The Maid of Honour: A Tale of the Dark Days of France. Volume 3 of 3

It was with some relief that on mounting by means of a ladder to the top of the gateway, and surveying the vast seething sea of heads below, and the forest of glinting scythes, the baron beheld a man come forward whom he had personally known for years. He had disliked the man, and somewhat dreaded him for his treasonable preachings to the rustics. "A dangerous firebrand," he had always declared, "who will do a deal of mischief;" but as the sanguinary chronicle of history unrolled itself, marked with many smears, he had been compelled to admit that the whilom gamekeeper in authority at Blois had shown both discretion and forbearance. A Collot d'Herbois or a Marat might have headed this vast concourse. There was hope in the fact that the presiding chief was one who could listen to reason.

"I am sorry to see you, Jean Boulot," the baron began, curtly, "at the head of a menacing throng. Are you here as a patron of grave-diggers?"

"You know what we are here for, and what we justly demand," returned Boulot, as shortly.

The sturdy knave! A queer dignity sat upon him like that which is worn by a successful general who has risen from the ranks.

"Demand! H'm!" echoed the baron. "A strange word as addressed by you to me."

"Citizen! You are foolishly playing with the lives of all within your walls," Jean said, earnestly. "Do you think to terrify us by striking an attitude draped in the ragged frippery of your rank? A word from me, and a thousand scythes will cut your baron's robe to ribbons. Look around. The news is still spreading. The indignant people are rushing hitherward. If in your folly you delay too long, they may pass beyond control."

"Do you war with your thousand scythes against a bevy of innocent women?"

"No. We protect them when we can against the wickedness of the Touraine nobility."

The baron bit his lip. He was not gaining ground.

"Speak plainly. Tell me what you want."

"I demand the instant delivery to me of the three miscreants you are harbouring."

Some of the gentlemen who had crowded up the ladder to hear the colloquy began to shift uneasily and murmur. "The man is right," one whispered-"far more sensible than I expected."

But the baron had no intention of giving way-of bending before a rustic.

"You ask what I cannot grant," he replied, haughtily. "I cannot deliver nobles to the canaille."

The clustering throng that pressed about Boulot were losing patience. "These aristos are infatuated," one yelled, with threatening fist. "You are wasting breath, Boulot. The vile insects must be crushed wholesale."

"Have a care!" Jean cried, in warning. "If innocent blood is spilled, Baron de Vaux, the crime will be on your head. Insolent vaunting words fall back on those who launch them. We are honest men, and-"

"Are you?" scoffed the baron. "You said just now that you protected women. You prate now of innocent blood; the blood of our ladies is destined, I presume, to join that of the Princesse de Lamballe and the rest?"

"I did not think that even the Seigneurie would seek to shelter behind petticoats!" cried Jean, with rising choler.

"Impudent varlet!" cried the baron, losing temper. "I would fain shield a bevy of women from massacre. Does the canaille decree their slaughter?"

Toinon had kept close to Jean, at whom she gazed with gladsome eyes, and a hectic spot of excitement upon either cheek.

"If you love me, Jean," she whispered, "let the women pass. Our chatelaine, remember, is among them."

Boulot reflected for a moment, and the advice seemed good. "I made a demand just now," he said, "which I see that those behind you consider just, and you treat me and this assembly with insult. Learn that the canaille can teach such as you a salutory lesson in behaviour. That the lives of many ladies are at stake gives us an immense advantage, but more generous than you we are prepared to waive it. Bring forth your women folk. Under my own charge they shall be conducted to a place of safety, the chateau of Lorge hard by. After that I will return, and man to man, repeat my just demand. If you then persist in refusing it, I shall wash my hands of the results."

An important point was gained, and there was a movement of relief among the gentlemen. But stiff-necked old De Vaux could not bring himself civilly to accept a boon from what he considered the low scum.

"I rejoice," he said, gruffly, "that you should save yourself from the stigma of slaying women. We take your word that your mob will remain without and that the ladies shall pass unharmed. But I suppose you are not such a fool as to expect that I shall give up the marquis and his brothers?"

"This man who stands beside me, alas, is right," Jean replied, sternly. "Your vulture class is infatuated and doomed to ruin, and calls down its own destruction. The besotted arrogant nobles must indeed be crushed-trodden down wholesale."

"Sir, you forget yourself," stiffly remarked the baron.

"A last warning! You are playing with both property and life."

"Advice from you? Merci! A peasant Jack in office!"

"I would save you if I could, but you are as vapouring and saucy as the rest."

The gentlemen within disapproved highly of the conduct of old De Vaux. What he deemed heroic-worthy of a Bayard or a Conde-they considered stupid and imprudent. What was to be gained by angering this man with so vast a concourse at his back? Some of the country squires, audibly expostulating, pulled at his legs and coat tails, to end a foolish colloquy.

The baron, therefore, brought his ill-timed taunts to an undignified conclusion, and declared that if the mob would make a way the ladies were ready to come forth.

Boulot removed his hat and bowed, and the baron, not to be outdone in the outward forms of courtesy, removed his own with a flourish and performed a low obeisance.

Meanwhile those at the back of the far-spreading throng who, unable to hear, considered that there was too much parleying, waxed savage. Was an hour to be wasted over a simple negociation which should not occupy six minutes? The deputy from Blois was being cozened, was not displaying sufficient firmness, was reprehensively lacking in decision. The women backed up the men, and, convinced by their own cackle, were garrulous. They were unanimous as to storming the place, displaying to the world by a signal example that the people were the real masters whose will was to be obeyed. Then there was a sway, and a scuffle, and a hubbub, as those in front were pushed back as those behind, and the wooden gates revolved upon their hinges. The miscreants at last! Ah! Now for it! Every hand was eager to take part in the coming vengeance-the trio should be torn into such tiny shreds that they should seem to have vanished into air. There was a forward rush which recoiled upon itself. Those who pushed behind could not comprehend what was passing. Some twenty trembling women of the superior class, judging by their flaunting garments, were being marshalled two and two, and Jean Boulot at their head on horseback was exhorting the people to make way. A long, low, growl of angry disappointment swept like a wind over the concourse, which might have swelled into a menacing roar, followed by the mischief of a hurricane, if a diversion had not been caused by the forlorn appearance of the White Chatelaine of Lorge, moving with obvious effort supported by her faithful foster-sister. How changed she was-how sadly wrecked her beauty. Her big long-lashed blue eyes wore the startled look of one who has seen a horror-the pupils were prominent and fixed-her motion was that of an old old woman partly paralysed. Her haggard features bore an eloquent impress of what she had undergone, and there was a pathos in her wandering groping movement that drew sobs from many a breast.

"There she is-there she is," passed from one to another in an awe-stricken whisper. "God bless her, poor martyr! The kindest, noblest woman in all the country round!"

Some, remembering kindly acts, stooped to kiss her robe as she tottered by-a mother whose dying infant she had saved by timely help-a wife whose husband she had tended.

It was well that Jean headed the cortège, exerting all his wit and his authority to force a safe passage for the timid cohort. There was a rough fellow with a cart of firewood, who, from his eminence, contemplated the spectacle, broadly grinning. He and his cart Jean requisitioned, and packed the more weakly in it, for it occurred to him that the progress to Lorge would be far from rapid, and that he was leaving a dangerous element behind.

What an odd scene the open space in front of Montbazon presented when Jean and his cortège were out of sight.

Being fairly pulled down from his heroic eminence by disapproving hands, De Vaux had mopped his brow, though the weather was chilly, observing, "For a peasant, he's remarkably advanced. If all were so reasonable-but no-that is ridiculous."

The ladies gone, their husbands and brothers asked their host what he proposed to do. Sentiment was sentiment, and all that, and duty, doubtless, was duty; but then there are a variety of ways of reading duty, which is not to be confounded with Quixotism.

Stout-souled De Vaux, who, in his excitement, felt quite young-wholly oblivious of a sciatic nerve-declared doggedly that he would not give up the miscreants. That peasant fellow was so amenable to argument on the part of a superior, that, on his return, he, the superior, would condescend to illuminate the situation. He would affably deign to explain that he could not for a moment pretend to approve of the trio. The point of their dreadful wickedness was conceded. But he, De Vaux, could not, and would not, hand them over to lynch law, and it was, without a shadow of doubt, the duty of the Deputy of Blois to assist him in upholding the law. He, Jean Boulot, being so amenable to sensible argument, would at once fall in with his views. As he had escorted the ladies to Lorge, so would he succeed in piloting the baron and his prisoners to Blois, where, with decorum and order, the latter would be delivered to the authorities, that Justice might fulfil her office. To the baron it was as clear as ditchwater, and he was as steadfast as obstinacy could make him, ignoring the remark of a seigneur that this particularly enlightened peasant had made it a sine quâ non that the culprits should be handed to him.

"Oh, pooh! pooh!" laughed De Vaux, quite enchanted with the success of his diplomacy. "When I insisted that the women should go out, he gave way at once, and will again."

It did not occur to him that the idea was Toinon's, and that Jean had given way to her.

"It may be necessary," went on the baron, "to make a show of force-to make it understood, I mean, that we are not to be terrorised by that useful implement, the scythe. You will please load your fowling-pieces, gentlemen, and we will let them understand that we have gunpowder."

And so it came about that when the doors opened for the ladies' exodus, a glint was seen of muskets which fairly exasperated the crowd. If muskets, why not concealed cannon? The firebrands who had stood near to him during the colloquy, were dissatisfied by Jean's moderate tone and perfect temper. He had said a harsh thing or two, certainly; but should not have allowed that pouter-pigeon fool to suppose that he had made a score. The latter had retired in somewhat undignified fashion, pulled by leg and coat; but his feathers were all out notwithstanding, and he assumed the airs of a cock that was master of his dunghill. Now this was manifestly absurd. The mob had but to raise its myriad horny hands, and over would go the dunghill burying the cock. Why that display of firearms? The baron had without a doubt got the better of honest Jean; he had cheated him and achieved thereby an invaluable period of delay, during which his domestics were probably throwing up earthworks or doing something nefarious to baulk the sovereign people.

If this was the feeling in the front how much more did it dominate the rear. Jean's strong personality withdrawn-the White Chatelaine's piteous figure gone-those who had wept tears became the most frantic for vengeance.

The females became mœnads, and loudly taunted the males. Reports filtered from the front with the usual distortion, to the effect that the garrison had gained time by shrewd diplomacy, for running up works of defence; that Jean on his return would be laughed at; that the wily baron would snap his fingers in his face. A rumour even rose, nobody knew how, that there was a secret subway leading somewhere, and that the miscreants were at this very moment effecting an escape, laughing in their sleeves at the pursuers. And the sovereign people was to remain inactive to be fooled before all Europe? How the fugitive emigrés would laugh when the three ruffians joined them, and explained their clever ruse!

"Jean Boulot is too straight and upright," some one declared "to deal with such slippery cattle. When he returns anon, let him find the work accomplished. If he does not approve, he can say with truth, that he had nothing to do with the matter; but, if I mistake not, right sorry will he be to be deprived of his share of vengeance."

A squire was unlucky enough at this juncture to crawl up to the ladder-top, drawn thither by idle curiosity, and to miss his footing there. The fowling-piece in his hand struck the coping of the gateway and went off. A yell as of two thousand maniacs pealed heavenward. "They have fired on the sovereign people," rose in a mighty shout; and with one accord the sea that had been lashing quietly towered in a huge wave, encompassed the chateau and overwhelmed it. It was one of those sudden things which, like the phenomena of earth, strangles the breath and leaves men palsied. When the ground rocks and yawns in fissures, and the mountains tumble and the forests fall in heaps, lookers on can only marvel. The luckless denizens of Montbazon had scarcely time for that. The gun discharged by accident acted as a signal. For an instant the gates groaned and rattled under a rain of missiles. The walls were black with human atoms who swarmed and buzzed like flies, coming on and on in myriads. The seigneurs huddled mechanically together in a small knot, and fired one futile volley ere they were trodden under foot. A young fellow, bleeding from a deep gash inflicted by a scythe, leaned for support against an angle, and in answer to a question as to the brothers' whereabouts, pointed in the direction of the dining-hall. Ere his life-blood ebbed away, he saw with dimmed sight three wavering figures tossed hither and thither, like corks upon a boiling stream-was aware of a whirl of feet ascending a winding stair, amid yells of "à la lanterne," – of three writhing human creatures dangling at the ends of ropes.

Jean Boulot, hieing back from Lorge, was alarmed by a strange light and a curious sound of menace like the distant shouting of vast crowds. When he reached the open, from whence the chateau was visible, he pulled his horse up sharply. The concourse he had left so quiescent, were dancing like fiends around a mighty bonfire. Montbazon was aflame from end to end. Its wooden tenements had caught, and blazed like touchwood. As he gazed tranquilly upon the lurid spectacle, the ropes that held three black masses swinging aloft in space were licked by forked flames and parted, and the figures dropped into the furnace that seethed white hot below.

"God's will be done!" Jean muttered. "They have well merited their fate."