessignes, there was thejartierin a pocket!

"Well, don't throw it away again!" said Laurent. "It must mean that the luck has turned.—Aymar, wear it to-morrow! To please me, let me see if I cannot somehow fasten it on to your arm again! It's nonsense, I know . . . but just to please me!"

And, to please him, his friend consented. Moreover, so thin was his arm now that, with the aid of needle and thread from Mme Leblanc, Laurent did succeed in fastening the rush bracelet in its place once more.

"I have only recently learnt from Eveno," said Aymar as Laurent put in the last stitch, "of another legend which seems much truer than the story about running water. If you are fortunate in . . . if you have obtained or are about to obtain your heart's desire, thejartierwill leave you." He pulled down his sleeve. "And apparently," he added, trying to smile, "when that is lost for ever thejartiercomes back. It has already found me—remember when?"

An immense pity for him invaded Laurent. He was rather staggered, too.

"But this return must mean that you have your luck again—that you are going to come through to-morrow."

"Perhaps. I admit that I need something to counteract—— Come in! . . . Ah, de Fresne, let me make known to you my friend Monsieur de Courtomer, of whom I have told you."

The two men bowed, a little stiffly. "Well, Monsieur de Courtomer," said the newcomer starkly, "if you have heard the last piece of news, I think you will admit that we are here on a fool's errand."

Laurent fired up. "As M. de la Rocheterie is now irrevocably committed to this enterprise, Monsieur," he retorted, "that is hardly an encouraging view of the situation to put before him!"

"M. de la Rocheterie does not need that view to be put before him," interposed Aymar. "It is already his own.—Sit down, de Fresne."

Laurent moved away. That was the man who with his own eyes had seen the outrage wrought on Aymar, who in addition to his own indirect share in bringing it about had not even got himself scratched in trying to prevent it! And yet he surprised on this man's face, as he spoke in low tones with L'Oiseleur, an anxiety much more selfless and acute than his rough and untactful words had suggested.

It was late when de Fresne left. Laurent's sleep was heavy but broken, and he spent a large portion of it in giving evidence of the most ridiculous and disconnected order.

He was glad, therefore, when morning came, for he had yet to realize how its hours were going to drag—since the enquiry did not begin till two o'clock in the afternoon. The only event of importance was the arrival of Colonel Richard for consultation with Aymar. His dismay when he heard of the disastrous gap in the evidence was obvious, though not so nakedly displayed as de Fresne's, but he dismissed the idea of turning back, which, indeed, Aymar had never seriously contemplated. "When a man has courage of your type," were his parting words, "circumstances themselves crumble before him. In any case, you have taken the right course."

"And without you I could not have taken it," responded Aymar warmly. "I only hope that you will have no cause to regret your great generosity in coming here on my account."

With a meal, at which Laurent ate even less than Aymar, the interminable morning did come at last to an end, but when half-past one sounded from a clock outside, and Aymar put his notes in his pocket and rose, Laurent heartily wished it were nine o'clock again. The enquiry was to be held in the Hôtel de Ville, and Aymar had refused to drive the short distance thither. Moreover, since he equally refused to have his actual witnesses go with him, if Laurent had not joined him he would apparently have set forth entirely alone for the place of ordeal—and that through what might possibly be itself an ordeal. Neither of them knew how the feeling went in Aurannes.

At the last moment Laurent, unobserved, divested himself of his recently assumed sword. Aymar de la Rocheterie should not be the only man to walk through the streets that afternoon in uniform but disarmed. They set forth side by side.

It was a hot day, and the streets in their afternoon shadelessness were not very full. For that reason the figure of L'Oiseleur was all the more conspicuous, and Laurent felt it. Only a faint hope sustained him that a spectator might wonder which of the two swordless officers was he whose once brilliant name was so tarnished. But though everyone within sight stared or turned to look, there was no demonstration; a few passing officers even saluted him, though a couple very obviously crossed the street to avoid him. Only, in traversing the market-place, they came full on a Chouan of Gamber's legion, and he, as they passed, looked full at the two young men, and then deliberately spat on the ground at Aymar's feet.

"—Don't, Laurent!" said Aymar in a low voice, clutching his arm and pulling him on, turning on him meanwhile a face for the moment like a dead man's. "Remember, for God's sake, that I have my own temper to keep!"

Only a few scarcely interested spectators lounged round the semicircular steps of the Hôtel de Ville. At the top Aymar suddenly caught his friend's arm again.

"What have you done with your sword?"

Laurent, whose teeth were still clenched, glanced down at his side. Why was Aymar so observant! "Ass that I am, I must have forgotten it! But it is of no consequence; I am not here on duty."

"Forgotten it—when you had it on five minutes before we started!" The grasp tightened. "Laurent, who but you would have thought of such a thing!" He gave him a long look, removed his hand with a rather shaken little laugh, and they went in.

The hall of the Hôtel de Ville at Aurannes was a good deal too large for the purpose to which it was now being put, for the proceedings were not really public, only the military being admitted. Yet at first there seemed to Laurent to be a crowd of faces; afterwards they resolved themselves into those of about thirty or forty officers, ranged fanwise on either side of the dais on which, at a long table, sat the Court itself.

But, after the first slight shock of dismay on finding that the audience was not directly behind Aymar but facing him, the young man had eyes for the Court only. There were nine of them, all of superior rank. In the middle sat Sol de Grisolles, the General-in-Chief of Brittany, the man who had been Cadoudal's lieutenant sixteen years before, and who, being implicated in his subsequent conspiracy, had suffered an imprisonment of ten years in surroundings so horrible that his health and vigour were gone, his eyesight almost ruined, and that he was an old man at fifty-four. There was his major-general, the Marquis de la Boëssière, on whom the King had actually bestowed full powers of leadership for the province, but who, on finding Sol de Grisolles already in command, had voluntarily subordinated himself to him, the abler to the less able; and there were the Chevaliers de Sécillon and de Margadel. The others Laurent could not identify . . . save one, indeed, the man who owed so much to his disgraced comrade, and who probably did not know it—M. du Tremblay, seen previously in such different surroundings.

An orderly showed them their places. In front of the dais, but at some distance from it, a table and a chair had been set for Aymar. Behind him, seats were to accommodate his witnesses, but they were apparently to give their evidence from another table, placed in a line with his. Laurent wondered if he would ever succeed in standing at it. But no one challenged his right to sit with de Fresne and Colonel Richard and an unknown man whom he guessed to be the landlord of theAbeille d'Or.

Then, after a pause which seemed interminable, after some consultation among the nine officers enthroned there, whispered comments from the onlookers and a steady fire of glances directed at the pale, uniformed, swordless young man seated alone at the little table, the General rose in his place.

"I wish to remind you, gentlemen," he said, as emphatically as his broken voice would permit, "that this is not a court-martial. Though the Vicomte de la Rocheterie's sword lies before us on the table (having originally been surrendered in circumstances about which we shall shortly hear) he is in no sense under arrest. He is here of his own free will, having asked for an investigation into his recent conduct, about which, as you are doubtless aware, very damaging rumours are in circulation, although no formal charge has been preferred against him. You, his fellow officers, are accordingly met here to give him an opportunity of clearing himself from the very grave imputation under which he rests of having betrayed his own men to the enemy on the night of the 27th of April last." He paused a moment and cleared his throat. "The procedure which we shall follow is that M. de la Rocheterie will first give us in outline his account of what occurred, and will then go over it in detail, producing his witnesses and answering any question which the Court may put to him. And, since there is no accuser, we are ready for him to begin at once."

So the lists were fairly set for what Aymar had said last night was a hopeless fight. He got to his feet, and, after a few words of thanks to the General-in-Chief and the Court for consenting to hear him, electrified everybody—and Laurent not least—by saying, firmly and quietly:

"I wish to begin by stating that I do not deny having sent certain information to the enemy on the night of 27th April, nor that my action was the cause of the disaster at Pont-aux-Rochers, nor that my men, believing me to have purposely betrayed them, shot me for it."

So strong a sensation here went round Court and audience alike that Aymar was obliged to pause. "Good Lord!" thought Laurent to himself, "what a way to open . . . and how like him!"

"But," went on Aymar, standing like a statue, "I emphatically deny the motive assigned to my action. I shall hope to prove to the Court that the disaster was the result, in reality, of a scheme which went wrong, that no treachery was intended for a moment, and that my men acted as they did under a misapprehension."

He began without more ado to read his summary, a short, lucid statement, making no appeal for mercy but laying a certain stress, as it proceeded, on the points which were undoubtedly in his favour. Such were, the important conversation with Saint-Etienne and M. du Parc at Keraven, showing that the whole scheme had been worked out beforehand, and that he could reasonably rely on Saint-Etienne's collaboration; his immediate return to his own men and the frantic haste he made to warn them; and his agreeing to give up his sword and court an enquiry—which, however, the precipitate action of his followers put for the time out of the question.

He then started to take his points in more detail. With regard to the conversation at theAbeille d'Or, the General or the Marquis de la Boëssière could bear out his statement that Colonel de Saint-Etienne and his regiment were at Keraven on April 27th. Of what passed at his interview with him, however, he had to acknowledge that he could not produce evidence, since M. de Saint-Etienne was dead, and he had failed to trace M. du Parc. He was perfectly aware how unfortunate this was for his case.

The Court concurred, and found voice in a member who remarked somewhat gratuitously that M. de la Rocheterie had then nothing to prove that the story of his "plan" was not concocted afterwards.

"That," responded Aymar a trifle drily, "is exactly the inference which may be drawn. But I can at least prove that Ihadan interview with those two gentlemen at theAbeille d'Oron that date. I will call the innkeeper himself for that purpose."

The questioning of that worthy over, Aymar proceeded with his narrative, and soon came (with what inward shrinking Laurent guessed) to the arrival at Sessignes of the Marquis—he did not name him—with news of grave peril to "a lady" who had rendered a service to the cause in 1813, and might therefore well stand in danger from the Imperialists now; and how, rejecting his impulse to give himself up in her stead, he decided to offer the Bonapartists his lieutenant's letter in exchange for her—with the fixed intention, however, of carrying out the rest of the plan exactly as sketched.

And then, as Laurent anticipated, the questions began.

"Who was the lady, Monsieur?"

"Is it not immaterial what her name was?" asked Aymar.

"No," replied the officer who had put the question, "not if we are to believe that she was in danger because of past services."

"You cannot take my word for those services?"

They shook their heads. Then someone said, "We quite appreciate that you want to keep her name out of this business, Monsieur de la Rocheterie, but we must know what those services were—and we must have some proof that the detained lady was really she who rendered them."

Aymar thereupon detailed Mme de Villecresne's exploit at Chalais, the results of which were highly beneficial to "a certain leader." And the Chevalier de Sécillon, suddenly declaring that he knew the story, and the name of its heroine, it was finally agreed that if a responsible witness wrote down the name of the lady detained by the Bonapartists and sent it up to the Court, and it proved to be the same, he would have established his point. But what witness could do this?

L'Oiseleur turned and exchanged a look with Colonel Richard, who nodded. So he announced that the witness whom he was about to call in any case would do this for him, since it was he who had had the lady in his hands. And, not a little to the general surprise, Colonel Richard, lately in command of the Imperialist troops at Saint-Goazec, was cited to give evidence for his defeated opponent.

He got up very impassively, writing down the name as he did so. It was passed up, and found satisfactory.

"I will now ask you, Colonel Richard," said Aymar, addressing him, "to tell the story of your receipt of M. de Fresne's letter, in order to show that no more was asked of you than this lady's safety—and that in actual fact even that bargain could not be carried out, because the lady was never really in danger."

At which revelation even members of the Court were observed to hold their heads.

Laurent began by listening with avidity to the story of the coming of M. de Vaubernier that night to the presbytère of Saint-Goazec with the letter, and his interview with Colonel Richard; but as the latter's evidence went on, he listened with inward maledictions also. How was it possible for any one to be such a fool as that old gentleman—not only, in a sense, to have originated the whole situation in his turnip of a brain, but also to have played, in such a preposterous manner, right into the hands of this intelligent colonel of engineers by revealing that the enemy proposed a bargain with him before finding out whether a bargain were called for at all! How could he not have seen from Colonel Richard's manner that night that there was no question of shooting anybody—even though the Imperialist had, as now appeared, been too astute to display his entire ignorance of the lady's presence at the inn! Laurent's disgust got the better of his interest.

He heard, however, at one point, questions eliciting exactly what was in the letter, and also a sharp query as to why it had not been laid before the Court, to which Aymar briefly replied that it had subsequently been destroyed by a third person. He heard, too, the Imperialist being asked what his thoughts were at the moment of the letter's reception, and his frank response, that as it appeared to be genuine he was driven to one of two suppositions: either that L'Oiseleur was a traitor, and was deliberately selling his men for the safety of a woman whom he believed to be in mortal peril, or that the whole thing was a trap. He therefore went over to theCheval Blancto find out what possible grounds L'Oiseleur could have for believing the lady to be in such a situation, and got on the track of the truth, though he did not run the culprit to ground till after the fight.

"And what was the truth, Colonel?" asked a voice as he paused.

Laurent put his hands over his ears. But he heard—or seemed to hear—all the same. . . . He certainly heard the sonorous voice of the Chevalier de Margadel exclaiming, with astonishment, "Then do you mean to tell us that the whole question of the lady's danger, and all that hung on it, rested on no more solid basis than a practical joke?"

"I am ashamed to say that it is so," replied Colonel Richard.

Aymar, sitting at his table, had his head on his hand. Laurent knew how bitter this must taste—how the shadow of ridicule, hardest of all to face, must seem to be hovering near him, though really it was engulfed in the shadow of tragedy. None of the Court, at least, appeared to find this revelation amusing, and Laurent was grateful to them. He was not so sure about one or two of the younger officers in the audience. As he scanned in particular one whose demeanour did not please him, he heard Colonel Richard resuming his evidence, and saying how he considered the letter worth acting on—with precautions, as he thought that a leader with the experience and antecedents of M. de la Rocheterie had probably taken steps to nullify the information he had sent; nor, as between one soldier and another, did he consider that unfair . . . merely a move in the game. "So I took every precaution that I could think of," he concluded, "and the result you know; but I desire, gentlemen, to make it very plain that if Colonel de Saint-Etienne's regiment had not been ordered away from Keraven when it was, I, not knowing at the moment of his presence in the neighbourhood, might well have been the victim of disaster instead of M. de la Rocheterie."

Laurent could see that this testimony had made rather a strong impression. The Court conferred together. Then the Marquis de la Boëssière observed, "In fact, you are convinced that M. de la Rocheterie is speaking the truth?"

"I am, absolutely. I should hardly have agreed to come and give evidence at the request of a former adversary if I thought him a traitor. Perhaps," said Colonel Richard, drawing himself up a little, "I may be allowed to say that I think too much of my own reputation for that."

He returned to his place, and Aymar stood up again.

"It seems pretty well proved, Monsieur de la Rocheterie," said M. de la Boëssière, looking at his notes, "that you had sufficient grounds for thinking the lady to be in danger, but do you consider that you were justified in taking such a risk for the sake of any individual, of whatever sex or services?"

"But I have already stated, mon Général," replied Aymar steadily, "for what reasons I considered that there was practically no risk." And he rehearsed them once more.

"You had then no scruples about sending the letter?"

"I had scruples because I disliked the whole idea—but not on the score of risk."

"Your perceptions must have been singularly clouded at the time, Monsieur de la Rocheterie," observed a dry voice. "The risk appears, to me at any rate, to have been more than obvious!"

The shaft drew blood; Laurent saw it. Whose perceptions would not have been clouded at that dizzy moment in the orchard, the meeting-place of rapture and despair? But after a second Aymar recovered himself and said gravely, "I am not speaking of how it appears to me now, Monsieur, but giving evidence as to how it appeared to me then."

"I think we should remember," said the General-in-Chief, suddenly interposing, "that M. de la Rocheterie's whole military career has been one of taking risks, and very successful ones, and that familiarity is apt to breed contempt."

Someone here observed that it would certainly be very hard, too, for a gentleman to leave a lady in such a situation, particularly when he had the means of saving her to his hand.

"Or a man either, if it comes to that," murmured a voice.

And on this M. de Sécillon, who knew the identity of the lady, remarked, presumably with the idea of giving Aymar some support, "Moreover, as it was for M. de la Rocheterie himself that the lady had obtained that military information, it is easy to understand that he felt under a special obligation to her."

("Oh, you fool!" said Laurent to himself.)

The Marquis de la Boëssière looked at the speaker. "Oh, M. de la Rocheterie himself was the leader in question, was he? Then she was personally known to him? Is that so, Monsieur de la Rocheterie? I do not think we had gathered that."

Laurent would not even look at his friend's back here; he looked (against his will) at the deeply interested audience.

"Yes," said Aymar briefly.

"How well? You must pardon the question."

A tiny pause. "She was my cousin."

"Ah, I see," said M. de la Boëssière. He might not have meant his tone to sound significant; it could hardly avoid doing so. Among the audience there was an undoubted and rather pleasurable stir, and on the face which Laurent had already singled out for dislike a grin which made the young man clench his hands.

However, the Court intimated that Aymar should proceed with his narrative. He did so. He recalled the innkeeper to prove that he arrived at three in the morning at Keraven, was greatly distressed at finding the troops gone, and set off at once on a fresh horse. And he had carried his recital as far as the Bois des Fauvettes when an objection occurred from the dark, thin-faced officer who had made the observation about "clouded perceptions." This individual suggested that L'Oiseleur should produce some witness to prove that he really did his best after he left Keraven to arrive in time to prevent a disaster. "Otherwise," he observed, "you might have planned to arrive too late."

"Oh, bosh!" cried Laurent internally, now fixing this objector with a hostile eye.

Aymar replied that he could hardly prove that; the only witness to his haste (failing the dead body of the horse which he had killed by it, and the quarryman whom he had intimidated into selling him another) would again be the innkeeper to whom he had paid the value of the first. "But," he added, "if I had really intended to be too late, should I have rejoined my men at all the same morning?"

"That ought to settle him," thought Laurent. But instead he found that this keen-witted person was landing his friend in a new and unforeseen difficulty, for, having elicited that de Fresne, the next witness, had not appeared in the Bois des Fauvettes till the afternoon of Monday, May 1st, he pointed out that there was no evidence to show that hedidrejoin his force the same morning.

For a moment Aymar seemed taken aback. Then he rallied. "I can produce it indirectly, Monsieur," he returned. "If M. du Tremblay will be so obliging, he can tell you that I despatched one of my officers to him early on the morning of April 29th to warn him that I could not now coöperate with him. This officer, M. de Soulanges, no doubt gave him an account of my return; even if he did not, his mission itself was a proof of it." He looked towards his one-time ally.

Now M. du Tremblay was sitting at the extreme left-hand of the table, and round the corner of it. He was not, therefore, directly facing Aymar, like the majority of the Court; and all along, it seemed to Laurent, he had taken advantage of his position not to look at him. All through the business about the "lady," of whose identity and antecedents he certainly knew as much as M. de Sécillon, he had never given a sign. And when he addressed the President now his tone was curt.

"I can perfectly well corroborate that," he said. And indeed he went on to relate how M. de Soulanges had given him a circumstantial account of L'Oiseleur's return, in haste and fatigue, just after the disaster.

Laurent was puzzled by his manner, but it dawned upon him that he was probably deeply distressed at seeing L'Oiseleur at the bar before him. At least, this seemed likely from his next words. "May I take this opportunity of pointing out to the Court," he went on, "though it is not exactly the question at issue now, that a traitor would never have sent that message? He would, on the contrary, have seized the opportunity of letting me blunder into disaster, too, by keeping silence. Through M. de la Rocheterie's timely warning I was able to alter my plans a little, and, as you know, I was fortunate enough to bring off one of the successes of the campaign. Further, if M. de la Rocheterie had had treacherous intentions he would undoubtedly have made use of the intimate knowledge of our joint plans which he possessed—and this, it is clear, he did not do." (No, he most certainly did not, observed Laurent, sotto voce.)

A murmur, almost of applause, went round. Aymar thanked the speaker and resumed his narrative, carrying it up to the unexpected arrival of de Fresne in the wood, at which point he called M. de Fresne himself.

"Please tell the Court, Monsieur de Fresne," he said, turning to him, "how you knew of the step I had taken and how you represented to me the only way out."

So Nicolas de Fresne, standing at the witness-table with an expression of concentrated distaste about his whole person, cleared his throat and began abruptly:

"I was taken prisoner at the bridge—knocked on the head. When I was sufficiently recovered Colonel Richard sent for me—it was at Saint-Goazec—showed me my own letter to M. de la Rocheterie, and told how it had come into his hands. Being rather . . . startled I asked him to let me have it back, and I had it on me when I escaped during the night of April 30th. When I reached the——"

M. de la Boëssière leant forward. "One moment, please. We must go back a little. Colonel Richard presumably told you that M. de la Rocheterie had himself sent your letter to him. Did you immediately believe that?"

"No, certainly not," responded de Fresne.

"But he succeeded in convincing you?"

"No, I was not convinced."

"But you were shaken?"

"Yes," muttered the witness.

"Why?"

De Fresne did not answer for a moment. Then he said slowly, "Because M. de la Rocheterie had written something on the letter, and I knew his hand."

"What was it?"

Since his lieutenant seemed to find a difficulty in replying, Aymar hereupon got up himself and said rather drily, "M. de Fresne had written part of his letter in cipher, so I deciphered that portion before sending it. It was of no use trying to drive a bargain with the letter at all unless the information it contained was quite clear." As he sat down again Laurent reflected, "Of course that is perfectly logical, but it does not sound well, and de Fresne has not done any good by being unable to get it out; it merely puts the dot on the i." Indeed the raising of eyebrows and compressing of lips in the Court showed that he was right.

De Fresne, however, was allowed to resume, and related how, returning, he asked his leader for an explanation, and how the latter told him that he had sent the letter as a ruse, but that the scheme had miscarried, and how.

"And what did you think of this explanation?" asked M. de la Boëssière.

"I must admit that I found it inadequate."

"And yet M. de la Rocheterie has been at such pains to prove that the plan was so complete and void of risk that he very nearly carried it out with no other motive than a desire to trap the Bonapartists!"

De Fresne shifted uneasily.

"Why did you not accept this explanation?"

"It was after the disaster had occurred, and the risk then, naturally, seemed indefensible."

The unknown dark officer whom Laurent had already christened "Fouquier-Tinville" leant forward.

"Your two replies do not tally, Monsieur de Fresne. If you found the explanation inadequate, as you admit, it must be that you had some other reason than that you considered the risk indefensible. The latter would be merely a case of condemning your leader's judgment. Which reply are we to accept?"

"I suppose," replied de Fresne reluctantly, "I must say that I considered the explanation inadequate."

"And why?"

A slight pause. "Because I knew from what Colonel Richard had said that there was a bargain of some sort."

"And had not M. de la Rocheterie told you that?"

"No."

"Did you ask him anything about it, as you knew of its existence?"

"Yes. And he admitted it. But he would not tell me what it was."

"The inference being," remarked "Fouquier-Tinville," "that he was ashamed of it."

"I . . . I did not know what to think," admitted de Fresne unhappily.

M. de Margadel here said in his great voice, "Why on earth should he not have told you what the bargain was, if there was nothing to be ashamed of?"

"Because," said Aymar, suddenly rising to his feet, "seeing what had happened, I was ashamed of it."

There was a sensation. A large, stout, heavy-faced officer at the end of the table said, in an annoyed voice, "I should like to know at this point what M. de la Rocheterie is driving at? His witnesses seem to do nothing but bring out damaging admissions, and then he makes them himself, gratuitously." And his mumble to himself of "There's something behind all this!" was distinctly audible.

Aymar was rather stung; Laurent could see it from the poise of his head. "My object, Monsieur," he retorted, "is merely to tell the exact truth, in the hope of clearing myself; I have no other aim."

Once more de Fresne was requested to proceed. This time he got almost without interruption to the crisis, which he managed to represent as a few of the men leaving the wood in panic, shooting at and wounding their leader, on whom they had previously laid hands. But at that point he was not unnaturally questioned.

"You could not stop all this insubordination?"

"I did my best, but since M. de la Rocheterie himself could not control the men——"

"What was M. de la Rocheterie doing all this time, then?"

"I told you," answered de Fresne hurriedly. "They had disarmed him, and were holding him. He could do nothing."

"Then when the alarm came they let him go?"

"N . . . no."

"But they could hardly have shot him while some of their accomplices were holding him."

De Fresne looked at the floor. "By that time they had tied him to a tree."

It was out at last, pronounced in words . . . and caused a silence—but hardly a merciful one. And the eyes, the eyes on Aymar! If Laurent could only have shielded him from them. . . . The questioner's voice took up again:

"And he was found like that by the Imperialists?"

"Yes," answered de Fresne sullenly. "It could not be helped."

Aymar, horribly pale, got up, as if he feared his subordinate was going to be blamed, and corroborated this, adding that M. de Fresne did his best to free him. He sat down again in the same tingling silence.

It was the stout officer who broke it. "Did M. de la Rocheterie," he asked, addressing the witness, "let his men proceed to such an extremity without any attempt to defend himself? It looks as if his followers were so convinced of something against him that no explanations of his were of any avail. Surely the Chouan, of whom we all have experience, will accept anything so long as his faith in a leader is unshaken?"

But to this de Fresne replied that their faith was badly shaken, both by the disaster and the loss of thejartier; and that in addition Le Bihan, the ringleader, was nursing a grudge.

Now came endless questions about thejartier; how, when, and why lost, and then about Magloire, through all which Laurent's heart was slowly descending to the region of the floor, reaching it completely when the theory was finally evolved between "Fouquier-Tinville," the stout officer, and one other, that something pointing to deliberate treachery must have come out in the unaccounted-for three days, between Aymar's return and de Fresne's escape. And why had M. de la Rocheterie brought no evidence to cover those three days? Was he refraining from producing the only people who could tell why they did shoot him? Aymar, whose voice, to Laurent's ear, was beginning to show the first signs of the strain on him, admitted that he had not thought of it, considering that the testimony of M. de Fresne, who had been present throughout the episode, was sufficient to show on what grounds his men had turned against him.

And then the stout officer said, "We must hear something more about this shooting itself, and how deliberate it was. That is very important. Was it as hurried and casual as you seem to imply, Monsieur de Fresne? It can hardly have been if M. de la Rocheterie wastied to a tree!. . . Did they proceed to do that only just before they shot him?"

"No, not exactly," admitted de Fresne unwillingly.

"How long before, then?"

"It must have been . . . between half an hour and three quarters."

"And in all that time nobody protested?"

"Yes, a good many, but they were not so strong as the other party."

"And did not M. de la Rocheterie himself protest?"

"Once; but when Le Bihan gave him the opportunity of justifying himself he refused to say a word—as I should have done in his place."

"Then they never got the explanation, such as it was?"

"Yes; I gave it them myself in the hope of saving him."

"Without the 'bargain'?"

"Naturally, since I did not know what it was."

"And the 'explanation' was still, presumably, unconvincing to you when you gave it?"

"I was beginning to waver."

"So you were able to tell them that it had convinced you?"

"I could not quite say that."

"How many men precisely took part in shooting M. de la Rocheterie—how many shots were fired?"

De Fresne looked harassed. Once more Aymar came to his assistance.

"As M. de Fresne was trying at considerable risk to cut me free, and had also to rally the men against the Bonapartists, he can hardly have been engaged in computation. I can satisfy the Court, up to a point. I was fired at twice by Le Bihan; his first shot struck me, the second missed; and by another man, who also hit me . . . and by at least one more, as I afterwards discovered. That makes a minimum of three men and four shots; there may have been more. I do not know, because I lost consciousness after the second. But I imagine that they had not much more leisure." He sat down again; it was beyond Laurent how he could have steeled himself to get up.

Sol de Grisolles, intervening here, observed, "Well, I think we can now leave this part of the subject. It is obvious that hasty shots by three or four men cannot be said to constitute an execution."

But the stout officer said stubbornly, "Yes, General, but if he was fastened to a tree the intention at least of an execution seems obvious; and since it was nothing short of murder of a commanding officer, I cannot believe that even irregular troops would be guilty of such an unprecedented act without more reason than the showing of this letter.—And, by the way, who destroyed that letter, and why?"

"I destroyed it," replied de Fresne briefly. "And I did so because I believed M. de la Rocheterie to have died in the hands of the enemy, and I saw no purpose to be served by keeping a piece of evidence which he was not alive to refute."

"In fact," put in "Fouquier-Tinville," "you tried to hush up the whole matter! Was it for the same reason that you never attempted to have any of these men brought to justice? Did you continue to command them, by the way? What happened to them?"

De Fresne told him.

"Then you took no steps to have even Le Bihan brought to trial—you preferred the matter to go by default, even when these rumours began to get about, rather than give the men a chance of stating their case. In fact, you acted then just as M. de la Rocheterie is acting now—either from design or carelessness keeping out the men's evidence."

"I protest against that inference," said de Fresne angrily, "both for myself and M. de la Rocheterie. Monsieur le Président——"

"Yes, I think it is quite unfounded." Sol de Grisolles looked at Fouquier-Tinville."

"Then I withdraw it," said the latter. "But I do submit that, either in those three days in the wood, or in the destroyed letter, there was some more damning proof of treachery than appears."

Aymar was on his feet in an instant. "Will you stand down, Monsieur de Fresne? I call Colonel Richard as a witness that there was nothing extraneous in the letter but my deciphering of a portion of it and his subsequent endorsement."

"There was nothing more—not a syllable," said the Imperialist.

"Then it was the unaccounted-for three days," pronounced the stout officer.

Aymar drew himself up. His temper was roused, but no one save Laurent would have known it. "I can only assure the Court once more," he said, "that nothing was further from my thoughts than to keep back any evidence. But the Court must admit that I could hardly have induced any of the men who shot me to come willingly before this tribunal and confess to what has already been qualified as murder . . . whether justifiable or no."

The President nodded, as if in appreciation of this point, and the Marquis de la Boëssière, addressing him, remarked: "It scarcely seems to me, Monsieur le Président, that we need distress ourselves over the supposition that adverse evidence is being suppressed. What is far more serious, in my view, is of quite an opposite nature—M. de la Rocheterie's entire failure to bring conclusive testimony to support his main contention. We may believe that he is speaking the truth when he says that he acted in good faith—but not because he hasprovedthat he did. If I may put it rather harshly, there has not this afternoon been one shred of real evidence to prove that he did not deliberately sacrifice his troops to save his cousin."

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