The Eagle of the Empire: A Story of Waterloo, Cyrus Townsend Brady [best thriller books to read .txt] 📗

was surprised when the old Marquis volunteered any information to the likes of me."

"I must see the Marquis at once; with your permission, of course."

"You have it," returned the other, smiling. "You are not yet reinstated in the regiment, and, so far as I am concerned, you are free to go and come as you will."

"He is not here now, I believe?"

"No. He turned over the command to me temporarily. He is driving out into the country, going out to the gap to reconnoiter for himself, I take it, but he will be back before nightfall, and meanwhile you have much to do. We want to get you well fed, to get some good French wine into you, to put the blood into your veins and color into your cheeks, to give you a bath, to get you clothing—everything," said the generous old veteran.

CHAPTER XVIII ALMOST A GENTLEMAN

"Will you tell the Lieutenant-Colonel, the Marquis d'Aumenier, that an officer returned from the wars desires to see him?" said Marteau to the footman who answered the door at the Governor's palace.

"So many wandering officers want to see His Excellency," said the servant superciliously, "that I have instructions to require further enlightenment before I admit any to his presence."

"Say to your master," replied the other, his face flushing at the insolence of the servant, "that one from the village of Aumenier craves an audience on matters of great importance."

"And even that will scarcely be sufficient," began the lackey.

"Enough!" thundered Marteau. "Carry my message to him instantly," he said fiercely, "or I shall throw you aside and carry it myself."

The servant looked at him a moment, and not relishing what he saw, turned on his heel and disappeared.

"His Excellency will see you, sir," he said, in a manner considerably more respectful when he returned a few moments later. "This way, sir. His Excellency is in the drawing-room, having finished his dinner. What name shall I announce?" he asked, his hand on the door.

"Announce no one," was the curt reply. "Open the door. I will make myself known."

The lackey threw open the door. Marteau entered the room and closed the door behind him. The drawing-room of the Governor's palace was brilliantly illuminated. The Governor was receiving the officers of the garrison and the principal inhabitants of the city that night, but it was yet early in the evening, and none of them had arrived. The young officer had purposely planned his visit at that hour, in order that he might have a few moments' conversation with the Marquis before the invited guests arrived.

There were five people gathered about the fireplace, all engrossed in pleasant conversation apparently. It was the second of March, and the weather made the fire blazing on the hearth very welcome. Four of the five people in the room were men; the fifth person was a woman. It was she whose attention was first aroused by the sound of the closing of the door. She faced about, her glance fell upon the newcomer, a cup which she held in her hand fell to the floor, the precious china splintering into a thousand fragments, her face turned as white as the lace of her low evening gown.

"Marteau!" she exclaimed in almost an agonized whisper.

"Mademoiselle," answered the soldier, bowing profoundly.

He was beautifully dressed in the nearest approach to the latest fashion that the best tailor in Grenoble could offer—thanks to the Major's purse—and, although his most becoming attire was not a uniform, his every movement betrayed the soldier, as his every look bespoke the man.

"And who have we here?" asked the oldest man of the group, the Marquis d'Aumenier himself, the attention of all being attracted to the newcomer by the crash of the broken china and the low exclamation of the young woman which none had made out clearly.

"By gad!" bellowed out with tremendous voice a stout old man, whose red face and heavy body contrasted surprisingly with the pale face, the lean, thin figure of the old Marquis, "I am damned if it isn't the young Frenchman that held the ch�teau with us. Lad," he cried, stepping forward and stretching out his hand, "I am glad to see you alive. I asked after you, as soon as I came back to France, but they told me you were dead."

"On the contrary, as you see, sir, I am very much alive, and at Sir Gervaise Yeovil's service as always," said Marteau, meeting the Englishman's hand with his own, touched by the other's hearty greeting, whose genuineness no one could doubt. "And this gentleman?" he went on, turning to a young replica of the older man, who had stepped to his father's side.

"Is my son, Captain Frank Yeovil, of King George's Fifty-second Light Infantry. By gad, I am glad to have him make your acquaintance. He is going to marry the Marquis' niece here—your old friend—when they can settle on a day. You had thoughts in that direction yourself, I remember," he went on, in his bluff way, "but I suppose you have got bravely over them by now," he laughed.

"I have resigned myself to the inevitable, monsieur," answered Marteau with a calmness that he did not feel.

He did not dare to look at the Countess Laure as he spoke. He could not have commanded himself if he had done so. His lips were compressed and his face was paler than before. The girl saw it. She had watched him, fascinated. The Englishman, young, frank, sunny-haired, gallant, stepped up to him, shook him by his unwilling hand.

"I am glad to know you," he said. "I have heard how you saved my betrothed's life and honor, and held the ch�teau. I have longed to meet you, to thank you."

"And I you," said Marteau. "You English are frank. I shall be likewise," he added. "It was not thus I wanted to meet you, monsieur, not in a drawing-room, in this peaceful dress, but—on the field."

"I understand," said the Englishman, sobered a little by the other's seriousness. "And if the war had continued perhaps we might have settled the—er"—his eyes sought those of his fianc�e, but she was not looking at him—"our differences," he added, "in the old knightly way, but now——"

"Now it is impossible," assented Marteau, "since my Emperor and I are both defeated."

"Monsieur," broke in the high, rather sharp voice of the old Marquis, "that is a title which is no longer current in France. As loyal subjects of, the King the word is banished—like the man."

"I am but new to France, Monsieur le Marquis, and have not yet learned to avoid the ancient habit."

"And yet you are a Frenchman," commented the Marquis dryly. "You said you came from Aumenier. I did not catch your name, sir?"

"Marteau, at your service."

"One of the loyal Marteaux?"

"The last one, sir."

"And pray why are you new to France?"

"I have but two months since been released from an Austrian prison and an Austrian hospital."

"I made inquiry," said the Countess suddenly, the tones of her voice bespeaking her deep agitation, "I caused the records to be searched. They said you were dead, that you had been killed at the bridge of Arcis with the rest of your regiment."

"I was unfortunate enough to survive my comrades as you see, mademoiselle," said Marteau.

"And I thank God for that," said the Countess Laure. "I have never forgot what you did for me, and——"

"Nor has the memory of your interposition which twice saved my life escaped from my mind for a single instant, mademoiselle."

"Yes, it was very fine, no doubt, on the part of both of you," said Captain Yeovil, a little impatiently, because he did not quite see the cause of all this perturbation on the part of his betrothed; "but you are quits now, and for my part——"

"What I did for mademoiselle is nothing, monsieur. I shall always be in her debt," replied the Frenchman.

"Monsieur St. Laurent," said the Marquis, turning to the other occupant of the room, "my new adjutant, Monsieur Marteau," he added in explanation, "was there not a Marteau borne on the rolls of the regiment? I think I saw the name when I looked yesterday, and it attracted me because I knew it."

"Yes, your Excellency," said St. Laurent, "he was a Captain when he was detached."

"You were on service elsewhere, Monsieur mon Capitaine?" asked the Marquis.

"I was a Lieutenant-Colonel, your Excellency."

"And where and when?"

"On the day at Arcis. Made so by"—he threw up his head—"by him who cannot be named."

"Ah! Quite so," said the Marquis, helping himself to a pinch of snuff from a jeweled box, quite after the fashion of the old r�gime. He shut the box and tapped it gently. "There is, I believe, a vacancy in the regiment, a Captaincy. My gracious King, whom God and the saints preserve, leaves the appointment to me. It is at your service. I regret that I can offer you no higher rank. I shall be glad to have you in my command," he went on. "It is meet and right that you should be there. I and my house have been well served for generations by your house."

"I regret that I cannot accept your offer."

"Why not?" asked the Marquis haughtily. "It is not to every wandering officer that I would have made it."

"I should have to swear allegiance to your King, monsieur, and that I——"

"Enough," said the Marquis imperiously. "The offer is withdrawn. You may go, sir."

"I have a duty to discharge before I avail myself of your courteous permission," said the young man firmly.

"My uncle," said the girl, "you cannot dismiss Monsieur Jean Marteau in that cavalier fashion. It is due to him that I am here."

"No, curse me, Marquis," burst out Sir Gervaise, wagging his big head at the tall, French noble, "you don't know how much you owe to that young man. Why, even I would not have been here but for him."

"I am deeply sensible to the obligations under which he has laid me, both through the Comtesse Laure, and through you, old friend. I have just endeavored to discharge them. If there be any other way—— Monsieur is recently from prison—perhaps the state of his finances—if he would permit me——" continued the Marquis, who was not without generous impulses, it seemed.

"Sir," interrupted Marteau, "I thank you, but I came here to confer, not to receive, benefits."

"To confer, monsieur?"

"We Marteaux have been accustomed to render service, as the Marquis will recollect," he said proudly.

He drew forth a soiled, worn packet of papers. Because they had represented nothing of value to his captors they had not been taken. They had never left his person except during his long period of illness, when they had been preserved by a faithful official of the hospital and returned to him afterward.

"Allow me to return these to the Marquis," he said, tendering them.

"And what are these?" asked the old man.

"The title deeds to the Aumenier estates, monsieur."

"The grant is waste paper," said the Marquis contemptuously.

"Not so," was the quick answer. "I have learned that the acts of the late—of—those which were duly and properly registered before the—present king ascended the throne are valid. The estates are legally mine. You reject them. I——" he hesitated, he stepped over to the young woman—"I return them to you, mademoiselle. Her dowry, monsieur," he added, facing the Englishman, as he laid the packet down on the table by the side of the Countess Laure.

"Well, that's handsome of you," said the latter heartily.

"I cannot take them," ejaculated the young woman, just a touch of contempt for her obtuse English lover in her voice. "I—— They are legally his. We shall have no need——"

"Nonsense," burst out the young English officer. "They are rightfully yours. They were taken from you by an usurper who——"

"Monsieur!" cried Marteau sharply.

"Well, sir?"

"He who cannot be named by order of the king is not to be slandered by order of——"

"Whose order?"

"Mine," said Marteau.

"Indeed," answered the Englishman, his face flushing as he laid his hand on his sword—he was wearing his uniform.

"Steady, steady," cried the old Baronet, interposing between the two. "The lad's right. If we can't name Bonaparte, it is only fair that we shouldn't abuse him. And the girl's right, too. You have no need of any such dowry. Thank God I have got acres and pounds of my own for the two of you and all that may come after."

"It strikes me, gentlemen,"