The Companions of Jehu, Alexandre Dumas [great books of all time .txt] 📗
- Author: Alexandre Dumas
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Madame de Montrevel screamed, and fainted away. Various cries, expressive of diverse sentiments, echoed that of the mother.
From the interior came one of terror; they had all agreed to offer no resistance, and now some one had resisted. From the three young men came a cry of surprise—it was the first time such a thing had happened.
They rushed to their companion, expecting to find him reduced to pulp; but they found him safe and sound, laughing heartily, while the conductor, with clasped hands, was exclaiming: “Monsieur, I swear there were no balls; monsieur, I protest, they were only charged with powder.”
“The deuce,” said the young man, “don’t I see that? But the intention was good, wasn’t it, my little Edouard?” Then, turning to his companions, he added: “Confess, gentlemen, that he is a fine boy—a true son of his father, and brother of his brother. Bravo, Edouard! you’ll make a man some day!”
Taking the boy in his arms, he kissed him, in spite of his struggles, on both cheeks.
Edouard fought like a demon, thinking no doubt that it was very humiliating to be embraced by a man at whom he had just fired two pistols.
In the meantime one of the Companions had carried Edouard’s mother to the bank by the roadside a little distance from the diligence. The man who had kissed Edouard with so much affection and persistence now looked around for her.
“Ah!” cried he, on perceiving her, “Madame de Montrevel still unconscious? We can’t leave a woman in that condition, gentlemen. Conductor, take Master Edouard.” Placing the boy in Jérôme’s arms, he turned to one of his companions: “Man of precautions,” said he, “haven’t you smelling salts or a bottle of essence with you?”
“Here!” said the young man he had addressed, pulling a flask of toilet vinegar from his pocket.
“Good,” said the other, who seemed to be the leader of the band. “Do you finish up the matter with Master Jérôme; I’ll take charge of Madame de Montrevel.”
It was indeed time. The fainting fit was giving place to a violent nervous attack; spasmodic movements shook her whole body and strangled cries came from her throat. The young man leaned over her and made her inhale the salts.
Madame de Montrevel presently opened her frightened eyes, and called out: “Edouard! Edouard!” With an involuntary movement she knocked aside the mask of the man who was supporting her, exposing his face.
The courteous, laughing young man—our readers have already recognized him—was Morgan.
Madame de Montrevel paused in amazement at sight of those beautiful blue eyes, the lofty brow, and the gracious lips smiling at her. She realized that she ran no danger from such a man, and that no harm could have befallen Edouard. Treating Morgan as a gentleman who had succored her, and not as a bandit who had caused her fainting-fit, she exclaimed: “Ah, sir! how kind you are.”
In the words, in the tones in which she uttered them, there lay a world of thanks, not only for herself, but for her child.
With singular delicacy, entirely in keeping with his chivalric nature, Morgan, instead of picking up his fallen mask and covering his face immediately, so that Madame de Montrevel could only have retained a fleeting and confused impression of it—Morgan replied to her compliment by a low bow, leaving his features uncovered long enough to produce their impression; then, placing d’Assas’ flask in Madame de Montrevel’s hand—and then only—he replaced his mask. Madame de Montrevel understood the young man’s delicacy.
“Ah! sir,” said she, “be sure that, in whatever place or situation I see you again, I shall not recognize you.”
“Then, madame,” replied Morgan, “it is for me to thank you and repeat, ‘How kind you are.’”
“Come, gentlemen, take your seats!” said the conductor, in his customary tone, as if nothing unusual had happened.
“Are you quite restored, madame, or should you like a few minutes more to rest?” asked Morgan. “The diligence shall wait.”
“No, that is quite unnecessary; I feel quite well, and am much indebted to you.”
Morgan offered Madame de Montrevel his arm, and she leaned upon it to reach the diligence. The conductor had already placed little Edouard inside. When Madame de Montrevel had resumed her seat, Morgan, who had already made his peace with the mother, wished to do so with the son.
“Without a grudge, my young hero,” he said, offering his hand.
But the boy drew back.
“I don’t give my hand to a highway robber,” he replied. Madame de Montrevel gave a start of terror.
“You have a charming boy, madame,” said Morgan; “only he has his prejudices.” Then, bowing with the utmost courtesy, he added, “A prosperous voyage, madame,” and closed the door.
“Forward!” cried the conductor.
The carriage gave a lurch.
“Oh! pardon me, sir!” exclaimed Madame de Montrevel; “your flask!”
“Keep it, madame,” said Morgan; “although I trust you are sufficiently recovered not to need it.”
But Edouard, snatching the flask from his mother’s hands, flung it out of the window, crying: “Mamma doesn’t receive presents from robbers.”
“The devil!” murmured Morgan, with the first sigh his Companions had ever heard him give. “I think I am right not to ask for my poor Amélie in marriage.” Then, turning to his Companions, he said: “Well, gentlemen, is it finished?”
“Yes,” they answered with one voice.
“Then let us mount and be off. Don’t forget we have to be at the Opera at nine o’clock this evening.”
Springing into his saddle, he was the first to jump the ditch, reach the river, and there unhesitatingly took the ford which the pretended courier had pointed out on Cassini’s map.
When he reached the opposite bank, followed by the other young men, d’Assas said to him: “Say, didn’t your mask falloff?”
“Yes; but no one saw my face but Madame de Montrevel.”
“Hum!” muttered d’Assas. “Better no one had seen it.”
Putting their horses to a gallop, all four disappeared across the fields in the direction of Chacource.
On arriving the next day, toward eleven in the morning, at the Hôtel des Ambassadeurs, Madame de Montrevel was astonished to find, instead of Roland, a stranger awaiting her. The stranger approached her.
“Are you the widow of General de Montrevel, madame?” he asked.
“Yes, monsieur,” replied Madame de Montrevel, not a little astonished.
“And you are looking for your son?”
“Yes; and I do not understand, after the letter he wrote me—”
“Man proposes, the First Consul disposes,” replied the stranger, laughing. “The First Consul has disposed of your son for a few days, and has sent me to receive you in his stead.”
Madame de Montrevel bowed.
“To whom have I the honor of speaking?” she asked.
“To citizen Fauvelet de Bourrienne, his first secretary,” replied the stranger.
“Will you thank the First Consul for me,” replied Madame de Montrevel, “and have the kindness to express to him the profound regret I feel at not being able to do so myself?”
“But nothing can be more easy, madame.”
“How so?”
“The First Consul has ordered me to bring you to the Luxembourg.”
“Me?”
“You and your son.”
“Oh! I am going to see General Bonaparte; I am going to see General Bonaparte!” cried the child, jumping for joy and clapping his hands. “What happiness!”
“Edouard, Edouard!” exclaimed Madame de Montrevel. Then, turning to Bourrienne, “You must excuse him, sir; he is a little savage from the Jura Mountains.”
Bourrienne held out his hand to the boy.
“I am a friend of your brother’s,” said he. “Will you kiss me?”
“Oh! willingly, sir,” replied Edouard. “You are not a thief, I know.”
“Why, no; I trust not,” replied the secretary, laughing.
“You must excuse him once again, sir. Our diligence was stopped on the way.”
“Stopped?”
“Yes.”
“By robbers?”
“Not exactly.”
“Monsieur,” asked Edouard, “when people take other people’s money, are they not thieves?”
“That is what they are generally called, my dear child.”
“There, you see, mamma.”
“Come, Edouard, be quiet, I beg of you.”
Bourrienne glanced at Madame de Montrevel, and saw clearly from the expression of her face that the subject was disagreeable to her; he therefore dropped it.
“Madame,” said he, “may I remind you that I have I orders to take you to the Luxembourg, and to add that Madame Bonaparte is expecting you?”
“Pray give me time to change my gown and to dress Edouard, sir.”
“How long will that take, madame?”
“Is half an hour too much to ask?”
“No, indeed; if half an hour really suffices I shall think you most reasonable.”
“Be easy, sir; it will be sufficient.”
“Well, madame,” said the secretary, bowing, “I will attend to an errand, and return in half an hour to place myself at your orders.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“Don’t be annoyed if I should be punctual.”
“I shall not keep you waiting.”
Bourrienne left. Madame de Montrevel dressed Edouard first, then herself, and was ready five minutes before Bourrienne reappeared.
“Take care, madame,” said Bourrienne laughing, “lest I tell the First Consul of your extreme punctuality.”
“What should I have to fear if you did?”
“He would keep you near him to give lessons in punctuality to Madame Bonaparte.”
“Oh!” exclaimed Madame de Montrevel, “you must forgive unpunctuality in a Creole.”
“But I believe you are a Creole also, madame.”
“Madame Bonaparte sees her husband every day,” said Madame de Montrevel, laughing, “whereas I am to see the First Consul for the first time.”
“Come, mother, let us go!” said Edouard.
The secretary drew aside to allow Madame de Montrevel to pass out. Fifteen minutes later they had reached the Luxembourg.
Bonaparte occupied the suite of rooms on the ground floor to the right. Josephine’s chamber and boudoir were on the first floor; a stairway led from the First Consul’s study to her room.
She was expecting Madame de Montrevel, for as soon as she saw her she opened her arms as to a friend. Madame de Montrevel had stopped respectfully at the door.
“Oh! come in, come in, madame!” said Josephine. “To-day is not the first that I know you; I have long known you through your excellent son, Roland. Shall I tell you what comforts me when Bonaparte leaves me? It is that Roland goes with him; for I fancy that, so long as Roland is with him, no harm will befall him. Well, won’t you kiss me?”
Madame de Montrevel was confused by so much kindness.
“We are compatriots, you know,” continued Josephine. “Oh! how well I remember M. de la Clémencière, and his beautiful gardens with the splendid fruit. I remember having seen a young girl who seemed its queen. You must have married very young, madame?”
“At fourteen.”
“Yes, you could not have been older to have a son of Roland’s age. But pray sit down.”
She led the way, making a sign to Madame de Montrevel to sit beside her.
“And that charming boy,” she said, pointing to Edouard, “is he also your son?” And she gave a sigh. “God has been prodigal to you, madame, and as He has given you all you can desire, will you not implore Him to send me a son.”
She pressed her lips enviously to Edouard’s forehead.
“My husband will be delighted to see you, he is so fond of your son, madame! You would not have been brought to me in the first instance, if he were not engaged with the minister of police. For that matter,” she added, laughing, “you have arrived at an unfortunate moment; he is furious!”
“Oh!” cried Madame de Montrevel, frightened; “if that is so, I would rather wait.”
“No, no! On the contrary, the sight of you will calm him. I
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