I had never seen a defeated army when I a.s.sisted at the return of the King of the Mountains. The sight had, for me, all the novelty of a first experience. Heaven had listened unfavorably to my prayers. The Greek soldiers had defended themselves with so much ardor that the engagement was prolonged till night. Formed in a square around the two mules which carried the treasure, they had, at first, returned a regular fire upon Hadgi-Stavros' sharp-shooters. The old Palikar, despairing of killing one by one, a hundred and twenty men who would not give an inch, attacked them with bare blades. His men a.s.sured us that he had performed marvels, and the blood with which he was covered testified to it. But the bayonet had had the last word; in other words, had won the day. The troops had killed forty brigands, of which one was a dog. A regulation bullet had arrested the advancement of young Spiro, that young officer with so brilliant a future. I saw march in sixty men, overcome with fatigue, dusty, b.l.o.o.d.y, bruised, and wounded. Sophocles had been shot in the shoulder; the men were carrying him. The Corfuan and a few others had been left on the road, some with the shepherds, some in a village, and others on the bare rocks beside the path.

The band was sad and discouraged. Sophocles howled with grief. I heard some murmurs against the King's imprudence, who had exposed the lives of his men for a miserable sum, instead of peaceably plundering rich and careless travelers.

The strongest, the freshest, the most content, the gayest of the lot was the King. His face expressed the proud satisfaction of a duty accomplished. He recognized me at once in the midst of my four men, and cordially held out his hand to me. "Dear prisoner," he said, "you see a badly treated King. Those dogs of soldiers would not give up the treasure. It was their money; my trip to the Scironian Rocks brought me nothing, and I have lost forty men, without counting some wounded who cannot live. But no matter! I am well beaten. There were too many of those rascals for us, and they had bayonets. Without which----. Come!

this day has rejuvenated me. I have proved to myself that I still have blood in my veins!"

And he hummed the first verse of his favorite song: "Un Clephte aux yeux, noirs----" He added: "By Jupiter (as Lord Byron said), I would not for twenty thousand francs have remained quietly at home since Sat.u.r.day.

That can still be put into my history. It can be said that, at more than sixty years of age, I fought with bare sabre in the midst of bayonets; that I killed three or four soldiers with my own hand, and that I marched ten leagues in the mountains in order to return in time to take my cup of coffee. Cafedgi, my child, do thy duty! I have done mine. But where the devil is Pericles?"

The charming Captain was still resting in his tent. Ianni hurried away to bring him forth, half asleep, his mustache uncurled, his head carefully tied up in a handkerchief. I know of nothing which will so thoroughly awaken a man as a gla.s.s of cold water or bad news. When M.

Pericles learned that the little Spiro and two other soldiers had been left behind, it was truly another defeat. He pulled off his handkerchief, and but for the respect he had for his person he would have torn his hair.

"This will do for me," he cried. "How explain their presence among you?

and in bandit dress, too! They will be recognized! The others are masters of the battle ground. Shall I say that they deserted in order to join you? That you made them prisoners? The question will be asked why I said nothing about it. I have waited for thy coming to make my final report. I wrote last evening that I had thee almost surrounded on Parna.s.sus, and that all our men were admirable. Holy Virgin! I shall not dare to show myself Sunday at Patissia! What will be said the 15th at the Court Ball? The whole diplomatic corps will talk me over. They will convene the council. Will I yet be invited?"

"To the council?" asked the bandit.

"No; to the Court Ball!"

"Dancer! Go!"

"My G.o.d! my G.o.d! who knows what will be done? If the only trouble was about these Englishwomen, I would not worry myself. I would confess everything to the Minister of War. These English! That was enough! But to lend my soldiers to attack the army box! To send Spiro into the engagement! They will point the finger at me; I shall never dance again!"

Who was it who rubbed his hands in glee during this monologue? It was the son of my father, surrounded by his four soldiers!

Hadgi-Stavros, quietly seated, enjoyed his coffee in little sips. He said to his G.o.dson: "Thou seemest much troubled! Remain with us. I a.s.sure thee a minimum of ten thousand francs a year, and I will enroll thy men. We will take our revenge together."

The offer was alluring. Two days before it would have received much approval. And even now it caused a faint smile among the soldiers, none from the Captain. The soldiers said nothing; they looked at their old comrades; they eyed Sophocles' wound; they thought of the deaths of the night before, and they turned wistful faces toward Athens, as if they could inhale the, to them, sweet odor of the barracks.

As for M. Pericles, he replied with visible embarra.s.sment:

"I thank thee, but I would need to reflect. My habits are those of a city; I am delicate in health; the winters are rigorous in the mountains; I have already taken cold. My absence would be noticed at all a.s.semblies; I would be searched for everywhere; fine marriages are often proposed to me. Moreover, the trouble is not so great as we believe it.

Who knows whether the three unfortunates will be recognized? Will news of the event arrive before we do? I will go at once to the Ministry; I will find out how matters stand. No one will come to contradict me, since the two companies have kept on their march to Argos.... Decidedly, I must be there; I must face the music. Care for the wounded.... Adieu!"

He made a sign to his drummer.

Hadgi-Stavros rose, came and placed himself in front of me with his G.o.dson, whom he dominated by a head, and said to me: "Monsieur, behold a Greek of to-day! I! I am a Greek of former days! And the papers pretend that we have progressed!"

At the roll of the drum the walls of my prison fell away like the ramparts of Jericho! Two minutes afterward I was before Mary-Ann's tent.

Mother and daughter hastily arose. Mrs. Simons perceived me first, and cried out to me:

"Oh, well! are we to start?"

"Alas! Madame, we are not there."

"Where are we then? The Captain gave us word for this morning."

"How did you find the Captain?"

"Gallant, elegant, charming! A little too much the slave of discipline; it was his only fault."

"c.o.xcomb and scamp, coward and bully, liar and thief; those are his true names, and I will prove it to you."

"Come, Monsieur; what have the soldiers done to you?"

"What have they done to me, Madame? Deign to come with me only to the top of the staircase."

Mrs. Simons arrived there just in time to see the soldiers defile past, the drummer at the head, the bandits again installed in their places, the Captain and the King mouth to mouth, giving the last good-bye kiss.

The surprise was a little too much. I had not been sufficiently considerate of the good woman, and I was punished for it, because she fainted dead away and nearly broke my arms as I caught her. I carried her to the brook; Mary-Ann rubbed and slapped her hands; I threw a handful of water in her face. But I believe that it was fury which revived her.

"Miserable wretch!" she cried.

"He has plundered you, is it not true? Stole your watches, your money?"

"I do not regret my jewels; he may keep them! But I would give ten thousand francs to get back the handshakes I have given him. I am English, and I do not clasp hands with every one!" This regret of Mrs.

Simons drew from me a heavy sigh. She let fall upon me all the weight of her anger. "It is your fault," she said. "Could you not have warned me?

It was only necessary to tell me that the brigands were saints in comparison!"

"But, Madame, I advised you that you must put no faith in the soldiers."

"You told me so; but you said it softly, slowly, coldly. Could I believe you? Could I divine that this man was only Stavros' jailer? That he remained here to give the bandits time to get back? That he frightened us with imaginary dangers? That he claimed to have been besieged in order to have us admire him? That he simulated the night attacks to make it appear that he was defending us? I see all now, but tell us if you have nothing to say?"

"My G.o.d! Madame, I told all I knew; I did what I could!"

"But, German, who are you? In your place an Englishman would have sacrificed his life for us, and I would have given him my daughter's hand!"

Wild poppies are very scarlet, but I was more than that when I heard Mrs. Simons' speech. I was so troubled that I dared not raise my eyes, nor respond; neither did I ask the good woman what she meant by her words. Because, in a word, why should a person as harsh as she had shown herself to be, use such language before her daughter and before me? By what door had this idea of marriage entered her mind? Was Mrs. Simons truly a woman to award her daughter, as an honest recompense, to the first liberator? There were no signs of it. Was it not rather a cruel irony addressed to my most secret thoughts?

When I examined myself I ascertained, with legitimate pride, the innocent warmth of all my sentiments. I render this justice to myself, that the fire of pa.s.sion had not raised a degree the temperature of my heart. At each instant of the day, in order to test myself, I occupied myself with thinking of Mary-Ann. I built castles in Spain, of which she was the mistress. I planned romances, of which she was the heroine and I the hero. I thought of the most absurd things. I imagined events as improbable as the history of the Princess Ypsoff and Lieutenant Reynauld. I even went so far as to see the pretty English girl seated at my right on the back seat of a post-chaise, with her beautiful arm around my long neck. All these flattering suppositions, which should have agitated deeply a soul less philosophical than mine, did not disturb my serenity. I did not experience the alternatives of fear and hope which are the symptoms of love. Never, no, never, have I felt those great convulsions of the heart which are recorded in romances. Then I did not love Mary-Ann. I was a man without reproach. I could walk with uplifted head. But Mrs. Simons, who had not read my thoughts, was perfectly capable of deceiving herself as to the nature of my devotion.

Who knows whether she did not suspect me of being in love with her daughter; whether she had not misinterpreted my trouble and my timidity; whether she had not let slip the word marriage, in order to force me to betray myself. My pride revolted against so unjust a suspicion, and I replied in a firm tone, without looking her in the face:

"Madame, if I was sufficiently fortunate to rescue you from here, I swear to you that it would not be in order to marry your daughter."

"And why, then?" she asked, in a tone of pique. "Is it because my daughter is not good enough for one to marry? I find you agreeable, truly! Is she not pretty enough, or of a good enough family? Have I brought her up improperly? Is she not a good match? To marry Miss Simons, my dear sir! it is a beautiful dream! and most difficult to be gratified!"

"Alas! Madame," I replied, "you have seriously misunderstood me. I confess that Mademoiselle is perfect, and, if her presence did not make me timid, I would tell you what pa.s.sionate admiration she inspired in me the first day. It is precisely for that reason that I have not the impertinence to think that any chance could raise me to her level!"

I hoped that my humility would touch this dreadful mother. But her anger was not in the least appeased.

"Why?" she cried. "Why are you not worthy of my daughter? Answer me, then!"

"But, Madame, I have neither fortune nor position."

"A fine affair! no position! You would have one, Monsieur, if you married my daughter. To be my son-in-law, is not that a position? You have no fortune! Have we ever asked money of you? Have we not enough for ourselves, for you, and for many others? Moreover, the man who would rescue us from here, would he not receive a present of a hundred thousand francs? It is a small sum, I confess, but it is something. Will you say that a hundred thousand francs is a miserable sum? Then, why are you not worthy to marry my daughter?"

"Madame, I am not----"

"Come! What is it you are not? You are not English?"