"Resistance here! Attention over there!"
Her father's safety was a guarantee of her own acquiescence. Struggling, fighting was useless! the abominable thief must be left to do his work in peace.
It did not take long. A minute or two later he too had stepped out of the carriage. He ordered one of his followers to hold the lanthorn and then quietly took up his stand beside the open door.
"Now, ladies, an you desire it," he said calmly, "you may continue your journey. Your coachman and your men are close here, on the road, securely bound. M. de St. Genis is not far off—straight up the road—you cannot miss him. We leave you free to loosen their bonds. To horse, my men!" he added in a loud, commanding voice. "Le Bossu, hold my horse a moment! and you ladies, I pray you accept my humble apologies that I do not stop to see you safely installed."
As in a dream Crystal heard the bustle incident on a number of men getting to horse: in the gloom she saw vague forms moving about hurriedly, she heard the champing of bits, the clatter of stirrup and bridle. The masked man was the last to move. After he had given the order to mount he stood for nearly a minute by the carriage door, exactly facing Crystal, not five paces away.
His companion had put the lanthorn down on the step, and by its light she could see him distinctly: a mysterious, masked figure who, with wanton infamy, had placed the satisfaction of his dishonesty and of his greed athwart the destiny of the King of France.
Crystal knew that through the peep-holes of his mask, the man's eyes were fixed intently upon her and the knowledge caused a blush of mortification and of shame to flood her cheeks and throat. At that moment she would gladly have given her life for the power to turn the tables upon that abominable rogue, to filch from him that precious treasure which she had hoped to deposit at the feet of the King for the ultimate success of his cause: and she would have given much for the power to tear off that concealing mask, so that for the rest of her life she might be able to visualise that face which she would always execrate.
Something of what she felt and thought must have been apparent in her expressive eyes, for presently it seemed to her as if beneath the narrow curtain that concealed the lower part of the man's face there hovered the shadow of a smile.
The next moment he had the audacity slightly to raise his hat and to make her a bow before he finally turned to go. Crystal had taken one step backward just then, whether because she was afraid that the man would try and approach her, or because of a mere sense of dignity, she could not herself have said. Certain it is that she did move back and that in so doing her foot came in contact with an object lying on the ground. The shape and size of it were unmistakable, it was the pistol which the Comte must have dropped when first he stepped out of the carriage, and was seized upon by this band of thieves. Guided by that same strange and wonderful instinct which has so often caused women in times of war to turn against the assailants of their men or devastation of their homes, Crystal picked up the weapon without a moment's hesitation; she knew that it was loaded, and she knew how to use it. Even as the masked man moved away into the darkness, she fired in the direction whence his firm footsteps still sent their repeated echo.
The short, sharp report died out in the still, frosty air; Crystal vainly strained her ears to catch the sound of a fall or a groan. But in the confusion that ensued she could not distinguish any individual sound. She knew that Mme. la Duchesse and Jeanne had screamed, she heard a few loud curses, the clatter of bits and bridles, the snorting of horses and presently the noise of several horses galloping away, out in the direction of Chambéry.
Then nothing more.
VII
M. le Comte as well as the coachman and postillions were lying helpless and bound somewhere in the darkness. It took the three women some time to find them first and then to release them.
Crystal with great presence of mind had run to the horses' heads, directly after she had fired that random shot. The poor, frightened animals had reared and plunged, and had thereby succeeded in dragging the heavy carriage out of the ditch. After which they had stopped, rigid for a moment and trembling as horses will sometimes when they are terrified, before they start running away for dear life. That moment was Crystal's opportunity and fortunately she took it at the right time and in the right way.
A hand on the leaders' bridles, a soothing voice, the absence of further alarming noises tended at once to quieten the team—a set of good steady Normandy draft-horses with none too much corn in their bellies to heat their sluggish blood.
While Crystal stood at her post, Mme. la Duchesse—cool and practical—found her way firstly to M. le Comte, then to the coachman and postillions, and ordering Jeanne to help her, she succeeded in freeing the men from their bonds.
Then calling to one of them to precede her with a lanthorn, she started on the quest for Maurice de St. Genis. He was found—as that abominable thief had said—some two hundred yards up the road, very securely bound and with his own handkerchief tied round his mouth, but otherwise comfortably laid on a dry bit of roadside grass.
Mme. la Duchesse would not reply to his questions, but after he was released and able to stand up she made him give her a brief account of his adventure. It had all been so sudden and so quick—he had fallen back a little behind the carriage as soon as the night had set in, as he thought it safer to keep along the edge of the road. He was feeling tired and drowsy, and allowing his horse to amble along in the slow jog-trot peculiar to its race. No doubt his attention had for some time been on the wander, when, all at once, in the darkness someone seized hold of his horse by the bridle and forced it back upon its haunches. The next moment Maurice felt himself grabbed by the leg, and dragged off his horse: he shouted for help, but the carriage was on ahead and its own rattle prevented the shouts from being heard. After which he was bound and gagged and summarily left to lie by the roadside. He had had no chance against the ruffians, as they were numerous, but they did not attempt to ill-use him in any way.
Slowly hobbling towards the carriage beside Mme. la Duchesse, for he was cramped and stiff, Maurice told her all there was to tell. He had heard the distant scuffle, the shouts and calls, also one pistol-shot at the end, but he had been rendered helpless even before the carriage had come to a halt in the ditch.
It was M. le Comte who in his accustomed measured tones now gave Maurice de St. Genis the details of this awful adventure: the ransacking of the carriage by the mysterious miscreant—the loss of the twenty-five millions, the complete shattering of all hope to help the King with this money in the hour of his need, and finally Crystal's desperate act of revenge, as she shot the pistol off into the darkness, hoping at least to disable the impudent rogue who had done them and the King such a fatal injury.
St. Genis listened to it all with lips held tightly pressed together, firm determination causing every muscle in his body to grow taut and firm with the earnestness of his resolve.
When M. le Comte had finished speaking, and with a sigh of discouragement had suggested an immediate continuation of his journey, Maurice said resolutely:
"Do you go on straightway to Lyons with the ladies, my dear Comte, but I shall not leave this neighbourhood till by some means or other I find those miscreants and lay their infamous leader by the heel."
"Well spoken, Maurice," said the Comte guardedly, "but how will you do it?—it is late and the night darker than ever."
"You must spare me one of your horses, my dear Comte," replied the young man, "as mine apparently has been stolen by those abominable thieves, and I'll ride back to the nearest village—you remember we passed it not half an hour ago. I'll get lodgings there and get some information. In the meanwhile perhaps you will see M. le Comte d'Artois immediately, tell him all that has happened and beg him to send me as early in the morning as possible a dozen cavalrymen or so, to help me scour the country. I'll be on the look-out for them on this road by six o'clock, and, please God! the day shall not go by before we have those infamous marauders by the heels. Twenty-five millions, remember, are not dragged about open country quite so easily as those thieves imagine. They are bound to leave some trace of their whereabouts sometimes."
He appeared so confident and so cheerful that some of his optimism infected M. le Comte too. The latter promised to get an audience of M. le Comte d'Artois that very evening, and of course the necessary cavalry patrol would at once be forthcoming.
"God grant you success, Maurice," he added fervently, and the young man's energy and enthusiasm were also rewarded by a warm, glowing look from Crystal.
A quarter of an hour afterwards, M. le Comte's travelling coach was once more ready for departure. Pierre had been given his orders to make due haste for Lyons, and to drive a unicorn team of three horses instead of a regulation four, whereupon he had muttered a string of oaths which would have caused a Paris wine-shop loafer to blush.
One of the horses thereupon was detached from the team for Maurice's use and made ready with one of the postillions' saddles; the other postillion had to climb up to the seat next to the coachman: all three men were feeling not a little shamed at the sorry rôle which they had just played, and they vowed revenge against the mysterious thieves who had sprung upon them unawares and in the dark, or Mordieu! they would have suffered severely for their impudence.
In silence M. le Comte, Mme. la Duchesse and Crystal, followed by faithful Jeanne, re-entered the carriage. No one had been hurt. M. le Comte's arms felt a little stiff from the cords which had bound them behind his back and Jeanne was inclined to be hysterical, but Crystal felt a fierce resentment burning in her heart. Somehow she had no hope that Maurice would succeed, even though she threw him at the last a kindly and encouraging smile. Her one hope was that she had inflicted a painful if not a deadly wound upon the shameless robber of the King's money.
Soon the party was once more comfortably settled and the cumbrous vehicle, after another violent lurch, was once more on its way.
"Farewell, Maurice! good luck!" called M. le Comte at the last.
The young man waited until the heavy carriage swung more easily upon its springs, then he mounted his horse, turned its head in the opposite direction and rode slowly back up the road.
Inside the vehicle all was silent for a while, then M. le Comte asked quietly:
"Did he find everything?"
"Everything," replied Crystal.
"I put in five wallets."
"Yes. He took them all."
"It is curious they should have fallen on us just by that broken bridge."
"They were lying in wait for us, of course."
"Knowing that we had the money, do you think?" asked the Comte.
"Of course," replied Crystal with still that note of bitter resentment in her voice.
"But who, besides ourselves and the préfet? . . ." began the Comte, who clearly was very puzzled.
"Victor de Marmont for one . . ." retorted the girl.
"Surely you don't suppose that he would play the rôle of a highwayman and . . ."
"No, I don't," she broke in somewhat impatiently, "he wouldn't have the pluck for one thing, and moreover the masked man was considerably taller than Victor."
"Well, then?"
"It is only an idea, father, dear," she said more gently, "but somehow I cannot believe that this was just ordinary highway robbery. This road is supposed to be quite safe: travellers are not warned against armed highwaymen, and marauders wouldn't be so well horsed and clothed. My belief is that it was a paid gang stationed at the broken bridge on purpose to rob us and no one else."
"Maurice will soon be after them to-morrow, and I'll see M. le Comte d'Artois directly we get to Lyons," said the Comte after a slight pause, during which he was obviously pondering over his daughter's suggestion.
"It won't be any use, father," Crystal said with a sigh. "The whole thing has been organised, I feel sure, and the head that planned this abominable robbery will know how to place his booty in safety."
Whereupon the Comte sighed, for he was too well-bred to curse in the presence of his daughter and his sister, Mme. la Duchesse had said nothing all this while: nor did she offer any comment upon the mysterious occurrence all the time that the next stage of the wearisome journey proceeded.
VIII
Less than an hour later the coach came to a halt once more.
M. le Comte woke up with a start.
"My God!" he exclaimed, "what is it now?"
Crystal had not been asleep: her thoughts were too busy, her brain too much tormented with trying to find some plausible answer to the riddle which agitated her: "Who had planned this abominable robbery? Was it indeed Victor de Marmont himself? or had a greater, a mightier mind than his discovered the secret of this swift journey to Paris and ordered the clever raid upon the treasure?"
The rumble of the wheels had—though she was awake—prevented her from hearing the rapid approach of a number of horses in the wake of the coach, until a peremptory: "Halt! in the name of the Emperor!" suddenly chased every other thought away; like her father she murmured: "My God! what is it now?"
This time there was no mystery, there would be no puzzlement as to the meaning of this fresh attack. The air was full of those sounds that denote the presence of many horses and of many men; there was, too, the clinking of metal, the champing of steel bits, the brief words of command which proclaimed the men to be soldiers.
They appeared to be all round the coach, for the noise of their presence came from everywhere at once.
Already the Comte had put his head out of the window: "What is it now?" he asked again, more peremptorily this time.
"In the name of the Emperor!" was the loud reply.
"We do not halt in the name of an usurper," said the Comte. "En avant, Pierre!"
"You urge those horses on at your peril, coachman," was the defiant retort.
A quick word of command was given, there was more clanking of metal, snorting of horses, loud curses from Pierre on the box, and the commanding voice spoke again:
"M. le Comte de Cambray!"
"That is my name!" replied the Comte. "And who is it, pray, who dares impede peaceful travellers on their way?"
"By order of the Emperor," was the curt reply.
"I know of no such person in France!"
"Vive l'Empereur!" was shouted defiantly in response.
Whereupon M. le Comte de Cambray—proud, disdainful and determined to show no fear or concern, withdrew from the window and threw himself back against the cushions of the carriage.
"What in the Virgin's name is the meaning of this?" murmured Mme. la Duchesse.
"God in heaven only knows," sighed the Comte.
But obviously the coach had not been stopped by a troop of mounted soldiers for the mere purpose of proclaiming the Emperor's name on the high road in the dark. The same commanding voice which had answered the Comte's challenge was giving rapid orders to dismount and to bring along one of the carriage lanthorns.
The next moment the door of the coach was opened from without, and the light of the lanthorn held up by a man in uniform fell full on the figure and on the profile of Victor de Marmont.
"M. le Comte, I regret," he said coldly, "in the name of the Emperor I must demand from you the restitution of his property."
The Comte shrugged his shoulders and vouchsafed no reply.
"M. le Comte," said de Marmont, more peremptorily this time, "I have twenty-four men with me, who will seize by force if necessary that which I herewith command you to give up voluntarily."
Still no reply. M. le Comte de Cambray would think himself bemeaned were he to parley with a traitor.
"As you will, M. le Comte," was de Marmont's calm comment on the old man's attitude. "Sergeant!" he commanded, "seize the four persons in this coach. Three of them are women, so be as gentle as you can. Go round to the other door first."
"Father," now urged Crystal gently, "do you think that this is wise—or dignified?"
"Wisely spoken, Mlle. Crystal," rejoined de Marmont. "Have I not said that I have two dozen soldiers with me—all trained to do their duty? Why should M. le Comte allow them to lay hands upon you and on Mme. la Duchesse?"
"It is an outrage," broke in the Comte savagely. "You and your soldiers are traitors, rebels and deserters."
"But we are in superior numbers, M. le Comte," said de Marmont with a sneer. "Would it not be wiser to yield with a good grace? Mme. la Duchesse," he added with an attempt at geniality, "yours was always the wise head, I am told, that guided the affairs of M. le Comte de Cambray in the past. Will you not advise him now?"
"I would, my good man," retorted the Duchesse, "but my wise counsels would benefit no one now, seeing that you have been sent on a fool's errand."
De Marmont laughed.
"Does Mme. la Duchesse mean to deny that twenty-five million francs belonging to the Emperor are hidden at this moment inside this coach?"
"I deny, Monsieur de Marmont, that any twenty-five million francs belong to the son of an impecunious Corsican attorney—and I also deny that any twenty-five million francs are in this coach at the present moment."
"That is exactly what I desire to ascertain, Madame."
"Ascertain by all means then," quoth Madame impatiently, "the other thief ascertained the same thing an hour ago, and I must confess that he did so more profitably than you are like to do."
"The other thief?" exclaimed de Marmont, greatly puzzled.
"It is as Mme. la Duchesse has deigned to tell you," here interposed the Comte coolly. "I have no objection to your knowing that I had intended to convey to His Majesty the King—its rightful owner—a sum of money—originally stolen by the Corsican usurper from France—but that an hour ago a party of armed thieves—just like yourself—attacked us, bound and gagged me and my men, ransacked my coach and made off with the booty."
"And I thank God now," murmured Crystal involuntarily, "that the money has fallen into the hands of a common highwayman rather than in those of the scourge of mankind."
"M. le Comte . . ." stammered de Marmont, who, still incredulous, yet vaguely alarmed, was nevertheless determined not to accept this extraordinary narrative with blind confidence.
But M. le Comte de Cambray's dignity rose at last to the occasion: "You choose to disbelieve me, Monsieur?" he asked quietly.
De Marmont made no reply.
"Will my word of honour not suffice?"
"My orders, M. le Comte," said de Marmont gruffly, "are that I bring back to my Emperor the money that is his. I will not leave one stone unturned . . ."
"Enough, Monsieur," broke in the Comte with calm dignity. "We will alight now, if your soldiers will stand aside."
And for the second time on this eventful night, Mme. la Duchesse d'Agen and Mlle. Crystal de Cambray, together with faithful Jeanne, were forced to alight from the coach and to stand by while the cushions of the carriage were being turned over by the light of a flickering lanthorn and every corner of the interior ransacked for the elusive treasure.
"There is nothing here, mon Colonel," said a gruff voice out of the darkness, after a while.
A loud curse broke from de Marmont's lips.
"You are satisfied?" asked the Comte coldly, "that I have told you the truth?"
"Search the luggage in the boot," cried de Marmont savagely, without heeding him, "search the men on the box! bring more light here! That money is somewhere in this coach, I'll swear. If I do not find it I'll take every one here back a prisoner to Grenoble . . . or . . ."
He paused, himself ashamed of what he had been about to say.
"Or you will order your soldiers to lay hands upon our persons, is that it, M. de Marmont?" broke in Crystal coldly.
He made no reply, for of a truth that had been his thought: foiled in his hope of rendering his beloved Emperor so signal a service, he had lost all sense of chivalry in this overwhelming feeling of baffled rage.
Crystal's cold challenge recalled him to himself, and now he felt ashamed of what he had just contemplated, ashamed, too, of what he had done. He hated the Comte . . . he hated all royalists and all enemies of the Emperor . . . but he hated the Comte doubly because of the insults which he (de Marmont) had had to endure that evening at Brestalou. He had looked upon this expedition as a means of vengeance for those insults, a means, too, of showing his power and his worth before Crystal and of winning her through that power which the Emperor had given him, and through that worth which the Emperor had recognised.
But, though he hated the Comte he knew him to be absolutely incapable of telling a deliberate lie, and absolutely incapable of bartering his word of honour for the sake of his own safety.
Crystal's words brought this knowledge back to his mind; and now the desire seized him to prove himself as chivalrous as he was powerful. He was one of those men who are so absolutely ignorant of a woman's nature that they believe that a woman's love can be won by deeds as apart from personality, and that a woman's dislike and contempt can be changed into love. He loved Crystal more absolutely now than he had ever done in the days when he was practically her accepted suitor: his unbridled and capricious nature clung desperately to that which he could not hold, and since he had felt—that evening at Brestalou—that his political convictions had placed an insuperable barrier between himself and Crystal de Cambray, he felt that no woman on earth could ever be quite so desirable.
His mistake lay in this: that he believed that it was his political convictions alone which had turned Crystal away from him: he felt that he could have won her love through her submission once she was his wife, now he found that he would have to win her love first and her wifely submission would only follow afterwards.
Just now—though in the gloom he could only see the vague outline of her graceful form, and only heard her voice as through a veil of darkness—he had the longing to prove himself at once worthy of her regard and deserving of her gratitude.
Without replying to her direct challenge, he made a vigorous effort to curb his rage, and to master his disappointment. Then he gave a few brief commands to his sergeant, ordering him to repair the disorder inside the coach, and to stop all further searching both of the vehicle and of the men.
Finally he said with calm dignity: "M. le Comte, I must offer you my humble apologies for the inconvenience to which you have been subjected. I humbly beg Mme. la Duchesse and Mademoiselle Crystal to accept these expressions of my profound regret. A soldier's life and a soldier's duty must be my excuse for the part I was forced to take in this untoward happening. Mme. la Duchesse, I pray you deign to re-enter your carriage. M. le Comte, if there is aught I can do for you, I pray you command me. . . ."
Neither the Duchesse nor the Comte, however, deigned to take the slightest notice of the abominable traitor and of his long tirade. Madame was shivering with cold and yawning with fatigue, and in her heart consigned the young brute to everlasting torments.
The Comte would have thought it beneath his dignity to accept any explanation from a follower of the Corsican usurper. Without a word he was now helping his sister into the carriage.
Jeanne, of course, hardly counted—she was dazed into semi-imbecility by the renewed terrors she had just gone through: so for the moment Victor felt that Crystal was isolated from the others. She stood a little to one side—he could only just see her, as the sergeant was holding up the lanthorn for Mme. la Duchesse to see her way into the coach. M. le Comte went on to give a few directions to the coachman.
"Mademoiselle Crystal!" murmured Victor softly.
And he made a step forward so that now she could not move toward the carriage without brushing against him. But she made no reply.
"Mademoiselle Crystal," he said again, "have you not one single kind word for me?"
"A kind word?" she retorted almost involuntarily, "after such an outrage?"
"I am a soldier," he urged, "and had to do my duty."
"You were a soldier once, M. de Marmont—a soldier of the King. Now you are only a deserter."
"A soldier of the Emperor, Mademoiselle, of the man who led France to victory and to glory, and will do so again, now that he has come back into his own once more."
"You and I, M. de Marmont," she said coldly, "look at France from different points of view. This is neither the hour nor the place to discuss our respective sentiments. I pray you, allow me to join my aunt in the carriage. I am cold and tired, and she will be anxious for me."
"Will you at least give me one word of encouragement, Mademoiselle?" he urged. "As you say, our points of view are very different. But I am on the high road to fortune. The Emperor is back in France, the army flocks to his eagles as one man. He trusts me and I shall rise to greatness under his wing. Mademoiselle Crystal, you promised me your hand, I have not released you from that promise yet. I will come and claim it soon."
"Excitement seems to have turned your brain, M. de Marmont," was all that Crystal said, and she walked straight past him to the carriage door.
Victor smothered a curse. These aristos were as arrogant as ever. What lesson had the revolution and the guillotine taught them? None. This girl who had spent her whole life in poverty and exile, and was like—after a brief interregnum—to return to exile and poverty again, was not a whit less proud than her kindred had been when they walked in their hundreds up the steps of the guillotine with a smile of lofty disdain upon their lips.
Victor de Marmont was a son of the people—of those who had made the revolution and had fought the whole of Europe in order to establish their right to govern themselves as they thought best, and he hated all these aristos—the men who had fled from their country and abandoned it when she needed her sons' help more than she had ever done before.
The aristocrat was for him synonymous with the émigré—with the man who had raised a foreign army to fight against France, who had brought the foreigner marching triumphantly into Paris. He hated the aristocrat, but he loved Crystal, the one desirable product of that old regime system which he abhorred.
But with him a woman's love meant a woman's submission. He was more determined than ever now to win her, but he wanted to win her through her humiliation and his triumph—excitement had turned his brain? Well! so be it, fear and oppression would turn her heart and crush her pride.
He made no further attempt to detain her: he had asked for a kind word and she had given him withering scorn. Excitement had turned his brain . . . he was not even worthy of parley—not even worthy of a formal refusal!
To his credit be it said that the thought of immediate revenge did not enter his mind then. He might have subjected her then and there to deadly outrage—he might have had her personal effects searched, her person touched by the rough hands of his soldiers. But though his estimate of a woman's love was a low one, it was not so base as to imagine that Crystal de Cambray would ever forgive so dastardly an insult.
As she walked past him to the door, however, he said under his breath:
"Remember, Mademoiselle, that you and your family at this moment are absolutely in my power, and that it is only because of my regard for you that I let you all now depart from here in peace."
Whether she heard or not, he could not say; certain it is that she made no reply, nor did she turn toward him at all. The light of the lanthorn lit up her delicate profile, pale and drawn, her tightly pressed lips, the look of utter contempt in her eyes, which even the fitful shadow cast by her hair over her brows could not altogether conceal.
The Comte had given what instructions he wished to Pierre. He stood by the carriage door waiting for his daughter: no doubt he had heard what went on between her and de Marmont, and was content to leave her to deal what scorn was necessary for the humiliation of the traitor.
He helped Crystal into the carriage, and also the unfortunate Jeanne; finally he too followed, and pulled the door to behind him.
Victor did not wait to see the coach make a start. He gave the order to remount.
"How far are we from St. Priest?" he asked.
"Not eight kilomètres, mon Colonel," was the reply.
"En avant then, ventre-à-terre!" he commanded, as he swung himself into the saddle.
The great high road between Grenoble and Lyons is very wide, and Pierre had no need to draw his horses to one side, as de Marmont and his troop, after much scrambling, champing of bits and clanking of metal, rode at a sharp trot past the coach and him.
For some few moments the sound of the horses' hoofs on the hard road kept the echoes of the night busy with their resonance, but soon that sound grew fainter and fainter still—after five minutes it died away altogether.
M. de Comte put his head out of the window.
"Eh bien, Pierre," he called, "why don't we start?"
The postillion cracked his whip; Pierre shouted to his horses; the heavy coach groaned and creaked and was once more on its way.
In the interior no one spoke. Jeanne's terror had melted in a silent flow of tears.
Lyons was reached shortly before midnight. M. le Comte's carriage had some difficulty in entering the town, as by orders of M. le Comte d'Artois it had already been placed in a state of defence against the possible advance of the "band of pirates from Corsica." The bridge of La Guillotière had been strongly barricaded and it took M. le Comte de Cambray some little time to establish his identity before the officer in command of the post allowed him to proceed on his way.