"Mademoiselle ran after him; they are a pretty pair."

Urbain and Adelade both looked at him vaguely; then again at each other.

"Where is he now? Do you know?" she said.

"He left the chateau, madame, with your daughter and her husband,"

Urbain said, slowly and indistinctly, grinding his teeth as he spoke.

"Urbain!" she cried.

"_What_ are you saying, monsieur?" growled the General, with his hand on his sword.

"Peace, peace, Monsieur le General, you will know all presently," Urbain said more calmly. "Some one has betrayed our plans," he went on, looking at Adelade, who was white and speechless. "These are my adventures. I went to Paris in search of my son, to find out where he was, and why he had been arrested. I could hear nothing of him. I saw the Prefet de la Police, I saw the Duc de Rovigo, I saw Real and a dozen more officials.

No one knew anything. Finally I saw Duroc, an old acquaintance, and he introduced me to the Emperor. His Majesty was gracious. He gave me a free pardon for Angelot, in case he had been mixed up against his will with any Chouan conspiracies. I pledged my honour for him in the future.

But still the mystery remained--I could not find him."

Adelade seemed turned to stone. These two gazed at each other, speechless, and did not now give a look or a thought to the third person present. He stood transfixed, listening; the angry blood rushed into his face, then ebbed as suddenly, leaving him a livid, deathlike yellow.

"But mon Dieu, why all this story?" Adelade burst out with almost a scream. "What is he to me, your silly Angelot? What did you say just now? My daughter and--I must have heard you wrongly."

Urbain gave a short, crackling laugh. "Nevertheless, I shall go on with my story. I came home a few hours ago. My wife told me that Angelot was safe with his uncle at Les Chouettes." The General started violently, but neither of them noticed him. "We went there together, and found that the boy was gone to La Mariniere, to see his mother--Joseph had planned to pack him off out of the way of the police--with his usual discretion--but enough of that."

"Urbain, you will madden me! What do I care for all this?"

Adelade made a few steps and let herself fall into a chair.

"Patience!" he said; and there was something solemn, almost awful, in the way he stretched out his right hand to her. "We hastened back to La Mariniere, and found no Angelot there. Then I began to think that Joseph's fears of the police might not be exaggerated--Angelot escaped from them on the very day he was arrested--the man who arrested him, why, I cannot discover, was that fellow Simon, the spy, and according to Joseph he has been watching the woods ever since. I went out, for I could not rest indoors, and as I walked down the road I met Monsieur le Cure and Martin Joubard, coming from Lancilly. I turned back with the old man, and he told me his story."

He stopped and drew a long breath.

"I hardly listened to the details," he said. "But by some means Herve had heard of the expected order--and--distrusting all the world, it seems, even you, his wife, he sent for the Cure at midnight and forced him to celebrate the marriage. Ah, Monsieur le General, you may well take it hardly; yet I do not believe you are more angry than I am."

"As to that, monsieur," said Ratoneau, glaring at him with savage fury, "I believe you have played me false and arranged the whole affair. Your scamp of a son has escaped the prison he richly deserved, and you have plotted to marry him to your cousin's daughter. I always thought you as clever as the devil, monsieur. But look here--and you too, madame, listen to me. I will ruin the whole set of you--and as to that boy of yours, let him beware how he meets me. I swear I will be his death."

Urbain shrugged his shoulders and turned from him to Adelade, who was beckoning feebly and could hardly find voice to speak.

"I am very stupid, I suppose," she said. "I cannot understand clearly.

My husband has forced on Helene's marriage with some one. Who is it, Urbain? Did the Cure tell you? Do not be afraid to tell me--I can bear it--you were always my friend."

There was something so unnatural in her manner, so terrible and stony in her look, that Urbain turned pale and hesitated.

"Mon Dieu!" he murmured. "You do not understand!"

"Mille tonnerres, Madame la Comtesse," roared the General, striding up to her chair--"they have married this man's son to your daughter. My congratulations on the splendid match. Ange de la Mariniere and Helene de Sainfoy--a pretty couple--but by all that's sacred their happiness shall not last long!"

"Hush, hush! Go away, for G.o.d's sake," cried Urbain. "You brute, you are killing her."

Adelade's eyelids had dropped, and she lay back unconscious.

There were people in the room, a confusion of voices, of wondering exclamations. Then, through the thickening crowd, Herve de Sainfoy and Georges pushed their way, white and excited, followed by Mademoiselle Moineau, whose trembling limbs could hardly carry her.

The Comte de Sainfoy and General Ratoneau met face to face, and exchanged a few low words as Ratoneau walked out.

"You are a pretty host, Monsieur le Comte!"

"I have taught you a lesson, I hope, Monsieur le General. I shall have no more interference with my family affairs."

"Sapristi! it is a new thing for you, is it not, to pose as the head of your own family? How did His Majesty's intention come to your knowledge?

I am curious to know that."

"Let me ask you to leave my house. You shall hear from me. We will settle our affairs another day."

"Ah! You had better consult Madame la Comtesse. She is not pleased with you."

Ratoneau went out, snarling. Scarcely knowing which way he turned, he found himself in an outer vestibule at the foot of the great staircase.

The autumn wind was blowing in, fresh and cool across the valley; grey light was beginning to glimmer, a shiver of dawn to pa.s.s over the world outside. A group of men were standing in the doorway, and Ratoneau found himself surrounded by them. One of them was Simon, with his head bound up; the others were some of the police employed to watch Chouan proceedings in the province generally.

"What, fool!" the General began furiously to Simon. "And all this time you--" he checked himself, remembering the presence of the others, who were looking at him curiously.

"We have something to report to Monsieur le General," Simon said hurriedly, with an eager sign of caution. "To save time--as Monsieur le Prefet is not here. A new conspiracy has been hatched at Les Chouettes--_Les Chouettes_, monsieur! Some of the gentlemen are probably there now. Some are to meet at the etang des Morts, to start for England this very morning. They will be caught easily. But Les Chouettes should be searched, monsieur--important arrests can be made there."

He came forward, almost pushing the General back against the stairs.

"There are enough of us," he said, "but not enough authority. If Monsieur le General would go himself"--he came up closer and muttered in Ratoneau's ear--"I know all--they are there--we can at least arrest the men--safe this time--the police have real evidence, and I have seen nightly visitors to Monsieur de la Mariniere. But _they are there_, monsieur--I saw them on their way--I met the priest going back. And on my word, Monsieur le Comte managed it neatly."

"Did he give you that broken head, fool? And why did you not come to me sooner?"

"That was a gentleman with a wooden leg. Yes, he delayed me half an hour."

"More fool you! Come, we must have these Chouans. Say nothing. Get me a horse--one that will carry double, mind you. Four of you fellows go on and watch the house. I and Simon will overtake you."

He swore between his teeth as he turned away, "I will be the death of him, and I will have her yet!"

CHAPTER XXVII

HOW MONSIEUR JOSEPH WENT OUT INTO THE DAWN

At Les Chouettes, in those early hours of the morning, they were waiting for Angelot's return. Monsieur Joseph, the softest-hearted, most open-natured man who ever posed as a dark and hard conspirator, could not now forgive himself for having sent the boy away. "Why did I not go myself?" he muttered. Faithfulness to the cause, honour towards Cesar d'Ombre, a touch of severity, really born of love, towards Angelot's light-hearted indifference; these had led him into something like cruelty towards the girl who had been thrown with such wild and pa.s.sionate haste into Angelot's arms. Monsieur Joseph regarded Herve de Sainfoy's sudden action as a great embarra.s.sment for the family, though he himself had once suggested such a marriage, out of indulgence for his nephew. He saw that the situation would be terribly awkward for Urbain and Anne, that they would hardly welcome such a daughter-in-law; yet, though he said sharp words about women to Angelot, he was heartily sorry for Helene.

"Pauvre pet.i.te!" he said to himself. "No, it was not right of Herve.

Ange is too young for such responsibility; there might have been other ways of saving her. But in the meanwhile, she is dreadfully frightened and lonely, and I have sent her little lover away. G.o.d grant he fall into no traps--but the police may be anywhere. Well, Riette must do her best--the woman-child--she seemed to me just now older than Angelot's wife--Angelot's wife--what an absurdity!"

The child had led the girl away to her own room above; the house was still. Monsieur Joseph went back to his room, walked up and down its length, from the west to the east window and back again; rather nervously examined his arms, and laid a sword and a pair of pistols on the table. He knew of no special danger; but for the last fortnight he had been living in a state of watchfulness which had sharpened all his senses and kept him unusually sleepless. Now he longed for the night to be over; for his present charge weighed upon him heavily. It was certain that in sending Angelot away to keep the tryst with Cesar he had made himself responsible for Helene. He thought over all the foolish little love-story, in which at first he had had some part, though n.o.body was more angry with Angelot when he took things into his own hands and climbed the old ivy-tree to visit his love.

"And now--is the fellow rewarded or punished? we shall see!" he thought. "In any case, I must stand by him now. He has not always been grateful or wise--but there, he is young, and I love the boy. Riette talks of 'the last drop of our blood.' Verily, I believe she would give it for Angelot--and I--well, I told Herve and his mother that I would cut off my right hand for him. That was saying something! But Anne knew I meant it--and G.o.d knows the same."