"And you?" turning to the third, the man Jean. "Do you hate him, too?"
"I hate all aristocrats," he replied. "They grind us to the earth. And him I doubly hate. For-for-well, I have cause. Also," and he laughed now the harsh and reckless laugh which Andrew had heard as he approached the hut, "you saw how I loved him when, for fear that you might be here to help him, I drew that on you," and he pointed to the knife lying where it had fallen.
"'Tis well," said Andrew, "we understand one another. And, for earnest of my good faith, take this and do what you will with it"; whereon he drew forth once more the leathern bag and emptied its contents-a dozen good louis d'ors and as many écus and German dollars-on the table. As he did so he noticed to whom the spoils fell. Gaspard, with a greed often enough the accompaniment of old age, especially when that old age is surrounded by and steeped in poverty, thrust out his gnarled and knotty hands, endeavouring to cover all the pieces. Jean, with a laugh, clutched some ere the other could prevent him. Laurent alone was moderate. One gold coin rolled towards him, which he picked up and thrust under his blouse.
"'Twill suffice a long time for meat and drink," he said. "By the time 'tis spent-well! – what I desire more than money may be accomplished."
"You have left yourself without any," the old man said, turning to Andrew, almost with a look of shame on his withered face, yet still with his hands on all the coins that Jean had been unable to wrench from beneath them. "What will you do?"
"Nay! never fear. It is not my all. I have more-for myself and you. And, after that, can obtain still more. Serve me faithfully and you will find me a good paymaster."
Then, after they had vowed again and again that they would do so-Laurent alone wasting no words in protestation-Andrew remarked:
"He is mine. Must be mine now. Nothing can save him or prevent me bringing him to book. Even though we have to besiege him in his house! He is mine. And, even should he escape me for a time, he is a ruined man. To the army he can never return. His desertion prevents that. My friends," and he rose from his chair, "De Bois-Vallée will never harry you again. From this time forth we harry him."
CHAPTER XVI
THE HOUSE OF THE ENEMY
The fog was gone next morning when Andrew awoke from the bed of straw on which he had lain all night covered by his cloak, and with-for he was too wary a soldier to entirely trust his new-found acquaintances until he knew them better! – his unsheathed sword by his side under that cloak.
Gone, swept away by a soft breeze that came up from across the Meurthe and sighed amongst the great fir trees all round, and amidst also those at his feet on the slopes below-at the base of which lay Remiremont-while, above his head, were the blue skies and the bright October sun. And, talking to his new friends, he learnt that he was on what is known in that fair mountain region as the Ballon d'Alsace, and that the river sparkling in the distance like a silver thread was the Moselle, while the blue mountains in the still further distance were the Jura.
Already some plans had been decided on between him and the two younger men while they sat at breakfast-a meagre meal of more rye bread, an egg or so which Gaspard had managed to produce, and a bottle of wine-and this is what they had resolved upon doing first.
Laurent was to lead Andrew by a path which he very well knew (though it was doubtful if any stranger to the neighbourhood could ever have found it) to a copse on the lower slopes, from which he could look down on the house itself; could, indeed, he said, approach so near above it that a man might throw a piece of twisted paper, or any light substance, on to the roof.
"For," said the man, as now they prepared to set out, "it was cleverly placed was the old house, voyez-vous, when the forerunners of this Vicomte-the men who were known as Les Loups de Lorraine-set it up. It stands back so near to the slope that, from the mountains, no attack can come-from men at least, though missiles might be thrown. Between the house and a vast stone wall, with which the side of the hill is faced, is a space of twenty feet-who can overpass that? Also the ledge of this wall-facing is some twenty feet higher than the flat roof; who will dare to jump down? A reckless man might attempt it, 'tis true, or two, or three, but where would they be? They could never reach the roof, even though they slung themselves over with a rope; should they by chance arrive they would be thrown down into the stone-flagged space 'twixt house and wall."
"Doubtless," replied Andrew, "there is no method of reaching the house that way. Yet, supposing there was a large number of men above this ledge of wall, and firing down on to the roof-would they not injure it, break it in; perhaps do as friend Gaspard says, fire it? It might be."
"Nay, you shall see," replied Laurent. "Meanwhile, come," and they set forth from the hut on foot, Andrew's horse being left there for the time, since the path they were about to descend offered no passage for any animal larger than a sheep or goat.
As to Jean he was already gone, he having another mission to fulfil in the service of their new employer.
He had said overnight as they lay talking on their straw pallets ere sleep came, that he had a cousin at Bois-le-Vaux, a man who was half gamekeeper and half gardener there, and who-as the house had been more or less shut up since the death of the Vicomtesse five years ago-did also many odd jobs, such as attending to the poultry, what horses there were in the stables, the dogs, and so forth. This man he had, therefore, set out to find, with the object of learning if possible if any strange lady was detained within the mansion unknown to all outside it.
"A thing," Laurent had remarked, "that might well enough happen. My wife-ah, my God! my wife-was there a month ere he took her to Paris, and none outside knew it-not even I nor old Gaspard here, though we searched the country for miles around, even suspected this man. None knew of it. Not one."
"Yet," replied Andrew thoughtfully, "'twould be strange if this lady can be here and her presence unknown. It is near two years-a full year and a half at least-since she must have come here, perhaps was brought here. Could all knowledge of her presence in this house have been concealed so long from the outside world?"
"Oh! comprenez!" exclaimed Jean, "that would not be so difficult. He has two custodians who let none enter that mansion, and who can be dumb and secret as death. Inside the house they would warrant none finding out her presence."
"Who are these custodians?"
"One-the worst! – a man, his steward, bound to him by many ties. A fellow he saved from the wheel for endeavouring to rob the abbey-"
"Is there an abbey here, then?"
"Mais oui, a noble abbey. And the abbesses mostly princesses. Mon Dieu! they live as such; 'tis a great abbey, as they are great ladies. Forty years past, Turenne, making his first campaign, endeavoured to besiege it, and these noble women drove him back so that he failed."
"Turenne beaten by women!" murmured Andrew, recalling the great soldier's career betwixt then and now. "Beaten by women! Think of it!1 But," turning to Jean, "about this man? He would have robbed the abbey, you say?"
"They say so. It is full of precious relics. Gold and jewels, the bodies of three saints-Amé, Romaric, and Adelphe-and he tried for some of the treasure; the bodies of the saints he wanted not! But the ladies caught him and would have broken him on the wheel-only there was no man to do it, no bourreau, and the townspeople would not without licence from the Duke. Then De Bois-Vallée begged for his life and saved it-his mother, the lady of the portrait you have, had been brought up there, might have been chanoinesse if she would."
"Therefore his steward serves him well?"
"As his own brother might. If De Bois-Vallée is a devil, so is Armand Beaujos; if devil's work is to be done he loves to do it. Be sure if any woman is kept there by his master's orders he will keep her tight."
"And the other?"
"A woman. Also a villain, yet true to him. She was his foster-mother, and they say-but," breaking off, "it may be lies."
"What do they say?"
"That this woman loved his father-that, par consequent, she hated his mother. Has said she should have been the old man's wife, the young one's mother, had things gone well with her."
"Humph!" said Andrew, "an interesting family, a pleasant house to make the acquaintance of. Well, it shall be done, nevertheless. Now, Jean, speed on your way and find out, if you can, if there is any woman known to be there. Then come back to me."
"Ay," said Jean, "to-night. To Plombières."
"To Plombières. What is the auberge you say I may find accommodation at?"
"La Tête d'Or. I shall be there to-night. Yet, since you desire to attract no more attention than necessary, be ready for me in the street; thereby I am not forced to ask for you. There is a fountain of good water facing the inn. Look for me there, monsieur. Ere sunset."
"I will not fail. Neither do you do so. Remember-I have another purse."
It had been arranged, when all arose that morning, that it would be best Andrew should seek some place where he could remain as long as he desired to be in the neighbourhood; until, as he himself had said, "the work was done." The work which, as he reflected, meant so much more now than the slaying of De Bois-Vallée, namely, the finding of Marion Wyatt, and, if all was as Debrasques had said, the rescuing her. That was now the first and most important part of what he had to do, the other would follow in due course.
Also it was impossible, or almost so, that he should remain in Gaspard's hut. Soldier, adventurer, as he was, used on occasion to hard living, he could not stay there; he and his beast would be starved as the least of evils, while, in case prompt action became necessary-swift movement on his part one way or another, either in pursuing De Bois-Vallée should he again elude him, or in fleeing from him for a time and from any whom he might summon to his assistance, should Andrew be able to carry off Marion Wyatt from Bois-le-Vaux-the hut was no suitable place. Therefore he had decided, after taking counsel with the others, that Plombières must be his abiding place until the work was done. It was, they said, a quiet little village, well situated for leaving at any moment, since good roads led to all four quarters, and, as it was some five miles from Remiremont and two more from the house on which his attention was fixed, his presence there was not likely to be known to De Bois-Vallée until he himself proclaimed it.
"And meanwhile," he said, "I shall be near enough to him to move at any moment, near enough to present myself before him when the time comes. It will do very well."
And now he and Laurent set forth to descend to that spot whence he could overlook the house into which he meant ere long to obtain entrance, the house from which he meant to rescue Marion Wyatt if things were as he believed and as Debrasques had, by nods and glances from his sick bed, hinted; the house, or the surroundings of which, he meant to make the scene of De Bois-Vallée's death. For that it should be the scene of his own death, that he should fail in what he had set himself to do, he never permitted himself to imagine. If the idea arose it was banished as soon as it came. It was, he told himself, an impossible one. He would not fail!
Following his guide he passed swiftly down paths that seemed made only for rabbits, so narrow were they; through groves and copses of oak and fir trees, from which a sweet, delicious aroma was diffused through the morning air; and, pushing aside bushes in which the wild raspberry grew in profusion, though now the fruit was gone, they came at last to an open space below which was a fringe of more fir trees.
"We must skirt this," Laurent remarked, "otherwise we may be seen from the grounds down there. Observe beneath that line of trees," and he pointed to the fringe below, "the woods and pastures. All those are his property. If he, or any, are outside the house this morning, none could pass down this open spot without being seen."
"Come then," replied Andrew, "let us skirt this glade and so continue"; whereon, keeping beneath the wood that grew all along the side, they descended still further.
A few moments later and they were above the house-looking down on to the roof and back of it. From where they had thrown themselves flat after creeping to the very edge of the slope (they being, indeed, so near the wall which had been built up as a facing to that slope that they could touch its topmost stones with their hands) they might, as Laurent had said, have thrown a rolled-up piece of paper on to the roof. Yet there were full twenty feet between those topmost stones and the parapet of the house, which was itself some twenty feet lower than the summit of the wall and lip of the slope! A space wide and yawning, through which, if any should fall, instant annihilation would await them at the bottom on the hard stones. A space over which projectiles might be hurled from cannon or, in older days, from catapult and warlike engine, but across which neither man nor deer could leap and hope to reach the other side below.
"Safe enough from all attack this way," said Andrew, while he gazed down at the topmost windows of the ancient house, "safe enough. A regiment might demolish it by firing on it from here, but nought else would avail. And how many would be picked off by musket ball and caliver from masked windows and loopholes while doing so? 'Twould be a perilous attack!"
"Gaspard's thought is," whispered Laurent, as though fearing their voices might be carried across the chasm on the morning air, and so reach any within the gloomy house, "that burning brands cast down on it at night, when all slept, might easily cause destruction. Observe, all is of wood above, even the roof. The old man is right. It would burn well. Must burn well some day!"
"But not yet," Andrew answered, also in a half whisper. "Remember, the woman I have come to save is doubtless in this house, held fast. If it were afire there might be no escape for her."
"Not yet, perhaps," replied Laurent, "but some day, a coup sûr!"
After this, Andrew busied himself by observing the whole situation of the house and the approaches to it from various quarters.
That the lower part of it might well date back to the time of Duke Thierry was easy to believe; it being built of vast stones that looked as though Time itself could never destroy nor remove them, and Andrew, who could see only the back of the house, judged that the front would be exactly the same, with, he supposed, one huge, iron-studded doorway in it. Likewise, he pictured to himself small lancet windows, heavily barred also with iron; windows that swept the great open place in front of them, and across which not so much as a dog could pass without being instantly observed! Above this stone basement, the wooden part began and formed another, or second floor, yet, though of wood and supported by enormous beams, it looked scarcely more modern than the lower part. For beams and supports, stanchions and cross-beams, were all black with age and with the stains of countless storms, and even the various devices-some with the Cross Florettée upon them as sign of Crusading ancestors-were almost obliterated now. Yet, old and weather-beaten as this ancient mansion looked, it presented to Andrew's gaze a firmness and solidity that appeared almost impregnable.
"A house hard to get into," he thought, "if well defended. A house equally hard to get out of when once in it. Yet, in some way, I will do both, and, when I attempt the latter, it should go hard if she whom I believe to be a prisoner here comes not away with me. At least the attempt shall be made. Ere a week is past I will be inside."
Then, after sweeping his eye round the woods which bordered this mansion, he told Laurent he had seen enough for his first view, and that there was no more to be done at present.
"But to-night," he added, "if Jean brings to Plombières the news I want, I may be back again. Only-next time I must see the front of the house. 'Tis from there the entrance must be obtained, by fair means or foul 'Tis that which I must reconnoitre to-night when the moon is up. She rises at eight, I think. Pray heaven there is no fog!"
"Beware what you do," said Laurent. "If caught and overwhelmed by numbers, it may go hard with you. He has many whom he can summon to do his bidding."
"Bah! I have encountered numbers before and fought my way through them."
"That may be so. But, once inside that house, you will have others than men to contend with. Strong bars and locks; ay, even chains. Beware."
"I shall run no risks," replied Andrew, "but if the woman I seek is there I will reach her. On that I am resolved. Nothing shall thwart me."
CHAPTER XVII
"A WOMAN IS THERE"
Lolling against the doorpost of the yard of "La Tête d'Or" stood Andrew that evening, watching the sunset, glancing his eye up at the crimson glow on the top of the mountains behind the village of Plombières, wishing "Good-night" to any passing peasant who spoke to him, and occasionally patting some child on the head as it stopped to gaze at the figure of the great stranger at the inn-yard gate.
His arrival had caused some little commotion an hour or so before, when he had ridden up to the door-though not, perhaps, as much as it would have done had the times been more peaceful. For in such a period a stranger looking like a soldier, though with no particularly distinctive marks of his calling about him, would indeed have caused a fluster in the little village, to which none from the outside world ever came, except some broken-down, gouty Lorrainer from Nancy or Epinal, to whom the boiling springs of Plombières were known as health-giving, since they drove out, or were supposed to drive out, all the evils produced by wine drinking and gluttony, and gave to those who partook of them a fresh lease of indulgence.
But now the village was full of soldiers, men of Lorraine who, since the Imperialists were going into winter quarters, were straggling back to their homes, or to where they were billeted, and who, as Andrew drew rein in front of the door, were engaged in drinking confusion to the French King, although he was at that present moment master of the province. For a strange state of things prevailed all through it just then. The reigning Duke, Charles IV., hated France, and fought against her under De Bournonville and Montecuculi, while, at the same time, Louis called himself King over Lorraine, and, although most of the nobility followed the Duke with their dependants and threw in their fortunes with his, there were some who, being discontented, espoused, and had done so for some time, the cause of France. Amongst these was De Bois-Vallée, who had been French from interest, if not from feeling, since 1670, when Louis's proclamation of his sovereignty over Lorraine had been made. Yet, had Turenne not prevented the Imperialists from advancing across the Vosges, the French claim to possess the department would have been even more hollow than it actually was at the moment, and the local champions of France would have been in a dangerous position. Indeed, they were in a dangerous one now, since, should the Austrian allies finally defeat the Marshal, Charles-who never forgave! – would probably ruin, if he did not destroy, every subject who had espoused the French cause.
"Is the gallant gentleman on his road home from the campaign?" asked a gigantic Lorrainer who stood at the entrance to the inn-yard as Andrew rode up, a man who wore the cognizance of De Vaudemont on breast and hat. "For sure he is a soldier."
"For sure he is," replied Andrew briefly. "Yet not on his way home at present," and he dismounted from his horse as he spoke.
"Ay! that I see, or rather hear by your accent. You," said the soldier, "are no Lorrainer."
"Friend," replied Andrew, facing him, "have I said I am?" while, with something very like a sneer, he added, "there are other forces engaged in this campaign, I understand, as well as the inhabitants of your province. Also Providence-doubtless in a moment of forgetfulness! – made other countries besides Lorraine. I myself belong to one almost as small-so small, indeed, that probably you never heard the name of it."
"I have been to school-what is the name of this little country?"
"England," and, as Andrew answered, he unceremoniously pushed by the man, who was bigger than himself, and jeopardized his great feet as he led his horse over them.
"Figure to yourselves," Andrew heard this fellow say to some comrades half an hour later, as he sat eating a meal the landlord had placed before him, after providing him with a room in the roof and a stall for his horse, "figure to yourselves, he is an Englishman, and a surly one at that." Whereon he narrated his little interview with Andrew-who calmly went on demolishing part of a pasty and drinking his wine without glancing at him-and concluded by saying he believed he had fought on the French side. To all of which the other vouchsafed no attention until he heard the Lorrainer growl-he being now well in his cups! – that he was afraid he would have to chastise the Englishman.
Then Andrew looked over to him across the room, put out his fork carelessly, and tapped the hilt of his sword with its double prong.
"Thirty-eight inches in length, friend," he said. "What length is yours?"
Whereon the group to whom the man was talking burst into a roar of laughter, and, clapping the giant on the shoulder, bade him not be a fool.
After that, however, they left him alone, perhaps because he looked dangerous, perhaps because they knew that an assault upon the stranger might go hard with them if the Syndic or the Prince de Vaudemont heard of it. Louis-the great King, the man who, although they served him not, had a terrible reputation amongst them-had been in the neighbourhood not long before, and had won the hearts of many by his graciousness. For, contrary to the ways of the Duke, he had told them that he perfectly well understood that their sympathies were not with him, and that he would not take it ill if they bestowed their swords where their consciences prompted them. Also he had bidden the Marquises de Maraucourt and de Beauvau join the Imperialists since they desired to do so, and had publicly praised the Prince de Vaudemont for the manner in which he had defended Besançon against him.
Therefore they knew that it would go badly with them if De Vaudemont heard they had outraged in his land-he being the Duke's son-any man serving the French King. And, later, they were all drinking together, and paying chopine for chopine as though they had been comrades fighting side by side, instead of serving against each other-though Andrew's first acquaintance seemed still a little sore at his raillery.
But, as the sun dipped towards Le Marne, Andrew, who had kept his head cool, and whose potations had been of the slightest, put on his sword-belt and strolled towards the inn door. It was the time when Jean should be near at hand.
He had not leaned long against the inn door, bidding, as has been said, good-night to passers-by who spoke civilly to him, when down the street he perceived the man approaching-on the other side where the water from the fountain ran. On which he advanced to it, and, as Jean came up, lifted the iron cup and drank a draught of the cool, fresh water.
"Well?" he asked, as he handed it afterwards to the other. "Well? What have you discovered?"
"A woman is there," Jean replied, holding the cup himself in a nonchalant manner under the spout, as anyone might do who desired to drink. "Has been there, my cousin says, for more than a year."
"Ha! Is she a prisoner?"
"He thinks so. He has never seen her, yet-"
"Yes!"
"Others have. Have seen her face at a window."
"At what part of the house?"
"The top. On the front. A woman pale as death and sad. They say she has made signs to those who have approached near, yet has never been able to communicate with any. Once she threw a paper down, but Armand Beaujos secured it. He could tell me no more."
"And De Bois-Vallée? Is he there?"
"He does not know. He was a week ago, and my cousin saw him. Since, he has not seen him."
"Does your cousin know what men there are in or about the house?"
"I know," Jean replied. Whereon, peasant-like, he began to count upon his fingers.
"First," he said, "the wolf himself, if he is there. Next, Beaujos, the steward. Then, one, two, three, four serving-men-ma foi! I cannot think of more. Outside, those who attend to the horses and dogs, away in the écurie."
"Where is this écurie?"
"Near the house, to the right of it. There are no more."
"There is your cousin."
"Oh! for him, he counts not. He sleeps not there, but in Remiremont, to the other side. Also, I have spoken to him. Told him danger threatens the wolf. He is glad; he hates him, too."
"Is he safe?"
"Safe! Mon Dieu! He is of my blood. We all hate him. He will say no word."
After that Andrew bade the man good-night, making an appointment with him for the next evening at the same hour.
But before they parted, he said: "Remember this. If I am not here, if you can glean no news of me, I shall be dead. Otherwise, I shall return. And, if I come not back, then you must wreak your vengeance on him and his house as beseems you all best. Only-remember the woman. Save her if you can. It will be worth your while. She is of good blood in my land; if you can restore her to her father you will be made men for life. I guarantee it. Will you do this?"
"In truth I will. Does monsieur give that message to Laurent and to Gaspard too!"
"To all who hate him, De Bois-Valle."
"Ma foi! they are many," while, hearing sounds of revelry proceeding from the inn door and windows, he, glancing over towards the house, broke off, and said: "Who are inside? They are gay and joyous."
"Men of De Vaudemont's service. Carousing at going into winter quarters-"
"De Vaudemont's! service De Vaudemont's service!" He repeated, nodding his head. "So-so!" and again he nodded.
"What strikes you?" Andrew asked. "What is it?"
"He," whispered Jean, "he-the Vicomte-was under De Vaudemont once, then joined France, and, 'tis thought-we have always thought so here-gave information that helped the French generals to take many places round about. Corbleu! If some of De Vaudemont's men could catch him, they-they-well!" and he laughed and used a local expression, "they would not kiss him."
"Are they, these men belonging to the Prince, of this neighbourhood?" asked Andrew, struck by a sudden idea, "or only passing through to their homes. What think you?"
"How can I tell? I hear their voices all jangling together, but can distinguish none. They sing," he said, "a song of the pays all the same-but then we all sing that." And he bent his right ear towards the Tête d'Or, whence was issuing, amidst the clinking of glasses and other sounds, the refrain of "Lorraine, Lorraine, ma douce patrie."
"Go in and see," said Andrew; "drink a cup with them, you may know some."
And as Jean, seemingly nothing loth, entered the inn, Andrew strolled up and down in the darkness that had now set in.
He could not judge from the sounds that arose as the song finished whether they were applause and excitement at the performance, or a welcome extended by the returned soldiers to an old friend, but after waiting a quarter of an hour or, perhaps, less, Jean returned-wiping his mouth on his sleeve-and instantly said:
"Four are of this neighbourhood. One of Plombières itself, another of Fougerolles, another of Aillevillers, a fourth from the Val d'Ajol."
"Who is the biggest of all-one bigger than I? With a great beard? Do you know him?"
"He-he is from Aillevillers, hard by. Pierre Lupin. Ho! figurez-vous, if he thought De Bois-Vallée was here he would spit him like a lark, or hug him to death in those great arms. Lupin was in his troop when the Vicomte rode captain under De Vaudemont, and was badly treated. If he only knew-nay, if all the four only knew."
"Yet," said Andrew, "let them not think so yet. I command you. Later-if I come not back-then enlist them in the service of vengeance. And, for this Lupin-tell him that the Englishman who offended him has been slain by De Bois-Vallée. He and I had a few words together, yet that passed-is drowned in a cup. And he seems a brave and honest soldier-he will forget our difference. Remember, however, tell them nothing as yet."
"I will remember," answered Jean, repeating his lesson; "if you come not back soon, the wolf's house will meet its fate. Also, we will remember there is a woman to be saved. Fear not!" Whereon they separated.
The moon hung rusty in the heavens half an hour later, proclaiming that there was mist between her and the earth, as Andrew rode slowly up the ascent of the pass which lay between Plombières and Remiremont. Yet it was a good night, too, for the errand he was on, one of inspection of the house of his enemy, into which he meant later to obtain entrance somehow; a night on which a figure keeping well in the shadow could be screened from observation. A night in which, he thought, he might draw near enough to the house to examine the front and the other two sides he had been unable to see from the summit of the wall beneath the slope, at the back of the mansion. To examine, also, if there was any way by which silent entry might be obtained, though, even as he reflected on this, his mind turned and turned again to that wall and slope.
"I could make entrance thus I am sure, and doubly sure," he pondered, "could attain at least that roof. A rope tied round my body and lowered from the top of the wall until level with the top of the house, then a lusty thrust with my feet, as a swimmer thrusts against a bank to propel himself-and I should be there. So! that would be easy enough. But how to return, and with the burden of a woman-one who may be small, but, again, may be big? How to do that? 'Tis a yawning chasm-I should scarce dare look down the height myself! – no woman, unless she had nerves of brass, would ever consent to pass it. Yet she may hate her imprisonment so much that even that would not appal her."