The Red Cockade

"Yes."

"Ah!" For a moment he seemed to reflect. Then, turning to the men. "Well, you can go, Buzeaud. I will be answerable for this gentleman-who had better remove that masquerade. And do you," he continued, addressing the two or three who had come with him, "wait for me above. Tell M. Flandrin-it is my last word-that whatever happens the Mayor must not raise the flag for the troops. He may tell him what he pleases from me-that I will hang him from the highest window of the tower, if he likes-but it must not be done. You understand?"

"Yes, Monsieur."

"Then go. I will be with you presently."

They went, leaving a lantern on the floor; and in a moment Froment and I were alone. I stood expectant, but he did not look at me. Instead, he turned to the open window, and leaning on the sill, gazed into the night, and so remained for some time silent; whether the orders he had just given had really diverted his thoughts into another channel, or he had not made up his mind how to treat me, I cannot determine. More than once I heard him sigh, however; and at last he said abruptly, "Only three companies have risen?"

I do not know what moved me, but I answered in the same spirit. "Out of how many?" I said coolly.

"Thirteen," he answered. "We are out-numbered. But we moved first, we have the upper hand, and we must keep it. And if the villagers come in to-morrow-"

"And the Cevennols do not."

"Yes; and if the officers can hold the Guienne regiment within barracks, and the Mayor does not hoist the flag, calling them out, and the Calvinists do not surprise the Arsenal-I think we may be able to do so."

"But the chances are?"

"Against us. The more need, Monsieur" – for the first time he turned and looked at me with a sort of dark pride glowing in his face-"of a man! For-do you know what we are fighting for down there? France! France!" he continued bitterly, and letting his emotion appear, "and I have a few hundred cutthroats and rascals and shavelings to do the work, while all the time your fine gentlemen lie safe and warm across the frontier, waiting to see what will happen! And I run risks, and they hold the stakes! I kill the bear, and they take the skin. They are safe, and if I fail I hang like Favras! Faugh! It is enough to make a man turn patriot and cry 'Vive la Nation!'"

He did not wait for my answer, but impatiently snatching up the lantern, he made a sign to me to follow him, and led the way down the passage. He had said not a word of my presence in the house, of my position, of Mademoiselle St. Alais, or how he meant to deal with me; and at the door, not knowing what was in his mind, I touched his shoulder and stopped him.

"Pardon me," I said, with as much dignity as I could assume, "but I should like to know what you are going to do with me, Monsieur. I need not tell you that I did not enter this house as a spy-"

"You need tell me nothing," he answered, cutting me short with rudeness. "And for what I am going to do with you, it can be told in half a dozen words. I am going to keep you by me, that if the worst comes of this-in which event I am not likely to see the week out-you may protect Mademoiselle de St. Alais and convey her to a place of safety. To that end your commission shall be restored to you; I have it safe. If, on the other hand, we hold our own, and light the fire that shall burn up these cold-blooded pedants là bas, then, M. le Vicomte-I shall have a word to say to you. And we will talk of the matter as gentlemen."

For a moment I stood dumb with astonishment. We were at the door of the little staircase-by which I had descended-when he said this; and as he spoke the last word, he turned, as expecting no answer, and opened it, and set his foot on the lowest stair, casting the light of the lantern before him. I plucked him by the sleeve, and he turned, and faced me.

"M. Froment!" I muttered. And then for the life of me I could say no more.

"There is no need for words," he said grandly.

"Are you sure-that you know all!" I muttered.

"I am sure that she loves you, and that she does not love me," he answered with a curling lip and a ring of scorn in his voice. "And besides that, I am sure of one thing only."

"Yes?"

"That within forty-eight hours blood will flow in every street of Nîmes, and Froment, the bourgeois, will be Froment le Baron-or nothing! In the former case, we will talk. In the latter," and he shrugged his shoulders with a gesture a little theatrical, "it will not matter."

With the word he turned to the stairs, and I followed him up them and across the upper corridor, and by the outer staircase, where I had evaded my guide, and so to the roof, and from it by a short wooden ladder to the leads of a tower; whence we overlooked, lying below us, all the dim black chaos of Nîmes, here rising in giant forms, rather felt than seen, there a medley of hot lights and deep shadows, thrown into relief by the glare of the burning church. In three places I picked out a cresset shining, high up in the sky, as it were; one on the rim of the Arènes, another on the roof of a distant church, a third on a tower beyond the town. But for the most part the town was now at rest. The riot had died down, the bells were silent, the wind blew salt from the sea and cooled our faces.

There were a dozen cloaked figures on the leads, some gazing down in silence, others walking to and fro, talking together; but in the darkness it was impossible to recognise any one. Froment, after receiving one or two reports, withdrew to the outer side of the tower overlooking the country, and walked there alone, his head bowed, and his hands behind him, a desire to preserve his dignity having more to do with this, or I was mistaken, than any longing for solitude. Still, the others respected his wishes, and following their example I seated myself in an embrasure of the battlements, whence the fire, now growing pale, could be seen.

What were the others' thoughts I cannot say. A muttered word apprised me that Louis St. Alais was in command at the Arènes; and that M. le Marquis waited only until success was assured to start for Sommières, whence the commandant had promised a regiment of horse should Froment be able to hold his own without them. The arrangement seemed to me to be of the strangest; but the Emigrés, fearful of compromising the King, and warned by the fate of Favras-who, deserted by his party, had suffered for a similar conspiracy a few months before-were nothing if not timid. And if those round me felt any indignation, they did not express it.

The majority, however, were silent, or spoke only when some movement in the town, some outcry or alarm, drew from them a few eager words; and for myself, my thoughts were neither of the struggle below-where both parties lay watching each other and waiting for the day-nor of the morrow, nor even of Denise, but of Froment himself. If the aim of the man had been to impress me, he had succeeded. Seated there in the darkness, I felt his influence strong upon me; I felt the crisis as and because he felt it. I thrilled with the excitement of the gambler's last stake, because he had thrown the dice. I stood on the giddy point on which he stood, and looked into the dark future, and trembled for and with him. My eyes turned from others, and involuntarily sought his tall figure where he walked alone; with as little will on my part I paid him the homage due to the man who stands unmoved on the brink, master of his soul, though death yawns for him.

About midnight there was a general movement to descend. I had eaten nothing for twelve hours, and I had done much; and, notwithstanding the dubious position in which I stood, appetite bade me go with the rest. I went, therefore; and, following the stream, found myself a minute later on the threshold of a long room, brilliantly lit with lamps, and displaying tables laid with covers for sixty or more. I fancied that at the farther end of the apartment, and through an interval in the crowd of men before me, I caught a glimpse of women, of jewels, of flashing eyes, and a waving fan; and if anything could have added to the bewildering abruptness of the change from the dark, wind-swept leads above to the gay and splendid scene before me it was this. But I had scant time for reflection. Though I did not advance far, the press, which separated me from the upper end of the room, melted quickly, as one after another took his seat amid a hum of conversation; and in a moment I found myself gazing straight at Denise, who, white and wan, with a pitiful look in her eyes, sat beside her mother at the uppermost table, a picture of silent woe. Madame Catinot and two or three gentlemen and as many ladies were seated with them.

Whether my eyes drew hers to me, or she glanced that way by chance, in a moment she looked at me, and rose to her feet with a low gasping cry, that I felt rather than heard. It was enough to lead Madame St. Alais' eyes to me, and she too cried out; and in a trice, while a few between us still talked unconscious, and the servants glided about, I found all at that farther table staring at me, and myself the focus of the room. Just then, unluckily, M. St. Alais, rather late, came in; of course, he too saw me. I heard an oath behind me, but I was intent on the farther table and Mademoiselle, and it was not until he laid his hand on my arm that I turned sharply and saw him.

"Monsieur!" he cried, with another oath-and I saw that he was almost choking with rage-with rage and surprise. "This is too much."

I looked at him in silence. The position was so perplexing that I could not grasp it.

"How do I find you here?" he continued with violence and in a voice that drew every eye in the room to me. He was white with anger. He had left me a prisoner, he found me a guest.

"I hardly know myself," I answered. "But-"

"I do," said a voice behind M. St. Alais. "If you wish to know, Marquis, M. de Saux is here at my invitation."

The speaker was Froment, who had just entered the room. St. Alais turned, as if he had been stabbed. "Then I am not!" he cried.

"That is as you please," Froment said steadfastly.

"It is-and I do not please!" the Marquis retorted, with a scornful glance, and in a tone that rang through the room. "I do not please!"

As I heard him, and felt myself the centre, under the lights, of all those eyes, I could have fancied that I was again in the St. Alais' salon, listening to the futile oath of the sword; and that three-quarters of a year had not elapsed since that beginning of all our troubles, But in a moment Froment's voice roused me from the dream.

"Very well," he said gravely. "But I think that you forget-"

"It is you who forget," St. Alais cried wildly. "Or you do not understand-or know-that this gentleman-"

"I forget nothing!" Froment replied with a darkening face. "Nothing, except that we are keeping my guests waiting. Least of all, do I forget the aid, Monsieur, which you have hitherto rendered me. But, M. le Marquis," he continued, with dignity, "it is mine to command to-night, and it is for me to make dispositions. I have made them, and I must ask you to comply with them. I know that you will not fail me at a pinch. I know, and these gentlemen know, that in misfortune you would be my helper; but I believe also that, all going well, as it does, you will not throw unnecessary obstacles in my way. Come, Monsieur; this gentleman will not refuse to sit here. And we will sit at Madame's table. Oblige me."

M. St. Alais' face was like night, but the other was a man, and his tone was strenuous as well as courteous; and slowly and haughtily M. le Marquis, who, I think, had never before in his life given way, followed him to the farther end of the room. Left alone, I sat down where I was, eyed curiously by those round me; and myself, finding something still more curious in this strange banquet while Nîmes watched; this midnight merriment, while the dead still lay in the streets, and the air quivered, and all the world of night hung, listening for that which was to come.

CHAPTER XXIII.

THE CRISIS

When the grey dawn, to which so many looked forward, broke slowly over the waking city, it found on the leads of Froment's tower some pale faces; perhaps some sinking hearts. That hour, when all life lacks colour, and all things, the sky excepted, are black to the eye, tries a man's courage to the uttermost; as the cold wind that blows with it searches his body. Eyes that an hour before had sparkled over the wine-for we had sat late and drunk to the King, the Church, the Red Cockade, and M. d'Artois-grew thoughtful; men who, a little before, had shown flushed faces, shivered as they peered into the mist, and drew their cloaks more closely round them; and if the man was there, who regarded the issue of the day with perfect indifference, he was not of those near me.

Froment had preached faith, but the faith for the most part was down in the street. There, I have no doubt, were many who believed, and were ready to rush on death, or slay without pity. And there may have been one or two of these with us. But in the main, the men who looked down with me on Nîmes that morning were hardy adventurers, or local followers of Froment, or officers whose regiments had dismissed them, or-but these were few-gentlemen, like St. Alais. All brave men, and some heated with wine; but not Froment only had heard of Favras hanged, of De Launay massacred, of Provost Flesselles shot in cold blood! Others beside him could make a guess at the kind of vengeance this strange new creature, La Nation, might take, being outraged: and so, when the long-expected dawn appeared at last, and warmed the eastern clouds, and leaping across the sea of mist which filled the Rhone valley, tinged the western peaks with rosy light, and found us watching, I saw no face among all the light fell on, that was not serious, not one but had some haggard, wan, or careworn touch to mark it mortal.

Save only Froment's. He, be the reason what it might, showed as the light rose a countenance not merely resolute, but cheerful. Abandoning the solitary habit he had maintained all night, he came forward to the battlements overlooking the town, and talked and even jested, rallying the faint-hearted, and taking success for granted. I have heard his enemies say that he did this because it was his nature, because he could not help it; because his vanity raised him, not only above the ordinary passions of men, but above fear; because in the conceit of acting his part to the admiration of all, he forgot that it was more than a part, and tried all fortunes and ran all risks with as little emotion as the actor who portrays the Cid, or takes poison in the part of Mithridates.

But this seems to me to amount to no more than saying that he was not only a very vain, but a very brave man. Which I admit. No one, indeed, who saw him that morning could doubt it; or that, of a million, he was the man best fitted to command in such an emergency; resolute, undoubting, even gay, he reversed no orders, expressed no fears. When the mist rolled away-a little after four-and let the smiling plain be seen, and the city and the hills, and when from the direction of the Rhone the first harsh jangle of bells smote the ear and stilled the lark's song, he turned to his following with an air almost joyous.

"Come, gentlemen," he said gaily, and with head erect. "Let us be stirring! They must not say that we lie close and fear to show our heads abroad; or, having set others moving, are backward ourselves-like the tonguesters and dreamers of their knavish assembly, who, when they would take their King, set women in the front rank to take the danger also! Allons, Messieurs! They brought him from Versailles to Paris. We will escort him back! And to-day we take the first step!"

Enthusiasm is of all things the most contagious. A murmur of assent greeted his words; eyes that a moment before had been dull enough, grew bright. "A bas les Traîtres!" cried one. "A bas le Tricolor!" cried another.

Froment raised his hand for silence. "No, Monsieur," he said quickly. "On the contrary, we will have a tricolour of our own. Vive le Roi! Vive la Foi! Vive la Loi! Vivent les Trois!"

The conceit took. A hundred voices shouted, "Vivent les Trois!" in chorus. The words were taken up on lower roofs and at windows, and in the streets below; until they passed noisily away, after the manner of file-firing, into the distance.