 Chapter 3 Part 1 of THE BRONZ EGLE by Baroness Orksey This LibriVox recording is in the public domain, recording by Diongine's Celtic City, Utah. THE RETURN OF THE EMPEROR But even as Madame Laduchess Duirier de Gen placed her aristocratic hand upon the handle of the door, it was opened from without with what might almost be called undue haste, and Hector appeared in the doorway. Hector in truth, but not the sober-faced pompous, dignified Hector of the household of Massour Lacombe de Cambray, but a red-visaged, excited, fussy Hector, who for the moment seemed to have forgotten where he was, as well as the etiquette which surrounded the august personality of his master. He certainly contrived to murmur a humble, if somewhat hasty, apology when he found himself confronted at the door by Madame Laduchess herself, but he did not stand aside to let her pass. She had stepped back into the room at sight of him, for obviously something very much amiss must have occurred, thus to ruffle Hector's ingrained dignity, and even Massour Lacombe was involuntarily dragged out of his aristocratic aloofness, and almost, though not quite, jumped up from his chair. What is it, Hector, he exclaimed, peremptorily. Massour Lacombe gasped Hector, who seemed to be out of breath from sheer excitement. The Corsican, he has come back. He is marching on Grenoble. Massour Le Prefet is here, but already Massour Lacombe had, with a wave of the hand as it were, swept the unwelcome news aside. What rubbish is this, he said wrathfully. You have been dreaming in broad daylight, Hector, and this excitement is most unseemly. Show Madame Laduchess to her apartments, he added, with a great show of calm. Hector, thus reproved, colored a yet more violent crimson to the very roots of his hair. He made a great effort to recover his pomposity, and actually took up the correct attitude which a well-trained servant assumes when he shows a great lady out of a room. But even then, despite the well merited reproof, he took it upon himself to insist. Massour Le Prefet is here. Massour Lacombe, he added, and begs to be received at once. Well, then, you may show him up when Madame Laduchess has retired, said the comped, with quiet dignity. By your leave, my brother, quote Laduchess decisively, I'll wait and hear what Massour Le Prefet has to say. The news, if news there be, is too interesting to be kept waiting for me, and accustomed, as she was, to get her own way in everything. Madame Laduchess calmly sailed back into the room, and once more sat down in the chair beside her brother's bureau, whilst Hector, with as much grandeur of mien as he could assume under the circumstances, was still waiting for orders. Massour Lacombe would undoubtedly have preferred that his sister should leave the room, before the Prophet was shown in. He did not approve of women taking part in political conversations, and his manner now plainly showed to Madame Laduchess that he would like to receive Massour Le Prefet alone. But he said nothing, probably because he knew that words would be useless if Madame had made up her mind to remain, which she evidently had. So after a brief pause he said curtly to Hector, show Massour Le Prefet in. He took up his favorite position, in his throne-shaped chair, one leg bent, the other stretched out, displaying to advantage the shapely calf and well-shod foot. Massour Le Prefet Fourier, mathematician of great renown, and member of the Institute, was one of those converted Bonapartists, to whom it behoved at all times, to teach a lesson of decorum and dignity. And certainly, when presently Hector showed Massour Fourier in, the two men, the aristocrat of the old regime, and the bureaucrat of the new, presented a marked and curious contrast, Massour Lacombe de Cambre calm and perturbed, slightly supercilious in a studied attitude, and moving with pompous deliberation to greet his guest, and Jacques Fourier, man of science, and Prefet of the Isaire department, short of stature, scant of breath, florid and florid. Both men were conscious of the contrast, and Massour Fourier did his very best to approach Madame Le Duchess with a semblance of dignity, and to kiss her hand in something of the approved courtly manner. When he had finally sat down and mopped his streaming forehead, Massour Lacombe said with kindly condescension, You are perturbed, my good Massour Fourier. Alas, Massour Lacombe replied the worthy Prefet, still somewhat out of breath, how can I help being agitated this awful news? What news, queried Lacombe, with a lifting of the brows, which was meant to convey complete detachment and indifference to the subject matter? What news, exclaimed the Prefet, who, on the other hand, was unable to contain his agitation, and had obviously given up the attempt? Haven't you heard? No, replied the Comte, and Madame also shook her head. Town gossip does not travel as far as the castle of Breastelow added Massour Lacombe gravely. Town gossip reiterated Massour Fourier, who seemed to be calling heaven to witness this extraordinary levity. Town gossip, Massour Lacombe, but God in heaven help us all. Bonaparte landed at Antibes five days ago. He was at Cisteron this morning, and unless the earth opens and swallows him up, he will be on us by Tuesday. Bah, you have had a nightmare, Massour Lacombe rejoined the Comte dryly. We have had news of the landing of Bonaparte at least once a month, this half-year past. But it is authentic news. This time, Massour Lacombe retorted Fourier, who gradually, under the influence of Decambres' calm demeanor, had succeeded in keeping his agitation in check. The Prefet of the VAR department, Massour Lacombe de Boutilier, sent an express courier on Thursday last to the Prefet of the Basses Alps, who sent that courier straight on to me, telling me that he and General Loverdo, who is in command of the troops in that district, promptly evacuated de Gu, because they were not certain of the loyalty of the garrison. The Corsican, it seems, only landed with about a thousand of his old guard. But since then, the troops in every district which he has traversed have deserted in a body and rallied round his standard. It has been, so I hear, a triumphal march for him, from the littoral to dinia. And together the news which the courier brought me this morning was of such alarming nature that I thought it my duty, Massour Lacombe, to apprise you of it immediately. That, said Massour Lacombe condescendingly, was exceedingly thoughtful and considerate, my good Massour Fourier. And what is the alarming news? Firstly, that Bonaparte made something like a state entry into dinia yesterday. The city was beflagged and decorated. The National Guard turned out and presented arms. Drums were beating. The population acclaimed him with cries of Viva la Emperor. The prophet and the general in command had intended to resist his entry into the city, but all the nobilities of the town forced them into submission. Duval, the prophet, fled to a neighboring village, taking the public funds with him, while General Leverdeau, with a mere handful of loyal troops, has retreated on Cisteron. Though Massour Lacombe de Cambre had listened to the prophet's narrative with all his habitual grandeur of mien, it soon became obvious that some of his aristocratic sangfroy had already abandoned him. His furrowed cheeks had become a shade paler than usual, and the slender hand, which toyed with an ivory paper knife on his desk, had not its wanted steadiness. Madame La Duchess perceived this, no doubt, for her keen eyes were fixed scrutinizingly upon her brother. She saw, too, that his thin lips were quivering, and that the reason why he had made no comment on what he had just heard was because he could not quite trust himself to speak. It was she, therefore, who now remarked quietly, and in your department, Massour Le Prefet, in Grenoble itself, is the garrison equally likely to go over to the Corsican Brigand? Massour Fourier shrugged his shoulders. He was not at all sure. After what has happened at Dinier, Madame La Duchess, he said, I would not care to prophesy. General Marchand does not intend to trust entirely to the garrison. He has sent to Vienne and to Chambere for reinforcements, but the Prefet was hesitating evidently he had not a great deal of faith in the loyalty of those reinforcements either. Massour Le Comte made a vigorous protest. Surely, Massour Fourier, he said, you don't mean to suggest that Grenoble is going to turn traitor to the king. But Massour Le Prefet apparently had meant to suggest it. Alas, Massour Le Comte, he said, we must always bear in mind that the whole of the Dauphine has remained throughout a bed of Bonapartism. But in that case, he ejaculated the Comte. General Marchand is doing all he can to ensure effectual resistance, Massour Le Comte. But we are in the hands of the army, and the army has never been truly loyal to the king. At the bottom of every soldier's haversack, there is an old and worn tricolor cockade which is there ready to be fetched out at a moment's notice and will be fetched out at the mere sound of the Corsican's voice. We are in the hands of the army, Massour Le Comte, and in the Dauphine. Alas, the army is only too ready to cry, Viva, la Emperor. There was silence in the stately room now, silence only broken by the tapping of the ivory paper-knife with which Massour Le Comte was still nervously fidgeting. Massour Fourier was wiping the perspiration from his overheated brow. For God's sake, André, stop that irritating noise, said Madame Duchess after a while. That tapping has got on my nerves. I beg your pardon, Sophie, said the Comte loftily. He was offended with her for drawing Massour Fourier's attention to his own nervous restlessness, yet grateful to be thus forcibly made aware of it himself. His attitude was on the verge of incorrectness. Where was the aristocratic sangfroy which should have made him proof even against so much perturbing news? What had become of the lesson in decorum which should have been taught to this vulgar little bureaucrat? Massour Le Comte pulled himself together with a jerk. He straightened out his spare figure, put on that air of detachment which became him so well, and finally turned once more to the prophet a perfectly calm and unruffled countenance. Then he said with his accustomed urbanity, And now, my good Massour Fourier, since you have so admirably put the situation before me, will you also tell me in what way I may be of service to you in this or to General Marchand? I am coming to that Massour Le Comte, replied the prophet. It will explain the reason of my disturbing you at this hour when I was coming anyhow to partake of your gracious hospitality later on. But I do want your assistance, Massour Le Comte, as the matter of which I wish to speak with you concerns the King himself. Everything that you have told me hitherto, my good Massour Fourier, concerns his Majesty and the security of his throne. I cannot help wondering how much of this news has reached him by now. All of it at this hour, I should say, for already on Friday the Prince de Essling sent a dispatch to his Majesty by courier as far as lions and fence by aerial telegraph to Paris. The King, may God preserve him, added the ex-bonapardist fervently, knows as much of the Corsican's movements at the present moment as we do, and God alone knows what he will decide to do. Whatever happens, interjected the Comte, de Cambre solemnly, Louis de Bourbon, eighteenth of his name, by the grace of God, will act like a king and a gentleman. Amen to that, retorted the prophet. And now let me come to my point, Massour Le Comte, and the chief object of my visit to you. I am at your service, my dear Massour Fourier. You will remember, Massour Le Comte, that directly you were installed at Brestelo, and I was confirmed in my position as prophet of this department. I thought it was my duty to tell you of the secret funds which are kept in the cellars of our Hotel de Ville by order of Massour de Talleyrand. Yes, of course, I remember that perfectly French money which the unfortunate wife of that brigand Bonaparte was taking out of the country. Quite so, assented Fourier, the funds are in a convenient and portable form, being chiefly notes and bankers' draughts to bearer, but the amount is considerable, namely twenty-five millions of francs. A comfortable sum, interposed Madame Laduchess Dryley, I did not know that Grenoble sheltered so vast a treasure. The money was seized, said the Comte, from Marie-Louise when she was fleeing the country. Talleyrand did it all, and it was his idea to keep the money in this part of the country against likely emergencies. But the emergency has arisen, exclaimed Massour Fourier excitedly, and the money at Grenoble is useless to his Majesty in Paris. Nay, it is worse than useless, it is in danger of spoliation. He added with unconscious naivete, if the Corsican marches into Grenoble, if the garrison and the townspeople rally to him, he will, of a truth, occupy the Hotel de Ville, and the brigand will seize the King's treasure which lies now in one of its sellers. True, mused the Comte, I hadn't thought of that. Well, exclaimed Madame, with light sarcasm, seeing that the money was originally taken from his wife, the brigand will not be committing an altogether unlikely act, I imagine, by taking what was originally his. His, my good Sophie, exclaimed the Comte, highly shocked, money robbed by that usurper from France, his. We won't argue, André said Madame sharply, let us hear what Massour Le Prefet proposes. Propose Madame Le Duchess ejaculated the unfortunate Prefet, I have nothing to propose, I am at my wits and what to do. I came to Massour Le Comte for advice, and you were quite right, my dear Massour Fourier, said the Comte affably. He paused for a few seconds in order to collect his thoughts, then continued. Now let us consider this question from every side, and then see to what conclusion we can arrive that will be for the best. Firstly, of course, there is the possibility of your following the example of the Prefet, of the Bassus Alps, and taking yourself and the money to a convenient place outside Grenoble. But at this suggestion Massour Fourier was ready to burst into tears. Impossible, Massour Le Comte, he cried pitiably, I could not do it, where could I go? The existence of the money is known, known to the Bonapartists, I am convinced. There's Dumoulin, the glovemaker, he knows everything that goes on in Grenoble, and his friend Emery, who is an army surgeon in the pay of Bonaparte. Both these men have been to and from Elba incessantly these past few months. Then there's the Bonapartist Club in Grenoble, with a membership of over 2,000. The members have friends and spies everywhere, even inside the Hotel de Ville. Why, the other day, I had to dismiss a servant who, easy, easy, Massour Le Prefet, broken, Massour Le Comte, impatiently, the long and the short of it is that you would not feel safe with the money anywhere outside Grenoble, or inside it, Massour Le Comte. Very well then, the money must be deposited there, where it will be safe. Now, what do you think of Dupont's bank? Oh, Massour Le Comte and a vowed Bonapartist, Massour de Talleyrand would not trust him with the money last year. It is so, but it seems to me, here interposed, Madame Laduchess abruptly, that by far the best plan, since this district seems to be a hotbed of disloyalty, would be to convey the money straightway to Paris, and then the king, or Massour de Talleyrand, can dispose of it as best they like. Ah, Madame Laduchess, sighed Massour Fourier ecstatically as he clasped his podgy little hands together, and looked on Madame with eyes full of admiration for her wisdom. How cleverly that was spoken, if only I could be relieved from that awful responsibility, five and twenty millions under my charge, and that Corsican ogre at our gates. That is all very well, quote the Comte, with marked impatience. But how is it going to be done? Convey the money to Paris is easily said. But who is going to do it? Massour Le Prefet here says that the Bonapartists have spies everywhere round Grenoble, and— Ah, Massour Le Comte exclaimed the Prefet eagerly, I have already thought of such a beautiful plan, if only you would consent. Massour Le Comte's thin lips curled in a sarcastic smile. Oh, you have thought it all out already, Massour Le Prefet, he said. Well, let me hear your plan, but I warn you that I will not have the money brought here. I don't have trust the peasantry of the neighborhood, and I won't have a fight or an outrage committed in my house. Massour Le Prefet was ready with a protest. No, no, Massour Le Comte, he said, I wouldn't suggest such a thing for the world, if the Corsican brigand is successful in capturing Grenoble. No place would be sacred to him. No, my idea was if you, Massour Le Comte, who have offed before journeyed to Paris and back, would do it now, before Bonapart gets any nearer to Grenoble, and take the money with you. I exclaimed the Comte, but man, if, as you say, Grenoble is full of Bonapartist spies, my movements are no doubt just as closely watched as your own. No, no, Massour Le Comte, not quite so closely, I am sure. The insinuating manner of the worthy man, however, was apparently getting on Massour Le Comte's nerves. Ah, sa, Massour Le Prefet, he ejaculated abruptly, but me seems that the splendid plan you thought on merely consists in transferring responsibility from your shoulders to mine own. And Massour Le Comte cast such a wrathful look on poor Massour Fourier that the unfortunate man was stricken dumb with confusion. Moreover, concluded the Comte, I don't know that you, Massour Le Prefet, have the right to dispose of this money which was entrusted to you by Massour de Telerand in the King's behalf without consulting his Majesty's wishes in the matter. Bah, André, broke in the Duchess in her incisive way. You are talking nonsense, and you know it. There is no time for red tapism now with that ogre at our gates. How are you going to consult his Majesty's wishes, who is in Paris, between now and Tuesday, I would like to know? She added with a shrug of the shoulders, whereupon Massour Le Comte waxed politely sarcastic. Perhaps he said you would prefer us to consult yours. You might do worse, she retorted imperturbably. The question is one which is very easily solved. ought his Majesty the King to have that money, or should Massour Le Prefet here take the risk of its falling in Bonaparte's hands? Answer me that, she said decisively, and then I will tell you how best to succeed in carrying out your own wishes. What a question, my good Sophie, said the Comte stiffly. Of course, we desire his Majesty to have what is rightfully his. You mean he ought to have the twenty-five millions which the Prince de Benavent stole from Marie Louise. Very well then. Obviously, that money ought to be taken to Paris before Bonaparte gets much nearer to Grenoble. But it should not be taken by you, my good André, nor yet by Massour Le Prefet, by whom then queried the Comte irritably. By me, replied Madame Le Duchess, by you Sophie impossible. And God alive, why impossible, I pray you, she retorted, the money I understand is in a very portable form, notes and bankers drafts, which can be stowed away quite easily. Why shouldn't I be journeying back to Paris after Christel's wedding? Who would suspect me, I should like to know, of carrying twenty-five millions under my petticoats? All I should want would be a couple of sturdy fellows on the box to protect me against foot-pads. Impossible? She continued tartly. Men are always so ready with that word. Get a sensible woman, I say, and she will solve your difficulties before you have finished exclaiming impossible. And she looked triumphantly from one man to the other. There was obvious relief on the ruddy face of little Massour Fourier, and even Massour Le Comte was visibly taken with the idea. Well, he at last condescended to say, it does sound feasible after all. Feasible? Of course it's feasible, said Madame, with a shrug of contempt. Either the king is in want of the money, or he is not. Either Bonaparte is likely to get it, or he is not. If the king wants it, he must have it at any cost and any risk. Twenty-five millions in Bonaparte's hands at this juncture would help him to reconstitute his army and make it very unpleasant for the king and for us all. Massour Le Prefet, who has been in charge of the money all along, and Massour Le Comte de Cambre, who is the only true royalist in the district, are both marked down by spies. Ergo, Madame Le Duches d'Agent is the only possible agent for the business, and an inoffensive old woman without any political standing is the least likely to be molested in her task. If I fail, I fail, concluded Madame decisively. If I am stopped on the way and the money taken from me, well, I am stopped, that's all. And Massour Le Prefet, or Massour Le Comte de Cambre, or any male agent they may have sent, would have been stopped likewise. But I maintain that a woman traveling alone is far safer at this business and more likely to succeed than a man. So now, for God's sake, don't let's argue any more about it. Crystal is to be married on Tuesday, and I could start that same afternoon. Can you bring the money over with you tonight? She put her query directly to the Prefet, who was obviously overjoyed and intensely relieved at the suggestion. Massour Le Comte, too, seemed to be won over by his sister's persuasive rhetoric. Her strength of mind and firmness of purpose always imposed themselves on those over whom she chose to exert her will, and men of somewhat weak character like the Comte de Cambre came very easily under the sway of her dominating personality. But he thought it incumbent upon his dignity to make one more protest before he finally yielded to his sister's arguments. I don't like, he said, the idea of your traveling alone, through the country, without sufficient escort. The roads are none too safe, and, bah, broken, madame, impatiently, I pray you, Massour, my brother, to strengthen your arguments if you are really determined to oppose this sensible scheme of mine. Traveling alone, forsooth, did I not arrive only yesterday, having traveled all the way from Belon, and, with no escort, saved two louts on the box of a hired coach. You chose to travel alone, my dear sister, for reasons best known to yourself, retorted the Comte, greatly angered that Massour Le Prefet should hear the fact that madame, la duchess, douarier, had traveled at any time without an escort, and who shall say ménée if I choose to travel back alone again, I should like to know. So now if you have exhausted your string of objections, my dear brother, perhaps you will allow Massour Le Prefet to answer my question. Whereupon Massour Le Prefet promptly satisfied madame, la duchess, on the point, he certainly could, and would, bring the money over with him this evening, and Massour Le Comte had no further objections to offer. In the archives of the Ministry of War in Paris, anyone who looks may read that in the subsequent trial of General Marchand for High Treason, after the hundred days and Napoleon's second abdication, Prefet Fourier, during the course of his evidence, gave a detailed account of this same interview, which he had with Massour Le Comte de Cambre and madame, la duchess, douarier, Dagen, on Sunday, March the 5th, in his deposition, he naturally laid great stress upon his own zeal in the matter, declaring that he it was, who finally overcame by his eloquence, Massour Le Comte's objections to this game, and decided him to give his acquiescence thereto. Certain it is that there was but little argument, after this, between madame, la duchess, and the two men, and that the details of the scheme were presently discussed soberly and in all their bearings. I shall have the honour presently, said Fourier, of coming back here to respond to Massour Le Comte's gracious invitation to dinner. Why shouldn't I bring the money with me then? Indeed, you must bring the money then, retorted the irresquable old lady, and let there be no shirking or delay. Promptitude is our great chance of success. I ought not to start later than Tuesday, and I could do so soon after the wedding ceremony. I could arrange to sleep at Lyons that night, at Dégion the next day, be in Paris by Thursday evening, and in the King's presence on Friday. Provided you are not delayed, sighed the Comte. If I am delayed, my good André, then anyhow the game is up. But we are not going to anticipate misfortune, and we are going to believe in our lucky star. Would to God I could bring myself to approve wholeheartedly of this expedition. The whole thing seems to me chivalrous and romantic, rather than prudent, and Heaven knows how prudent we should be just now. You look back on history, my dear brother, remarked Madame Dryley, and you'll see that more great events have been brought about by chivalry and romance than by prudence and circumspection. The romance of Joan of Arc delivered France from foreign yoke. The chivalry of Francois I saved the honor of France after the disaster of Pavi, and it certainly was not prudence which set Henry of Navarre upon the throne of France and in the heart of his people. So, for gracious's sake, do not let us talk of prudence any more. Rather, let us allow Messor Le Prefet to return quietly to the Hotel de Ville, so that he and Madame Fourier may proceed to dress for tonight's ceremony just as if nothing untoward had happened. In the meanwhile I will complete my preparations for Tuesday. There are one or two little details in connection with my journey—hostelries, servants, horses, and so on—which you, my dear André, will kindly decide for me. And now, gentlemen, she added, rising from her chair, I have the honor to wish you both a very good afternoon. She did not wait long enough to allow Messor Le Compte time to ring for Hector, and she appeared so busy with her lace shawl that she was unable to do more than acknowledge, with a slight inclination of the head, Messor Le Prefet's respectful salute. But then Madame Le Duchess, duirier d'Agent, though a fervent royalist herself, had a wholesome contempt for these opportunists. Fourier, celebrated mathematician, loaded with gifts and honors by Napoleon, who had made him a member of the Institute of Science, and given him the prefecture of the Assère, had turned his coat very readily at the restoration, and the oaths of loyalty, which he had tendered to the Emperor, seemed not to weigh over heavily upon his conscience when he reiterated them to the King. Madame Le Duchess, d'Agent, therefore, did not willingly place her aristocratic fingers in the hand of a renegade, who she felt might turn renegade again if his personal interest so dictated it. Perhaps something of what lay behind Madame's curt nod to him struck the Prefet's sensibilities, for the high color suddenly fled from his round face, and he did not attempt to approach her for the ceremonial hand-kissing. But he ran across the room as fast as his short legs would carry him, and he opened the door for her and bowed to her as she sailed past him, with all the deference which in the olden days of the Empire he had accorded to the Empress Marie-Louise. It is a mad scheme, my good Moussor Fourier, sighed the Comte when he found himself once more alone with the Prefet, but such as it is I can think of nothing better. Moussor Le Comte exclaimed the Prefet with delight no one could think of anything better. Ah, the women of France, he added ecstatically, the women how often have they saved France in moments of crisis. France owes her grandeur to her women, Moussor Le Comte. And also her reverses, my dear Moussor Fourier, remarked the Comte dryly. When Bobby Clifford came back to Brestelo after his long day's ride, he found the stately rooms of the old castle already prepared for the arrival of Moussor Le Comte's guests. The large reception hall had been thrown open as, after supper, Moussor Le Comte would be receiving some of the notabilities of Grenoble in honour of a great occasion, the signature of the contract de marriage between Madame Mouss'el, Christel de Cambre de Brestelo, and Moussor Victor de Marmont. There was an array of liveried servants in the hall and along the corridor through which Bobby had to pass on the way to his own room, their liveries of purple with canary facings, the heraldic colours of the family of Cambre de Brestelo, hardly showed in the flickering light of wax candles, the many ravages of moth and mildew, which twenty years of neglect had wrought upon the once fine and brilliant cloth. Downstairs the formal supper which was to precede the reception was laid for twenty guests, the table was resplendent with the silver so kindly lent by a benevolent and far-seen king, to those of his friends who had not the means of replacing the ancient family treasures filched from them by the revolutionary government. There were no flowers upon the table, and only very few wax candles burned in the Ormalu and Christel Chandelier overhead. Flowers and wax candles were luxuries which must be paid for with ready money, a commodity which was exceedingly scarce in the grandiose Chateau de Brestelo, but they also were a luxury which could be easily dispensed with, for did not Massor Lecomte de Cambre set the fashions and give the tone to the whole department, and if he chose to have no flowers upon his supper table and but few candles in his silver sconces why then society must take it for granted that such now was Bantan and the prevailing fashion at the tuleries. Bobby knowing his host's fastidious taste in such matters had made a very careful toilet all the while that his thoughts were busy with the wonderful news which Emery had brought this day and which was all over Grenoble by now. He and his two companions had left Notre Dame de Vaux, soon after their Dejeuner, and together had entered the city at five o'clock in the afternoon. On their way they had encountered the traveling coach of General Mouton Duveret, who, accompanied by his aid to camp, was on his way to Gap, where he intended to organize strong resistance against Bonaparte. He parlayed some time with Emery, whom he knew by sight and suspected of being an emissary of the Corsican. Emery, with true southern verve, gave the worthy general a highly colored account of the triumphal progress through Provence and the Dauphin of Napoleon whom he boldly called the Emperor. Mouton, in no way belying his name, was very upset not only by the news but by his own helplessness with regard to Emery, who he knew would presently be in Grenoble, distributing the Usurpers' proclamations all over the city, whilst he, Mouton, with his one aid to camp and a couple of loudish servants on the box of his coach, could do nothing to detain him. As soon as the three men had ridden away, however, he sent his aid to camp back to Grenoble by a roundabout way, ordering him to make as great speed as possible and to see General Marchand as soon as may be so that immediate measures might be taken to prevent that emissary, if not from entering the city at least from posting up proclamations on public buildings. But Mouton's aid to camp was no match against the enthusiasm and ingenuity of Emery and de Marmont, and when he, in his turn, entered Grenoble soon after five o'clock, he was confronted by the printed proclamations signed by the familiar and dreaded name Napoleon, affixed to the gates of the city, to the Hotel de Ville, the Marie, the prison, the barracks, and to every street corner in Grenoble. The three friends had parted at the Port de Bonne, Emery to go to his friend Dumoulin, the glovemaker. De Marmont, to his lodgings in the rue Montorge, whilst Bobby Clifford rode straight back to Breastelot. A couple of hours later, Victor de Marmont had also arrived at the castle. He, too, had made an elaborate toilet and then had driven over in a hackney coach in advance of the other guests, seeing that he desired to have a final interview with Moussour Lecompte, before he affixed his name to his contract de Marroge with Madame Iselle de Cambrai. An air of solemnity sat well upon his good-looking face, but it was obvious that he was trying, somewhat in vain, to keep an inward excitement in check. Moussour Lecompte de Cambrai, believing that this excitement was entirely due to the solemnity of the occasion, had smiled indulgently, a trifle contemptuously to, at young de Marmont's very apparent eagerness, a vulgar display of feelings and inability to control one's words and movements, when under the stress of emotion was characteristic of the parvenues of today. And de Marmont's unfettered agitation, when coming to sign his own marriage contract, was only on a par with prophet Fourier's nervousness this afternoon. The Compte received his future son-in-law with a gracious smile. The thought of an alliance between Madame Iselle de Cambrai de Brestelo and a de Marmont of nowhere had been a bitter pill to swallow. But Moussour Lecompte was too proud to show how distasteful it had been, chatting pleasantly the two men repaired together to the library. Bobby Clifford, immaculately dressed in fine cloth coat and satin breaches, with fine mechlin lace at throat and wrist, and his light brown hair tied at the nape of the neck with a big black bow, came down presently to the reception room. He found the place silent and deserted. But the stately apartment looked more cozy and home-like than usual. A cheerful fire was burning in the monumental hearth, and the soft light of the candles fixed in sconces round the walls tempered to a certain degree that bare and severe look of past grandeur, which usually hung upon every corner of the old chateau. Clifford went up to the tall hearth. He rested his hand on the ledge of the mantle, and, leaning his forehead against it, he stared mootily into the fire. Thoughts of all that he had learned in the past few hours of the new chapter in the book of the destinies of France began a few days ago in the Bay of Joanne, crowded in upon his mind. What difference would the unfolding of that new chapter make to the destinies of the Comte de Cambrai and of Christel? What had fate in store for the bold adventurer who was marching across France with a handful of men to reconquer a throne and remake an empire? What had she in store for the stiff-necked aristocrat of the old regime who still believed that God himself had made special laws for the benefit of one class of humanity, and that he had even created them differently to the rest of mankind? And what had fate in store for the beautiful, delicate girl whose future had been so arbitrarily settled by two men, father and lover, one the buyer, the other the seller of her exquisite person, the shrine of her pure and idealistic soul, and bargained for by father and lover as the price of so many acres of land, a farm, a chateau, an ancestral estate. Father and lover were sitting together even now discussing values, the purchase price. You give me back my lands, I will give you my daughter. Blood money, so money, Clifford called it, as he ground his teeth together in impotent rage. What folly it was to care, what folly to have allowed the tendrils of his oversensitive heart to twine themselves round this beautiful girl, who was as far removed from his destiny as were the ambitions of his boyhood, the hopes, the dreams which the hard circumstances of fate had forced him to bury beneath the grave mound of rigid and unswerving duty. But what a dream it had been, this love for Crystal de Cambre. It had filled his entire soul from the moment when first he saw her, down in the garden under an avenue of ilux trees which cast their mysterious shadows over her. Her father had called to her and she had come across to where he, Clifford, stood silently watching this approaching vision of loveliness which never would vanish from his mental gaze again. Even at that supreme moment when her blue eyes, her sweet smile, the exquisite grace of her, took possession of his soul, even then he knew already that his dream could have but one awakening. She was already plighted to another, a happier man, but even if she were free, Crystal could never have bestowed a thought upon the stranger. The commonplace tradesman, whose only merit in her sight lay in his friendship with another gallant English gentleman. And knowing this, when he saw her after that, day after day, hour after hour, poor Bobby Clifford grew reconciled to the knowledge that the gates of his paradise would forever be locked against him. He grew contented just to peep through those gates and the angel who was on guard there holding the flaming sword of cast prejudice against him would relent at times and allow him to linger on the threshold and to gaze into a semblance of happiness. Those thoughts, those dreams, those longings he had been able to endure, today reality had suddenly become more insistent and more stern. The angel's flaming sword would sear his soul after this if he lingered any longer by the enchanted gates and thus had the semblance of happiness yielded at last to dull regret. He sank into a chair and buried his face in his hands. The sound of the opening and shutting of a door, the soft fru-fru of a woman's skirt, roused him from his gloomy reverie and caused him to jump to his feet. Mademoiselle Crystal was coming across the long reception room walking with a slow and weary step toward the hearth. She was obviously not yet aware of Clifford's presence, and he had full leisure to watch her as she approached to note the pallor of her cheeks and lips and that pathetic look of childlike self-pity and almost of appeal which veiled the brilliance of her deep blue eyes. A moment later she saw him and came more quickly across the room with hand extended, and an air of gracious condescension in her whole attitude. Ah! Missor Clifford, she said in perfect English, I did not know you were here and all alone. My father, she added, is occupied with serious matters downstairs, else he would have been here to receive you. I know, Mademoiselle, he said, after he had kissed the tips of three cold little fingers which had been held out to him. My friend De Marmont is with him just now. He desired to speak with Missor Lacombe in private on a matter which closely concerns his happiness. Ah! then you knew, she asked coldly. Yes, Mademoiselle, I knew, he replied. She had settled herself down in a high-backed chair close to the hearth, the ruddy light of the wood-fire, played upon her white satin gown, upon her bare arms and the ends of her lace scarf, upon her satin shoes, and the bunch of snowdrops at her breast. But her face was in shadow, and she did not look up at Clifford, while tea, poor fool, stood before her, absorbed in the contemplation of this dainty picture which may have, after tonight, would never gladden his eyes again. You are a great friend of Missor De Marmont, she added, after a while. Oh, Mademoiselle, a friend? He replied with a self-deprecatory shrug of the shoulders. Friendship is too great a name to give to our chance-acquaintancehip. I met Victor De Marmont less than a fortnight ago in Grenoble. Ah, yes, I had forgotten. He told me that he had first met you at the house of a Missor Dumoulin. In the shop of Missor Dumoulin, Mademoiselle broke in Clifford with his good-humored smile, Missor Dumoulin, the glove-maker with whom I was transacting business at the moment when Missor De Marmont walked in, in order to buy himself a pair of gloves. Of course, she added coldly, I had forgotten. You were not likely to remember such a trivial circumstance, Mademoiselle. Missor De Marmont saw me, after that, here as guest in your father's house. He was greatly surprised at finding me, a mere tradesman, in such an honored position. Surprise laid the foundation of pleasing intercourse between us, but you see, Mademoiselle, that Missor De Marmont has no cause to boast of his friendship with me. Ah, Missor De Marmont is not so prejudiced. As you are, Mademoiselle, he asked quietly, for she had paused, and he saw that she bit her lips, with her tiny white teeth, as if she meant to check the words that would come tumbling out. Thus directly questioned, she gave a little shrug of disdain. My opinions in the matter are not in question, sir, she said coldly. She smothered a little yawn, which may have been due to ennui, but also to the tingling of her nerves. Clifford saw that her hands were never still for a moment. She was either fingering the snowdrops in her belt, or smoothing out the creases in her lace scarf. From time to time she raised her head, and a tense expression came into her face, as if she were trying to listen to what was going on elsewhere in the house, downstairs perhaps, in the library, where she was being finally bargained for and sold. Clifford felt an intense and unreasoning pity for her, and because of that pity, the gentle kinsman of fierce love, he found it in his heart to forgive her all her prejudices, that almost arrogant pride of caste which was in her blood, for which she was no more responsible than she was for the color of her hair, or the vivid blue of her eyes. She seemed so forlorn, such a child, in the midst of all this decadent grandeur. She was being so ruthlessly sacrificed for ideals that were no longer tenable, that had ceased to be tenable five and twenty years ago, when this chateau and these lands were overrun by a savage and vengeful mob who were loudly demanding the right to live in happiness, in comfort, and in freedom. That right had been denied to them through the past centuries by those who were of her own kith and kin. And it was snatched with brutal force, with lust of hate and thirst for reprisals, by the revolutionary crowd when it came into its own at last. Something of the pity which he felt for this beautiful and innocent victim of rancor, oppression, and prejudice must have been manifest in Clifford's earnest eyes, for when Crystal looked up to him and met his glance, she drew herself up with an air of haughty detachment, and with that she wished to convey still more tangibly to him the idea of that barrier of caste which must forever divide her from him. Obviously his look of pity had angered her, for now she said abruptly and with marked coldness, my father tells me, sir, that you are thinking of leaving France shortly. Indeed, mademoiselle, he replied, I have trespassed too long, as it is, on Massour Lacombe's gracious hospitality. My visit originally was only for a fortnight. I thought of leaving for England tomorrow. A little lift of the eyebrows and unnecessary smoothing of an invisible crease in her gown, and Crystal asked lightly before the, my wedding, sir, before your wedding, mademoiselle. She frowned, vaguely stirred to irritation by his ill-concealed indifference. I trust, she rejoined pointedly, that you are satisfied with your trade in Grenoble. The little shaft was meant to sting, but if Bobby felt any pain, he certainly appeared to bear it with perfect good humor. I am quite satisfied, he said. I thank you, mademoiselle. It must be very pleasing to conclude such affairs satisfactorily, she continued. Very pleasing, mademoiselle. Of course, given the right temperament for such a career, it must be so much more comfortable to spend one's life in making money, buying and selling things, and so on, rather than to risk it every day for the barren honor of serving one's king and country. As you say, mademoiselle, he said quite imperturbably, given the right temperament, it certainly is much more comfortable. And you, sir, I take it, are the happy possessor of such a temperament. I suppose so, mademoiselle. You are content to buy and to sell and to make money, to rest at ease, and let the men who love their country and their king fight for you and for their ideals. Her voice had suddenly become trenchant and hard, her manner contemptuous at strange variants with the indifferent kindliness wherewith she had hitherto seemed to regard her father's English guest. Certainly her nerves, he thought, were very much on edge, and no doubt his own always unruffled calm, the combined product of temperament, nationality, and education, had an irritating effect upon her. Had he not been so intensely sorry for her, he would have resented this final taunt of hers, an arrow shot this time with intent to wound. But as it was, he merely said, with a smile, surely, mademoiselle, my contentment with my own lot, and any other feelings of which I may be possessed, are of such very little consequence, seeing that they are only the feelings of a very commonplace tradesmen, that they are not worthy of being discussed. Then as quickly her manner changed, the contemptuous look vanished from her eyes, the sarcastic curl from her lips. And with one of those quick transitions of mood, which were perhaps the principal charm of Crystal de Cambray's personality, she looked up at Bobby with a winning smile and an appeal for forgiveness. Your pardon, sir, she said softly, I was shrewish and ill-tempered, and deserve a severe lesson in courtesy. I did not mean to be disagreeable, she added with a little sigh, but my nerves are all a quiver today, and this awful news has weighed upon my spirit. What awful news, mademoiselle? he asked. Surely you have heard. You mean the news about Napoleon. I mean the awful certainty. She retorted, with a sudden outburst of vehemence, that that brigand, that you surfer, that scourge of mankind, has escaped from an all too lenient prison, where he should never have been confined, seeing how easy was escape from it. I mean that all the horrors of the past twenty years will begin again now. Misery, starvation, exile probably. End of chapter three, part one.