"And this is the parish of St. Aubin?" said Santerre, as they drew near to Durbelliere.

"Yes," said Denot, "this is the parish of St. Aubin; and the estate of the Larochejaquelins."

"And they are popular with the people?" said Santerre. "They must have been well loved, or they would not have been so truly followed."

Denot blushed at the heavy accusation against himself which these words conveyed; but he made no answer.

"And this old man, my friend?" said Santerre, "this ancient cripple that you tell me of? he is too old, too infirm, I suppose, to care much about this revolt?"

"Not at all," said Denot; "no one in the country is more anxious for success than the old Marquis."

"There you are again, friend," said Santerre, "I know you'll get your neck into danger. Have I not told you that the Republic knows nothing of Marquises?"

"I only called him by the name he goes by, as you'd call a man Peter, if his name were Peter. I didn't mean to say he was a Marquis," said Denot, excusing himself.

"But you mustn't say so at all, unless you speak of him as a criminal, as you would speak of a perjurer, or a parricide. But as to this foolish old man; is he not doting? If I thought that, I might perhaps be excused in sparing him."

"Doting!" said Denot; "not at all; he has all his faculties as much as you or I."

Santerre gave a look of disgust at the wretch, who would not even follow his hint by giving such an account as might spare the life of the old man, who had been his host, his guardian, and his friend. He said nothing further, however, but trotted on quickly, till the cherry groves of Durbelliere were in sight, and then he halted to give his final orders to his men, and make arrangements that the house should be surrounded.

"You remember our bargain, citizen General?" said Denot.

"What bargain?" asked the brewer.

"Why, about the young lady; the girl, you know," replied the other. "No one is to interfere between me and Agatha Larochejaquelin. She is to be my prize and my reward."

"I will be as good as my word," said Santerre, "as long as you are true to yours; but I own I pity the young lady the treatment she is likely to receive from her lover," and as he spoke, he rode up to the front door of the house, accompanied by Denot and a company of men on horseback.

The immediate arrival of republican soldiers in the neighbourhood of Durbelliere was neither expected, or even feared by the inhabitants of the chateau, or it would not have been left by Henri, as it had been, perfectly undefended. The truth was this: the royalists had hitherto been so very generally successful against the republicans; and that, when every odds of number, arms, and position had been in favour of their enemies, that they had learnt to look with contempt upon the blues, as they called them. Hitherto the royalists had always been the attacking party; the republicans had contented themselves with endeavouring to keep their position within the towns; and when driven from thence, had retreated altogether out of the revolted district.

Except lately at Nantes, the Vendeans had as yet incurred no great reverse; they had not, therefore, learnt to fear that their houses would be attacked and burnt; their corn and cattle destroyed; and even their wives and children ma.s.sacred. The troops which had now been dispatched by the Convention for the subjection of the country, were of a very different character from those with whom the Vendeans had as yet contended, and the royalists were not long before they experienced all the horrors of a civil war, in which quarter was refused them by their enemies, and mercy even to children was considered as a crime.

When Santerre rode up to the door of the chateau, ten men might have taken possession of Durbelliere. It was a fine July evening, about seven o'clock. The old Marquis had been wheeled in his easy chair out of the house, to the top of the broad steps which led from the back of the chateau into the garden. Agatha was sitting at his feet on the top step, reading to him, and the little Chevalier Mondyon, who retained no semblance of the soldier about his person, except the red scarf round his waist, was seated straddle-legged atop of one of the huge white lions which guarded the entrance.

"Agatha, I hear hors.e.m.e.n," said the boy, jumping off his seat.

"There--there--quite plain!"

"It is Henri and Charles coming from Clisson," said Agatha.

"If it be, they have a troop of cavalry with them," said the Chevalier.

"Perhaps it's the Prince de Talmont, for I think they have not so many hors.e.m.e.n with them in the south," and the little Chevalier ran out to greet, as he thought, his gallant friends.

"Whoever they be, Agatha," said the old Marquis, "give them a warm welcome if they come in the King's name. They will know that I cannot rise to meet them, but make them welcome to everything in and about the chateau."

Agatha had closed her book, and was rising to execute her father's wishes, when Momont, the grey-haired butler, hurrying round from the kitchen-door as fast his old legs would carry him, screamed out: "The blues! the blues!"

Agatha, who was in the act of entering the house as she heard the fearful cry, turned instantly back to her father's side. She was deadly pale, but she spoke not a word. She grasped her father's hand, and fixed herself close to his chair, determined in that position to await the worst that her enemies could do her.

"Run, Agatha, run," said the Marquis, "into the garden, my dear love.

The gate will be open at the back. Run, Agatha, for your life!" Agatha, however, did not stir.

"Do you hear me, Agatha?" continued the old man, wildly supplicating her to go from him. "Do you hear me, my daughter? If you would have my blessing before I die, do as I bid you now. What are my grey hairs to your young life, that you should sacrifice yourself for me?"

It was of no avail, for the daughter stood fast by her disabled father's side, grasping his right hand so that nothing should tear her from him, and turning her beautiful face towards the house, watching for the approach of her enemies. Nor had she to watch long; before the Chevalier had been gone five minutes, Santerre, with his sword drawn, tramped heavily through the house, followed by Denot, and a score of his men.

The door from the salon to the garden steps was open, and without waiting a moment in the house, he marched through and confronted Agatha and her father.

"Here is your damsel safe, at any rate, friend Denot," said Santerre, "and a pretty girl she is too, but a bitter royalist, no doubt, by the proud turn of her white neck."

Denot did not immediately follow Santerre on to the steps. He had firmly resolved to thrust himself upon Agatha as a conqueror; to rush upon her as an eagle upon its prey, and to carry her off with a strong hand, disregarding her cries, as the eagle disregards the bleating of the lamb; but the first glance he had got of his victim somehow startled his resolve, and scared the blood from his cheek, and almost from his heart.

When Santerre, however, called to him, he was obliged to follow; and then, making fearful grimaces with his lips, and scowling with his eyes, he stalked out before the astonished father and daughter.

"Yes, Agatha," he said, looking full upon her, but not daring to turn an eye upon the countenance of her much more indignant father, "yes, Agatha, I have come, as I told you I would come--I have come to claim you, and no power shall now gainsay me. I have come to seize you as my own; to take you with a strong hand, and an out-stretched arm. My prayers were of no avail; you shall find that my sword is more powerful.

When last I sought you, it was as a suppliant, I now come for you as a conqueror. Come, Agatha, you are now mine. All the powers of earth shall not rescue you from my arms."

"You appear to me, Sir, to come as a traitor," said Agatha.

"A good republican, my dear," said Santerre: "he comes as a good republican."

Agatha did not deign to make any further reply, but as Santerre and the men had now left the steps and gone into the house, Denot put his hand on her arm to lead her away from her father's side.

"Leave her alone," shouted the old man, now speaking for the first time since his eyes had rested on the republican soldiers. "Leave her alone, thou false wretch, thou basest of all miscreants. Touch her not, or--or--," and the poor Marquis strove in vain to rise from his chair to his daughter's help. "Momont, Chapeau, Arthur--Arthur," he halloed.

"My daughter--my daughter, oh! my daughter!"

No one, however, came to his aid, and Agatha, finding resistance to be in vain, suffered Denot to lead her into the house, without uttering another word.

Not the slightest resistance was made to Santerre and his men; he took possession of the chateau without a word even being said to stop him.

The servant girls hid themselves in the garrets, but were soon brought down again, and bade to set quiet in the hall, till their fate should have been decided on. Momont attempted to conceal himself in the garden, but he was soon found and brought back again, and stationed among the women. Chapeau was not seen at all, and even the little Chevalier was missing for a time, though he returned of his own accord before Santerre had been long in possession of the place.

Santerre seated himself with two of his officers in the largest of the salons, and ordered that the old Marquis should be brought before him.

He was rather perplexed as to what he should next do; his orders were to destroy everything--houses, property, and life; to spare neither age, s.e.x, nor imbecility; and Santerre, undertaking the commission, had thought, in his republican zeal, that he would find no weakness in himself to militate against the execution of such orders. He was mistaken in himself, however. He had led the fierce mobs of Paris to acts of bloodshed and violence, but in doing so he had only a.s.sisted with an eager hand in the overthrow of those who he thought were tyrannizing over the people. He had stood by at the execution of a King, and ordered the drums to beat to drown the last words of the dying monarch; but the King had been condemned by those whom Santerre looked on as the wisest and best of the nation; and in acting as he had done, he had been carried on as well by ideas of duty as excitement. He found his present a much more difficult task. Indeed, after sitting still for some few minutes in that easy chair, meditating what he would do next, he found that the work which he had undertaken was one which he literally could not go through with.

"Is the old gentleman there?" said he; and as he asked, the Marquis, with his eyes closed, and his hands crossed on his breast, was wheeled into the room. Agatha was seated, or rather was crouching, on a sofa in the corner, for Adolphe Denot was standing over her uttering threats and words of love alternately, the latter of which, however, sounded by far the most horrible in poor Agatha's ears.

"Give me a pen and paper," said Santerre, and having got them, he continued writing for a minute or two. "Now, my old friend," said he, addressing the Marquis, "I am given to understand that you yourself, personally, have never lent a hand to this iniquitous revolt. Is it so?"

"I am too old and too infirm to carry a sword," said the Marquis, "but what little I could do for my King, I--."

"Exactly--exactly," said Santerre, interrupting him, "you are a cripple I see. There is no evidence wanting to show that you haven't taken up arms. It is this pestilent son of yours has brought you into trouble."

"He would have been no son of mine had he not acted as he has done,"

said the old man indignantly.

"Will you hold your silly tongue, my friend," said Santerre. "He is doting, quite doting, I see," and he turned round to his brother officers, as though appealing to them to corroborate his opinion.

"Either that, or else he must be very fond of Mademoiselle Guillotine,"

said one of them.

"Well, now, old gentleman, answer me this question," said Santerre, "do you want to die this evening?"