Chapter IV: Part 4

They had barely time to cross the bridge, and could not raise it because of the stragglers who whined and cried and implored shelter for themselves and their cattle. The enemy took advantage of the confusion to overtake them.

Thereupon the battle began under the archway of the _huis_, where the defenders of the château, surrounded by crying children and animals that were either inert and stupid or wounded and frantic, were instantly forced to fall back.

They had no sooner retreated to the _basse-cour_ than the peasants abandoned them and rushed madly to the stone bridge; so that the brave fellows, numbering no more than half a score, were surrounded by the brigands and forced to fall back to the _huisset_, heroically contesting every inch of the ground.

One of the bravest, Charasson the farmer, was killed; two others were wounded. They would all have fallen there, for the redoubtable Sancho fought with the frenzy of desperation, had it not been for the dastardly behavior of La Flèche and his consorts, "who were eager for pillage, and in nowise eager for hard knocks."

Reduced to seven, the gallant defenders were obliged to retreat into the courtyard; the which was no easy matter, because the courtyard was so crowded. They were so hotly pressed by Sancho that a great number of the beasts were left outside, or in their excitement plunged into the moat.

During this desperate struggle, which, however, had lasted barely ten minutes, Lauriane and Mercedes at first stood, silent and trembling, on the platform of the tower of the _huisset_.

When they saw their people give way, being simultaneously inspired by the courage which fear imparts to the weak when they are not idiots, they ran to the falconets, which were always ready to be discharged. They hurriedly lighted the matches, and held themselves in readiness to fire, encouraging each other, and trying to remember what they had seen Mario and the other young men of the household taught to do by way of practice. But it was not yet possible to fire on the enemy, they were so inextricably mingled with the defenders of the château.

But what was Adamas doing at that supreme moment? Adamas was in the bowels of the earth.

The reader will remember hearing of a secret passage, by means of which Lucilio's escape was to be effected, in case of need. This passage passed under the moat and led to a sunken road which had been filled with gravel by the freshets of the last few years. Adamas had imagined that to clear the opening would require only a few hours' labor on the part of his ditchers. But the damage was more extensive than he supposed, and in three days they had not succeeded in making the passage practicable.

He went every evening to see what had been done during the day, and he was buried there during the battle, making his daily inspection, taking measurements, without the slightest suspicion of the tumult that reigned out-of-doors.

When he emerged from his hole, the entrance to which was under the staircase in the turret, he was like a drunken man for some moments and believed that he was dreaming; but, being a man of expedients, he speedily recovered his presence of mind.

He arrived just at the moment when the besieged fell back into the courtyard and the enemy were on the point of forcing their way in as well, everyone having lost his head.

Active and always well shod, like the true _homme de chambre_ that he was, he gave but one bound to the tower of the _huisset_ and dropped the portcullis in the face of the assailants, and, in fact, on the backs of some of them, so that the base of that instrument of exclusion did not reach the ground. He discovered it in time.

"Clindor!" he shouted to the bewildered page, who was preparing to close the gates behind the portcullis, "stay, stay! What's the reason that the portcullis doesn't fall? I still have a foot of it above the groove."

Clindor, who was not very brave, although he did his utmost to be, looked and recoiled in horror.

"I should think so," he said, "there are three men under it!"

"_Numes célestes_! our men! Look, I say, you triple sucking calf!"

"No, no, theirs."

"So much the better, by Mercury! Come here, quickly, some of you! Get on top of the portcullis! Bear down! bear down! Don't you see that those dead bodies will enable the living to crawl under the iron teeth, and that, when they are once under the archway, they will set fire to our gates! Down, down, you fellows! Break the heads of anyone who tries to pass, with hammers or feet or musket-butts. Mow them down with your scythe, living and dead, good Andoche! And you, Châtaignier, have you another charge? Have at that red-nose protruding there! So! bravo! by the god Teutates, that is well! right in the mouth! That makes one less of them!"

Mingling thus eloquent appeals with colloquial phrases whereby he deigned to descend to the level of the common herd, Adamas had the satisfaction of seeing the portcullis flatten the bodies beneath it, and the assailants fall back to the end of the bridge.

"Now to the falconets!" he cried. "Move quicker than that, my Cupids! Come, come, ten thousand devils! Aim! aim! Make me a fricassee of these birds of darkness!"

The miniature artillery of the château disheartened the bandits, who had nothing with which to reply to it; so they carried away their wounded and decided, in default of anything better, to go and sack the abandoned farmhouse and banquet there.

They tossed live calves and sheep into the embers of the burned mill, whence there soon arose an acrid odor of burning wool. They pushed back with pitchforks the unfortunate creatures which sought to escape from that torture. They devoured them half raw, half charred. The casks in the farm-house cellar were burst in. One and all became more or less intoxicated, even the children and the wounded. They threw the body of the ill-fated farmer into the fire, and they would have dealt out the same treatment to the two servants who were prisoners in their hands, except for the hope of ransom; and even so they spared them against the wishes of Sancho, who was unwilling to give quarter to anyone.

The old Spaniard did not think of eating or drinking or stealing. It was against his will that the Brilbault band had gone before the more useful auxiliaries whose arrival he awaited with impatience in order to consummate his vengeance. He was anxious, not lest he should lose his own life, for he had made up his mind beforehand to sacrifice that, but lest his undertaking should fail by reason of the haste and greed of the wretched creatures whom he had enlisted in it.

Being unable to hold them back until the hour at which it was arranged that his real allies should open the march and lead the expedition, he had accompanied them in order that no other than himself should have the privilege of torturing the _beaux messieurs de Bois-Doré_, if they should have the ill-luck to fall into the hands of those marauders.

In the heat of the battle, he, the only fanatically brave man in the party, had naturally taken his place at their head. But, when the battle was won, he ceased to be of any consequence to them; and soon, as we have seen, he took upon himself the duty of guarding the tower of the _huis_, where a surprise was to be feared, and whence he watched anxiously for the arrival of those who were to effect the capture and sacking of the château, and, as a result, the destruction of all those who had been concerned in D'Alvimar's death, either as cause or instrument.

If the people in the château were more prudent than those in the _basse-cour_, they were no more tranquil, and they hastily took all the measures necessary to defend themselves against a fresh attack.

They saw and heard the carousing of the bandits, and if they had chosen to sacrifice the farm-house, it would have been easy enough to dislodge them with their long muskets.

But not only did they hope for the arrival of reinforcements during the night, before the wretches should think of setting fire to the buildings in the _basse-cour_, but they were afraid to fire, because of the prisoners, the number of whom they did not know, and of the cattle, which were too large to be taken whole into the stomachs of those starved creatures.

They counted heads, and the absence of the unfortunate fellows who had fallen or been taken was discovered.

Adamas ordered all the useless people of the village into the stables. They gave the poor creatures plenty of fresh straw, bidding them keep perfectly quiet and lament in whispers, which it was not easy to induce them to do.

Lauriane and Mercedes busied themselves nursing the wounded and feeding the children.

Meanwhile Adamas posted his force at all the places exposed to the fire of the assailants, in such manner that they could neutralize it by their fire; and to prevent anyone from sleeping on his post, he passed his time going from one to another, distributing words of praise and encouragement, exhibiting hope, fear, or absolute confidence in the result of the siege, according to the temperament of each person he addressed. The shrewd Adamas, who had never handled any other weapon than the comb and the curling-iron, manifestly played the rôle of the fly on the coach, a rôle which he was able to make very useful, and which those who are familiar with Berrichon moderation and apathy know to be very necessary.

When everything was arranged, Adamas, worn out with fatigue and excitement, threw himself on a chair in the kitchen to take breath, were it for no more than five minutes, and to collect his wits.

His heart was very heavy, and he dared not confide his distress to anyone. He alone knew that Mario was not to accompany his father to Brilbault, and that, if he were not already taken, he might arrive at any moment and fall into the hands of the enemy.

Neither Lauriane nor Mercedes shared his suffering; to avoid worrying them, the marquis had concealed his plans from them. So far as they knew, he had simply taken his people out for a _battue_. They had felt that something more serious was in the air, from his preoccupied manner and the frequent conferences he had held with his friends and servants throughout the day; but they were too well aware of his paternal affection to fear that he would expose Mario to any danger, and they both imagined that he would pass the night at the château of Ars or of Coudray.

Adamas was beset by innumerable perplexities, debating within himself whether he ought not to set everybody at work clearing the secret passage, in order to go out that way to meet Mario and send word to the marquis, at the same time enabling the women to escape. But he had measured the ground so many times that he knew that many hours' work would still be required, and during that time the château, being no longer guarded, might well be invaded. Then what would become of them, confined in that issueless underground passage, the entrance to which would not be likely to escape the notice of the plunderers?

He was interrupted in his agitated reflections by Clindor, who approached him on tiptoe.

"What are you doing here, you worthless page?" he demanded angrily.

And, forgetting that he was resting himself, he added:

"Is this a night to rest?"

"No, I know it isn't," replied the page; "but I am looking for----"

"For whom? Tell me quickly!"

"The coachman! haven't you seen him?"

"Aristandre? Have you seen him about here I ask, that you are looking for him? Answer me!"

"I haven't seen him in the château; but, as sure as you are sitting there, I saw him on the stone bridge, while they were fighting there."

"Death of my life! he isn't in the château, I will swear to that! But Mario! he was to bring Mario home! Did you see Mario?"

"No; I thought of him and I looked all about; Mario wasn't there."

"God be praised! If Mario had come with him, you wouldn't have seen one without the other. He wouldn't have gone a foot away from him. He wouldn't have taken part in the battle. Doubtless monsieur kept the child with him and sent the coachman back to tell us. But the poor coachman! You say that he was fighting?"

"Like thirty devils!"

"I am sure of it! and then what?"

"Then, then--the portcullis fell and I ran to shut the gates."

"Hell fire! perhaps it fell on--Here, take this torch, and come!"

"No, no! I saw the men that were crushed. He wasn't one of them."

"You didn't see clearly, you were frightened!"

"I, frightened! Upon my word!"

"No matter, come, I tell you!"

And Adamas ran and opened the gates and looked in fear and trembling at the bodies flattened under the iron teeth. They were so crushed and mutilated, that the ghastly spectacle caused the torch to fall from the page's hands.

Adamas rose with an oath; but, by the light of the smoking torch, sputtering and dying in the blood, he saw Aristandre standing beside him.

"Ah! my friend!" he cried, throwing his arms around his neck. "Mario! where is Mario?"

"Saved!" said the coachman, "and I too, but not without difficulty! A glass of gin or brandy, quick! my teeth are chattering and I don't want to die, _sacrebleu_! I may still be good for something inside here!"

"What a state you are in, my poor friend!" said Adamas, dragging him away to the kitchen, where Clindor gave him something to drink; "where the devil have you come from?"

"_Parbleu_! from the pond," replied the coachman, who was covered with mud; "how else could I have got in? For a quarter of an hour I have been stamping about in the grass and the mud."

He tore his clothes into strips and planted himself in front of the fire, saying:

"Look, Adamas, and see if I am not losing too much blood, and stop it for me, old fellow, for I feel very weak!"

Adamas examined him; he had something like ten wounds and as many bruises.

"_Numes célestes_!" cried Adamas; "I don't see a single sound spot on your poor corpse!"

"Corpse yourself!" cried the coachman, tossing off another bumper. "Do you take me for a ghost? To be sure I have come back from a long distance; but I'm better now; my hide's as thick as my horses', thank God! Don't let me bleed, that's all I ask. It's a bad thing for a man to lose all the blood in his body."

Adamas washed him and dressed his wounds with marvellous skill.

Thanks to the thickness of his skin and the herculean strength of his muscles, the wounded man had escaped serious injury.

"And the child?" said Adamas, as he dressed him in dry clothes which Clindor had brought; "was the child in danger?"

Aristandre told everything that had happened down to the time that he raised the stake of the _sarrasine_.

"The child got through," he said; "the beggars on the _moucharabi_ fired at him but didn't hit him. I had that hound of a Sancho by the throat at that moment. I might have strangled him, but I let him go and ran out on the _moucharabi_, and I saw Mario running like the wind; then I fell on the other two curs. I had only a spade, but I routed them in fine shape, I tell you! Sancho came at me again with his broken rapier, and tried to scratch me with the hilt, I think, for he struck at my head and face when he couldn't reach my stomach. Ah! the old madman, how hard he strikes! And then, you see, I was already wounded and had not my strength! But it warmed me up a little all the same, because I had already swam across the pond once to join dear little Mario in the garden, and I was shivering. However, I couldn't make an end of the old devil, and that is all I regret. When I heard others coming to his assistance, I slipped down the staircase, and as his legs aren't so active as his arm is heavy, I succeeded in returning to the garden without his knowing where I had gone. And from there faith, I had no other choice than to come back here by way of the pond, and here I am!"

"Coachman!" cried Adamas, who, unlike many men, felt a sincere admiration for exploits of which he knew that he was incapable, "you are as great as Monsieur d'Urfé's greatest heroes! and if monsieur takes my advice, he will have you represented in tapestry in his salon, to perpetuate the memory of your courage and your stout heart."

"If it's only a question of being great," replied the artless Aristandre, "I can safely say that I have the size. But I am going to see my horses; after that, we will think about making a little sortie to clear the _basse-cour_ of these vermin. What do you say about it, old fellow?"

The prudent Adamas was not heartily in favor of the plan.

While they are discussing projects of attack and defence, we will join Mario, who has just arrived in sight of the great tree by which the hill of Etalié is crowned to this day.

The child looked up at the stars which he had learned to know during his life among the shepherds: it was about half-past nine.

At that period there was a single house in that solitude; it was an inn and at the same time a sort of hunting rendezvous.

The hill, situated amid plains of vast extent and teeming with game, was often honored by the sojourn of noblemen of the province, who assembled to hunt the hare and to dine or sup at the sign of the _Geault-Rouge_.

This will explain the fact that an inn so small, situated so near a large town that it could not hope to entertain wealthy travellers, possessed in the person of Master Pignoux, landlord of the _Geault-Rouge_, a cook of the rarest excellence.

When the gentlemen of the neighborhood indulged in the sport of fishing in the ponds of Thevet, they always sent in haste for Master Pignoux, who would come with his wife, set up his canteen on the water's edge, and serve them, under some lovely arbor, those marvellous _matelotes_[6]--they were then called _étuvées_--which had made his reputation. He also went about to the towns and châteaux near by, for wedding and other festivals, and, it was said, could have taught Monsieur le Prince's master cooks a thing or two.

The _Geault-Rouge_ was a solidly built structure, of two high stories, covered with tiles of a brilliant red which could be seen a league away. Through the influence of the noblemen of the neighborhood, Master Pignoux had obtained permission to put a vane on his roof, a privilege of the nobility to which he declared that he was entitled, as he so often had occasion to entertain the nobility. The incessant shrill shrieking of that vane, which seemed to be the objective point of all the winds of the plain, blended with the perpetual creaking of the great iron sign representing the _Geault-Rouge_ in its glory, which swung haughtily at the end of a staff projecting from a window on the second floor.

Opposite the house, on the other side of the road, was a very large thatch-covered stable, and long sheds for the accommodation of the retinues by whom the noble sportsmen were commonly attended. The inn itself was specially reserved for the nobles themselves.

Everyone knows that in those days inns were distinguished as _hostelleries_, _gîtes_ and _repues_. The _gîtes_ gave special attention to providing lodging for the night, the _repues_ to furnishing dinner for travellers; the latter were wretched taverns where well-to-do people stopped only in default of some better place, and where they were sometimes fed upon crow, ass's meat, and _Sancerre eels_, that is to say, snakes. The _gîtes_, on the contrary, were often very sumptuous.

Inns were also divided into those for people on foot and those for people on horseback. One could take two meals there. On the sign of the _Geault-Rouge_ were these words, in huge letters:

HOSTELRY LICENSED BY THE KING

and below:

DINNER FOR MOUNTED TRAVELLERS, 12 SOLS;
LODGING FOR THE SAME, 20 SOLS

The inn-keeper's privilege was confirmed by letters-patent from the king. Pedestrians could not be entertained at an inn for the accommodation of mounted travellers, and _vice versa_.

"The French laws prevent the former from spending too much, the latter from spending too little."[7]

Mario, seeing that the inn was brilliantly lighted, was not surprised to hear his little horse neigh with pleasure when he was within two hundred yards. He supposed that he recognized his surroundings.

But he was surprised when he suddenly turned to the left and seemed unwilling to resume the straight road.

The child, who was on the alert, pricked up his ears. It seemed to him that he could hear the sound of horses's feet in the direction of the inn, which the night mist still prevented him from seeing distinctly. He was overjoyed.

"My father must be here," he said to himself, "with all his people; perhaps with Monsieur d'Ars and his suite. I will hurry on."

But Coquet required so much urging to go forward, that his young rider thought that he ought to try to fathom the intelligent creature's idea. He drew rein, and heard, much nearer at hand than the inn stable, the familiar neigh of Rosidor, the marquis's faithful palfrey.

"So my father is over there, is he?" he said to himself. "I must be careful not to pass him on the road."

And as he could distinguish nothing at his left except what seemed to be dense underbrush, he dropped the reins on Coquet's neck, feeling certain that he would find a way to join his stable companion.

Coquet entered the underbrush and halted in front of a dilapidated, tumble-down hovel.

It was the original _Geault-Rouge_ inn, abandoned to its own destruction twenty years before; Bois-Doré, Guillaume and Monsieur Robin having cooperated to build the new one and present it to Master Pignoux as a token of their esteem for his probity and his culinary skill.

[Footnote 6: A dish compounded of several sorts of fish, with an elaborate sauce.]

[Footnote 7: Monteil, _History of Frenchmen of Various Ranks_.]

LI

Mario entered without difficulty, there being no door.

He put his hand upon Rosidor, whom he recognized by his accoutrements and his fine coat, as well as by his caressing voice; and the finding of his father's horse concealed in a ruin caused him to reflect.

He looked about, called his father cautiously, and, having satisfied himself that he was alone, conceived it to be his duty to imitate the example which seemed to be given him, by fastening Coquet beside Rosidor, and proceeding on foot, and as noiselessly as possible, toward the new inn.

He crept along the bushes and suddenly came upon a party of mounted men, who seemed to be pitching their camp in that place, some busied about their horses, which they were taking to the great stable opposite; others, who had already attended to that duty, stood in the road, exchanging in undertones and with a mysterious air words which Mario could not understand.

He glided among them unobserved; but when he stood in the doorway of the great kitchen of the inn, illuminated by the bright fire on the hearth which shone through the door, he felt a rough hand seize him by the collar, and a gruff voice said to him in French, but with a very pronounced German accent:

"No admittance!"

At the same time he saw two tall dark-skinned men, armed to the teeth, standing guard on each side of the door.

Thereupon Sancho's words recurred to his memory, and what Pilar had said of the reinforcement expected by the bandits.

"I have tumbled into a wasp's-nest," he thought; "but I am disguised and they will take me for a little beggar. I must find out if my father is here."

So he put out his hand and began to beg, in the piteous tone that he had heard the gypsies adopt and had sometimes adopted himself, laughing in his sleeve, during his travels with that honorable company.

They released him at once, but ordered him to go away, and, when he pretended not to understand, they threatened him by going through the motions of taking aim at him.

He was about to go, being fully determined to return, when another voice, coming from the inn, issued an order in German; whereupon, instead of turning him out-of-doors, they seized him by the collar again and pushed him into the kitchen.

There, before he had time to collect his thoughts, he found himself confronted by a tall, thin, dark individual, in military costume, who said to him with an Italian accent:

"Come here, boy, and if you have a letter, give it to me."

"I haven't any letter," replied Mario, looking the stranger in the face with perfect self-possession.

"A verbal message then, eh? Speak!"

"Before I speak," said the boy, with great presence of mind, "I must know to whom I am speaking."

"_Diable_!" said the stranger with a scornful smile, "we are a very wary youth; that is well enough! This is the countersign: _Saccage_ and _Macabre_. What name has been given you?"

"La Flèche," replied Mario, at random.

"What? what is that?" said the Italian frowning. "There's no rhyme there."

"Wait!" cried Mario, inspired by that reply, "that isn't all. Isn't there a _pillage_ in your countersign?"

"That rhymes better," said the other, smiling dismally; "but that isn't all yet, you little monkey! Your memory is failing you!"

"Perhaps so," said the child; "there's another word, I know. Isn't it Sancho?"

"There we are! Now then, stand in this corner and don't stir. I am Lieutenant Saccage; Captain Macabre will be here in a quarter of an hour. He's the one to whom you must give your message, which I care very little about, for my part. I say, you fellows, hold your tongues!" he shouted to the horsemen, who were going to and fro around the house, talking a little louder than seemed to be necessary.

Profound silence ensued, and he who styled himself Lieutenant Saccage said to Mario, who was meditating upon the means of gaining admittance to another room, to find his father or someone who could give him some news of him:

"My good friend, it is well that you should know the countersign, for your protection. We send away or arrest everyone who tries to enter this house; we fire on everyone who tries to go out. Do you understand that?"

"But I have no reason for trying to go out," replied Mario, cautiously; "I am looking round to see if there's anything to eat; I am hungry."

"That makes no difference to me, my boy. We are hungry too, and we're waiting for the captain to give us orders to eat."

Mario was not hungry. He was very anxious. In the room at the rear, which was a sort of pantry and serving-room, he saw Mistress Pignoux and her servant bustling about. It seemed to him that the former saw him and recognized him, and that she even spoke to the servant, as if to warn her not to mention the discovery.

But all this might well be a delusion, and Mario waited for a moment when Saccage's back should be turned, to try to exchange a word or a glance with the hostess. He knew that everybody in the house worshipped his father and himself.

He adopted the plan of pretending to fall asleep, and Saccage soon went out to give some order.

Thereupon the child rushed up to Madame Pignoux, saying:

"It is I! not a word! where is my father?"

"Upstairs!" replied Madame Pignoux hastily; although advanced in years, she was still a robust woman, with a firm foot and a keen eye.

She pointed to the wooden staircase leading to the dining-room, called the _salle d'honneur_ at the _Geault-Rouge_.

But, as the child was already climbing the stairs, she detained him.

"No!" she said, "they don't know that he is here! Don't stir, my young master. They would kill him!"

"Who are these men?"

"A wicked lot! Do you know what _arêtes_ are?"

"No! Wait a moment! Perhaps you mean _reitres_?"

"Yes, that's the word. My servant Jacques, who has served in the army, recognized them. They are brigands who burn and kill wherever they go."

"But they haven't done you any harm, have they?"

"No; they want food and drink; afterwards God only knows whether they won't burn the house and us with it! That's the way they pay their reckoning."

"Madame Pignoux, my father must escape from here! How can he do it?"

"Impossible at present! They are guarding all the doors, and your papa is too old to jump out of a window. Indeed, what would be the use? The house is surrounded, and they won't even let us go to the hen-coop and the cellar without following at our heels."

"But you must at least hide my father! Ah! I am very sure now that it's he they are after! Where is he?"

"In my man's room, who luckily isn't at home! He has gone to cook a wedding banquet at La Châtre and won't return till to-morrow. They called for him by name."

"Who? my father?"

"No, my man! I would like to know how it happens that they know him! I told them he was sick, and I said it very loud so that your papa could hear it upstairs. I hope that it will occur to him to get into bed."

"But didn't they suggest going upstairs?"

"Yes, indeed; they looked into the _salle d'honneur_, and they said----"

"But they are coming back; we must stop talking," said Mario.

And he hurried back to his corner in the kitchen and resumed his drowsy attitude.

"Come, old witch, make haste!" cried Saccage, returning with two of his followers; "lay the table and give us the best you have. Captain Macabre is here. Do you fellows see that the men observe the order: _Silence and patience_!" he said to his soldiers. "No one must think of eating before the captain is at the table. The captain halts here to obtain a good supper, and doesn't propose to have the pantry ransacked and nothing but bones left for him and his officers. Remember the fellows who were hanged at Linières for laying hands on the provisions! Go!--I spoke for your ears, madame she-ape," he added, addressing the hostess as soon as the soldiers had gone, "so that you might know that this is no time for snivelling and heaving sighs. Look alive and put on the spit. To work, I say! and if the joint is burned by your fault, look out for your old carcass!"

"How do you expect me to hurry, when I have to do everything almost alone?" said Madame Pignoux, unmoved by his insults. "There are only us two old women here. Let them give me back my servant so that he can lay the table. I can't be upstairs and down at the same time, can I?"

"Your servant is under suspicion, old woman. He acted as if he meant to run away when he saw us, and then he tried to hide the oats. He has had a good thrashing and is now working for us."

"Well, how about this urchin?" rejoined the hostess, talking away as she spitted her chickens; "is he one of your band? couldn't he help me?"

"Help her, good-for-naught," said Saccage to Mario, "and do your work neatly!"

Mario rose with affected indifference, and asked what he should do.

"What's that? go upstairs with the maid," cried Madame Pignoux, "and lay the cloth in a hurry."

Mario went up, and said to the servant:

"My father? which room is he in? Tell me quickly!"

She led him up to the second floor and the child scratched gently at the door, which was locked and bolted inside.

The marquis instantly recognized that little hand, which scratched so every morning at his bedroom door.

"O God!" he cried, hurriedly opening the door, "you here? But what does this costume mean? Whom did you come with? how? why?"

"I haven't any time to explain," replied Mario. "I am alone; I want you to escape from here. Do as I have done, father; disguise yourself."

"Yes, to be sure," said the servant; "here are master's clothes; put them on, monsieur le mar----"

"No marquises!" said Mario; "leave us, my good girl; and you, father, shall be Master Pignoux."

"But why show myself?" observed the marquis, as he mechanically unbuttoned his vest; "I shall not be able to act a part as you do, my child."

"Yes, you will, yes, you will, my father! But, tell me, don't you know a _reitre_ named Macabre? It seems to me I have heard you mention that name."

"Macabre? Yes, to be sure, I know that name and the man too, if it's the same one who----"

"Is it a long time since he saw you?"

"The devil! yes! something like twenty or thirty years--perhaps more!"

"Well, that is all right! Show yourself without fear; play the inn-keeper, and we will find a way to escape."

"That will not be possible, my child," said the marquis, continuing to undress. "We have crafty rascals to deal with. Just fancy that they came up with no more noise than if it had been a troop of mules going at a footpace under the charge of a single man. I had no suspicion; the hostess was asleep in the chimney corner. I was in the living-room, reading _Astrée_, while waiting until it was time to start."

"Let us hide _Astrée_! Cooks do not read books bound in silk," said Mario, seizing the volume, which the marquis had instinctively placed beside his hat when he took possession of the inn-keeper's chamber.

And, as the marquis removed each piece of his clothing, the child concealed it also under the firewood in a small loft adjoining.

"But did they not recognize you as a gentleman, my poor child?" continued the marquis, intensely excited as we may believe. "_Mon Dieu_! have they done you no harm?"

"No, no; let us talk about you, father. Didn't you try to leave the house before they had stationed their sentinels?"

"No, certainly not. I had no suspicion! They made so little noise that I thought that some muleteer had stopped here; and not until they had surrounded the house did they raise their voices slightly, and then I saw through the window that I was caught in a trap by the worst sort of cutthroats and villains within my knowledge. I kept perfectly still, thinking that they would soon go away; but I heard some Italian words, which I partly understood. They intend, I believe, to stay here until daybreak. Thereupon I said to myself that my people, finding that I did not arrive at Brilbault, where I am expected at ten o'clock, would be anxious about me, and would come during the night to look for me here, where they know that I was to stop. It would be better to wait for them. There are only about a dozen of these _reitres_; I was able to count them pretty accurately, and when our people arrive I shall have no difficulty in cutting our way to them through these knaves with my sword."

"Father," said Mario, who was looking out of the window, "there are at least twenty-five of them! for here is another numerous party just riding up. Our people are not thinking as yet of coming to look for you, and at any moment these fellows may search the house from top to bottom for plunder."

"Well, my child, here I am disguised from top to toe. Stay with me, as if you were nursing the sick landlord. If they come up here, they will not disturb us. They maltreat and hold to ransom only well-dressed and well-mounted people. Ah! by the way, my horse will betray me. They must have seen him."

"Your horse is hidden, and so is mine."

"Really? Then it must have been that worthy ostler who found a way to put him out of sight. But what is the matter with the brigands that they are shouting so? Do you hear them?"

"They are calling me. Stay here, father; don't lock yourself in: that would arouse suspicion. Hark! they are going into the room below. I must go! Listen to everything; the partitions are very thin. Try to understand, and be all ready to come if I call you."

LII

Mario ran like a cat down the narrow staircase leading from the inn-keeper's chamber to the _salle d'honneur_, and found himself in the presence of Captain Macabre, who, at the same instant, entered the room with heavy tread by the staircase leading from the kitchen.

Lieutenant Saccage was also there with two or three other men of no less hang-dog aspect.

The appearance of the individual who bore the sinister name of Macabre was less repellent at first glance than his lieutenant's. The latter was treacherous and cold, with a fiendish laugh. Macabre's face indicated nothing worse than brutalized roughness, which strove to appear imposing.

There was no place for a smile upon that face stupefied by fatigue and dissipation. The muscles seemed to have grown stiff--to have become ossified; the light eyes had a fixed stare like eyes made of enamel. The strongly marked features resembled Mr. Punch's, minus the animated, sly expression. A great scar across the jaw had paralyzed one corner of the mouth and separated in a curious way the gray and red beard, which seemed to grow in different directions, and, as to part of it, against the grain. A great hairy mole emphasized the hump on his protuberant nose. His fingers bristled with gray hair to the roots of the nails.

He was short and thin, but broad-shouldered, and as compactly built as a wild-boar, with tawny coat and head set close to the shoulders, like that beast. He seemed quite old, but his appearance still indicated herculean strength. His rasping voice, still maintained at the high pitch of the military officer in the mouth of a fool, sounded like a peal of thunder with the influenza, and made the glasses on the table rattle.

He was dressed after the fashion of the _reitres_, in doublet and tassets of buffalo hide, with a helmet and breastplate of burnished iron. A wretched stripped black feather adorned that black and gleaming helmet. He carried the stout, broad German sword, against which the glistening lances of the French gendarmerie were easily shattered; flint-lock pistols, to which our soldiers foolishly preferred the old match-lock weapons; a short musket, and a bandoleer with little black leather compartments containing charges of powder and ball, completed this individual's campaign equipment.

His private escort, or, as was still said at this time, his _lance_, consisted of two carbineers for scouting purposes, and two _coutilliers_, who performed the twofold functions of pages and farriers.

He had also seven soldiers, well-armed and mounted as light-horse, who never left him, and who were the cream of his _cornette_, or troop of picked men. We may translate, in this way, by equivalent terms to those in use at this time, the titles and different grades of this tribe of foreign adventurers, whose organization, equipment and staff each leader modified, according to his whim or his power.

Mario had not erred in estimating at twenty-five men the band accompanying the captain, added to that already at the inn under his lieutenant's command.

"Here's a filthy tavern!" cried the captain in a disdainful tone, scraping the heavy soles of his great muddy boots on the clean and glistening rungs of a walnut chair. "What sort of a fire is that for travellers by night? Are you short of wood in this barrack?"

"Alas! monsieur," said the servant, tossing an armful of wood on the fire, which was already burning brightly, "we can do no better; this is a flat country and wood is scarce."

"_Look you, my toothless beauty; this is the way we warm ourselves when wood is dear!_"

_And he tossed the chair on which he had just wiped his feet into the fire._]

"There's a stupid girl, and uglier, if possible, than her mistress!" rejoined the courteous Macabre. "Look you, my toothless beauty; this is the way we warm ourselves when wood is dear!"

And he tossed the chair on which he had just wiped his feet into the fire.

"And now, lieutenant," he continued coolly, turning to Saccage, "you say there's a little ragamuffin here, sent by those----"

"Here you are at last!" replied Saccage, raising his foot to impel Mario more rapidly toward the venerable captain.

Mario eluded the outrage by darting nimbly under the _reitre's_ foot, and, standing in front of the other brute, said to him coolly:

"I am here, and this is my message; for I gave your lieutenant the countersign. You cannot stay in this inn, because a large body of armed men is coming here to-night. You cannot attack the château, which is well guarded. You must go back where you came from, or you will get into trouble; Sancho sends this message to you."

"Your Sancho is truly an old ass," retorted the captain.

And he added, accompanying each word with an oath which it is hardly worth while to repeat in order to convey an idea of the charm of his conversation:

"I haven't travelled a hundred leagues through a hostile country to go back empty-handed. Go and tell the man who sent you that Captain Macabre knows the country better than he does and cares devilish little about a well-guarded château! Tell him that I have forty horsemen, for there are fifteen more behind me, who are coming on in charge of _my wife_, and that forty _reitres_ are as good as an army. Come, off with you, and go to the devil, gypsy!"

"Don't send him away, captain," said Saccage, who seemed the more judicious member of the council; "it's of no use for us to have anything more to do with that Spanish lunatic and that gypsy scum. It is quite unnecessary to send this sharp young messenger to say that you are going on. They would follow us and would simply embarrass us and burn and rob all around us. Do what your wife told you. Stay here till midnight, and then you will arrive long before daybreak, for it's only two leagues from here to Briantes. So don't let this little fellow go. I'll throw him out of the window, if you choose; that will prevent his running."

"No! no unnecessary severity," bleated the captain in falsetto. "I have become a humane and gentle man since I have had a tender-hearted spouse. Is the house properly guarded?"

"A fly could not get in without my permission."

"Then let us sup in peace, as soon as my Proserpine arrives. Have you given orders?"

"Yes; but in spite of Madame Proserpine's fine promises about the comforts of this inn, we shall sup but poorly here, I am afraid. The wonderful cook of whom she said so much is in bed, at the point of death, and the woman is losing her wits. The servant is a traitor whom we have to watch, and the maid is a frightened old fool who breaks everything she touches and doesn't forward matters."

"That's because you speak harshly to them, my friend! You always have insults and threats on your lips! Ten thousand devils! as my wife has often told you, you lack tact. Where is this damned hostess? summon her, and let me restore courage to her belly with a cuff or two!"

Walking heavily to the stairs, he called Madame Pignoux, heaping the coarsest epithets upon her, apparently to set his lieutenant an example of mildness and courtesy.

This whole conversation was carried on in French.

Macabre, who was of German descent, was born at Bourges and had passed his early youth in Berry. Except for a somewhat extended vocabulary for use in his military capacity, he spoke the language of his fathers with difficulty and without pleasure. The Italian Saccage murdered French with more facility than German. Thus they had difficulty in understanding each other when they spoke the latter tongue, and moreover they considered themselves so entirely masters of the situation that they scorned to take any precautions before Mario and the people of the house. Mario, who had taken a great risk when he tried to make the _reitres_ retrace their steps, and who was likely to be contradicted at any moment by some genuine messenger from Sancho or La Flèche, realized that it would be too audacious for him to insist for the moment. He feigned indifference and preoccupation as he laid the table, but did not lose a word of what the two adventurers said to each other.

It was quite true that Sancho had promised to send a messenger to Etalié, which he had designated as the last halting-place of the _reitres_. But that messenger, who was a gypsy like the rest, and who hoped that the château of Briantes might be taken and pillaged without the aid of the Germans, had no idea of doing the errand, but went in search of plunder in the deserted village, pending the time fixed for the assault upon the manor by his companions.

The hostess, in obedience to Macabre's polite summons, came upstairs and faced him bravely.

"What is the use of big words, Captain Macabre?" said she, putting her arms akimbo. "We know each other of old, and I know very well that you will pay your reckoning and that of your devils of _lansquenets_[8] with oaths and destruction of property. I don't receive you for my own pleasure, and I know very well that it is more likely to be for my ruin. But I am a reasonable woman and no more foolish than another. So I face ill fortune with a stout heart and serve you to the best of my ability, in order to escape bad treatment and be rid of your faces the sooner. If you are at all reasonable yourself, captain, you will say to yourself that you had better not injure me to no purpose, but let me alone, and remember that I know how to fry and roast as well as another."

"In God's name, who are you, old chatterbox?" said the captain, trying to turn his stiff neck in its iron gorget, in order to look at Madame Pignoux.

"My maiden name was Marie Mouton, and I was your cantinière during the siege of Sancerre; and one day I fricasseed a stale crust for you and you smacked your lips over it."

"That may be; I remember the crust, which was good, but not you, who are ugly. But if you have served the good cause, I forgive your chatter."

"And what do you call the good cause now? For you and your like have changed so many times!"

"Hold your tongue, my dear Bonbec. I don't talk religion with people of your sort."

"Understand, too," interposed Saccage with a sneer, "that the good cause is always the one we serve!"

"Is this the time for jabbering," continued Macabre, "when my Proserpine approaches and I order you to make haste?"

"I cannot work any faster," replied La Pignoux; "why did you call me upstairs?"

"Because I propose that your husband, who is supposed to be a decent sort of cook, shall get up, dead or alive, and put his hand to the dough."

"That is impossible; my man is all twisted up with pain, and hasn't cooked for a long time."

"You lie, my dear; your man is a tool of old--Enough! I know about you; my wife has told me----"

"Old who? what do you mean?"

"Methinks you question me, strumpet!" said the captain, with a burlesque dignity which he assumed in perfect good faith.

"Why not?" retorted the hostess. "And your wife, as you call her,--who is she, to have kept you so well informed?"

"Hold your tongue, and when my goddess arrives, serve her on your knees," said Macabre with a fatuous smile in which his crooked mouth extended to his left eye.

Then, recurring to his fixed idea, which was to feast bountifully and regale his goddess handsomely, he insisted that the inn-keeper should be made to get up.

"By hell!" exclaimed Saccage, drawing his sword, "there is no difficulty about that; I have always heard that you must grease stiff joints to make them work, and I will find a way to unearth this pretended dying man whatever hole he may be hiding in! Come with me, scouts! and run your swords everywhere, whether it's into flesh or marrow."

"That is unnecessary," said Mario, jumping in front of the unsheathed sword; "I will go and bring him; I know where Master Pignoux is! I know him, and when I tell him that he has the honor of receiving Captain Macabre in person, he will come at once."

"That is a pretty boy!" said Macabre, looking after Mario as he left the room. "I must give him to my wife to wait on her. She asks me every day for a trim little page."

"You will make nothing of a gypsy," said Saccage. "This imp has an impudent, sneering air."

"You are mistaken! I consider him very pretty myself!" rejoined the captain, who did not enjoy being contradicted too much, and with whom the lieutenant had been a little too outspoken for several days past, for reasons which we shall soon learn, and which Macabre was beginning to suspect.

The marquis, being anxious about Mario, was standing in a small passageway near the _salle d'honneur_ and doing his utmost to hear everything; but his ear grasped only snatches of the conversation, and Mario, hurrying out in search of him, hastily told him what had taken place, in as few words as possible.

He had not time, nor indeed had he the inclination, to tell what was happening at Briantes; he felt that the marquis already had enough upon his mind to extricate himself from his present plight, and that he ought not to disturb him by giving him other motives for apprehension.

The _reitres_ being as ignorant as he of the attack precipitated by the gypsies, there was no risk that the marquis would learn it from another mouth than his when the proper moment should arrive.

But would that moment arrive? The present situation would have seemed desperate to an experienced person, and the marquis, who knew only a part of it, deemed it very serious. But Mario had the happy faith of childhood: he saw only half of the danger.

"If we escape from here, as I hope," he thought, "my father and I will have a hearty laugh at the figure we cut at this moment!"

[Footnote 8: The _reitres_ were still called _lansquenets_ in France, although they no longer carried lances.]

LIII

In truth, the poor marquis, disguised as a cook, was very laughable.

He had done the work conscientiously. He had taken off his wig and concealed his bare skull beneath an oilcloth cap shaped like a cake-mould.

His face, thus bereft of its ebon curls, and smeared with soot, was not recognizable; nor were his great white hands, which were stained to correspond with his face.

He had succeeded in hiding his fine white shirt under a countryman's smock, and was shod in shabby felt slippers; a coarse apron, thrown over the whole, covered his broadcloth breeches, which were not very magnificent, for he had attired himself very simply for the projected nocturnal expedition to Brilbault, which circumstance proved to be very fortunate in this emergency.

Being informed by Mario that Macabre seemed to be a stupid, vain-glorious clown, he realized that it was his cue to inspire confidence in him, and at the outset he saw that no flattery would be too rank for him to swallow.