The Missourian Part 39

"He says to wait," doggedly repeated a cuira.s.sier.

"Yes, wait," Driscoll pleaded suddenly. "Just a minute, before I go, before we both go, perhaps,"--he thought in a flash that it might be a last word from Jacqueline--"perhaps, gentlemen, he, he has something to tell me."

But Ney's head, moving weakly on the pillow, was a negative.

The prisoner's voice grew firm again.

"Then hurry up!" he ordered in the old querulous drawl. "Don't you know I'm in a hurry?"

Ney opened his eyes as he heard the shuffling of feet. Men were carrying out the prisoner. With feeble anger he brushed aside the hand of a cuira.s.sier who was trying to staunch the blood at his groin.

"I--I----" His lips barely moved.

The cuira.s.sier sprang to his feet. He looked to his fellows, spoke to them. Puzzled, mystified, they rushed to the door and barred the way.

"We don't know why we came," stammered one, "and he can't speak. But his signs are enough for us. It's, it's----"

"It's something to do with the American," declared a second cuira.s.sier.

Dupin pounded back his half unsheathed blade. Brusquely he wheeled and faced the colonel of Dragoons. "Lopez," he roared, "what was that message?"

"N-nothing, mi coronel, absolutely."

"If it was from Maximilian, I'd know it to be a pardon, and not blame you. But I recognized the marshal's seal, and that's different."

Lopez blanched, yet insisted again that the message was nothing.

"Besides, senor," he added, "I do not take orders from His Excellency, the marshal."

"But _I_ do," thundered Dupin. "And I see them obeyed too. Oh, you can protest to your Emperor afterwards, my royal guardsman, if you want to, but a marshal of France is the law when I am near."

Grunting contemptuously, Dupin turned to the bedside. The cuira.s.siers had gathered cobwebs from the rafters, and were dressing the wound.

Michel tossed and groaned in the beginning of delirium. Dupin muttered with vexation, but he took hold of the lad's wrist, and firmly closed his hand over it.

"Listen," he said, very distinctly, putting into his tones every timbre of quiet, compelling will. "Listen, hear me!"

Slowly the feverish man grew still.

"Hear me," said Dupin. "There are two questions--two, only two. You are to answer them.--You will shake your head, 'Yes,' or 'No'--do you hear me?"

The Cha.s.seur's eyes opened wide, and they were calm.

"Good, that's the brave gentleman! Now then, steady. The first question: Shall we shoot this American?"

Slowly, painfully, the head rocked on the pillow, from one side to the other.

"It's 'No'!" cried a score of men.

"Silence!" roared the Tiger. "Now, the second question: Does this order come from Marshal Bazaine?"

Michel's chin sank to his breast. He groaned, he could not lift it again.

"Yes, thank----" Ney himself, his voice!

Dupin swung round. "Colonel Lopez," he ordered savagely, "you will turn your prisoner over to Sergeant Ney, at once, sir! Open your mouth, you dog, and every Dragooning dandy of a Mexican among you----"

The Tiger's pistols were drawn. His whelps looked hopeful. The cuira.s.siers bristled in sympathy.

Cracking his finger nails, fawning to the marrow, Lopez agreed.

"Unbind the prisoner," ordered Dupin.

"Thank G.o.d!" came faintly from the bed.

CHAPTER XXIX

THE WHISPER OF THE SPHINX

"La politique, premiere des sciences inexactes."

--_Emile Augier._

Jacqueline had divined in Bazaine another obstacle to her mission. And yet it seemed preposterous that he should not be her staunchest ally, since Napoleon had found a marshal's baton for him in his knapsack, just as he had transformed his own policeman's club into a sceptre.

Nevertheless Jacqueline had her doubts, and they were homage to her s.e.x.

In other words, she returned to Mexico to find that His Excellency had married again.

The very day after her arrival she called to see her dear friend, now Madame la Marechale. The two women were hardly more than girls, but who shall fathom the depth of their guile? They kissed each other affectionately on the cheek, and while the marshal was in the other room, reading the packet Jacqueline had brought him from Napoleon, they expressed earnestly their joy at meeting again.

When Bazaine returned, madame rose to leave them to their "stupid state affairs." The marshal smiled, knowing how ravenous was his bride for the same stupid affairs of state, but Jacqueline agreed that indeed they were wearisome. Of course she might tell His Excellency much about Paris, but as to politics--and her little shrug bespoke a Sahara of ignorance.

In the packet delivered by Jacqueline, the Sphinx had by no means turned oracle, and Bazaine wished to know what his crafty master would have said between the lines. But the first topic of their conference was Driscoll.

"Your prisoner is incommunicado then?" said she.

"Have no fears, he is comfortable, here in this very house?"

"He has sent no word to Maximilian of his arrival?"

"Not as yet, mademoiselle."

"And why not, pray?"

"Because I antic.i.p.ated the honor of seeing you before permitting him so much. I must know the campaign better. A plain soldier is dense at guessing, mademoiselle, while you--you have talked with Napoleon.

If----"