Gerald Fitzgerald: The Chevalier Part 25

'_Par Dieu!_ I never thought of that,' broke in Fitzgerald.

'Then there was something occurred at court, wasn't there?'

'Oh, a mere trifle. He could not dance the second figure in the minuet with the Princesse de Cleves, and the Queen called me to take his place.'

'Worse than the affair of the horse, far worse,' muttered Dillon; 'Maurepas cannot forgive you either.'

'I shall a.s.suredly not ask him, sir,' was the prompt rejoinder.

'And then you laughed at his Italian, didn't you? The "Nonce" said that you caught him up in a line he had misquoted.'

'He asked me himself if he were right, and I told him he was not; but I never laughed at his mistake.'

'They said you did, and that the Princesse de Lamballe made you repeat the story. No matter, it was still another item in the score he owes you.'

'I am led by these remarks of yours to suppose that you have latterly bestowed some interest in what has befallen me, Count: am I justified in this belief?'

'You have guessed aright, Fitzgerald. Thirty-eight years and seven months ago I entered this service, knowing less of the world than you do now. So little aware was I what was meant by a provocation, that I attributed to my own deficiency in the language and my ignorance of life what were intended as direct insults. They read me differently, and went so far as to deliberate whether I ought not to be called on to leave the corps. This at last aroused my indolence. I fought four of them one morning, and three the next--two fell fatally wounded. I never got but this--and he showed a deep scar on the wrist of his sword-arm. 'From that time I have had no trouble.'

'And this is an ordeal I must pa.s.s also, said Gerald calmly.

'I scarcely know how it is to be avoided, nor yet complied with. The king has declared so positively against duelling, that he who sends a challenge must consent to forgo his career in the service.'

'But, surely, not he who only accepts a provocation?'

'That is a difficulty none seems to have answered. Many think that all will be treated alike--the challenger and the challenged, and even the seconds. My own opinion is different.'

'It is not impossible, then, that M. de Maurepas desired to push me to demand satisfaction,' said Gerald slowly, for the light was beginning to break upon his mind.

Dillon nodded in silence.

'And _you_ saw this, Count?'

Another nod was the reply.

'And, doubtless, the rest also?'

'Doubtless!' said Dillon slowly.

Fitzgerald leaned his head on his hand, and sat in deep reflection for some time.

'This is a puzzle,' said he at last. 'I must be frank with you, Count Dillon. Madame de Bauffremont cautioned me, on my entrance into the corps, against whatever might involve me in any quarrel. There are circ.u.mstances, family circ.u.mstances, which might provoke publicity, and be painful--so, at least, she said--to others, whose fame and happiness should be dearer to me than my own. Now, I know nothing of these. I only know that there are no ties nor obligations which impose the necessity of bearing insult. If you tell me, then, that Maurepas seeks a quarrel with me, that he has been carrying a grudge against me for weeks back, I will ask of you--and, as my countryman, you 'll not refuse me--to call on him for satisfaction.'

'It can't be helped,' said Dillon, speaking to himself.

'Why should it be helped?' rejoined Gerald, overhearing him.

'And then, Maurepas is the very man to do it,' muttered the Count again.

Then lifting his head suddenly, he said: 'The Marquise de Bauffremont is at Paris, I believe. I 'll set off there to-night; meanwhile do you remain where you are. Promise me this; for it is above all essential that you should take no step till I return.'

CHAPTER II. A NIGHT ON DUTY

Scarcely had the Count set out for Paris when Gerald remembered that it was his night for duty, he was _de service_ in the antechamber of the king, and had but time to hasten to his quarters and equip himself in full uniform. When he reached the foot of the grand staircase he found several dismounted dragoons, splashed and travel-stained, the centres of little groups, all eagerly questioning and listening to them. They had arrived in hot haste from Paris, where a tremendous revolt had broken out. Some said the Prince of Lambesi's regiment, the 'Royal Allemand,'

were cut to pieces; others, that the military were capitulating everywhere; and one averred that when he pa.s.sed the barrier the Bastille had just fallen. While the veterans of the Swiss Guard and the household troops conversed in low and anxious whispers together, exchanging gloomy forebodings of what was to come, the two or three courtiers whom curiosity had attracted to the spot spoke in tones of contempt and scorn of the mob.

'They are shedding their blood freely, though, I a.s.sure you,' said a young sous-lieutenant, whose arm was in a sling. 'The fellow who smashed my wrist had his face laid open by a sabre-cut, but seemed never to heed it in the least.'

'Have you despatches, Monsieur de Serrans?' asked a very daintily-dressed and soft-voiced gentleman, with a wand of office as chamberlain.

'No, Monsieur le Marquis. I have a verbal message for his Majesty from the Duc de Ba.s.sompierre, and I crave an early audience.'

'His Majesty is going to supper,' replied the chamberlain. 'I will try and obtain admission for you to-morrow.'

'The Duc's orders were very pressing, Monsieur le Marquis. He was retiring for want of reinforcements, but would still hold his ground if his Majesty ordered it.'

'I regret it infinitely, but what is to be done, Monsieur?' said the other, with a slight shrug of the shoulders.

'At the hazard of spoiling his Majesty's appet.i.te, I 'd like to see him at once, Monsieur de Breze,' said the officer boldly.

The polished courtier turned a look of half astonishment, half rebuke, on the soldier, and tripped up the stairs without a word.

'I am _de service_, sir,' whispered Gerald to the young officer. 'Could I possibly be of any use to you?'

'I am afraid not,' replied the other courteously. 'I have a message to be delivered to his Majesty's own ear, and the answer to which I was to carry to my general. What I have just mentioned to M. de Breze was not of the importance of that with which I am charged.'

'And will it be too late to-morrow?'

'To-morrow! I ought to have been half-way back toward Paris already.

You don't know that a battle is raging there, and fifty thousand men are engaged in deadly conflict.'

'The king _must_ hear of it,' said Gerald, as he mounted the stairs.

Very different was the scene in the splendid salons from that which presented itself below. Groups of richly attired ladies and followers of the court were conversing in all the easy gaiety their pleasant lives suggested. Of the rumours from the capital they made matter of jest and raillery; they ridiculed the absurd pretensions of the popular leaders, and treated the rising as something too contemptible for grave remark.

As Gerald drew nigh, he saw, or fancied he saw, a sort of coldness in the manner of those around. The conversation changed from its tone of light flippancy to one of more guarded and more commonplace meaning. It was no longer doubtful to him that the story of his late altercation had got abroad, with, not impossibly, very exaggerated accounts of the opinions he professed. Indeed, the remark of an old Marechal du Palais caught his ear as he pa.s.sed, while the sidelong glances of the hearers told that it was intended for himself--'It is too bad to find the sentiments of the Breton Club from the lips of a Garde du Corps.'

It was all that Gerald could do to restrain the impulse that urged him to confront the speaker, and ask him directly if the words were applied to _him_, The decorous etiquette of the spot, the rigid observance of all that respect that surrounds the vicinity of a king, checked his purpose, and, having satisfied himself that he should know the speaker again, he moved on. It was on the stroke of ten, the hour that he was to relieve the soldier on guard, a duty which, in the etiquette of the Garde du Corps, was always performed by the relief appearing at the proper moment, without the usual military ceremony of a guard.

Alone at last, in that vast chamber where he had pa.s.sed many an hour of sentinel's watch, Gerald had time to compose his thoughts, and calm down the pa.s.sionate impulses that swayed him. He walked for above an hour his weary round, stopping at times to gaze on the splendid tapestries which, on the walls, represented certain incidents of the _aeneid_. The faint, far-away sounds of the band, which performed during the supper of the king, occasionally met his ear, and he could not help contrasting the scene which they accompanied with the wild and terrible incidents then going forward at Paris. His mind ever balanced and vacillated between two opinions. Were they right who maintained the supremacy of the royal cause, and the inviolability of that princely state whose splendours were such a shock to misery! Or had the grievances of the people a real ground--were there great wrongs to be redressed, cruel inequalities to be at least compromised? How much had he listened to on either side?

What instincts and prejudices were urged for this! what strength of argument enlisted to support that! And he himself, what a position was his!--one of a corps whose very boast it was to reject all save of ancient lineage! What could he adduce as his claim to high descent? If they questioned him to-morrow, how should he reply? What meant his t.i.tle of Chevalier? might he not be arraigned as a pretender, a mere impostor for a.s.suming it? If the Count Dillon decided that he should challenge Maurepas, might not his claim to gentle blood be litigated? And what a history should he give if asked for the story of his life! From these thoughts he rambled on to others, scarcely less depressing: the cause of the king, of the very monarchy itself. Bold as the pretensions, high as the language was of those about the court, the members of the royal family exhibited the most intense anxiety. Within view of the palace windows, in that same week, tumultuous a.s.semblages had taken place, and thousands of men pa.s.sed in solemn procession to the place where the 'States General' had appointed for their meeting. The menacing gestures, the wild and pa.s.sionate words, all so unlike what formerly had marked such demonstrations, were terribly significant of the change that had come over public opinion. Over and over had Gabriel predicted all this to him. Again and again had he impressed upon him that a time was coming when the hard evils of poverty would arouse men to ask the terrible question, Why are we in wretchedness while others revel in excess?' On that day, and coming it is,' said he, 'all the brain-spun theories of statecraft will be thrown aside like rubbish, and they alone will be listened to who are men of action.' Was this dark prophecy now drawing nigh to accomplishment? were these the signs of that dread consummation?

Gabriel had told him that the insane folly and confidence of those about the court would be the greatest peril of the monarchy. 'Mark my words,'

said he, 'it will be all insolence and contempt at first, abject terror and mean concession after.' Was not the conduct of De Breze a very type of the former? he had not even a word of pa.s.sing courtesy for the brave fellow who wounded and exhausted, stood there waiting like a lackey.

Gerald was startled by the sudden opening of a door; and, as he turned, he saw a figure which he speedily recognised as the brother of the king, or, as he was called in court phrase, 'Monsieur.'

'Are you Maurice de Courcel' asked he, addressing Gerald hastily.