the reception was over. the last guest had departed. the house had been closed. sir gervaise yeovil and his son and the countess laure had bidden the old marquis good night and retired to their several apartments. there were wakeful hours ahead for the governor, who repaired to his cabinet and got to work. the tidings which had been brought him by the young baron st. laurent were sufficiently grave and perturbing to render sleep impossible, even if he had nothing to do. in great astonishment the marquis had questioned major lestoype closely and from him had received a frank and accurate version of the whole affair. the major would have died rather than betray a comrade, but in this instance the betrayal had already been effected and there was nothing whatever to be gained, from marteau's point of view or from anybody's point of view, by an attempt at concealment.
the old marquis had acted with dazzling promptitude. his personal escort had consisted of a troop of loyalist cavalry from the king's household guard and it had not yet returned to paris. he could depend absolutely upon these men. they had none of them been soldiers of the grand armies of the emperor. they had been recruited in loyal and long-suffering vendée. he placed them under the command of st. laurent, of whose conduct he highly approved, being in ignorance of the offer of secrecy made by that young soldier, lestoype being too fine a man to attempt to better his case by bringing the lieutenant into disgrace. this detachment had searched the major's quarters thoroughly. they had found them, of course, deserted.
captain grenier, being forthwith summoned to headquarters, had stated truthfully that marteau had taken the eagle and gone and thereafter the assembly had dispersed. he declared upon his word of honor that he had no knowledge where he had gone or what he had done with the eagle. the marquis had a complete description of marteau drawn up and sent to every gate in the walled town. the guard was ordered to permit nobody and nothing to pass without the severest scrutiny and the closest search or inspection. the governor made preparations for public proclamation on the morrow, offering a large reward for the fugitive's apprehension dead or alive, and also an additional reward for information that would lead to the discovery of the missing eagle.
promising himself to deal with the matter even more thoroughly in the morning, he had at last dismissed his subordinates and retired. if marteau was within the city walls—and it was impossible to see how he could have got out of the town without a pass after twelve o'clock at night—he would find him if he had to search every house in the town. the spirit of the old man was high and aflame. to be so braved, to have his command the scene of such an outbreak of disloyalty and treason to the king was more than he could bear with equanimity.
there was another regiment in the town that had formerly been known as the seventh-of-the-line, commanded by colonel labédoyère, and there were detachments of artillery. the eagle of the seventh had never been sent to the war office in paris. it, too, had disappeared. but that had been months before the marquis' time, and he had no responsibility for that. colonel labédoyère was more than suspected of lukewarmness, but as he was a young man of great influence, high social standing and much personal popularity no steps had as yet been taken against him. the marquis determined to have it out with him also at the first convenient season, and unless he could be assured of his absolute devotion to king louis, he would report to the minister of war the necessity of the colonel's removal.
the old man was fully alive to the napoleonic sentiment among the soldiers, a sentiment which arose from a variety of motives. in the first place, war was the trade of most of the soldiers. they lived on it, thrived by it, delighted in it. the permanence of the monarchy meant peace. there would be little chance for advancement and none at all for plunder. self-interest predisposed every old soldier to continue an imperialist.
in the second place, the finances of france were naturally in a most disordered condition. the pay of officers and men was greatly in arrears; promises made had not been kept, and there was much heart-felt dissatisfaction on that account. the pay of a soldier is in no sense an adequate compensation for the risks he runs, the perils to which he voluntarily and willingly subjects himself, but it is a universal experience that although his pay is in no degree commensurate, yet the soldier whose pay is withheld instantly becomes insubordinate and mutinous, however high or patriotic the motives back of his enlistment.
again the officers had, most of them, been degraded in rank. many of them had been retired on pittances which were not paid. those who were lucky enough to be retained in active service were superseded by superannuated, often incompetent old officers of the old royal army before the revolution, or by young scions of nobility with no knowledge or fitness to command veterans, to whom the gross-bodied, uninspiring, gouty old king did not appeal. again, the regimental names and associations had been changed and the old territorial or royal and princely designations had been reëstablished; the napoleonic victories had been erased from the battle-flags; the eagles had been taken away.
the plain people of france were more or less apathetic toward emperor or king. france had been drained of its best for so long that it craved rest and peace and time to recuperate above everything else. it had been sated with glory and was alike indifferent to victory or defeat. but the army was a seething mass of discontent. it had nothing to gain by the continuance of present conditions and everything to lose. it was a body of soldiers-of-fortune held in control temporarily by circumstances but ready to break the leash and respond instantly to the call of the greatest soldier-of-fortune of all.
and while all this is true it must also be admitted that there were many officers and men like marteau who were profoundly humiliated and distressed over conditions in france and who, passionately wrapped up in and devoted to the emperor, had spurned commissions and dignities and preferments. if they were obscure men they remained in france unnoticed; if they were great men they had expatriated themselves and sought seclusion and safety in other countries, oftentimes at great personal sacrifice of property, ease and comfort.
the king, who was by no means lacking in shrewdness and wit, and his chief advisers in paris, did not fail to realize something of this, but keen-sighted men like the marquis d'aumenier, away from the person of the monarch, realized it much more fully, although even he had not the least idea of the wide extent and depth of this feeling. but the old man knew instinctively that he must control things in grenoble at least with an iron hand and that no temporizing was possible. the return of marteau, who was a man of parts and power, he admitted—he recalled how well he had borne himself before the little group in the drawing-room!—followed by the midnight gathering, the joy of the veterans, their worship almost of the eagle, enlightened him. he would put down sedition with an iron hand, he swore to himself. the king had committed this important place to him. it was, in a certain sense, a frontier city if the impossible happened. well, the king should find that he had not reposed trust in the marquis for nothing.
so the old man thought as he lay sleepless during the night. he was not the only one who lay sleepless during the night. laure d'aumenier sought rest and oblivion in vain. she had been more moved by marteau's conduct and bearing and presence in the old château d'aumenier, a year ago, than she had been willing to admit until she thought him dead. the marteaux had always been a good-looking, self-respecting people. madame marteau, his mother, had been an unusual woman who had, it was said, married beneath her when she became the wife of old jean marteau, although she never in her long married life thought of it in that way. the present jean marteau was as handsome and distinguished looking a man as there was in france. the delicacy and refinement of his bearing and appearance did not connote weakness either, as she could testify.
the young woman owed her life and honor to the young soldier. but long before that chance meeting they had been companions in childhood, intimate companions, too. the boy had been her servitor, but he had been more. he had been her protector and friend. in her memory she could recall incident after incident when he had helped her, shielded her. never once had he failed to show anything but devotion absolute and unbounded toward her.
the proposition of marriage he had made in the old hall, which she had laughed to scorn, had by no means escaped her memory. she had dwelt upon it, she had even speculated upon the possibility of an acceptance of his proposal. why not? she knew no man more gentle at heart, more gallant in soul, more noble in spirit than he. that, too, she had turned over and over in her mind.
she admired frank yeovil. he was a likable man, frank by nature as well as name and brave, sunny in disposition and ardently devoted to her. when the betrothal had been made at her uncle's urgent insistence that she accept captain yeovil's suit, it had been a great match for her, for the d'aumeniers were impoverished exiles, while the yeovils were a rich family and of a line almost as long as her own. it had been easy enough to plight her troth to the young englishman at first, but since she had seen marteau, she realized that it would not be easy to keep that engagement. fortunately, captain yeovil had been on service in spain and the south of france with the duke of wellington's army, and only a few weeks before had he joined her uncle and herself in paris on leave of absence. he had pressed her to name the day but she had temporized and avoided the issue; not for any definite reason but because as the time drew near she became less and less willing to be the englishman's wife.
marteau had been reported killed at arcis. perhaps that report had done more to enlighten her to the true state of her affections than anything else. her pride of birth, her rank and station would never have permitted her, it may be, to dwell upon a living marteau as a possible husband, but since he was dead there could be no harm in dreams of that kind; and in her grief she had indulged herself in them to the full. it had been a shock to her, of course, but not so great a shock as it would have been if an engagement had subsisted between the two, or she had permitted herself to think that she could ever look favorably on the proposition he had made to her. nevertheless, it had been a great sorrow. there were some alleviations to the situation, however. since it had become impossible, since she believed marteau dead, she could indulge her grief and her mind could dwell upon those attractions which had influenced her so powerfully.
the period was one of intense anxiety and excitement. the old marquis had lived much alone. he was not versed in woman's ways. her agitation and grief passed unnoticed. by degrees she got control of herself. since it was not to be marteau it might as well be young yeovil. the whole episode with which the french officer was concerned she viewed from a point of detachment as a romantic dream. his arrival had rudely shattered that dream and awakened her to the reality of the situation. she loved him.
for laure d'aumenier to marry marteau was impossible. the marquis would never consent. he was her legal guardian, the head of her race. marriage without his consent was unthinkable. loving marteau she would fain not marry yeovil; yet her troth being plighted in the most public manner and with her consent, the marquis would force her to keep her word. she knew exactly the pressure that would be brought to bear upon her. although she had lost some of the pride of her ancestors, she could see the situation from their point of view. there was a deadlock before her and there appeared to be no way of breaking it.
it was a wild night outside. the rain beat upon the casement windows of the old castle. the tempest without seemed fit accompaniment to the tempest within, thought the woman.
a long time she lay thinking, planning, hoping, praying; alike unavailingly. toward morning, utterly exhausted by the violence of her emotions, the scene she had gone through—and it had been a torture to stand and receive the townspeople after the departure of marteau—she fell at last into a troubled sleep.
she was awakened by a slight sound, as of a light footstep. she enjoyed the faculty of awakening with full command of her senses at once. she parted the curtains of the bed. with her eyes wide open, holding her breath, she listened. she heard soft movements. there was someone in the room!
laure d'aumenier, as has been said, had been trained to self-reliance. she could wield a sword expertly and was an accurate shot with a firearm. she could ride with any woman in england. she had, in full, the intrepidity and courage of her ancestors. her prowess, so strange and so unusual in that day in a woman, had been a subject of disapproval on the part of her uncle, but sir gervaise yeovil and his son had viewed it with delight. frank yeovil had brought her from spain a beautiful toledo blade and a pair of spanish dueling pistols, light, easily handled and of deadly accuracy. the blade hung from a peg in the wall by the head of her bed. the pistols lay in a case on the table upon which her lighted bedroom candle stood. they were charged and ready for use.
throwing back the cover without a sound, presently she stepped through the hangings and out on the floor. a loose wrapper lay at the foot of the bed, which was a tall old four-poster, heavily curtained. whoever was in the room was on the other side of the bed, near the wall. the curtains hung between.
she was as light as a bird in her movements. she drew the bed-gown nearer, thrust her feet into heelless slippers, placed convenient for her morning rising by her maid, opened the box of pistols, lifted one of them, examining it on the instant to see that it was ready for use, slipped on the wrapper, stepped toward the foot of the bed and waited.
the beat of the rain, the shriek of the wind, the roar of the thunder filled the room with sound, but the woman had good ears and they were well trained. she could hear someone softly moving. sometimes, in lulls in the storm, she thought she could detect heavy breathing.
the natural impulse of the ordinary woman would have been to scream or if not that, having gained the floor, to rush to the door, or if not that to pull the bell cord and summon help. but laure d'aumenier was not an ordinary woman. she knew that any sound would bring aid and rescue at once. there would be plenty of time to scream, to pull the bell or to do whatever was necessary later. and something, she could not tell what, something she could not recognize, impelled her to take the course she did; to wait, armed.
but the wait began to tell on her sensibilities. the sound of somebody or something moving mysteriously to-and-fro behind the curtains over against the wall at the other end of the room began to work on her nerves. it takes an iron steadiness, a passive capacity for endurance which is quite different from woman's more or less emotional courage, to wait under circumstances like that.
just when she had reached the limit of her endurance and was persuaded that she could stand no more, her attention was attracted by a slight click as of a lock or catch, a movement as of something heavy, as of a drawer or door, and then the footsteps turned and came toward the window. the moment of action had arrived and with it came the return of her wavering courage.
to reach the window the intruder must pass by the foot of the bed where she stood. now the light was on the table at the head of the bed and the table was far enough from the bed to shine past her into the room. the moving figure suddenly came into view. it was a man, shrouded in a heavy cloak. he did not glance toward the bed. his eyes were fixed on the window. his astonishment, therefore, was overwhelming when he suddenly found himself looking into the barrel of a pistol and confronted by a woman.
