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.^^^e^>-^K 



THE RED NEIGHBOUR 



BY THB SAMB AUTHOR. 



Crown 8vo, 6s. each. 

FORTUNE'S CASTAWAY 

is a Story of the comings and goings of the ill- 
starred Duke of Monmouth between England and 
the Low Coimtries. ("Strong in incident, and 
particularly well written." — AiAenaum.) 

HIS INDOLENCE OF ARRAS 

is a romance of the early years of the reign of Louis 
XIV. The BtwkmansaAd of it: " An ingenious and 
absorbingly interesting plot, holding up to the end 
a touch of mystery of a variety new to the cape and 
sword novel." 

THE HEARTH OF HDTTON 

is a tale of the '45, following the march of Prince 
Charles Edward from the Border to Derby and back 
to Falkirk. The Bookman said of it : " Imagined 
and written in the true spirit of high romance." 



WILLIAM BUCKWOOD AND SONS, 
EDMBURaH AND LONDON. 



THE RED NEIGHBOUR 



BY 



W. J. ECCOTT 

AUTHOR OF 
*HIS INDOLENCE OP ARRAS,' 'FORTUNE'S CASTAWAY,' 
'THE HEARTH OF HUTTON* . 



WILLIAM BLACKWOOD AND SONS 

EDINBURGH AND LONDON 

MCMVIII 



AU Rights rmfvd 



The Portrait of The Red Neighbour 

is drawn by the 

Cavaliere Innocenti, Paris. 



CONTENTS. 



CHAP. 

I. VOB A LOVE-PHILTRB .... 

n. DOOTOB LEYANI SEEKS TO BUT A PBAOTICE . 
m. TOO OLD FOB DOLLS «... 
IV. H0NSIBT7B '^FOBAas'' .... 

V. TWO OF A TBADB .... 

VL THE GBBATEST WAB MINISTEB SAVE ONE 
Vn. THE COUNT PATS HIS TAILOB'S BILL . 

Tm. love's selfishness .... 
iz. the mabquis de polignac visits a fbisoneb 

X. A SENSE OF CHIVALBT .... 
XL THE QUESTION EXTBAOBDINABT 
Xn. IN FUBSUIT OF AN IDEA 
Xm. THE mLLS OF MEAUX .... 
XIV. AN AMBUSCADE AT MONTMIBAIL 
XV. THE PlQXnS OF BAB-LE-DUC . 
XVL THE CLOISTEBS OF ST GENGOULT 
XVn. THE MABQUIS DISOBETS. 
XVin. THE BED NBIGHBOUB TAKES CABE OF FHILIPPB 
XIX. THE GBOWN-UP CHILD WHO MADE FABLES 
XX. IN FBBIL OF HIS MAJESTT'S OFFICBBS . 
XXL MONSIEUB BOCAL WISHES TO ASSIST THE MABQUISE 
XXn. THE TOUNG LADT WHO WAS LEFT BEHIND AT MEUDQISC 



PAOI 

1 

7 
17 



39 

46 

64 

65 

70 

79 

87 

96 

106 

116 

122 

136 

139 

147 

156 

164 



VI 



Contents. 



ZXIIL TINTORIN ASSISTS THE RX7NAWATS 
XXIV. ABOUT CLOTILDE'S LOVE-LETTEBS 
XXV. THE MOTHER SUPERIOR PURSX7ES 
2UCVI. A TOWER IN GHIlONS 
XXVII. THE INGRATITUDE OF THE TOUNG 
XXYin. BOGAL PLATS TRUMPS 
XXIX. "LA SAMARITAINE" DOES NOT GO 
XXX. "FOR THE POOR— PROM JEANNE" 
XXXI. THE PLAN OP NANCY 
XXXn. THE STORES OF STRASSBURG 
XXXni. THE MARQUIS TURNS TO SEEK HIS WIFE 
XXXIY. THE COUNT DE ROUBAIX FINDS TRACES 

MARQUISE 
XXXV. MONSIEUR BOCAL PLATS "PHILIPPE" 
XXXVL DR LEVANI TO THE RESCUE . 
XXXVn. A NIGHT IN THE FOREST 
XXXVni. ON THE VERT EVE OF VICTORY 
XXXIX. JETSAM OF WAR 
XL. IN THE DAWN 

XLI. FOR THE BRIDGE AT ALTBNHBIM 
XLn. THE BRIDGE OF LIFE AND DEATH 
XUn. THE REAL DUEL IS OVER 



OF THE 



177 
184 
191 

197 
208 
214 
220 
226 
232 
242 
248 

256 
265 
269 
276 
283 
290 
299 
306 
315 
319 



THE RED NEIGHBOUR 



CHAPTER I. 

FOR A LOVE-PHILTRE. 

Qaston, Marquis de Polignac, was still asleep. But for 
the wooden blinds, all but closed at the casements, the 
bedroom had been flooded with the light of a Paris 
summer morning. The Marquise, Marie Qabrielle, in 
her white night-robe, moved with noiseless step to inter- 
pose a screen between the sleeper and the windows, and 
then sat down upon the bedstep, one arm half -encircling 
his pillow, to gaze upon his face with tender solicitude. 
In the half-lights it acquired a pallor and the hollows 
below his eyes a purole tint, indicative of strenuous 
days and arduous nights spent in too rijpd succession 
in the service of the War Department oi his Majesty, 
Louis Quatorze. 

For the many life is played out before a very few set 
scenes of furniture and trappings, which will, in various 
new conjunctions, form, the present liferenters gone, 
backgrounds for other lives, figuring the whiles be- 
tween in the terse and sordid descriptive phrases of an 
auctioneer's catalogue. Yet how exactly our material 
environment reflecte our fashion of mind, as it does the 
condition of our purse! And how that environment 
eontrols and modifies our words, our actions, and the 
thoughts that precede all ! 



2 The Red Neighbour. 

There were many objects of great price in the noble 
bedchamber of the Polignacs, but none more costly than 
the great bed itself, of some rare foreign wood inlaid 
with ivory, hung with two great curtains of silver moire, 
and two head curtains, which for a century or more we 
have called hormea grdcea, of the same delicately rich 
fabric, all lined with pale blue taffetaa Even the 
valances were of silver moire garnished with fringes of 
gold and silver thread, and at the back of the bed 
gleamed from its pale-blue ground the arms of Polignac 
embroidered in gold. 

Against the blue and silvery dove colours of the cur- 
tains the face of the Marquise, with its exquisite rosy 
pinkness, poised on the slender neck which emerged 
from triple filmy folds of Point de Venise, might have 
suggested a perfect Malmaison carnation in a slender 
vase of white porcelain, to which idea the very nostrils 
of the imaginary visitant would have contributed, for 
the fragrance of those flowers filled the chamber, wafted 
by the morning breeze from the balcony without the 
casements. 

One would like to think that goodness alone was the 
true beautifier of woman, and the true anodyne to Time, 
if it were not as partially true that mere naughtiness 
keeps others youthiJful. Tlie Marquise was thirty-two as 
the calendar counts age. More, she was mother to a tall 
girl who was verging on fourteen. But she looked, with 
her blonde hair and her rose-pink complexion, twenty- 
four at most. To her husband alone she unfolded the 
petals of her love. If she knew, as who could not in 
that gay court, of the intrigues and shamelessness of 
other ladies, she never spoke of them, and her own in- 
nocence of thought had led her along a blameless path. 

She watched her husband with a trouble in her 
beautiful eyes that was no stranger to them. He slept 
soundly the sleep of the tired man who has done his 
best. Indeed of late she had slept the more lightly. 
In the night-watches one hears plain truths from the 
voice of conscience. Daylight and the round of pleasure 
tended to obscure the edges of the truths and make her 



For a Love-philtrc. 3 

forget, or toes a rebellious head and say, '^ It is naught ! 
Whai matter if I have not told him of it ? " 

The trouble in her eyes was not at the possession of 
her little secret. Nor did it spring from doubt of his 
loyalty to her, but from doubt of his love. 

The world about her lived for pleasure. Whv, then, 
was she so often alone at YersaiUes, at Fontainebleau, at 
Marly ? Why was he so absent even in her company ? 
The affidrs of state ! Affairs of state had sent Monsieur 
Foucquet, the Minister whose device was a squirrel and 
whose motto, " Whither may I not mount ? " to PigneroL 
Affairs of state were for old or crafty men, like Colbert 
or Louvois, who had no young wives to cosset. 

Ambition in a soldier? Ah\ That Marie Qabrielle, 
bom a De Lusignan, could understand But zeal for 
the king, expended in poring over lists of troops, bills of 
forage and munitions of war, was quite incomprehensible. 

What thoughts then were those that lay so securely 
locked behind the massive frontlets of his brow, the 
creases in which were scarcely smoothed out by kindly 
sle^, only to reappear on waking ? 

What were his inmost thoughts, his actuating motives ? 
Had his love in fact grown cold, and if so, for what 
reason? 

Those questions she had asked herself so often. Had 
she but put them aside as unanswerable till time found 
answers to them, it had been well enough. But of 

Eatience, the great gift of heaven to woman, she had 
ut a small store. Patience was for the bourgeoisie, 
and the commonalty. No one had ever said to Marie 
Ghtbrielle de Lusignan de Polignac — " Have patience ! " 

In the dressing-room adjoining the stir of the d^ had 
begun — ^f or the ser vanta The Marquise had no dimculiy 
in recognising the voices of Pierre, the valet, and Nanette 
her maid, widiing one another good-day as they prepiured 
for their particular cares. "How their tongues run! 
One woula wonder what they can find to sav to one 
another," thought the Marquise. She added to herself — 
"What, indeed, shall I find to say to Gaston when he 
wakes?" 



4 The Red Neighbour. 

The folding-doors between chamber and chamber were 
so thin after all. What if they began to talk coarse 
scurrilities, such as Paris servants often did when they 
were by themselves ? Pierre was an irreproachable valet 
in presence of his superiors, Nanette demure and modest 
as a mistress could desire, but what in effect were they, 
left to themselves ? 

The Marquise was on the point of giving them warn- 
ing of her wakefulness when she heard something which 
stayed her movement 

" Last night ? " Nanette asked. 

" It is quite true ! The archers arrested her, and she 
is now in the Conciergerie ! " 

"Ciel! For poisoning? She will be put to the 
Question? How horrible, . . . and a woman too!" 

" It is the same thing, Nanette, man or woman, who- 
ever does such things is worthy of the Question ! She 
will be red enough before they finish with her ! " 

The Marquise sat upright and listened with both ears 
— " Red ? " Why should Pierre so underline the word ? 
Who was it that had been arrested and was called 
'red'?" 

"She has been too clever with her 'Inheritance 
Powder,'" Pierre went on. 

" Bon Dieu ! Inheritance Powder ! What is that ? " 

" Nothing to do with you, Nanette. She has taught 
some of the ladies too much, it seems. It is not good 
for women to know too much ! " 

" All very fine. Monsieur Pierre ! Do you think I am 

?)ing to marry you if you have any secrets from me. 
ou will get neither me nor my box of savings." 

"Marriage, for example, marriage is quite another 
affair!" said Pierre, and the Marquise could picture 
Pierre's bland face and expressive grimace as he resumed 
his opening and shutting of drawera 

But Nanette was not to be put off with shrugs. 

"A fig for your 'Inheritance Powder.' Whatever it 
was I warrant she made a lot of money out of it. Who 
will get that?" 

" The archers or the provost ! " 



For a Love-philtre. 5 

" And who sent her to the Conciergerie ? '* 

" Some say it was Madame Dufresnoy ! " 

"That little shrew ! The wife of a mere derk !" 

The Marquise pictured the expressive gesture of 
Nanette. 

"It is/* said the loftjr Pierre, "that women know 
nothing, absolutely nothing." 

The Marquise in her chamber heaved a sigh. 

"It is," retorted Nanette, "because women do not 
steep themselves in nastiness like you others, the men ! " 

"Now you are talking nonsense, Nanette, and you 
had better go and fetch madame's hot water, or you will 
get into trouble ! '* 

"Well! Ishallaskmadame!" 

"What! Ask madame! She does not know Paria 
Did she ever relate a scandalous tale or listen to one ? 
No ! I will tell you. The Dufresnoy is the friend, you 
understand, of Monsieur de Louvois, the great war 
minister. Last year there was a monstrous conspiracy 
formed against him. They hung De Traumont tor it. 
But there was something beneath it all which they did 
vHb fathom. Monsieur de Louvois made Madame 
Dufresnoy a lady of the bedchamber; he gave her 
admission to the grandes entries. Imagine if Louvois 
had died ! It would have made a great difference ! " 
. "Surely!" 

"And Madame Dufresnoy heard of all the fine ladies 
in Paris goin^ to the Red Neighbour ! " 

The Marquise Marie GabrieUe clenched her little hands 
tightly. "The Red Neighbour in the Conciergerie!" 
A^d she asked herself why. 

Pierre went on. "And then she noticed — she is a 
clever woman if she is but a clerk's wife . . ." 

" She noticed, my Pierre ? " The wheedling Nanette ! 

" She noticed that things happened ! " 

" What, for example ? " 

" Some of the husbands died ! " 

"Ah! . . ." Nanette was filled with horror . . . and 
curiosity. 

" They died of the ' Inheritance Powder.' " 



6 The Red Neighbour. 

" And they will put her to the Question ? " 

"Without doubt!" 

"Gracious! Then she will tell all their names! Is 
it not so, Pierre?" 

The Marquise's ears heard no more. Her brain was 
too busy. The Red Neighbour was in the Conciergerie. 
She would be put to the torture. She would confess the 
names of all her clients — all, and amongst them that 
of Marie Gabrielle, Marquise de Polignac — ^yes! The 
innocent would be confoimded with the ffuilty in one 
odious list of the accused. Those who had gone to the 
Red Neighbour for a fiafr-wash, a cosmetic, for a simple 
horoscope, for a love-philtre, for the elixir of youth, 
would all be caught in the same net with those who had 

Purchased the I^eritance Powders. No woman* would 
are to ask her dearest friend, for fear of hastening 
suspicion, if she also had been a customer of the Red 
Neighbour. 

T^e sickness of dread smote the Marquise. Prouder 
than most of the great ladies, but not less curious, she 
too had been to consult the wise woman, impelled by 
her very love for her lord to seek in mystery the secret 
causes of his coldness. And for this she had imperilled 
for ever her good name, even in her husband's ears, 
and run the risk of being branded with the profligate 
and the guilty as her husband's would-be poisoner — 
poison. . . . 

She swooned away in unmistakable fact, and slipped 
down by the bedside as her husband, dimly conscious of 
some stir, awoke. 

Could she have seen the look of consternation and of 
self-reproach that came over the face of the Marquis, she 
would have had no doubts left as to the strength of his 
love, nor censured him for too great a restraint in its 
manifestation. As he lifted her, imconscious, on to the 
bed and deftly and tenderly applied simple remedies, he 
breathed her name in whispers of passionate devotion, 
and imprinted such kisses upon her lips as would almost 
have wooed back Eurydice from the house of Orcus. 
It was not long before she came to, and, as her breath 



Dr Levani seeks to buy a Practice. 7 

came in short gasps, it was Ga — Ga — Gaston that her 
lips first fashioned into utterance, but with complete 
recovery came back the haimting fear that had pos- 
sessed her, and drove away from her lips the confession 
of simple folly, which would have brought immediate 
forgiveness and help from the beloved husband at her 
side. The proverbs of ten nations well with wisdom, 
showing how easy it is at the beginning to retrieve 
mistakes by a plain confession, but, if it were customary 
to rule one's conduct by them, there would be no pro- 
verba The Marquise contented herself with the heat 
of the mominff for explanation, and wrapped herself in 
his caresses, while makmg up her mind to be ruled, not 
by the deepest rules of love, but by the mere index- 
finger of expediency, which more often than not points 
the wayfarer into the trackless wilderness of evasion 
and ruin. 



CHAPTER II. 

DOCTOR LEVANI SEEKS TO BUY A PRACTICE. 

There is a little comer of old Paris, older than any one 
can tell. It lies between the Pont Neuf and the Rue de 
la Barillerie. It is bounded on the right by the Quai 
des Orf^vres and on the left by the Quai des Morfondus. 
It was here that Messieurs the Romans du^ a great hole 
in the ground. They set strong walls about it. The 
French kings arose and made the walls stronger and 
built over the hole, built a palace beside it, and a great 
church. The hole, divided into many dungeons, to^ure- 
chambers, and other necessary aids to justice, came to 
be called the Conciergerie, the prison for debtors and for 
criminals, and it has never been empty. Its very mortar 
was minded with the blood of slaves, its every stone 
exudes the stored -up tears of coimtless prisoners. Its 



8 The Red Neighbour. 

towers, its courtyard, the dark and noisome corridor by 
which they enter, carry to the soul sadness and aflftight. 
Every generation from the days of the Romans, every 
order of society, every sect, has furnished its impost 
of indwellers. The great who aroused the enmity of 
princes, such as the Count de Montgomery, or the 
Mar6chale d'Ancre, and those in whose breasts kings 
aroused enmity, like the sussassin Ravaillac, have entered 
its gate of despair to emerge only when the executioner's 
cart awaited them. Nameless multitudes of lowlier bom 
or less notable unfortimates, rebellious peasants from the 

Provinces, and street brigands of the Court of Miracles, 
ave gone into it only to succumb to the attentions of 
Monsieur Peste de la Conciergerie, the son of Monsieur 
Filth and Madame Darkness. It is. not good for our 
friends, the conquered on the battlefield of life. 

A man stood at the gate of despair, talking in a 
matter-of-fact tone to the concierge, merely an under- 
strapper, you understand. The real " concierge," whose 
style was Concierge-Bailli, was an important functionary, 
and stood in lieu of the full-fledged governor that the 
Bastille and Vincennes possessed. But these places were 
almost residential in their character, dignified abodes, to 
which royalty sent its friends in its own carriage in 
fulfilment of its invitations, conveyed in the shape of a 
lettre de cachet. One never refused these invitations, 
and very seldom shortened one's stay, which was during 
his Majesty's pleasure, but one did not anticipate ex- 
treme rigour. On the contrary, one was sometimes- very 
handsomely treated. 

The man that stood without had a respectable but 
somewhat rusted appearance. He wore a black hat 
without a feather, a black but napless cloak, coat, vest, 
and breeches of brown velvet, much tarnished, black 
stockings of worsted, and stout buckled shoes. His head 
was adorned with a long flowing wig, and in his hand 
he carried a gold-headed cane. It was difficult to tell 
his age from his clean-shaven, sharp-featured face with 
its small ferrety eyes. But at a guess he was not over 
forty. 



Dr Levani seeks to buy a Practice. 9 

"It is impossible, Mr Doctor," the concierge, a heavily- 
built, beetle-browed personage was saying. "One can 
only visit a prisoner when one is armed with an order 
from the Mimster." 

"That is unfortunate, Mr Concierge. It is purely a 
matter of business. Any one might hear the conversa- 
tion. It is not that I want to assist her to escape. On 
the contrary. Besides, with such keepers as you — why, 
I wager you are as strong as Samson ! ' 

" Was he a concierge ? 

" Not exactly. He is said to have lifted the town-gates 
from their sockets and carried them off, however." 

" Parbleu ! It would take a strong man to lift these ! " 

"It is a matter of business!" repeated the doctor, 
tapping his pocket significantly. "But if you say I 
can t, well I must try Monsieur Colbert. So adieu ! Mr 
Concierge ! " 

" Stay a moment," said the other. " You are a doctor, 
you say ? " 
^ "Yes; Dr Levani!" 

" Ah ! One might say, for example, that we sent for 
you to cure the prisoner of a migraine, or ward off a 
fever?" 

"Certainly!" 

"But you must know, Mr Doctor, that there is an 
under-jailer. He would want a business persuasive also, 
no great matter, look you, and the head-jailer, without 
whom you could do nothing — the same thing, — you 
understand ? " The concierge looked at the doctor 
attentively as if appraising his possibilities. Dr Levani's 
face was as immobile as brass. He looked gravely at 
the concierge as if he were listening to his symptoms. 

" A question of crowns ! Are there any others ? I am 
not ricn enough to buy the Conciergerie." 

"There are others," said the concierge. But it is 
not necessary to inform them." 

"Come, then! Here is a crown for yourself. Now, 
introduce me to the imder-jailer, and I will make shift 
to see the lady I want." 

Ih" Levani gathered his cloak about him and went in. 



10 The Red Neighbour. 

The under-jailer was an insignificant fellow and took 
a livre (juite willingly. The head-jaUer was a very 
different individual, and not easily won : but the im- 
passive doctor had resort to another string of his lute. 

"Good-morning, Mr Head-jaUer. I am desirous of 
seeing one of your charges on a matter of business. 
How bad the light is here!" 

" It is not good, certainly. Who are you, pray ? " 

"I am Dr Levani. Why, man alive! what a terrible 
colour you have : surely you are ill ! " 

'' Living in this accursed hole does not make one look 
rosy!" 

" But one moment, my dear sir. Allow me to feel your 
pulse. In a trice he had a fat watch out of his fob 
with one hand and the jailer's wrist between the fingers 
of the other. " Ah I it is as I thought, the chloroasteries 
of the spleen are at fault. My fnend, I insist on your 
taking this pill. And here are three more. They are 
a wonderful empiric." 

" It is bitter enough," said the jailer. 

"Never mind, it is eflBicacious. I am so constituted 
that I no sooner see a fresh face than I begin to diagnose 
the symptoms I see in it. It is a wonderful dft the 
gift of dmgnosis." 

"Ah!" said the head-jailer, "I begin to feel better 
already. And now, sir, your business." 

" A trifling matter. I had almost forgotten it. I wish 
to see the lady they call the Red Neighbour. It is about 
the purchase of some of her effects. Five minutes on 
the outside of the grille, and you are welcome to hear 
eveiy word." 

"You call that a trifling matter. Saints above! If 
the Concierge-Bailli heard of it I should lose my place." 

" And what is that worth, may I ask, my dear sir ? " 

" Twenty livres a-month and board and lodgment." 

" So little ! and it is for this you immure yourself and 
your wife and children ? . . . Why, I would willingly 
engage an intelligent fellow like you at twice the wages. 
Listen, my friend. The lady is naturally somewhat 
upset at her sudden arrest. You have called me in to 



Dr Levani seeks to buy a Practice, ii 

prescribe some of my excellent pills, which yoa have 
found so efficacioua I am giving you a small commis- 
sion for the introduction. That is alL It is a matter 
of businesa" 

''There can be no harm," said the head-jailer as he 
took the crown piece. " Follow me ! She is in our best 
guest-chamber. I shall have to shut you in and stand 
outside myself to watch you through the little wicket.** 

The cell was above-ground: and a mere twilight 
proceeded from two narrow slits in the wall, out of 
reach, across both of which was a thick aggr^aticHi of 
cobweba 

Dr Levani bowed politely to the figure of a woman 
which emerged from the perfect gloom at the other end 
of the cell into the semi-obscurity where he stood. 

At all events one could easily divine why she was 
caUed"Red." 

Her hair made a bright luminous spot in the general 
dulness, a vivid tawny red, in which one almost expected 
to find blue depths. The texture of it was coarse, the 
surface glossy but without a ripple, and the great coils 
of it about her head spoke eloquently of its length. Her 
complexion was dear but pallid with the pallor of cme 
who lives almost entirely indoors, but her eyes, of a 
warm lively brown, had a certain arresting quality that 
lifted an otherwise coarsely handsome face above the 
mere buxomness of the HAllea Her person was scrupul- 
ously cared for and elegantly clothed, but no sumptuous- 
ness could disguise a squareness of shoulder, a breadth 
of chest and hips that bespoke great strength and a 

Slebeian origin, — a suggestion borne out by the large 
eshy though remarkably soft well-kept handa 

" The do(^r to see you," said the jailer, and dammed 
the door and opened the wicket with mechanical 
expertnesa 

"I hope madame wiU forgive the intrusion," Dr 
Levani began. "I am Dr Levani" 

"Quack!" said the Red Neighbour in a tone that 
did not belie her apparent origin. 

"Madame," — ^this in a tone of deprecation, — ^" merely 



12 The Red Neighbour. 

a humble brother of the craft of which you are so 
distinguished a practitioner." 

"And you have come?" 

"In one word, ... to buy your practice!" 

She came a step nearer with a movement that was 
almost a bound. 

She was as vigorous as a young panther. Dr Levani 
did not move a muscle. He stood calm and brazen-f a(^ 

She peered at him with her penetrating eyes, eyes 
that seemed to collect and radiate the light. 

"You have been a lackey?" 

" Madame has signal powers of observation," returned 
Levani, lowering his voice and rolling his eyes in the 
direction of the wicket. 

" Which are not for sale, Mr Doctor Levani. But come, 
my good man, what is it you want ? Old Beetle-brows 
over there will not let us talk all day." 

Levani was quite cool, and saw that she saw it. 
The surroundings, the being shut in a cell in the 
Conciergerie with a female panther, were not conducive 
to coolness, except that the cell itself was chilly, 
bone-chiDv. 

"First,' he said, "you are not likely to get out 
of here in a hurry!" 

"You are consoling! Well?" 

" Second, if anything is to get you out it is money I " 

" Quite wrong ! I diall go out when I like." 

Dr Levani 3irugged his shoulders. "You have a 
queer taste!" It was evident that he regarded this 
as bravado, for he went on, "Third, I am willing to 
find money — five himdred livres down, and another 
thousand in ten days." 

"And I ? What am I to do in return?" 

"Give me vour recipes!" 

"What? A hair- wash or so, an eternal bloom of 
youth, a dentifrice? Pooh!" 

" And the names of a few of your illustrious clients, 
wives of the farmers-general, and so forth I" 

She took two or three panther strides and came back. 

" You do not know the Red Neighbour ! You think 



Dr Levani seeks to buy a Practice. 13 

to make the bird sing, as your friends say in the 
Court of Miracles. I i^ould almost admire you for 

?our impudence, if impudence were not so conmion. 
t was not a bad idea. She laughed a low taunting 
laugh. ''But the Red Neighbour sell her clients' 
names! My faith! Faith of a poisoneress, as they 
call me! And for money? Fan, man! I am as 
rich as ever woman wished to be!" 

"It is possible to be rich," replied the unperturbed 
doctor, ''and not have five sous of small chaise. And 
it is as well to have an agent." 

"Whom one would never see again once he had 
the trade secrets!" 

"Suppose, — pardon the supposition, madame, — they 
put you to the Question!" 

"Let them try," she said, planting her hands on 
her hips. "Do you think I have not room here for 
a few quarts of water? The expression would shock 
my illustrious clients, as you call them. Tou do not 
know the Red Neighbour! But suppose!" 

"You might proclaim their names and get nothing 
but your pains for it. Whereas I offer you ready 
monOT, and a continuous supply of ready money." 

"IJou are very good, little man," she said tauntingly. 
"You are good enough, doubtless, for the little bour- 
geoisie, but not for the great game. That takes a 
woman. Pouf! No! My recipes I have swallowed. 
My papers ? I have none. My money is well bestowed 
and available at need. In short, how do you know I 
am not here of my own accord ? What is your address, 
however ? You are a sly-looking rascal. I might find 
use for you because you have not flattered me." 

"Rue Christine, Number 3." 

" Rue Christine, Number 3 ! " she repeated, " Sapristi ! 
Our little doctor is ambitious, it seems." 

"Time!" growled the head-jailer through the wicket, 
and threw open the door. 

" What, a&eady ! " said Levani regretfully. 

" Bring some one more amusing next time, Mr Jailer," 
she said. " Is my breakfast coming ? " 



14 The Red Neighbour. 

"In two moments, madame/' said the jailer as he 
conducted the doctor to the concierge. 

"A most interesting patient," said the doctor as he 
reached the street once more. "How strong the light 
is! And how fresh the air! Mon Dieu! I should 
not care to be there all day." 

But he did not extend his meditations to those who 
had been immured for weeka Pity and meditation 
were not his strongest characteristics. 

He took a turn or two in the street. There was 
plainly one thing to do, rely on human nature. Some 
of the illustrious clients would have heard by now the 
news of the internment of their "Red Neighbour." 
They would hear it from their maids when they brought 
the chocolate. They would become more and more 
nervous until the thought would strike them to buy her 
secrecy. They did not know what he knew, the curious 
kind of animal she was, — an animal that would not 
betray. They would come hovering about the Concier- 
gerie, like spiders and moths about a lamp, in disguises, 
in their maid's best clothes. All he needed was a point 
of observation, a watch-tower. Then hey for the 
practice! It would be his without buying. 

He took another turn of the street. An apartment to 
let — ^furnished. He spoke to the concierge of the house. 
It was on the first floor. Good! He could see it? 
"With pleasure!" A livre removed all traces of too 
much trouble. "So! Charming!" A window which 
commanded the street. "Dr Levani, No. 3 Rue Christine !" 
Should he pay the deposit now ? No need ! The pro- 
pri^taire would be callmg in two hours. He would take 
a survey of the apartment and see what more he needed. 
The concierge left him by himself. 

Dr Levani opened the casement wide and sat down to 
watch. It was a beautiful morning. The outlook was 
a trifle grim, perhaps. Gate of despair ! Grim pile the 
Conciergerie ! Tiens! A moth! Dr Levani altered 
his position to suit, and followed her with his two 
ferrety eyes. Yoimg ! Beautiful ! What shoes to 
walk in such a street! Dressed like a maid and 



Dr Levani seeks to buy a Practice. 15 

cloaked! Ah, yes, but what a carriage! Who could 
she be? 

Dr Levani resumed hat and cane and, making his 
excuse to the concierge, who looked carefuUy over him 
to make sure he had taken nothing from a room where 
everjHihing was heavy and large and old, went out into 
the street. 

Dr Levani crossed the street boldly and as boldly 
accosted the unknown. 

" Madame is evidently looking for some one ? Can I 
assist you ? " 

The fair unknown stopped and vouchsafed a glance 
suflBiciently haughty to proclaim rank. This was no 
wife of a farmer-general. 

" I am looking for the Conciergerie I " she said. 

" This is it, Madame la Marquise ! " he replied with an 
assumption at a venture of an old man's manner of 
slightly overdone deference. " You wish to see some one 
— ^the Concierge-Bailli, perhaps ? " 

"Not precisely! I hardly know — is there a head- 
jailer?" 

"Yes, Madame la Marquise. I have been speaking to 
him not an hour since. I am a doctor, and was call^ in 
to see a distinguished prisoner." 

A slight tremor passed over the lady's face. 

"Lideed, doctor" — she strove hard to preserve an 
aristocratic indiflTerence. 

"Yes, Madame la Marquise, no less than the lady 
known to all Paris as the Red Neighbour!" 

The agitation became more pronounced. 

" Why do you call me * Madame la Marquise ' ? I have 
not the honour of your acquaintance, it seems." 

" There are not so many ladies of the first rank that 
one does not soon learn to know them ! I am your very 
humble servant, Dr Levani, of Milan, Professor of Thera- 

S duties and the art physical. Permit me a moment." 
e looked straight at her with cold immutable gaze for 
the Boa/ce of ten seconda Then he went on — 

" You seek an interview with the Red Neighbour. Is 
it not so?" 



1 6 The Red Neighbour. 

"Well?" 

" You have had some correspondence with her, secrets 
of, shall we say . . . the toilette ? " 

The unknown lady made Ho sign. 

"You learn of her arrest. You do not wish your 
illustrious name ... I need not mention it aloud . . . 
besmirched by garrulous confessions of a desperate 
criminal. You come hither with a vague idea of seeing 
her, of buying her silence. Madame, in half an hour 
Paris will be doing the same thing. It is uselesa 
Neither you nor they will be admitted." 

The lady made a little movement of her gloved hands, 
a gesture of despair. 

" How do you know this ? " 

" Madame la Marquise ! It is from a study of human 
nature." 

No one could have uttered this with greater pro- 
fessional assurance of profound knowledge, not unac- 
companied by a certain sadness, which proclaimed how 
heavily the knowledge weighed upon its possessor. 

There was a moment's pause. The lady was inclined 
to say " Thank you, doctor, and Good-morning ! " which, 
sweetly and firmly enunciated by aristocratic lips, would 
have shaken off the attentions of this prof oimd student. 
But she would have been no nearer to the object of her 
quest. Could she not buy this man's agency, this man 
who had €i,n* enMe into the very cell of the Red 
Neighbour ? 

" There is no time to lose, madame." He pulled out a 
large watch and consulted it attentively. "My patients 
await me. If you deign to accept my aid — ^good — I am 
at your service. If not — ^no matter. I am your lady- 
ship's humble servant." 

"You are evidently very discerning," she said 
pleasantly. " I do not want to see her myself. I want 
written assurance from her that my visits were of an 
innocent nature, signed in the presence of two witnesses 
— ^yourself and the head-jailer. You can manage that." 

"It is a very difficult matter. But I will do it. In 
return you will introduce me into your salon as a physi- 



Too old for Dolls, 17 

cian in whom you will have confidence. It will expedite 
my ambitiona" 

" It would perhaps have been easier to offer you a more 
solid reward. 

"Madame!" The virtue of Dr Levani was patent 
in every tone of reproach. " No ! It is a service I am 
going to do you because I love to benefit mankind. I 
only ask a wider scope. That is all ! " 

"It is understood! You will wait till I invite you. 
Your address?" 

"Dr Levani, No. 3 Rue Christine. Permit me to 
conduct you to a coach." 



CHAPTER HL 

TOO OLD FOR DOLLS. 

In the garden of the Hotel de Polignac, on a grass 
plot, lying prone, with her elbows on the mairble edge of 
a fountain, watching the gold fish, was Mademoiselle 
Th^r^ de Polignac. Nanette, madame's maid, stood by, 
quite happy to be doing nothing, thinking of nothing, 
ready to chatter. 

" Y ou fiwe listless this morning, mademoiselle. Nothing 
amuses you." 

" I am getting too old to be amused, Nanette," said the 
girl, drawing the tips of a long tress of hair through 
the water. "Nevertheless, it is a fine morning, and I 
am as laz^ as Monsieur Speckle-back there. He is just 
like Monsieur Colbert. Look how slily he sticks in the 
green shadow by the pipe ! " 

" The pipe, mademoiselle ? " 

"Yea The pipe that goes up into the Triton and 
carries the water that he spouts." 

"La! mademoiselle. Is that the way of it? How 
clever you are getting ! It never entered my head." 

6 



1 8 The Red Neighbour. 

Mademoiselle's expression was reflected brokenly in 
the water. "No? I am not surprised. All you have 
to do is to obey orders, not to think. It is we others 
who think. We cannot help thinking though we are 
lazy." 

" Ah, they teach you fine things at Meudon ! No 
wonder you do not play when you have a holiday." 

"It is well enough at the convent. But one cannot 
stay there for ever." 

It was on Nanette's lips to say something about 
marriage, the one eternal topic of the serving-maid who 
still has pretensions (and at what age does she finally 
give them up?). She remembered, however, in time 
that the Marquise had forbidden it, and instead said — 
" You have not once asked for Louise and Victorine ! " 
" The dolls ? " There was a world of something which 
was neither scorn — ^for Th^r^e scorned nothing that was 
or had been hers, — ^the 89gis was over them, whether dog, 
cat, doll, or human being, for ever — ^nor weariness, but 
more akin to the tired reflection that comes after an 
illness, on the infinite smaUness of things. She knew 
that she was changing, had changed, but how or why 
were indefinable mysteries. 

" The dolls ? " she repeated, apparently to the goldfish, 
which darted away as she dipped her hand into the 
basin and drew it to and fro. And last holidays, she 
reflected, she had been busy with Nanette, making fresh 
dresses for their premUre communion. She had after- 
wards pretended to be Father Matthieu at the ceremony. 
" I think," she went on at length, "real people are much 
more interesting. They disagree so." 

"Oh, mademoiselle, that is true! Pierre and I hafe 
all kinds of little disagreements, and we know it is all 
about nothing, and so we become friends again." 

"Yes! Aad so do Sister Ang^lique and Sister 
Theodore, but it is always about nothing. They even 
like it. It is the only gratification they can have, for 
one does not count eating and sleeping.' 

(" It is good to eat and drink all the same,") miumured 
Nanette, in parenthesis. 



Too old for Dolls. 19 

''But I mean real disagreements, such as we have 
when v)e are grown up. Nuns and servants never 
really grow up, — do they?" 

''As to nuns, mademoiselle, probably not. But as to 
us, it is as Providence is good to ua As for me, for 
example, I am grown up, but as for Catherine the cook, 
who is twice my age, she is just a baby." 

"She makes good fritters all the same, Nanette! 
That is what cooks are for, it seems to me. Now the 
Marquis, my father, has real disagreements with my 
mother. She is still very pretty, don't you think, 
Nanette?" 

"Pretty! What a word! She is ravishing!" 

"What a word, Nanette! You must Mi»ve been 
reading ! Oh, I must tell you this ! Claire de Mirepoix 
brought a real romance with her to the convent this 

?^ear, called Lysander, so cunningly hidden, Nanette! 
t was such fun. All the older girls who had left off 
dolls read it. Her nurse, who is devoted to her, had 
taken the book to pieces and sewn it up in the linings 
of her dress ; and it was so exciting to read it, a sheet at 
a time, and pass it on. I forget who wrote it. One 
always forgete the authors, but it really doesn't matter. 
The story's the thin^. Lysander came to a bad end at 
last, for Sister Angflique surprised Lucille de Pontchar- 
train with one of the parts, and we tore up all the rest 
of him into little pieces and swallowed them. They 
were not very nice to eat. It was lovely ! I mean the 
whole affair. Sister Ang^lique read the piece she found, 
and gave Lucille an imposition. She had to write out a 
list of the principal saints and their dates. I remember 
nothing but that the heroine was always 'ravishing!' 
Yes, my mother is certainly very good-looking. She has 
the grand air." 

Mademoiselle Th^rfese got up and illustrated the 
grcmd air with the most graceful movements of which 
she was capable. They were a trifle stork-like, for her 
limbs were long, and the dancing-master had not yet 
finished with her. Nanette laughed, whereupon the 
performance ended abruptly in an indignant exclamation. 



20 The Red Neighbour. 

" How absurd of you, Nanette ! I cannot do it " — she 
did not exactly say what it was — ''like mamma, but I 
am sure there is no reason to laugh ! " 

"Mademoiselle, mademoiselle! It was so like the 
Marquise ! It was ravishing ! " 

This pleased Mademoiselle Th^rfese. " Was I really ? 
And these disagreements, you know, Nanette," said the 
girl, taking Nanette by the arm and walking up and 
down, "are very often about me. Papa thiniS mamma 
spoils me; and mamma says, 'Gaston, how foolish you 
are ! Besides, whom have I to spoil when Th^r^se is at 
school? I scarcely ever have your company/ Then 
papa looks very grave and sighs, and goes away to the 
Ministry of War to manage our armiea And mamma 
sits down and sighs, and presently takes me out in the 
Cours de la Reine, and becomes quite gay when the 
cavaliers ride up to salute us, and the ladies pay her 
quite as many compliments as the men. But her gaiety 
is all pretence, just like the smiles we aflfect as we curt- 
sey and perform all the movements the dancing-master 
teaches us, though we have a backache all the time. 
Nanette, what ia this disagreement between my papa 
and mamma ? It must be intensely interesting." 

" Perhaps," said Nanette, " it is because the good saints 
have not sent them a son." 

"But that is the fault of the holy saints, Nanette. 
No; it is not that, Nanette. It is that they do not 
understand one another. My papa is a great man. He 
is of the l?est family. There were always Polignacs, of 
course. But he has also the carriage, the command, the 
eye that goes through one, so that if one were inclined 
to tell ever so little a fib, one would stumble over it and 
spoil it. If Sister Ang^lique says, 'Mademoiselle de 
Mirepoix, are you talking ? ' or ' Mademoiselle de Polig- 
nac, was that you that laughed?' we say quite easily, 
Oh no, Sister Ang^lique,* and you woiid not believe 
how nice and sincere it sounds!" 

" But it is very wicked, all the same ! " said Nanette. 

" That is true ; but one confesses it to P^re Matthieu, 
and he says, 'Three aves every evening, my daughter/ 



Too old for Dolls. 21 

and it is all forgiven. But papa's eyes are like those 
of Pfere Bourdaloue, whom I heard preach at CarSme, 
three years ago, and I have never forgotten him." 
" But you could not have understood, mademoiselle I " 
" No ! But I watched his wonderful eyes and listened 
to his great voice resounding, saw how he fixed all the 
ladies of the Court so that they forgot to look at one 
another, and some of them even wept, wept, Nanette, 
till the rouge ran down their checKs! Ah! it was 
terrible. Papa could do that if he was moved to it. 
I do not beueve the king's armies would ever win a 
victory if it were not for my papa and his great friend. 
Monsieur Turenne." 

She paused a moment in her flood of talk, her large 
blue eyes glistening with her eagerness, then she went 
on — 

"I believe papa loves Monsieur Turenne more than he 
loves mamma ! " 

" Mademoiselle ! It is not to be believed ! '* 
" It is true. And I can understand that. I can under- 
stand papa, though he calls me a spoilt child. I could 
love Monsieur T^irenne, though he is quite old, and I 
adore — my papa — ^yes, Nanette, adore him ! When he is 
cold and sombre I say to myself, * How he suffers ! He 
is wondering how he can send more troops to his friend, 
Monsieur Turenne. He is wondering how he can get 
what he wants done without quarrelling with that vain 
old Monsieur de Louvois.' " 

" Mademoiselle, mademoiselle ! " Nanette exclaimed, 
looking round, " how you talk ! If Monsieur de Louvois 
overh^krd you ? " 
" Suppose he did, Nanette ? " 
" We should both be sent to the Bastile ! " 
Mademoiselle laughed. "How timorous you are, 
Nanette. I should probably be sent back to the convent 
at Meudon, and you would get a scolding, or, at the 
worst, you could go to the Conciergerie." 

" The Conciergerie, where the R^ Neighbour is ? God 
protect me ! " said Nanette and crossed herself. . It was 
an unfortunate slip of the tongue, and her prayer had a 



22 The Red Neighbour. 



i 



very direct application. "Come, let us have a swing. i 

I love a swing. We will get a gardener to come and 

swing us." ' 

"It is too hot," returned Th^rtee. "Who is the Red I 

Neighbour ? Did he fall among thieves ? " ♦ 

"It is a woman, not a man, and she is in the Con- 
ciergerie, where there are many thieves," said Nanette. 
" That is all I know," and pursed up her mouth. 

The girl had her own opinion, but when Nanette 
pursed her mouth it was useless to tease her further. 
"Let us go and play tennis!" 

"Tennis! I do not know anything about it," said 
Nanette. " Besides, if it is too hot to swing, when the 
gardener does the work, it is surely too hot to play 
tennis when we have to do it ourselves!" 

"Come, Nanette. You are getting lazy. Tennis is 
good. It strengthens one, makes one agile. Papa plays 
tennis. It is his one recreation. How he makes the 
ball fly!" 

" But you are a yoiing lady ! " 

" What does it signify ? I want to be like papa ! " 

"Well, if it pleases you, I suppose I must," said 
Nanette. " If it makes one agile ... I have never seen 
Madame la Marquise playing tennis." 

"No. But she does not enter into papa's pleasures 
any more than she does into his serious occupations. It 
is my intention to enter into both, to give him society. 
I should love to hear papa say, ' Come, camarade ! ' I 
would follow him to the ends of the earth." 

Nanette had nothing to say in reply, but followed the 
straight-limbed, tall, young beauty, thinking of her own 
prematurely -wrinkled homy-handed father, who made 
shoes in the Carref our de Richelieu in a cellar below the 
street, who wiped his mouth when he drank with the 
sleeve of his coat if he wore one, or on his bare brown 
arm if he did not. She questioned very much if she 
could truthfully say she would follow him if he said, 
"Come, camarade!" 



* 



Monsieur "Forage." 23 



CHAPTER IV. 

MONSIEUR "FORAGE." 

A becm chevalier in a resplendent uniform of the 
dragoons approached the Hotel de Polignac, where, it 
was evident, was being held a grand reception. The 
"Comte de Roubaix," as the bystanders whispered, 
passed between the gates of iron and copper, wrought in 
the days of Henri Quatre, gay and smiling, and crossed 
the courtyard to mount the noble curve of steps that 
led from left and right up to the lofty carved doorways. 
He chose the left for luck. 

How beautiful the Hotel de Polignac was ! What an 
epitome of the strength and wealth of the ancient noble 
families of France, which neither the wiles of Richelieu 
nor the banquets of Louis Quatorze had been able 
entirely to dissipate or destroy! What an epitome of 
the times of Le Roi Soleil was the Count, who, boasting 
as old a pedigree as the Polignacs, liv^ in a modest 
two-roomed apartment two streets off, and never missed 
the most Sardieinapalian banquet that his Majesty gave ! 

Paris, whose business was and is to laugh and to 
forget, had forgotten a daring episode in a career full of 
episodes, which had coupled his name for a brief hour 
with that of his uncle, the late Cardinal Bishop of Arras. 
The outcome had cost his Eminence his life, by a fit of 
apoplexy, and procured the nephew a commission. He 
was now employed, while preserving his military rank, 
in a civil capacity in close contact with the Marquis de 
Polignac at the Ministry of War. Verging on thirty, 
the Favourite of the women, a bold gambler, a master of 
the rapier, he made love and fought duels from sheer 
habit, and wedged in such a modicum of attention to his 
not very onerous duties as enabled him to draw his pay, 
in advance if possible, and enjoy every moment of life. 

The Count stepped at once into the entrance-hall 
between two ranks of pages, behind whom on one side 



24 The Red Neighbour. 

was a great fireplace surmounted by a tapestry much 
worn, which represented the himting of a stag, and on 
the other a similar piece displaying a boar-hunt. Two 
more doors, flung open at his approach, admitted him to 
the great dining-haU, at the end of which rose the grand 
staircase with its balustrades of twisted ironwork, lit . 
at intervals by flambeaux of silver gilt. With careless 
leisurely swing he mounted between rows of footmen 
dad in the livery of the house, dove-colour and silver, 
and entered the suite of rooms where the real business 
of the reception was taking place. 

The guests were numerous, but, with a few noticeable 
exceptions, they were people of the first rank. Paris 
had not arrived at her later dominant passion for 
multitude. She did not as yet by a system of patronage 
hire philosophers, poets, and actors to meet an indis- 
criminate rout of people of the second class. ' 

The Count noted that to some extent the assemblage 
bore the stamp of the official world in which the Marquis 
spent so much of his life. It comprised men whom 
sheer capacity or usefulness had raised to positions of 
trust in the king's service and a few memoers of the 
great mercantile and banking community, which was 
beginning to knock with no hesitating hand at the door 
of rank. The Count understood perfectly. If one 
cannot make omelettes without breaking e^gs, neither is 
it possible to make war without financiers or army 
contractors. 

It was significant of the Count's recognition of the 
official aspect of the reception that he sought at first 
the Marquis rather than the Marquise. Her he reserved 
for a later hour, when the payers of homage should be 
fewer and there would be more space for his proper 
talents. 

For his handsome person as for his rank Qaston de 
tolignac was only one among his peers, but for his 
thoughtful face and air of preoccupation, as he moved 
from group to group taking this one or that aside, he 
was as noticeable as a comet amid fixed stars. Men said 
that Monsieur de Louvois, the greatest Secretary of 



Monsieur *' Forage." 25 

War France had seen since Richelieu (the Marquis de 
Louvois would have ruled out the exception), would 
have been marvellously crippled but for his able Under- 
Secretary de Polignac, whose masteiy of detail had 
gained him the nickname of the Marquis des Ressource& 

It was not difficult for De Roubaix to put himself in 
his way. 

" Ah ! De Roubaix ! Pleased to see you ! Have you 
seen the Marquise yet ? She is a trifle dull to-day. Try 
and brighten her a little. We look to you dragoons to 
do these services for ua" 

" Charmed 1 I am looking everywhere for her. Have 
you seen our friend * Forage ' yet ? " 

"Not to speak to. I have caught a glimpse of his 
big shoulders and his black mane somewhere. I would 
give a great sum to see into his deep skull. Turenne 
sends another despatch to-night complaining of the 
scarcity of supplies of cattle, of the quality of the hay, 
and heaven kitiows what else. Our friend 'Forage,' as 
you call him, could tell us, I warrant, the meamng of 
it all" 

"You'll bring him to book, Marquis, one of these 
davB!" 

The Marquis let a weary look steal over his face. 
" It is not easy. One must be a rogue at heart to catch 
him. I. have no sympathetic fibres in me to vibrate with 
warning when he site down and pours out his ingenious 
explanations." 

" We must call in the Red Neighbour ! " laughed the 
Count. "Clap him in the Conciergerie along with her 
for twenty-four hours, and one would know something ! " 

"I leave him to you this evening. Silence as to the 
despatch, of course." 

The Marquis hailed another guest and passed on. 

The Count also passed on his way, exchanging greetings 
and making careful observation of the gueste. "When 
one is not flie spoiled child of fortune," he said *to him- 
self, " one must find means to butter one's bread. One 
must know one's world to make one's world do the 
buttering. Tiens ! Who the devil is that little man in 



26 The Red Neighbour. 

the brown velvet ? No clerk ! his fingers are too well 
kept. No contractor! he is not plump enough. No 
gentleman of the robe ! In short, no gentleman at all ! " 

It was Dr Levani, whom he observed accosting first 
one and then another of the guests with cool unshaken 
efl5t)ntery. The Count not^ the polite rebuffs the 
stranger met with, and, at a discreet distance, dogged 
his steps till he sat down in a side room at an imaid 
table, apparently waiting for some one, and in the 
meantime absoroed in contemplation of the lid of his 
snuff-box. 

As there was no one else in the room, the Count 
entered, and in his suavest clearest tones pronounced — 

"lifevre!" 

A palpable tremor shot through the doctor's frame. In 
common parlance the Coimt had made him jump. If the 
Coimt had said " Boh ! " the effect might have been the 
same. But the Count had spoken as if he were calling 
gently to his lackey. The doctor, who called himseS 
Levani, affected to pay no attention. 

The Coimt was a man of the extremest fashion, but 
as, if one scratohes a Russian one finds a Tartar, so 
beneath the fine gentleman, beneath the adroit swords- 
man, known to the world as the Comte de Eoubaix, was 
hidden away the student of theology at Arras, who once 
played a sad prank upon the nuns of St Augustine, 
which is set forth at full length in the life of His 
Indolence of Arras by the pen of Nicholas de Blangy. 
The Count had an inextinguishable taste for a practical 
joke. It is comparatively easy to play such when one 
is also a good player with the foils. 

He took two glances round, then two swift paces to 
the front, twitehed the gentleman's wig from his head, 
and, holding it aloft, faced the justly indignant doctor, 
exclaiming, as the worthy owner of the ferret eyes 
sprang to attention — 

"By the eleven thousand virgins! I thought as 
much." Then by a dexterous movement he clapped 
the wig on again. 

Dr Levani pulled it straight and said, swallowing 



Monsieur " Forage." 27 

first the outrage and then his very natural indig- 
nation — 

" Dr Levani, my lord, at your service ! " 

" Cadedis ! We have both risen in the world, it seema' 

" With all deference, my lord, I have. You were once 
a Cardinal I seem to remember." 

But the Count took the reminiscence quite good- 
humouredly and laughed pleasantly, repeating at 
intervals, " Cadedis !"..." Cadedis ! ' . . . the origin 
of which must be left to those fusty antiquarians who 
know most about the strange oaths of the iktins. 

It was evidently a case of perfect mutual recognition, 
which might have resulted in a flow of reminiscences of 
a personal kind, and they could not have failed to be 
interesting. But at this veiy point the Marquise Marie 
Qabrielle de Polignac entered the chamber, filling it with 
her beauty and sweetness, and was saluted with a pro- 
found bow from both gentlemen ; for the fact of sharing 
her hospitality filled up for the time being any gaps in 
a pedigree, or made up for the entire lack of one, and 
constituted indeed a new noblesse of guesthood. It is 
a delicate article in the social contract, which is oftener 
honoured in the breach than in the observance. 

Of the two, Levani preserved his sangfroid, while 
the Count blushed to the tips of his filbert-shaped nails : 
a fact of which he was quite aware, and for which he 
was inclined to reproach himself. Later he considered 
it a master-stroke, such as one occasionally achieves 
at billiards without knowing how. For the Marquise 
could not have failed to notice it, and it is not easy to 
force a blush to one's face at thirty on the mere appari- 
tion of the feminine, however lovely. 

"You have made the acquaintance of Dr Levani?" 
she said very sweetly to the Count. There was a refiec- 
tion in her voice of some emotion which was less casual 
than the question. It was not lost upon the Coimt, who 
never lost anything that he could pick up. 

"In fact," said the Count, "Dr Levani attended me 
some years ago. He has been abroad I fancy since." 

"Improving my acquaintance, Madame la Marquise, 



28 The Red Neighbour. 

with the mysteries of the healing art in Milan!" the 
doctor rejoined "You will excuse us a moment, my 
lord, her ladyship has been pleased to consult me . . ." 

" With the greatest re^t. Marquise, I eflface myself. 
Later I hope to bask a little in the sunshine," said the 
Coimt, bowing himself out. 

"Quo non ascendam!" he murmured to himself. 
"Whither may I not climb? It was the Foucquet's 
motto, the great Foucquet. But he made the mistake of 
rivalling hS Majesty in magnificence, which was unwise, 
and in ideas, which was altogether]: too presumptuou& 
I wonder how he likes Pignerol for a residence? Let 
me, however, win you, adorable, unapproachable Marie 
Qabrielle, and I shall never envy man again! There 
are clouds gathering, it seems. I have but to rive them 
with the thunderbolts of Jove, and . . . What, Forage !" 
He had very nearly in his soliloquy nm into a venr solid- 
looking man, whose dark complexion, mane of black 
curly hair, tinged ever so slightly with grey, bespoke 
his origin from the Midi. " What 1 my Marshal of .^my 
Contractors ! By what title shall I presently be calling 
you?" 

"A pity your lordship cannot remember a man's 
name," repli^ the other in a marked provincial accent. 
"I have one, if it does not happen to have a De 
before it." 

"It is that the man is greater than his name, my 
dear Monsieur Bocal. Now in my case it is the 
reverse; my name overshadows all my eflforts, and 
makes my humble successes incredible." 

" When one can draw on one's bankers for a hundred 
thousand livres, one's name is worth something, it seems," 
grumbled Monsieur Bocal. 

"Precisely one himdred thousand livres!" the Count 
replied in a tone that nettled the contractor, though 
he could not have told why. 

"If that were all, I could not bring up my son 
as a gentleman." 

" You have a son then, monsieur ? I had not thought 
there was so much in army contracts. Tou form 



Monsieur "Forage/' 29 

alliances, you found familiea My dear sir, if you 
only had a daughter there might be a possibility of 
my transmitting my name also.' 

"There would be two to that bargain as to every 
other, my lord. As it happens, I have no daughter. 
As for my son, I have no intention of perpetuating 
my name. The keg always smells of the herring." 

" Profoundly true ! " said the Count very respectfully. 

"So I have had my son adopted by a noble family. 
He has had the best of tutors, he will take his degree 
in rhetoric at Bennes, in philosophy at Caen, and in 
the meantime he practises assiduously in the School 
of Arms, learns dancing, and already plays tennis 
like a cavalier." 

"Parbleu! And what is he called, this young 
Achilles?" 

"I never heard of Achilles," replied the army con- 
tractor. "But I would not tell you his name for a 
thousand pistoles. I do not want him corrupted." 

"You are not complimentary this evening, Monsieur 
Bocal," the Count returned serenely. 

"One is not complimentary in our business unloig'' 
one wants something. What does Polignac want with 
me? I am invited to his hotel, which is very ancient 
and very grand, and not a bit like my humble 
apartment He neither speaks to me, nor introduces 
me to Madame la Marquise, and his representative 
taunts me with my occupation. It is not amusing." 

" It is too bad ! He is so preoccujpied with work," 
said the Count apologetically. " But it is to be remedied. 
Come along! let me introduce you to the Marquise, 
whom I see, and afterwards De Polignac will, I am 
sure, receive you with the politeness that is always 
his,'- — the politenesa which you deserve. And pray 
excuse my banter. Come!" 

The Count linked his arm in token of amity with 
that of Monsieur Bocal, and went in search of the 
Marquise, who was now comparatively disengaged. 

Monsieur Bocal! The contractor thought hS name 
had never sounded quite so well as it did when the ^ 



30 The Red Neighbour. 

Marquise repeated it after the Count with the finest 
smile of welcome upon her lipa The wonderful 
candour of her widely -set, open blue eyes attracted 
the man at once. He was used to reading in the eyes 
of the few great ladies to whom he was introduced, 
a veileid laughter as they heard his name. It was 
not amusing, as he was accustomed to remark to 
himself. "I have had the greatest desire," she went 
on, " to see you, to know you, you whose affairs so 
interest my husband that I scarcely have a moment 
of his company. It is the war, it is Monsieur Bocal, 
it is Monsieur Bocal, it is the war. Tell me, are you 
the cause of the war?" 

"Madame does me too great an honour. It is, 
however, true that at present France caimot carry on 
war without me." 

There was no trace of vulgar bombast about this 
speech. He believed it. The sons of the Midi always 
believe that France cannot do without them, and it 
is in a measure true. Hot, eager, muscular, men of 
the big shoulders, big body, short-legged, perhaps, but 
undoubtedly of the big brains. They are the men to 
conceive, to act, imtiring, robust, passionate. They are 
terrible, these men of the Midi. 

He felt that those large blue wondering eyes were 
upon him. He wished that in some respects he had 
1^ a cleaner life. Some of his transactions, for in- 
stance, were not exactly such as would meet the appro- 
val of the Marquise oe Polimac. As she look^, he 
moistened his lips under the heavy moustaches. 

"It is a little incredible, nevertheless," she said. 
"One makes war with generals and men and muskets, 
with horses and artillery." 

"And the men and the horses, madame? They 
must eat or they cannot march." 

"But if they are near a town. Monsieur Bocal, they 
can buy food and forage." 

" Forty thousand men, madame, will make bare every 
cellar and store and shop in ten towns such as we 
have in Lorraine or Franche Comt6 in three daya 



Monsieur ''Forage." 31 

It is not so that armies are fed. But Monsieur le 
Mar(^uis is too careful. He is too much given to 
making inquiry into trifles. War is a great waster 
of men, of material, of horses, of food. You ask me 
where does it all go? Madame!" He threw out his 
great arms and hands, large, muscular, coarse hands, 
with broken finger-nails. "Men fall here and there, 
sick or wounded, there is no time. They die, or thev 
get well and slink back to their homes. Straw is 
burned, hay is scattered or stolen, waggons of food 
are plundered by the peasants, horses die or are stolen. 
Of everything sometmng passes, something is broken. 
It is the same when one bottles wine." 

"How little one really knows in Paris," said the 
Marquise. 

"It is not amusing, the country, all the same, 
madame. No theatres, no music, no pictures, no 
Cours la Reine, no really beautiful women such as 
you, Madame la Marquise. Speak, madame — show 
me some of your pictures; you cannot imagine how 
I thirst to hear your voice." 

Decidedly there was something strong, commanding, 
original alx)ut this roturier, this man of the peOTie 
without whom France could not carry on war. The 
Marquise had foimd something to interest her and 
take her thoughts off herself. 

"Monsieur, Paris already begins to spoil you. Give 
me your arm and take me into the gallery. We have a 
few pictures, it is true, but of no great worth." 

The Comte de Roubaix saw them go. There were 
people in the gallery as elsewhere. 

"What beauty!" he said to himself. "She has 
captured old Forage with a single glance ! " And as he 
sauntered after them and presenuy passed them he 
heard the contractor say — 

" Hein ! It must cost you dear lighting this gallery. 
Three thousand candles a-month ! " 

" He is always full of calculations," said De Roubaix. 
'* As if that interested a marquise ! " 

But he did not hear the contractor's next speech. 



32 The Red Neighbour. 

"What a blue! It is like nothing I have seen, 
Madame la Marquise, except . • /' 

" Except, Monsieur Bocal ? " 

" The blue of your lovely eyes ! " 

And the contractor turned his full, ardent, black eyes 
upon her, so that she could not mistake the passion she 
was arousing in this strange man from the other world, 
the world which was not peopled by the noblesse. 

She made no reply, but began talking about the next 
picture, and seized an early opportunity to leave her 
" amorous bear," as she styled him to herself, with the 
Marquis, and entered into conversation with her other 
guests. 

De Roubaix fluttered from one beauty to another, 
joining here and there in the talk. He was always 
anxious to know what the women were talking about. 
To-night it was everywhere the same, not of the war, nor 
of Turenne, nor of the king, but of the Red Neighbour. 
Was she to be put to the Question ? 

To some he replied with his usual confidence, "As- 
suredly ! One must protect the husbands !" and smiled 
with meaning, noting the look of affiight tibiat stole into 
the pair of eyes that looked into his, although, woman- 
like, the owner covered her retreat with, "Let them 
commence by arresting you. Count, and the husbands 
will be safe enough ! " Or again he would answer with 
equal assurance, " To what end ? No ! It is decided she 
will be hunff without the Question"; and he saw the 
evident relief hidden under the exclamation of professed 
horror, " Hung ! How frightful ! " 

Only a day or two ago these women had been recom- 
mending the Bed Neighbour to one another as women 
do a favourite dressmaker, or as they make the fortune 
of a pastrycook. To-day she might tell tales. They 
had " heard her name mentioned." That was all. The 
Count could have compiled a black list in a quarter of 
an hour. But to what end? BKs code of honour did 
not countenance blackmail. He had received many 
valuable presents from ladies, but he did not have to 
wring them by threats. They were a willing tribute 



Two of a Trade. 33 

to his noble qualities, or a golden chain of which it was 
permissible to sell all the links but one. The first thing 
to do was to get the address of Dr Levani, and he was 
waiting merely till his present lackey returned from 
dogging the footsteps of the old one. 



CHAPTER V. 

TWO OF A TRADE. 

When the Comte de Roubaix mounted the ill-lit stair- 
case of No. 3 Rue Christine, having first placed his 
lackey on guard at the foot with instructions to ad- 
mit no one else, he anticipated a refusal to give him 
entrance. 

What was his surprise to find that at his knock — an 
old knock which his ex-lackey remembered well enough 
— ^the door was opened by a good-looking Italian man- 
servant, who ushered him into a comfortable room where 
supper was already laid for two. 

" Come in and welcome, Count," said Dr Levani. " I 
was sure you would follow me, and I have ordered 
accordingly." 

" The deuce you did. Doctor," said the Count pleasantly. 
" We live in so marvellous a reign that we ought not to 
be surprised at anj^hing." 

"Apropos, Coimt," the Doctor went on, "it would be 
a pity to keep your man-servant standing down below. 
Permit me to call him up. He can sup with Pietro." 

" Call him up by all means. Doctor," said the Count. 
" Pardieu ! (Here he gave a rapid glance around.) You 
have indeed risen in the world. Our parting, ten years 
ago, was somewhat abrupt, if I remember." 

" Your lordship kicked me down the Cardinal's stairs, 
I think," returned the other. "You were quite right. 
I had been indiscreet, and a lackey who is indiscreet is 

c 



34 The Red Neighbour. 

worse than useless. But we have all been indiscreet in 
our youth." 

The Count knew not what to make of his reception, 
so he looked at the supper-table. The Doctor rang a 
bell, a mere tinkle, and JPietro and the Count's lackey 
brought in the supper and four bottles of Cante-Perdrix. 

" Wine of the gods ! " the Count exclaimed 

"Why of the gods?" asked the Doctor, as he stood 
waiting for the Count to seat himself. 

" Because it is Cante-Perdrix that one sends to Rome 
for the mouth of his Holy Fatherhood." 

" It is not a bad wine," said Levani, who, not quick to 
follow verbal subtleties, merely maintained a certain 
respectfulness of demeanour, not unmixed with a little 
show of being on his own territory. " Pray be seated." 

They both set to with great appetite, and presently, 
the table being cleared, settled to the second bottle and 
to business. For neither was in the least deceived by 
the other's bonhomie. It was false money. 

On the other hand, the Count had already learned by 
his reception that the soi-disant Dr Levani, though at 
bottom the same plausible rascal he had been in the 
days of his lackeyhood, had seen and learned much, had 
in fine acquired a greater capital, not so much in cash, 
albeit his purse appeared to be well filled, as in rascality. 
In the language of the markets, there was a greater 
variety in his goods, and he had doubtless learned how 
to sell them. There was still, however, a great disparity 
in rank, which admitted of a proportionate degree of 
condescension. . 

"Your cuisine is excellent! Your wine is also ex- 
cellent. Doctor. I owe you an apology for my late 
practical joke, of which, however, I had taken good care 
that it should have no witnesses. Your supper is in 
itself a sign that you bear no ill-will?" 

Dr Levani inclined his head in token of assent. The 
Count went on — 

" I was not aware that you were on the visiting list 
of the Marquise. The course of my official duties leads 
me to most of her receptions, as well public as private. 



Two of a Trade. 35 

Am I right in supposing that the acquaintance is quite 
recent, has scarcely, in fact, ripened into friendship?" 

" Quite recent, my lord." 

"The Marquise has her own physician. She would 
not, therefore, be consulting you as to the state of her 
health." 

" In fact she has not done me that honour." 

" Am I right in supposing that it is something in the 
way of horoscopes ? " 

" It is true that amongst my other professional attain- 
ments I can cast horoscopes, read hands, and so forth, 
It is not, however, to be expected that I should disclose 
the precise nature of my client's business." 

"I applaud your discretion. Doctor. But suppose, for 
instance, that I were the lady's husband ! What should 
you say then ? " 

"That I was hot at liberty to reveal her confidence. 
As it happens, you are not . . ." 

" And you would say. Doctor, if you were not so polite, 
what business is it of mine ? Well, I happen to be on 
intimate terms with the Marquis, and, if I were to say to 
him, * Monsieur, there is in Paris a certain Dr Levani, an 
Italian of unknown antecedents, one of the numerous 
dealers in astrology and other nonsense, who now throng 
the city, whom I have lately observed closeted with the 
Marquise. Every one who knows the Marquise knows 
that she is a lady of the most irreproachable way of life 
and as innocent of wiles as Noah's dove. Is it desirable 
that she should amuse herself by encouraging such 
people?' what would the Marquis do?" 

" If I were the Marquis — ^pardon me, my lord, for so 
simple a suggestion, a natural one all the same — I should 
suspect you of taking too great an interest in my wife." 

"You are become a man of great penetration! He 
might very naturally suspect me, but he would have you, 
as a measure of precaution, placed in security, say in the 
Conciergerie, for instance." 

The Count lingered on the last three words, and looked 
straight at Levani, as if he were putting a poser. 

"It seems to me. Monsieur le Comte that you are 



36 The Red Neighbour. 

using something like a threat. Believe me that I am 
not in the least affected by it." 

" Which shows," said the Count, almost affectionately, 
"how much you misjudge me. I am so much more a 
man of action than of words. I love a pleasant argu- 
ment, as I love your excellent wine. I love to turn 
things about for the pleasure of talking. It is a pastime. 
When I want anything, I take it. You, on the contrary, 
look for motives. Motives should precede action, not 
speech nor casuistry." 

" Nevertheless, there is at least point in your speech," 
returned the other, looking steadily at the Count, who 
bowed his thanks, and went on — 

"You have performed, nay, are about to perform, I 
should say, have promised to perform, a certain office for 
the Marquise ; no matter what — ^we will suppose that you 
have agreed to compoimd her some concoction, a sleeping 
draught, or a new rouge (again a perceptible pause on 
the word rouge). You estabUsh a base, as we say in the 
army, which you estimate in your own mind at some 
sum — say a hundred pistoles a-year ; you hope that her 
ladyship's patronage may lead to others." 

"Yes, I admit that," said Dr Levani. "It is very 
natural." 

" Quite natural ! Now what do you estimate to gain 
by this connection? It is a trifle inquisitive, but this 
time I have a motive." 

"Twenty such patients at a hundred pistoles — ^two 
thousand pistoles a-year." 

" Sapristi ! You are modest in your estimates ! Sup- 
pose, then, that I am willing to buy the strategic base 
from which you propose to assail the Marquise, on con- 
dition of introducing you to twenty other ladies, who 
will engage you to confer similar benefits upon them, 
without the least effort on your part to acquire the . . . 
how words repeat themselves . . . the connection." 

"But, Monsieur le Comte, how could you, without 
a knowledge of the science pharmaceutical, perform for 
the Marquise what I have undertaken ? I cannot afford 
to offend her, even if you sent me twenty patients 



Two of a Trade. 37 

to-morrow. And why, then, do you wish me to be dis- 
missed from my attendance upon her ? " 

" I offer you one hundred pistoles for the recipe ! " said 
the Count, suddenly placing a heavy purse of gold upon 
the table, not out of reach, however, and looking straight 
into Levani's ferrety eyes. 

"It is not enough!" said Levani, with a touch of 
scorn. 

" One hundred pistoles and an introduction to twenty 
of the fair and rich, her neighbours, in fact, to-morrow ! 
Think, Doctor!" 

"There is no need. It is not enough! I can make 
more ! " 

The Count replaced the purse in his pocket with an 
expressive gesture, poured himself out another glfiuss of 
wine, which he held up to the light, and appeared to 
take great pleasure in its beautiful colour and semi- 
transparency. 

" You are then a rich man ! I am not. But I have 
learned what I came to learn." 

"What is that. Count?" 

"Your trade." 

"And what is it?" inquired Levani, now a little 
incensed by the insolence and the assurance conveyed in 
the tones of his former master. 

" The old and beautiful trade of a rogue." 

"Monsieur le Comte! Is it not purely a matter of 
degree ? Is it not the burning desire of every one in the 
world to get something for less than it costs, or sell 
something for more than it costs? You are paid for 
your services to the king. Do you give a quid pro quo ? " 

" You are chopping logic. Doctor. Now I will tell you 
what you are selling to the Marquise." 

"I shall be interested," said Levani, who in spite of 
himself began to be nervous, so much so that he was 
near to missing his hold upon the glass he was lifting. 
He spilt a drop or two. The Count would notice it, of 
course. The Count's nerves were perfect. By so much 
Levani admitted him to be a superior in the same 
trade. 



38 The Red Neighbour. 

"Good! You are listening! I need not speak 
loudly. The Red Neighbour, who is a kind of female 
practitioner of your order, is in the Conciergerie, charged 
with making a little mistake in her sleeping draughta 
It might have happened to you, Doctor. Half the women 
in Paris have been to her. Heaven knows what for! 
And they are all frightened to death lest she should be 
put to the Question and their names should come out. 
Ventrebleu ! What a tinta/mcx/re there would be ! The 
Marquise is one of them. You got to know it. I could 
tell you how too, but it will keep. You offered vour 
services, professed to be able to secure the silence of the 
Red Neighbour, and said to yourself — I have only to 
go to and fro telling tarradiddles, and I have an income 
as sure as if I had an order on the king's treasury, in 
fact a good deal more sure. And one thing will lead to 
another." 

Dr Levani followed this exposition without moving 
a muscle. In fact his self-control was so marvellous 
that the Count felt sure his guess was the right one. 

" Is it not so ? " said the Count. 

" Monsieur le Comte ! " said Levani, pushing back his 
chair, "you are wasting time, beating the air. I shall 
tell you nothing." 

" No, Doctor ! Excuse me ! I have been marking time. 
It is now," he said, pulling out a jewelled watch — ^the 
gift, one need scarcely say, of a lady of his acquaintance, 
— " it is now half -past three. Precisely at a quarter to 
four the archers will be here and take you to the 
Conciergerie, unless I have your confession in writing 
and your undertaking not to molest the Marquise de 
Polignac further." 

Dr Levani rose to his feet and folded his arms. He 
regarded this announcement of the Count as an excellent 
piece of pretence well acted. 

" I will wait," he said with dignity. 

The streets had become silent. The first streaks of 
dawn appeared in the sky and the birds in the gardens 
near began to twitter. The two men looked at one 
another. Suddenly out of nothing stole upon the ear 



The greatest War Minister save one. 39 

the tramp of armed mea The Count looked at his 
watch again. 

" They are five minutes before time ! " he said. 

Dr Levani shivered. One is not so brave as one might 
be at half -past three in the morning. 

The footsteps came nearer. There was a halt called 
below the window. 

Dr Levani ran to an escritoire, scribbled a few lines 
upon a piece of paper and signed it. 

They were coming up the stair. He handed the paper 
to the Count, who glanced through it and placed it in 
his vest as the door opened. 

It was a patrol of the archers and an officer at the head. 

Dr Levani threw an imploring look at the Coimt, who 
remained as caJm as usual. 

" Count de Roubaix ! " said the officer. 

" Yes, officer ! Your attendance is not required." 

" Pardieu ! You axe under some mistake ! It is the 
Coimt de Roubaix we have to arrest." 

" At whose instance ? " 

" Carosse — ^tailor of the Rue Neu ve des Petits Champs ! " 

The Count laughed joyously. "And you are taking me?" 

" To the Conciergerie, Monsieur le Comte." 

" A bientdt, Doctor. I leave you to deal with my other 
friends when they come ! " 

And summoning his valet the Count went out, leaving 
Dr Levani in a troubled state of mind. 



CHAPTER VL 

THE GREATEST WAR MINISTER SAVE ONE. 

The genius of Monsieur de Louvois has been so well 
known in the world that the man himself needs little 
introduction The eldest son of old Michel le Tellier, 
Chancellor of France, of whose merits the renowned 



40 The Red Neighbour. 

preacher Bossuet has left us an incomparable list, he had 
been nominated successor to his father in the Secretary- 
ship of State for War at the a^e of twenty-three, and 
four years afterwards had established such a reputation, 
and gained the esteem and particular confidence of Louis 
Quatorze in such a degree, that this prince conferred 
upon him the further charges of Superintendent-General 
or the Post, Grand Master of the Couriers of France and 
Foreign Countries, to which were added in later years 
those of Chancellor of his orders of knighthood, and 
Grand Master in particular of St Lazare and Notre 
Dame de Mont Carmel. 

The editor of his political testament has well said that 
there was nothing that was not uncommon about him. 
His career, his favour, his maxims, his conduct and dis- 
cretion, his prosperity, which lasted to his death, and 
perhaps in that particular will surpass that of his 
sovereign, all were rare and surprising. 

The Marquis de Louvois was now thirty-five, and had 
been twelve years a Minister of State. If anything 
could have added to his glory at such an age, it was that 
a conspiracy had been formed to assassinate him, — a 
conspiracy which had happily been frustrated. One 
must be great to be " assassinated." De Traumont had 
foolishly uttered the proposition — "Either Louvois dies 
or I ! " He was counting too little on the Minister's 
absurdly good fortune. It was De Traumont who died. 
That ended the matter as far as the Marquis de Louvois 
was concerned. Madame du Fresnoy, his intimate 
friend, the wife of one of his clerks (it was one of those 
wAnagea A troia so entirely without scandal) did not 
think so. She persisted in suspecting that some lady 
was at the bottom of it, and had said as much. So that, 
when the Red Neighbour found herself in the Con- 
ciergerie, she at first blamed Madame du Fresnoy, a« 
did the rest of Paris. It is significant that Louvois' 
Marquise, Anne de Souvr^ de Courtenvaux, did not 
much concern herself. She was a lady of pious and 
resigned and rather placid temperament, a great patron 
of the arts, as she showed when she employed Girardon 



The greatest War Minister save one. 41 

to enrich the chapel in the Church of the Capucines, 
where the fortunate Marquis came to Ke. 

When one has been a Secretary of State for War for 
twelve years, enjoying all the privileges appertaining to 
the dignity, and the confidence of one's king, and that 
king our revered Louis Quatorze, one may be forgiven 
for having a firm confidence in one's own ability to 
conduct, from the steps of the foimtain of power and 
honour, the very greatest campaigns, it being understood 
that the generals in the field show a becommg aptitude 
to carry out one's larger plans by supplying, out of their 
naturally less able, but still capable, heads, all the sub- 
sidiary strategies necessary to the great design, 

" But what are we to do with these old generals ? " 

It was the heaven-bom Minister of War, De Louvois, 
who addressed himself to his Under-Secretary, De 
Polignac, across the table in the innermost cabinet of 
the War Office. 

" But, Monsieur ! " replied the Marquis de Polignac, 
'of what old generals is it a question?" 

"Turenne, for instance!" said De Louvois in a tone 
that suggested a want of intelligence on the part of the 
other. De Louvois had been so long an official chief 
that he attributed to the junior official rank a junior 
order of intellect. Of course one had to respect the 
claims of a man like the Marquis de Polignac to a 
certain amount of deference. There had always been 
Polignacs, and, if there had always been Le Telliers (De 
Louvois' family name), they had not been considerable 
till the reign of Louis XIIL, when they emerged from 
the chrysalis state of a family of the Robe to that of one 
that provided great officers of state. Monsieur Colbert, 
Marquis de Seign61ai, who drove at once the three 
.chariots of the Finances, the Marine, and Commerce, had 
also sprung from a family of " Robins " as the aristocracy 
dubbed them, and it was impossible not to remark that 
the two ablest men in France, the two pillars of the 
State, were both scions of new families. 

Evidently De Polignac, with the intelligence of the 
junior order, did not quite understand. 



42 The Red Neighbour. 

The Marquis de Louvois therefore repeated — 

"One can lay plans! But unless one has young 
generals one cannot expect them carried out." 

"But De Louvois! Turenne is only sixty-four! 
MonfcecucuUi, who commands for the enemy, is sixty- 
nine. They are the ablest generals in the worid!" 

"It is the battles they have lost which have made 
their reputations!" returned the Minister drily. 

"That is partly true of Turenne," said Polignac 
thoughtfully. " Aiiother, a less able general, would have 
been extinguished by the odds." 

In some such shape the discussion had taken place 
many times before. De Louvois did not like Turenne. 
In all his reports to his Majesty the War Minister had 
always belittled the great Marshal. When he was 
forced to chronicle his victories, they were due to his 
Majesty's good fortune and the fine quality of the 
troops, when a retreat, as from the projected attack on 
Amsterdam, it was the fault of the Marshal's timidity 
or of his well-concealed lack of fidelity. It was dis- 
agreeable that in the face of his reports Turenne's 
reputation persisted in growing at least as fast as his 
own, but, to do the War Minister justice, he was not 
given to praising his own sagacity. He remained con- 
tent with his Majesty's long-continued favour. 

De Poligna;c had long ago recognised this deplorable 
bias in the mind of his chief, and while always maintain- 
ing a firm front towards it, and steadfastly upholding 
the character of his great friend, contrived by the 
exercise of tact to avoid a rupture of relations with De 
Louvois, whose ability and conscientiousness he deeply 
respected. 

" Turenne," said the War Minister, " is clamouring for 
a better commissariat. We spend millions on his com- 
missiariat. Bocal brings in lists upon lists, all duly 
attested by Turenne's officers, of horses, forage, cattle, 
grain, which he has supplied. Heaven knows where he 
finds them! But he does. And yet — you have read 
this despatch — ^the old Marshal complains, complains. 
It is very wearisome!" 



The greatest War Minister save one. 43 

"We trust too much to Bocal, it seems," said De 
Polignac, looking meaningly at his chief. 

"I suppose you mean he cheats us! My friend, I 
have been twelve years Minister of War. I have seen 
and spoken with a regiment of contractors. They all 
cheat. But what can one do? Better to lose a few 
thousands to one big cheat, who understands his business, 
than millions to a hundred little rascals who do not. 
We have tried to create rivals. He has crushed them 
or bought them up. What do you suggest?" 

"My suggestion, De Louvois, is tlmt I should be 
allowed to go to the frontier." 

"To the fr(Mitier!" The Minister of War was com- 
pletely taken aback by this bold, this revolutionary 
suggestion. 

"Why not? Let me go with full powers to confer 
with Turenne, and find out for myself and you what is 
really the explanation. At present no one need know 
but our two selves. I can easily furnish an excuse. My 
estate in Touraine, for example, requires my presence." 

" But, my dear Polignac, reflect ! You cannot dis- 
cover much in twenty -four hours. You will require 
weeks." 

"It is possible. The task demands patience. But it 
is worth it." 

" And when you have discovered that Monsieur Bocal 
is in the wrong, has committed infinite peculations, and 
that all Monsieur Turenne's complaints are well-founded, 
what then?" 

De Louvois sat back in his chair toying with his pen, 
and looked at his under-secretary as if he had put an 
unanswerable poser. 

The Marquis de Polignac looked gravely across the 
table, and said very gently — 

"I should hand over Monsieur Bocal to the common 
law." 

" You think it would be an easy matter ? " 

" He would be an enemy of his country." 

The great War Minister smiled, a sadly mirthful, su- 
perior smile — ^it was difficult to say whether the comers 



44 The Red Neighbour, 

of his long mouth or his really fine nostrils contributed 
the more to the effect. 

" There was a certain Don Quixote who went a-tilting 
at windmills, was there not ? " 

" But in this case," said De Polignac, " it will be the 
whole force of the law supported by his Majesty which 
will do the tilting." 

"You think so? My dear Polignac, I really value 
your help too much — ^you see how selfishly I put it ! " De 
Louvois rather prided himself on the exhibition of his 
selfishness. It is not an uncommon pose, but it does not 
excuse selfishness any the more. He went on — 

" I really value your help too much to allow you to 
place yourself in a false position." 

" A false position ? " 

"You fiussume first that you would find out a great 
deal. Let it be so ! Monsieur Bocal is as crafty as the 
proverbial serpent. We will assume that you do. You 
postulate in the second case that you would denounce 
him to the king in a formidable list of charges. I accept 
that. Your third postulate is that the king would place 
the engines of the law at your disposal to crush Bocal. 
He would be a fat morsel. What a confiscation to the 
Crown! Yes! It would be a great temptation. Yes! 
There is more perhaps in it than I thought. The pros- 
pect of a confiscation of a few millions " (he was going 
to say 'might even induce Louis to support the law,' 
but he disdained the reflection on his sovereign) ... a 
few millions might even enlist the support of the Court. 
De Louvois still possessed a great deal of the contempt 
of the great new man for the mere aristocracy. " There 
is always a long list of people waiting to be pensioned." 

" It was not in my mind, however," said De Polignac, 
"that any such motive could be needed, could be possible, 
to procure mere justice." 

"When one has been Minister of War for twelve 
years," retorted the other, " one does not speak of justice, 
one speaks of the public interest, the necessities of the 
State, the will of our Sovereign Lord the King. They 
are at bottom the same thing. Abstract justice is for 



The greatest War Minister save one. 45 

a discussion in the Sorbonne or some other academy. 
Suppose Monsieur Bocal had some powerful friends, 
friends sufficiently powerful to cause the intervention 
of "the public interest" ? 

The Marquis rose. His attitude was almost menacing 
in its strenuousness. 

" I should say to his Majesty — Sire, in the face of these 
facts it is no longer possible for me to serve your Majesty 
as Under-Secretejy of War." 

" And Monsieur Bocal would be able to boast that he 
had driven you to resign. Believe me, the game is not 
worth the candle. No, my dear Polignac ! Think 
better of it. Let Turenne grumble. We will remonstrate 
with Bocal, send Turenne what he wants, but you shall 
not, with my consent, depart on this uncertain, perilous, 
and of necessity futile adventure." 

"It seems to me that you have some actual informa- 
tion of which I am ignorant that you speak with such 
earnestness." 

The Minister's eyes for a moment gleamed ominously ; 
then his face relaxed into a smile. After all, one coiQd 
not be angry with Polignac, so quixotic, so earnest, so 
actuated by the purest patriotism. 

" My father told me years ago, before I was Secretary 
of State, ' It is the business oi a Minister to know and 
to adhere to principles, and to leave details to sub- 
ordinates. It is over details that one bums one's fingers.' 
He also told me, 'The knowledge of particular Covrt 
intrigues is burdensome; to share in them is to court 
certain disaster.' These are wise sajdngs, if not so well 
expressed as Monsieur de la Rochefoucauld would have 
dressed them out. You may take it for granted that 
whenever Monsieur Bocal has made fifty thousand 
pistoles, some highly placed personage has borrowed — 
it is the phrase of the day — borrowed at least ten. You 
are proposing to fight Monsieur Bocal. I pay you a well- 
deserved compliment when I say — I believe you would 
win the battle. But you could not out-manoeuvre his 
reserves, his invisible legions, those legions of pistoles." 

"My mind is, however, made up," said the Marquis. 



46 The Red Neighbour. 

** If you do not give me permission, I must resign and 
pursue my adventure alone." 

Monsieur de Louvois looked a trifle wearied by this 
display of dogged resolution. 

" It is not to be done in that way. Without powera 
of some kind, some official sanction, your life would not 
be safe. There is no harm in your going to see Turenne 
to in(][uire into his grievancea But you must come 
straight back and report in confidence to me. As head 
of the department I must decide as to future action." 

The Mmister spoke in a cold determined tone, which 
he seldom if ever used in his communications with De 
Polignac The latter, however, having gained his chief 
point, was not disposed to cavil at what was, after all, a 
matter of loyalty to his department. But he said to 
himself that if Monsieur Bocal crossed his path, with 
intention to obstruct, it would be so much the worse for 
him, legions or no legions. 



CHAPTER Vn. 

THE COUNT PAYS HIS TAILOR'S BILL. 

When the Count de Roubaix arrived at his unexpected 
liospice, the Conciergerie, without being able to extract 
any information from the officer in charge of the archers, 
ho proceeded at the very Gate of Despair to give his 
valot some directions as to a change of linen, of clothes, 
and other necessaries. 

"Excuse mo,** said the officer, "your valet is to 
accompany you!** 

Tho Count laughed. " But my valet owes nothing to 
uiy tailor!** 

" On tho contrary,** said the officer. " I have an arrest 
for liim toa** 

Tho valot s face dropped. 



The Count pays his Tailor's Bill. 47 

" I told him to charge it to his lordship," he stammered, 
covered with confusion. "It was a miserable suit for 
my brother." 

The Count laughed again. "Come! You see what 
deceit leads to," he said. " I suppose one of your men 
will carry a message for a few sous," he added to the 
officer. "I caimot come out into the streets in broad 
daylight, as if I had come from a ball." He looked 
comically at his gala costume. 

" I have no instructions," said the officer, " but I will 
see what can be done." 

So the Count and his valet, being formally handed 
over to the head-gailer, the Count scribbled a note and 
gave it to the officer to convey to his landlord at the 
small but fashionably situated apartment in the Rue 
des J^uites. 

Then, being of an intensely practical disposition, he 
proceeded to bargain with the head-jailer for the best 
room in the place for himself and his valet. 

" The Red Neighbour has the best already," growled 
the head-jailer. " She can aflFord it." 

"I could not think of disturbing her for so short a 
time," said the Count meditatively. "The residents 
always have the choice, and very properly. But come — 
this room will do quite well. There is a couch in it. 
My valet will do well enough with a blanket and the 
floor. 

"But, monsieur, this is my wife's salon! And, 
monsieur, it is what they all say, ' I shall be leaving to- 
morrow.' " 

"The very thing," the Count went on, coolly mak- 
ing a little voyage round the room. " Now, Mr Head- 
jailer, a bottle of wine, two candles, a blanket, stay, 
two blankets, some pens, ink, and paper. Here are a 
couple of pistoles. Now, go away, there's a good man, 
lock the door, and don't trouble me with the usual pro- 
testation. I am as sleepy as an owl." 

The head-jailer pocketed the pistoles and departed, 
to return in a few minutes with the necessaries. 

"Now, Mr Head-jailer, I shall write two letters and 



48 The Red Neighbour. 

slip them under the door. You will see that they are 
delivered, and wake me at ten, not a moment before." 

Once more the head-jailer withdrew, wishing he had 
a few more lodgers like the Count de Boubaix. 

The Count was not easily cast down by a little con- 
tretemps like thia And had he not the declaration of 
Dr Levani in his pocket ? 

The first letter was addressed to the erring tailor, and, 
more in sorrow than in anger, though it contained some 
sufficiently strong language, bade him present himself at 
the Conciergerie at half -past ten to the minute. 

The other was an epistle of a more piquant character, 
which is worth copying out. 

The superscription it bore was Madame Sorel, Grocer, 
17 Rue St Martin; but within this cover was another, 

addressed to Madame la Duchesse de . It is not 

fair to the lady in question to reveal a name which the 
Count was so studious to conceal : — 

"Adorable et Chabmante, — Love leads a man (even 
the best of us) into strange places. You will see by the 
address below, whither he has led me, at the instance of 
the very tailor that has so often abetted me in creating 
that perfect coxcomb, which so exactly represents me, 
and incidentally pleases your beautiful but partial eyes. 
If I languish for a sight of them it is that a mere veil 
of cloth of gold, five hundred pistoles in value, hangs 
between me and the privilege of gazing upon them and 
blotting out their light with kisses. It is for you, a 
mere but precious pastime, to lift the veil. Your little 
packet sent by a sure hand will find me at ten precisely, 
m my boudoir (the salon of the wife of the head-jailer) 
at the Conciergerie. I cover your hands with kisses. 

" Alphonse (C. de R.)." 

Having indited these epistles and slipped them under 
the door, the Count threw himself upon the couch, bade 
his valet, who was already gently snoring, but had to 
awaken at his master's call, wrap the blanket about him, 
and at once fell asleep. 



The Count pays his Tailor's Bill. 49 

At ten the jailer awakened him and handed him a 
small packet which had just arrived. 

It contained a ring, a tiny jewel in itself, set with 
three brilliants of the first water. It also contained a 
note, which was short enough, but plea-sed the Count 
almost as much as the ring: — 

"Monster of conceit and ingratitude. I hope you 
have learned a lesson. Don't expect me to receive you 
again." 

" And now for that rascal of a tailor !"..." Delight- 
ful and precious token," he murmured, apostrophising 
the ring. " How willingly could I retain you, treasure 
you, for the sake of the giver ! Three stones ! Faith, 
Hope, and Charity ! I wonder which is the greatest of 
the three on this occasion ? Ah me ! How symbolical 
are you, precious ring ! You have already encircled 
how many fingers? And how many hearts have lain 
encircled by her Grace's love ? Parbleu ! It is a 
nuisance, but you must go to the king's jewellers for a 
rest, and then, who knows?" 

At half-past ten the head-jailer ushered in Monsieur 
Carosse, the famous tailor, a round, short, clean-shaven 
man, very neatly dressed, carrying in his hand a 
measuring-tape and in the other his hat, with which he 
executed a low bow, almost but not quite touching the 
floor. 

"Monsieur! Monsieur! Monseigneur ! " he began, 
breathlessly. 

" Oh ! is that you, you diabolical engineer of midnight 
assassination?" said the Count, pretending to work 
himself up into a fury. "Is this the way you treat 
your best customers ? " And so saying he flourished a 
copy of the arrest before the gaze of the protesting 
onender. 

" But, monseigneur ! " he began again. 

"And you dare," thundered the Count, "to throw me 
into the Conciergerie for a few hundred pistoles, because 
you have furnished me with a score or so of misfits ! " 

D 



« 



50 The Red Neighbour. 

"Misfits! Me throw your lordship into the Con- 
ciergerie! There is some mistake, some unheard-of 
error ! " 

" But there is no mistake. Look at the arrest ! Look 
at the copy of your account ! " 

" It is my account, my lord, it is in the handwriting 
of Jules my clerk. But the arrest, I swear before the 
holy angels that I know nothing of it ! " 

There was no doubting the honest wonderment of the 
tailor. It was then a plot. Had not the Duchess 

de said something about "a lesson." The Count 

vowed to himself that there should be a counter-lesson, 
but he was not unwilling to make a little harvest while 
the sun shone. 

"It is very inexplicable," said the Count, becoming 
mollified. "But I accept your assurance. Now sit 
down, knock off fifty pistoles from your exorbitant bill, 
and give me a quittance in full." 

The tailor demurred. 

"But, monseigneur! the account is correct. I never 
overcharge any one." 

" All the same, I have only to show yoiu: arrest to a 
few of my friends and what will become of yoiu: shop ? " 

" But, monseignem: ! it is not my arrest ! " 

" Come now, Carosse ! Sign ! I have a pressing en- 
gagement at the War Office at half-pa.st eleven." 

The tailor sighed ; but, secretly glad at getting even 
so much of his bill, gave the necessary quittance and the 
Count produced the ring. "You will sell this for me 
at a good jeweller's and hand me the balance ! " 

At eleven o'clock the Count was on his way to his 
lodgings in the Rue des Jfeuites. The adventure had 
turned out not so badly. He had paid his tailor and 
would have five hundred pistoles to the good, less a few 
for the prison fees which he had paid with ready money. 

When he reached his rooms he found his landloni 
wringing his hands. 

" Oh, my lord ! What an inexpressible relief it is to 
see you again." 

" Tut ! tut ! Monsieur Nappe. I have been the victim 



The Count pays his Tailor's Bill. 51 

of a plot, that is all, but I have the clue. Never 
fear!" 

"A plot! Yon do not know all! A plot indeed! 
Listen ! I had no sooner departed with your lordship's 
clothes than a lady came and demanded entrance. My 
wife was gone to the Halles to make her marketings. 
The servant did not know what to do. The lady insisted, 
and mounted to your rooms, as she said, to write a note. 
I return. I find the room ransacked, and in what con- 
fusion your lordship seea It is horrible ! I cannot hold 
up my head again as a respectable letter of lodgings in 
the respectable Rue des J&raitea What can I say, my 
lord?" 

This time the Count was a little bit put out. A lady 
alone in his rooms ! 

" How long did she stay ? " 

"Fully h^ an hour, my lord. Look! She has 
ransacked every drawer, every receptacle, and has 
spared nothing." 

The Count brushed past Monsieur Nappe. A veritable 
picture of topsy-turvy medley met his gaze. From his 
wardrobe suits had b^n taken and thrown down, doubt- 
less after a brief search in all the pocketa Capes, 
breeches, vests, doublets of velvet, of silk, with lace, with 
gold braid, uniforms, shirts, were all strewn pell-melL 

The valet stood in amaze and began to pick up first 
one thing, then another, to shake and fold it. The 
Count went from place to place looking in the drawers, 
the locks of some ol which had been forced, to see if 
anything had been stolen. 

" My reputation is at stake as a gallant man," he said 
to the dismayed landlord. "First let me see what I 
have lost, and then I will examine your servant. Li 
the meantime leave us, I pray." 

The landlord bowed and went out, shutting the door 
carefully, and descended to give the poor servant another 
reprimand, and bid her not to stir out or breathe a word 
in the quarter. As for Madame Nappe, she could only 
sit nursing her market-basket, and fanning herself with 
a cabbage-leaf, exclaiming at intervals, "Mon Dieu! 



52 The Red Neighbour. 

What is to become of us ? " for she regarded the Count 
de Roubaix as only second to the king himself. 

The Count made a further exercise of his reasoning 
powers. " It is the duchess ! A lesson — ^truly ! It must 
have been she who picked my pocket of that cursed 
tailor's bill and got me arrested so as to come here and 
see whose love letters I hoarded. It is true she loves 
me to distraction^ but what has she found ? I must sit 
down and make a list. There is nothing like method." 

The Count sat down and began i(fly brushing his 
moustache with the feather of the quill, while he thought, 
and presently he began to sniff. "Hold! There is 
certainly a strange perfume here!" He sniffed again, 
" By the eleven thousand virgins ! it is not the duchess. 
She does not love me quite so much as I thought. But 
who is it? Decidedly I must make a list. One must 
be methodical." 

The Count made out his list — ^mere initials. They 
were all Clarice, Fanchette, Ursule, or whatever their 
dear names were, to him,. Their ranks troubled him 
not a whit. They were always of the best. For a man 
of his parts to cultivate amours in any but the best 
quarters was childish. Besides, as Monsieur Bocal would 
say, "It was not amusing." It was not a long list. 
Possibly there were six or seven, not more, of his reign- 
ing sultanas. Like another truly great man, he was 
amazed at his own moderation. Few as they were, 
the petals of their reputations must be scrupulously 
protected. 

The Count went through to his bedchamber and took 
out his escritoire. One, two, three, four, five neat 
packets tied with ribands of various colours, and the 
knot sealed in each case just as he had left them. 

"Confound it! The sixth packet! I remember it 
was not packed like the rest. It was wrapped in a 
yellow parchment and inscribed. What did I inscribe 
upon it— something fanciful? Ah! I remember. Poor 
Cflotilde! — shut up in Meudon. 'My one indiscretion.' 
Yes, a very apt inscription. But why should the fair 
unknown take that?" 



The Count pays his Tailor s Bill. 53 

This gave him something serious to think about. 
Poor Clotilde! A sweet girl, who had persisted in 
falling in love with him and sending him m exchange 
for a few ea-sy compliments half a dozen charming 
confessions of her innocent admiration. It was his 
"one indiscretion," because he had even broached 
the subject of marriage to her parents and had been 
coldly refused. They had sent poor Clotilde to Meudon 
till her prayers, or their better fortune, should conjure 
up another and more desirable suitor. 

There was the possible explanation that the plot 
originated with her parents, resolved to leave nothing 
in his hands which could compromise her. But this 
he dismissed as improbable. He, however, admitted 
to himself that he did not know what perfume her 
mother was in the habit of using. 

He thought again. He reprcSuced in imagination 
the outward look of the packet, and he remembered 
that the parchment was in fact an old War OlBBice 
document of no value, in which he had wrapped up 
the letters — ^an old plan of a fortified town, and bore 
neatly engrossed upon it "Plan de Nancy." 

This gave his imagination another turn. He went 
hot and cold as he sat there with the escritoire on 
his knees. Then bidding his valet proceed, carried 
off the escritoire to the other room, locked both doors, 
and after moving a piece of furniture, opened with 
a small key a small concealed cupboard, a mere crevice 
eight inches or so each way, so closely fitted into 
the wall and so well covered by the leather on the 
wall as to be invisible to any eye but his own. There 
were a number of packets of memoranda, over which 
he hastily ran his eve. Yes, they were all there! 
The lady's search had been fruitless. He could breathe 
again. They were welcome to poor Clotilde's letters 
though he was sorry too. They were so refreshing. 
They reminded him, so he professed, of his first youth. 
He usually read them in the only time he found for 
reading, which was while his lackey buckled his shoes. 



54 The Red Neighbour. 



CHAPTER VIII. 

love's SELFISHNESa 

The end of the Count's immediate troubles increased, 
if possible, the volume of the flow of his ardent spirits. 
His blood had been temporarily dammed up by the 
scare. Now he was more jubilant than if nothing 
had happened out of the ordinary. The relief from 
an imminent danger is a stronger feeling than the 
anticipation of a pleasure easily within reach. 

His elation led him to search his pockets for the paper 
signed by the eminent Dr Levani, sometime valet to an 
equally eminent theological student of Arraa He found 
it, read it, and placed it in his pocket again very 
carefully. 

"One should not waste too long in preliminaries!" 
he said. Then he released his valet, reassured his 
landlord, ordered his dinner, went out to play tennis 
and get the news of the courts, returned, dined, dressed 
in a more becoming suit, and set out to call at the 
Hotel de Polignac — ^upon its mistress. 

And here we may venture upon an observation of 
life, not in the least new, which few good women will 
admit to be true, because it reflects upon their judgment, 
of which, as is well known, all good women possess 
a large stock. The larger the stock is, the larger are 
the possibilities of depreciation. It is this: — 

Your philanderes, who plays most havoc among the 
hearts of the weaker sisterhood, is an equal favourite, 
despite his reputation, with the stronger sisterhood 
whose virtue is unassailable. They are prone to excuse 
his anti-social sins on the score of his social qualities. 

The Marquise de Polignac, who listened to no scandal 
nor retailed such evidences of it as her own eyes might 
offer, had little or no knowledge of the Count's laxities. 
To her he was the amusing, nay, interesting oflBicer, 
who was a sharer to some extent in her husband's work. 



Love's Selfishness. 55 

and for the rest formed an always notable figure at 
her own receptions, — a man who had an eye for stuffs 
as for pictures, for flowers as for a rare piece of 
jeweller's work, — a man who took an abiding interest 
in woman's trifles without being effeminate, a well- 
made man, whose manners were charmingly polished, 
and the possessor of an audacity of which in her 
presence he only displayed as much as he would have 
of his sword in a German quarreL 

"You are looking charmingly ill!" he said to the 
Marquise as he found her in the picture-gallery alone. 
The large windows which looked upon the garden were 
open, and pleasant odours of flowers came to them 
where she sat. There was some embroidery before 
her, for excuse rather than for amusement. 

"I am quite well, Count," she said, with a faint 
blush startled from its nest by his sudden irruption 
into the grove of her solitary thoughts. 

" There flies a little white fib, madstme," he said, with 
a curious assumption of masterful interest not unmingled 
with tendemesa It aroused a haughty — 

"Monsieur!" 

" You were thinking of the Red Neighbour, Marquise ! 
You have been perturbed ever since she was arrested. 
It is beginning to tell upon your eyes, upon your 
complexion, which are justly celebrated as the finest 
in raria" 

"I have never heard that before," she said, smiling. 
" But come ! You were speaking of the Red Neighbour. 
Tell me about her. I hear so little." 

Her tone was so completely guarded, there was not 
a breath of faltering over the name. He took his 
cue from it, 

"The Red Neighbour is a woman who has worked 
herself into the confidence of many Parisian ladies. 
She has been suspected of assisting some of them to 
poison their lords, and been thrown into the Conciergerie. 
That is what is given out. Many ladies visitea her 
on very harmless errands . . ." he paused, . . » "as 
you did, madame." 



56 The Red Neighbour. 

"I, Count? What a marvellous idea!" 

" That was nothing, madame ! But you made a 
terrible mistake of strategy." 

The Marquise winced, but said nothing. The Count's 
tones became grave and low. 

" You put yourself into the hands of a common rogue 
calling himself Dr Levani. ... He was once my 
lackey!" 

The Marquise sprang up and placed her hand upon 
the Count's as if to beseech him to keep her secret, 
but she said nothing. Her lips refused. 

The Count went on. "Mctdame, I have preserved 
your honour from this scoundrel, whose single idea 
was to wring money from you. Look!" He placed 
the paper in her hands, and sauntered away to a window 
to inhale the perfumed air, and relish, if only for a 
moment, the exquisite flavour of his sensations. For 
the Comte de Roubaix was an artist in sensations. It 
is also true that he was eminently practical, knowing 
what were the ends he aimed at and approaching them 
by what he considered the shortest route ; but, having 
selected the route, he was careful to enjoy every leaf 
and twig and tone of green or trill of bird, whereunder 
we image the intangime pleasures of the emotions and 
the intellect. 

" Count ! " she called in a low tone of her sweet 
voice, and looked towards him with eyes whose blue 
depths seemed still more limpid for the tears she had 
brushed away. " You have done for me an incalculable 
service, swiftly, generously." 

"She is going to be grateful," said the Count to 
himsell "And that will never do. She will give me 
a new sword or a ring, or some other trash. One 
never gets the right sort of favours from a woman's 
gratitude." Swift as his thought he struck in — 

"Madame la Marquise, I did it out of pure selfish- 
ness!" 

"Oh! Count!" 

"Yes! Because I love you, and love is a supreme 
selfishness. You are now as much in my hands as 



Love's Selfishness. 57 

you were in those of Levani, but mine are the hands 
of a gentleman." 

The Marquise was shocked by his avowal, spoken 
with the voice of ardour and sincerity. With as perfect 
an ear for the finest inflections as the Count's command 
of them was perfect, she knew that no suggestion of 
hopelessness underiay the declaration. It is doubtless 
a gratifying thing to a woman to hear such an avowal, 
where love is impossible, when the professed lover recog- 
nises its hopelessness. It permits of a gracious tender 
reception, motherlike in quality, a pouring of the oil 
of sweet words into the wounded heart, and of reflec- 
tions, after his gentle dismissal, tinged with a certain 
regret, which yet may be approved by conscience. 

The Marquise was alarm^ a little by his audacity, 
but hampered by her gratitude for his undoubted 
service. 

At his first words, so unexpected, her pride had leaped 
to the walls, and the tips of the spears gleamed from 
the battlements of her brow. That any man should 
have dared to say as much to Marie Gabrielle de 
Polignac and not go out straightway from her presence, 
bowed to the dust, was an inconceivable thing. But 
here was the friend of her house, of her husband, who 
had stood in the very nick of time, her unknown con- 
fidant, between her and shame, between her and her 
husband's anger, which she dreaded almost as much as 
she yearned for his love. How was it possible to hurl 
arrows of scorn at the Count in the very moment of 
gratitude ? She dropped her eyelids as she stood facing 
him. Then she said, not raising them as yet — 

"I always liked you very much, ever since I knew 
you, and chiefly because you were my husband's friend. 
I have heard you spoken of as a gallant man. I shall 
believe you such when I feel that you have spoken as 
you did just now out of the excess of the fervour of 

four fidelity. In token of my trust in yoiu: generosity 
give you back your rogue's renunciation. It is safest 
with you. I shall tell my husband of your goodness 
and of my own foolishness." 



58 The Red Neighbour. 

As she said the last words she looked up at him with 
so beautiful an expression of trustfulness and kindness 
in her pure eyes that the Count was more than half 
persuaded that his private code of morals was at fault 
somewhere, and fully persuaded that he really loved her 
more than ever. 

" No ! " he said, putting back the paper. " I mi^ht be 
tempted to use it. Perhaps I should not have said what 
I felt. You are not yet out of the original danger. The 
Red Neighbour has not yet been examined. I have yet 
to find out what is the precise charge against her, and 
whether she will really be put to the Question. I have 
my doubts about it. is it worth while to say anything 
to the Marquis at present ? " 

The Count threw out his last remark with an air of 
idle speculation, satisfied that he had set the Marquise ^ 
thinking of himself, and was wondering by what channel 
he coula best guide the interview to a properly rhythmical 
close, a soft cadence of emotion, when he heard the foot- 
fall of the Marquis himself. His sensitive faculties were 
promised another f ea>st. But he would perforce have to 
postpone the cadence. The Marquise slipped the paper 
into the folds of her dress. To hand it back to the 
Count was too hazardous. The Count noticed this too, 
and said to himself, " she will not tell her husband." 

The Marquise turned and hastened to meet her 
husband. 

"So soon! Gaston. You have come to take me for 
a drive? The Count could not see her face, but he 
heard the affectionate glad tones, "So soon! Gaston." 

The Marquis smiled a smile that seemed to begin with 
his brows, linger in his eyes, and alight upon his lips. 
Lit up by it his features assumed a benignity only 
possible to lofty courageous souls which have a double 
portion of the divine essence. 

" If you would only smile more often ! " she whispered, 
as she took him by the arm, delighted by his coming, 
as she had been at any time since her wedding-day. 

The Count came to meet them. 

" So this is where you spend your time instead of at 



Love's Selfishness. 59 

the War OflSce," said the Marquis, with a quizzical 
expression. He said it indulgently, as if he had added, 
" one must excuse the young.' 

" It is that I have had an adventure." 

" Not unusual to the Count, Marie," said the Marquis, 
smiling again. 

"It was an unusual adventure, all the same," the 
Count replied. "I was arrested last night at the 
instance of my tailor, who swears he had no hand in 
it, and when I arrived at my lodgings I found some one 
had taken advantage of my accident to ransack every 
drawer, my escritoire, my pockets, — in short, everything 
I have, and carried off a packet of letters of no interest 
to any one but myself." 

" ^e you sure," asked the Marquise, in a merry tone 
that only betrayed how happy she was when the stfii 
shone for her in her husbaiid's presence, "that they 
would interest no one else?" 

She is even capable of laughing at me, thought the 
Count, this woman that I hold in the hollow of my 
hand. She will require a sharp lesson. 

" I was wrong. It is possible they would have 
interested you, madame. For you," he bowed to the 
Marquis with a smile, and looked at the Marquise, " are 
still in love, and so was the writer of the letters. But 
her love was without hope." 

" It must be investigated — ^this plot," said the Marquis. 
" And now, Count, will you go at once to the War Office ? 
The Marquis de Louvois wishes to see you. You are, 
on my recommendation, to be entrusted with some im- 
portant business. I will confer with you later." 

The heart of the Marquise bounded. She was then 
going to hear something of moment. Her husband, so 
cold and reticent, had come to life again and confidence. 
How easy it would be, should be, to tell her little 
story and bid defiance to her cares ! With what infinite 
wheedling of woman would she control her husband's 
mood and lead it to the judgment-seat, where, nestling 
at his knee, she would make her confession ! 

The Count immediately made his adieux, saluting the 



6o The Red Neighbour. 

hand of the Marquise with a reverential kiss, and saying, 
"Till our next meeting, madame! I will not fail to 
execute your little commission," as if it were an affair 
of ribands, and "many thanks, Marquis, for your good 
word." 

He went off, elated by this testimony to his worth, 
which was chequered by the " on my recommendation " 
of the Marquis, a possible diminishing clause in the 
eyes of the Marquise, before whom he wished to pre- 
serve the air of the man of destinies. His star and 
not another's recommendation must advance him. 

Directly he had gone the Marquise threw her arms 
about her husband's neck and looked up into his eyes 
with joy verging upon tears. 

" I am so glwi you have come to me this afternoon, 
Gaston." 

"You are a loving little soul, Marie Gabrielle," he 
said, returning her caress with interest, holding her back 
a little space and feasting on her eyes, and then gently^ 
leading her on to the balcony, closing the window 
behind them. 

"You have something to tell me, Gaston," she said. 
" You cannot guess how I hunger for your confidences. 
They are too rare," she added wistfully. " But I am 
too glad to scold you. Come! Tell me." 

" Well then, dearest, I am going a journey to visit 
Marshal Turenne, and find out why he does not get 
sufficient supplies." 

" And you will take me with you, Gaston ? " 

"Alas! no. I shall go on horseback with a single 
man, travelling as a private gentleman. I carry the 
king's safe -conduct, oi course, so that I run no risk; 
but it is a long journey, and I may be detained here 
or there on the road. There is no telling. I shall write 
to you as often as possible, but you are not to expect 
any letters for a week, for there are reasons . . ." 

" There is some danger, Gaston ? I feel that there 
is . . ." 

"No! my Marie! It is that I do not wish to be 
forestalled, I hope to find out much. But if my 



Love's Selfishness. 6i 

approach is trumpeted abroad, it is clear that I shall 
find out nothing." 

" Gaston ! You are a perfect knight - errant, and 
your mistress is France, not I ! Why do they not 
send the Count de Roubaix, for instance ? He has no 
wife. He loves adventures. He is a great swordsman ! " 

"My dearest! I am not going out to fight duels, 
at lespst not with a sword, but to confer with my old 
friend Turenne, to concert measures for the welfare 
of the army. The Count de Roubaix is not fitted 
for such duties. He is useful in his way, but this 
is a very delicate matter which I alone can handle, 
as I alone conceived it." 

" Ah ! vain Gaston ! How your work has taken 
hold of you ! Oh ! Gaston, I wish you were not going. 
I shall feel so lonely in Paris." 

"So lonely! with troops of friends and all the 
gaieties of the Court ! " 

"And no heart when you are gone, Gaston. Ah! 
you cannot tell what presentiments I have of impending 
danger. Dream, Gaston, that you were where I could 
not reach you, and I was in deadly peril!" 

"But, my love, my heart, it is but a question of 
weeks. Put away your timidity. It was not in this 
way that your ancestresses sent their lords to the 
crusades — a serious affair. This is but a holiday jaunt 
— along the highway. I have to go to Ch&lons, say 
two days' journey, Bar le Due, another two days or 
perhaps three, Nancy another two days. Two more 
days will bring me to the frontier, and I shall meet 
the Marshal. That is eleven days. I may be with 
him a week, and then come back. Four weeks in 
all." 

"Four weeks, Gaston? We have never been parted 
so long since our marriage!" 

" And you will have Th^rese," he said. " Everything 
will go on as usual." 

"It is easy for you, Gaston! Besides, Th^r^e will 
have to return to Meudon very soon. I shall* be a 
prey to my own thoughts, my own fears ! " 



62 The Red Neighbour. 

The Marquis made a little gesture of despair, smiling, 
however, upon her at the same time. 

"But what can I do? I have arranged this with 
Louvois. It is a matter which deeply concerns the 
State. You wouldn't have me rust, Marie? Rust? 
That is what our nobles, our men of race are doing, 
and the Colberts and Le Telliers, the industrious men 
of no family, are gaining and keeping the power in 
their own hands. It is true we have a strong king^— 
thank Heaven for that ! But suppose that we come to 
have a weak king, and a nobility that has lost its 
muscle, its address, its brain, its courage! what wiU 
happen? The strong and vigorous bourgeoisie, the 
Bocals, will mount to power and trample us like 
unripe com beneath their heels. I have but one life. 
I mean to lead it to the utmost stretch." 

Insensibly the Marquis's tones had grown stem, 
tense, determined, and his eyes glowed with a heroic 
light. To the eyes of the Marquise he seemed to 
grow away from her into a being less human, unap- 
proachable. She burst into tears, tears she had hitherto 
kept back. She leaned her arms upon the balustrade 
of the balcony and wept. 

"The State! The State! Your life ! The nobility ! " 
she sobbed out at intervals. "What have I to do 
with these? I am your wife. I love you! I want 
all of you, not the dregs when the wine has been 
poured out of the flagon.' 

The Marquis took a few strides in perplexed silence. 
He saw that her appeal had the force of justice. 
Equally he saw the force of the eternal saying, "If 
a man toil not, neither shall he eat," albeit the peasants 
and the farmers on his estates would furnish him 
with meat and drink and noble raiment till his dying 
day, without any exertion on his part. His inter- 
pretation of the saying was a higher one. But could 
he make it clear to Marie Gabrielle, bom De Lusignan, 
surrotmded with wealth and ea-se since the day of 
her birth, sheltered from every wind of heaven, and 
from every jar and jostle of the denizens of earth? 



Love's Selfishness. 63 

Proud, of a proud race, lovely beyond the middle lot 
of woman, how was it possible to make her understand ? 
If she had not loved hun quite so much ! 

*'Come!" he said, taking her by the shoulder, and 
she trembled as he touched her, so absorbed was she 
in her grief. "Come to your room. We can talk 
better there." 

And she suflfered him to lead her to the window 
of her chamber which looked out upon the same 
balcony, and set her down upon a great fauteuil, 
placing cushions for her head, and taking her hand, 
knelt beside her. 

Little by little she quietened beneath his caresses. 
The violence of the storm was abated. Then, woman-like, 
she turned from reproaches to prayers for forgiveness. 

"Forgive me, Gaston! I have been very stupid. 
Of course you must go. I am too selfish. No! You 
are going to say that it is you that are selfish. No! 
It is true. You must have your ambitions. I should 
not love you if you had not. And you will be back 
again as soon as possible, having removed the mountains 
— ^is it not so ? ' She was smiling now through the 
gUstening of the tears. 

"You are a brave little woman!" said the Marquis, 
radiant with pleasure at the turn things had taken. 
"And now, what is at the bottom of all this? You 
have some hidden trouble. I know you are jealous 
of the State. But why do you so much want me not 
to go?" 

" Because— it will sound trivial to you — I was foolish 
enough to go to the Red Neighbour, — ^never mind what 
for. It was innocent enough. It was not for an 
Inheritance Powder! And I was afraid that if they 
put her to the Question my name might be divulged, 
and you would believe ill of me, and there would be 
a scandal ..." 

The face of the Marquis, the tone of his voice, both 
seemed to feel a cold diadow cross them. You have 
seen the sunbeams bathing a comer of the dismal street 
and making it lovely. You have seen theifi pick up 



64 The Red Neighbour. 

their long Kmbs and stride — whither ? The street is cold 
and grey again. Just so was the eflFect on the Marquis. 

" You ali^, Marie Gabrielle ! " 

There was a worid of weight in the " also." It seemed 
to place her in alignment with the other women. Like 
an arrow it sped Uirough her brain, leaving a rankling 
track behind it. The Marquis had been momentarily off 
his guard, given way to an instant passing irritation, had 
meant to convey his disappointment at a single point of 
foolishness. She read it as a hurling from its pedestal 
of the statue he had prized as marble, because he found 
it but a copy in clay, forgetful that the true lover loves 
his mistress or his wife because she is human, and not 
otherwise. No man would for long love a goddess. But 
reading the phrase so, she locked up her treasure of con- 
fidences, and hiding the key in her heart, felt its cold 
dead weight pressing inward. 

"I am very sorry," she said. "I suppose I am like 
the other women, but I meant no harm. But you will 
see that our name is not dragged across the horrible 
records of the * Burning Chaml^r ' ? " 

" It is not an easy thing, nor a dignified one," said the 
Marquis slowly, and with more weariness in his tone 
than anger, " to stifle the mention of a name if they put 
her to the Question. If they do not torture her, I do not 
expect any revelation. The charge formulated against 
her may not be the real reason for which she is immured. 
It may be she is there for reasons of State. Do not 
ponder over possibilities too much. Do not seek to 
know what is going forward. It is the guilty only who 
need fear, and it was only your foolish fancy that made 
me speak coldly. I must make my preparations for the 
journey : but first let us drive in the Cours la Reine and 
then sup together, and part as we should, dearest, in 
perfect amity." 

" Oh, Gaston ! I wish you were not going ! " was her 
last word in this memorable interview. 



Marquis de Polignac visits a Prisoner. 65 
CHAPTER IX. 

THE MARQUIS DE POLIGNAC VISITS A PRISONER. 

The woman who occupied the Conciergerie's best lodg- 
ing, into which penetrated, when the door opened, the dank 
fetid air of the corridors, and, when the door was shut, 
the varying but always noxious odours of the prison 
yard (a coup for all manner of filth by day as well as by 
night, to lie and rot, and exhale pestUence), this woman, 
who had led a life of intense activity, was becoming 
almost as savage as a tigress under the restraint. She 
felt the splendid vigour of her body being slowly sapped. 
She was always thinking, thinking. 

For what purpose had she been immured ? At whose 
instigation? These were the first questions. She had 
to confess to herself that the answers were still to seek. 
Ostensibly she had been arrested on a charge of poison- 
ing, or being accessory to poisoning, an old man who had 
a young wife. That was not the real reason she was 
sure. She knew too much of the intrigues of courts to 
believe in the figment called justice : too much to sup- 
pose that the Provost of Paris, or any other great func- 
tionary of that more tangible thing called law, had, out 
of his stem indignation at the death of one old man, laid 
hands upon her and encased her within these pestilential 
walla It was too obvious an explanation to be the true 
one. To be frank, of which she had no intention, it 
would have been a welcome truth, for the chaplet of 
great names with which she could festoon the court of 
trial, and the fear of the swiftly following lampoons, 
would procure her a smothered but certain acqmttal. 

She knew that there were deeper possibilities, probings 
of another side of her life, a side wherein the real native 
vigour of her mind and her truest energies were 
employed. The life she led in Paris of potion -dealer, 
sorceress, fortune-teller, vendor of secrets of the toilette, 
was only the superficial outlet of her restless spirit, a 

E 



66 The Red Neighbour. 

plaything to her, a terrible will-o'-the-wisp for the fools 
who came to play with her, or took her play for serious- 
ness. To what extent that young wife had helped the 
old man's halting steps over the precipice which is called 
death, she knew not and cared not. She possessed the 
brutality of great statesmen, of great conquerors, the 
brutality which says, "That is their affair!" and feels 
no qualm. 

If only some light were shed. It was suspense as 
much as anything that told upon her spirits. No one 
had come near her but "that fool Levani," as she styled 
him. She had been left alone. And if it be not good 
for man to be alone, neither is it for woman. She 
regarded that truce of the law as ominous. Of fussy 
interrogatories by minor officials to drag admissions 
out of her, of opportunities for exercising her woman's 
wit and double-edged tongue, which would have 
furnished salt to her savourless indolence, there had 
been none. 

The turning of a key in the lock ! The head-jailer's 
grim sallow visage! Behind him a tall, handsome, 
thoughtful gentleman. 

" Ttie Marquis de Polignac," recited the head-jailer. 

" Bring candles ! " was the brief order of the Marquis. 

Caudles were brought and two chairs. The deal 
table was drawn up between. It was to be a long affair. 
So let it be! 

"So this is the husband whose coldness sent his 
Marquise whimpering to me for advice and remedies," 
was the Bed Neighbour's caustic but silent commentary. 
How she despised women ! 

The Marquis drew his chair to the table, motioned to 
the prisoner to do the same, and spread out before her an 
order signed by the minister Colbert and countersigned 
by the Chief of the Police empowering him, the Marquis 
de Polignac, to put any interrogations he wished to the 
prisoner known as the " Bed I^ighbour." She inclined * 
her head in token that she looked upon the Marquis 
as fully warranted. 

"I am his Majesty's Under-Secretary of State for 



Marquis de Polignac visits a Prisoner. 67 

War, madame!" said the Marquis coldly, but with his 
usual perfect politeness. 

The red masses of hair shone in the candle-light as 
she inclined her head again. 

" You are a vendor of secrets of the toilette, of love- 
philtres, medicines, and so forth ?" 

"Yes, my lord!" 

" Have you any skill in curing sick horses ? " 

" Why do you come to me with such a question ? " 

'' Because a malady has broken out among the horses 
of the regiment of the Chevaux-Legers of the Guard. 
The farriers of the regiment are unable to deal with it. 
Several horses are already dead." 

" Probably they have iJeen fed on mouldy hay or been 
given too much water -^hen they were hot." 

" You have some understanding of them, then ? " 

" That is what every one knows. It is not skill You 
are desirous of entrapping me. If I say that I know 
something of the poisoning of horses, it will be taken as 
evidence that I know how to poison people." 

"On the contrary, I know nothmg of the charges 
against yoiL I have not read the indictment. If you 
can render me assistance I shall see that you are removed 
to more wholesome quarters, and allowed some measure 
of liberty till your trial. It miffht tell in your favour." 

At the words "measure of lioerty " her eyes gleamed 
in the candle-light, but at the other words they reflected 
merely defiance. 

"As to that, my lord, I have no fears. Let them 
bring me to trial and I will set all Paris rin^g with 
lampoona My clients have been numerous ! 

fine launched this at the Marquis with a certain 
meaning vindictiveness as who shall say, " You will be 
tarred amongst the rest ! " But the Marquis showed no 
sign. 

" But why do you come to me ? I have skill with the 
^ ailments of ladies, it is true. But horses ? Horses are 
- so diflTerent." 

"You were the daughter of a farrier," the Marquis 
said very quietly. I thought of you immediately." 



68 The Red Neighbour. 

A cold shiver psussed through the body of the Red 
Neighbour, succeeded by a flush of heat. Her counten- 
ance showed merely the flush, but her teeth chattered 
ever so slightly. 

" Decidefly these cells are very unwholesome ! " said 
the Marquis gently. 

"Is that a part of the indictment, my lord, that 
I am a farriers daughter? That would add to the 
certainty of my release ! Paris would laugh the 
more ! " 

"Perhaps!" said the Marquis with some dryness. 
" I do not know what is in the indictment. I happen to 
know that you were what I said just now, a farrier's 
daughter ! " 

At this moment the bell of the Conciergerie began to 
boom slowly, slowly. The noise came in through the 
slits in the wall, high up, that did duty for windows. 
A prisoner had diea That was all. There were few 
days when the bell did not tolL 

The strong-framed woman shook her shoulders with 
a vigorous movement and clasped her strong hands on 
the edge of the table. Decidedly, as the Marquis had 
said, these cells were very unwholesome. But what did 
that polite, unmoved, thoughtful interrogator know? 
Was he merely anxious for the king's horses? Her 
fears and her quick wits told her " No." But she wished 
very much for the measure of liberty. It had never 
been measured to her before except by herself since — 
well never mind. The total deprivation of it for a week 
had been terrible. With a certain measure she might 
do much. 

" It is true then, I was a farrier's daughter," she said 
defiantly. " What then ? " 

" And you have some skill with horses ? " 

" I am willing to try what I can do — on your terma 
I rely on your word of honour." 

" You may," said the Marquis. 

"And when will you permit me to see these horses. 
Monsieur le Marquis?" 

" To-morrow morning arrangements wiU be made." 



Marquis de Polignac visits a Prisoner. 69 

She expected to see the Marquis rise and go. Instead 
he snuffed the candlea 

" It is a curious thing/' said the Marquis, '* that many 
horses fall iU immediately they arrive at the frontier, 
and are handed over to tike officers of the cavahry and 
artillery with Marshal Turenne." 

"It IS perhaps the journey that upsets them!" the 
woman suggested. 

"There is no room for sick horses in a camp," the 
Marquis went on. "One has to sell them to any one 
who will buy them. Have you ever heard of a Josef 
Kuhn?" 

"Josef Euhn ?" she repeated with unaffected wonder. 
Was this bland questioner only asking questions for 
amusement? At what point shoiQd she begin to lie? 
She decidied to berin now. 

" No ! I do not Know Josef Kuhn." 

"Then you do not know any of the horse-dealers who 
frequent Marshal Turenne's camp ? " 

" If o ! I live here in Paris. 1 gain my living as you 
know. I do not wish to be reminded of my obscure 
origin. I knew horse-dealers once. Now I know 
Marquises." 

" You do not know Monsieur Bocal, for instance, the 
great contractor?" 

" No ! I have heard of him. He is a great rogue." 
This with much vehemence. 

The Marquis made no comment. 

" I see clearly what you want," she said in a business- 
like tone. " You want to trace the wastage in horses and 
material I could tell you if I liked how it is all done, 
but I am not going to. I learned a good deal in my 
youth. It was a hard one. If you want to learn any 
more, you must go to Turenne's camp. That's my advice 
— ^it is worth something. Study the road to it. But you 
are a Marquia You would not find out anything. You 
are too grand, and it is all dirty, dirty, this work." 

"Ma<mme I can you keep a secret?" 

"Even if Uiey p!iit me to the Question !" she said with 
a cold haughtinew. 



70 The Red Neighbour. 

"I am going to Marshal Turenne's camp . . . and I 
am going to mid the man you don't know . • . Josef 
Kuhn." 

She met his gaze without flinching. "Good! It is 
time to put the noose round Monsieur Bocal's neck. It 
is a strong one." 

The Marquis smiled a very little. The Red Neighbour 
bit her lips for her admission. 

" It is a thick neck ! Tes ! I have heard that much. 
At what hour to-morrow morning?*' 

"At six, madame." 



CHAPTER X. 

A SENSE OF CHIVALRY. 

The affair of the king's horses, for the Red Neighbour 
no sooner cast her luminous brown eyes upon them than 
their cure or the stayingof the distemper began, caused 
a great noise in Paris. The ingredients of the medicines 
she prepared were carefully noted, and a copy filed in 
the pigeon-holes of the War Office, Cavalry Section. 
The Marquis de Poli^nac arranged through the same 
channels as before for her removal to a more commodious, 
better-lighted prison, not less well-guarded, which had 
the advantage of a large garden in which she could take 
daily walks in the company of two soldiers, whose age 
and tried fidelity were proof against any blandishmente. 
The Marquis had every desire to find her on his return 
still there, which he was unlikely to do if he left her 
in the pestiferous Conciergerie. 

He had conceived the idea that madame of the red 
hair had something to do with the tap that, constantly 
running, was allowing the riches of France, instead of 
fertilising the fields of war, to flow into a mysterious 
duct that led no one knew whither. If he kept her in 



A Sense of Chivalry. 71 

prison for the space of his joumejr, he argued, there 
would be one agencjr the less to divert the current 

The great Louvois had been privy to the scheme, 
smiled at it with conscious superiority, and propitiated 
the other powers who controlled the police, so that they 
lent their formularies and machinery with polite indiflTer- 
ence. It was true that an old man of some wealth had 
died leaving his young wife a large fortune, and the 
wife had been a client of the Ked Neighbour. There 
was also a hungry tribe of the next-of -km. The reason 
alleged for her imprisonment was sufficient. 

But beyond De Louvois and his second, the Marquis 
de Polignac, no one knew why the Red Neighbour had 
been arrested. 

Paris accepted the reason alleged, and promptly after 
her manner became two camps of hostile opinion. 

The one was hot for the trial of the Red Neighbour, 
for the Question extraordinary, for her condemnation 
smd the pleasing spectacle of her execution, with all the 
usual ferocious accompaniments, in the Place de Gr^ve. 
The first two would be interesting enough in themselves, 
but merely preliminary to the chief tableau. 

The other i>arty, consisting among the noblesse and 
rich bourgeoisie of former clients of the accused, were 
just as anxious for her release without the preliminaries. 
They wished their names to be kept out of the mud that 
womd flow first As to her blood, they were in the 
main indifferent. They were finding other compounders 
of cosmetics who, so they vowed to one another, were 
every bit as clever. It is a callous world the world of 
fashion. 

The shopkeepers and other common folk who made 
up the voice of Paris, though they bought no cosmetics 
or love-phHtres, except pemaps in a surreptitious way 
of the cheap-jacks on the Pont Neuf , and then only 
spent a few sous, took sides from their abounding 
interest in whatever question came uppermost, and just 
then the " Red Neighbour" was uppermost. 

Gaston de Polignac and a lackey who had been a 
dragoon had no sooner left Paris, on what the great 



72 The Red Neighbour. 

minister De Louvois considered was a quixotic quest, 
than the two Court parties came into conflict, more or 
less supported on either side by the public voice, which 
reached their noble ears by way of the Court jeweller, 
the Court dressmaker, perruquiers, valets, chambermaids, 
and other well-known avenues, by which the condescend- 
ing rich come to know just as much as the complaisant 
and crafty humility of their lower world chooses to 
communicate. 

De Louvois, like a wise man, said nothing, but went 
on writing memoranda and maxims for his sovereign 
lord to peruse, and despatches of great length to the 
various generals at the firontier. But the hungry next- 
of-kin were howling at the gates of the Pfliais de 
Justice, and a strong Court pMrty was supporting the 
clamours of the nexiK)f-kin (a few promises of a share 
in the plunder were doubtless in currency), so that the 
authorities of the Police and the great Colbert, whose 
ofBce embraced all that no one else cared to look after, 
which was nearly everything outside the Department 
of War, began to say to Monsieur de Louvois in so 
many word* — 

"This is all very well. Monsieur le Marquis. We 
have no objection to a little finesse, and a good deal of 
delay on your account, so long as it is merety a question 
of putting a common adventuress to a little incon- 
venience; but figure to yourself, Monsieur, suppose 
Madame de Montespan stirs up the fire, and his Majesty 
asks us why we don't put the woman on her trial and 
end the matter out of nand, what are we to say ? We 
have no objection to your drawing the poor emoluments 
of your noble office for ever, if Proviaence 'will be so 
good as to spare you to the honour of France so long, 
but we do most strenuously object to getting into dis- 
grace, and possibly losing our own privileges and 
pensiona" 

The noble Marquis at first replied that directly matters 
took an extreme turn he would himself explain to the 
king in a report, at once lucid and convincing, his official 
view of the affair. 



A Sense of Chivalry. 73 

He calculated, however, without Madame du Fresnoy, 
the little woman who was wife to one of his clerks, ana, 
nevertheless, had the privilege of the grandea entries, 
and was a lady of the bedchamber to boot. 

Madame du Fresnoy was the most eager in the hunt. 
Her devotion to the real interests of the great Minister 
was immense as a force, and microscopic in its attention 
to detail. Ever since she had heard those memorable 
words of the late Monsieur de Traumont — "Either 
Louvois dies or I " — she had made up her mind that not 
only De Traumont, who had expiated his crime, but 
every other person involved in that sacrilegious attempt, 
shoiid eventually share his fate. And by one of those 
intuitions, almost divine, that distinguish the lovelier 
sex, she had decided that in the Bed Neighbour she had 
found the clue to the labyrinth. Besides, the Red Neigh- 
bour had sold her, through a discreet merchant's wife of 
her acquaintance,* a pot of cream for the complexion, 
which had covered her face with red spots for the space 
of three days. It was no proof of guilt, of course, as she 
explained to one of the court Ijwiies, but it did not 
encourage her to hope for the establishment of the Red 
Neighbour's innocence. 

Madame du Fresnoy attacked the Marquis de Louvois 
in what has always been a vulnerable point in man, 
since a rib was taken out to make into a helpmeet, his 
flank. And great as was his appreciation of her devo- 
tion, he was far too prudent to explain to her that he 
was in any way responsible for the delay, or concerned 
in the fate of the unhappy vendor of cream-for-the- 
complexion. 

ms apparent want of concern made it all the easier 
for her to push her request that he would use his 
influence to urge a speedy trial (for who, indeed, was 
more interested than he was ?), and so put to rest those 
torturing doubts that, arising from her generous interest 
in his destiny, would not be laid imtil every lawful 
means had been used to sift the mystery from which 
thev arose. 

De Louvois, freed from the immediate personal pres- 



74 The Red Neighbour. 

sure of the Marquis de Folignac (and he admitted that 
even persons of less luminous intellect than one's own, 
when driven by a fiery, if quixotic, energy and persistent 
belief in an idea, do exercise influence over one), began 
to vacillate in the direction of the new planet. His 
orbit of action, or inaction, be^n to suffer a change. 
He did not see Polignac's plan in entirety, for the good 
reason that Polignac, feeling his way, urged by a great 
desire and a strong faith baised upon the direction of a 
few straws of fact, had been unable to outline a plan. 
The Minister, therefore, came to this reflection that, as 
the main ingredient in Polignac's plan was to keep the 
Red Neighbour out of any power of meddling with the 
affidrs of the War Department, she would be just as well 
figuring as an oblation to the public demand, to the 
hungry next-of-kin, and to that dear importunate 
Ma£»me du Fresnoy, as doing nothing. It might be 
argued from this that De Louvois was weak. The 
suggestion would be baseless. De Louvois had been 
toolong the head of a department of state not to have 
assimilated the blessed doctrine of expediency. That 
was all. It was another's theory and not his own that 
was beii^ sacrificed to that insatiable idol. 

The Ctomte de Roubaix, whose new duties brought 
him into closer relations with the great Minister, was 
aware of the departure of the Marquis, and of the 
general oWect of his journey, so far as it was officially 
known. He was also aware that De Louvois was in a 
lukewarm way advising the trial of the Red Neighbour 
on the charge for which she was arrested. But he knew 
nothing of the reasons for which she was, in fact, in 
durance. He measured accurately the real strength of 
the party that clamoured for her trial, and foresaw 
plainly that the trial would become a fact. 

It was time to pay a visit to the lonely Marquise. 
The fact of her husband being away for a lengthy period 
made no appeal to his sense of chivalry, which was im- 
palpable. It seemed opportune. But husband or no 
nusband, he would have paid the visit. 

Would she deny herself to him ? The Count's habitual 



A Sense of Chivalry. 75 

effix)nteiy woiQd have borne the denial unabashed. The 
brazen face of one man is the equivalent of the moral 
courage of another in the worlds superficial currency. 

She did not. The Count said to himself that the 
chase would be all the longer. It showed him that she 
believed in herself. As an artist in sensations he was 
glad. There would be more of them, and they would 
be more exquisite. 

It was not so much that Marie Gabrielle de Polignac 
believed in herself, as that the Count's preliminary 
reconnaissance of the few days before had not made the 
impression on the fair enemy that he had expected. The 
love of the Marauise for her husband was so besetting 
that it permeated her intellect as well as her heart She 
was so triply armed that the arrows of the Count, 
though her eyes told her they were being shot at her, 
made so little dint that she could not realise the earnest- 
ness of the attack. She received him in the Hotel de 
Polignac without a second thought, as one of her ances- 
tors would in the fastness of his castle have let down his 
drawbridge and admitted a hostile knight who came 
craving ms hoeroitality. 

She was in the garden strolling in the shade of the 
trees, and as he approached he did not fail to notice how 
her rich colouring and ripe splendour of womanhood 
gained in emphasis by the sombre trunks, by the bright 
green at her feet, by the leafy moving canopy above, 
uirough which the sunlight pierced and moved in 
splashes about her hair, her face, and her apparel. 

She turned at his footstep and smiled a serene friendly 
smile. 

"It is true, then," said the Count. "The gods have 
not entirely left the earth since the Golden Age has still 
adiyad!" 

"Do you know," she replied, "I always find compli- 
ments like that as tedious as our modem poetry with its 
unending Zephyrs and Cupids and ..." 

" I should leave it for lesser women 1 Yes, Marquise, 
you are right. They sound altogether trivial when 
applied to you." 



76 The Red Neighbour. 

" Then why scatter your cheap pearls ? " she said 
with a little pout. "Tell me, how are things going 
in your . . . Department of War?" 

The Count bowed, noting the curious association of 
ideaa The Marquise de rolignac had never before 
evinced the slightest interest in official matters. 

" Faith ! How it oppresses me ! Monsieur de Louvois 
with his 'experience' and his 'precedents' and those 
interminable reports, which I have the honour of taking 
down at his dictation. By the way, Monsieur de Louvois 
is beginning to stir in the matter of the woman who 
was in the Conciergerie and now in . . ." 

A tremor shot through the heart of the Marquise. 

" Yes ? " she said with indiflference. 

"They took her out to cure the king's horses of 
a distemper." 

"The king's horses?" 

"And she did it too. They rewarded her by a 
change to a better lodging." 

"mid De Louvois is ^mg to release her?" 

" Not he ! He is exertmg himself to have her tried ! " 

"They cannot keep her in suspense for long," said 
the Marquise, as if it were a question of public news. 

"It is magnificent to have your conscience!" said 
the Count, stretching out his hand to remove a way- 
ward branch. 

"My errand was a perfectly innocent one!" This 
in a calm assured tone. 

"It is a pity the Marquis should have chosen this 
time to be absent." 

"Why? Gaston said there was nothing to fear." 

"Then you have told him?" 

"Monsieur le Comte! I fail to see how it concerns 
you what I tell my husband." 

"Pardon my solicitude, madame. All that concerns 
you concerns me." 

She would doubtless have made a crushing response 
but that she was anxious to learn more. Her fears 
were awakening again. 

"You must learn to put a curb upon your concern," 



A Sense of Chivalry. 77 

she said sweetly. "You did me a service. I am 
grateful. Be content." 

"I shall be content only when I have done you 
another and a greater one!" he said, taking her hand 
and bowing over it. "Monsieur le Marquis is too 
absorbed in his work to weigh these things." 

"What things?" 

"The hubbub and the scandal that will rise like 
a cloud of dust when the trial begins. Figure to 
yourself this woman on trial for her life, asked this 
and that, a coarse strong woman. What an opportunity 
for revenge ! She will pour out invective, names, ordures, 
little and great, betray secrets of the toilette and secrets 
of the family, secure in her position of the chief char- 
acter in the drama, and always names. She will not 
be choice in her remembrances. Her desire will be 
to create scandal with the view to purchase her release 
or to glut her revenge upon her clients, who have 
scorned her while they fawned u^n her and enriched 
her, and finished by putting her in the Conciergerie." 

"They cannot permit her," said the Marquise with 
the concentrated pride of twenty generations of De 
Lusignans. 

The Count shrugged his shoulders. "We shall see! 
You do not appreciate the delightful ferocity of our 
courtiers. You have lived, madame, in such real seclu- 
sion. Your rank, your beauty, your incomparable 
serenity of conscience, have been as convent walls about 
you. Formerly there were great families, knitted in 
close alliances, or at variance, but rich and powerful, 
with long trains of men-at-arms in their service. The 
king was only one among the great chieftains, king 
because he claimed the support of the greatest number 
of the strong. But the wars of the League, the schemes 
of Richelieu, the avarice of Mazarin, and finally, the 
masterfulness of his Majesty, have enlisted the men- 
at-arms in the king's armies, and left to the great 
families merely a crowd of idle valets; and one great 
family vies with another to secure his Majesty's favour 
and discredit its rival." 



78 The Red Neighbour. 

The Marquise was impatient at this pitiless exposition, 
the more so that she knew it to be true and yet refused 
to realise it. She was angry that it should have come 
from the mouth of De Roubaix and not from her 
husband. She had treated De Roubaix as a butterfly 
courtier. And behold he was a clear-sighted observer, 
who spoke as a man who has his own hand on the helm 
of his Doat and means to steer it into harbour regardless 
of what others may do. 

" We have inde^ fallen on evil days, monsieur ! And 
now for the moral of your sermon ? " 

" The hunters will not rest till they have driven their 
knives into the quarry ! " 

" Meaning the Red Neighbour ? " 

*' No ! Meaning every one they envy, . . . the Polignacs, 
for instance." 

The Marquise sat down upon a seat and looked 
straight in front of her. The blue eyes became fixed and 
liEeless. The Count still stood and twisted the ends of 
his moustaches. She was trying to fortify herself 
against the rush of fears by thinking of her husband's 
looks and tones and words when she made her confession. 
She remembered the impression of coldness that had 
come over her. 

"So you think," she said, still looking into her vision, 
" that our friends will take good care that our name is 
dragged through the mire of suspicion." 

"And that the Marquis will never forgive you for 
being the cause of it." 

" There is no way out ? " 

" If a real friend were to take the matter in hand, a 
friend who knew the ways ..." 

She looked up at the Count, who was gazing upon her 
with a fine assumption of nobility ana so very open 
an admiration in his eyes that she blushed as she ex- 
claimed with indignation — 

" Another service ? And to be content with gratitude ? " 

"No! It is not possible in your case to be content 
with gratitude. I will serve you — ^but it is in return 
for your love " 



The Question Extraordinary. 79 

There was no mistaking the meaning of his words, 
or the determination that sat upon his handsome features. 

"It is true!" she said, rising and facing him in 
august anger, '' as you said, the age of chivahy is dead. 
You dare to bargain ! " 

"It is, Marie Gabrielle, my well-beloved, each man for 
himself." 

She swept past him to the house with a murmur of 
contemptuous wrath upon her lips. 

The Coimt followed slowly, quoting to himself La 
Rochefoucauld's saying — 

" When one's heart is still tossing on the spent waves 
of a passion, it is nearer to a new one than if it floats 
on calm water." 



CHAPTER XL 

THE QUESTION EXTRAORDINABY. 

The day of the public trial before the Parlement of 
Jeanne Chavigny, known as the Red Neighbour, for 
impious dealings, poisonings, artifices, evil contrivances, 
and conspiracy against the lives of his Majesty's subjects, 
and in particular against that of one Martin Ragonleau, 
formerly grocer, dawned with a dreadful tardiness for 
the Marquise de Polignac, with imtimely haste for the 
accused. 

The accused faced the formidable tribunal with the 
utmost calm. Her piercing brown eyes swept the court, 
the benches of the long robe, the ushers, clerks, and 
other officials, the outer parterre, where gathered a 
nondescript assemblage, the galleries where ^ feminine 
Paris was, in person or by deputy, that had influence 
enough to gain admission. There was a slight con- 
temptuous smile as her eyes roving over the faces picked 
out client after client while the preambles to the proper 



8o The Red Neighbour. 

business were being read. Then she had no eyes but 
for the President, the advocates, and the witnesses. 

It was a long dajr but a triumphant one, in the sense 
that justice — ^ii by justice is meant the determined pre- 
judice of a bench assured from the beginning of her 
criminality — justice was completely baffled. 

No incriminating papers had been found at her resid- 
ence, no poisons. There was no proof of her having sold 
any powder of inheritance, or indeed any other to the 
wife of the deceased. To all questions she maintained 
a steady front. The most skilled interrogators sprung 
their traps in vain. And the force of her incisive 
retorts made the questioners lose their tempers. 

** You say that you have accomplices in your crimes ? " 

" I have never admitted crimes, Maitre de Bussy." 

"What then?" 

" In my follies." 

"Be it so! In your follies! Who are they, these 
accomplices ? " 

There was a manifest stir in the galleries. The ladies 
and their attendant cavaliers craned forward Eyes 
glistened eagerly with hate, with curiosity, and the 
mouths of many became dry. 

"Maitre! They are there!" She pointed to the 
galleries. "They are all Paris!" 

The auditory sat back again and essayed to look 
imconcemed. 

The dry voice of the President went on : — 

" You had a numerous clienUle. Let us hear who they 
were." 

This was the famous opportunity for this strong 
coarse woman who had baflSed the beiat juridic talent of 
France for a whole long summer's day, till her pallid 
skin palpably glistened with the exudations from her 
pores, forced out by the long nervous strain. This was 
the moment the Comte de Roubaix had predicted. 

Once more she wiped her lips with a beautiful lace 
handkerchief, and addressed the President. 

"Monsieur le President, I have said they are the 
accomplices in my follies. It would be more exact to 



The Question Extraordinary. 8i 

say I have been the accompKce in theirs. I have grown 
rich u^n their follies, but I have never earned a sous 
by their betrayal. I am the * Red Neighbour ' who does 
not tell tales. Their names are safe — here." She pointed 
with a dramatic gesture to her breast. 

The galleries and parterre broke out into involuntary 
expressions of approval. She had chosen with a supreme 
common-sense, ohe had triumjphed. 

The Count de Roubaix felt extremely mortified. 
What were his weapons worth now? 

Again when silence was restored came the dry tones 
of the President. 

" Messieurs ! " he said, looking at the thirtjr gentlemen- 
of-the-robe who assisted him in the capacity of judge, 
"it will be necessary to submit the prisoner to ttie 
Question." 

There was a dead silence. Then the galleries broke 
out again into a murmur which the ushers had to quell. 

The Coimt de Roubaix looked round in the direction 
of the Marquise de Polignac, who was there in company 
with some other ladies. He divined that she was about 
to swoon and went swiftly to her assistance, almost 
carrying her to her coacL As Pierre was close behind, 
there was no need to accompany her further. The 
Marquise thanked him with pale lips, trembling over 
the words. As he turned back again it was clear the 
com* was over. Paris had enjoyed its day. 

** It is infamous ! " said some. " She'll talk fast enough 
when she gets the Question," said others. 

It was a diflFerent thing the next day when the Red 
Neighbour was introduced into the torture-chamber of 
the Conciergerie, whither she was sent for the purposes 
of baffled justice. There was an absence of the stimu- 
lating crowd. 

Instead of the indecipherable ring of faces that burst 
upon her in the daylight of the Pfidais de Justice, were 
the bare, damp, solidly-hewn squares of stone, half lit by 
the flambeaux that smoked in their sockets— stone, grey 
and black, for the floor, the walls, the low vaulted roof. 
Behind her was the darkness of the low archway by 

F 



82 The Red Neighbour. 

which she had entered, already closed by a stout door 
studded with rusted iron points. 

There was a wooden stool. There was a low trestle. 
There were other objects the use of which was not 
instantly apparent to the spectator. Before her at the 
other end of this chamber was a writing-table at which 
sat the clerk of the court, and on a raised dais sat two 
gentlemen-of-the-robe, who were doubtless to conduct 
the interrogatory. At the opposite end was a small 
group of men oi malign aspect. A little picture of the 
Son of God hung upon the walL It was prescribed by 
the same regulations that dictated the other furniture. 

The smell of the smoky flambeaux and of the damp 
earthiness common to dungeons struck her senses more 
perhaps than the novelty of the scene. 

She was not the same self-reliant, alert woman that 
had faced the court a whole long session the day before. 
The long nervous strain had told upon her. She had 
begun tms day feeling the reaction. More, she had been 
subjected to a rough and not too delicate examination at 
the hands of two surgeons, with the amiable object, pre- 
scribed in the judiciary regulations, of ascertaining if her 
physical condition fitted her for the precise form of 
torture designed for her. Strong woman and coarse, as 
the Count de Roubaix had described her, she was all the 
same possessed of a full measure of woman's natural 
modesty, and the resentment she had felt at the indig- 
nity already suffered made her ill-steeled to bear what 
was to come. 

The Reporter of the Process, as the presiding judge 
was styled, motioned her to the stool, where she sat 
crouched, her hands, large but well-kept, folded upon 
her knees, her hair, whether sharing in some mysterious 
way in her inward agitation, or because neglected, over- 
flowed its knots and combs in vivid disomer, her face 
pallid, her eyes bright and restless and thrown into relief 
by blue hoUows Itelow, which had not been apparent 
yesterday. 

"Do you still persist that you know nothing of the 
causes that led to the death of Martin Eagonleau?" 



The Question Extraordinary. 83 

**I know nothing of them, monsieur," There was a 
prof oimd sincerity in her pleading tone that might have 
carried conviction to any but the engineers of ba£9ed 
justice. 

"Do you still persist that you have taken no part in 
any crimes such as are set forth in the indictment?" 

"I do, monsieur." 

" You were not privy to the attempt upon the life of 
Monsieur de Louvois by one De Traumont, now executed 
according to law ? " 

" I was not, monsieur." 

"Do you refuse to make confession of the names 
of any person or persons concerned with you in any 
mysteries of sorcery, magic, or other diabolical arts, 
for which you have been notorious in Paris these two 
years?" 

"I do." 

" You are aware that because of your perversity you 
are about to be put to the Question by water ? " 

"Yes!" 

"And you still swear by the person of Jesus Christ" 
— ^here the Reporter directed his eyes to the picture and 
crossed himself devoutly — "that you are entirely 
innocent?" 

"That I swear!" she said, looking straight at the 
Reporter. 

The Reporter whispered to the Coimsellor who sat with 
him, and spoke to the clerk of the court. The clerk 
nodded towards the group at the other end. 

Two fellows, trained assistants of the public execu- 
tioner, seized her and began to undress her. There 
was no ceremony. But they reckoned without the Red 
Neighbour. 

Acutely conscious that there was no other of her sex 
present, her naturally hot temper boiling over at the 
outrage, she gave one of the men a shrewd buflfet with 
all her stren^h, which stretched him upon the ground, 
and caught the ear of the other fellow between her 
finger and thumb in a grip which might well have been 
the farrier's instead of only his daughter's. 



84 The Red Neighbour. 

"What are they going to do with me?" she cried 
hoarsely to the judges. 

" To strip you except for your chemise, petticoat, and 
stockings ! ' said the clerk, reading from the regulations. 

" Then I can do that for myself ! " she said, panting 
and glaring at the executioner's aids. 

In a twmkling her bodice, skirt, and other apparel 
were at her feet, and she stood there, with her shoulders 
broad and bare and white, displaying the splendid 
breadth of her chest, the massive curves of her fine 
hips, solid, magnifical, feminine, full of defiance, facing 
her tormentors. 

The two agents of baffled justice were not insensible 
to the attitude, the strength, the coarse beauty of the 
prisoner. They would quite willingly have forgone any 
more of what promised to be a singularly painful ordeal. 

The Reporter spoke : — 

*' Prisoner, it is our duty to put you to the Question 
by water. This is an operation sufficiently painful when 
quietly submitted to. Do not, I pray you, add to what 
you have to bear by any further exhibition of violence." 

" I am ready ! " she said. " What have I to do next ? " 

" Lie down on the trestle," said the clerk of the court. 
" The executioners will do the rest." 

With considerable expertness her wrists were bound 
with ropes, which were hauled above her head through 
rings fixed in the wall. Similar ropes, fastened just 
above her ankles, were passed through rings fixed in 
the floor. All four were hauled tight, so that, though 
a part of the weight of her body was borne by the 
treistle, there was a terrible tension on the arms and 
legs. Into her mouth was placed a small horn funnel, 
and at the signal one of the sworn tormentors began to 
pour slowly &om one of the measures of water. 

As every mouthful passed through, the round white* 
throat gave sign by convulsive movements without of 
the torture that was felt within. At every few mouth- 
f uls the Reporter of the Process asked one of his dull 
questiona 

To each, while the defiant woman gulped down the 



The Question Extraordinary. 85 

water that was like lumps of lead, and felt the ropes 
tightening as her veins swelled, she made answer as she 
had before. 

The first measure was down, a pint and a half of 
lumpy agony. 

She braced herself to it. She would show these men, 
these butchers, tortin:ers, vermin of the law, how she 
could endure. 

The sworn tormentors had had women fine as a 
marquise, who had merely fainted away, and, brought 
to, fainted again. They had had women like the &h- 
wives and salad-sellers of the Halles, who had cursed 
until even the sworn tormentors were tired of it. But 
this woman who could endure; whose muscles of the 
forearm were like whipcord enclosed in silk ; this woman 
who kept her head ? They did not know what to make 
of her. 

The second measure began to drip, drip its pitiless 
hammer-throbs on to the back of the tired throat. 

To the questions of the judges she made no answer. 
It was a waste of time. 

The drips went on. A groan escaped her now and 
again, wrung out of her by sheer bodily agony. But no 
word escaped her. 

When the second measure had been emptied and 
wrists and ankles showed the ropes sunk in the ridges 
of unnaturally swollen flesh, she gasped out, " No more ! 
What do you wish to know ? " 

" Of what did Monsieur Ragonleau die ? " 

" Of an apoplexy." 

"What brought it on?" 

" His son attempted to rob him. If I am released I 
can furnish the proof." 

"You have been asked to give the names of any 
persons who came to you for preparations?" 

" I can remember one, Madame du Fresnoy, who sent 
to me for a cream for her complexion." 

The Eeporter of the Process and the Counsellor 
whispered together. 

" Any one else ? " 



86 The Red Neighbour. 

" Madame de Montespan." 

The two judges whispered again and then said — 

" You are inventing calumnies. It is of no use." 

At a nod the executioners went to work again. But 
at the half of the third measure she had lost conscious- 
ness, and the judges bade them cut her down and lay her 
on the mattress kept for the purpose. 

Then the judges conferred together and agreed to 
adjourn the torture. It was clear that nothing was to 
be gained by the interrogatory. 

Justice was baffled once more. 

A strong detachment of archers stood without the 
Conciergene. And it was well, for a grim array of 
the common people stood behind them packed tightly, 
many deep. The unshaven faces of poor unwashed 
men, the white caps of women who were certainly 
cleaner, but poor and pinched, all turned one way, were 
what one chiefly noticed. There were ballad - sellers, 
calling themselves hoarse, and there was a tall lean 
man in a mountebank garb, with a face that for the 
nonce had no jest in it. 

" They are torturing our Red Neighbour ! " Followed 
a string of coarse vile oaths that mwie even the nearest 
archers shrug their shoulders. "St Antoine and the 
Temple and the Court of Miracles are all here to-day," 
they said. 

"What the devil do they all look so glum for?" 
said an archer. "These same people msuce holiday 
at an execution in the Place de Gr^ve — ^yonder j' 

" She is a good friend to the poor ! " said his fellow. 
" Diantre ! If she has polished oflF an old man or two, 
she has saved many a poor devil when he was down 
with fever, or bought off the Jew when he was too 
hard upon him. She is the Red Neighbour of the 
poor as well as of the rich." 

" Can't you sing us a song, Tintorin ? " said some one. 

"This is not a holiday!" said the tall mountebank, 
his eyes tearful and his voice choking. " Listen ! They 
are undoing the bolts! Keep back now all of you!" 
And this time his voice rang like a clarion. 



In pursuit of an Idea. 87 

The mob, as the door opened, broke into a sullen roar. 
The whole swayed together. But in a great measure 
they obeyed the order. A coach was in waiting. 
Presently a file of archers came out carrying a mattress 
on which lay the unconscious woman, her clothes flung 
in a heap upon her. Tintorin burst through the archers, 
seized her hand and kissed it, looked at her a moment, 
then turned about and shouted with his great voice — 

" She lives yet. Back all of you ! Give place. There 
shall be no more torture." 

The crowd roared again with a great groaning roar 
like an assembly of wounded tigers. But they had 
faith in Tintorin. 

" When you want us, Tintorin ! " they shouted. " Long 
live our Red Neighbour ! " 

Very quickly the archers laid the mattress in the 
coach upon a bed of staves, and the carriage moved 
slowly back to the prison whence she came, archers 
on every side, a compact throng. 

Then the people followed tul they saw the doors 
close upon their idol. And Tintorin went back to 
the Pont Neuf pondering a new ballad. 



CHAPTER XII. 

IN PURSUIT OF AN IDEA. 

The world might be divided into two classes of people, 
and one of the classes would be a very small one in 
comparison with the other: it might, not to consider 
too curiously, be divided into the people who seek for 
their ideal and those who, for lack of an ideal or 
for some other reason, do not. The larger class call 
themselves " the contented," and doubtless receive a full 
portion of the blessing that the inspired wisdom of 
all ages and nations has promised tnem. It is the 



88 The Red Neighbour, 

smaller class who find their portion in the keenest 
sorrows and the most subtle and incommunicable joys, 
— sorrows and joys which assume no visible vesture 
of material woe or substantial weal. 

The Marquis de Polignac followed the ideal of public 
duty. His wife followed another, not less difficult of 
attainment — ^the achievement of a perfect imderstanding 
and perfect interchange of love with the one man who 
in her eyes was likest God, her husband. 

In pursuit of his ideal the Marquis de Polignac had 
taken the road that leads to the eastern frontier of 
France. 

The Marquise, being accustomed to thought rather 
than to action, at first remained quiescent, living her 
life of lady of the first rank with as little immersion 
into the Court gaieties as she could compass. Her 
mind lulled from turbulence to rest by her husband's 
evidently slight concern for the afiair of the Eed Neigh- 
bour, had after the lapse of a few days become agitated, 
as we have seen, bv the interview in the garden that 
should have been the secure haven of her peace. 

She realised that in Paris she was alone with the 
Comte de Roubaix. She could forbid him her doors. 
But he was astir without, an unscrupulous genie, not 
such an one as he of the Fisherman's Tale, who could 
be wheedled into a copper vessel and sealed with Solo- 
mon's seal,* but one who against her will could project 
his spirit of unrest into her very heart. It was im- 
possible to forget him, impossible not to forebode evil 
iJpon this agitated mind of hers had come the announce- 
ment of the coming trial of the woman whose name 
fiilled all Paris. She had fought against the temptation 
to go to the Palais de Justice. It was so (urectly 
contrary to her habitual lofty aloofness from the vulgar 
amusements of a world which, when it was not gratify- 
ing its bodily hunger and thirst, clamoured for low- 
rooted sensations. But the human call was too strong. 
She had found herself drawn into the curious drama ^ 
that was unfolded by the dry processes of the law, and, 
though fully aware of the Count's presence and the 



In pursuit of an Idea. 89 

bearing of it, became too deeply absorbed in the ex- 
traordmary display of force by the leading actress 
to feel much beyond a slight disgust at his being 
there. 

When, however, the decision of the judges to put 
the prisoner to the Question burst upon her ears and 
upon her mind, summoning from limbo all the ghosts 
of old fears, she had turned pale, and would have 
fallen but for the hateful hand of the very man 
whose predictions had been so completely falsified. 

The night that followed the day of trial was one 
of long waking spells of terror. More than once did 
she ^ into her little oratory, and on her prie-dieu, 
kneeling before the Virgin and her Son, pray with 
the fervour and the faith that has always distinguished 
the best of the daughters of France, beseeching the 
mother's intervention between her and the ghostly 
dangers that menaced her on every side. 

More than once her hand was upon the bell to 
summon Nanette with the excuse of ordering chocolate, 
and it was drawn back again. Where was her husband ? 
At Meaux ? At Chalons ? At Vitry ? At Bar-le-Duc ? 
He could scarcely have reached Bar-le-Duc. Then her 
brain began to conjure up with a rapidity and intensity, 
which left her, as she resolutely threw them off, ex- 
hausted but not sleepy, visions of her husband in situa- 
tions of peril and even of horror. 

After one of these pauses wherein she regained clear 
vision and control of her thoughts, a definite determina- 
tion began to shape itself to follow Gaston. Gaston had 
gone to seek his friend Turenne. She was jealous of 
Turenne. He more than De Louvois was to her the 
concrete embodiment of that hated War Department 
that ate up the kernel of her husband with malign 
fascination and left her nothing but the husks. He was 
a personality. He was a soldier. Ever since she could 
remember anything she remembered Turenne, the great 
* honest captain of men, with the broad leonine brow and 
the shaggy hair falling over it, the strong, kindly, fleshy 
mouth, with its thick moustache and little tuft between 



go The Red Neighbour. 

it and the curved strong chin. She pictured the very 
glint of his eves as he st^Dd talking the last time he was 
at the Hotel de Polignac. She pictured also the fine 
approving smile and rapt look of hero-worship on that 
far finer face, her husoand's, and felt again the sting 
at her heart as she felt it then. How easy it was for 
Turenne to call out that smile, that look ! How difficult 
for her ! 

Yes! She would drag him away from the very 
presence of the idol. And having done so, she would 
be so much nearer to her purpose, and her one excur- 
sion into the world of folly, with its attendant train 
of Levanis and De Roubaix, would be forgotten. 

O blessed Hope that wilt not be altogether extinguished, 
but risest again from the ashes of thy predecessor hopes, 
real boon, when the solid good of yesterday has become 
the fancied evil of to-day! Ave! Ave! Ave! Im- 
perator! Thrice hail! 

The first thing to do was to send Th^rtee back to 
Meudon. 

Th^rtee was not pleased at having her holidays 
shortened, and ventured to suggest that she might 
accompany her mother on what she naturally regarded 
as a long pleasant excursion through a part of France 
into which she had never yet travelled, for the family 
estates lav in Touraine, and her only long journeys had 
been made to the soutL But the Marquise was quite 
firm. Th^rese mustgo back to the care of the good 
sisters at Meudon. The Marquise did not discuss fliese 
things. The province of girls was to obey. She told 
herself that the Marquis would not be gratified to be 
encumbered by his wife, his daughter, and a retinue of 
servants. If there was down in the depths a little 
lurking imp of jealousy of her daughter's position in 
her father's heart, it was a very little one, and one must 
not suppose that it swayed her judgment. In less than 
two years, according to the Customs of Paris, Th^r^se 
would be of a legal age to hold property in her own 
right. There was no occasion to force the natural 
precocity of womanhood by over-indulgence. 



In pursuit of an Idea. 91 

So Th^rkie, loaded with presents for the Sisters and 
rn/cvrrona-glcicia for any other strays of circumstance like 
herself, was taken back to Meudon. 

The Marquise planned her own journey with the 
confidence bom of the want of a traveller's e^)erience. 
She decided to travel as far as Meaux in her own 
carriage with Pierre and Nanette, and after that to 
trust to post-horses, sending her own horses back with 
the coachman and footman. She was resolved on 
not having a retinue. She would imitate the Marquis 
in his simplicity when on the service of the State. 
Perhaps in that sweet woman's heart of hers was some 
vague feeling of making the journey as a suppliant, and 
a single carriage with post-horses, and two servants 
instead of twelve, stood in lieu of the sackcloth and 
ashes suitable to the character in some stations of life. 
She selected Pierre for his qualities as an indoor servant 
and because he would be company for Nanette. She 
gave no thought to the hundred exigencies of the road, 
which demanded a more bluflF, outspoken, hardier varlet 
than this admirable town-bred lackey. 

In proportion to the number of small dispositions she 
made for the journey and for the care of the Hotel de 
Polignac in her absence, her spirite rose with a buoyancv 
she nad not felt for long enougL Was there after all 
in her the woman of action, long overlain and cramped 
by custom and the ridd methods of social observance 
as it was understood oy the noblesse? The activity 
of the day seemed to give colour to it. 

She dia not once ad^ herself whether the Marquis 
would approve. She was acting on her own initiative 
in the fulfilment of her own purposes, which were for 
his ultimate good. How far she was acting under the 
influence of the shapes of evil conjured up by the Count 
de Roubaix she ceased to estimate. 

The travelling carriage of the Marquise set out with 
little of its usual splendour from the hotel in the 
Faubourg St Germain, and advanced through narrow 
streets till it emerged into the full daylight and space 
of the Pont Neuf . It had to cross the Seine before it 



92 The Red Neighbour. 

could reach the Rue St Antoine, and making for the 
Bastille leave Paris by her eastward gate. 

It was early in the day, but the Pont Neuf was astir 
betimes in its character as the chief sight of Paris. The 
stranger, ere yet the dust of travel was brushed oflF, was 
wont to make for the Pont Neuf. He who had seen it 
had seen Paris, and the citizens fondly believed that 
its glories resounded in the distant places of the earth. 
They boasted that from its centre was visible a panorama 
as wonderful as one saw at the entrance to the Golden 
Horn of Constantinople. And as few of their hearers 
could, or wished to, contradict them, its merits as a 
look-out tower, if one can so misname a bridge, remained 
unassailed. 

But on this day, the day after they put the Red 
Neighbour to the Question, the Pont Neuf owed its real 
attraction, as it always had since its birth, to the 
throngs of passers-by, drawn from all parts of Paris 
and aU parts of Europe. And if one of these passers-by, 
not being drawn thither W the mere current of his 
business, had been asked '* What doest thou ? " he would 
have said, " Sir, it is vastly diverting to see on the one 
side the many vendors oi orvietan, and theriacum, and 
other quack specifics, the jugglers standing on their 
trestles, the merry-andrews mouthing at the mob, 
cheats at a sou a time of every variety." Or he might 
have said with equal truth, " Sir, I disdain buflFoonery, 
but I am entertained by the mercers, the sellers of 
sweetmeats and pastry, the dealers in old clothes, old 
books, — in all, in short, that filleth the inner man, 
whether it be his head or his stomach, or arrayeth the 
outer. Its aspect is no two days the same, yet it is 
always the Pont Neuf." 

All these things Pierre and Nanette saw from their 
perch behind the travelling carriage with accustomed 
eyes, as the coachman guided his horses carefully through 
the press of carts, and wains, and horses, and foot- 
passengers, Nanette casting a sharp eye upon the 
mercers' stalls, and Pierre a contemptuous glance at the 
dealers in old clothes, where he had driven many a fat 



In pursuit of an Idea. 93 

bargain. Tintorin, the ballad-maker and showman, was 
bawling out in a voice of brass his newest improvisation 
on the Red Neighbour, and apostrophising the Marquis 
de Paillasse, his assistant, who wore an astonishing 
livery of bed-tick, to look alive with the gathering in 
of the sous, for two of which the gapers could buy his 
doggerel. Even the Marquise de Polignac, hidden in the 
depths of her narrow- windowed coach, caught the giant 
Tintorin's hoarse syllables, and knew what they were — 
'* The Ballad of the Red Neighbour "—and felt glad that 
she was crossing the PontlNeuf for the last time for 
weeks to come. 

Now amidst the changeful medley of men and women 
and things, two jBxed points of interest were always 
the same on the Pont Neuf, to which many people paid 
attention when they were tired of the hubbub — "The 
Bronze Horse," as they called the equestrian statue of 
the great kinff, Henri Quatre, forgetful of the kingly 
part of it, and "La Samaritaine." 

" La Samaritaine " is, as you who know Paris know, 
a pumping-station to supply the fountains of the Louvre 
and of the Tuileries with water. It is also a great clock 
which has an immense face, surmounted by a carillon. 
The citizens set their watches by La Samaritaine, and 
the name is given to it from a sculptured group below 
the clock-face which depicts the Seigneur at the well in 
Samaria. So that with these three attractions, the 
pumps, the clock, and the carved stone, no wonder people 
come from all over Paris to look at it. 

An old bent man took care of La Samaritaine. He 
had been there a long time, and people looked for him. 
They would have experienced a sense of disappointment 
if he had not appeared several times a-day. His duties 
were simple, and he had performed them so many times, 
that they had become purely mechanical. But it is not 
of them that there is question. It is enough to say 
that he was almost as much a jBxture as the pumping- 
station. He had a companion in an old woman, who 
sat most of the day at the foot of the pedestal of the 
Bronze Horse, with her basket of needles and pins, and 



94 The Red Neighbour. 

other small merchandise. She had the brown pippin 
face, tinged with red streaks, of the peasantry. You 
could have sworn she was country-bred, and had lived 
in the country a great part of her life. But she also 
had been a fixture on the Pont Neuf since most of the 
hahUuds remembered it. 

Between the old man and the old woman few people 
of note crossed the bridge, but one or both of them saw 
and marked their crossing. And it had grown up into 
a custom that the old woman before she took up her 
sitting hobbled across the bridge briskly enough to La 
Samaritaine, and said — 

"Good day, Thomas! It is a fine morning," or "It 
rains," whichever was more appropriate ; and when the 
old man replied, she would go on — 

" Is La Samaritaine right ? ' (She meant the clock.) 

« Quite right, Mfere Michu ! " 

" Did you see the Marquis Such-an-one cross the bridge 
yesterday ? " 

" Yes ; and the wife of So-and-so." 

They had usually both seen everybody. 

And after this comparison of not^, M^re Michu always 
finished with this question, very timidly delivered, as 
if she was afraid even in asking it — 

" Do you think it is time yet ? ' 

And the old man always made answer — 

" Not yet ! One must put by a few more sous." 

People had heard the question and the reply, but had 
never guessed of what they spoke. It reminded them 
of Ali Baba and the Forty Thieves in the story, but 
there was no clue. They would pass on, saying that the 
old couple would never die until this event, whatever 
it was, came to pass. 

Both the old man and the old woman saw the Marquise 
de Polignac pass over the Pont Neuf in her travelling 
carriage with her maid and her man-servant, and both 
noted that she did not come back. 



The Mills of Meaux. 95 



CHAPTER XIIL 

THE MILLS OF MEAUX. 

It was market-day in the town of Meaux, and the 
sweet chimes of St Etienne had just announced that it 
was noon, when the Marquis and his servant Loches 
rode into full view of the broad Mame rushing beneath 
the mills that straddle it, lost sight of it again as they 
clattered up the cobble-stones of the Bue St Bemy, and 
pulled up their horses at the Hotel des Trois Bois. 
They had ridden twelve leagues, and were ready for 
dinner. 

The little market-place was littered with straw and 
piles of cheeses. And stretching down the Bue des 
Vieux Moutons was a long line of farmers' waggons, 
standing empty. There were still a few knots of men 
haggling over samples of grain, but for the most part 
the farmers had sought their accustomed inn, and only 
a few rough-looking, ill-clad labourers rested and ate 
black bread and onions, with a mouthful or two of the 
coarse Vin de Brie, which is a byword anywhere else 
than in the province where it is grown. 

The host of the Three Kings bustled out to receive his 
guest, for he had only an hour before been lamenting 
that not a single seigneur dined at his house of market 
days. They were all wasting their substance in Paria 
And the farmers were too poor to patronise him. They 
went to the obscurer inns for their soup. 

Loches had the nose of an old campaigner, and after 
finding the stable he had no more difficulty in discover- 
ingthe kitehen. 

The host himself, a pleasant gossipy man with red 
cheeks and high shoulders, waited on tne Marquis. 

" What do they sell at Meaux ? " asked the guest as 
he finished the first course. 

" Grains of all sorts, monsieur, and cheese and wine, 
but the wine you are drinking is not of this country. 



96 The Red Neighbour. 

I know better than to offend your honourable palate 
with it. It is only fit for these yokels!" 

He waved his hand expressively towards the market- 
place without. 

" And the farmers ? Are they prosperous ? " 

"Not they, monsieur; it is omy the farmers-general 
who are prosperous." This was a favourite joke of his. 
"And their harvest is the taxea" 

"Ah!" said the Marquia "But with the war the 
prices are good. The king pays dearly for the com ! " 

"That is true !" said the innkeeper. "K the farmers 
got the price — for example ! " 

"Who, then?" 

" The grain-dealers, to be sure. They lend the farmers 
money to pay their taxes and buy their seed, and in 
return they charge them a great interest, and give them 
a poor price for their com." 

"Ah!" said the Marquis again. "But the grain- 
dealers must have grain, and they bid against one 
another ! " 

" It used to be so in my father's time," said the inn- 
keeper, " but of late years there have been only two or 
three, and these not trading for themselves. They are 
merely agents." 

"Agents?" 

" Yes ! They buy for a Monsieur Bocal who lives in 
Paris. And it is he who really lends the money. The 
country is in pawn to Monsieur Bocal. Do you know 
him?" 

" I have heard of him ! " said the Marquis, " And the 
cheese ? " 

"There is little of the cheese but the rind for the 
farmer to sell when it gets to market. The creamy inside 
has gone for taxes and rent, for rights of pasturage and 
water, and octroi, and a hundred other charges, but it is 
a good cheese. Our province of Brie has always pro- 
duced good cheese." 

It was but two steps to the Cathedral of St Etienne, 
where he offered up to Saint Antony of Padua a prayer 
for his beloved Marquise and his little daughter, and lit 



The Mills of Meaux. 97 

a few candles at the foot of the saint's statue, giving the 
bedel twice the price he asked. The bedel said iStter- 
wards, ** Any one could see he was a grand seigneur, and 
had gold in his pockets if he did not wear it on his 
clothea" 

Two or three market-women, with empty baskets and 
clean folded cloths beside them, were offering up their 
weekly petitions to Our Lady. And in another comer 
of this lofty day-lit cathedral, near the tomb of that 
illustrious prince Philip of Castile, a man and a woman 
knelt side by side, poorly enough clad, with great clouted 
shoes, and the man's hair was grey and his back bent. 
A sound of stifled sobbing came from that retired 
nook of the sanctuary and swept into the heart of the 
Marquis. 

A woman may cry, and one may feel a tender pity. 
There are many things to make a woman cry, and one 
does not wonder. But when a man cries he has suffered 
much before his suffering so shakes the firmament of his 
manhood. A wistfulness came over the face of the 
Marquis as he came nearer to them and saw that both 
were pouring out a mingled oblation of tears and 
prayers. 

He stole out and waited in the shadow of the great 
tower (they are going to build the other one when they 
have money enough) that stretched like a broad black 
patSiwav down the street. He was set on knowing the 
cause of the man's grief. 

Presently they came out and shaded their eyes from 
the broad glare of the sun, and the woman, malong some 
excuse of an errand, departed showing her man a jolly 
smile, and saying, "Could we but know what the good 
God has in store for us ! " 

The Marquis knew by that it was for no child they 
had been grieving, but for some bitter grip of misfortune, 
and accosted him. 

" You seem in some trouble, my man ? " 

The man started, doffed a floury cap, and said — 

" Pardon, monsieur ! We are in great trouble, for we 
have lost the Mills of Meaux." 



98 The Red Neighbour. 

" How is that ? " asked the Marquis gravely. " What 
is your name, miller?" 

''Jean Bonnechose, sir. I have been the miller of 
Meaux for twenty years, since my father died, and he 
was miller before me under the £ords of Brie. And it 
was a good living if a hard one. I paid the Lord of Brie 
so many sous for every bushel I ground, and paid myself 
so many sous. But now the Lord of Brie has sold his 
rights of multure to another for a great sum down, and 
tms other has turned me out of the milL I have offered 
half as much again, but it is of no avail. I have appealed 
to the Lord of Brie, but he can do nothing. I was not 
included in the bargain, it seema'' 

"And this other? Who is he?" 

"It is Monsieur Bocal, who buys all the grain here- 
abouts, and he is having some of it ground into flour for 
the army ! " 

" But who manages the mill ? " 

"It is Monsieur Bocal's agent, and he has brought 
with him several strangers. My men are turned out 
also. What are we to do ? " 

The indignation of the Marquis waxed hot within him, 
but there was nothing that was unlawful in all this. It 
was only a great injustice. 

" The milk I saw as I came in from the Paris road V* 

"The same, sir] Let me take you to them!" The 
miller had done ^nbthing but watch them since his mis- 
fortune. 

Threading two or 'three little streets they crossed the 
bridge and came out upon the river-bank by a small 
house, which had a garden at the back. On the cobble- 
stones in front, between the cottage and the river- wall, 
was a little pile of furniture, at sight of which the miller 
began to weep afresh. 

" It is yours ? " said the Marquis. 

"Yes ! The cottage goes with the mill We have to 
seek another home. There can be no other. This is my 
home!" 

The mills, for there were five buildings of several 
storeys each, stood on strong piles in the nver-bed, with 



The Mills of Meaux. 99 

great wheels beneath, through which the Mame, green 
and white, rushed and foamed. A heavy drawbridge 
stood upright, chained to two strong posts a little to 
one side of the cottage, just as the miller was accustomed 
to draw it up of nights, and the chain was secured with 
a great padlock. 

"Let it down," said the Marquis. "I should like to 
see inside," 

The Marquis was determined to see all of Monsieur 
Bocal's operations that he could. 

" It is impossible ! They have the key 1 " 

" Fetch the man who has it," said the Marquis. 

"But if he will not bring it?" 

" Then bring the smith," said the Marquis in a tone of 
authority that convinced poor Bonnechose he had better 
obey, altiiough he trembled for the success of his errand. 

When poor Bonnechose found the agent who had the 
key, he found him drinking in the kitchen of the Trois 
Bois, and Loches sat on one side with his flagon before 
him talking to an ostler. Loches heard what was said. 

" There is some great gentleman wants the key of the 
drawbridge," said BDunechose to the agent. 

" Tell him he cannot have it, then ! " 

'' But I tell you he is some great lord, and he will have 
what he wants, whether you uke it or not. He wants to 
see the milL" 

The other showed his short strong teeth as he said — 

"Does he ? I let no one into the mill. Just tell him 
that^ — or stay, tell him to come and fetch the key himself." 

Loches was well inclined to take a han(( but not 
being sure that it was the Marquis or how far his own 
instructions would carry him, got up and strode out 
without taking notice of either. However, as Bonne- 
chose went out in search of the smith, he followed him, 
and having learned from him all he wanted to know, 
made his own way to the drawbridge. 

" Are the horses fed ? " was the greeting of the Marquis. 

" The king himself doesn't eat better com, my loni ! " 
said Loches. 

Presently Bonnechose arrived with the smith. 



loo The Red Neighbour. 

The Marquis directed him to force the padlock and 
free the chains of the drawbridge. 

The smith was just such an honest-looking fellow as 
Bonnechose, and looking confused enough, asked — 

'* Pardon, monsieur ! Who are you ? 

" I am an agent of Monsieur de Louvois, the Minister 
for War!" 

The smith pulled his forelock and said — 

'' I am very sorry. But if you were even Monsieur de 
Louvois I dare not touch this drawbridge without the- 
orders of Monsieur Bocal." 

"So? And why, pray?" 

" Because I have the shoeing of all Monsieur Bocal's 
horses that come through Meaux, and I cannot afford to 
lose his custom. I also have a wife and children like 
Bonnechose here." 

It was a good reason. The man uttered it in tones of 
the ^eatest respect. But it was evident he was bound 
hand and foot in the unseen bonds of Monsieur BocaL 

'' Marie ! " said the smith to Bonnechose, " I am sorry 
for you, but it is not yet time. One must take care of 
the sous." 

The Marquis de Polignac was not one who brooked 
opposition from any one but Monsieur de Louvois. 

"Loches! I want this drawbridge let down!" 

" Yes, my lord ! " It was with the same plain direct- 
ness that he had been used to say, " Yes, my captain ! " 
when he was a dragoon. He had been troop -marshal 
in his day, and always carried a few implements in his 
holsters. So he ran back to the inn, got a file and a 
hammer, and returned in a very short space of time. 

The smith stayed long enough to see that Loches 
knew how to use his tools, and, giving a sagacious nod, 
went off to his forge. There was going to be trouble 
in Meaux before the day was out Hitherto Monsieur 
Bocal was the king, the king was Monsieur Bocal. But 
now here was some one who called himself a servant of 
the king who was not afraid of Monsieur BocaL Was 
the ''time" of which he spoke coming sooner than he 
had expected? 



The Mills of Meaux. loi 

ThB a^nt with the short teeth who sat over his wine 
in the kitchen of the Trois Bois became uneasy. Who 
was this intruder? 

"I should like to see the man who will interfere with 
my drawbridge," he said to the tapster fellow who 
looked after tiie wants of the kitchen. 

"Then why don't you go and see him?" said the 
tapster, who had no liking for this strange bully who 
had come amongst the decent folk of Meaux. 

'' Because he can come to me if he wants me ! " said 
the other. 

" But it is plain that he doesn't ! " returned the tapster. 

"A pla^e on him!" growled the other between his 
short teem. 

Loches was a strong man and the padlock was a strong 
padlock, and one cannot file and hammer a padlock with- 
t)ut noise. It was not long, therefore, beiore the bruit 
of what was going on float^ on the lips of children to 
the kitchen of the Hotel des Trois Boia The agent got 
up and, throwing a livre or so to the tapster, clapped on 
his hat and strode to the mills of Meaux, a stnng of 
children at his heels, whom, however, he diOT>ersed with 
a wave of his stick and a few round curses. The children 
spread the news further still. 

As soon as he cast his eyes upon Loches his anger 
knew.no bounds. But to accost Loches he had to pass 
the Marquis, and, although he knew not with whom he 
had to deal, he saw very well that it was with no 
ordinary person of his own rank. 

** By what right do you presume to touch my draw- 
bridge?" he said to the Marquia 

"By the right of the king, fellow !" said the Marquis. 

" The king has no rights here ! " said the other. " Snow 
me an order from Monsieur Bocal and I stand aside." 

" Have you nearly finished, Loches ? " said the Marquis, 
turmng from hun. 

For answer Loches gave the ring of the padlock, which 
was nearly filed through in two places, a tremendous 
blow with his hammer and the piece fell out. The 
drawbridge was free, and in a moment or two, during 



I02 The Red Neighbour. 

which it seemed to waver, the chains began to run 
through the pulleys and it sank athwart the stream to 
rest on the landing outside the door of the milL 

The agent rushed past the Marquis to dispute the 
passage, only to encounter a buffet from the fist of 
Ifoches that sent him staggering to the ground. 

The Marquis motioned to Bonnechose to go first. He 
himself followed. Loches remained on the bank. ''It 
was the only way," he said sympathetically, as the agent 
picked himself up, ground out a string of curses, and 
went away. His h^iort was swelling with the desire for 
vengeance. Single-handed he felt impotent. 

!l^nnechose and the Marquis entering the mill, were 
on the floor of the loft where the grain was stored 
before it was despatched on its way to the ravenii^ 
stones below, which were then at rest. The Marquis 
plunged his hand into the mouth of a sack and brought 
out a handful of grain. It was wheat. 

'' What do you think of that, miller ? " 

Bonnechose spread it out in his own hand and looked 
it over with the eye of twenty years' emerience. 

" Wheat, monsieur, of poor quality. But wheat ! Oh, 
yes!" 

"And this?" The Marquis plunged his hand into 
another sack. 

" Rye ! Two-thirds wheat and one-third rye, to make 
flour for the king's armies ! " 

"That is right," said the Marquis. "Let us try 
them all." Together they went through sack after 
sack. 

"Monsieur, monsieur! There is something else than 
grain here ! " 

The Marquis looked. Bonnechose held in his hands 
some whitii^ lumpa 

"What is it?" 

For answer Bonnechose tilted the sack and shot the 
contents on the floor. 

"Chalk!" 

The Marquis said nothing more but " Let us descend ! " 

Bonnechose led the way. 



The Mills of Meaux. 103 

On the lower floor stood fifty sacks in rows of five, 
filled with flour for the king's army. 

Bonnechose untied the mouth of a sack and put his 
hand in^ stirring the contents round and round. He 
drew forth a small handful and took it to the light, 
such light as there was in this cobweb-hung storey. He 
spread it out with Ids finger on his broad pilm. 

"This is the flour of wheat," he said, "and this the 
flour of rye ; but this, so help me God ! is neither honest 
wheat nor rye : it is chalk from the caves of Epemay. 
Monsieur ! that Bocal is a cursed rascal ! " 

" If I live," said the Marquis, " he shall pay the penalty 
of his knavery !" 

There was a great outcry ! In a flash he remembered 
Loches and ran up the stairs again, followed closely by 
Bonnechose. They reached the door to find the draw- 
bridge rising from the landing, Loches in the middle 
of the bridge, sword in hand, and a crowd of yelling 
pea49ants from the country round, headed by the in- 
ruriated agent, who had dragged them from their inns, 
hauling at the chains. With a bound the Marquis 
gained the bridge and brought it down again with his 
UTeight. Loches ran back to his master, and Bonnechose, 
more cunning than they would have thought, ran back 
into the mill, and bringing out a sack of grain which 
he handled with the i^rength and knack of a miller, 
dumped it on the end of the bridge, and then another 
and another, so that twice the number of men at the 
other end could not have lifted it. 

The mob surged forward to cross the drawbridge, 
which was but three planks' width, but the Marquis, 
standing in front of Loches with his drawn sword, 
waved them back. 

" This mill and all it contains," he said in a loud clear 
voice, " is forfeit to the king, whose oflScer I am. Go to 
your homes or it will be the worse for you. I will deal 
with Monsieur BocaL" 

An ill-looking ruflSan sprang on the bridge notwith- 
standing and advanced. 

" At your peril," said the Marquis, and with a thrust 



I04 The Red Neighbour. 

of his sword ran him through the throat. The man 
caught at the air with his hands and fell down into 
the river below, reddening the current with his blood. 
There was a silence. 

"Thus will I serve all traitors/' said the Marquis. 
"Who is this Bocal that you should shed your blood 
for him ? Has he lent you money ? I see he has ! Has 
he exacted interest? Every penny! I see he has! 
Has he given you a good honest price for your com, 
for your rye, ... for your chalk . . . ? You owe him 
latitude? Away with you! A pretty set of fools! 

The crowd of blue and brown smocks beg6ui to clatter 
off in their wooden shoes, and the agent vainly en- 
deavoured to restrain them by threate of immediate 
ruin. But the dead man down in the river, whose body 
had caught against an angle of the river's wall, was 
staring up at fliem with eyes wide open. They had no 
stomach for a fight. And seeing there was no hope the 
agent also took to his heels and, finding his horse, rode 
at a gallop out of the town. 

The Marquis, leaving Loches and the miller on guard, 
departed to find the mayor of the town, and persuaded 
him with much difficulty to come and see for himself 
what they had discovered in the mill. With due 
solemnity that dignitary and the town-clerk came and 
expressed their official horror at the enormities which 
were being practised at the king's expense under their 
very noses, sealed up all the sacks and the door of the 
mill, and finally the drawbridge. Never was such a 
sealing in the town of Meaux. Then a long report was 
drawn up, a copy of which was transmitted to Monsieur 
de Louvois by the Marquis, and it was nightfall by the 
time these tlungs were accomplished. Two of the town 
watch were set to guard the drawbridge in case the 
official seals should prove insufficient, and the Marquis, 
well satisfied with his first discoveries, decided to continue 
hisjoumey the next day. 

His rest was, however, destined to be broken, for in 
the middle of the night— -and Meaux betook itself to bed 



An Ambuscade at Montmirail. lOg 

at nine o'clock — a dishevelled figure, in whom he recog- 
nised Bonnechose, burst aJong with Loches into his bed- 
chamber and cried out, '' Monsieur I Monsieur ! The 
mill is on fire!" 

The Marquis was but a few minutes before he stood 
once again on the bank of the Mame in time to see the 
roof fafi in, and the last of the king's flour disappearing 
in smoke and flame or mingled with the mutening 
current wending its own way to Paris. 

''Monsieur Bocal is well served, it seems! What is 
the matter, my good miller?" 

''My furniture is burned also, Monsieur le Marquis. 
Truly we do not know what the good God has yet in 
store for us — as my wife said." 



CHAPTER XIV. 

AN AMBUSCADE AT MONTMIBAIL. 

Loches had the horses saddled in good time for the 
second day's journey. As he stood there with his own 
reins in his hand, leaving the ostler to earn a pourbovre 
by holding his master's, the Marquis could not but notice 
how smart and well-trimmed the big ex-dragoon looked, 
despite the fact that he wore only a very pain riding- 
suit and a hat whose sole ornament was a livery buttcm. 
He made up for the lack of a uniform, however, by his 
great riding-boots and military spurs, by a moustache 
that stuck out fiercely from his upper lip, by his square 
shoulders, and his sword. The Marquis was at once 
pleased with his servant's appearance and with his 
behaviour of the day before. He was one of those 
persons who if he had good wine did not care for it in 
an uncouth flagon. 

It must not be supposed that Loches was the regular 
riding lackey of the Marquis. Travelling seldom, it had 



io6 The Red Neighbour. 

been a matter of indifference to him which of his grooms 
his chief equerry selected. But now that the journey 
promised to be an adventurous one, he was interested 
m knowing what he had to rely upon beside his own 
sword and his own wit. 

*' Horses sound and well-shod, Loches?" 

**Yes, my lord, every hoof. I have been over them 
this morning. I am an old dragoon !" 

''Good! Ask if the road is clear to La Fert^!" 

" I am sure of it^ my lord. I have climbed the tower 
of St Etienne, and taken a good look at the country. 

**Good ! You learned to take these precautions in the 
dragoons?** 

-Yes, my lord." 

Many servants would have seised the opportunity to 
enter on a garrulous trumpeting of their own careful- 
ness, but no^ Loche& Loches abo knew that the road 
divided at La Fert^ one branch leading to Nogent and 
Chateau Thierry, tiiie other to Montmirail. He did 
n^ ask which they were going to take. "Neither 
talkative nor curious/' the Marquis thought, and then 
said aloud — 

"You behaved yourself very well yesterday, Loches. 
You were in danger of being thrown off the drawbridge. 
If we had been too late, what then ? " 

*' I should have leaped into the midst of the rascals ! " 

"And perhaps broken your leg, or spitted yourself on 
a stable fork ?^' 

"That is true; but some one would have had the 
point of my sword through him." 

" But still you were engaged to act as agroom ? " 

" I am sorry, my lord. One finds it difficult to forget 
one has been a soldier." 

"But why should you endanger your life on my 
account ? " 

"Because, my lord, there is only one religion for a 
soldier, fidelity to one's captain ; and I knew vou were 
journeying to see Marshal Turenne. Think if Marshal 
Turenne had said, ' What do I hear ? Loches betrayed 
you?' I would rather throw myself over a precipice. 



An Ambuscade at Montmirail. 107 

my lord ; but hark ! Some one is following us, a single 
horseman/' and without order from the Marquis ne 
turned and halted his horse across the road. 

"Why do you do that?" said the Marquis, "on a 
peaceable journey ? " 

"Because, my lord, on a journey which has begun 
like ours, it is necessary to know why one follows us, 
if he is following, and whither one rides, if he is to 
pass us!" 

The Marquis halted also. 

The new-comer was evidently in haste. His horse 
was covered with dust and sweat, and could hardly put 
one leg before the other, or so it seemed, when he came 
to a s&ndstill. 

"The Marquis de Polignac!" said the messei^er, in 
tones that were so absurdly loud that Loches exclaimed — 

" We are not on the Pont Neuf at midday, my friend ! " 

The new-comer, a tall thin man, with a lean comical 
face, looked, pursing up his eyes in a curious way, at 
Loches, but jud^g that the remark was quite innocent, 
turned to the Marquis and said, in what was evidently 
an endeavour to moderate his naturally robust voice — 

"A message from the Red Neighbour, my lord. 
Beware how you go to Montmirail!' 

" I3 that all your message ? " the Marquis asked. 

" That is all, my lord. I have ridden from Paris since 
four this morning to give it you." 

"You will want some food, and your horse a rest, 
before you set out on the journey back ? Here are a 
oou]^ of pistoles! My reply is 'Thanks!'" 

"That IS better thaii two sous, my lord!" said the 
stranger, looking fondly at the two pistolea " As the old 
poet said truly, 'Money does everything.'" Then, as 
the Marauis merely said, "You are welcome!" he 
murmurea, as he doffed his hat and dismounted, "Be- 
hold! This it is to be a great wit. I ride a dozen 
leagues out of Paris, and two Parisians fail to recognise 
me. Men are indeed fools, beginning with the wise 
ones!" 

Then he led his horse to the roadside, where he pro- 



io8 The Red Neighbour. 

ceeded to take his saddle off. As Loches bade him a 
civil " Good-bye, comrade ! " the other laughed a whimsical 
suttural laugh, and said, " You're not so far away from 
wxe Pont Neuf as you think ! " 

The Marquis had ridden onward, wondering how on 
all the earth the Red Neighbour knew he was going to 
Montmirail, and why she should have, and more, how 
she could have, sent him this warning. But go to 
Montmirail he would, for Monsieur de Louvois was 
rebuilding his castle there, and had asked him as a 
favour to call, and, while commanding the hospitality 
of the steward, convey to him certain instructions, and 
send word how things were going. 

"Beware how you go to Montmirail!" The strange 
woman, who had been a farrier's daughter, and whom 
half Paris regarded as a sorceress, knew of his purpose 
to go by Montmirail — ^more, knew of hidden dangers in 
the pauL And then he thought of the many years 
during which the armies of France had trodden the 
creat nigh ways to the eastward, and of the many years 
during which Monsieur Bocal had used these same 
highways, traversing them to and fro with his horses 
and waggons and men, building up slowly and surely his 
influence in every village, town, and city from Paris to 
the frontier, — ^perfecting a system of intelligence, enrol- 
ling innkeepers and smiths, dealers of all kinds, ostlers, 
post-boys, and nondescripts in his service. The danger 
threatened to come from the agents of Monsieur Bocal; 
but what it was to be, who could tell? The burning 
of the Mill of Meaux showed how far those agents would 

SL Of the direct evidence of BocaFs chicanery at 
eaux nothing remained. There was the official record. 
But what of tioat ? The Marquis de Polignac felt that 
he was in presence of a task which the army contractor 
was not going to allow to be a light one. fiut why did 
the Red Nei^bour intervene ? If Bocal was the angel 
of darkness, what was she? And why did the one 
array herself against the other? 

At La Fert^, where they make mill-stones, they met 
the river again, for La Fert^, while its comrade Jouarre 



An Ambuscade at Montmirail. 1^09; 

like a sentinel stands upon a hill, lies in the valley of 
the Mame, — a fertile valley whose hillsides are clad with 
woods and vineyards, and parted with it as they passed 
out by the gate leading to Montmirail. They plunged 
into another country. For the long level roaa of the 
Mame valley they got in exchange a mere track that 
led over hills or tlm)ugh glens between the hillsides 
that approached one another in quite a neighbourly 
fashion. There were labourers in the field malang. hay. 
There was a peaceful air about all the Marquis saw 
that spoke little of chicanery or of violence. But he 
rode warily* enough all the same, and so did Loches, 
sometimes in front of his master, sometimes behind. 

It was past midday when thev espied the towers of 
Montmirail pointing to the sky from the top of a little 
hill, and the silver sinuous line of the Petit Morin which 
flows at its foot. 

Down the hill they rode, past a little hamlet church, 
past the f armsteading with its great stone gateway, 
over the bridge, on whose low wall sat aged men watch- 
ing the waters of the Little Morin as they ran towards 
the mill, sweetly gossiping maiden notmngs between 
green rows of poplars, fiom amongst whose hcHea peeped 
kneeling women beating their linen on their washing- 
boards. 

Then they began to mount the hillside, where straight 
before them stood, stark and lofty, the church of 
Montmirail, uplifted from the clustering red-roofed 
houses, and to the right peered from the tree-tops of 
a noble park the roof of the chateau which the great 
War Minister was building. 

Halfway up the hill the Marquis turned his horse's 
head to tne right, and, where he knew to look for it, 
found the lesser gate of the park, for the great gates 
face the church, and he desired no bruit of his arrival 

It was a great park of noble trees and green lush 
glades in wluch cattle browsed and horses munched or 
frolicked in droves with the air of absurd irresponsibility 
that horses wear when not in harness. Loches's eye 
roved lovingly over such of them as came near the 



no The Red Neighbour. 

roadway. And what he saw he noted. This one's 
neck was worn by the collar, another's back chafed by 
the saddle. The legs of one, the pasterns, the shoulders 
of others, — all told some tale to this old dragoon who 
had been troop-marshal Along with the horses, who 
were merely on duty, were long strings of colts woolly 
and ragged, all legs, running and galloping and rolling 
after their manner, three- and f our-year-oMs ready for 
breaking in, infecting some of the older ones with their 
gaiety. 

A question or two to Loches opened his horse-loving 
heart and set him talking, and much that he said about 
these horses, coming from this man who had lived among 
horses from boyhood, gave the Marquis plenty to think 
about till they arrived at the castle. 

One wing, which represented all that was left intact 
of an older castle, was inhabited. The rest was slowly 
rising from the ground under the magic of the masons. 
Great heaps of unhewn stones lay here and there. And 
from some of them the masons were selecting blocks to 
shape to their desires. A goodly band of artificers was 
there under the eyes of masters of their crafts, joiners 
and masons, and mere labourers and hodmen. It was 
a pleasant sight this as they wrought in the sunshine. 
All honest fellows these, there could be no doubt. 
Whence then was to come the threatened ambush? 

The Marquis de Polignac no sooner announced his 
name than the steward came out to receive him with 
much bowing and obsequiousness. 

" If your lordship had but sent an avant-covmer, a 
dinner worthy of your lordship would have been pre- 
pared. As it is, if your lordship and his groom will 
condescend to dismount, a flagon of wine now to allay 
the dust of the journey, and as soon as ever it can be 
prepared, a humble omelette and a trifle of a pullet or 
so, shall hasten to meet your lordship's appetite. 

A couple of grooms came out at his bidding, and the 
steward usher^ the Marquis in to the entrance-hall, 
while Loches, careful Loches, accompanied the horses and 
grooms to the stables to see the good beasts bestowed. 



An Ambuscade at Montmirail. iii 

Water which exhaled the perfume of rose-leaves, and 
soft white linen, were brought to the chamber which the 
great War Minister himself used on his few flying visits, 
and when the Marquis had removed some of the traces 
of travel from hands and face and clothes, and had 
tasted a cup of wine in his sparing way, he strolled 
about in the shade of the castle and of the nearest trees, 
till the pleasing bustle showed him that the preparation 
of the meal had proceeded faster than he could have 
ini&rined. 

'me obsequious steward was most assiduous in his 
attendance, waiting on him at a dinner which was, for 
so short a notice, a wonderful credit to a country cook. 
It was served in a small low-ceiled room, restful to the 
eye and cool, whose greatest charm was its large low 
oriel window which commanded a view of the Italian 
garden and the park beyond. 

The repast finished, the Marquis sent for Loches, and, 
telling him to be ready to start as soon as the evening 
breeze set in after the heat of the afternoon, threw him- 
self on the soft cushions of the window-seat beneath the 
casements, through which came the hum of bees from 
a grove of lime-trees, and went to sleep. The long rides 
of yesterday and to-day were making his unaccustomed 
frame call for repose. A few more days, and he knew 
that his old vigour would come back, for he was a man 
who had learnt to endure in his youth, and could yet, if 
his muscles were not asked to undergo too great a strain 
at first after disuse. Loches, seeing that his master was 
falling asleep, deemed it his duty to keep very wide 
awake, and, while it was unlikely that any harm could 
come to the Marquis under the very roof of De Louvois, 
he decided to wander off on a tour of inspection on his 
own account. It took no little strategy to escape the 
good-natured solicitations of the grooms and the laugh- 
ing eEfpianage of the maids, always glad of the advent 
of a soldierly stranger wha could tell them about Paris 
and its doings, but by slow degrees he managed to throw 
them off and gain the park. Once a few trees were 
between him and the castle he could return to a more 



112! The Red Neighbour. 

careful examination of the horses he had seen on the 
road up to the castle. 

As Loches had left the castle in an entirely different 
direction to that in which he had come to it, he was 
forced to make a roundabout journey to reach his goal, 
and in doing this, always keeping a wary eye to make 
sure he was not followed, he came across another less 
used but well-made drive, which from recent marks of 
wheels seemed to come from another entrance to the 
park. He had hardly set foot upon it when his quick 
ear caught the dink of a bit, and looking about him 
through the tree-trunks, he saw a light carriage with 
two horses drawn up in a leafy glade a Hundred yards 
away. A further reconnaissance discovered a coachman 
and groom, with hats tilted over their eyes, enjoying an 
honest snore as they sat with their backs to a stout 
trunk. 

Where was the master ? Loches was not long in dis- 
covering a little wooden pavilion, and approachmg it in 
the rear, he heard voices within, and one was the voice 
of an angry man — 

"I tell you. Mister Steward, you may rob your master 
as much as you like, but not me. It is not amusing ! " 

"But, monsieur," it was the cringing voice of the 
steward, "I saw no harm in borrowing two of your 
horses now and again to lead stone from my uttie 
quarries to the casue. They are being well fed!" 

" A pest ! " said the other with a pretty enough oath, 
that !Loches as a native of Touraine recognised as a 
familiar one amongst the folk of the Midi. " I send my 
horses here to get pastured and rested, so that they may 
lead my victuals and stores for the army when they are 
rested, not to work for you. A pest ! " 

"But, monsieur, you must not forget that you are. 
gettixig your pasture at next to nothmg." 

" What is that to me ? " came the Dullying reply. 
"What is it to me if you choose to rob Monsieur 4e. 
Louvois ? I buy my pasture where I can at the cheap- 
est price. And it is pasture and not exercise I want for 
my norses ! Yentrebleu ! you shall not do it. Do you 



An Ambuscade at Montmirail. 113 

hear ? I say it. I ! You know I can turn you out if I 
like ! A word from me — and you are a wisp of straw 
flying up a chimney." 

The steward was evidently convinced, for he made an 
abject apology. 

"At what time did this cursed Polignac depart? I 
followed him prettv close." 

" He is still here/ said the steward, with a ring of self - 
approval in his tones. '' I kept him ! He is asleep up at 
the castle!" 

"Ventrebleu!*' said the other, and his further words 
and those of the steward became inaudible. Loches 
shifted his position as much as he dare, for those stupid 
grooms might wake up and see him, but hear anythmg 
deifinite he could not. So he slid off cautiously, always 
keeping at least two trees in a line behind him, and 
presently appeared in the Italian garden. From which 
ne sauntered, smelling a flower now and again, till he 
reached the casement through which he could peep at 
the sleeping Marquis. He was still asleep, but by leaning 
Loches comd just brush the cheek of the Marquis with 
his hat, and after one or two vain attempts the Marquis 
awoka He listened attentively to the narrative, and 
tiien said — 

" Get the horses. We must go." 

Loches found the stables deserted so far as the grooms 
were concerned. It was certainlv suspicious, so he 
examined the horses carefully before putting on the 
saddles and valisea They appeared to be well enough. 
Hoofs, ears, tails, saddles, straps, bridles, Loches looked: 
at everything. Nothing escaped this old campaigner of 
Turenne'a It was not by hocussing the horses that 
danger was to come. Then he looked to the pistols in 
ihe holsters and reloaded them. They were dry and had 
not been tampered with. 

No sooner had he led them to the door where the 
Marquis awaited him, than the steward appeared, some- 
what breathless, to entreat his lordship to honour the 
house witL his presence a while longer. It was still hot. 

No ! The business of the Marquis did not admit of 

H 



114 The Red Neighbour. 

delay. He would acquaint Monsieur de Louvois of his 
hospitable reception. Then mounting his horse he rode 
slowly till he came to the stone-masons, where he halted 
a moment and asked one of the master craftsmen what 
stone was being used, and to show it to him. The man 
did so, explaining in a few words the destination of the 
different kinda 

" This is a villainous stone," he said, pointing to some, 
of which many heaps lay about, ** not worthy of being 
put into a nobleman s castle, but Messire Steward yonder 
bids us use it for every part that we can, without dis- 
figuring a fine design. It is a thousand pities . . " 

The Marquis promised to make mention of the stone 
to his friend for whom the castle was being rebuilt, 
for it was a pity to waste good craft over 1^ stone. 
Whereat the master craftsman was greatly comforted. 
And the Marquis left him, riding slo'vdy down the path- 
way of this beautiful park where Monsieur Bocal, with 
his usual audacity, was robbing the War Minister himself 
in collusion with his very steward, whose real master 
was greed. Bocal was pBusturing in De Louvois' park 
the very horses that were used to drag the base flour and 
worthless grain that he sold for the king's armies at 
prices which were draining France dry. His righteous 
anger filled him so full that for the time he had forgotten 
his warning, and was both glad and sorry at once that 
he had come to Montmirail. 

aop! 

The horse on which the Marquis rode with a loose 
rein started and reared, and if the rider had not been as 
sure-seated as he was he would have been thrown. 

A woodman's axe had fallen from his hand just before 
the horse's nose. 

The Marquis looked up. So did Loches. From a 
limb of a taJl poplar a good way up, a man peered out 
and down at them, and a voice, wluch soimded so near 
it startled both of them, cried — 

" Climisy for a woodman from the Pont Neuf." 

Loches looked at the Marquis, the Marquis at him, and 
both at the woodman. 






An Ambuscade at Montmirail. 115 

"Go on ! But beware how you go from Montmirail. 
You are not out of the wood yet." 

Loches and the Marquis had just entered the long 
avenue that led to the gate and wall of the park. It 
was a half mile long, though looked at from either end, so 
closely were the trees planted, it seemed but a few yards. 

loches suspected an ambush beyond the gate. The 
Marquis loosened his sword in its sheath, l^th rode at 
an easy trot till they were within a quarter of a mile 
of the gate. They did not see the avaricious face of the 
steward peering through the trees from almost the very 
spot above which sat the clumsy woodman, nor did they 
see him raise a himting-hom to his pursy lips. But thev 
heard the sudden blast of it ringing throu^ the wooo- 
land, up to the summit of the hill and back again. They 
heard the sudden barking of hounds, the breaking and 
tearing of brushwood and straining of timber, and from 
both sides of the road near the gate came two droves of 
terrified horses which, finding but one path, swept up it, 
a turbulent, snorting, galloping mob, in wild resistless 
stampede. 

The steward stepped out upon the roadway to see the 
Marquis and Loches hurled by the wild onset from their 
saddles and trampled imderfoot, the victims of his deep- 
laid scheme. 

But as he stood there, chained to the spot by the 
imminent tragedy, his heart beating like some furiously 
rung bell, a heavy branch fell from above and crushed 
him to the ground. 

With one impulse the Marquis and his body-servant 
drew together side by side, halting their horses, who 
craned their necks and set their ears a-start and twiteh- 
ing, took out a pistol each from their holsters, leant over 
their saddle-bows, and waited till the foremost horses of 
the rout were a horse's length from them. Then both 
fired together and two horses fell at their very feet. 
The pa^ divided and swept past them — a hurricane of 
hoofs and dust and wild red eyes and streaming shoulders 
— ^up the avenue, and stayed at the dead boiy of the 
steward. 



ii6 The Red Neighbour, 

Behind the pack were the two grooms, and these, 
seeing Loches emerge from the hopeless mSl^, turned 
with one consent to flee. But the tangle of dogs about 
their horses' feet delayed them, and Loches like a 
destroying angel was upon them, and sent them to follow 
their fellow-conspirator with a true sword-thrust, such 
aa he had, periiaps, in battle never given with so hearty 
a zest. 



CHAPTER XV. 

THE PiQUIS OF BAR-LE-DUC. 

When the Marquis and his faithful Loches left the 
lesser gate of the park they turned to the right, and 
made up the hill they had abandoned by the r^d lead-- 
ing through the little town, past the church, past the 
great front gates of the chateau, and pulled up in the 
quiet comer of Montmirail^ known as the Place of the 
Green Gallant, where the only inn for travellers hung, 
out its sign. Loches quaffed two or three mighty 
biunpers of wine to steady his nerves after that moment- 
ous crisis, while his master wrote a hasty but concise 
letter to Louvois, and hired a messenger to ride with it 
post-haste to Paris. Barely was the messenger out of 
Montmirail than master and man were again in the 
saddle, and next morning at ten o'clock they broke their 
fast at ChdJons. 

But Ch&lons held him not; for it behoved him to 
push forward with the utmost speed, leaving minor con- 
siderations out of count, to meet Turenne. He must 
achieve a great exposure, something that would com- 
pletely confound Bocal, and justify fis own journey in 
the eyes of Louvoi& To do this lie had to find Turenne. 
before Bocal, armed with all the engines of his rascality, 
could arrive to withstand him. 



I 

I 



The PAquis of Bar-le-Duc. 117 

From Chfilons they took the cross-roads, leaving the 
great highway, and the roads tried their horses to the 
utmost It was almost dusk, and the gates were shutting 
as they crept into Bar-le-Duc, windmg round the wafl 
of the little hill-town, up the Street of the great Clock, 
beneath the shadow of the clock-tower, past the fountain, 
and out into the very street of the Dukes of Bar, deserted, 
wide, and white, where the gargoyles of two hundred 
years before, still depending from the roofs, had looked 
down upon merry minstrelsy and coming and going of 
lords and ladies and knights, and bustle of valets and 
men-at-arms. Heading for the church steeple they left 
the wide ghostly street and f oimd St Pierre, and a small 
hostdry Tying in its shadow, where they were glad 
enough to sit down to a comfortable supper of the best 
the house afforded. 

Thus far they had ridden the same horses, but if they 
were to reach In ancy on the following night, which still 
left them two long days' ride to where by repute the 
Marshal had his camp, the^ must leave their own and 
hire strange horses in their stead. 

Over a flagon of wine the host discoursed at length 
of the virtues and vices of all the horses in Bar-le-Duc 
It was a small town '' incomparably ancient," as he said, 
the capital of the Dukes of Bar, and one could reckon up 
all the riding-horses of repute quite easily. For the 
most part they seemed to be of an age as venerable as 
that of the town. There were several which were 
capable of a continuous journey of twenty leagues, but 
whether mortal man could retain his seat upon them 
and his patience for the necessary time was very 
doubtful. The prospect seemed at least hazy. Could 
his lordship not try post-horses and a chaise ? It was 
not VCTy pleasant for a cavalier to sit hour after hour 
in«a post-chaise! No! Tet that was what Monsieur 
Bocal, the famous army contractor, usually did. In fact, 
only that ev&wing had that genUema/n, depoHed from 
Bwr-le-Duc with the only fresh pair of horses in the 
town, leaving a pair of sorry wrecks behind him. 
- ** Your advice comes too late, then," said the Marquis. 



ii8 The Red Neighbour. 

"Horses, and riding-horses, must be found somehow. 
Loches!" 

"Yes, my lord!" 

" We must have two good riding-horses to start two 
hours after daybreak to-morrow!" 

"Yes, my lord!" Loches would have cheerfully 
undertaken to procure elephants. 

Loches had hstened to the conversation as he sat at 
a little table apart He had noted the peculiarities of 
all the horses described by the innkeeper and the names 
of their owners. It was late, but he could find his way 
about any town in the dark, and it was odd but he lit 
upon something on four legs which would carry him, 
and a fellow which would carry the Marquis, part of 
the way. 

" Give me an order, my lord, in writing ! " said Loches. 

The Marquis smiled as he handed it to his servant. 
This was a man of resource. The Marquis des Bessources 
had a lackey of the same brand. 

Armed with it, Loches went out and consulted the 
ostler about the relative merits of the only animals in 
Bar-le-Duc. As Loches listened and the other talked, 
the conversation was illuminative but not long. The 
ostler had told him the same thing only three times over, 
which is mere conciseness in mr-le-Duc, where time 
never presses any but strangers. 

Luckily it was not yet ab»5lutely dark. It was mid- 
simimer, and the twilight seemed almost to shade into 
the dawn. Loches, however, borrowed a lantern from 
the ostler and set out. They were trustful folk, and 
having made friends with the town watch he had no 
diflScmty in penetrating into the various stables where 
the blue roan which was blind of one eye, and the 
sorrel mare that was slightly lame in the off fore-leg, 
the bay that roared a tnfle, but that was nothing, and 
the other equine beauties of Bar-le-Duc, were to be seen. 
Loches left the stables and roamed up the street of the 
Dukes of Bar till he came to the P&quis, an open space 
of copimon pasturage interspersed with trees, hoping to 
hear the neigh of some horse that the cataloguers had 



I 



\ 



The Pdquis of Bar-le-Duc. 119 

forgotten. He could scarcely believe his ears, for there, 
ah^ul of him in the mist that rose breast-high, soimded 
the hoofs of horses hobbled or picketed, he could not at 
first tell which, but as he approached with his lantern 
a dozen curious heads were raised out of the mist, staring 
at him with glassy eye& 

He went nearer, speaking softly, caressingly, as a 
trooper who knows his horses does, and taking off his 
hat put into it a handful of com he had pocketed from 
the mn stable. He put the lantern on the ground and 
stirred the com with his hand, calling softly, and pres- 
ently horse after horse came up and stood looking at 
the intruder. He ran his eye over them and picked 
out two likely beasts, newly shod, five-year-olds as he 
guessed, and practising many wiles he got them to dip 
their noses one by one into his hat. Then by a deft 
movement he threw a halter over the one and caught 
the other by his forelock, quieted them with soft speech 
and the d^onties in the hat, and led them off towards 
the stable, slowly, for they were hobbled, and lodged 
them there chuckling to himself. Then, as he did 
nothini^ by halves, he went back for his lantern, which 
he had no sooner picked up than two voices soimded 
threateningly in his ears — 

" What me devil are you doing with Monsieur Bocal's 
horses?" 

Facing about, a ready hand upon his sword-hilt, he 
said — 

"I have taken the liberty, messieurs, of borrowing 
two for the service of the king!" 

" These horses are for the army of Monsieur Turenne," 
said one r)i the unknown, a menacing-looking fellow. 
" The king can have them when they get to the Marshal, 
not before." 

"Tis a singular thing, friend," replied Loches. **My 
master and I are going to find the Marshal, and we are 
in a great hurry. I have borrowed two of your horses, 
and here is the order," — saying which he lifted up the 
lantern and swung it so that he could take in their faces 
and the extent of their weapons, and tendered the paper. 



I20 The Red Neighbour. 

The fellows bent to look at it, and both muttered the 
word "Polignac" in a tone that sounded ominous for 
Lochea Forthwith the lantern went out, and Loches 
bending low in the mist, ran with all the speed he could 
back to the inn and barred himself in the stable to await 
events. 

. Having foraged successfully he intended to hold his 
booty. 

The ostler had gone to bed. There was no one to send 
with a message k> the Marquis, short as the distance 
was, for the pursuit might be and in fact soon announced 
itself as close upon his heels. He had secured the horses 
to the manger on his first visit. He now barred the stable 
door and window, and clambered up into the loft to see 
what danger he might expect that way. There was an 
ill-secured hatch ten feet from the ground, but no ladder. 

Peering out, he saw in the dim semi-darkness not two 
£gures but four approaching. Without an instant's 
delay he blocked the aperture with a truss of hay, and 
bundled two more and yet another two down into the 
stable, which he piled up behind the door. Then he 
waited events in silence. 

The four men held a whispered colloquy, and from 
the footsteps he learned that two had gone while two 
remained on guard. These two tried the door and the 
window, but finding both secure grumbled a little and 
waited. 

For what ? For a ladder to reach the upper storey ? 
They were a long time for that, and on reflection it 
seemed a not very safe point of attack, as the top man 
on the ladder would be at his mercy. No ! There was 
something else in the design. Loches trimmed his lantern 
and made the rounds. £i the front as at the sides he 
was safe if he could defend the door, the window, and 
the hatch. There remained the back, which he had not 
examined. The stable was built against a bam, but the 
stable was solid stone on its four sides as it seemed. He 
looked under the manger. He looked in the harness- 
room, tapping the walL It was all solid. He swung 
himself into the loft, tap, tap, it was all solid to the 



The Piquis of Bar-le-Duc. 121 

eavea He peered out stealthily. It might be possible 
io drop a truss of hay on an unsuspecting rogue, -but the 
rogues stood wide, cursing their comrades in low tones. 
Then he heard a noise against the wooden gable of the 
stable hieh up, and loo^ng up saw that some of the 
wooden dats were missing, ana that a truss of hay was 
pressed against the opening just imder the pitch of the 
roof on the other side. 

Now he knew that the other men had gone throu^ 
the bam, mounted on the hay (''there must be a &t 
of it," iJiought Loches, ''enough for a regiment of 
dragoons"), and were coming through this cranny of 
which they had known. The truss of hay was being 
removed. The hole became a dark space just as he put 
out the lantern. 

In another moment he threw back the hatch of the 
loft, which swung outward and slammed back against 
the wall Then he called one of the men by his name 
gruffly, and the fellow came forward imder the hatch, 
lust as two pairs of heels made two thuds upon the floor 
-behind Loches, announcing the rear attack. Down went 
a truss of hay, felling the man to the ground, and on 
the top of the hay sprang Loches, almoi^ thrusting the 
breath out of the man's body beneath. Then with his 
sword he attacked the other, whose weapon was a 
villainous cudgel. His sword was shivered at the first 
blow, and if Loches had not himself tripped over the 
very truss of hay that had done him so much service 
already, he would have received a crack on his skull 
that no surgeon's skill would have mended. As it was, 
he received it on the heels of his heavy riding-boots, and 
the sensation gave him a faint taste of the joys of the 
bastinado, which is, we hear, much practised in Turkey. 

Loches took immediate advantage of his antagonist's 
surprise and ran for his life to me back door of the 
inn, upon which he thundered with the aforesaid boots, 
halloomg with uncommon vigour at the same time. 

Monsieur Bocal's four ruffians came clattering over 
the cobble-stones, the fourth man hobbling but indiffer- 
ently, and Loches was just beginning to wonder what 



122 The Red Neighbour. 

would happen if nobody chanced to hear, when the bolts 
of the door were hastily shot back, the door opened, and 
the Marquis de Polignac, who had never gone to bed, 
the innkeeper, and the ostler, in various stages of 
undress, appeared in the doorway, and the four follows 
with their scowling faces and tlureatening attitudes fell 
back a pace, for the Mar(j[uis held a pistol in his hand 
and the innkeeper a f owlmg-piece. 

The presence of the Marquis had an immediate efiTect 
on Monsieur Bocal's retainera He waved his hand and 
commanded silence, and then bade Loches explain, which 
he did in a few words. 

" It is very well," said the Marquis. " I require the 
horses for the service of myself, which is the service of 
his Majesty Louis Quatorze. In the morning you will 
come to me. I will give you an indemnity m writing. 
You have been over-zealoua It is a fault 1 am inclin^ 
to overlook, and here is a crown each for your exertions. 
In order that there may be no misunderstanding, Loches, 
you and the ostler will bring the two horses with a little 
hay into the kitchen here, and the ostler will watch 
them till the morning. 

The four drovers were nonplussed, took their crowns 
and retreated, grumbling both at their good fortune and 
bad 



CHAPTER XVI. 

THE CLOISTERS OF ST GENGOULT. 

To any one who doubted of the riches of this our 
France a clear vision would come on a journey from Bar- 
le-Duc to Nancy, for he would be journeying along a 
road fed by three of the most fertile valleys, those of the 
Mame, the Meuse, and the Moselle. The traffic from 
many considerable towns and prospering villages either 
crosses or traverses it. And of this fact the Marquis de 



The Cloisters of St Gengoult. 123 

Polignac was made fully aware before he had passed 
ligny en Barrois, which was the first stage on the road. 
It was difficult to make headway. The long wains, with 
their teams of four horses moving continually athwart 
the roads whenever the slightest incline stood in their 
way, and the number of them coming and going, multi- 
plied out of all due proportion by the smcdler carts of 
the farmers round aoout leading their hay, which was 
everywhere bein^ cut, would have impeded the progress 
of the travellers in any case. The Marquis was impatient 
to get forward, for only by haste could he expect to over- 
take and p€U9S the energetic Bocal in his light travelling 
carriage with its pair of excellent post-horses, primed witn 
com, as the ostler at Bar-le-Duc had said, ** as good as 
the king himself might have eaten." 

Unfortunately, in addition to the embarrassing delays 
caused by peasant waggoners, there was the uncertain 
behaviour of the two new recruits for his Majesty's 
stable, whose strength, vigorously exerted at the wrong 
times, and want (3 docmty — for they were but haS 
broken to the saddle — were only equalled by their un- 
couth appearance, which would have taken Loches and a 
trooper of equal perseverance a week to have reduced to 
sleek and workmanlike trim. Loches had indeed picked 
out two good horses, the raw material, be it xmderstood. 
But a grod saddle-horse is made by training, and is not 
bom the day that he leaves the horse-breaker. His 
companions in the troop stable will accomplish wonders 
with him by example and by the rough precepts instilled 
by iron-shod hoofs and teeth sharpened on army forage, 
lioches sighed as he thought of the unalloyed pleasure 
it would have given him in earlier days to have put this 
sorry but promising couple through a course of discipline. 

But if the Marquis gave vent to any remark reflecting 
on the character of his mount, Loches would be hear! 
muttering — 

"Poor beast! I am a soldier and have not learned. 
I, Loches, am truly incapable of painting the truth. I 
won't go so far as to say 'you know your business,' poor 
beast, but then you haven't been to the school yet. One 



124 The Red Neighbour. 

•must learn, and one must be currycombed. But you are 
good metal all the same I " 

It was consoling to him, however, that both the 
Marquis and he were good horsemen, and neither load 
"was precisely light. The self-taught tricks of their 
steeds unbroken state, freshly remembered, brought a 
liberal corrective of whip and spur that did wonders as 
the leagues lengthened past Sanbar, past Bavec, past 
Fagnec; and to the relief of both riders they had 
■accomplished the fourteen leases and caught their first 
glimpse of the towers of St Etienne of Toid as the clock 
struck one. The prospect of dinner and a rest before 
resuming their road to Nancy, which haven seemed now 
a matter of certainty, filled both men with pleasant 
anticipation. Eager as the Marquis was to cover ground, 
fourteen leagues of riding on that untutored horse had 
made him weary and bruised, and the remembrance that 
it was all in the king's service was no immediate 
restorative, for it could not work miracles. 

Drawing rein at the " Siren " in the Rue Qui-qu'en 
grogne, the Marquis gave a liberal largesse to the ostler, 
and asked him not only to rest and feed the horses, but 
to see if he and his assistants could not reduce the out- 
ward appearance of the steeds to a more martial neat- 
nesa As usual, Loches accompanied the ostler to see 
the beginning of the operations before turning to his 
own meaL 

Loches learned that Monsieur Bocal had sat down to 
an early cup of wine and a crust at seven that morning, 
had gone to the cathedral to make his confession, returned 
at eight and proceeded with two fresh horses. He would 
be at Nancy Tby now. 

The news did not please the Marquis. This contractor 
— who was France — was then possessed of the iron frame 
and resistless energy which laughs at sleep. No wonder 
he chose a travelfing carriage, for day and night were 
equal then ! He was religious too, it seemed. The Mar- 
<]juis respected the observances of religion. It was re- 
kgion thiftt sharply separated the human from the brute, 
and however he hated and despised Bocal, he could not 



The Cloisters of St Gengoult. 125 

but feel a kind of respect for this man, who in the midst 
of a mass of affairs could go to make his peace with the 
Church before proceeding. 

Having eaten his dinner and refreshed himself in. 
other ways, he left Loches — stretched asleep on the straw 
in the stable, convinced, no doubt, that the ostler was 
honest, and sleep was the first thing needful — and stroUed 
into the market-place and round about. His watchful 
eyes soon noticed the great number of wains laden with 
stuff, with victuals and forage especially, in every inn- 
yard, — and of waggoners standing at ease, or playing for 
sous over their wine in the Uttle tevems. 

On the road Loches had pointed out to the Marquis 
the different ways in which the waggons were loaded, 
and how always they could distinguish those that were 
employed on Monsieur Bocal's service by the superior 
neatness and intelligence with which the loads were dis- 
posed, so that, was it a pair of horses or was it four, the 
strain was well distributed, and while carrying a greater 
load it was seldom that Bocal's waggons or horsea broke 
down. The Marquis, seeing the numerous waggons as 
they stood in the streets and yards of Toul, said to him- 
self " That is Bocal's ! And that is Bocal's ! But why 
is there such an accumulation?'' He asked an idle 
waggoner, who answered sitnply enough — 

"M'sieu! we have been told to wait here till Mon- 
sieur Bocal gives the word, or we should have been at 
Nancy by this." 

" And when was your journey stayed ? " 

"This morning, m'sieu! There will be a block soon 
if this goes on much longer ! " 

The Marquis went on his way thinking. Toul is a 
small town and it is not ea^ to lose oneself. But 
turning into a short street sufficiently narrow, he saw 
before him the portal of St Gengoult with its ten steps, 
flanked by the two towers, the one crowned with a 
belfry, the other dwarfed by its sister's superior height, 
and the portal invited him to enter. Gloomy enough 
without, the church was all light and spaciousness 
within. Lorraine smiles with and at the sunshine, and 



126 The Red Neighbour 

her churches are like herself. He stayed first in the 
chapel of St Gengoult, humbling his knees but lifting 
up nis hearty and thence passed on, crossing himself at 
me altar of Marie, before the grand altar, all radiant 
with gold and sunlight, before the chapel of St Aubert, 
and was standing before the adjoining picture of Geth- 
semane, when a priest in his cassock came towards him 
and said — 

" Monsieur has never seen our windows before ? " with 
which opening the two fell into converse. 

The priest was a man of forty. His hair, which had 
sufiered the tonsure, was jet black, his complexion sallow 
but dear, and his eyes of a vivid dark-brown, startling 
almost in their quality of arresting attention. The 
Marquis noticed his eyes, as every one did, at once. And 
having noticed them, the Marquis's eyes continually 
resought the priest's as they turned this way and that 
in the course of conversation. 

He was a simple-minded priest, come of humble 
country stock, who had been taken in hand early by 
his village cur^, and had passed from the choir to the 
priesthood, and lived all his priestly life in Toul. It 
was easy to see that the stamed-glass windows were 
not cherished by him so much for their art as for their 
representing the subjects on which his mind most dwelt. 

" You are doubtless a happy man, father ? " said the 
Marquis. "You love the place, you love your oflSce, and 
the world does not come between you and your thoughts, 
your devotiona" 

"One cannot close the book of memory, monsieur! 
And when one leads a quiet life, where nothing jostles, 
the pictures in the book stand out like the red and gold 
and blue of our illuminated missals. One knows them 
all so well." 

The glittering brown eyes seemed to pierce through 
the Marquis and see something beyond. The Marquis 
was ransacking his private book of memories for the 
picture of whidi those eyes reminded him, but at present 
m vain. 

" You have had griefs ? " the Marquis asked. 



The Cloisters of St Gengoult. 127 

" It is true ! When one becomes a priest one becomes 
jEather and brother to the whole world ; one shares the 
joy when a new lamb is bom into the fold, or when 
people are married ; one consoles the sick, and one carries 
the holy elements to the dying. Never a day passes but 
the priest knows and feels the blessed relationship in 
which he stands to all." 

" But ? " said the Marquis. 

" But one never forgets one's own — ^father and mother, 
brothers and sisters, the first of one's relations before 
entering the wider family of the Church. I never had 
a brother, but I had one sister. * It is at her picture 
that the book of memory opens. 

" Yes ! Two or three years younger than myself, my 

Xial care while she was little. I remember her 
L she was no taller than that bench, a little sun- 
burned country tot — and by the time I was twelve years 
old she had begun to mother me, for our girls are full 
of housewifely cares by the time they are ten years, 
and far wiser than the iJoys, who are mostly strong and 
stupid. She was quick at figures too, and could write 
and read better than I couM then. She was a good 
little sister, and encouraged me to go on whenever I 
grew weary, as I did sometimes, of the choir school. I 
told her all my troubles when I went home, as I did 
every few weeks. I saw her grow into a strong hand- 
some girl, fit for any one to marry, and two years older 
though I was, I felt quite a boy oeside her, clumsy and 
silent, while she was quick and capable. I have seen 
her put on a leathern apron and shoe a horse. My 
father, I forgot to tell you, was the village blacksmith. 
Every young fellow in the village came to the forge for 
something twice or thrice a-week at least, and many of 
them made an errand just to see our Jeannette. No one 
seemed to please her, however: she was too clever for 
them. We all said so. She loved strangers best who 
could tell her something. 

" Among the strangers whom we got used to seeing was 
a certain young earner who came at intervals to get his 
h<»n96B shod. He was not at any pains to be civil either. 



128 The Red Neighbour, 

He had just his horses and waggon and nothing else. 
One day he asked my father for our Jeannette, in an off- 
hand way, it is true, but tiiey say his eyes blazed at the 
girl herself like burning coals, and that she blushed hotly 
when her own met them. People took it for anger, for 
every one said she meant to marry above such folk as 
earners and smiths. My father was not of the mildest, 
and said *No!' very shortly. The carrier looked all 
manner of evil things but said nothing, and just drove 
off with one backwcu*d look at the girL It was enough." 

"Did he marry her?" 

''No! Not so far as any one ever heard," said the 
priest sadly. A month or two after that she went away, 
and neither of them came back into our part of the 
country. We heard that she was travelling about with 
him — she, Jeannette, that was so ready and clever and 
full of sense. The pity of it! The pity of it! She 
knew her mate and her master. For he was clever and 
ektong, and she helped him to get on the road to f ort^e. 
To-day he is one of the richest men in France." 

"And she ?" asked the Marquis tenderly. 

"Ask the winds? Ask the streets of Paris? The 
blessed saints know and are watching her, for I have 
prayed for her and asked for news of her of every one. 
But no ! I have never heard. He must have deserted 
her, or she found out the selfish greedful man that he 
was. Excuse me a moment, monsieur." 

The priest knelt down before a crucifix and offered up 
a briei praver while the Marquis waited. Then they 
went out oi the nave by a side door. 

The sunshine saluted them, and the smell of newly- 
made hay swept their nostrils. The Marquis looked 
about him. It was a quadrangle open to the blue sky 
surrounded by cloisters. On each side were six pointed 
arches of stone resting on a low para^t^ and each arch 
was divided into two by a small thiek column which 
spread into a trefoil within a quatrefoil of branching 
arcs soaring with the aspiration of the architect who 
conceived it Flamboyant they call these cloistera So 
be it. The light broke from the small square Mdthout, 



The Cloisters of St Gengoult. 129 

casting shadows at every angle over the pavement and 
broad slabs of sunshine. And the fragrance of the hay 
was around and through everything fiBing the air. 

The priest's face grew more troubled as his eyes fell 
upon trusses and trusses of hay, piled neatly at the far 
end of the cloisters, out of harm's way. Then he 
exclaimed — 

" The man that placed that hay there took away my 
sister ! God forgive him ! " 

"Monsieur Bocal?" 

"You have guessed it!" said the priest. "Toul is 
full of his forage and his victualling. He has stopped 
it from going forward." ^ "^^ 

" It is good hay ! " said the Marquis. 

" This IS ! " said the priest. " But there is much that 
goes to the army that is not. I see, even I, who am 
but a priest, but I have not forgotten my village days." 

** But how comes it here ? " 

" Monsieur ! He can do anj^hing. He has doubtless 
made a fine offering to our church, or to the Bishop of 
St Etienne, who is our master, and all things are made 
easy for him. His hay is safer here than anywhere, for 
who would dare to set light to it in the very cloisters 
of St Gengoult? The ways of God are very full of 
mystery, but I go on praying." 

They had some further talk, and then the priest 
excused himself, thanking the Marquis for his patience, 
and conducted him, while he was yet speaking, to the 
door at the end of the cloisters, where he bade him a 
safe journey. 

Then the Marquis set out for Nancy, suffering many 
delays, but still reaching his goal. And at Nancy they 
gained intelligence that Monsieur Bocal had arrived long 
before them, but had not yet set out. There was no 
difficulty in jjrocuring a fresh pair of horses in this 
considerable city, so the Marqms left the selection of 
them to Loches and sought sleep betimes, wondering 
what the morrow would bring forth, and as he wondered 
he fell asleep, and never woke till Loches called him a 
little after dawn. 



130 The Red Neighbour. 

CHAPTER XVIL 

THE MABQUIS DISOBETS. 

The next stage in view of the Marquis de Polignae 
was Saveme 01 the Vosges, twenty leagues at least, 
and as he had passed Monsieur Bocal, he rode steadily, 
without pressing his animal, examining the country 
with the greater zest that it became more diversified 
at every league, and by so much the nearer to the 
meeting he longed for with his old friend. Marshal 
Turenne. He aUowed himself to become absorbed by 
these pleasant engrossing anticipations and reminis- 
cences, for the meeting with an old friend necessfiaily 
recalls the substance if not the details of many previous 
meetings. 

But as there is in all enjoyed reveries some impish 
cloud that persists in shouldering his way in among 
the shining guests, so the image of Bocal began to 
obtrude, tm one by one the pleasing memories faded 
into obscurity, and the Marquis began to ask himself 
why Monsieur Bocal had allowed hunself to be passed 
at Nancy. 

It was true the Marquis desired above all things to 
come first to Turenne. It was equally true that Monsieur 
Bocal had something to gain bv putting himself in touch 
and speech with l^renne before the Under-Secretary 
arrived. It would tend to give him that appearance of 
confidence and security, which is so much good standing 
ground from which to deliver battle. Then it followed 
that, if he were willing to sacrifice that advantage, he 
must have found it stm more to his advantage or vital 
to his interests to stay at Nancy. The Marquis began 
to reproach himself for undue haste in passing through 
so important a city. And in reviewing all his known 
facts, he was not forgetful of the stoppage in the transit 
of goods that was so patent at Toii, and probably as 
much so at Nancy. The Marquis, however, considered 



The Marquis disobeys. 131 

that this might have been due as much to the army 
contractor's generalship as any other reason. Turenne 
was prone to movements of extreme rapidity when 
occasion demanded. He might be making one of his 
famous feigned retreats into the back of C)rraine, with 
the view of luring MontecuUi and his German legions 
onwards to a disastrous defeat. If that were so, the 
stores and provisions were better detained than for- 
warded till the movement developed. It was not, 
certainly, any portion of the plan of campaign as con- 
ceived by De Louvois and in the knowledge of the 
Marquis, but De Louvois might, since he left Paris, have 
changed his plan and informed Bocal at the same time 
that he sent despatehes to Turenne. 

Bocal's mind may have been in no wise perturbed by 
the approach of the Marquis to the scene of action. His 
vast co>mmissariat schemes, many of which must of 
necessity converge and focus in or about Nancy, might 
well demand his presence in that city without a pre- 
liminary visit to Turenne, of the condition of whose 
supplies his agent would keep him well informed. 

In consoling himself with this view, which rested on 
a very reasonable probability, and on a certain un- 
doubted fact, the Marquis was wrong, but the human 
mind works on its own experiences and knowledge, and 
is led in such direction as the temperament suggests. 
The Marquis was not by nature suspicious, and was the 
more willihg to accept what his own nobility proposed 
as an explanation in the absence of any marked current 
in another direction. He pushed on to Moyenvic, to 
Assoudange, to red-roofed Sarrebourg, amid the grateful 
dustoring pine forests, where he made the long halt 
of the day, and again engaged fresh horses to complete 
the journey to Saveme. 

Sarrebourg is a small town confined by walls, and 
beyond its capacities as a place to dine and change 
horses, its own little namesake river Sarre, and its many 
memories of the ebb and flow of war, it contained little 
to arrest the Marquis in his onward course. But inas- 
much as the end of his journey lay but a little in front 



132 The Red Neighbour. 

of him^ the Marquis prolonged his pleasant enough 
dinner and his rest. Loehes went out to make an 
inquiring tour of the walls, which he had doubtless at 
some time seen before. 

When Loehes returned, and was busy preparing the 
horses, a light travelling carriage drew up at the door, 
and in a moment into the inn's one travellers' room, 
moving like the Mistral, strode Monsieur Bocal. The 
Marquis was fated to remember the inn at Sarrebourg. 

Monsieur Bocal was not wont in matters of business 
to waste time or words in salutation, but, as from 
certain facts which he had gleaned on his way by 
Meaux, by Montmirail, and Bar-le-Duc, he had conceiv^ 
the idea that the Marquis was more a man of action 
than he had expected, he respected him accordingly, 
and wished him a ''Good-day," hat in hand. The hat, 
however, he clapped on again, in token that he was, on 
the battle-ground, the equal of any Marquis of sixteen 
quarteringa 

The Marquis, whose hat and cloak were already 
donned, responded with a polite inclination of the head, 
and offered him some wine. 

"That is good comradeship," said Monsieur Bocal, 
sitting down and pouring out two glasses, flinging off 
his hat again, and shaking out the black curly locks. 

"Now touching this errand of yours. Marquis — ^this 
self-imposed task ? " 

" Excuse me ! " said the Marquis, " if I am imable to 
discuss my official business with you, Monsieur BocaL 
We represent very diverse interests." 

"Not at all!" said Bocal "with rough bonhomie, a 
favourite pose among the many poses he could command. 
"Tou represent the War Office! / represent myself. 
Our interests are one. It is true you managed somehow 
to bum down my mill at Meaux, and drop something 
on the head of a faithful servant of De Louvois at 
Montmirail, rob me at Bar-le-Duc of two good horses, 
which I found good for nothing at Toul, — ^but these are 
details. A man such as I am does not account matters 
JJke these but as flies upon a wheel" 



The Marquis disobeys. 133 

''Pardon me again, Monsieur Bocal?" said the 
Marquis, gazing at this miracle of effi*ontery from the 
Midi. " It was not my doing that your mill was burned, 
or that the steward was killed. I could give other 
explanations of these terrible events, but I do not care 
to. I interrupted you. You were about to show that 
our interests were, notwithstanding these events, ona 
Proceed!" 

"It is like this," repKed the other. "You, the War Office, 
make a bargain with me to supply so many horses, so 
many bags of flour, so many bushels of wheat, barley, 
rye, so many trusses of hay, horses one can ride — 
pretty good beasts those you impressed, eh ? — ^grain, hay, 
of good serviceable quality — for soldiers, you understand, 
not Marquisea You want it delivered to the king^s 
armies wheresoever they may be at stated times, so tlmt 
there may be no undue delay, neither starvation nor 
waste. Good ! I, and I alone, can undertake it, and I, 
and I alone, can do it." 

" I am not prepared to admit that, Monsieur Bocal." 

"No matter, my lord. The contracts exist. I am 
canying them out. At this juncture your lordship 
initiates an inquiry." 

"The War Office, Monsieur Bocal, having made a 
contract with you, desires to satisfy itself that the stip- 
ulations are being carried out. That is part of its 
business."' 

" I think not, my lord ! There are doubtless times 
and seasons, but not when the army is in dose touch 
with the enemy." 

"And why should you dictate times and seasons, 
Monsieur Bocal ? " 

" Because I do not like to see a good job spoiled by 
interference. For example, I learn Siat you are inquir- 
ing about this and the other matter. What do I do ? I 
give orders to stop all supplies. Toul is full! Nancy 
is full ! What wm result ? Turenne's stocks will run 
low. His men will be complaining ! Turenne will call 
upon me to explain. I shrug my shoulders and say, 
' ureat pity, Marshal, but if the Secretary for War wishes 



134 The Red Neighbour. 

to inspect my stores, let him do so while they are in my 
hamda and not in those of your commissariat officers. 
Let me know what I am expected to deliver, and not 
run my head into a noose.'" 

" You are infringing your contract ! " said the Marquis 
coldly, "at your own peril." 

"ISot I!" retorted BocaL "Turenne reports that, 
OMring to the zeal of the Under-Secretary for War, sup- 
plies are stopped, and the next brilliant movement of 
Monsieur de Louvois' campaign is completely paralysed. 
To whose credit will that redound, my lord ? " 

The great man from the Midi sat back, stretching out 
his rather short thick legs, and looked cunningly & the 
Marquia 

"Monsieur Bocal!" said the Marquis, "I am not a 
man ^ven to boasting. In this matter I represent the 
true interests of the kingdom of IVance, and what I 
have set out to do I am coing to do. If you fail to 
fulfil your contracts either by wilful delay, which you 
come ven^ near to admitting, or by supplying chalk 
instead of flour, you do so at your peril : on the word of 
Gaston de Polignac." 

"And I say, my lord, that the peril is yours. The 
delay would be of your making. But suppose there were 
no delay. Suppose you could prove that Bocal, instead 
of supplying 500,000 livres worth, had supplied only 
475,000 livres worth, a thing incapable of proof; but 
supposing-^d you made a long Import of this, extoU^ 
your own sagacity, heaping up blame upon me — ^what 
then ? " 

" Well ! Monsieur Bocal ! It is devoutly to be hoped 
that no such discovery will be made. If it were, we 
should have to look about for another contractor, it 
seems." 

"Monsieur le Marquis! you do not know the world. 
I da I have studied it, even when I drove a carrier's 
cart. I have learned one thing. Lend a man money, 
and he cannot move against you. Then lend him more, 
and he will move for you." 



The Marquis disobeys, 135 

"But how does this sordid piece of wisdom concern 
the War Office?" 

"It is best seen when the time comes, Monsieur le 
Marquis. The inquiry would fall to the ground. I 
should still get all the contracts I wanted Come, 
Monsieur le Marquis, go to Monsieur Turenne, listen to 
his complaints, make your report, and go back to the 
War Office. It will be best." 

" I am obliged to you for your advice, Monsieur BocaL 
But I am bound to say that I shall be guided by my 
own. In the meantime, if I were you I should push on 
the supplies from Toul." 

" Ventre St Gris ! You had better look out for your- 
self. Monsieur le Marquis I" The eyes of the man from 
the Midi rolled ominously. The pose of bonhomie had 
melted 

"For my part," said the Marquis, "if any further 
attempt is made upon my life by your agente, I shall 
seek you out and hang you. Your debtors will not 
prevent thai" 

With which the Marquis de Polignac was striding 
towards the door, deeply incensed, when a courier drew 
up at the door of the inn and asked Loches if the 
Marquis de Polignac was there. It was a hasty despatch 
from De Louvois. 

Monsieur Bocal recognised the War Office seals, and 
watched the Marquis's face as he read it. 

It was tantamount to an order of immediate recall, 
which, coming upon the veiled threats of Bocal, was 
calculated to make the Marquis's temper burst out into 
storm. The thought occurred to him, hbwever — " Does 
Bocal know of this ? " It was worth a Parthian shot. 
Preserving his attitude of cold hauteur the Marquis 
said — 

"You will perhaps not be pleased to hear. Monsieur 
Bocal, that I am directed by his Majesty to prosecute 
my inquiry to the utmost umita We shall probably 
see more of one another. Good day ! " 

Monsieur Bocal's face was worth looking at with its 



136 The Red Neighbour. 

look of wide-eyed incredulity, succeeded by the clench- 
ing of the brows and the close clip of his finn jaw& 

"Mon Dieu! I shall have to teach Monsieur de 
Louvois a lesson. It is not amusing!" 

The Marquis de Polignac was secretly chagrined be- 
yond measiu*e. But not before the eyes of Monsieur 
iBocal was he going to turn his horse towards Paria 
Without a word to Loches, who saw by his face that 
the courier had brought him unwelcome news, he kept 
resolutely on towards Saveme. 

Turning the thing over and over in his mind he re- 
solved to disobey the order, even at the risk of an open 
auarrel "with that heaven-sent War Minister. Naturally 
[le Marquis held that lofty conception of obedience to 
the kin^ which the highest traditions of chivalry had 
always mculcated, and the fast-growing body of modem 
military precept and esprit tended to strengthen. He 
recognised in public matters the supreme value of 
obecuence, the only reliable hilt to the sword of public 
action. But here he was at the cross-roada His duty 
to the king's best interests was at variance with hii9 
duty to the king's minister. And if he had been able to 
feel that the kmg's minister was actuated solely by his 
own judgment, unbiassed by sinister influences, he would 
have deferred to his authority. 

There was another cause at work, not altogether 
different. In a manner it was a phase of the same 
cause. The farther he left Paris behind the stronger 
grew the influence of Turenne's interests. After all, the 
War Office was at this moment the less in need of atten- 
tion, the army in the field and its general the more. 
He passed in review the wonderful campaign of the 
previous autumn, in which the great Marshed, with an 
effective force of twenty thousand men at most, had 
met and defeated time and again the seventy thousand 
Germans who were overrunning Alsace. By rapid move- 
ments he had taken them in detail at Mulhausen, at 
Colmar, at Turckheim, and, like the strong rays of the 
sun, rolled up their clouds of soldiers and dispersed them 



The Marquis disobeys. 137 

to the four winds of heaven. And this in the teeth of 
the hatred of De Louvois, and the reiterated orders to 
entrench himself behind stout walls! 

Turenne's motto, which was that of the House of Au- 
vergne, ran, " Virtus turns expugnablis," and Turenne's 
conception of a campaign, even with numbers hopelessly 
few, embraced attack as well as defence; in his view 
the morale of an army is better maintained by activity 
and privation than by confinement in cities, even well 
victualled. 

The Marquis had watched with an immense unenvious 
admiration this wonderful display of strategic genius 
and indomitable courage, and nad resolved that, as far 
as in him lay, Turenne should have the full support of 
his own single-minded eamestnesa If men could be 
obtained and sent to the front by his exertions, they 
should go. If supplies could be maintained, they should 
be : and they should be of good quality. 

He realised that France was in greater danger than 
she had ever been, for the Germans were again mustered 
to the attack, seeking to cross the Rhine, and that in 
Monteculli, the veteran Italian, Turenne had an adver- 
sanr as wary, as full of ruses, as courageous as himself. 

So the Marquis decided calmly enough to go on. Hav- 
ing arrived at his decision he signed to Loches to come 
up with him. He was about to question him as to the 
road, when Loches drew from his holster a sealed letter. 

" The courier brought this also, my lord ! '* 

His master opened it. It ran : — 

"No matter! Go through! I will take care of 
Philippe. Madame la Marquise has left Paris ax^d 
follows you. They have put me to the Question." 

It was for him. The superscription was in the same 
shaky handwriting, a woman's, as the letter. There was 
no signature. But he had no doubt that it came from 
that mysterious woman who was called the Red Neigh- 
bour, and by the same courier that had brought the War 
Secretary's despateh. For a moment the similarity of 
the daring remmded him of Bocal pasturing his horses 



138 The Red Neighbour. 

in De Louvois' park. And she was a prisoner under 
stricii surveillance. Of what avail were locks and keys, 
ciphers, jailers, and the rest of the paraphernalia, when 
a few pistoles seemed to gain for any one what they 
wished? 

He read it ^ain. " No matter ! Go through ! " must 
refer to the l^cretary's despatch which she had seen, 
or of which eJie had divined the purport. It was the 
reflex of his own resolve. And although he told him- 
self that it made no difference, he was pleased to feel 
that this strange unknown force was there in Paris, an 
invisible rear-guard against the machinations of BocaL 

" I will take care of Philippe ! " What in the name 
of fortune or of sorcery did!^ that mean ? Who was 
Philippe? Philippe? The rattle of his horse's hoofs 
seemed to rin^ Pmlippe. There was but one pre-eminent 
Philippe— Philippe 01 France, Duke of Orleans, Duke of 
Chartres, Duke of Nemours, Duke of Valois, the only 
brother of the kina^ who, since the death of his belov^ 
wife and princess, Henrietta, dear to France for her wit 
and her supreme grace, had sought in the Dutch wars 
the consolations of his ^el But if this were indeed the 
Philippe, what was Philippe to him or he to Philippe ? 
It was something to which Ee had no due. 

'' Madame la Marquise has left Paris and follows you ! " 
At the first reading this would almost have furnished 
his conscience with the excuse to obey De Louvois' order. 
Marie Qabrielle was but even now travelling to over- 
take him. He had assured her of a short saSe journey 
and a quick return. But she could not rest without 
him. Dear heart of Marie Qabrielle ! Somethiuj^ had 
happened. What wa« it ? Had she, too, learned of plots 
against his safety, and yearned to be with him, a trebly 
dear but delicate buckler against his adversaries ? Hiisi 
answering solicitude, waiving aside his personal risks, 
pictured the thousand inconveniences of her journey 
along the great highway, — the inns filled with officers 
going to the front or returning, the difficulty of getting 
proper relays of horses if her own broke down. His 
mind became full of anxieties for her wellbeing, miti- 



Red Neighbour takes care of Philippe. 139 

gated by the reflection that she would travel in becoming 
state with four horses and a sufficient retinue of servanta 
Her name and rank would procure her every respect. 
He would first see Turenne, then turn back to meet her. 
With which decision he kept resolutely on the road to 
Saveme, still inquiring within himself what had caused 
her to set out. Then the last sentence of that laconic 
epistle recurred to him. "They have put me to the 
Question." He had not grasped the force of it before— 
the Question — the torture! They had put the Red 
Neighbour to the torture, and Marie Gabrielle had taken 
fright because of some foolish but quite innocent dealings 
wiOi the sorceress, that very sorceress who was his one 
rear-guard. De Louvois had indeed bailed him. 



CHAPTER XVIIL 

THE BED NEIGHBOUB TAKES CARE OF PHILIPPE. 

Next to truth comes ridicule. Before truth all men 
and women become dumb. There is no more to be said. 
When ridicule raises her voice all the world begins talk- 
ing, and it is dommage, or as the impolite English say, 
"the very devil." 

The particular engine which the Parisians use is 
something that has come to be called a lampoon. It is 
in verse. Sometimes it is really witty, and more often 
it is merely scurrilous. But always it ends with the 
mystic retrain — "Lampons! Lampons!" which bursts 
from all the lips at a convivial gathering that can pro- 
nounce the words and laugh at the same time. 

• No one ever pretended to know who wrote them. 
Like other children of shame, they were usually sent 
out into the world with no acknowled^ent oi their 
parentage. Sometimes it was a princess who was credited 



I40 The Red Neighbour. 

with making quite clever verses when she was a little 
excited by wine ; sometimes it was some obscure writer 
in a garret, who earned a few sous from the ballad- 
sellers hy profaning in a new lampoon that majesty of 
whose victories he was writing a glowing eulogium in 
alexandrinea 

Certain it is that quite a number of new lampoons 
began to descend upon the Pont Neuf a day or so after 
the Red Neighbour had been escorted back to her prison 
by a quarter of Paris — a ragged, ominous, and witty 
quarter — ^for many of them came from the purlieus of the 
university, and called themselves students. They were 
not all students. There were faeces among them of hide- 
ous foulness and grimness, such as only Paris can, and 
always could, belch out of her depths and swallow again 
as readily — ^raucous- voiced, speaking, if speaking it could 
be called, a guttural argot, mingled with deep chest-notes 
of peculiar ferocity. These people had learned a lesson 
in the outbreaks of the Fronde, and were not loth to 
refresh their memories by repetition. Then there had 
been trained bands of the citizens, musketeers, and 
soldiers more or less in evidence. Now Paris was pretty 
well drained of her troops and the mob aired itself. 

The lampoons had for their subject Madame de 
Montespan, the reigning " queen of the left hand " (she 
had bought the goodwill of the business of Madame 
La Valliere, they said), and Madame du Fresnoy, who 
was, as we have seen, the particular friend of the great 
Minister of War. The main facts about these ladies 
every one knew, but neither lady cared to have the facts 
dressed out in rhymed couplets more or less garnished, 
and sung in the streets, on the Pont Neuf, or at students' 
supper-parties. Still less did their respective adherents 
like it, who found their interest in paying court, where 
they could not approve the conduct. 

It was therefore represented to the powers-that-were 
that this kind of thmg was not to be borne, and as 
it was manifestly undesirable to extinguish summarily 
the Red Neighbour, impossible to arrest everybody who 
chose to sing "Lampons! Lampons!" the only course 



Red Neighbour takes care of Philippe. 141 

was to release the prisoner, on the understanding that 
her supposed influence with the ballad-mongers should 
be exerted to quell the nuisance. 

The powers-that-were first consulted his Majesty's 
judges, and elicited from them that there was no evidence 
to connect the prisoner with the crime for which she 
was supposed to have been arrested. As far as they 
were concerned she was free. An officer of the Parlia- 
ment was therefore ordered to wait upon the prisoner, 
with her acquittal made out in due form. She accepted 
it after satisfying herself that it was all in order. But 
she made no eSort to go. 

The official who acted as governor of her prison 
waited on her the next day, and said — 

"Madame! I have the honour to inform you that 
you are free to go. It is possible I may have another 
tenant before long!" 

The Red Neighbour looked at him with disconcerting 
calmness — 

" Monsieur ! before I go I shall be glad to be informed 
if my apartment is ready for my reception, my servants 
restored. I shall require my keys." 

The next day the governor returned and said, bowing 
profusely — 

"Madame! all is ready! A coach is waiting below! 
I shall be desolated to lose so interesting, so fascinating 
a tenant. But" — here he shrugged his shoulders — ^"we 
have so many disappointments m our lives ! " 

" You need not hold the door open like that, monsieur ! 
I am not a cat in a strange room to make a run for it. 
I am very comfortable. I shall stay yet a little longer. 
You have forgotten something ! " 

The governor became very red. 

" Madame ! I am truly sorry ! How can I repair my 
f orgetf ulness ? What, in short, have I forgotten ? " 

"Simply this, monsieur. You are not to blame! I 
have been arrested. I have been put to the Question. 
I have suffered in my person, in my feelings, most of all 
in my honour. How much does his Majesty propose 
to pay me by way of solatium?" 



142 The Red Neighbour. 

The governor reported to those that sent him that 
madame expected a solatium. It was unheard ol But 
she did. Sne was " a very singular woman." 

Of this fact the powers-that-were were fast becoming 
assured. A new lampoon speedily proclaimed on the 
house-tops, so to speak, that the Bed Neighbour was 
waiting to be paid to leave her prison. The powers- 
that-were had no notion of putting their hands into 
their own purses or strong-boxea It was problematical 
besides how much was there. There was the king's 
treasury. The question was how much did she want! 

The ^vemor was relegated to the oflSce of merely 
introducing the gentleman who was despatched to make 
the bargain. 

Mr (fo-between was immensely polite, and after beat- 
ing about the bush a little while was pulled up very 
shortly by — 

" Are you authorised, monsieur, to agree to a sum ? " 

More meandering words. Then — '' Well, not precisely, 
madame ! " 

" Then," said the Bed Neighbour with an ugly deam 
in those curious brown eyes and a curl of her red lips, 
"you will be good enough to convey to Monsieur de 
Louvois that I desire to see some one who possesses full 
powers. Monsieur BartheWmi Hervart, the Comptroller of 
the Finances, for instance." 

Mr (jo-between, somewhat disconcerted, took his leave 
and made his report in due course. He mentioned this 
singular request with much misgiving, for Monsieur 
Hervart was a very important functionary, and one not 
lightly to be approached. To the great surprise of the 
powers-that-were. Monsieur Hervart, old as he was and 
overburdened with responsibilities as he was, agreed. 

Monsieur Hervart was no sooner announced than the 
Bed Neighbour hastened to meet him and set a chair for 
him in a comer of the room where the light, which was 
not too strong, should not hurt his eyes. Her manner 
had changed U> something resembling gentleness. 

'' It is a little droll. Monsieur Barthel^mi ! I thought 
you would not have forgotten — ^bankers never forget, do 



Red Neighbour takes care of Philippe. 143 

they ? — ^your little client who used to come to your little 
back room in the Rue de Richelieu." 

'' Ahem ! " said the ex-banker, putting on his spectacles. 
" Yes ! I seem to remember your face ! " 

"Very good!" She clapped her handa "You were 
always a good actor ! But you knew how to charge for 
your money. You have discounted my bills many a 
time, and always made a good profit." 

"One must always make the turn of the market, 
madame ! " 

She laughed again. " How like that is ! How very 
like you, Monsieur Barthel6mi" 

" Aiid now," she added, " you see the situation ! They 
have put me in here and must pay me to go out. I need 
not enter into tiresome details. What are you empowered 
to offer me to go ? " 

" Madame ! " said the ex-banker, taking snuff, " I am 
now the Comptroller of the Finances! It is very 
different. I do not offer anything." 

" Good ! I want twenty thousand livrea" 

" What ? Twenty thousand livres ? " He took off his 
.spectacles, rubbed them and put them on again. " Young 
woman ! There is not at the present time as much in 
his Majesty's treasury." 

The Red Neighbour looked demurely down her nose 
as if she were profoundly disappointed. The old ba^er 
had often seen that look on the faces of his clients. He 
knew it quite welL It was usually the prelude to a 
very good bargain, for your banker, like any other 
dealer, if he is a sensible dealer, does not want his 
customer to go away. 

" It is all that war, I suppose ? Those horrible greedy 
army contractors ? You have just been paying them ? " 

"In a sense. Yes, madame. In a sense, No! I am 
putting them all off. That last f 6te at Fontainebleau 
took half a million out of the treasury." 

" Yes ? What then do you propose. Monsieur Hervart ?" 

"When one cannot have the whole one must put up 
with half!" 

"Twenty thousand livres I said. Monsieur Hervart! 



144 The Red Neighbour. 

I cannot accept less! What? I can lend the king a 
few hundred thousands if he needs them." 

"What?" The ex-banker surveyed her curiously. 
'^ You can lend the king a few hundred thousand livres ? 
Have you found the secret of transmuting metal ? You 
who used to come and beg a loan of five hundred livres 
or so?" 

"Yes! Monsieur Barthel^mL I learned a good deal 
off you. I knew something of affairs before. But you 
alwa^ told me so much." 

" I ? I told you ? Good heavens ! woman, what did I 
ever tell you ? " The Comptroller of the Finances began 
to get red in the face. 

"It is very warm, dear Monsieur BartheWmi. You 
must not allow yourself these excitementa Besides, it 
is nothing. Let me have my twenty thousand livres, 
and I wiU tell you what next I require." 

It was not for nothing Monsieur Hervart had earned 
his post as Comptroller. 

"It is not possible. Besides, on your own admission, 
you don't need it. You are rich." 

" Passably well off — say ! Come ! Is it the rich man 
or the poor man that drives the hard bargain ? " 

Monsieur Hervart began to be a little confused. 

"Shall I tell you one of the secrets you told me in 
the little back room in the Rue de Richelieu ? " 

" If you tell me a single one I shall be surprised, but 
you shall have — well, wait. I am not going to be 
made a fool of." 

" Listen, then ! Monsieur Philippe, the king's brother, 
owes Monsieur Bocal twenty thousand livrea Is that 
not so?" 

Monsieur Hervart's face was a study. He puffed out 
his cheeks and made his eyes two little black dots in 
wide yellow rings. Then he took some more snuff 

" As you say, madame, one cannot be too careful ! I 
have no recollection of it. It is a trifle, in any 
case." 

The Red Neighbour turned away and took two or 
three strides and then turned on him suddenly, asking 



Red Neighbour takes care of Philippe. 145 

in a mockingly pleajgant voice, " Shall I tell you another 
thing you told me ? " 

" Sy heaven ! madame, I have heard you called a sor- 
ceress. Perhaps you are, but I never told you what you 
havejust now told me.'* 

"Tien I shall go to Philippe !" 

The old man was beginning to get nervous. She 
would go to the king. She was capable of all — this 
woman — ^he was sure of it. 

"I was wondering," she went on, "who held the 
paper? Monsieur Bocal's bankers, or who?" 

In the world of finance many curious pieces of in- 
formation are common projperty, and yet are absolutely 
unknown to the world outade. 

" Yes ! You were wondering ! " said the old banker. 

" Suppose you were to write an order on the treasury, 
payable in tmee months ! " 

"For twenty thousand livres? It is a big sum." 
Monsieur Hervart was beginning to feel that this woman 
wearied him. She scarcely ever took her eyes off his. 
" Yes. Well, if you won't go for less. But remember, 
dear child, there is always a lettre de cachet which is not 
quite as good value as a lettre de cha/nge" 

"One moment. Monsieur Barthel^mi!" She went to 
the barred window and blew a shrill whistle three times. 
The window itself was open because of the heat 

"You are doubtless callmg a coach, madame ? Mine is at 
the door, thank you. Shall we say ten thousand livres ? " 
." Come here, dear Monsieur Hervart," she said. " Your 
eyesight is not so good as it was, though it was never 
quite so good as mme. Look out there in the square. 
What do you see?" 

" There are a few people. What of that ? " 

She blew again. In a trice, all the ruffians in Paris 
seemed to have sprung to attention, and in the square. 

The old man fidgetSl nervously. 

" How long womd it take that mob, do you think, to 
upset your coach and trample you under foot, dear 
Monsieur Hervart?" She was quite icily cooL There 
was very little colour in her lipa 

K 



146 The Red Neighbour. 

"Twenty thousand Kvres! Mon Dieu!" He began 
to make preparations to write out the order. 

"You will make it payable in three months to 
Monsieur BocaL" 

"To Monsieur Bocal?" 

" I said it," she said. 

He trembled, and did as he was told. 

"You will then go to his bankers and redeem the 
paper of Monsieur Hiilippe, and you will bring it to me. 
Y ou will also discharge any interest. But you will be 
able to make it clear to them that Monsieur, being a 
prince of the blood-royal, does not pay interest." 

" Madame ! Madame ! You are asking too much ! " 

" It is nothing. They will think you are commissioned 
by Monsieur. I want the paper. Would you like to be 
escorted? I will go with you and sit in your coach 
while you arrange matters.' 

Monsieur Hervart acquiesced. And that is how it 
came about that the Bed Neighbour made her next 
appearance in public, leaning not too heavily on the arm 
01 Monsieur Hervart, and stepped into the coach of the 
Comptroller of the Finances. From the window she 
waved her hand and said — 

" It is enough 1 Thank you all, comradea" 

And St Antoine and the Temple slunk away to their 
myriad holes. 

She was taking care of Philippe. 



The grown-up Child who made Fables. 147 
CHAPTER XIX. 

THE GROWN-UP CHILD WHO MADE FABLES. 

The joumev of the Marquise Marie Gabrielle to Meaux 
was uneventful. But at Meaux, there being no post- 
horses to be had, she was obliged to proceea with her 
own to La Fert6 sous Jouarre, where she succeeded in 
hiring a post-chase which was returning to Ch&teau 
Thierry on the following morning. This is not so direct 
as the road by Montmirail, but in that direction there 
was nothing to be had in the shape of a conveyance. 
She spent the night at La Fert6 in compwarative comfort, 
for Pierre and Nanette were admirable indoor servants. 
Greatly strengthened in her resolution by her achieve- 
ment of the first stage of the journey, she set out the 
next morning in g(X)d spirits for Ch&teau Thierry, 
intending to reach Epemay by night. 

Li this, however, she was disappointed, for Chfi,teau 
Thierry was a very small town, which had grown up at 
the foot of the old castle of Charles Martel, and with the 
decay of the castle, many times besieged and finally fallen 
into disuse, had remained stationary m its growth or even 
inclined to dwindle. There was but a single post-house, 
and the only available pair of horses was the pair in the 
chaise that had brought her from La Fert^. There was 
nothing to do but wait till the next morning, by which 
time they would be able to take her on to Epemay. 

Unlike the Marquis, she did not command Pierre to go 
out and find horses, and if she had, Pierre was not at all 
likely to have succeeded. She strolled up to the ram- 
parts of the castle, no one hindering her, meditating on 
the object nearest to her heart, her husband. 

Over the ramparts leant a gentleman, somewhat 
negligent in his dress, his elbow on the wall, brushing 
back his perruque, his eyes fixed on the landscape. He 
made no motion at her approach, did not turn his head. 



148 The Red Neighbour. 

She, filled with her own vision as he with his, looked at 
him and passed on. Half an hour afterwards, returning, 
she found him stUl there, and something in the attitude 
brought back a terrace at Yaux, where she had attended 
some hospitable fantasy of the imf ortunate, but then all- 
conquering, Foucquet, and the same figure leaning over 
it wrapt in the same abstraction. ** Yes ! There could 
be no doubt of it." She touched him lightly on the 
shoulder. 

" Monsieur de la Fontaine ! " 

"Madame!" he said, bowing and making a little 
gesture as if she should avoid hun. '* The fool who sells 
wisdom. Yes ! Jean de la Fontaine." 

" But you remember me, monsieur ? " 

He looked still a little confused. 

"You are in one of my poems — What? Marie 
Oabrielle ! Marie Qabrielle ! he repeated in a sonorous 
musical voice, beating out as it were the end of a line. 
"Marquise de Polignac! It is not so musical And 
what, dear Marquise, do you do here ? Have you come 
to shore my solitude ? Women are so good to me, since 
poor magnificent Foucquet went to FigneroL First, 
there was the dowager Duchess of Orleans, Qaston's 
widow, you know, and now Madame de la Sabli^re. 
She has the true passion for doing good." 

The Marquise let him run on thus far without inter- 
ruption. She knew him for the child of temperament, 
wno had never lost his youth, though he must be, she 
reflected, auite old — ^fifty at least Then she said — 

"And Madame de la Fontaine ?" 

" Odd's life ! That is just what l»t>ught me to CMteau 
Thierry, to see her. My estate is here, what is left of it, 
you know. Paris is a great eater. It eats estates chiefly. 
Yes, I came down to see her, dear Marie! A most 
ravishing beauty, — at least elie was. I am s^raid I do 
not notice these things so closely now. A charming intel- 
lect ! Oh, I assure you ! You would say. Marquise, why 
do we not live more together ? " 

" MoQaiear ! I shoula never dream . . ." 



The grown-up Child who made Fables. 149 

" It was in your eyes — 

* Those eyes of Marie Gabrielle,' — 

and I reply, because we are much better apart. She, 
dear soul, loves to read romances : I love the society of 
the poets. Moliere is dead — ^brave bright Moli^re, but, 
Qod be thanked, Racine and Maucroix are with me still ! 
And then I love reverie. Women do not love reveries, 
at least not in a husband." 

The Marquise smiled. Monsieur de la Fontaine smiled 
also. 

" Now I have told you what brought me here. What 
happy chance brought you, dear Marquise ? " 

"The want of horses to go on." 

" Horses ! What need is there of horses ? Use your 
wings, the wings of thought!" 

"Yes, Monsieur de la Fontaine; but, unfortunately, 
the wings of thought will not take me to my husband ! 
I want him in the body, and in the spirit too," she 
added. 

" You want your husband ? " 

Monsieur de la Fontaine lapsed into reverie again. 

The Marquise humoured him. 

From the old ramparts she looked down, a long way 
down, upon the quiet market-place, with its old basin 
and the two sjpouting branches of the foimtain. Over 
the houses, which stood behind the fountain, rose a 
little belfry tower from which came the silveriest of 
chimes. To the right wound the river through many 
pleasant pastures and groves of trees, and opposite were 
great broad hills : the whole as peaceful a scene as could 
well be imagined. 

"If one could always live in peace like this!" Marie 
Qabrielle si^ed aloud. It was one of the charms of 
Jean de la Fontaine that one could equally forget to 
keep silence or to speak in his companjr. 

"The country !" he said, musing. "It is an image of 
simplicity and innocence, which cannot have much real 



150 The Red Neighbour. 

attraction for us, who are unhappily neither simple nor 
innocent ! " 

The Marquise gazed at the poet. No, he was not 
turned cynic : he was speaking quite literally. 

He went on — 

"Besides, madame, it seems to me that the interest 
one takes in us is one of the most abundant sources 
of happiness, and if that be conceded, you will surely 
be happier in Paris than in the provinces. Where in 
Ch&teau Thierry, for instance, shaU I find man, woman, 
or child who has even heard of my little fables ? " 

The Marquise understood, 

"So you want your husband, dear Marquise? That 
is truly singular. Come! I will find you horses; 
but first come with me and let me present you to 
Madame de la Fontaine, She will be charmed to meet 
you. I left with her for distraction a new acquaintance 
of mine I picked up in Paris. There was room for two 
in my post-chaise, so I brought him with me. I forget 
his name for the moment, but he is an original rogue,' 

" Rogue, monsieur ! " 

" A rashion of speech, madame. Perhaps he is a wise 
man,. Your wise man is often perilously near being a 
rogue. But you shall see. I noticed that he did not 
offer to pay any of the charges. But unless one sees 
new people one need not write fables." 

" Come," said the Marquise. " I am impatient to see 
Madame de la Fontaine. As for your original, you can 
keep him. Paris abounds in them." 

Tney left the ramparts by a little postern gate, first 
going through an ancient guard-room, and came down 
by a steep pathway which led into a quiet open space 
with trees, from which ran a street into the town, not 
more than common broad, paved with good stones, and 
after passing three or four houses, they came to a house 
of noble fashion, a main pavilion with two wings at 
right angles. Before it was a small courtyard, endosed 
by iron railings, and two massive gates of wrought-iron, 
of the time of Henri Quatre. A stone well with a 
fountain and canopy stood against the left wing, and to 



The grown-up Child who made Fables. 1 5 1 

the front door led a circular approach of seven steps 
guarded by wrought-iron railings. Over the doorway, 
which stood invitingly open, was carved the device of 
the La Fontainea 

The poet opened the gate. " Here was I bom. And 
here am I the Seigneur de la Fontaine! In Paris — I 
am what you will!" 

It was comical to see with how little the air of a 
master the poet led the way into a large low room 
opening on an ill-kept garden, where before open case- 
ments lounged madame upon a f auteuil. 

Opposite to her, on a stiff upright chair, sat Dr 
Levani. 

"Marie, my friend, Madame la Marquise de Pol- 
ignac!" 

The ladies greeted one another with a certain cor- 
diality, the Marquise because she pitied the other, the 
other because the simple sweetness of the younger woman 
outshone her rank. 

The poet stood waiting to introduce the Doctor, and 
wondermff how he could have managed to forget his 
name. The Marquise saved him further confusion, by 
turning about and, with the slightest imaginable nod, 
saying — 

"I already have a slight acquaintance with this 
gentleman." 

This was at once a great relief to the poet, who knew 
nothing of the man he had introduced to Madame la 
Fontaine, and the Marquise's acknowledgment of him 
was in a yray a certificate of character, and a greater relief 
to Dr Levani, who on her ladyship's entry had felt the 
foundation of things crumbling beneath him. He bowed 
gravely, and remamed standing as his host did. 

Dr Levani was a parasite, and no one knows better 
than your parasite tne value of names. Chance at a 
tavern, in the shape of an appeal to settle a wager, 
brought him into touch with the writer of fablea At 
once Dr Levani had attached himself. For the next 
few days it would be well to quote "Monsieur de la 
Fontaine/' then "my friend Monsieur de la Fontaine," 



152 The Red Neighbour. 

next, "my friend Jean de la Fontaine," and finally, 
" friend Jean." But after three days' acquaintance, Dr 
Levani had learned two things — ^first, that the Marquise 
had left Paris and departed for Meaux; and secondly, 
that Monsieur de la Fontaine was travelling to Ch&teau 
Thierry. 

It was notorious that after these annual excTU*sions 
to his native place the poet was better furnished with 
money. In point of fact, though he usually paid a 
graceful visit to his wife, he had oeen known to forget 
to do that, but never to sell a few more of the paternal 
acres. 

The friendly Doctor had learned this, and foresaw no 
difficulty in arranging for the transfer of some small 
portion of the patrimony to his own pocket, while he 
enjoyed a respite from the summer heats of Paris and 
learned the destination of the Marquise. 

He had suffered temporary defeat at the hands of 
the. Count de Roubaix, and by mere brute force been 
obUged to sign a paper relinquishing his indefeasible 
rights of blackmail on the Marquise, out now that the 
affair of the Bed Neighbour was subsiding, he looked 
forward to making some few crumbs out of his former 
acquaintance. 

The sudden arrival of the Marquise upon the scene 
had disconcerted his plans, never very strenuously 
followed. Your true parasite does not care to work hard 
for a livinff if he can get one by mere suction. 

Should he abandon his newly-found friend the poet 
on the very eve of his temporanr inflation, as a wary 
spider might a particularly fat fly, which was already 
in his web, for some other object more remote but less 
likely to stay in the neighbourhood, and renew his 
acquaintance later, after he had followed up the 
Marquise, or let that lady go her ways? There was 
the unfortunate chance possiWe that the Marquise might 
hint to Madame de la Fontaine the true character of 
her guest, and so spoil the market. 

He at first decided that nothing should induce him 
to leave his post in the salon; but a look at the face 



The grown-up Child who made Fables. 153 

of the Marquise assured him that his presence or his 
absence would make no difference. If she chose to speak, 
it would be rather before his face than any other way, 
and he resolved to be guided by circumstancea 

"You were going to use your influence, monsieur," 
the Marquise tum^ to the poet, "to procure me two 
fresh horses for my journey. Would vou do me the 
favour, while I talk to Madame here? 

The Marquise with a glance quelled Madame de la 
Fontaine's natural desire to ask questions. 

"Go at once, Jean," said the poet's wife, "and get the 
Marquise what she requires. You, monsieur, also will 
doubtless be ^lad to see a little more of the town which 
my husband is making so famous." 

The tone in which she said it conveyed less of a sneer 
than a regret, though it suggested quite plainly that 
Madame de la Fontame held her husband's achievements 
more lightly than the gay world for whom he wrote. 
It is not uncommon with ladies who possess spouses 
devoted to literature. 

The poet, who had written a fable about charlatans, 
and the charlatan went out together like two good 
comrades. 

"Did you ever read my fable of the Horse and the 
Wolf ? " the jpoet asked amiably. 

Dr Levam was not an adept in the beUes-lettrea, 
and after hemming a few times said he had not. 

" It is an amusing trifle," said the poet. " I need not 
weary you with it. The wolf pretended to be a surgeon 
to sick horses, and seeing one grazing, inquired about his 
ailment, with the view of quieting suspiciona The horse 
professed to be taken in, but bv way of precaution let 
slip his hoofs at the pretended doctor and rendered him 
entirely unfit for his business of butcher." 

Dr Levani expressed oi)enly his wonder that his host 
could imagine all these things, but secretly he wondered 
whether that same host was quite so simple as he 
thought him. He decided to go on allaying the sus- 
picions of the nobler animal and keep a good way from 
nis hoofs. 



154 The Red Neighbour. 

"Horses? Faith! Now where in Ch&teau Thierry 
can one find horses ? It is surprising how one f or^ta 
Yet I was bom here. Ah! I have it. My fnend 
Jacques Trichet, who buys my land, deals also in horses. 
Let us go to him." 

To this son of avarice they bent their steps. Dr 
Levani took occasion to ask the poet whether in fact 
he knew anything about horsea To which the poet 
frankly replied that he knew nothing, and the Doctor 
very pleasantly offered to act as adviser, as it was 
necessary that the Marquise, who had been one of his 
clients, should have the best that could be hired. 

Monsieur Trichet was at home. He was in fact ex- 
pecting a visit from the poet and a further transaction 
in land to his own advantage. He eyed his visitants 
with a hard curiosity when they broa»ched the subject 
of horsea 

He led the way, however, to a paddock where several 
specimens of the race were consuming some very un- 
satisfa»ctory herbage. 

Dr Levani cast his eyes over them. He knew a horse 
when he saw one. He also knew that no pair selected 
from this assemblage would travel five leagues. 

Monsieur de la Fontaine was by this time fully astride 
the winged horse of his imagination. The sight of these 
lean veterans had suggested another fable. He had even 
composed three lines of his apologue. He moved slowly 
away murmuring a fourth. Dr Levani and the horse- 
dealer, in low tones so as not to disturb him, made a 
bar^in. 

"It is easy to see that these horses are absolutely 
worthless," said the Doctor. "What have you got the 
conscience to ask for them ? That one and that one ? " 

"Monsieur! They are a bit fined down with the 
harvest work, but I assure you they are in splendid 
training." 

" A fig. Monsieur Trichet. What do you say to thirty 
livres apiece?" 

" Thirty livres ? For how long do you wish them ? " 

" I was speaking of buying them ! " 



In Peril of his Majesty's Officers. 155 

" Thirty livres. They cost me," he swallowed it hardly, 
and hurriedly promised his patron saint a candle at three 
sous — " cost me four pistoles each," 

"Four cabbages! Come, we are men of business. I 
buy to sell again — we will share the profits. They will 
break down in two hours with a fair load." 

" You have no idea how much horses cost. Monsieur 
Bocal wants so many for the army. He has drained 
this part of the coxmtry." 

"It is not a question of Monsieur Bocal but of me. 
Hiirty livres, I say." 

" Forty, monsieur. For the love of the saints — ^f orty." 

" Tut ! I am a bad hand at a bargain, but I know a 
mere bag of bones. We will call it thirty-five. Send 
them down to the inn and have the post-chaise put to 
them." 

" Mon Dieu ! A post-chaise ! " 

" Ah ! What did I say ? Never mind, they shall last 
as long as I want them. And now you will open a 
bottle of wine on the bargain. Monsieur Trichet. 
Monsieur de la Fontaine, our friend is opening a bottle 
of wine for us ! " 

"Wine? Famous! To drink to Rosinante and Bu- 
cephalus, the most poetical of all steeds." 

It was a weird libation — a poet, a miser, and a 
charlatan celebrating a bargain in horses' bones and 
leather. 



CHAPTER XX. 

IN PERIL OF HIS MAJESTY'S OFFICERS. 

It is to be regretted that innkeepers, like many other 
people who live by the patronage of the public, are not 
always strictly veracious. Hcd it been the case with 
him of Ch&teau Thierry, the Marquise might have started 
for Epemay the same day in the same chaise with the 



156 The Red Neighbour. 

same horses that brought her. The temptation of keep- 
ing the custom of the Marquise for board and bed was 
too much, however, and hence the Marquise set out in 
the late afternoon in the same chaise behind as sorry 
a pair of cattle as ever ran on either side of a carriage- 

Ecfle. From the same greed it arose that Dr Levani haA 
ttle diflSculty in hiring the original pair with another 
chaise, exactly two hours after Madame la Marquise 
left, with the entirely amiable intention of overtaking 
her on the road at the point where the two jades, once 
the property of Monsieur Trichet, refused from mere 
helplessness to go any farther. 

His plan was admirably laid. A modest feeling of 
satisfaction came over him when, exa»ctly five leagues 
from Ch&teau Thierry, he espied in front of him the 
chaise drawn up at the side of the road, and the 
Marquise pacing up and down in that state of nervous 
excitement to which the best of women are prone to 
give way when confronted by their own helplessness. 

She had in fact passed through the little town of 
Dormans, and was about half-way to Epemay when the 
coachman announced that the horses were not capable 
of going farther. She was on the point of contemplat- 
ing a journey on foot back to the Dormans as a last 
resort. Pierre and Nanette offered no sort of pra»ctical 
consolation. They would do what madame wished. 
But what did she wish? 

Then arrived Doctor Levani, who alighted with well- 
concealed glee and many protestations of concern from 
his chaise. 

The mingled feelings of the Marquise can be imagined. 
Doctor Levani's astonishment at findingher in such a 
plight was great, but not over-acted. He treated the 
matter with grave politeness, and placed his own con- 
veyance entirely at her ladyship's service. He himself 
would walk back to Dormans. 

" But, Doctor ! You have affairs to attend to ? " 

" Yes ! Unf ortxmately pressing affairs : but everything 
must give way to your laayship's immediate need ! You 
are hastening to Epemay ? " 



In Peril of his Majesty's Officers. 157 

The Marquise assented, but, too wise to intrust this 
gentleman with more of her business, said no more. 
After all, she could surely shake him off at Epemay. 

"I could not think of leaving you behind. Doctor. 
Since you so graciously^ place ttie chaise at my con- 
venience, pray mount with me." 

"No, madame! I will, if it please you, ride on the 
back seat with your maid, and your man can ride in 
front with the driver." 

The Marquise made some faint show of protest, but 
consented; and after a whispered instruction by the 
Doctor to the driver of the other chaise, which we may 
suppose concerned the ultimate disposal of the horses, 
the party set out, and alighted at the close of twilight 
at the door of the " Crown of Gold," in the good town 
of Epemay. 

Misfortxme makes us ac(][uainted with strange bed- 
fellows, but more often with odd table - companions. 
That the Marquise de Polignac should sit down to 
supper in the "Crown of Gold" of Epemay with a 
gentleman whose one introduction to her favour had 
turned out so unfortunately, and had in a measure 
brought about the chain of events which had led her 
to this very spot, appeared to possess a fatality which 
she was as incapable of resisting as explaining. 

The Marquise could do no less than ask him to sup 
with her. He had foreseen that also. 

The name De Roubaix was in the thoughts of both, 
though uttered by neither. Levani was anxious beyond 
expression to know whether De Roubaix had made use 
of the paper he had so unscrupulously wrung from him. 
The Marquise, in whom the insolent love-maKing of the 
Coxmt had left a serious resentment, was curious to know 
whether the Count's story and the paper which he had 
produced were not alike trumped up — a false card of a 
cheating gambler. She would like to have believed it. 

" Madisime ! " replied Levani to her courteous invitation, 
" it is not fit that I, who was once merely governor to 
the Count de Roubaix, should sit down to table with 
your ladyship." . , 



158 The Red Neighbour. 

It was dever, this swift substitution. A governor 
was one thin^, a valet quite another ; but in the mind 
of the Marquise the Count might easily have degraded 
Levani to make his own case more plausible. 

** Monsieur ! It is perhaps ^aceful of you to mention 
it, but in our present situation of fellow-travellers it 
would be absurd to weigh these distinctiona Sit down, 
I pray you ! " 

The host waited upon them. And at the conclusion of 
the repast the Marquise said — 

"Touching the hire of those poor horses, and any 
charges I should be at, I beg that you will arrange the 
matter for me, and send the money by the coachman 
who brought us here. I hire fresh ones to-morrow." 

Doctor Levani replied that he had already arranged 
with the driver who had returned, for sixty livres, and 
that he begged her ladyship would not trouble about 
such a trifle. 

The Marquise was proof against this, and handed him 
the money with a gracious expression of thanks. And 
as he had considerately left Monsieur de la Fontaine to 
settle with Trichet, he looked upon this as the first-fruits 
of his industry. He was, however, no nearer to his aim 
to know whether the Count de Roubaix had betrayed 
him. He made a bold effort. 

** Your ladyship doubtless heard that the Red Neigh- 
bour was in ia»ct put to the Question ? " 

" Yes ! I knew it. What was the result ? " 

"She gave up the names of none of her clients but 
Madame du Fresnoy, the wife of a clerk in the War 
Department, and Madame de Montespan. There was a 
great popular outery, and it is not likely she will be 
tried turtherl" 

"Indeed! I had left Paris. I had not heard." 

" I had no opportunity of carrying out your ladyship's 
wishes in regard to her, being hmdered by the threaten- 
ing action of the Comte de I&ubaix, who in fact extorted 
from me by force and fraud an xmdertaking to renoxmce 
my efforta As things have turned out happily for your 
ladyship, you will, I trust, forgive my seeming inaction." 



In Peril of his Majesty's Officers. 159 

''Ton need not have referred to it, Doctor, as I did 
not But what right had the Count de Boubaix to in- 
terfere — ^if you had a dear conscience ? " 

"Alas, madame! it was not a case of conscience, but 
of my livelihood Probably he was afraid of my reveal- 
ing some of his youthful fnvolities — ^not to call them by 
a harder name — of which I was necessarilv cognisant. 
He threatend to spoil my chances of exercismg my pro- 
fession, acquired at much pains and expense in Milan, by 
telling all the ladies with whom I hopea to establish my- 
self that I was a mere rogue." 

It was a plausible story, if not a very convincing ona 
It had a powerful advocate, however, in the heart of the 
Marquise, who was so justly indignant at the Count's 
prof essi(xis of lova 

''The Count need not have ooneemed himself," she 
said coldly. ''But befieve me, I shall not forget your 
present aid, tendered with so much delicacy. It is your 
future reputaticHi in Paris that will decide in what way 
I shall serve you on my return." 

With whid^ the Marquise, summcMiing her maid, bade 
the Doctor "Qood-night" and went to bed, tibM>rou^]y 
f ati^ed, but pleased beyond measure to have had the 
load at her he»rt so preeeptibty lightlied, and to be so 
many leagues nearer to her husband. 

She had been careful to enlist over night the assistance 
of the host to procure a diaise and hcnrses capable of 
reaching Ch&lons, whidi refiresented the next ten leagues 
of her journey. The host had promised mountains and 
marvds, and she had bdieved hmt 

Of her name and oonditioii she made no mention at 
any of the inns she stayed at, and till now met with 
no contretemps that gave her much reflection. The next 
morning, however, having taken her morning chocoiau 
in her chamber, she am^ed herself in her travdling 
doak. Then having by Vianre discharged her reekonisii^ 
she descended to the post-dunse, whkh die had ofaMm«d 
from her window at the door. To her annoyance th* 
entrance to the hold waa enemnbered b^ km odfem 
of a foot r^imenly and some of their impedimenta. Th^y 



"y • 



i6o The Red Neighbour. 

had a«lso been taking a morning draught, doubtless to 
wash away the remembrance of a night at cards, and 
were none of them completely sober. They made no 
effort to stand aside, and to Pierre's requests paid no 
heed. 

" Messieurs ! I wish to go to my carriage ! Where is 
the innkeeper ? Pierre, find him at once." 

The oflScers laughed loudly. The Marquise coloured. 

" That is our carriage, madame, and of course you're 
welcome to come with us. A pretty woman is always 
welcome ! " 

"Excuse me, gentlemen, I ordered that carriage last 
night." 

" And we captured it this morning. Fortxme of war, 
madame. We must onward to Turenne or get cashiered." 

Pierre having foxmd the host, once more appeared, in 
time to see one of the officers putting his arm round 
Nanette, who was beseeching him to leave her alone. 

The host had in fact hidden himself in the wine-cellar, 
hoping that the situation would resolve itself. As for 
Dr Levani, he was nowhere to be seen. 

The Marquise bade the host in her haughtiest tones 
open a passage for her to the chaise, and assist her to 
moxmt. The host protested that the officers had the 
power to insist on taking the chaise. He would do his 
best to procure another if she would only retire to her 
room and wait. 

No one had ever dared to ask Marie Gabrielle de 
Lusignan de Polignac to wait. She waved the host 
aside, and, giving the officer who leant against the post 
in the doorway, half -sleeping, half -amused, a push which 
sent him to one side, managed to reach the chaise itself, 
closely followed by Pierre, who made the only display 
of personal valour he was ever known to show, for he 
faced about and waited the onset of the officers. The 
Marquise was already in the chaise. Pierre was thrust 
down, with his body dangerously close to the hind wheeL 
One officer had his hand upon the Marquise, intent on 
dragging her out again. Nanette was screaming vigor- 
ousfy, and the host stood on one side imploring every one 



In Peril of his Majesty's Officers. i6i 

to be calm, when another figure, emerging with three 
strides from the doorway, caught the rash infantryman 
by the collar, administered a cuff upon his right e^e 
that raised a very instant swelling, and flung hmi 
unceremoniouslv on the cobble-stonea 

The three others drew their swords and rushed upon 
the intruder with one accord, steadied by the excitement 
that spurred them on. 

The new-comer, with his back to the chaise door, drew 
his sword coolly and said — 

'' All three, gentlemen ! Be it so ! " And before they 
could get well into pla^ he had disarmed the first, given 
the second a nasty point in his sword-hand, and drawn 
Uood from the neck of the third. 

^'Tou should practise more! Honour is satisfied! 
Now go indoors! I am the Comte de Boubaix!" 

The officers had heard of this justly celebrated swords- 
man, and retreated with what grace they could. 

He turned and bowed to the Marquise. 

The Marquise, flustered by her exertions and her narrow 
escape from personal injury, dismayed even more by this 
meteoric appearance of the Count, could only stammer 
out— 

^ I am infinitely obliged to you. Count. You have 
appeared quite nuraculously." 

** And you, adorable Marquise ? Are you still running 
away from the Bed Neighbour or from me ? " 

''Monsieur le Comte! Will you be good enough to 
allow Pierre to get up and put my valises on the chaise ? 
I wish to continue my journey." 

"It is still cold,'' returned the unmoved Count; and 
beckoned to his lackey, who assisted the brave Pierre 
to make the remaining dispositiona Nanette also ap- 
peared, little the worse for her adventures, and the chaise 
drove off. The Count, however, having finished his cup 
of coffee, mounted his horse, and with his lackey soon 
overtook the Marquise, who was not at all well pleased 
wh^oi that handsome insolent face bent down and asked 
her whether she still cherished her animosity. 

" Did you follow me, my lord, to ask the question ?" 

L 



i62 The Red Neighbour. 

'' I followed becatise I could not rest, madame, know- 
ing you were set upon a perilous journey." 

It was a gallant answer. And the Count prided him- 
£)elf upon Imowing the exact answer that would please 
a woman. That it was true or not mattered nothing. 

''But I thought, monsieur, that you had important 
duties which tiSi you to the War Office?" 

"I found means to gain mv freedom. I had the 
honour to arouse the jealousy of Monsieur de Louvois." 

The Marquise betrayed no curiosity, she merely said— ^ 

'' Tes ! To a man of your personal advantages, that 
would be quite easy/' 

" You do me too much honour. Marquise." 

*' And how far do you purpose to honour me with your 
escort. Count ? I ask you, because I intended to travel 
alone, and I still intend." 

-'To Ch&lons! There I shall order you an escort of 
dragoons who will take every care of you till you meet 
the Marquis de Polignac." 

''Thank you. So long as I travel on the king^s post- 
roads I am surely not in need of an escort." 

" Madame ! you do not understand that the nearer to 
the field of war you get the less the ordinary amenities 
of life are possible. The little incident from which I 
had the honour to extricate you might recur anywhere. 
It was a mistake not to travel as usual with servants, 
couriers, and so forth. Tou exposed yourself to a lack 
of consideration." 

The Marquise felt somewhat humbled. The Count 
might have been her husband giving her a little lecture. 

"If there are any cavalry at Ch&lons, I shall un- 
doubtedly order you an escort: and I am equally sure 
that the Marquis de Polignac will thank me for it" 

She gave a little toss. "You are very careful for my 
husband's happiness ! " 

The Count laughed. "Your greatest charm, Marie 
Gabrielle, after your beauty, is your innocence. I tell 
you again I love you. You cannot prevent it. Your 
name, therefore, which is your husband's, is sacred to 
me. As far as I am concerned I shall keep it so. That 



In Peril of his Majesty's Officers. 163 

is why I propose to leave you at ChMons and substitute 
an escort of dragoons. It is a great sacrifice I make to 
the honour of the house." 

** I do not understand, Count/' she said resentfully. 

" Do you not, Mignonne ? " he went on tenderhr. '* Did 
you ever hear me brag of my conquests? Action a 
lady's name as if she hjBMl comerred a favour too many 
upon me ? " 

The Marquise made no answer. If her name was to 
be kept sacined, her ears were not She began to think 
of Turenne, the man of whom she had been so jealous. 
He was incapable of this cool audacity of licence. 

The Count went on, answering his own question--* 

''No! It is true I have a certain reputation. Who 
are the authors of it ? Not L It has idways been the 
women themselves. There are so few that understand 
how precious a thing is a fine passion, finely conceived, 
and delicately nurtured!" 

If the Marquise heard this last piece of effironteiy , she 
made no reply, nor did she open her lips again till they 
alifi^ted for dinner at Ch&lons. 

There a delightful midday meal had been prepared in 
advance to the order of me Count's lackey, whom he 
had sent on, and was served in tiie open air under some 
spreading elms, the Coxmt say as ever, finding other 
topics which the exigencies <S politeness induced her to 
jom in. He trusted to time and persistence. In the 
meantime he was enjoying the lady's moods with the 
taste of a connoisseur. 



164 The Red Neighbour. 

CHAPTER XXL 

MONSIEUR BOGAL WISHES TO ASSIST THE MARQUISE. 

In giving the Marquise so gallant a reason for his 
journey the Count de Koubaix intended her to infer that 
he was impelled by that sacred fire which ^'can only 
subsist in continual movement/' by that " one and only 
kind of love " of which De la Rochefoucauld says " there 
are a thousand imitationa" But the love by which 
in all things the gay Count was moved to action was 
of a more ordinary kind^ and was very near kin to self- 
interest. 

For once and only once have we seen, and then 
only by drawing aside the mysterious curtain that 
separates us from the solitude of great men, the Count 
showing signs of the mortal weakness of perturbation of 
spirit. Mere momentary vexation is pardonable, even 
in the gods who dwell on high, but perturbation is, 
except in the secret recesses of the chamber, denied to 
heroes. 

It was when he discovered his lodgings had been 
rifled. For what? A packet of love-letters had been 
stolen, a packet wrapped in an old plan of the town 
of Nancy. He had reared for something else. 

Even now he could not feel sure whether it was for 
the letters or for something else that veiled emissary 
had made her hurried but exceedingly well-timed search. 
Had it been for the letters he woula either have heard of 
them at once or not at all, according to the motive of the 
purloiner. There was no answer in the fact that he had 
not heard of them. No jealous mistress had made a jest 
of them. The family of the fair Clotilde would naturally 
preserve silence. 

The cause of his alarm was that remittances had 
stopped from Josef Euhn. It was to meet Josef Euhn 
he nad set out for Ch&lona 

Not only was it to a gentleman of the Count's refined 



Monsieur Boca! wishes to assist. 165 

but extravagant tastes an inconvenience, but taken in 
conjunction with the other fact it was a cause for alarm. 
Mighty for example, the cut-and-dried De Louvois, the 
heaven-bom Mimster of War, have arrested the remit- 
tiuices on their way and incidentallv learned something 
of the Count's transactions beyond the frontiers ? Might 
he not have inspired the search in the Count's lodgings 
to discover more incriminating evidence? That it might 
be De Louvois and was not De Poli^ac, the Count's 
sensitive skill in reading attitudes of mmd told him. De 
Louvois had acquired, perhaps inherited from the ances- 
tral long-robes, the haoit ot a fixed official demeanour, 
always near freezing-point, and susceptible of running 
down another ten degrees or so. It was difficult to 
judge, even for an accom|)lished skater like De Boubaix, 
who had learned the art in the Low Countries, whether 
the ice was very thin or only moderately tiuck. But 
the Marquis de rolignac was always himself, and could 
never profess a genidity he did not feel, any more than 
he could assume an icy exterior for official purposes, 
unless his immediate mood was stem and coldly ju- 
diciaL The Count, as he had artfully boasted, had 
really aroused the jealousy of De Louvois by paying 
his court in no halting fashion to Madame du Fresnoy. 
He had again had a double aim, to gain leave of absence 
on an immediate mission to the frontiers, and to sound 
that astute lady, who was such a biend of the War 
Minister, as to tiie origin of the raid upon Ins lodgings. 
The Count de Boubaix had in his veins an equ^ 
portion of Flemish and of French blood. His ancestral 
estate, the whole rental and residence of which he left 
to the enjoyment of his aged mother, contenting himself 
with mortgaging as far as he could his own reversion, 
lay near to the Flemish borders, and his early connec- 
tions as well as his military life had led him into many 
associations with the enemy and developed his know- 
ledge of four languages, Flemish, Dutch, German, and 
French, to the extent that it was easy for him to con- 
verse, i£ not to write, in any one of them — ^no uncom- 
mon accomplishment in years when campaign followed 



i66 The Red Neighbour. 

campaign with monotonous repetition, with the same 
f oeSy the same leaders, and, but tor the large wastage of 
sicbiess, almost the same men. Our wars liave a habit 
of being ix]gurious chiefly to the non-combatants. 

With much practical knowledge gained in the field, 
his position in the office of the Minister of War naturally 
suggested to the self-seeker, " How shall I use what I 
know and what I have to advantage?" 

The answer came in the shape of Joseph Euhn, a lean 
dried-up German, white-haired and prematurely bent, 
who humbly solicited his interest to procure him a 
contract for army boots, a mere regiment or so. 

De Boubaix was new to the inside of the War OfBoCf 
but he had not been about the Court for a dozen years 
in the intervals of war without knowing that it was not 
the excellence of the goods supplied that procured a 
merchant a contract, but the precise amount of the bribe 
which the merchant furnished to the right pair of hands. 
Josef Kuhn had evidently taken him for a more im- 
portant personage than he was. But De Boubaix was 
not the man to turn the beggar from the door if the 
beggar had anything in his wallet worth the taking. 
He nad replied to tJosef Euhn in Flemish, a language 
difficult to acquire for any one but the native bom. To 
his amazement Josef Kuhn replied with a strong Qerman 
accent, Hanoverian probably, in good Flemish. 

It came about that Joseph Euhn got into the way of 
bu;^g the hides of all animals slau^tered in the camp, 
wmch he soMto the tanners, and of sdiling boots first to 
one regimez4wien another, till in his way Josef Euhn 
drew a greatdeail of money from the king's treasury — 
not so much as Bocal, you understand, but a good sum 
all the same. And a liandsome percentage went to the 
Count. It was the Count who suggested that he should 
buy all the horses that were reject^ at the camp, alive 
as well as dead. And it was remarkable what a number 
were rejected. Whether it was that the air of camps 
did not agree with Monsieur Bocal's horses or for somie 
other reason, it is certain that, out of a drove of twenty 
horses, the five or six sleekest almost always went off 



Monsieur Bocal wishes to assist. 167 

after a few days of Monsieur Bocal's camp forage, and 
became listless and unfit for work. 

Joseph Euhn bought them and sold them outside to a 
FlemifAi dealer, indicated by the Count, who in turn fed 
them up and sold them to the Qermans or the Dutch 
(he was not particular) at a fair price. It was a constant 
trade, and the Count had money as he had never had in 
his life before. 

Sometimes in Paris, sometimes at some half-way place, 
Josef Euhn met the Count and paid over whatever was 
due to him in bills on Paris bankers, which bore no 
names but those of the drawer and acceptor, and impli^ 
cated no one. 

If the Count had not been the Count he would have 
become rich. As to Joseph Euhn — he was always the 
same penurious-looking shabby German, always full of 
respect for the County always punctuiJ, aJways just able 
to make both ends meet. 

Josef Euhn was always in Ch&lons on a certain date in 
July. And the Count had grown anzious. Therefore 
he went to Ch&lons. 

Some one else had gone to Ch&lons, the town which is 
built in a beautiful plain, and is divided by the windiii^ 
Mame into town, isle, and fauxbourg^-^the town which 
has a presidial court and a bishop, a great mart for 
merchwdise, and famous because Attila, Eong of the 
Huns, who was called the Flail of Qod, was put to the 
rout three leagues off by Mero^, Eang of the franks. 

That some one was Dr Levani, who, rising betimeSi 
had seen De Boubaix and his v^et ride up ^o the " Crown 
of Gold " at Epemay, and scenting mischief as a fox sniffii 
the hounds, had taken to cover and, when the hunt was 
passed, followed cautiously in the wake till the Marquise 
was housed at the sign of the "Bell" in the Bue des 
Tr^9oriers hard by the cathedral, and the Count had 
ensconced himself a stone's-throw off in the Bue de 
FArquebuse near the church of St Loup, in a meagre 
hostolrv which ill accorded with his fashion. Dr Levani 
himself laid aside his black perruque of state, his gold-* 
headed cane, his brown suit, and emerged in a suit which 



i68 The Red Neighbour. 

mav have belonged to Pietro, the Italian man-servant he 
had left behind in Paris. 

To Levani's small tortuous mind it was plain that the 
meeting of the Marquise and De Boubaix at Epemay was 
the result of a preconcerted plan. De Boubaix was her 
lover. Levani rubbed his hands, for here was something 
discovered which would pay him better in blackmau 
than any exercise in Paris of the natural magic of 
Albertus Parvus, or of the secret to take away wrinkles, 
as it was aforetime revealed by a Persian to a Qreek 
ladv of seventy-two years of age, who thenceforward 
looked no more than twenty-five. 

It was a dangerous game to dog the footsteps of his 
former master; out it was worth while, and Levani had 
no scruples about lying down to be kicked. 

The Count's first movement mystified him, for it was 
to the citadel, and suggested some military errand at 
the bottom. The Count came out accompanied by an 
officer, and both went to the inn where the Marquise was 
resting after her journey. Levani contrived to w^k 
boldly into the inn-yard, and by pretending some inquiries 
after an ima^nary master, passed in and out, learned 
the position (h the guest-room, and took post outside the 
open windows on the low wooden balcony which ran 
round three sides of the courtyard. 

It was a question, he concluded from the scraps which 
reached him, of an escort. ^Diis did not make him 
abandon his idea, but it aroused him to the necessity 
of keeping the Coxmt in view still further. He could 
^ways f oUow the Marquise, especially if she rode with 
an escort 

The Count and the officer took their dinner, a joyous 
one, whereat wine flowed merrily, at an inn in the market- 
place. Levani took his in the inn kitchen. He could 
^ways accommodate himself. He even made friends with 
the Count's valet. He was not afraid of being recog- 
nised. He learned the dav they left Paris, the route 
followed, the incidents of the joumev, and the fight at 
the door of the " Golden Crown " at E]^may. He could 
make nothing of it. He spent a few livres of the sixty 



Monsieur Bocal wishes to assist. 169 

he had won from the Marquise on this valet without 
result Am)earances were in favour of the Count's 
innocence, out Levani disbelieved in its existence and 
waited 

Presently the Count sent for the valet and instructed 
him to go out into the town and find if a German trader, 
one Joseph Euhn, was to be found at any of the 
inns. 

Obviously it was desirable to go with the lackey and 
find out who or what was Joseph Euhn, whom the Count 
had come so far to see. They searched for an hour, but 
Joseph Euhn was not in Ch&lon& The lackey, who had 
no interest, asked no questions but *' Have you seen one 
Joseph Euhn?" Levani asked a dozen, and gained a 
pretty accurate knowledge of Joseph Ehun's personal 
appearance and occupation. He boi^ht hides, it seemed 

They returned to the *' Bell," ana Levani once more 
took poet by the windows. He heard the voice of the 
Marquise say, as if following up a protracted argument — 

*' No, Count ! I am infimtely obliged to you, but I do 
not need an escort of cavalry. It is possible that I may 
be exposing myself needlessly to the insults of coarse 
ruffians in the king's uniform, but I shall always expect 
to find at least one gallant man to rescue me. I snail 
travel as I did before — alone." 

''Madame la Marquise! said the Count quite pleasantly, 
''^ou shall do as you like; but vou cannot prevent my 
fnend Captain de Commercy, whom you saw just now, 
from senoing a rear-2uard ! If you order the troopers 
to 20 back they will not obey you." 

"llien," said the Marquise, m tones that showed her 
anger quite plainly, "you will incur my lasting dis- 
pleasure I Who are you to dictate in what way I am to 
travel?" 

"Madame! I am your lover. Tou cannot prevent 
that any more than you can a rear-guard." 

"If I were to breathe a hint to mv husband . • ." 

"That is the unfortunate part of it^" said the County 
with his most delightful air of the impossible. "Tou 
cannot! Because there might be a duel and . . ." 



lyo The Red Neighbour. 

''Oh! . • ." said the Marquise, putting her fingers to 
her eyes, and then opening them again radiantly, added, 
** Qod would protect nim ! 

'' It is possible, Marie Qabrielle, as you say. He might 
kill me^-^more especially that I have so mgh a regard 
for him. But then I have a certain skilL" He tapped 
his sword-hilt ominously. '' A duel is a game for certain 
stakes. I always play to win." 

The door opened suddenly and admitted the leonine 
head and shoulders of Monsieur Bocal! 

'« The Manjuise de Polisnac ! " 

The astonishment of all three was apnareni 

''I am sorry to have intruded," saia the army con- 
tractor, bowing low to the Marquise and stiffly to the 
Count. There is some subject of discussion. What 
game does the Count propose to win?" 

'' Monsieur Bocal 1 I am travelling to the frontier. 
The Count unexpectedly came up with me at Epemay, 
and escorted me so far. He now insists that for the 
remainder of the journey I should have an escort of 
cavahy. In what condition are the highways from here 
to Strassbure, or say to Nancy ? " 

Monsieur Bocal's face preserved the absolute immo- 
biliW which lon^ training had taught him. 

" They are quite safe ! There is no fear at all ! I am 
going to Bar-le-Duc If madame would honour my 
poor carriage, I start in half an hour!" 

'' Madame will not," said the Count. " It is not fitting 
for the Marquise to travel except in her own carriage, 
with a proper escort" 

''Because I am an army contractor?" asked Bocal 
bitterly. 

" I need not labour the point," said the Count. 

"At all events I buy contracts," said Bocal pointedly. 
"I do not sell them to Josef Kuhn !" 

" What is tins. Monsieur Bocal ? " the Marquise broke 
in, seeing that in some way the Coimt was nonplussed. 

"Our friend here will explain what brings him to 
Ch&lons," said BocaL " It is not my business. But I 
have not yet had your answer, madame. If you travel 



The Young Lady who was left. 171 

vdth Bocal> you travel fast and far and without 
annoyance." 

"You travel too fast, Forage 1" the Count retorted 
contemptuously. " I will escort the lady myself." 

The Marquise did not like the way things were going 
and rang the bell. 

"Tell my man to order a poste-chaise and horses at 
once ! I am infinitely obliged to both of you gentlemen, 
but I cannot accept either offer." 

As she left the room she turned to the Count and 
said in a low tone — 

"I begin to see what a gulf there is between a lover 
like you and a husband like Qaston." 

The Count bit his lip. 

• 9 • m • - « • 

But all the same the Coimt's threat had lodged. She 
might tell her husband of the Count's gallantry in 
rescuing her from those odious officers at Epemay, but 
she would be forced to maintain silence on the subject 
of his persistent addresses. To tell of them was to 
provoke a duel, and a duel might end . • • ? No! 
There should be no duel. Free herself of the Count's 
importunities she would instanter— «ven by the instru- 
mentality of Bocal. She would use her privilege of 
great lady and change her mind. 



CHAPTER XXIL 

THE YOUNG LADY WHO WAS LEFT BEHIND AT MBUDON. 

Th^r^, who, if she was long was slim, had succeeded 
in squeezing her person throu^ a window and between 
two iron l^urs ¥mich guarded it on the upper floor of 
the convent at Meudon, and resolutely let herself down 
to her full arms' stretch, her feet towards the garden^ 



172 The Red Neighbour. 

still a couple of ells beneath her, and barely visible in 
the darkness which was breaking into dawn. 

She let go, and was surprised to find that her fall 
was broken by some living thing, which gave with 
her weight, and tumbled her rather inelegantly on the 
ground, llie living thing and she picked themselves 
up and gazed at one another in the semi-shadow of the 
walL Xbe living thing was a boy, not much if any 
taller than herself. Their surprise was equal. 

"Who are you," she whispered eagerly, "and what 
do you want?" 

"I am Giles de Beaupr^. I have come to carry off 
aotilde." 

" dotilde is fast asleep ! Besides, she could not get 
through that window, and that is the easiest I have 
measured them alL I am running away myself, so you 
had better help me to climb the garaen walL llien 
there is only the ditch, and I know where it is dry." 

"So do 1," said the boy. "I came over that way. 
Come!" 

They both ran across the wet grass and clambered 
over ti^e walL They resumed their conversation on the 
other side of the ditch. 

"What made you think of carrying off Clotilde? 
Why, she is quite grown up — seventeen at least — and 
you?" she measuml him doubtfully with her eye, 
though with a certain degree of approval. 

" Infteen 1 But what of that when one is in love ? " 

" You are too young for Clotilde. She has had real 
lovers. That is why she was sent to Meudon!" 

"I don't think you quite imderstand!" he said. 
"You see I love her, and it would not make any dif- 
ference if she was even twenty. I shall soon be a man." 

" It seems to me you are wasting time," said Th6r^. 
"How did you come to expect that Clotilde would be 
reachr to run away ?" 

"I wrote to her!" 

"How silly of you not to know that the nuns op^en 
all our letters! It is a pity to waste a really nice 
letter on Sister Ang^lique!" 



The Young Lady who was left. 173 

"I did not know," said QUes despondently. "What 
shaU I do?" 

""I cannot tell you what yov, should do. I know 
what I am going to do. I am Th^r^ de Polignac 
(fancy you're not asking me my name !), and I am going 
to follow my mother, who has gone to find my father, 
who is with Monsieur Turenne." 

"At the war?" 

•'Yes!" 

" I should like to see Monsieur Turenne. Perhaps he 
would take me as a volimteer, and I might win glory, 
and come back for Clotilde." 

" Who knows ? " said Th^rkie, who admired the spirit 
of adventure, but in her own way did not appraise her 
companion's chances at a lugh figure. He seemed to 
her to be too much of a dreamer. 

" Tou are quite sure I could not hope to see Clotilde ? " 

" Not unless you called with your mother on a visiting 
day, and then not alone. One of the Sisters would be 
with her." 

"Ah! That would be of very little use. Tou see, 
she hardly knows me as yet loesides, my mother is 
dead." 

"Decidedly," said Th^rk», "you had better come 
with ma I have a long way to so, and shall be glad 
of a companion. It is getting lifter." 

"It is all one to me if I cannot see Clotilde," he 
sighed "Which way do you want to go?" 

"Towards Meaux!" 

"Then if we walk towards the sunrise we cannot be 
wrong, and we can inquire." 

As they walked towards the sunrise in great haste, 
for Th^r^ was fully aware that the nuns rose at five 
and she would most assuredly be missed, and the hunt 
would begin without doors at six, she burst into a merry 
lauffhu 

"What makes you so merry?" asked the boy. "I 
do not feel at all merry. Every step I take is taking 
me farther from Clotilde, and why do you walk so fast I 
I am not very good at walking." 



174 The Red Neighbour. 

Th^^ took another good look at him, smiling stilL 

"I am thinking what fun it will be when Sister 
Ang^lioue finds out I am really gone. She will look 
everywhere— in the cupboards, the pantries, even the 
water-butts, and she \nll talk, talk aU the time and 
say prayers as she runs ! So you are not very good at 
walking. Pray, Sir Giles, why ? " 

"I ride!" 

"So they teach you riding 1 I also can ride. It 
seems to me that we must get horses somewhere if we 
are to make progress. Why, you are a perfect snail, 
Giles. Hurry!" 

Giles trod along, the picture of dejection. He was full 
of Clotilda Not a bad-looking boy, Th6r^ noted. A 
(sap vdth a single plume ; reallv nice wavy, thick raven 
hair ; a broad brow, and honest blue eyes ; rather a short 
broad face, still roimd and boyish ; a lace collar at the 
neck; good shoulders; a curve to his back, which his 
coat of velvet with laced sleeves set off very well ; a silk 
waistcoat daintily embroidered; velvet breeches, again 
decked vdth lace'; stockings to match, and well -cut 
buckled shoes, set off a very shapelv pair of legs and 
small feet. She decided that he nad a gentleman's 
carriage, and the little straight rapier at his waist mjebde 
him quite a miniature cavaher. 

" How did you get to Meudon ? " she asked. 

"On my pony, of course!" he replied. "To be sure! 
Tou have made me forget everything. Wait here, 
Th^r^ ! I must go back. We shall not lose anything, 
for he has a good broad back and can carry us both." 

" How intensely stupid of you, Giles ! Kun as fast as 
you can. Fortunately we have not come very far." 

Giles was off in a moment and showed Th6r^ that he 
could really run very well: "towards Clotilde" she re- 
flected. "Decidedly I shall have enough of Clotilde 
before I have done with him. I must endeavour to 
cure him. I hope he won't be long." 

She took a little survey of hwself and her equipment. 
Her dress was plain and not heavy. She had a little 
cloak with a hood to it, good stout e^oes and a few little 



The Young Lady who was left. 175 

neceflsaries, and her money in a tiny valise. She oould 
alwajns buy what she needed, and after iJl it was not 
80 veiy far to Strassburg. A matter of ten dajns with 
a gooa horse. She had no horse> but some one would 
lend her one. There are are no difficulties at fourteen 
but those of one's own making. Delightful age, four* 
teen, for a well-grown healthy girl; who is the daughter 
of a marquis ! 

^He ndes like a cavalier!" was her exclamation as 
the pony made its appearance and she cast her critical 
eye upon it. 

To do him justice Giles pulled up, doffed his cm, 
dismounted in the perfect fashion of the mxm^e. He 
also looked less doleful 

" Now that is really delicious of you ! " she said. " You 
have done it as you might have done it for Clotilda 
Hold him a moment!'' 

She was in the saddle in an instant — astride. In 
another he was behind her, with one arm about her 
waist and the other hand holding the reina 

The morning^ air was oooL The sun was shining in 
real earnest. The birds had awakened. 

-'How good the world is!" said Th^r^. ''Quicker! 
Quicker!'^ 

It is generally the woman who wants to go quicker at 
the beginning of life. 

They went famously. Passers-by called out, ''Oh4! 
They are riding to school! those two!" Or "Are you 
looJung for apriest ? " It was nobody's busines& lliey 
rode on. When they came to a steep hill they dis- 
mounted. Giles showed Th^r^ that he knew the ways 
and needs of a horse perfectly, young as he was, and 
they had accomplished a great half of uie way to Means 
before it even struck them that they must have a story 
to telL But they soon made one up between them. 
Th6r^ lived in Paris, and this was her cousin who lived 
just beyond Meaux. He had been in to fetch her to a 
jite de famviUe. It was some one's birthday. Her mother 
and father were coming in a post-chaise. They would 
reach home quite early .in the afternoon. 



176 The Red Neighbour. 

They tried it at the inn where they stopped for 
dejeuner, ^e host and hostess believed it readily, 
especially as they evidently had money in their purses 
and were so weU dressed. 

Strange to say they even reached Meaux. But there 
they had to invent another story, and Qiles had some 
scruples about telling any more. Th6r^ had too, but 
being of a more practical turn she compounded with her 
favourite saint, by promising him a lew more candles 
and many, many prayers, quite a number, if only she 
could put a few more leases between herself and 
pursuit*^ 

But Qiles's ^ny and the early morning between them 
had quite deceived the pursuera They were still search- 
ing me country round and sending messages to the Hotel 
de Polignac in Paria The experience was quite new to 
the Mother Superior. Besides, how did she get out? 
'' Don't tell me, my daughters, that Th^r^ got through 
those bars. I know better ! " However, she was in gr^ 
distress about it all the same. She even forgot to give 
Clotilde her usual lecture on the sinfulness and futuity 
of writing love-letters, when her parents would find her 
a fit husband without them. Clotilde wished they 
would make haste, for she found the convent very 
tedious, and after all the Count de Boubaix was im- 
mensely interesting. 

At Meaux the runaways told the innkeeper's wife that 
they were going to a family festival, but omitted to say 
they came from Paris. Their father and mother were 
coming in an hour or two in a post-chaise, and she was 
riding with her brother for fun on the pony. The 
innkeeper's wife knew not what to make of it. But 
they were aristocrats. It was not her businesa 



Tintorin assists the Runaways. 177 
CHAPTEE XXIIL 

TINTORIN ASSISTS THE RUNAWAYSs 

"It's all very well," said the innkeeper's wife at 
Meaux to her spouse. "I don't believe a word of it." 

" My soul ! mv angel ! " said the innkeeper, " what does 
it sigmfy ? A Doy and a girl ride here on a single pony 
— mm the mooa Good ! They order dinner, and they 
have money to pjay. They try to get another pony vdth 
a side-saddle; it is more suitable, eh? Wdll They 
will pay the hire!" 

"Ah! Well! Have it your own way! Let them 
go!" 

But the innkeeper knew of old time the futility of 
having his own way. Madame's demonstrations were 
so lif dong. He patted her on her broad shoulders. 

"Tou DAve then a grand project in your head, my 
angel?" 

"Oh! As to that," said his wife, pretending not to 
see his looks of admiration, "it is as plain as can be. 
The girl runs away from schooL We keep her here 
until her friends search for her. We get our charges, 
it may be for a week, and a reward into the bargain. 
Which is the greater?" 

"a)lendid! And the boy ?" asked the host 

"Tiie boy ? Well ! We can pretend to keep him too, 
but he will have a separate room, and he will escape. 
Is it not so?" 

The innkeeper had conducted his guests to a room on 
the upper floor, and it was at the door of this that he 
next presented himself, his wife behind him, and a sturdy 
waiter behind her. 

Th6r^ and Qiles had made an excellent meal. They 
were proposing to go on till nightfall. They had no 
sense of latigue. 

"Tou will pardon us, mademoiselle and monsieur, but 
as you are so young, would it not be better to stay the 

M 



178 The Red Neighbour. 

night here ? Or till your friends come up with you ? " 
Thus the host 

-''Quite impossible I'' said Th^r^ wifch decisioa ^ We 
mustgo on at once. Thev are expecting us ! " 

" miere,.for example ? ' said the innkeeper. His wife 
nudged him and called him " stupid." 

" You have no right to question us I " Giles interrupted, 
springing up impetuously. ** Bring me the faill, if you 
{Mease!'' 

"We have every right 1" said the innkeeper's wife, 
brushing her husband aside. " We are parents ourselves, 
and we do not think it right for a young lady like you, 
mademoiselle, to be riding about the coun^ without 
protection." 

"I am infinitely obliged to you/' said Th^r^, with 
a very good imi^tion of the Marquise. '* My brother 
here is quite able to protect me as he has doo& so 
far." 

'' But what are your names ? And the names of the 
friends to whom you are going ? " 

"You will excuse us," said Th6r^, "if we consider 
that that is our affidr." 

'^ You are ver7 stupid people ! " said Giles. " We are 
here to dina We have cuned, and there is a pistole to 
pay the bilL Be good enough to have our pony saddled." 

"It is not enough!" said the innkeeper. "We shall 
have to give an account for you when your friends oome 
after you. We had better detain you. That is what 
we propose to do." 

Th^rese had visions of a post-chaise and two nuns 
arrivii^ in an hour or two. Dismay crept over her 
face. She looked at Giles. Giles — ^threw down another 
pistola 

" Come ! Is that enough ? Now find that other pony 
and let us be off ! " It was not a bad imitation of grown- 
up self-importance. But the innkeeper's wife knew she 
had struck the right naiL 

" It is not money we want ! It is a question of our 
duty to your parenta You must make up your minds 
to stay." 



Tintorin assists the Runaways. 179 

''It is enough!" said Giles. "Stick dose to me, 
Th&^l Now forward!" 

Drawing his small rapier, he ran towards the groap 
in the doorway, closely followed by Thi^r^se. So sudden 
was the onset that the serving-man fell headlong down 
the staira The innkeeper made himself as small as 
possibla The innkeeper's wife flun^ her apron over 
Th^r^'s head, and lirtin^ her up bodily threw open a 
door, put her in, locked we door, and dropped the ke^ 
into her apron-pocket. Giles, never doubtinjg of his 
victory, found himself at the bottom of the stairs before 
he looked roimd for lli^r&se. And when he did so, 
iKnnebody, darkening the inn doorway, wrenched his 
rapier very neatly m>m his grasp. 

" It was only in case you nurt somebody," said the 
stranger, a very tall lean man with a comical face and 
an e^raordinarily loud voice. 

Giles saw it was useless arguing with a man of this 
size. He was dressed besides m an outrageous costume, 
and behind him was a smaller thin man with tow- 
coloured hair and remarkably thin legs, dressed in a 
suit of bed-tick. 

"Don't mind Inm!" said the tall man. "It is only 
the Marquis de Paillasse!" 

Behind the Marquis de Paillasse was a string of the 
children of Meaux. 

In the distance Giles heard Th^r^ calling "Giles! 
Giles!" 

Giles was on the point of going up again when the 
innkeeper descended, staring at the tall man in the fool's 
garments as he did so. 

"I have nothing for you !" said the innkeeper, waving 
his hand. 

"I did not expect anything, brother! What I came 
to ask was permission to set up my stage in your stable- 
yard and give a performance." 

"Be gcwd enough to release my sister!" said Giles 
with his haughtiest air. 

"It is impossible, monsieur, Madame has assumed 
charge of her." 



i8o The Red Neighbour. 

"Then I shall go to the mayor!" 

The innkeeper shrugged his shoulders. '* As monsieur 
wishes!'' 

Then he turned to the other. 

"I will ask madame !" 

As Giles strode off with an air of swaggering import- 
ance which only just kept back tears, we Marquis de 
Paillasse followed, copying his walk and gestures with 
^reat exactnes& The children laughed, and Giles, turn- 
ing round, saw them and flamed furiously red. Once 
he had turned a comer he reflected. It was useless to 
go to the mayor. He would ask a string of questions ; 
Th^r^ would be sent back to the convent. It was 
clearly his duty to rescue her, and equally clear that it 
could not be done before nightfall, so he walked about 
the streets of Meaux a little while and then came back 
to reconnoitre the inn. Of course he could so back 
there, profess that he had been too hasty, and would 
wait the arrival of friends, plotting how to release 
Th^r^. But this he was too proud to do. It should 
be a gallant rescue. Instinctively he clapped his hand 
to his sword. There was only the sheath at his side. 
It was mortif png in the extreme. Presently he heard 
a drum beatmg, and this was apparently unusual in 
Meaux, for peope began to flock towards the inn. Giles 
fell in with them and sidled into the inn-yard, and so 
into the stable, where he found his ponv. No one being 
there, he clambered into a loft and had a good view cS 
the rough stage which was erected just below a window 
of the upper floor of the inn. 

To his extreme joy he espied Th^r^ peeping through 
the glass. If he could only catch her eye ! 

But for the present she was evidently caught by the 
antics of the taU lean man and of the so-called Marquis 
de Paillasse. They were acting a rough kind of farce 
in which most of the dialogue was bawled in an astound- 
ing voice by the tall lean man, and the merest obvious 
replies made bv his companion, who appeared to be little 
more than half-witted. The good folks of Meaux gaped 
and roared at everything. 




Tintorin assists the Runaways. i8r 

And Giles found himself laughing loudly too. He 
was irresistible^ was the long lean man in the fool's 
habit. 

Presently Giles pricked up his ears, for he thought he 
heard a familiar name spoken. 

" Who buys the poor man's wheat at starvation price, 
Marquis?" 

"Monsieur Bocal!" said the half-wit, in the voice of 
one who replies by rote. 

''Who mixes chalk with his flour for the king's 
army?" 

" Monsieur BocaL" 

The populace did not lau^h at thia They looked at one 
another and said imder then* breaths, '' That is true ! " 

"Who rules the good town of Meaux ?" 

"The mayor." 

The lone lean man chased the Marquis all round the 
stage, belabouring him with a bladder on a string. 

"Oh! oh! oh! Monsieur Bocal ! " 

" Quite right. What does he rule it with. Paillasse ? " 

The zany scratched his tow-coloured locks. 

"You don't know/ Paillasse? Poor fellow! you're 
half-witted." 

" With a bladder on a string ! " was the answer. 

The fcrowd laughed. 

"My noble fnend is quite right! Monsieur Bocal 
rules Meaux as I rule Paillasse, with a bladder on a 
string." 

The people became sileni 

"The bladder is called 'fear.' Behold! I prick the 
bladder thus." With which he drove a wooden dagger 
into it, and let the wind out. 

"Is it time yet. Paillasse ?" 

Paillasse produced a watch nearly a foot in diameter, 
and studied it attentively. 

" Not yet. We must collect a few more sous. In fact 
it wants about five minutea" 

"By the 'Samaritaine' on the Pont Neuf ?" 

" My watch keeps good time ! " said the zany proudly, 
and held it up. It had no hands. 



i82 The Red Neighbour. 

" Any one who wants to buy the latest ballad, come to 
me !'* wonted the long lean man. '' For two sous ! The 
very latest! The bsJlad of the Red Neighbour! For 
two sousl" 

There was a curious movement in the crowd. To some 
the play with the watch had no meaning but pantomima 
To others there came a look of stem determmation, and 
these flocked to Uie stage to buy the ballada To every 
one the long lean man managed to whisper two or three 
WQrds» and presently, the show being over, the towns- 
people dispersed. 

Giles had not lost his opportunity. With the boy's 
cleverness for movement he had slipped out of the stable, 
threaded the tiirong, and planted mmself just below ihe 
stage. Then he whispered low and clearly, "Tintorin! 
Tintorin of the Pont Ifeuf !" 

The fool came to the edge of the staging. ^ Tes, little 
master?" 

" You see the window behind you ? '* 

"I can't see it if it's behmd me !" 

'^ Qet my sister out and hide her." 

"Oh, ho! Is that it?" 

** The innkeeper has imprisoned her. She is daughter 
of the Marquis de Polignac." 

" Slip under the stage then." 

The boy did as he was bidden. In a moment the fool 
balanced himself on the drum and peered in at the 
window. A gesture of silence. The window opened and 
Th^r^ let herself fall into his arms, and jomckl Giles 
beneath the staging. Paillasse was sitting on the edge 
sucking his fingers, the picture of inanity. 

The long lean man pulled up a hooded cart from a 
comer of the yard, and proceeded with the help of 
Paillasse to pull down the staging, and in the course of 
this he first detached a strip of painted cloth, which 
formed his one and only background, let it fall below, 
threw it over Th6r^, and, picking her up as if the 
weight was nothing, placed it and her m the cart, 
whistling and calling Paillasse all the time. The boy 
seized his opportumty and got in too vdthout being 



Tintorin assists the Runaways. 183 

noticed, for all the servants, as well as the mnkeeper and 
his wife, were busy serving the people whom the play of 
the mountebanks nad ma(£ thirsty. 

They lay down in the bottom of the cart, while the 
two men loaded it with their few planks and poles, the 
drum, and other paraphernalia. 

The long lean man put his head in at the inn door and 
said, *'Many thanks, orother, for your hospitality. Till 
we meet again." 

AikI the cart passed slowly down the street to a very 
humble hostelry at the town-end, where the horse was 
taken out, and the cart left carelessly out beside the 
road. 

" Presently," said the fool, " the innkeeper will raise 
tiie cry after you and he will follow ua Stay whereyou 
are. I shall be within hearing and come out. When 
they have questioned me, do you, little master, steal back 
to the stable and get your pony. They will not be 
thinking of you, for they will be sure you are hidden 
away in the town. They will never look into the cart, 
since we leave it carelesshr before their eyes. lie still 
now, like good children. It will not be long." 

It was very long though, quite an hour, which is as 
TOod as two when you are lying prone in a cart on a very 
unn layer of straw, but they could talk in whispers and 
it was undeniably exciting. 

" You behaved very weU indeed, Giles ! " said the girl, 
who considered it her place and duty to approve or 
criticise the action of the prentice cavalier she had en* 
listed. '' I should have been dreadfully disappointed in 
you if you had not shown yourself brave." 

Even Clotilde could not have said more. But the ideal 
of the still more lengthy Clotilde lying on her face in a 
rather mouldy-smelBn^ cart was more than he could 
imagine. He contented himself by saying — 

"1 should have preferred to Jbiave done it all by 
myself!" 



184. The Red Neighbour. 

CHAPTER XXIV. 

ABOUT CLOTILDE'S LOVE-LETTERS. 

The nmaways, ihanks to the droll of the Pont Neuf , 
who had 80 great a dislike to Monsieur Bocal, escaped 
from Meaux in the early morning, and once more mounted 
their pony, the j>oorer by two pistoles. Tintorin made 
no efl&rt to detiun them. He pointed out the way by 
¥ert6 sous Jouarre and Montmirail. He was going the 
same way, at a more leisurely pace, for his cart with its 
load of planks and other belonging had but one horse, 
an animal as lean as its master. He evidently had other 
business than looking after two children. At leaving 
he took Giles aside and presented him with his sword 
and an admonition. 

'* A sword, young master, is a good thing in a battle, 
an indifferent toy in a fencing-school, and wellnigh 
useless to a man anywhere else, for a good cudgel is lees 
likely to snap. To a boy it is nothing but an ornament, 
however well he can use it. Therefore draw it not, 
unless a woman's honour is at stake, and then do not 
hesitate, use it to kill, and complain not if you be killed 
also. Tou will live among the saints." 

More secure from pursuit, they travelled at a more 
leisured pace through Fert^ sous Jouarre and on to 
Montmirail. Perhaps the pony had something to sa^ 
in the matter, as he had all the work to do. Despite his 
broad back and stout legs the burden was irksome, 
and thirteen leagues no mean day's work. Certain it 
is that it was in the late afternoon that they entered 
MontmiraiL 

Grown wiser by experience, Giles went first and stabled 
his horse at the first inn that possessed a stable. Then, 
having waited for Th^rtee, they both climbed up the 
main street to the '* Green Gallant," and in a matter-of- 
fact way ordered loddngs for the night. Th^rtee was 
careful to choose bedchambers with windows to the front 



About Clotilde's Love-letters. 185 

of the house and on the upper floor (she felt that she 
was getting accustomed to escape by the window). She 
aiao saw that Giles was within eas^ calL As a result 
nothing happened. But the evenmg being fine and 
supper over, the boy and girl wandered out along the 
meadows by the Little Morin and began to exchange 
those candid confidences of youth, like to which there 
is nothing in after life. 

**I have neither father nor mother," Giles was saying. 
"They died before I was old enough to remember. The 
Chevalier de Beaupr^, who has no children, adopted me. 
Why, I cannot tell ! It was not out of charity, because 
he has told me often that when I become a man there 
is a fine estate waiting for me, and more money than I 
shall need." 

" Are they good to you, the De Beaupr^ ? " 

''They are both the very soul of goodness. I get 
Savoy cake with almonds, or f euillantines of f ranchipane, 
almost every day." He sighed. 

** You do not seem very happy, nevertheless. Is it on 
account of Clotilde ? " 

Giles blushed. "Just then, would you believe it, I 
was not thinking of Clotilde." 

Th6r^ was secretly glad. She was as jealous of 
Clotilde as if she had been twenty. 

" Of what then are you thinking that makes you sad ? " 

"That I do not Imow who my parents were, what 
arms they bore, who their parents were, and what battles 
my father or my grandfather fought in. Of course they 
must have belonged to a less noble or less ancient family 
than the De Beaupr^, or why should I not have my own 
coat-of-arms instead of theirs ? " 

" They will tell you some djy/' said Th^r^se. " Grown- 
up people are very stupid. Ihey are always telling one 
— ^^ Wait till you are a woman,' or ' You will know letter 
some day.' iBut I should not be sad if I were you. If 
the De JBeaupr^s have adopted you and made you their 
son, what matters? You can do as noble things as 
Giles De Beaupr^ as if you were plain Giles Bocal, for 
instance." 



i86 The Red Neighbour. 

'*Why do you recall his name, Th^rfese? Do you 
know mm?" 

^ I have seen him and heard my father speak of him.'* 

^It is very singular that to-day that oroll Tintorin 
6i the Pont Neuf who came to Meaux . . " 

''How did you know his name?" 

''That shows you know very little of Paris!" said 
Giles with a superior air. " Tou can see him any day 
on the Pont Neiu, selling baUads Mid acting on his little 
stage, and hear him ba'v^in^ with that loud voice of hia 
Every one knows Tintorin. 

"What brought him to Meaux?" 

"I do not know. Perha^ he wanted a summer 
holiday : ihe river smells bad m summer ! But after his 
play yesterday he was making ugly jests about Monmeur 
Bocal, and some of the people seemed to be glad and to 
understand something." 

"But what does it matter ?" 

"It matters that Monsieur Bocal, though evenr one 
knows he is a great a^my contractor and very mil, has 
risen from the people by his own merits, and he is a 
great friend of the Chevalier de Beaupr^ Every now 
and again he comes, and when he sees me he says — ' Eh, 
Giles — ^Monsieur Giles, — ^how goes the riding-school, or 
the salle d'armes ? ' And when I show him what I can 
do, he looks pleased as possible, and claps me on the 
shoulder crying — 'Famous! The Chevaher will make 
a gentleman of you, I can see ! ' He will often give me 
a present too." 

" But how can the Chevalier make you, what you are 
9iieeAy, a gentleman ? " asked Th6r^. " He is not very 
well-bred tiiis Monsieur BocaL" 

" No ! That is evident in many things. But he has 
a good heart, or why should he be interested in my 
doii^?" 

" That is true," said Th^r^ ; " and it was very wicked 
of Tintorin to pretend otherwise. But if you really 
wish it I will ask papa to find out who your parents 
were. He knows everything." 

"No, no, dear Th^rese! That would not be perfect 



About Clotilde's Love-letters. 187 

courtesy towards the Chevalier. It must come from 
him or no one. I have told you how I feel, but there 
is no one else who could sympathise with me ..." 

'' Except, of course, Clotilde ? " 

''Ah! Clotilde! I think she would if I could have 
her an to myself as I have you !" 

" It is a pity you did not bring her with you as well ! " 
said Th6r^ mcJiciously. 

But the boy did not see the malice. 

" Yes ! But then why should I have come with you ? 
We could not all three have sat on the pony ! " 

Th6r^ laughed at his matter-of-fact reply. 

" Tell me how you came to know Clotilae ! " 

'' It was curioua I was riding along the Bue de la 
Coustellerie, where the houses are very high, four, five, 
six storeys, when a i>acket came flymg out of a top 
window and fell just in front of my horse's nose. He 
started and nearly threw me. But I checked him and 
dismounted. It was a little packet of love-letters, all 
signed Clotilde, nothing more, and as they came to me 
in this singular way I picked them to and took them 
home and read them in my chamber. They were beauti- 
ful letters, full of grace and sweetness, pouring out her 
heart. There was no name to show to whom tiaey were 
addressed. And for a little while I tried to fancy— I 
succeeded in making myself believe— -that they were 
meant for me. They were just such letters as the 
romances would lead us to think some of the great ladies 
of old wrote to their lovers. I learned them almost by 
heart. Then I thought that they could not be meant 
for me, as no one like that woula live in a top floor of 
the Bue de la Coustellerie. * They had been stolen. I 
listened for talk of any Clotilde amon^ my acquaint- 
ance, till one day the Chevalier mentioned that some 
young lady was to be sent to Meudon because of a love 
affair that was not desirable to continue. I asked who 
she was — and the Chevalier, without tiiinking, said, 
'Who? Mademoiselle Qotildel' I blushed furiously. 

" ' Do you know her ? ' asked the Chevalier. 

"'Not in the least! ClotQde what?' 



i88 The Red Neighbour. 

"'Clotilde de Lys f Then what made you blush ?' 

''I said I was angry that they should put a young 
lady in a convent for a love aflradr. 

''They all laughed at me, and called me Clotilde's 
lover for quite a day or two to tease me. But it really 
pleased me, and I determined to find Clotilde and give 
her back her letters." 

" It is like a romance ! " said Th6rfese breathlessly. 

" I could not sleep for thinking of it. First of all I 
thought of TOing boldly to her parents' house and 
saying, 'Madame de Beaupr^'s compliments, and she 
sends a messa^ for Mademoiselle Clotilde. May I see 
her ? ' Then 1 thought her mother might intercept me 
and say — ^'What is it?' I thought and thought. I 
watched the house, and one day I saw her come out, 
more beautiful than I had ever dreamed. But she was 
well guarded by an old nurse and a stem-looking valet. 
They went to walk in the Tuileries gardens, and I 
followed them to the main avenue, where, however, the 
people pressed about her to see her, because she was so 
beautiful; so much so that my blood boiled at their 
rudeness. At last she went down a side-walk, and sat 
down near a fountain. I crept beneath the shrubs that 
formed the background to the seat. The valet and 
nurse were walking to and fro, and sitting always a 
little wa^ off 

" I whispered, — ' Clotilde ! Do not look round ! ' She 
had a little book upon her lap. 'Pretend to go on 
reading.' 

"'Who are you?' 

"' Giles deBeauprd' 

"'Yes ! My parents know the Chevalier de Beaupr^ 
Why do you not come out and salute me ?' 

"'Is it safe for you?' 

"'Safe enough! Thev are sending me to a convent 
next week in any case. 

"'I have something for you. I can drop it at your 
feet behind you. It is a packet of letters.' 

"'Oh, monsieur! My letters?' 

"'Yes!' 



About Clotilde's Love-letters. 189 

''She picked tiiem up quietly and placed them in a 
safe hiding. 

'''Have you read them, monsieur ? ' 

"'I have/ I stammered; 'they came to me from 
heaven, and I have read them tiU I love you.' 

" ' You are a boy, or at least very voung. I know by 
your voice. If you were not, I should scold you. You 
should have known thev were not for you ! * 

" ' I tried to believe they were ! Then I vowed to find 
you!' 

"'It was a mirade, monsieur. I was very unhappy 
about them; now I can bum them.' 

"'Bum them!' I cried. 'Such beautiful outpourings 
of love ! What a cruel fate for them ! ' 

" ' They cannot feel — ^those letters ! It is I who can 
feel, and you also it seema' 

"'l!' I said; 'I would do anything for you.' 

"'You are very courageous and noble, and full of 
chivalry,' she said. ' But come out and salute me.' 

"It was very easy talking to her from the bush. I 
had never felt like that before, you understand." 

"To be quite candid, dear Ques," said.Th^r^, "I 
do not in the least know how you felt, especially about 
dotilde, who is very ordinary, but doubtless it will come 
to me too when I am a woman. But do go on, don't 
you see how interested I am?" 

" But I knew that if I came out I should not be able 
to say a word properly to her face." 

"And only Clotilde! How droll you are! Why, I 
woiQd say anything to her that came into my mind ! " 

" It is all very well for you to say ' onlv Clotilde.' I 
felt as if my knees must give way, I tell you. But I 
thought, 'If she does not see me, 1 can never make her 
love me.' So I went back and brushed the dust off 
my clothes, and walked slowly round, and then, pre- 
tendii]^ to have come upon her suddenly, I bowed, and 
she said quite loudly — 

" ' Oh ! Monsieur de Beaupr4— how do you do ? ' And 
then she said, making me stand just in front of her, 
' You have done me a great service, Oiles. When you 



190 The Red Neighbour. 

srow np von shall be my tnie knight!' And then 
her eyes mled with tears, and she gave me her hand 
to kisa I felt much more oourageous then, and said, 
*That will be in three years! It is a long time, but 
I can alreadv ride the great horse and fence ve^ welL 
Do yon think yon can fove me all that time ? ' Caotilde 
smiled nod saio, * I shall never, never forget yon, or what 
you have done for me, and when I need a chanmion I 
shall send yon a message, and you will come, les ! I 
look into your eyes and they are true and faithfuL' " 

'"Tea!" said Th6r^, ''she is full of that kind of 
talk : she is vei^ romantic is Clotilde." 

''She is divmely beautiful !"* said the boy with 
enthusiasm, "and after that I could not help thinking 
of her, and when sbe had gone to Meudon I could not 
rest tiU I wrote to her." 

"And did you find out to whom she wrote those 
letters?" 

"Tes! She did not tell me, but I am quite sure, 
because I asked the Chevalier de Beaupr^, and he told 
me it was the Comte de Boubaix." 

"The Comte de Boubaix! I know him quite well," 
said Th^r^ "He is a great fop, very himdsome all 
the same, and he pays many compliments to mamma." 

"Do not let us speak of hmi !" said the boy. "When 
I am old enough 1 shall certainly challenge him to a 
duel!" 

" Clotilde has great reason to be proud of you ! " said 
Th^r^, looki^ at him and speaking in her direct 
frank way. "But she is too old for you, you know, 
Giles." 



The Mother Superior pursues. 191 

CHAPTER XXV. 

THB MOTHEB SUPERIOR PURSUEa 

The host of the ''Vert Oalant" of Montmirail had 
procured a pony and side-saddle, and a long cloak of 
his wife's, which answered the purpose of a habit, so 
ihai Mademoiselle Th^r^ presented quite a dignified 
figure as she started with her cavalier in the fresh 
morning. They were to send the pony back from 
Ch&lons in diarge of the driver of an empty post- 
chaise, which they would find at the ''BelL" 

It was true, much of her golden hair was hidden b^ 
her hood, but it was so abundant that little rills of it 
escaped <m either side of her temples, and a great mass 
of it crowned her forehead, from which the hood fell 
back. She was desirous of showing Oiles that she too 
could sit a horse in her own fashion, as he in hia 
Being besides much given to teasing, she played him, 
who was of a more se(mte disposition, as became a youth 
who had already experienced!^ his first love affair, many 
a prank, setting her pony to a gallop when Qiles was 
sunk in a reverie, and other provocations. The new 
freedom had got into her blood, and having no serious 
sulnect of contemplation such as his, she gave the rein 
to her madcap mood. 

Qiles was now and again spurred into some emulation, 
but mostly he adjujred her to save her beast all she 
could, seemg iliat they had a matter of sixteen or 
seventeen leagues to travel 

Nor did they escape the delays incident to a much- 
travelled road, though no one offered them any rude- 
nesa When they were thirsty they dismounted and 
plucked the ripening grapes in the vineyards that 
spread about them on both sidea When they were 
hungry they sot a slice oiE rye bread at a cottaga So 
they reached Vertus^ which is a little more thim half- 
way. There they had dinner in a little orchard behind 




192 The Red Neighbour. 

the inn, and they had but just mounted again when a 
poBt-chaise drew up. 

A man alighted and ran in, Th^r^ gave a careless 
at the carriage, but in a flash ner e;roression 
d to one of dismay. Qiles saw it, leaned to his 
le, and without a word they urged their ponies to 
a gallop, which astonished those mettlesome animals 
very much after their forenoon journey. 

The first comer they turned, Mid it was a lon^ half- 
mile before they were out of sight of Yertus, &4r^ 
gasped out — 

'vlt was certainly Sister Ang^lique and the Mother 
Superior. What a narrow escape ! " 

" We are not yet out of reach," said Giles. ** We must 
not ride like this or our ponies will give up. They have 
a chaise and four people to carry. &ey have two horses 
— ^who are perhaps tired also ; whereas our ponies have 
had a good rest Let us then keep up a steady trot and 
have something in hand when the pursuit waxes hotw" 

Th^r^'s m£Mlcap mood had evaporated with that one 
glance that had revealed the nuns. 

"If they had seen me and ordered me to get down, I 
must have done so," she said. "I could not disobey 
them." 

Qiles laughed. ''It seems to me there is no great 
difference between disobejong them and running 
away." 

But Qiles did not understand the subtleties of a girFs 
conscience. 

'' I am not supposed to know that they are pursuing 
us," she said. "I ran away, which was wrong, but I 
ran away from a good motive, to go to my parents. 
But if they caught me and ordered me to go back that 
would be direct disobedience." 

"It seems to me we might as well go back at once," 
said Giles. 

" No ! no ! " said Th^rtee. " Let them follow. If I am 
to be caught I am to be caught, and that is pure fate. 
I can't help it. But I have no intention of being 
caught" 



The Mother Superior pursues. 193 

So off they went again, making the dust fly and their 
ponies' sides run with the perspiration. 

It was useless trying to listen for the pursuers. There 
were other horses and carriages and waggons on the 
road 

'' If we can only reach the top of that hill/' said Qiles, 
"we can see bemnd us a long way." So they urged 
their steeds up a long, white, dusty hill and looked 
back. 

Their worst fears were realised. A post-chaise was 
certainly following at a good pace. It had one brown 
and one ^ey horse, and it might be a mile behind them. 
It was difficult to say in that bright dancing air. 

Th^r^se looked to Giles for guidance. Giles answered 
her expectant glance& 

" We must get off and lead our ponies in among the 
vines till we find a hollow where we cannot be seen 
from the road, and wait till we can discover another 
road, or they go back." 

No sooner said than done. They were off in a 
moment. Th^r^'s long cloak being now an impedi- 
ment, she unpinned it and threw it across her saadle. 
Then they crunched up the sloping hillside over the 
stony soil of the vineyards, becoming more and more 
conspicuous every jrard they took, ifever was a vine- 
yard so sadly deficient in hollows. 

" Never mind," said Qilea " We must reach the ridge." 
And they did, but not before a man, who was the sole 
traveller, and for better observation sat on the box of 
the carriage beside the driver, noticed the figures of 
the ponies and their riders standing out in bold relief 
against the sky. 

He jumped down, bade the driver go on very slowly 
and halt a little way farther on till he signalled, ana 
then pi;oceeded to ascend the vineyard, crouching as he 
went and by a devious route. But at length he peered 
over the ridge and saw below him the quarry he was 
stalking. 

He muttered an oath of satisfaction. Creeping still 
nearer, his intention was to spring upon them and, having 

N 



194 The Red Neighbour. 

rendered the boy incapable of attack, to carry off Th^r^ 
the best way he coula 

The boys ears were quick, however, and he faced 
round upon the pursuer, saying, "Fly, Th^rtee. Take 
your pony I I will stop this ruffian ! " But leave Giles 
to his fate she could not. 

Giles rushed at the man with his riding-whip, but the 
man with his bullet head down bore him to the ground 
with one shrewd blow of his brawny fist on the shoulder. 
Then drawing a piece of rope from his pocket he pro- 
ceeded to truss him up with the whip under his arms, 
and tie his feet together, not heeding the blows 
which Th^r^e showeml upon his face with her little 
fists. 

*'That will do for you!" he said, getting up and 
looking at the writhing and impotent lad. " Ana now, 
mademoiselle! The Mother Superior waits for you 
down below in the road! Please come with me." 

Th^r^se drew herself up stiffly. 

"No! I shall not! Kelease my friend Giles and I 
will come quietly." 

"If the young gentleman gives me his word not to 
interfere again." 

"Not I,' said Giles stoutly, trying all the while to 
get his legs free. 

" Then you will have to carry me ! " she said. 

For answer the man caught her by the wrists, drew 
them together and tied them also wiUi a handkerchief. 
Then he led her to her pony. She was too little accus- 
tomed to personal indignity to make resistance, and he 
lifted her to the saddle and turned the pony's head 
towards the ridge, and by a slow stumbling journey 
rea^ched the road, where he whistled for the carriage. 

When it arrived and she found no Mother Superior 
she was stupefied with anger. She had reckoned on 
that lady sending the man back to release Gilea 

But tears, anger, protestations were nought. The 
man bundled her in, got in himself, and bade the driver 
drive on to ChdJons as fast as he could. 

Th^r^ stormed and wept and implored, but this 



The Mother Superior pursues. 195 

sullen abductor made no answer, and she oroncked in 
her comer of the carriage meditating impossible schemes 
of escape. She could give no guess m the reason of 
the tresrfmentw When mb threatened him with all the 
punishments whidii her &ther, the Marauis de Polignao, 
would inflict, he grinned but said noUiing* Then she 
gave herself up to wondering what Giles would dQ» and 
to vain regrets that she had brought him into this pass 
of trouUa Incidentally she blamed Clotilde de 1^ 
also, whose fatal beauiy, invisible to Th^r^'s eyes, but 
apparently blinding to Giles, had led him at so in- 
opportune a moment to the convent of Meudon. 

Giles was not lying on a bed of roses, nor is a vine* 
yard, full of poetical associations as it is, the most 
comfortable of places to repose in when a hot sun has 
been pouring its ravs upon the arid earth for a long 
summer's day. Giles tnought of his sword, and by 
wri^lin^ managed to persuade it from its sheath. 
Having done this he got it in his two hands, and using 
it in a most uncomf oitftble way behind his back, sawed 
his way through the thin rope that bound his feet To 
release his arms was a much more difficult task, but even 
this, with the aid of his feet, was accomplished. Giles 
was persevering, but he was very hot and dusty before, 
after an almost infinite series of strufi^les, he broke the 
bonds and stood once more free. He was glad that 
Clotilde had not seen him in the bitter hour of dis- 
comfiture, and having restored his appearance to some- 
thing more resembling order, he caught his pony and 
walked it down to the road 

It must have been nearly two hours after his loss 
of Th^r^se, and the plain course was to go back. His 
journey eastward was ended The nuns, he said to 
himself, were by this time on their way to Montmirail 
and piursuit was useless, as Th6r^ would be overcome 
by the severe lectures she had doubtless already ex- 
perienced and decline to make another attempt 

But still anxious to verify the truth, bitter though 
it was, he asked at least half a dozen waggoners whetlunr 
a carriage drawn by a brown and a grey horse, and 



196 The Red Neighbour. 

occupied by two nuns and a young girl, had passed them 
on me road to Montmirail. 

One and all answered "No!'' and finally, to make 
assurance sure, he hailed the driver of a post>chaise and 
was beginning to ask him whether he had seen the 
brown and the grey horses, when the red face of a stout 
nun protruded from the window to inquire the reason 
of the halt, and Giles recognised the very two nuns he 
supposed to be travelling in the opposite direction, and 
there was no Th&fese. 

The Mother Superior, in response to his polite salute, 
began to ask him in his turn whether he had seen a 
post-chaise drawn by a brown and a grey horse with a 
man and a youn^ girl in it, whom she described minutely. 
She evidently did not recognise Giles. 

Giles was confounded. The man had then deceived 
both the nuns and himself, and carried off Th6r^ in 
the direction of Ch&lon& He therefore had to choose 
between taking the nuns into his confidence or simply 
answering the question. He resolved to do the latter. 

To his short reply they tendered their thanks, and 
much agitated they bade the driver hasten onwards to 
Ch&lona 

They were soon out of sight, and Giles once more 
turned his pony's head in the direction of the mysterious 
haven, or whatever it should prove, whither Th&tee had 
been taken. 

The sense of an imperious duty was upon Gilea He 
would reach Ch&lons come what might and find Th^r^se. 
It was a long ride yet, but he hoped to achieve it by 
nightfall, though his own bruises and soreness craved 
for repose. 

He entered Chdlons then dropping with fatigue, and 
sought the shelter of the '' Fox inn as the beUs of St 
Alpm proclaimed nine o'clock and the last hour of 
twilight Feeling incapable of more continued effort, he 
made a hasty m^, and going to his room dropped off 
to sleep, clothed as he was, a deep which lasted tm well 
past daybreak. He awoke with a great self-reproach 
assailing him, and having shaken out the dust from his 



A Tower in Chdlons. 197 

dothes, washed and dressed himself, he crept downstairs, 
to be greeted by the early-rising ostlers who were 
already making a rough breakfast in the kitchen. 
Eager to learn what he could, he asked question after 
question about the post-chaise, but they could tell him 
nothing. For a small pourboire one of them volunteered 
to go with him to all the other inns and make inquiries 
for him. This, as bein^ some satisfaction to his restless- 
ness, he assented to, and they set out. 

At the fifth or sixth inn they learned that the post- 
chaise and horses were there : that the man, whom they 
recognised as one of Monsieur Bocal's a^nts, had arrived 
alone and had gone they knew not whither. Giles was 
again at fault, sent the ostler back, and perambulated 
the dty from end to end north and east and south and 
west Giles was finding his pilgrimage a heavy one. 

It was fated that before his searw went nirther he 
should chance upon that debonair nobleman the Comte 
de Boubaix. 



CHAPTER XXVL 

A TOWER IN CHiLONa 

The Count de Boubaix and Monsieur Giles^e Beaupr6 
were mutually unacquainted. Giles knew the Count 
only by hearsav, and that of the slightest, save in the 
matter of Clotude de Lys, and that roused the boy's hot 
jealousy. What he saw was a handsome oflGicer, whom, 
on the strength of the uniform of his Majesty, which he 
longed to don, he invested with all the heroic and most 
of the modem virtues. And the oflScer was out early. 
Was it possible that he might have seen something of 
the lost iamb? Giles was youthful and naturally con- 
fiding. The Count looked good-tempered, and he looked 




198 The Red Neighbour. 

at Oiles, for something in Giles' features brought to his 
memory some other's — whose ? 

"You are out early, young sir? And you look very 
distressed? Can I oner you any assistance?" The 
Count had not yet found Kuhn, and did not like to leave 
Chfllons. This was the second day after the departure 
of the Marquise Marie Gabrielle in the coach of that 
coarse-grained person, whom the Count nicknamed 
"Forage." He himself was dying to follow, equally 
dying to see Kuhn, and equally quite ready for any 
adventure that would pass the time. 

Giles returned his formal military salute with 
precision. "You are very obliging, sir. I am looh 
for a rascal who is, I hear, a servant of Monsieur 
the great army contractor. He has carried off 
daughter of the Marquis de Polimac . . ." 

"You don't mean Mademoiselle Th^rtee ? " 

" How fortunate ! " Giles exclaimed. " You know her ? " 

"Of course! And the Marquis and the Marquise! 
Come, my friend, what is it you tell me ? Some rascal 
of Bocal's has carried her off ? " 

"Yes! By force! He knocked me down first, and 
bound me. I managed to escape. He had two hours 
start and fresher horses. He is somewhere in Ch&lons, 
and has hidden her." 

" A hostage ! " he muttered. 

" I beg your pardon ? " said Giles. 

" You are quite a cavalier ! You were perhaps con- 
ducting the young lady and the young lady s governess ; 
. . . stey, I thought she was at Meudon ? " 

Giles blushed and stammered. He was not prepared 
to take the stranger, though he was so friendly, entirely 
into his confidence. 

" Excuse me • . ." 

" You misunderstand me. I was not seeking to pry 
into the circumstances. You were knight-errant, shall 
I say?" 

"She was journeying to her father, who is with 
Marshal Turenne. ThS man attacked us on the road 
and carried her off" 



A Tower in Chilons, 199 

" Did he know who she was ? " 

"Unfortunately, yes. He must have done it in the 
hope of a reward ! " 

"Quite so! An excellent idea. And you are trying 
to find her in ChfiJons ! That should not be difficult, if 
we join forces. Suppose we begin by having a cup of 
chocolate." 

They went into the nearest inn and discussed the 
situation. Giles was charmed at once with the Count's 
bonhomie and his quick mind. 

"Think my friend, a moment! He arrived before 
dusk and put up his post-chaise. He arrived alone. 
Why?" He answered his own question — 

" J3ecause he could not have carried her into any 
respectable inn without some one hearing her cries and 
askmg a thousand questions 1 " 

"Then he must have left her on the outskirts of 
the town somewhere!" 

" Admirable ! You ffuess my thought at once." 

" But the driver ! There is the driver ! " 

"Ah! I had forgotten the driver." This was the 
very politeness of duplicity. " He must have sent him 
somewhere on an errand. Depend upon it the driver 
was either too drunk to notice, in which case he is 
still asleep on the straw somewhere, or our friend 
managed to give the thing an air of correctness, put 
her in charge of some old woman of respectable appear- 
ance, but cdways on the outskirts of the town, where 
there are not too many neighbours." 

"Could you not order out a troop of soldiers to 
make a search?" 

The Count smiled. "That would create too much 
commotion. It is not desirable. No! We must do 
it ourselves, and as quickly as possible. Come! We 
can think as we go along." 

" The driver," thought the Count, " has been sent on 
to inform old Forage. In the meantime he knows 
nothing of it. Suppose that I take the young lady 
into my charge, while he supposes she is immured at 
Chdlons^ I shall hold a card or two to play against 



200 The Red Neighbour. 

his. I wanted a strong card. And who in Heaven's 
name is this boy who has started so early in his life 
as a squire of dames?" 

They had nearly reached the gate of the town that 
opens upon the road to the west when the Count 
stopped. 

"It seems to me you had better give me a close 
description of this fellow, and leave me to hunt for 
him. As he does not know me, I am not so likely 
to scare him away. I can follow him or get him 
followed. Do you stay in this quarter of the town 
and examine all the houses as closely as you can! 
Make no inquiries about Th^r^se, but ask a few 
honest people if they happened to see a post-chaise 
stop hereabout last night. Then we will meet tor 
dinner at the "Cloche d'or" by the Cathedral at one 
o'clock and pour our winnings out." 

Giles agreed to the proposal. His chance of finding 
Th6rfese appeared to oq doubled. He gave tiie Count 
a very full description of the ruflian, who had taken 
so much trouble to pinion him, and, having wished 
the other success, each started on his appointed task. 
The Count began by finding his valet and despatch* 
ing him to one quarter of the town while he explored 
another. 

Giles passed between the Hotel Dieu and the 
Cathedral out at the gate of the town, and began to 
pick his way through the sparse and not very odorous 
faubourg that had grown up along the banks of 
and beyond the Mame. Streets of irregular design 
straggled out left and right whither they would, — 
some merely blind alleys, others eventu«Jly finding 
an outlet into the highroad again. Along the highroad 
which Giles first explored to the very last house, a 
small inn of seemingly two rooms, standing up narrow 
and stark as if it had intended to go farther out 
and been arrested by the town wateh, the houses 
were for the most part small cottages of recent date, 
open to the passer-by, and containing no space which 



A Tower in Chdlons. 201 

one could not measure with the eye. But amidst the 
congeries of buildings which formed the side streets 
were groups of much older buildings, dark and grimed, 
discoloured with damp, overgrown in places, where 
the stone or mortar had been wasted, with tufts of 
vegetation, their seemingly limitless roofs sloping 
steeply to the sky, three semi-storeys of roof above 
three storeys of stone walls. At their knees crouched 
the little roofs of smaller buildings of a different age. 
Here and there a tower stood up, finished with a 
short pointed cap, buttressing something which had 
been castle or church or monastery, and abandoned 
by its former owners and its ancient dignity, to 
become a heterogeneous caravanserai for very dubious 
tenanta Giles' heart sank when he looked up at 
these, and scrutinised with his boyish and, it is to 
be confessed, fastidious eyes the ill-kept windows, out 
of which hung old rags to dry, or m>wsy unkempt 
women and foul -featured men in the very idleness 
of the undassed poor, who exist, as the very rats, on 
the garbage they can pick up, or on the better fare they 
can, if more industrious, pilfer. 

If Th^r^ were in one of these? Giles shuddered. 
If Th6r6se were in one of these she must be got out, 
and that soon. 

A pail of dirty water, emptied carelessly from an 
upper window, without as much as a "Gare Teau," 
and splashing him as it fell, admonished him not to 
loiter, but to move quickly as if on business, for his 
attire in such a quarter drew a hundred covetous 
eyes, which measured the chances of stripping him 
in an obscure comer of one of the passages hereabout, 
in which reigned a perpetual twilight. 

It was long before he made his first inquiry, because 
it was difficiHt to find any one who looked sufficiently 
honest; but at last he stopped at the open shop of a 
cobbler, and addressed him very politely with a question 
or two. The cobbler stared, but answered frankly 
enough that no carriage had passed his door. The 



202 The Red Neighbour. 

cobbler had a boy, however, and, drawing Giles within 
his shop, sent him out to pick up the traces of the 
post-chaise. 

"It is a bad quarter, but one must live where one 
can make one's bread," said the cobbler. "It is not 
safe for honest folk after sxmset." Giles said little, 
full of his new prudence and of his natural shyness, 
but still contrivea to pass the time in affable converse 
with the cobbler, chiefly on the subject broached by 
the latter, to wit, the cost of boots in Paris. 

In half an hour the cobbler's boy returned, after 
an exhaustive study of the subject with his fellow- 
wits of the quarter. 

A post-chaise had drawn up at the Tower of St Martin 
in the Rue des deux licomes, and almost immediately 
had driven off. No one had seen who alighted or 
mounted. The boy would show him the place. 

It was two streets off. The street led out of the high- 
road, and after executing an irregular bow, found its 
other end near the bridge which led across the Mame to 
the gate of the town. The tower of St Martin was 
square and massive, capped by a little turret. There 
were three storeys, in each of which was a pointed 
arched window before one reached a turret. The 
windows themselves were rough casements, wanting 
most of their glass, and presenting a patchwork of rags 
and papers. Uninviting women, as ragged as the 
windows, peered out, holding their tattered bodices to 
their yellow necks. The doorway below, once finely 
carved, was worn and begrimed, and apparently led into 
a squalid dwelling throurfi which the denizens of the 
upper floors had to pass. Reside the tower stood a build- 
ing of ecclesiastical appearance, used as a store for hay, 
and crammed to the door. The whole had once been a 
church. 

So much Giles took in as he passed by on the other 
side, and having given his guide a whole Hvre, which set 
him off with one hand in his pocket and a face full of 
the most profound wonderment, he went on a few more 
yards, hesitating what course to pursue. 



A Tower in ChMons. 203 

The obvious plan was to return with all speed to the 
"Cloche d'or" and confer with the Count. It wanted, how- 
ever, still half an hour of the time, and Giles, willing to 
take in all the features of the place, kept approaching it 
first from one direction and then the opposite, trying to 
look unconcerned in this spot to which no one came 
without concern, and scanning it from the point of its 
cap to its maltreated archway. 

In the turret was a single window, a deep slit in the 
thick walL If glass there was, it was invisilue. An iron 
bar divided it, though for what purpose it was hard to 
guess. 

The sun caught the turret and, as Giles gazed, a splash 
of gold seemed to issue for a moment from the slit, cleft 
into two rays. It disappeared. Giles watched, riveted 
to the spot Was it a celestial sign to him? It was 
repeated. He felt assured it was. He crossed himself, 
and said an Ave Maria. His eyes gained a clearer vision. 
It was surely a girl's long hair that hung for a moment 
or two from the window. The tresses were withdrawn. 
Two little hands peeped forth. Without waiting to 
question whether they belonged to Th^rfese or for the 
assistance of the Count, he sprang across the road, entered 
without a " By your leave, to the astonishment of the 
inmates, who were seated round an upturned tub eating 
a not unsavoury stew out of a pipkin, which served as 
the common dipping pot for their fingers, and made for 
the stair that, steep as a ladder, led to the floor above. 

There he came to a door at which he knocked im- 
patiently, and almost overthrew the old man who opened 
it. Making unerringly for the stair that again met his 
eyes, he reached the second floor. Again a door barred 
the way. The old man was deaf and doited, and the 
impetuous Giles easily passed him and, upward yet, found 
at the third storey another door. It was opened by two 
girls, one little older than Giles, the other a bold-faced 
hussy of twenty-five, and a coarse-grained dirty woman 
with broad shoulders, who might have been any age 
from forty to sixty, dark-visageS, with heavy eyebrows, 
and dark hair upon her upper lip. 



204 The l^led Neighbour. 

** God - a - mercy, young sir!" said the older woman 
when she had recovered her astoniidmient. "You have 
come to seek out Minette ? She was making signs to you 
from the window half an hour since. ' Tlmt is a proper 
lad,'she said, 'didn't you, Minette?'" The girl looked as * 
confused as Giles, and Giles knew qpt what to make of 
this reception. *^\; 

''Is there not a stair here leading to the turret above?" '^ 
he asked. f 

"The turret?" said the old woman crossly. "The ^ 
stair ? There is no stair above here. My love-birds live \ 
in the top cage. As for the turret, no one lives in it that 
I know, nor how one gets to it. But it is not this way." 

Giles looked dubioua 

" Go into the bedchamber and see for yourself." 

Giles strode across the room and looked in. It was 
not inviting, and it was dark, but he could see the solid 
walL There was no stair, no opening in the ceiling. He 
turned back disconsolately. 

" It is of no consequence," said the old woman. " You 
will stay and amuse Minette. She has a fine taste — 
Minette.^' 

Minette laughed, and shook her tangled ringlets atid 
looked at him sidelong. 

Giles saw that the old woman and the other one meant 
evil to him. 

"He is too gay a cockerel," said the other, "not to 
pluck," and caught hold of the lace at his knees, which, 
with a deft pull, she ragged off, as well as the rosettes of 
ribbon. 

Giles coloured to his brows and pushed her roughly off, 
but she came back again with an odious smile, and 
stuffed her hand into his pocket, pulling forth his 
purse. 

" He is well lined, this cockerel." 

" Leave him alone," exclaimed Minette. " He is mine, 
Fifine ! " and quick as lightning she snatched the purse 
from the elder girl and gave it him again. The old 
woman stood against the doof and laughed. 

" You must pay your footing, young sir," she said. 



A Tower in Cl^dlons. 205 

Giles pulled lEftt a piece of gold and two or three 
crowns, and threwliiem with a cotter on the floor. 

The old woman, me younger, and Minette sprang for 
them greedily. Giles pushed past and leaped down the 
stairs by fours as if all the witches of hell were after him. 

His exit was as sudden as his entrance, and he suc- 
ceeded in passing out into the street, out of which he ran 
as fast as his legs would carry him to the " Cloche d'or." 

" You are confoundedly late, my friend," yawned the 
Count. "I am positively dying of hunger. Have you 
found out someuung? I see you have. Tou can tell 
me while we dine." 

"To,tdl the truth," said Giles, "I would rather you 
cam^With me now. I have found her, and yet I cannot 
reach her. She is in the turret of the Tower of 
St Martin." 

"Good," said the Count. "I guessed as much. 
Mademoiselle Th^r^se is quite safe tSl after dinner." 

The coolness of the Count annoyed Giles more than 
a little. For himself he had forgotten his appetite, 
Cldtilde, everything but poor golden -haired Th^rese in 
tiie turret. Still, he could not aflford to throw over this 
friendly stranger. He sighed and sat down. 

"Yes," said the Count. "I have tracked down our 
ruffian, and can lay my fingers upon him when I wish. 
The Tower of St Martin belongs to Monsieur BocaL" 

The Count, to do so just an epicure no injustice, was 
not long over dinner. He had a problem to think out. 
What was he going to do with Th6rfese when he found 
her ? Here was the Marquis with Turenne, which might 
mean Strassburg or much farther, even the heart of 
Swabia — ^the Marquise at Bar-le-Duc or a day's stage 
farther stiU, and Th^rfese here. 

He wished to go on eastward, Euhn or no Euhn. He 
ought to escort this damsel back to Paris and restore her 
to her convent, where pretty Clotilde de Lys waa But 
he could not do that at once. If he took her onwards 
she might meet her father or her mother, which would 
redound to the Count's reputation, or not, in which latter 
case she would only have hampered the Count's move- 



2o6 The Red Neighbour, 

menta And as the Count always considered himself 
first, he was rather puzzled, because if any credit attached 
to saving Th6rfese,he would prefer to keep it. Then 
there was this chivalrous young gentleman of tender 
years. What was to be done with him ? Was he to be 
added to the party ? 

" Come, monsieur ! " he said, looking through Giles in a 
vain endeavour to guess the person's name of whom he 
reminded him. " Is your sword useful at a pinch, eh ? 
Shortish ! But a good blade. And you can fence, eh ? " 

Qiles was aheady a little mollifiea that he should be 
thought worthy of seconding the Count's sword with his. 
He clapped on his cap with a martial air. 

" Hullo I " said the Count, looking at the lad's left leg. 
"What has happened to your braveries? A tatterra 
flag in the first skirmish ! " The Count ripped off the 
trimming at the other knee. ''Let us look at least 
evenly Mlanced," he said. "Now march!" 

Arrived at the^Tower, the Count turned in at the door 
of the main building which, as Giles had seen, was full 
of hay. 

An old woman, lean, bright-eyed, and ill to look upon, 
rose from a low stool, whereon she had been sitting in 
the shadow knitting, and asked him his businesa 

" The keys of the turret, mother ! " 

The old woman feigned to be or was actually deaf. 

The Count made a motion of putting a k^y into a lock 
and turning it and pointed on high. 

She shoc^ her h^uL 

" Go and find the door ! " said the Count to his valet, 
who immediately disappeared behind the hay. 

*' Keys ! " the Count roared in her ear. Then seizing 
her by ther arm he passed his hand rapidly over her. 
She was too sparely clad to have many places of con- 
cealment, and she lelt his grip too well to doubt the 
issue. She put the other hand into her bosom and 
threw two keys sullenly on the fioor. 

The valet cried out, "I have it!" 

"Quick!" said the Count, "before she raises the 
quarter," and rushed after the valet along with Giles. 



A Tower in Chilons. 207 

The door was well hidden, but it was there, as the 
Count surmised, and once open they left the valet below 
and climbed the old worn stone stops, round and round 
till they reached the second door and burst into the 
turret. 

Th^rfese shrank back from their entry and then ex- 
claimed in tones of great joy, clapping her hands, " The 
Count de Roubaix, and you, dear Giles ! " 

Giles was taken aback. He was so young as yet ; a 
boy's heart is woefully tender. Th^r^ as well as 
Clotilde was in love with the Count de Roubaix I What 
a mischance to have stumbled stupidly on the very man 
on whom Clotilde had wasted the sweetness of her love- 
letters, to have him spoiling his own rightful joy at the 
deliverance of his new mistress, for Giles' susceptible 
heart was beginning to regard Th^r^ almost in that 
Hght. 

But the Count wasted not a moment. Seizing Th6rfese's 
cloak and hurrying her to the door he b^gan the descent, 
warning her to be careful. 

No sound came up. They had all three reached the 
last few steps at the foot when the valet made a low 
signal. He had retreated within the door and locked it. 

" There is an ambush ! " he whispered. 

"They will not kill Th6rfese!" said the Count coolly. 
" It is of no use waiting. When I give the word open 
the door. I will go first, Giles next, Th6rfese thurd, 
and you" (to his valet) "last. Now draw your 
weapons ! " 

The door opened inwards — ^the Count peered over the 
threshold, and two men, one from either side, rushed at 
him with daggera He drew back a step. And they, 
seeing another sword-point, hesitated. 

" Mon Dieu ! Two ! ' exclaimed the Count, in a tone 
of extreme surprise. "We must go back!" and the 
others following his example backed cautiously towards 
the stair. 

The two men stole forward, and, when clear of the 
door, one made, as the wily Count expected, a half turn 
to get the key out of the lock. 



2o8 The Red Neighbour. 

ia an indtuat the Coimt's loog-ieschiiig point ahofc 
forward and f omid s soft target in the man s neck. 

The other rushed at ihe Ckyant, not reekoning on GOea, 
niio, watchful and eoura^eoos, though not without some 
nenroosneflB at this his mst tossle, darted upwards with 
a thmst that transfixed the man's arm. The dagg^ fell 
from his hand as his fellow droi^>ed Ueeding to the 
floor. 

The Coont, taking firm hold of the oolli»' of the one, 
ebepped over the other and strode slowly forward along 
the narrow pathway roond tiie hay, poshing the fellow 
before him. 

At the first torn two other daggers alighted in the 
wretched victim's breast, and the Count's sword pierced 
(me assassin to the heart The fourth man tamed and 
fled. 

As Qiles stepped over the third man he recognised his 
old adversary, me agent of Monsieur BocaL 

Th^r^, pale and sick, was borne out by the valet 

When tiie old woman saw the Count emerge, wiping 
the blood from his sword upon the hay, she raised cme' 
heartrending wail and fell to the floor by her stool, on 
which lay tiie knitting that was never to be finished. 
She was the mother of the third man. 



CHAPTER XXVn. 

THE INQBATITUDE OF THE YOUNG. 

" It is necessary that we should understand one another, 
Monsieur de Beaupr^," said the Count to Qiles when 
Th^r^ had been handed over to the care of the inn- 
keeper's wife. 

"Yes," said Qiles quite readily, " Monsieur le Comte ! " 

" What do you propose to do. Monsieur Qiles ? " 

" Accompany Mademoiselle Th^r^ I " 



The Ingratitude of the Young. 209 

" I am sorry, for I propose to place her in the convent 
of [the Ursulines here, to stay till her mother or her 
father comes back. They must pass through Chdlona" 

"But she has just run away from the convent at 
Meudon!" 

"She has the genius of escape, it seems, but I shall 
take care she does not escape from the Ursulines ! " 

"It seems to me," said Giles, who felt many inches 
taller since the fray an hour before, "that Mademoiselle 
Th^r^, who is nearly fifteen, has a right to choose what 
she will do." 

"When one sees a blind man about to walk into a 
river, one stops him ; one does not talk about his rights," 
said the Count pleasantly . "She was in good company 
and keeping at Meudon ! 

"True; there was Mademoiselle Clotilde de Lys, for 
instance!" said Giles meaningly, but blushing as he 
said it. 

"And who, pray, is Mademoiselle Clotilde de Lys? 
Do you take a tender interest in her also? Are you 
kmght-in-chief to the whole convent. Monsieur Giles ? " 

^e Count laughed. It was not so well-mannered of 
him as one would have expected. But then he had just 
come through a series 01 chances of shrewd dagger- 
thrusts. iSid this young cockerel of the nobmty 
amused him. 

" Clotilde de Lys wrote vou," said Giles with a choking 
throb in his throat, "six beautiful love-letters, the most 
beautiful I have ever seen, and you ask — Who is 
Mademoiselle Clotilde!" 

Giles' eyes blazed, and his whole manner and attitude 
brought back to the Count a memory. He became 
serious, and looking straightly into Giles' eyes, said in 
a quiet tone — 

"One does not betray one's favours. But since you 
know, my brave Giles, they w&re exquisite love-letters. 
I was desirous of marrying Mademoiselle Clotilde. Her 
parents thought otherwise, and placed her in Meudon." 

"Why didn't you carry her oflF," Giles asked, "if you 
loved her?" 



2IO The Red Neighbour. 

"It would not have been so easy," said the Count, 
" as getting out of yonder rat-trap ! There were many 
considerations of prudence ! " 

"Prudence!" retorted Giles. "You could not have 
loved her, as she evidently loved you!" 

"You are very droll," said the Count, "and you are 
sixteen, shall I say? I forgive your rashness! Pray, 
how did you come to read the letters ? " 

"They were flung out of a window, and fell at my 
horse's feet ! " 

"They were stolen from my escritoire! In what 
street? Could you tell me the house?" 

"Yes, it was the Rue de la Coustellerie, the fourth 
house on the left as one goes towards the Qr^ve." 

"Thanks, my friend! Be assured that I shall not 
rest satisfied till I find the thief — and then . . ." there 
was a sinistergleam in the Count's eyes that sent a little 
shiver down Giles' back. He began to suspect that the 
Count was not altogether compact of bonhomie and 
swordsman's daring. He returned to the original topic. 

"By this time the Mother Superior of Meudon will 
have rea<5hed here. I passed her on the road. Why not 
surrender Th6rfese at once ? " said the boy. 

" She will only get punished ! " said the Count. " You 
are not so anxious for her spiritual welfare as her bodily, 
eh, my friend ? " 

Giles agreed. As yet he did not susjject the Count's 
good faith. He merely objected to his usurping the 
office of protector and disposer. He was also a little 
jealous; and secretly determined that Th^rtee, except 
of her own free will, should not go to the Ursulines. 

" You see it is entirely for her good," said the Count. 
" The farther we go eastward — well, I daresay it would 
be safe enough as far as Nancy. But after that we are 
in the Vosges, and at any moment the enemy may 
cross the ntiine and push over the mountains. The 
fortified towns would close their gates, and Mademoiselle 
Th^rfese with her golden hair and blue eyes would 
be . . . well, much safer with the Ursulines in Ch&lons." 

And if the Count's own motives had been guileless 



The Ingratitude of the Young. 211 

this would have been deservedly called well-reasoned 
prudence. 

Giles at all events saw no loophole in the reasoning 
through which an arrow might be shot. He tried another 
meth^ of attack. 

"With Mademoiselle Th^r^ in the Ursulines, what 
becomes of me?" 

"Parbleu!" said the Count quizzically. "You would 
naturally return to your father, the Chevalier de Beaupr^, 
who by this time wonders what has befallen you ! " 

This was treating Giles very like a truant schoolboy, 
and the boy's ardent soul resented it. 

" In the first place, the Chevalier de Beaupr^ is only 
my father by adoption. In the second place, I left a 
letter telling him I had set out on a journey, and that 
he need not be anxious." 

The Count did not follow up the first thread. He 
was a man of many useful qualities, and one was an 
excellent memory. He took up the second. 

" But don't you think you have had adventure enough 
for one journey ? " 

" Not I," said Giles confidently. " I want to see some 
of the fighting, to see Turenne ! I should like to join 
him as a gentleman volunteer!" 

" Bravo ! Bravissimo ! " said the Count, entering into 
the idea with enthusiasm. "I knew you had the stuff 
of a cavalier in you. What do you say to accompanying 
me ? I will get you a horse, ^y the way, you had a 
horse?" 

" A pony rather ! " said Giles, who would have given 
a crown to be able truthfully to call it a horse or even 
a charger. " It is at the inn where I stayed last night ! " 

The appeal to his manly side was as strong as it was 
possible to be. He began to swallow his rismg dislike 
of the Count. The Count began to see his way. Tli^rfese 
in the Ursulines, procurable at will — ^Giles, if he had 
only known it, a matchless hostage with him ! If Euhn 
would only come before he started ! 

As if the stars in their courses fought for him, his 
valet entered and handed him a slip of paper. 



212 The Red Neighbour. 

The Count's face lit up. 

"Well, my friend, I have some affairs to attend ta 
Do you see Th^r^, and persuade her of the excellence 
of the Ursulines, and on my return we will see her oaiely 
housed, and then to horse and away for Turenne !" 

In an instant the Count was gone. 

The Count had reckoned, however, without Mademoi- 
selle Th&^. 

" I am not going to the Ursulines, and I think it most 
unkind of you to propose it. The Count is different. He 
is grown-up, and grown-up people are always stupid. 
He does not want the troume of looking after me. And 
I have no right to expect it after all he has risked for 
me. But you, Giles ! Even to wish to desert me when 
you know how much — ^how much I have it at heart 
. . ." the tears were rising fast and coming down in big 
drops ... ''to find my father • . . and see Marah^ 
Turenne .... I am really . . . h-h-hurt ... I 
can never never . , , trust you again . . . Q-Q- 
Giles!" 

Poor Giles! The eloquence and bitterness and per- 
version of logic, which distinguish the demoiselle who 
happens to consider herself for the time being arbitress 
of one's heart, were all here in perfect admixture, and 
held out to him to drink for the first time. He made 
a wry face. 

If Giles had been a little older he would have consoled 
himself with the reflection that it is always woman's 
faithful henchman who has to bear her whole sackful of 
reproaches, and the man that regards her merely as a 
toy, or as a useful domestic, who gets off scot-free. And 
then she expects him not to feel hurt because she knows 
that she does not mean half she says, or won't mean it 
five minutes later. 

Giles was the less able to answer because he knew 
that the Count's suggestion of the ride with him had 
actually roused an answering gleam in his soul, which 
in the light of Th^rtee's eyes now seemed to be down- 
right unmith. 

" But it is for your good, dear TWrfese ! It would be 



The Ingratitude of the Young. 213 

too dangerous for you in the Vosges, in the very neigh- 
bourhood of the enemy ! Think — if yte got separated ! " 

" But we are not going to be !" sobbed TWrese. " Or 
if we are, you will find me as you did before, you brave, 
good Giles!" 

Giles was bewildered! She had touched the right 
chord there. He forgot what she had said two minutes 
ago. 

"It is plain," she said, drying her eyes and holding 
out her hands to him. "We must escape again, from 
the Count this time, and go on at all events to Nancy. 
When we ^et to Nancy we can send word to my father ! 
And if it is absolutely necessary, you shall even leave 
me in a convent there till he comes. There, is that 
enoi^h for you. Monsieur Giles ? " 

"We must make, haste, then! For the Count will 
soon be back. We must have a post-chaise and two 
horses ! " 

" But what shall I do without my valise ? " 

" Luckily it is with my pony ! " said Giles. " Listen ! 




Chapel 

come to find you. I shall leave the post-chaise at the 
comer of the street, and we shall be out of the Porte St 
Jacques in no time, and above all keep a sharp look- 
out for the Count. He will pursue us oy the Porte St 
Jean." 

"Trust me, dear Giles!" she said. "I did you an 
injustice just now. I was horrid. Eass me and make 
it up. We must not quarrel if all the world (quarrels ! " 

And impulsively she put her arms round his neck and 
kissed him for pure joy and gratituda 

It was so sudden that Giles could not hesitate. And 
he met her embrace with equal ardour. But he wondered, 
as he ran off to find the post-chaise and the valise and 
bid adieu to his pony, whether it was, after all, quite 
fair to Clotilde. 



214 The Red Neighbour. 



CHAPTER XXVm. 

BOCAL PLATS TRUMPS. 

There has been but one Turenne — Henry of the 
T6wer of Auverme, Viscount Turenne, Marshal of 
France— as some of lus styles and titles run, son of the 
valiant companion-in-arms of that valiant Ismg, Henry 
of Navarre, and of his wife Elizabeth of Nassau, the 
sister of Uiose staunch Nassau brethren who called 
William, the first Prince of Orange, father. 

For forty-and-six years he had upheld the glory of 
France, and now, a war-worn warder, he was pacing up 
and down the well-trodden battlements of ALsace &om 
which in the preceding autumn he had hurled back 
the German hosts. 

It was still the old enemy. Strassbur^ this time was 
the key of the position — Strassburg with its bridges, 
Strassburff professedly neutral, but hoarding within her 
walls well-stocked magazines of com intended for the 
use of the Germans once they came within arm's length 
of her. 

And the enemy had brought with them Montecuculli, 
an Italian, who, like Turenne, had been a professional 
soldier from his youth, and approved himself as ex- 
perienced, as ru84, as cautious, as bold to strike when 
opportunity favoured him, as courageous, as Turenne 
himself. 

like unto Turenne and Montecuculli were no captains 
of their age, not even the present William of Change 
nor the great Cond^, whom he opposed in the Low 
Countries. 

It was the face of a great captain and a great man 
that looked across the table in the castle of Benchen 
towards his friend the Marquis de Polignac. 

It was the face of a strong man, of a strong thinker, 
and good-natured withal, mimour kept in reserve, gift 
of the gods, played in his wide-set eyes under the bioad 



Bocal plays Trumps. 215 

projectmg brows and twitched at the comers of that 
strong [mouth, to which the stiff moustache and tuft 
of Henri Quatre gave an aspect otherwise of fierce- 
ness. 

Bussy-Babutin, himself Lieutenant -Greneral of the 
armies of the king, who knew him well, has mpoken of 
a certain largeness of the shoulders, and of his great 
eyebrows meeting over his nose, and another writer of 
the ''something sombre that slept in his aspect beneath 
this glimpse oflaughter that one caught at times in his 
eyea 

There was no trace about him of the softness of courts, 
but through the martial exterior his friend saw, with 
the searcmng eves of love and unenvious admiration, 
the heart of gold, throbbing to the sacred chant of duty 
and of honour. 

" So far, my dear Gaston, the game is ours, but it is 
a ^me in which one cannot escape with a merely 
trifling forfeit for mistakea Here is Strassbure," he 
pointra to the map, " where huge stores of flour ana com 
await Montecuculli. And here am I. There is my 
camp between Bodesweier and Linx — here is my right 
on mis high ground. His troops are getting snort of 
rations, for I stand between him and Strassburg. If 
he crosses the Benchen he must fight me on my ^ound, 
and if I cross and begin to turn his left, wedging my 
right between him and the mountains, I press him towards 
the river. He must either beat me or retreat northward, 
always northward, along these swampy flats, or break 
back across the mountains into Wtirtemberg. He is 
an obstinate old mule, this Montecuculli. mw, what 
broiight me up to the castle of Benchen, think you? 

"It was the want of forage. Other supplies are 
running short, but of forage I had come to have little 
or none. Your friend Bocal again, doubtless. My horses 
were dying by dozens down on these marshy low lands. 
Look at the rains we have had ! I was obliged to find 
drier pastures or retreat. By good luck Josef Kuhn 
knew a shepherd, who pointed out a way to these 
uplands which the enemy had overlooked." 



2i6 The Red Neighbour. 

'' Josef Euhn ? " the Marquis asked. 

" The man that supplies our men's boots and buys the 
old horses to make them of, buys also the hides of our 
bullocks." 

"And his boots?" 

" Are honest workmanship ! " said the Marshal. 

" He is not in league with Monsieur Bocal, at least/' 
said the Marquis. 

" And now that I have shown you the strategie use of 
Benchen, let us go back to camp and meet Monsieur 
Bocal. Our next movement may begin any day, and 
we must be sure of our rations if we are to deprive 
Montecuculli of hia" 

On the ride back the two friends, though they rode 
side by side, fell into that silence which is only possible 
between close friends or secret enemies. The great 
Marshal was engaged in noting what he could of the 
dispositions of the enemy, who were quite near on the 
farther side of the river that broadened down from the 
uplands to the Rhine. The Marquis was wonderuo^ 
what would be the outcome of to-day's argument with 
Monsieur Bocal. Time pressed with Mm. Marie 
Gabrielle would by now have rea^ched Saveme, and 
any movement beyond that fortified place might bring 
her into the vortex of the revolving currents of the 
two armies. He had received the substance and details 
of Turenne's necessities and complaints against the 
army contractor. There remained certain rough prac- 
tical tests, an acrimonious discussion, the revelation, 
doubtless, of the power upon which Bocal leaned for 
support in the last extremity. Had he in fact gained 
over De Louvois? That despatch he had received at 
Sarrebourg seemed to indicate it. 

They had hardly gained the general's quarters, a 
plainly furnished but roomy tent in the midst of the 
camp, than Monsieur Bocal made his abrupt entrance. 

He saluted. 

"I have ridden post-haste from Saveme, messieurs, 
to receive all the news you can give me of the future 
movements of the army." 



Bocal plays Trumps. 217 

"I will come to that presently, Monsieur Bocal!" 
said Turenne. " I am not satisfied with the quality of 
the provisions you have been sending!" 

''Lideed!" Monsieur Bocal's &ce exhibited incredulous 
surprise. 

" I have too many men sick with dysentery." 

''That is the damp, and the low situation of the 
camp!" was the prompt reply. 

"My men, however, complain of the bread, which 
they say is baked of bad flour." 

" Soldiers will grumble at anything ! " said BocaL 

There was an angry flush of mdignation on the 
Marshal's face, as he said — 

" My soldiers never grumble without cause. They are 
the best soldiers in the world." 

Bocal assumed that look of imspeakable good nature 
as he replied — 

"We are all human, even your soldiers, MarshaL 
The damp has doubtless affected the bread also: and 
then the army cooks are not of the best. But to 
satisfy you — order the waggons of flour that have 
just arrived in camp to be anven up!" 

"No! We will go and see them. There is no need 
to further fatigue the horses and drivers ! " 

Monsieur Bocal led the way in the same rapid 
energetic manner that he did everything. 

They came to the gates of the camp. There were 
three waggons loaded to the last ounce. At Monsieur 
Bocal's order the waggoners hauled down a sack of 
flour at rs^dom from each. The general put in his 
hand and spread the sample out. It was fresh, new, 
sweet flour of wheat and flour of rye, pleasant to the 
eye and taste. 

" That will make good bread ! " said Turenne. " How 
much more have you of it — ^near ? " 

" Forty waggons. Marshal 1 " 

" Good ! Have it sent on to-morrow, I want it." 

" It is impossible to have it to-morrow. I have been 
delayed ! " # 

"How delayed? Your contract says that for every 



2i8 The Red Neighbour. 

day's delay you forfeit — how much, Mongdeur le 
Marquis?" 

" Fifty crowns a waggon ! " said the Marquis. 

" That will be two thousand crowns, monsieur ! " 

** But it is the Marquis de Folignac himself who has 
caused the delay by his inquiries!" 

"Tut! tut! man! In war there is no room for 
excuses! If your flour was all as good as that there 
was no reason for delay!" 

"We shall see!" said Bocal boldly. "I am not a 
nobody to be subjected to hampering. The flour will 
be pushed on as rapidly as possible. But, pray 
understand, I lodge my protest, and I pay no finea" 

"I shall take note, and you also. Monsieur le 
Marquis!" said the Marshal. "Now for the hay! 
You have caused us to run short of hay!" 

" There are waggons of hay just arrived ! Step over 
here, if you please ! " 

The new ha^ was bundled down, and a truss or two 
spread out. The horses sniffed, and made a movement 
towards it. 

" They say it is good hay ! " said Turenne, smiling and 
nodding at the horses. But I want fifty waggon-loads 
by to-morrow night." 

"Fifty waggon - loads ! Mort Dieu! I have two 
hundred waggon-loads at Nancy and another hundred 
at Toul!" 

" I want one hundred loads here, in this spot, in two 
days ! " said Turenne with decision. 

" And if you do not get them ? " said Bocal. 

" You can be quite sure," said Turenne calmly, " that 
you will get no more contracts." 

"As to that!" said Bocal, "I am a rich man, and 
when I call in my debts I need not toil for France 
as I have done: and I have friends mightier even 
than the Marshal's, who will see that justice is done 
me. You have tried me by the test of the last 
waggons that have come up, and found them good. 
What becomes of the complaints made to the War 
Office, and the reports of his own discoveries by 



Bocal plays Trumps. 219 

Monsieur le Marquis? I am prepared to answer 
everything." 

"In its own time and place, Monsieur Bocal/' said 
the Marshal. "Forty waggons of flour, Monsieur BocaL 
One hundred loads of hay in this camp two days from 
now, and nothing will be said." 

"You can rely upon my doing my best to second 
you, Marshal. But as to you. Monsieur le Marquis, 
who have put this indignity upon me, more shall be 
said." 

"I do not think we need enter upon a strife of 
tongues!" said the Marquis. "I shall do what I con- 
sider to be my duty, and you what you consider 
furthers your own interests!" 

" One word more before I depart , for Saveme 1 
Madame la Marcj^uise de Folignac has done me the 
honour to ride in my post-chaise from Ch&lons to 
Saveme. I left her there. Shall I bid her stay 
till you come, or make arrangements for her to come 
here?" 

The Marquis was thunderstruck! The Marquise 
travel with this arrogant contractor! It was a 
humiliation! But it was not to be argued. 

" I am infinitely obliged to you for your good offices, 
Monsieur Bocal. I wiU send a messenger. I must wait 
here two days yet." 

"It was a delightful experience, monsieur! Au 
revoir. Marshal — au revoir, monsieur!" 

The contractor stepped into his light travelling 
carriage and sped away. 



220 The Red Neighbour. 



CHAPTER XXIX. 

''LA SAMABTTAINE'' DOES NOT Oa 

People who came to the Font Nenf to set their 
watches were at first puzzled, then incredulous^ then, 
seeing that the hands did not move, shook their heads 
and K)oked to the heavens for signs and portents. La 
Samaritaine, the timekeeper of Paris, had ^pped. 

Without knowing exactly why, the passers-by ex- 
perienced a curious elation, almost Ught-headedness. 
It was a thing to remember, the stoppage of the great 
dock. And as, when one strange event happens, the 
superstitious always look out for the next, the men 
who made their living by trafficking on the changes 
went down to their places of customary resort in a 
state of expectancy. I^or were they dii^ppointed, for 
by some mysterious agency it got about that Bocal, 
the great army contractor, was being pressed by his 
creditors. No one knew whence it arose, this fearful 
rumour. " Are you a creditor ? " they asked one another 
in whispers. *'lfo! Will such an one lose much?" 
Heads were shaken and lips pursed; snuff-boxes came 
into play. But the sum and substance of all their 
knowledge was nothing. Yet all felt assured, from 
what every one said, that Bocal was in difficulties. One 
averred that he had had it from his cousin, who had 
had it from a clerk to a great banking-house, that bills 
had been presented for a very large sum — a million of 
livres at least, — and that the bankers had tendered 
payment of only a part, which was refused; they had 
cautiously asked for delay while they communicated 
with Monsieur Bocal, who was at the war. Then a 
lawyer's clerk became the centre of a voluble group of 
questioners. He had just come away from the Court 
of Bequests, and seen a notice of action at the suit of 
one Chavigny against one Bocal, for payment of the 
sum which the bankers had declined to pay. This was 



*'La Samaritaine '' does not go. 221 

confirmation with a vengeance. Every man buttoned 
up his pockets and began to exercise a scrutinising eye 
upon his neighbour. For when a great contractor fails 
a number of little ones must fail also. 

The king's clockmakers were very soon at work upcm 
La Samantaine, and the old woman, who had her seat 
by the Bronze Horse, received a visit from the old man 
who tended the great clock and the water-tower over 
the way. At the stoppage of the clock she had been 
seized with a great excitement and trembling, and could 
not cross the oridge, so the old man had come to her. 
It was a great event in their lives. 

"Is it then time?" she murmured with enfeebled 
utterance. 

"It is time! The dock has stopped!" said the old 
man with a grim expression on his old face. " But keep 
calm, mother. What we know, we know 1 It is nobody s 
business. We shall hear news in a day or two. He 
will have deserved it" 

"Did you see herf" asked the old woman, fumbling 
at her basket of wares, which she was trying to set out 
according to custom. 

" Yes ! I saw her. She was dressed like a cavalier, 
and gave me the signal as she rode past. No one would 
have guessed, but 1 knew her at once by her eyes. Who 
would have thought that she could have become so 
strong, so determined, — she who was once a little help- 
less baby in your lap, mother ! " 

A tear gatnered in the old man's eye and dropped. It 
was an unusual sight, and, as it dropped on the old 
woman's gnarled and veiny hand, it set her weeping for 
a little while and rocking her body to and fro. 

Then the old man crept back to La Samaritaine and 
began questioning the clockmakers with an old man's 
cunning, made up of feigned simplicity and nods and 
silences. It seemed that a pinion had worn loose and 
fallen out. It might have happened to any dock. 

Later, the newsmongers on the Pont Neuf who collected 
all the talk of Paris, spoke of mobs of the very poor 
ransacking the stores of Monsieur Bocal in whatever 



222 The Red Neighbour. 

part of Paris they were. They were hungry, they said, 
and wanted food as much as the army, after whose 
welfare Louvois would look. He was well paid for it. 
And when this news also proved to be true, the credit 
of Mongdeur Bocal on the changes fell lower still, and 
his agents and brokers could do nothing. The one man 
who was strong enough to restore order was at the war. 
He had ruled b^ fear and by his purse, and no one was 
going to move m his behalf. The moment of attack had 
been well chosen. 

And by the time Paris was well agog with the 
rumours the cavalier of whom the old man nad spoken 
had reached Meaux. 

Since the day when Tintorin, the lean and strident^ 
had played his play with the Marquis of the bed-tick 
coat in the inn-yard, Meaux had been in a state of 
unrest The smaU shopkeepers, who bought bread and 
salt and candles and spices and sold them, a few sous- 
worth at a time, felt it. They said to one another that 
trade was bad. But as the^ were in no one's confidence 
but their own, a parsimonious race, who gave nothing 
away but a few civil words and nods, and meddled not 
in the affidrs of Monsieur Bocal, they knew nothing. 
But the miller of Meaux, who had lost his living and 
was eking out his savings with a few pistoles that the 
Marquis de Polignac had given him, and the smith who 
had the shoeing of Monsieur Bocal's horses, the masons 
who were rebmlding the mills of Meaux, and a few of 
the small farmers whose steadings were upon the skirts 
of the town: these were all as manifestly uneasy at 
their work as they were suspicious and reticent 
Monsieur Bocal's agent, the beetle-browed man, found 
every one unaccountably slow in obeying his orders. 
His threats and oaths only met sullen looks and 
murmurs. 

Till one day, it was the day that La Samaritaine had 
stopped, just before noon a cavalier attired in a green 
ridmg-suit and brown high boots of undressed leather, 
came riding into Meaux upon a tall horse. He was 
young, it seemed, for no moustache or chin-tuft showed 



'^La Samaritaine" does not go. 223 

upon his face. His auburn hair, neatly, ahnost coquet- 
tishly tied with a green ribbon, fell upon his shoulders, 
and a pair of startling brown eyes peered from beneath 
the brun of his hat. He managed his horse with a 
careless grace that showed lon^ usage to the saddle, 
and only when he swung himself down at the door of 
the principal inn did one notice that for a man he was, 
though well formed with good shoulders and slim waist, 
rather below middle size. 

He had hardly alighted when a second horseman came 
into the town from the opposite end and stopped at the 
same inn. They met in the traveller's room. 

"Tintorin! My friend!" 

"Madame!" 

The cavalier was then some great lady, as the inn- 
keeper's wife had "guessed at a glance," and was even 
now discussing with her husband. 

" The clock has stopped at last. Our friends in Paris 
have made a beginning, Tintorin. The train is fired." 

" The tinder is laid ready from here to Nancy ! " was 
the reply. 

"Good! Tintorin! Get me a cup of wine, a piece 
of bread, and a slice of smoked ham, and then to 
work!" 

They talked rapidly while they despatched their 
slender meal. Excitement sparkled in the woman's 
brown e^es. In the man's was sadness save when some 
grim quip fell from his lips. 

The meal finished, events moved rapidly. The smith 
left his forge, the wheelwright his bench, the masons 
their work on the burned mills, and soon there was an 
expectant knot of men gathered on the river-quay by 
the agent's cottage. He was enjoying a short sleep 
after his midday meal, when the hu bbub without awoke 
him and he came out angrily. What was in the wind 
now? 

A dozen eager hands tied him to the post of the draw- 
bridge, and at a sign from the Red Neighbour two men 
laid on blows from carters' whips till he writhed and 
screeched and swore, and the blood began to make ugly 



224 The Red Neighbour. 

stains through his shirt. Then he was bound £aoe 
downward on a sorry horse, and the horse driven out 
of the town along the road to Paris. A pedlar, who was 
poin^ that way, engaged to keep the horse in front of 
Eim for a league or two at least 

The subormnate offender having thus suffered punish- 
ment, the horses of the great contractor were taken to 
the smith's, who proceMed with much dexterity to 
unshoe them all, and being thus rendered unfit for 
immediate service, they were sent back to their stable. 
The waggons were bereft of their wheels, which were 
burned, and any grain found in the stores was distributed 
among the common people. Never had such a day been 
in Meaux. It was in vain that the mayor fumed and 
the town-clerk quoted the customs of Brie, the Bed 
Neighbour vouchsafed no word, nor did Tintorin, except 
that he lent encouraging example and exhortation to the 
rebel thralls of Monsieur Bocal. 

Then having received a solemn promise not to set 
hand to any work of Monsieur Bocal's from that time 
forward, neither to buy with him nor sell with him, 
the Red Neighbour feasted them and went her way on 
horseback with Tintorin at her heels. 

At Montmirail a more serious blow was struck, fear 
here as before was found a great drove of horses, and 
these were swept out by tens and shepherded by experi- 
enced drovers, who sprang, the Red Neighbour and her 
adjutant alone knew whence, and dispersed to various 
fairs, where doubtless they were purchased by dealers 
who were not too particular as to their origin. The 
drovers took ready money in all cases, and the money 
was in the course of a few days paid into the hands of 
Monsieur Bocal's bankers — the. Red Neighbour did not 
need it. She would have deemed herself accursed by 
the touch of it. Her method of revenge — ^for revenge 
was obviously her one inspiring motive — was to ruin 
his credit and destroy the means of resuscitating it. 

Having accomplished her task at Montmirail swiftly 
and without enlisting the folk of the little town, who 
indeed knew little of, and dealt little with the contractor, 



*'La Samaritaine" does not go. 225 

she pursued her relentless way to ChAlons, where Josef 
Euhn joined her in council. 

She learned from him of the fight in the store of the 
old church, which had left the hay without a guardian, 
a fact of which the baser sort in ChAlons had not been 
slow to take advantage. It was already pillaged. It 
was sufficient in Chdions, considerable mart as it was, 
to spread the news of the crippling of Bocal's resources, 
to bring about that feeling of doubt and fear which is 
the death- sickness of trade. And Monsieur Bocal's 
smaller agents were the first to desert his interests for 
those of Josef Kuhn, who began to build the first storey, 
on foundations already laid, of an organisation to supply 
the place of that which was beginning to fall into ruins. 
Men who had come to Ch&lons to sell to Bocal and his 
agents sold to Kuhn, tempted by better prices and credu- 
lous of every rumour. 

Prom Chfilons to Bar-le-Duc and from Bar-le-Duc to 
Toul the mysterious Red Neighbour hastened on her 
way, pulling out the linch-pins of Bocal's chariots 
wherever opportunity offered. It was extraordinary 
what knowledge she had acquired of him and his doinga 
By trading on the people's greed or upon their fear, 
Bocal had built up most of his monopoly. By money 
the monopoly was destroyed. The highest bidder got 
their service, and it would require much higher biddmg 
still to recover it. 

It was in the Church of St Gengoult at Toul that the 
first period was put to the victorious advance of Bocal's 
adversary. 



226 The Red Neighbour. 



CHAPTER XXX. 

"FOB THE POOR — ^FROM JEANNE.** 

It is not recorded how the devil tempted St Gtengoult, 
but without having been tempted he would not have 
commanded the respect of his disciple, Brother Martin, 
nor inspired that steadfast son of tiie Church to. a 
like resistance. 

For many years it had been the cherished desire 
of Brother Martin to set eyes once more upon that 
darling of his boyhood, his sister. He had neard of 
her gomg away with Bocal the carrier. He had heard 
of her desertion by Bocal some year or two later: and 
then nothing. His old father and his old mother, not 
so old in years as aged by hard work and sorrow, 
had gone to Paris to eke out a penurious livelihood, 
to which hjjt could contribute little or nothing. Their 
son was a priest, and a good priest. It was their 
reward but not an aid. Once he had journeyed to 
Paris, an eventful journey, and seen them, but of him 
they manifestly stood in awe. They loved his memory, 
but feared or reverenced the priest. He had returned, 
on the whole saddened. They had passed out of his 
life. He had asked many questions about his sister; 
but neither could or would give any clue to her 
subsequent history. That her history was unhappy 
up to the time of her abandonment by Bocal, just as 
fortune began to smile upon him, and when, as not 
unfrequently happens in such cases, a new allurement 
in the shape of a woman of better condition passed 
before his ambitious eyes. Brother Martin knew. That 
her further history was likely to be one chequered 
rather by black disgrace than by white hope he 
was content to believe, but that he who spent his 
life in shedding consolation about him in the streets 
and nooks of Toul should be debarred by his very 
office from finding her, and providing her with asylum 



"For the Poor — from Jeanne." 227 

and consolation, who was his own sister and the 
object of his most humanly tender thoughts, was a 
source of poignant grief which was always there in 
his heart. It was the means, he told himself, whereby 
the Seigneur kept Brother Martin's heart tender towaras 
the rest of his great family, who were not blood relationa 

Into the face of exactly how many wayfarers, poor 
and rich, who had found their way into the Church 
of St Gengoult over many years, he had peered, and 
turned away disappointed, he could not have reckoned. 
But still he hoped, still he prayed, that this thing 
should come to pass. 

And one evening in July after vespers, when the 
church began to get dim, a woman came in and made 
for the first chapel. Arrived there she did not kneel, 
as he had expected, but passed on to the next, and, 
so making the round of the church, stood irresolute. 
As she stood he moved towards her, and a single 
westering ray of light, coming through a window of 
stained glass, lit up her face. 

For a moment she cast up her face Awards the 
window, a strong face, almost defiant in its gaze, and 
then, with a steit, as his footfall approached quite 
near, her eyes rested on his. 

"Jeanne!" 

"My brother!" 

He took her hand, and falling^upon his knees mur- 
mured a thanksgiving for this sudden fulfilment of 
hisprayers. 

There was the same burliness of build about both 
of them. But the faces were in sharp contrast. The 
features were alike, the eyes of the same tint of 
brown, both arresting in their character; but there 
nature ceased in her efforts after likeness, for life 
had intervened and made the man's &ce gentle and 
almost feminine in softness, the woman's strong, 
self-reliant, hard, with something therein of the wild- 
ness of the untamed animal. As she watdied him 
kneeling for that brief space, a fitful gentleness came 
into her eyes. Memory was at work. But the look 



228 The Red Neighbour. 

passed, and a little tremor went through her. There 
IS no more deep-seated yearning in woman than to be 
good, to feel kinship with religion, and the sight of 
this spontaneous exhibition of simple piety had aroused 
in her heart feelings she had for many a year 
forgotten. 

"Come, sister! Come with me to my little dwell- 
ing. How I have prayed for this hour!" 

As they passed out he dipped his fingers in the 
holy water, and turning swimy made the sign of 
the cross upon her forehead and touched her hands 
with it. 

She burst into tears, and clung to his arm as they 
traversed the few steps to his abdde. 

But once inside her mood changed, her eyes shed 
no more tears, only presenting a more gentle appear- 
ance as the grass shows greener for the shower. 

"What a bare room! It might almost be a cell 
in the Conciergerie, only it is lighter and there is 
more air." 

" You have then been even in prison, dearest Jeanne ? " 
he said in tones of love and pity. 

"I was in fact tried for sorcery. But it ended in 
their paying me to be released!" She laughed an 
unpleasing laugh. 

"Poor sister!" said Brother Martin, devouring her 
with his eyes, which travelled from her head, which 
bore a man's riding hat, over the robe which really 
covered her other masculine habiliments, to her neat 
feet cased in the riding-boots of untanned leather. 
"Poor sister! You must have a long sad story to 
teU me." 

" It is of no use," she said, " going over all my 
stru^les again. It would exhaust me. Bocal took me. 
Boc^ abandoned me. He married. He became rich. 
I also am rich. I have been all these years working 
and plotting to become rich. Now I am going to bring 
Bocal to rum. The train is laid. The Sre is creeping 
along it. A few more days and I shall enjoy the sight 
of the blackened remnants." 



"For the Poor — from Jeanne." 229 

The priest listened. As he sat, devouring her with 
his eyes, those eyes set in a childlike face, and look- 
ing fearlessly and penetratingly with a childlike wis- 
dom, intensified by many years of gazing at many faces 
of his fellow -men and women, he saw into the soul, 
and what he saw there filled his with fear and sorrow. 
He heard with his outward ears the words "rich" 
and "remnants." 

He looked at her with a very vivid sadness as he 
repeated half to himself — 

" ' Vengeance is mine, I will repay — saith the Lord.' " 

"Yes! That is all very well I'^she said. "But I mean 
to have my vengeance. I know it is wrong. But Bocal 
wronged me in the first place. I mean to have mv 
vengeance in my own way. Do you hear, brother ? It 
is afl I live for." 

"It will do you no good, my poor sister! You are 
rich, you say. Spend your riches and yourself on the 
poor, who need both. Leave the rest to the Seimeur." 

She seemed to waive his suggestion to one side and 
went on — 

" I will make you an abb6. I will give you whatever 
you desire to make your remaining years one endless 
almsgiving, if that will please you, — only you must help 
me to do what I want." 

The priest rose from his chair very ffently and went 
to the window, and gazing out for a brief space turned 
again. 

"I do not wish to leave St Gengoult, not even to 
become an abb6. It was an old dream of mine. Yes, 
when I was a choir-boy I said I would be an abbd. 
But now I think I am better as I am. I know Toul. 
They love me here, poor as I am. It would be beautiful 
to have money to mspense. But if I did wrong to get 
it, it would not be beautiful, it would be the de^'s 
money." 

" But it is such a little thing I ask you to do. A few 
prayers, a few candles to St Gengoult, and the sin would 
be washed away." 

The priest looked very grave. That which in a lay- 



230 The Red Nerghbour. 

man, a poor passion-driven lajnnan, might be a venial 
sin for which a true repentance might atone, is mortal 
in a priest who knows beforehand and sees clearly, 
because he has been taught. ''No, sister! It is the 
devil who speaks and not you. But tell me what the 
devil says." 

'' Listen, then ! Bocal has in Toul hundreds of loads 
of hay awaiting his word to be pushed to the frontier. 
He has delay^ it because he wishes to crush the 
Marquis de Polignac, a good man, who has set himself 
to find out all the iniquities Bocal practises in fulfilling 
his contracts. One of these days a peremptory order 
will come to hasten on all these loads of hay. And 
Bocal would be able to fulfil his promisea Give me two 
days', one day's delay, when that order comes, and I have 
Bocal in a vice. He will be desperate." 

"But how can I . . .?" 

"Quite easily! The carters, who are all true 
Lorrainers, will obey you. Some of them have abeady 
promised me. I have paid them well, but the most have 
said — 

" * No ! It is not Monsieur Bocal — we do not love him. 
It is for the great Marshal Turenne. He wants the hay 
for his soldiers' horsea' " 

"They are right!" said the priest, glowing with the 
fervour of patriotism. 

" Yet war is wrong ! " she argued. 

"We are striving with the help of the Seigneur, 
through his servant Turenne, to keep the Germans out 
of France. That is our bounden duty." 

" But Turenne shall not want for hay ! I am seeing 
to that. I am as good a Frenchwoman as any of you ! ' 
she said hotly. 

"You wish me, however, dearest Jeanne, to come 
between these servants and their master ? It is difficult 
for the Church to gain the obedience she is always 
teaching, if the Church began to urge disobedience!" 
The pnest held up his hands. "It would be the end 
of all things." 

His sister also made a gesture of impatience. 



*'For the Poor — from Jeanne." 231 

" It is easy to see you have become a priest, and have 
forgotten how to be a brother." 

"I have not forgotten to love yon, dearest Jeanne," 
said the priest, passing his hand over her hair. ''But 
when I say I love you, I love your imperishable part, 
your soul. I will not knowingly hurt that, or let you 
dash it against the devil's stones. Leave Bocal to the 
Seigneur. He may not be as bad as you think him. 
But in any case, who are we that we should be his 
judges ? Go back. Retrieve the wrong you have begun 
ana make your peace with God. You thought when 
you came into St Gengoult to-night to pray. It is the 
instinct of the human to lift up one's heart to the Giver. 
But you could not find a saint who would intercede. I 
saw you go from chapel to chapel, and your heart said 
'No! I cannot ask that saint to intercede for me!' 
And then I met you. The Seigneur touched your heart 
when I made His holy sign upon you. It is not wholly 
hard but it is hardening. Sister ! let me pray for you 
and with you." 

She was near weeping again, so the priest's gentleness 
won upon her, but at that moment the tall figure of 
Tintorin passed the window. It recalled her to her stem 
resolution and she sprang up. 

"I must go, brother. Ptay for me if you will, if you 
must. It can do no harm. I thought you would have 
helped me." 

Then she bent down swiftly, kissed his hands, held 
them in her own for a moment, and let them drop. 

" Peace be with you, dearest Jeanne ! " 

Before he had uttered the last syllable she was gone, 
and Brother Martin fell upon his knees, long accustomed 
to the posture, and prayed fervently and long for this 
sister who was lost and was found, only to be lost again, 
perhaps for ever. 

It was when he rose from his knees that he found 
upon his open windowHsill a little purse with five pistoles 
in it and a line of writing, " For the poor — from Jeanne." 



232 The Red Neighbour. 

CHAPTER XXXI. 

THE PLAN OF NANCY. 

The Red Neighbour, Josef Kuhn, and Tintorin sat 
round a small taUe in an upper room of an inn at Nancy. 
It was in the Grande Rue near the Porte de la Craffe. 

A plan of the town on yellow parchment lay upon 
the table. It had been folded many times, and as tney 
paused for a moment to sit back and talk, the plan curled 
up, and Josef Euhn, idly examining an inscription upon 
tne back, read out in his dry German accent — 

"*My one indiscretion!' Potstausend! It is the 
writing of mine goot friend the Comte de Roubaix." 

"Yes!" said flie Red Neighbour. "It was the 
wrapping of a packet of his love-letters. My woman 
threw them out of the window for safety. It was while 
I was in the Conciergerie. I wanted that plan. Mark 
upon it, I pray Monsieur Euhn, where the man Bocal 
has his depdts." 

Josef Euhn took the map, and putting on a pair of 
horn-rimmed spectacles, pored over it. 

"Ja fijewiss! Here is his d^6t of grains! Here his 
stores (H flour ! Ach ! Ja ! ms horses — ^they are here, 
and here, and here ! " 

The face of the woman puckered up. With people 
she trusted she sometimes doffed the mask of immo- 
bility, which usually concealed everything but the 
searching quality of her eyes. She made a gesture of 
disappointment. 

" But they are not in the town at all. They are out- 
side the wails, in the f auxbourgs ! " 

"That is true!" said Josef Euhn. "There is not 
room in the town." 

" How far is Nancy from Strassburg ?" 

"Thirty-five leagues! There was no fear of the 
Germans coming so far to steal his stores." 

" And the bridges across the Meurthe ? " 



The Plan of Nancy. 233 

"There is one at Mak^ville! There is another at 
Bonsecours, and a third on the road to Saint Piqu^tea" 

" It would take an army to block his waggons ! ' 

** The roads are very open and very flat, it is true. It 
would not be easy." 

The Red Neighbour bit her lips and said nothing for 
a few moments. 

"It seems to me," said Tintorin, "one must lay an 
ambush in a defile, not in a plain." 

"But where shaU I find my defile?" 

" Donnerwetter ! Ja! At Saveme!" (He called it 
Zabem in his German accent) "When you get past 
Sarrebourg you begin to mount into the Vosges, when 
you get to Lutzel&)urg the road becomes narrow and 
winds along the sides of the hills in and out till it 
emerges above Zabem. We catoh all the waggons there 
in the pass before they emerge. It is true there may 
be a few soldiers there, but that is easy. Donnerwetter ! 
quite easy." 

" You think it is possible ! " 

"It is quite possible. Ja gewisa Word of Josef 
Kuhn!" 

• • • • • • • . 

The great contractor Bocal drove rapidly away from 
Renchen, where Turenne's camp was fixed, rapidly along 
the highroad to Eehl and Strassburg. He could not ^U98 
through Strassburg when the gates were shut. The 
city professed neutrality. He was obliged to skirt it. 
He was in a confident mood. It was a part of the man's 
success, this assurance of always having planned aright. 
He considered that he had on his part mstilled into this 
busybody Marquis a certain fear of his powen^. At the 
same time he had himself a great req)ect for Turenne, a 
man whom no difficulties daunted, a man who, despite 
the fact that he was a great noble, whose coat-of-arms 
testified to all manner of royal descents, was in his 
opinion veiy like himself. Bocal recognised masterful 
ability, and did not mean to break with Turenne. 
Turenne had wasted a whole countryside in the last 
campaign with fire and pillage so as to leave no means 



234 The Red Neighbour. 

of subsistence for the invaders. A man who could do 
that might on the spur of the moment even hang a 
contractor. It was improbable, but one must not reckon 
on too much leniency from great commanders. Literal 
hanging has a spice of finality about it. Bocal had^ 
figuratively speaking, hung a lew sub-contractors and 
oSiers in his time. 

But he was not going to fail He had played his 
little play. Now a word from his lips and the convoys, 
carefully checked, would be released and pour down 
wherever Turenne would have them — chalk, rubbish, 
and all. 

The road is as flat from Strassburg to Saveme as it 
is from Renchen to Strassburg. He slept peaceably 
most of the way. The capacity to sleep was a part oi 
his endowment. When he woke he thought of the 
Marquise. 

For two or three days she had been his companion in 
that light travelling carriage. Her presence had per- 
vaded him even to the extent of interfering with his 
chains of thought. She had been, once she resigned 
herself to accept his hospitality as a means to speedy 
travel, the mirror of courtesy, but, like^ a mirror, cola, 
reflecting any passing object. If she spoke it was of the 
scenery, which from sheer familiarity Bocal had. ceased 
to notice, of the horses, the inns — never of himself, her- 
self, or of the Marquis. Bocal, eager to display himself 
in something of an attractive light, to suggest something 
of his dommating masterfulness, barely checking the 
tumultuous impulses of passion evoked within him by 
her uncommon beauty, had foimd that his very proximity 
to her person made him feel clumsy, talk banality, and 
sufier the humiliation of seeing that his glowing shaft- 
like glances made no more impression than a spent 
musket-shot upon a town wall. 

She was leaving at every league the coimtry where 
woman was more than woman — ^the France of civilisation 
and of the social arts — for the coimtry where, because of 
the war and the inordinate presence and mastery of 
armed men, woman was less than woman; and yet by 



The Plan of Nancy. 235 

no movement of deference, by no inflection of added 
graciousiiess, did she show the slightest consciousness of 
the realities of her situation, which was that of an un- 
armed woman without resources in the absolute power 
of a strong man, whose word was law along the rcwd he 
followed. 

And so they had reached Saveme, where he had left 
her at the "Black Ox" in the dip of the main street, telling 
her he would bring the Marquis to her. It was not safe 
for her to penetrate nearer to the field of action. 

Was he, now that he was returning to Saveme, going 
to relinquish her to the Marquis, who might, even now, 
be riding on his track to meet her ? 

Nature had poured into Bocal's veins a full measure 
of the fiery blood of the south. It was the secret of 
much of his volcanic energy and of his ambitious 
temperament. These had both expended themselves 
for long years, save for the one episode of the carrying 
off the olacksmith's daughter and his tempestuous woo- 
ing in later times of the gentlewoman he had married, 
in gigantic enterprises, only possible to the strong and 
the strong- wiUed. He had sprung of humble stock, and, 
as he haa become successful, so his belief in his ovm 
luck and his own abilities had swollen into something 
of an infatuation. Side by side had grown the constant 
measuring of himself against the minds and wits of 
others, and resulted in a blind confidence that nothing 
could really withstand money and will power. That 
the Marquise was in some way above him — in something 
else than either — did not daunt him. She was lovely 
and alluring to the eye, a woman. His passions, whicn 
had long slumbered, arose, tempted by the very quality 
which made the distance between them impossible to 
bridge. 

Bocal, who for years had never allowed the pursuit of 
pleasure to come between him and his pursuit of wealth 
and power, found himself organising a rapid scheme 
whereby even yet he could reteun her m his grasp a few 
more days, and still preserve the appearance of ingenuous 
loyal service. 



236 The Red Neighbour. 

He swept the plan on one side as one clears a table. 
Sterner work must come first as alwaya 

Twenty waggons of flour, twenty waggons of hary 
awaited his immediate order. Let them go forward! 
His agent at Saveme went out to bid the carters voke 
the short strong oxen that in Lorraine do most of the 
haulaga 

"But" — ^he called back his lieutenant — "are there no 
more dose by?" 

"Expecting!" 

"Expecting! Send some one through the pass on a 
swift pony and get word ! " The great contractor's brow 
darkened visibly. 

Away went a mounted messenger, eastwards towards 
the pine-clad hills, beyond which leagues away lay 
Nancy. 

It seemed a long hour : but it was no more, a champ- 
ing tedious hour l^fore the messenger returned. There 
were many waggons, but they could not get through. 

" Not get through ! Has the mountain fallen dovm ? " 

'No, monsieur, but some trees have fallen in several 



" There was no storm, however, last night ! " 

" No, monsieur I The trees have been felled ! It is a 
plot ! But it will take a few hoxirs to clear the roads ! " 

"Take every man out of Saveme that is able to lift 
half a hundredweight and clear the roads. It must be 
done in one hour— do you hear!" 

" It is as good as done, monsieur I " 

" And if you catch any one felling trees — shoot them ! " 

"Yes, monsieur! There is a man from Meaux here, 
monsieur ! " 

"Send him in!" 

A man came in indescribably disguised in white dust 
and coated thickly round his strong throat with cakes of 
plaster formed by chalk, dust, and sweat, his hair and 
beard a week long without combing, blear-eyed, half 
dropping with sleep. 

"Monsieur! The devil is in Meaux! The masons 
have stopped repairing the mills. The stores are burned. 



The Plan of Nancy. 237 

The smiths won't shoe the horses. The waggons have 
no wheels. Nothing goes. It is the Red Neighbour ! " 

"The Red murrain!" exclaimed Bocal; ... he was 
going to add a volley of inquiries, but the man had 
dropped. 

Bocal roared for the inn servant. 

"Take this man out and drench him with water and 
brandy ! Bring him round — do you hear ! " 

" Yes, monsieur ! There is one from Montmirail ! " 

Bocal glared angrily. " What now ? S.end him in." 

Another messenger as grimy as the first — ^but not 
quite as exhausted. 

"Monsieur! All the horses have been driven off. 
Not one left in Montmirail! I was just taking my 
dinner . . ." 

"Ah ! Off your guard ! Villain ! Perfidious rascal!" 

" But, m'sieu, I rushed out of my hut, but a tall man 
took me unawares and knocked me senseless. My head 
is sore yet. Look — monsieur ! " 

The ocular evidence was strong enough to satisfy even 
Bocal. No man would inflict such punishment upon 
himself out of fear. 

"When I came to — they were gone — all gone! I 
mounted the last horse, which was in the stable, and 
rode to tell you." 

"You did well!" 

"But wait, m'sieu — as I passed through Chdlons I 
drew rein at the Tower — ^to get some more fodder . . ." 

"Yes! Get on!" 

"Jean Kgal is dead. The store is empty. The town 
has helped itself. I could not stay to inquire further. I 
had tb ride. Ventre St Oris ! How I have ridden ! " 

" Go and get yourself wine and an hour's sleep and a 
fresh horse. I shall want you." 

"Yes, monsieur!" 

The contractor took a few strides up and down the 
room. He had heard of the Red Neighbour, never seen 
her, — some fool of a sorceress who had got into the Con- 
ciergerie. He paid no attention to these matters, but 
some gossip had struck his ear and he had remembered it. 



238 The Red Neighbour. 

What was she doing in his affairs? He would wring 
her red neck ! He laughed grimly. But just now he 
was depending on Nancy. He could easily restore the 
chain ii a few links were broken. 

The brain of an ordinary man is capable of solving a 
great number of the problems of life if they present 
unemselves one at a time at respectful intervals. The 
brain of an extraordinary man can conceivably grasp 
a greater number at shorter intervals, but if the number 
and complexity increase together with less time to solve 
them, some loss of the exquisite balance of judgment 
must take place, and the play of the emotions take the 
place of the intellect. 

But he must get rid of the Marquise. Not lose her ! 
Oh no!' All in good time, Monsieur le Marquis! 

"Send me Yung." 

Yung came in. He was of the fair-haired, blue-eyed 
German type, an ostler or coachman — a useful man. 

" You can speak only German ? " Bocal asked, speaking 
in that ton^e. 

"Jagewiss." 

" There is a lady here to take to Strassburg. You will 
take my travelling carriage. Drive her slowly to 
Brumath — ^then to Wanzenau. Stay at the Inn of the 
Ford. Await me there." 

"Ja, mein herr." 

"Understand! You cannot speak French. If she 
complains of the length of the road, you are going to 
Strassburg. Here is money. Get ready." 

Yung nodded. 

BocfiS went in search of the Marquise, whom he found 
drumming with her taper fingers on the windows 
upstairs. 

"I am in prison, it seems, Monsieur Bocal," she said 
wearily enough. 

" Not at all, Madame la Marquise." 

" But I have tried to get out of Saveme. They would 
not let me." 

" True, I had forgotten. You had no pass. A thousand 
pardons, madame. But I have seen the Marquis." 



The Plan of Nancy. 239 

"You have seen Gaston?" The eagerness with 
which she spoke riveted his intention. 

"All is well! You are to go forward immediately. 
I am deeply sorry I cannot accompany you. But I give 
you my travellingcarriage. I can ride horseback." 

" Monsieur ! " For once she appeared full of gratitude. 
" Monsieur ! How obliging of you ! At once ? " 

"Yes! I have found you a trustworthy man, a 
German who knows the roads well. He will take you 
safely to Strassburg, where you will wait till the 
Marquis joins you." 

" And my servants ? " 

" Truly I had almost forgotten them. Your maid will 
naturally travel with you. Your man will ride with 
Yung or behind, as you wish. Now, madame, I bid you 
adieu. The interests of France, which are the interests 
of you, her loveliest daughter, call for me with an 
imperative voice — Madame la Marquise! If I can no 
longer be near you, at least I can serve you with my 
bo^ and mind. Adieu!" 

The Marquise looked at the big-chested, big-bodied 
man with the great shoulders, the shaggy locks, and the 
ardent eyes, and she experienced again the same feeling 
she had had in the picture-gallery at her hotel in Pans. 
It was as- if she had just heard and definitely recognised 
the rumble of a thunderstorm which she had before 
taken to be that of a waggon. 

"You are not content with good deeds," she said, 
holding out her hands. " You mi^ needs also cover me 
with £btteries. Adieu! A thousand thanks, Monsieur 
BocaL" 

Monsieur Bocal took the proffered hand and imprinted 
on it an unmistakably ardent salute, looked up into her 
eyes, and left her. 

This time the Marquise felt glad when he had gone. 
She had begun to be a little afraid of this man of the 
Midi who could do so much. 

Then he mounted his horse and j?alloped off to the 
mountain pMS known as the Neck of Saveme to hasten 
matters. He had the impatience of all very energetic 



240 The Red Neighbour. 

men, and the strong belief that subordinates never showed 
well in crisea If they could, they need no longer be 
subordinates. 

It was an hour's ride to the spot, one of those un- 
suspected hollows in the hills where the almost separate 
peaks seem to have encamped and the road wanders in 
and out the tent-pegs, which are the lower spurs. High 
up against the sky was an old ruined castle of some 
turbulent spirit of an earlier period when the marches 
of Lorraine knew neither German nor French domina- 
tion, stark for defence, convenient for taking forced toll 
of the wains that passed below. The road wound in and 
out, well up the hillside, between the pines above it and 
thepines below. 

There was confusion dire. Three tall pines had been 
dragged off the road with infinite trouble and commotion. 
Throe more remained to drag before the first waggons 
entrapped could move. Bocal went on a few hundred 
yards. There was another trap, and yet another. He 
rode on till he found no more. There were, if all the 
wagons were free, barely enough to make up the tale 
required by Turenne. At once messengers were sent to 
Nancy with instructions to send fresh men and horses to 
Toul, to Commercy, to Bar-le-Duc. Every waggon of 
stuff must be put in motion, and not before this was done 
did he turn to direct the clearing of the road. With 
proper engines the task was no herculean one. But with 
a paltry supply of ropes, saws, men, it taxed all his 
energies to the utmost. His voice grew hoarser and 
hoarser. His great shoulders ached, the perspiration 
poured down his cheeks, his staunch knees trembled with 
the strain he took upon himself. Night was falling. 
He had sent to Saveme for more waggons and oxen, for 
soldiers to patrol the road. The wole convoy was 
beginning to move forward when two messengers rode 
up out of the twilight of the hills. Both handed him 
despatohes. 

He read the one. It was from his bankers telling him 
of the attack that had been made upon his credit — asking 
for instructions as to the payment of the bills presented 



The Plan of Nancy. 241 

on the part of one Madame Jeanne Chavigny. The other 
was a messenger of the law announcing to him the 
beginning of an action for the recovery of the moneys 
due to the said Jeanne Chavigny. 

It wanted but these blows. 

"Who is this Jeanne Chavigny?" he demanded 
angrily of the messengers. 

"She is called 'The Red Neighbour/ monsieur/' they 
said with one voice. 

"Mort de Dieu! I will tear out her entrails by the 
roots wherever I find her/' this man of the Titanic energy 
roared, so that the forest and the hills re-echoed the 1^ 
word. 

" Tell your masters/' he said to the bankers, " to pay 
every creditor but her, and to defend the action. Does 
not the king owe me many hundred thousand livres, and 
shall I be beaten by some cursed spiteful witch ? " 

" Hold ! You must rest the night at Saveme in any 
case. She has chosen her time well." 

The messenger of the bank had got the whole story^ of 
the attack on Bocal's credit on the exchange, the burning 
of his stores. It all sank deeper and deeper in. Turenne 
and the accursed Marquis in m)nt of him, credit collapsed, 
horses dispersed, wrecked storehouses behind him. To 
one thought he clung closely, that of the tie which bound 
Philippe — Monsieur Philippe of Orleans — ^to his stirrup- 
leathers. That should stand between him and peril at 
last. 

The great brain began to move again like a great mill- 
wheel which has been stopped, but feels once more the 
flow of the waters against its vans. There was one 
mighty attempt yet to make before he failed with 
Turenne. 



242 The Red Neighbour. 



CHAPTER XXXIL 

THE STORES OF STRASSBURG. 

In order to understand the events which immediately 
follow, it becomes necessary to state that in the town 
of Strassburg were very considerable stores, accumulated 
it is not re^»xled how, but gathered, there is no doubt, 
to facilitate the German advance. These stores wore 
the key to Turenne's operations in the neighbourhood 
of the Khine. The German objective was not so much 
Strassburg itself as the stores in Strassburg. The 
city was professedly neutral, but it was neuteal only 
in the sense that it opened its doors neither to the 
French nor to the Germana Only, if the Germans 
could approach within reach of the city walls, it was 
certain that the stores would drop of themselves into 
their outstretched handa 

Turenne, by a masterly series of small movements, 
was engaged in locking up the Rhine so that neith^ 
from the north or from tne south could the enemy's 
boats approach near enough to carry off the precious 
booty. He was engaged in driving a sufficient wedge 
of troops between the enemy and the Rhine from Kehl 
northwards, and, while keeping an unbroken front and 
preserving an uninterrupted line of communications in 
the rear, he was gradually forcing the German forces 
northward and eastward. And ec^ward was not very 
far, for in that direction was the great wall of the 
Schwarzwald with its few and narrow passes into 
Wtirtembere. The Germans could not swarm over the 
Rhine unfed. They needed the stores in Strassburg before 
they could, if they crossed safely, go far into Lorraine. 

That the stores were there in flie old city behind its 
stout walls, and the walls surrounded to all intents by 
the river HI, was known to all, and to none more exactly 
than to Monsieur Bocal. 



The Stores of Strassburg. 243 

The authorities in Strassburg and Monsieur Bocal 
understood one another. They had had many dealings 
in past times together. The city was neutral Ks 
merchants were as ready as ever to deal with all and 
sundry. Florin or thaler or livre, pistole or crown- 
piece, nothing came amiss that was money anywhere 
current. They were hard times when Strassburg 
merchants and Strassburg money-changers could not 
gather a small percentage on their multitudinous 
transactiona 

The river HI approaches the walls of Strassburg at 
the south-west comer of the city. The spire of St 
Peter's Church is right ahead, the tower of St Thomas 
is to the right, and further north-eastward rises the 
stark tower of the Minster, out of a high square pile 
of masonry that itself towers far above the red roofi9 
of the houses. 

At the spot where it first washes the old walls the 
m divides, and one arm makes the northern circuit 
of the city, the other the southern, but not before it 
has split up into four arms like the bars of a gridiron 
and joined again at the great mill. Along the bars of 
the gridiron, which are 5ie arms of the river, is the 
quarter known as "Little France," and there most of 
the washing of the city is done, and there also are 
hauled up close to the quays a multitude of almost 
flat-bottomed boats, useful for carrying merchandise 
round the city. 

It was past one o'clock by the big cathedral dock 
when the guard at the water-gate, which is outside 
" Little France," was hailed in soft Wtirtemburger sing- 
song and bidden "open." Seemingly he had be^ 
warned of some possible advent of the Germans, but 
how they were to drop down at the south-west comer 
of the town when their forces lay well to the north- 
east and the Rhine between, he did not ask. It was 
sufficient to him that he was hailed in ^ood German, 
and looking over the tower and waving nis torch saw 



244 The Red Neighbour. 

the Wtirtemburger uniform on the crew of the large 
rowing-boat, ana of another behind it, as they lay on 
their oars close against the water-gate. 

It was not long before a magistrate made his appear- 
ance and gave permission for the new-comers to enter. 
With much trouble, grinding and grating of the great 
gates, letting of water into the lock, closing of gates^ 
more grinding and grating and rushing of water, this 
time with a sort of peaceful swirl like a meeting of 
relations, the boats made entry. Then the leader stood 
on the stone quay and talked with the magistrate in 
Qerman. The men rowed on for a spell to the quaj 
of the flat -bottomed boats, and, having tied up then* 
boats, landed. 

There was a pause by the river-side. It might have 
been an hour or more. The boats were left idle, with 
the water playing lip, lip, lap, about their broad sides, 
and running on to join its own current. Presently, 
after the big clock had struck two, and the town was 
as silent as that Prince of Nassau who lies, dressed in 
his clothes as he lived, in St Thomas' Church, a 
rumbling began, and then another rumbling and yet 
another, and presently trains of waggons began to come 
along the narrow, dark, cobble-stoned streets. There 
was slow progress, and there was creaking and strain- 
ing of wheels and pins and yokes, and smothered 
oaths of drivers who were trying to be quiet and to 
get on, — a diflScult matter with teams of horses and 
oxen roused up at midnight or after. But the officer 
who commanded, who spoke German with a rather 
French accent, a burly man with a decided habit of 
authority about him, was here, there, and everywhere, 
first in the Schlosserstrasse, then in the Munstergasse, 
next over the bridge at the old mill, or in and out the 
Judengasse. And at last the wains, loaded to break- 
ing point, reached the quays where the boats lay, and 
under the same steady encouraging voice and gesture, 
rather felt than seen, lioat after boat was loaded. Then 
the boats were lashed, five or six in a string, and the 
men divided with a few skilled Strassburgers to assist 



The Stores of Strassburg. 245 

them. And at last, when all was ready, the officer got 
into the leading boat and bade them cast off. 

"Where do you expect to land the stuff?" whispered 
the ma^strate. 

"AtBischen!" 

" You have a convoy to meet you ? " 

''A regiment or so! It is all safe! We shall dish 
Turenne. Ach so! Good! Till I see you!" 

There was a little clink of gold — quite a whisper in 
itself — and another whisper of " Dank sch5n." 

The worst part of the trial was over. The current 
would do nearly all the rest. 

Slowly the small flotilla passed the great mill, passed 
St Thomas' Church, and so eastward with the stream. 
They made no stay at the quays where the river fish 
is landed, and presently left the tower of the Minster 
black against a blue sky behind them, as the boats 
headed north-east and came to a bridge where a cunning 
boom stayed their progress, till it was removed and they 
were free of the town, and presently the flat country 
spread out on either side dimly visible in the starlight. 

There was a great stillness, only broken by the creak- 
ing of the sweeps against the thole-pins and the swish 
of the water a^inst the blades. It was a long way to 
the Rhine at Bischen, and the river makes turns and 
twists innumerable as rivers will in flat countries. 
There was nothing to be gained by strenuous exertion, 
which would only exhaust the rowers, for the work 
was heavy. Only slow steadily-reiterated pulling could 
keep those heavily-laden boats moving down the middle 
stream, in order to reach their haven before the morning 
sun rolled up the covering curtain of mist which covered 
the river lands. The leader had calculated on the mist 
and it had not failed him. But the same mist did not 
allow the look-out man in the bow of the first boat to 
see far ahead. 

The nearest French camp lay at Linx and Bodesweier, 
across the intervening streteh of land between the HI 
and the Rhine, beyond the Rhine itself, and the flotilla 
had reached a point nearly due west of the French camp. 



246 The Red Neighbour. 

The leader could see the reflection of the camp-fires 
against the sky, and began to relax a little of the 
grimness in his voice as he gave his orders. 

It was a doublv dangerous hazard he was playing, 
for more than half of the men with him were German 
soldiers picked for their daring, and although these 
were spread over the flotilla with underlings of his own, 
there were present two German officers who had under- 
taken to assist this unknown man to run these stored 
out of Strassburg to their own camp. The two or 
three men nearest to him in his own boat were in his 
confidence, and to them he could not resist a chuckle 
as he caught sight of the gleam in the sky, "Our 
German fnends would be uneasy if they tJiought 
another hour or two would bring them to those camp- 
fires!" 

Suddenly on the river-bank sounded the rataplan of a 
side-drum, once, twice, thrice ! 

The word was passed to lie on their oars and stay the 
boats against the current. The look-out man peered 
ahead and towards the bank. 

There was the sound of voices giving orders rapidly 
in the French tongue, and then the splash of oars, and 
before they could make out anything, a boat full of 
French soldiers shot across their bow and a grappling- 
hook brought the two boats alongside. 

The German crew, taken aback, seized their weapons, 
awaiting only the signal or example of the burly man 
with the black locks and big shoulders who sat in 
the bow. 

The onjset was evidently incomprehensible to him, for 
he swore a French oath under his breath and then said 
in French — 

"What do you wish, gentlemen? I am Monsieur 
Bocal the contractor. I am bringing some stores to 
the French camp!" 

"You speak falsely," retorted the officer who com- 
manded the other boat. " You have been taking stores 
out of Strassburg to relieve the Germans. They are iJl 
Germans in these boats. Take them all prisoners — aJL'* 



The Stores of Strassburg. 247 

Bocal shouted with his great voice orders to the on- 
coming boats in German, but the mist seemed to muffle 
the sound, and all the response he got was the noise of 
musketry and pistol-shots. The leader of the French lit 
a torch of pitch which one of his men held and waved it 
over Bocal and his crew. 

"Germans all!" he said — but the voice was the 
voice of a woman, not a man — and in that instant Bocal 
saw the face. Their four eyes met in a flash of recog- 
nition and of hatred. 

This, then, was the Red Neighbour ! The rirl he had 
betrayed and deserted ! She it was, who was become the 
power that could ruin rich men and thwart their plans. 

For an instant he wondered if it was possible to re- 
assert his old ascendancy in spite of all. "Once your 
woman, always your woman ! " was an old brutal maxim 
of his. 

Then his pride reasserted itself, and he called to his 
crew to "Drown the devils," and springing up he 
knocked the man that held the boats grappled over 
the head, seized the grappling-hook, and before the others 
could stop him caught the Ked Neighbour by the arm 
and with a backward jerk tore her from her boat and 
threw her into the river: and then swinging it round 
his head swept off three or four more. There was a 
general mSUe, They fought hand to hand without 
order — steadied by the train of boats laden with stores' 
behind. No one saw the tall figure of Tintorin slip into 
the water as he spied a glint of a white face as it came 
to the surface of the mist^ stream. 

Neither side would give way. Bocal alone seemed 
to escape unwounded, and at last the whole convoy 
grounded by the sedges of the shore. Bocal called those 
of his own underlines that were left, and all sprang off 
and made across the country. He did not ststy to 
inquire the fate of the other boats which had suffered 
like attacks. He was only acutely conscious that the 
bold stroke had failed and he must face Turenne. At 
all events he had squared accounts with the Red 
Neighbour ! 



248 The Red Neighbour. 

CHAPTER XXXIIL 

THE MARQUIS TUBNS TO SEEK HIS WIFE. 

The Marquis de Folignac bade adieu to the great 
Marshal and ordered his horse. Monsieur Bocal had 
ahready set out in his light carria^ for Saveme with 
the view of practically aemonstrating to Turenne and 
to the Marquis the ease with which he could furnish 
supplies of the best quality. 

JN eedless to say, the Marquis, having fulfilled his im- 
mediate duty to the king, as he conceived it, was esjger 
to meet his wife and take her under his own protection. 
It was not altogether the passionate easemess of the 
lover. Nor, on me other hand, was love absent. " Love 
me all in all or not at all " is a pretty poesy for a be- 
trothal ring. But the duties of life conflict sadly with 
the poetnr of life's surface, never with its highest and 
deepest rhythms. 

Often women cannot see above or below that surface, 
from which they miss the poetical adornments and go 
seeking asphodel in strange Elysian meads. Whence 
arise misunderstanding and tempestuous error. 

De Polimac was conscious of an undercurrent of un- 
easiness that his beloved Marquise had left the home, 
where she was safe in her accustomed ease and dignity, 
to brave a troublesome dangerous journey, wherein she 
might see coarse sights, hear coarse sounds, and possibly 
expose herself to personal insult. He felt that it was 
more than indiscreet that she should have condescended 
to accept the company and hospitality of a man so much 
beneath her estate as Bocal, — a mere sutler of the camps, 
a man of merchandise and counterfeit merchandise, — a 
man soiled by a thousand squalid bargains. It was a 
failure in her to grasp the intention of lis own journey. 
De Polignac did not know of the straits to which she 
had been reduced. 

At the bottom he blamed himself that he had not 



The Marquis turns to seek his Wife. 249 

turned back to meet her when first the news came to 
him that she was upon the road. It was from love of 
him she had come, rerhaps, he thought, he might have 
better fulfilled his duty to the State if he had done so : 
for now there was upon him a sense of disappointment, 
which all earnest servants of the State, as of all other 
employments, must feel at times — the sense that the 
acmevement falls so far short of the endeavour, a sense 
that this clever plausible Bocal, full of practised eflEront- 
ery, had in a measure justified himself m Turenne's eyes 
and would make him — ^the Marquis of Folignac — with 
his high aims and notions appear a mere futility. 

It was then with a sense oi dutv uncompleted and of 
love galled by the untowardness oi things that he heard 
his servant Loches tell him the horses were read^. 

He was at the door of his tent buckling on his sword 
when some one he took to be a young oflScer came up, 
and, without ceremony, beyond a simple salute, entered 
and stood before him. 

" What is it, young sir ? " asked the Marquis. 

"You do not then remember me?" Two piercing 
brown eyes looked into those of the Marquis. And the 
voice deep, but feminine in its quality, awoke recollec- 
tiona 

" The last time we met, my lord, was in the Conciergerie. 
It was a question of horses ! " 

" The Red Neighbour ! " His voice showed the astonish- 
ment he felt. "Pardon me!" he went on. "There is 
much I wish to ask you, but time presses. I have 
urgent business elsewhere." 

"The Marquise!" she said briefly. "Yes! But I 
have matters still more urgent to bring before you." 

The Marquis made a gesture of impatience, but he 
stayed neverthelesa 

" The first, madame ? " 

She handed the Marquis a paper. It ran : — 

"I owe Monsieur Bocal twenty thousand livrea — 
Philippe. . . . Paid by the king's treasurer to us on 
behalf of the above-mentioned Monsieur Bocal. — De 
Moiron et Bicaud, bankera" 



250 The Red Neighbour. 

" This was Monsieur BocaFs bulwark against the War 
Office ! " she said 

''It is no longer there! I understand!'' said the 
Marquis. 

"iut he does not know it!" she said, with a little 
triumphant note in her voice. "Tou can use it when 
you will." 

"Good! And now you, who know so many things, 
can you tell me if Monsieur Bocal can fulfil his 
contracts ? " 

"I think not!" 

" But what is Turenne to do ? " 

" The army shall not suflTer. Josef Kuhn will be able 
to supply the deficiency. Monsieur Bocal, however, will 
not easily be beaten. He is full of resource when he is 
desperate. But indeed in a day or two at most the 
Germans will be in retreat, if they do not succeed in 
getting stores from Strassburg, Listen! I want two 
companies of toot soldiers to-night, fully armed, to go 
whither I can lead them. I have heard that an attempt 
is to be made to-night to get stores from Strassburg. I 
may be wrong. &t nothing be changed of the usual 
precautions, but no marching of men to and fro. Get 
me these two companies ! Have them ready to march 
at midnight. Get me the necessary passes and pass- 
words and leave the matter to me. 

The Marquis hesitated. " But, madame ! " 

" Send whatever officer you like to command. All I 
desire is to guide them. Trust me as you did to cure 
the horses. It is a greater matter to-night. It may 
end in smoke, you understand. I may be misinformed. 
In which case there is no one to bear the ridicule but 
myself." 

" I must go at once to Turenne ! Wait here ! " 

The Marquis bade Loches keep watch as he walked 
the horses up and down. 

But to find Turenne was no easy task. Turenne was 
a man of action and spared no paina Seldom indeed 
did he linger in his tent except to study a map. He 
was bent on pushing these Germans back against the 



The Marquis turns to seek his Wife. 251 

hills of the Black Forest, which loomed up tantalisingly 
near in the broad daylight, shrouded from sight at early 
mom and at even by the mists from the marshy lands 
surrounding the camp. The Marquis chafed as he went 
from one point to another. Always Turenne had been 
there and galloped off again. The Marquis wished he 
had taken his horse. 

By the time he had found him, communicated so 
much of his information as he deemed necessary, and 
received the required permissions and passes. Monsieur 
Bocal had got four hours' start on the road to Saveme. 

But he found the Red Neighbour patiently waiting 
his return. She was in fact asleep, stretched upon his 
bed. She was one of those untiring women who have 
sense enough to take rest when rest is to be had. And 
the bed of the Marquis was there. Why not use it ? 

A few more words and the Marquis mounted his 
horse, Loches his, and master and man were soon many 
leagues from the camp. 

fi was evening when he arrived at Saveme. The red 
glow of the westering sun lit up the tower of an old 
castle, and the tree-tops of the hills, beyond the little 
town. Empty wains were returning, bells a-jingle, to 
the town. A sense of approa-ching rest was creeping over 
everything, and whispered softly to the tired Gaston 
de Polignac. He began to say to himself that Marie 
Gabrielle must be looking out for him and would 
welcome him with that glorious tender smile of hers. 
He lost all the soreness of spirit in the anticipation of 
clasping his wife, his love, first and only love, to his 
breast. And it was with alacrity he dismounted at the 
" Black Ox," and with eagerness he inquired of the host 
which room she had. 

" Monsieur ! The Marquise drove away by herself for 
Strassburg two hours since ! '* 

The re^sion of feeling was too great to conceal. He 
staggered and leant against the door-post. 

The host brought him brandy, and expressed again 
and again his wefi-meant sympathy. ** If madame liad 
only Imown ! " 



252 The Red Neighbour. 

" She went by herself ? " 

'' But yes ! She had her man and her maid with her 
and a trustworthy German to drive her. She was going 
to Strassburg in order to get thence to the camp. She 
wonld reach Strassburg to-night. Yes — ^bef ore darkness 
set in." 

" And Monsieur Bocal ? " 

" He set out for Nancy or somewhere to the west on 
horseback!" 

** He has gone to hasten on his convoys," thought the 
Marquis. "Please get me some supper — quick, and give 
my servant somethmg to eat. Tell him to come to me ! " 

"Ah, Loches! We are too late, it seems. Rub the 
horses down, feed, and rest them for two hours. Then 
we start again." 

Loches saluted and went out disappointed. '' There is 
nothing but luck or bad luck," he grumbled. He had 
expected a pleasant evening with some of the soldiery 
in Saveme. 

The Marquis had barely sat down to his meal when 
the host ushered in another traveller, no other than the 
Comte de Boubaix. 

The Comte's first inquiry was — 

" Have you seen Madame la Marquise ? " 

The astonishment of the Marquis at seeing De Roubaix 
walk in was very great (he thought him still in Paris), 
but he controlled it because he expected to find in him 
another messenger from Du Louvois, and, if the news 
was disagreeable, at all events he was too proud to 
anticipate it, or to express the surprise he felt. He 
answered the question. 

**No! She left here two hours ago for Strassburg. 
I have just arrived from the camp. Have you seen 
her?" 

What a question! How fresh it was, the aspect of 
the little courtyard with the galleries running round it 
of the " Golden Bell " at Ch&lons ! How plain to him the 
guest-room with its pieces of faded t^estry, its sanded 
floor, and the scornful Marquise! "What a difference 
between a lover like you and a husband like Gaston ! " 



The Marquis turns to seek his Wife. 253 

" Yes, my lord, I had the honour of escorting her from 
Epemay to Ch&lons, whence she preferred to go forward 
with Monsieur Bocal, instead of permitting me to get 
her an escort of cavalry. She would not hear of it ! I 
had business in Chdlons, and madame could not wait. 
I am, it appears, not so far behind after all." 

" I wish the Marquise had agreed," said the Marquis. 
"But what brings you here? Does not De Louvois 
reqiiire you ? " 

" De Louvois could dispense with all of us," said the 
Count. " He is all-sufficing. The fact is, I saw that a 
clerk could do iny work quite well, and I wanted to see 
the fighting, so I hinted at bearing despatches and got 
them. De Louvois is as fond of writing despatches as 
Monsieur Moli^re was of writing plays, and having 
written them he must needs pubush them. It is his 
metier" 

The Marquis smiled. " Have you anything for me ? " 

"Yes, Marquis — a lengthy disquisition on the merits 
of extreme discretion in dealing with army contractors. 
You need not read it now. I hfiS the pleasure of copy- 
ing it before starting. It will do to amuse you on the 
return journey." 

The Marquis took the paper nevertheless, ran his eye 
down it, recognising here and there the well-known 
official phrases, and put it in his pocket. It was written 
before that other message which had overtaken him at 
Sarrebourg. 

The Count had not waited for an invitatioa He 
was already satisfying his hunger. 

The Marquis looked approvingly. " I ought to have 
asked you to join me. Are you ready to pursue your 
journey in two hours in pursuit of the Marquise ? " 

The Count was not enamoured of the idea, because, 
after the last two conversations with the Marquise, 
it was galling to meet her in the company of the 
man that he was endeavouring to supplant accord- 
ing to the rules of the game: and he was scarcely 
likely to succeed in the presence of the husband, for 
whom the Marquise had expressed her preference in 



254 The Red Neighbour. 

such unhesitating terms. But the Count had a rule 
of practice which he had found extremely benefidaL 
It was iMa If any one asks you to do anything, 
agree at once> unless you have a convincing reason to 
give why you should not. Hesitation implies a balanc- 
ing of motives and breeds distrust. In nine cases out 
of ten you can creep out by holding on to the tail 
of an unforeseen accident. 

" By all means ! But how did you miss her ? There 
is but one direct road to Strassburg from Saveme ! " 

"True! But I did not come through Strassburg. 
I skirted it> and came by Yassionn^ Besides, it is 
ten leagues from Strassburg to Saveme. She may 
have almost reached Strassburg before I set out." 

The Count thought a minute. 

" No 1 You passed Strassburg at two o'clock, — ^let us 
ask the host when she set out ! " 

The host was called. 

'' At what hour did madame set out ? " 

"Truly I think about five !" 

"Five and four are nine. She will be in Strassburg 
at nine, and we cannot reach it till eleven at best, 
The gates will be shut." 

"We can camp outside till the morning!" said the 
Marquis, "if they will not let us in." 

"1 have other news for you, Marquia When you 
have heard it you may wish to go alone." 

The Count for once looked quite dejected. 

"What is it, man?" The Marquis was wondering 
what new misfortune awaited his ears. 

" It is about Th^rfese ! I have lost her." 

" Lost Th^rfese ! " The Marquis sprang to his feet, 
" You are mad. Th^rtee is at Meudon ! " 

"She may be — but I found her at Chfilons. She 
had made ner escape from Meudon, made an escort 
of a young gentleman, a Monsieur Giles de Beaupr^, 
and started in pursuit of you. She is a young lady 
of great enterprise. I extricated her from some kid- 
nappers at Chillons, and was going to put her in the 
convent of the Ursulines to await your return when 



The Marquis turns to seek his Wife. 255 

the two ranaways gave me the dip. Where they are 
now I have no idea. I left word with the Ursulines 
and every other religious body at Chfilons, at Bar-le- 
Due, at Toul, at Nancy to stop her and detain her." 

The Marquis's face had grown stem and stiff The 
Count's expressed immense concern. There was a 
noticeable silence. One can imagine how the Marquis 
condemned his own overweening interest in the afiairs 
of State when his wife was in front of him, he knew 
not exactly where, and his only child behind him, 
somewhere in the wide Champenois, or the equally 
wide Lorraine. 

''This boy ?" he blurted out. 

"A brave, well-brought-up lad of sixteen, djdng 
to see the war. He wiU not desert her! But where 
are they?" 

"You mean to say you could gain no certain news 
after you left Ch&lons. Had they a start of you? It 
is incomprehensible." 

"They must have let me p€U9S them on the road 
somewhere. After Chdlons I travelled as rapidly as 
possible." 

"You say you extricated her from danger at 
Chalons?" 

"I had to kill two men and wound another with 
the help of Giles." 

" He IS a brave fellow ! It seems " said the Marquis, 

his eyes brightening. 

" Me will make a swordsman in time," said the Count. 
" He was adopted by the Chevalier de Beaupr^, once a 
page to the late kmg, poor but of good lineage. I do 
not know who Giles mmself ia But he is a fine lad." 

"The stars in their courses fight against me," said 
the Marquia "You could not have done more. Who 
would have thought Th6r^ could be so determined. 
It is, however, quite plain I must go back and seek 
till I find her, and you must go on to arrange for 
the comfort of Marie Oabrielle in Strassburg till I 
come. I have not finished my task." 

"You absolve me then, my dear Marquis?" 



256 The Red Neighbour. 

" Quite ! " said De Poli^nac, extending his hand. 

" Write, then, to the Marquise that you place her in 
my charge till you come," said the Count. "Your 
handwriting will reassure her. She might not believe 
me. I do not care to be thrown over for Monsieur 
Bocal." 

The Marquis very nearly smiled, called for pen and 
ink and wrote. 

The Count was not unpleased at this division of 
the employment. He wanted very much to be near 
Strassburg. 

So did Lochea But at the end of the two hours 
he had to turn his horse's face towards the hills, to 
the Col de Saveme, to wit. 



CHAPTER XXXIV. 

THE COUNT DE EOUBAIX FINDS TRACES OF THE 
MARQUISE. 

The Count de Roubaix was as suspicious bv nature 
and training (his own chiefly) as he was frank in 
manner, a matter of training also, and he was not 
setting out on a wild-goose chase without trjdng to 
find out first the direction of the wild-goose's flight. 
"Distrust is the mother of safety," was written on the 
first page of his mind. He learned of the arrival of 
Bocal from the French camp, his departure for the Col 
de Saveme, and that he had lent the Marquise his 
travelling carriage and furnished her with a driver. 
Perhaps a recent rencontre with Monsieur Bocal had 
made nim more circumspect. At all events he strolled 
to the three gates of Saveme and learned out of which 
the Marquise had driven. The Marquis would never 
have doubted the innkeeper when he said the lady 



The Count de Roubaix finds Traces. 257 

had set out for Strassburg. The Count had a very 
cynical view of innkeepers in general, bom perhaps 
of a particular knowledge of their ways, and would 
have answered readily that an innkeeper's interest in 
a guest began and ended with his bill, though he was 
not averse to oblige one in other ways than the pro- 
vision of board and lodging if, and only if, a suitable 
pou/rbovre were forthcoming. 

Whatever the destination of the Marquise, she had 
undoubtedly set out, not for Strassburg, but Hochf elden 
and Brumath, a road from which assuredly led to 
Strassburg, but took two or three hours longer than 
the direct route. She would know no better. This 
must be the handiwork of Monsieur BocaL 

The Count lost no time in setting out. There was 
an added pleasure, instead of the deduction he had 
anticipated from the companv of the Marquis, in pur- 
suing the Marquise, arising trom. the fact that he was 
going to put a spoke in the wheel of Monsieur BocaL 
The Count felt quite a model of virtue, so much so 
that he began to doubt whether his elected career of 
self-seeker was not going to be set aside by the finger 
of Fate, a lady in whom, as in all other ladies, we 
Count had little belief, and a new road marked out 
for him as knight-errant of runaway schoolgirls and 
beautiful, but excessively fond, wives. It was truly 
disconcerting. 
''We shaU see how far one can safely go alon^ the 

Sbth of virtue," he said to himself. ''One can afways 
verge." 

And he galloped all the way to Hochfelden, learned 
the direction oi the carriage, then rode rapidly on to 
Brumath. 

At Brumath he learned that the carriage had taken 
the direction of the village of Wantzenau, which was 
strongly held by the French, and, as he had been in- 
formed by the Marquis, represented the extreme of the 
French left designea to prevent any attempt of Monte- 
cuculli to cross the Bhine and turn Torenne's flank. 
Monsieur Bocal's manoeuvres were then difficult to 

B 



258 The Red Neighbour. 

see throu^L He had in appearance sent the lady by 
a really durect route to the nearest point of the Frenw 
lines, mr enough away from Strassburg it is true, but 
to a point where it would be quite easy for her to claim 
the protection of the first officer she met and be con- 
ducted to headquarters. Was Bocal then converted 
into a saviour of marquises? What an intolerably 
virtuous world it was getting. Only the Count no 
more believed in Bocal's disinterestedness than in his 
own. Not that he suspected the contractor of undue 
admiration of the Marauise. Not at all He knew 
enough of the errand 01 the Marquis to be sure that 
relations were strained, and venr naturally inferred that 
Bocal fully meant to use the Marquise as intercessor or 
as a hostage. 

But where was she ? 

At Wantzenau there was no news of her. And cer- 
tainly no carriage could have passed through unknown, 
for a strong guard was on the alert and patrols were 
put towards Bischen, and in the country between the 
iQ and the Rhine. The whole aspect of things be- 
tokened war, and the Count's military instincts sniffed 
the air. For two pins he would have gladly crossed 
the Rhine with a troop or two and made a night attack 
on the German lines, whose camp-fires showed above 
the river -mists away in the distance. There was, 
however, little prospect of booty, for the lands of 
Alsace had been swept and harried till they were bone 
bare. 

Bocal had not wished her to reach the French lines 
without him. This the Count's first inference made 
him once more satisfied of the inherent viciousness of 
human nature. He could go on reasoning. It makes 
such a difference to the conclusion when your major 
premise is altered from "All men are naturally self- 
seeking" to "All men are naturally disinterested." 

If not Wantzenau, then some point short of Want- 
zenau|was}her harbour. He turned his horse abruptly 
andftrotted back along the road he had come, marking 
all bypaths, which were few, but were carefully made 



The Count de Roubaix finds Traces. 259 

and led to a definite place of human habitation. In 
a marshy country one does not make bypaths for 
amusement. 

The night was not absolutely dark, but the mist 
along the riverine lands stood the height of a man. 
It was a sure driver and a knowing one who had taken 
a carriage left or right of the main road that evening, 
even allowing for two hours earlier. Not that there 
was much danger of drowning. It was the superfluity 
of mud and slmllow water. 

The Count rode on. He had decided that the place, 
wherever it might be, was on the left, for that way 
lay the river. A few years since he could have, given 
a sheet of paper, dotted down every farmstead for a 
few miles round, so familiar had campaigns made the 
country-side, but now his memory was somewhat over- 
lain by other recollections. He could not remember any 
side road hereabouts. If any led to the river it must 
be masked. He went on again. Then there flashed 
across his mind that they had passed an inn not more 
than half a mile farther, a place to which the villagers 
of Wantzenau might wander on Sundays for merry- 
making. It was called the ''Inn of the Ford." What 
ford ? Depend upon it there was some pathway leading 
from it slantwise to the river. 

No sooner thought than a brief application of the 
spur brought him opposite the door, him and his valet. 

There were fresh wheel -marks in the softer earth 
that led up beside the house into what seemed to be 
the inn-yard, but was really only a partial enclosure, 
the fourth side being a grass-covered lode. The Count 
turned his horse and saw at a glance, first, that his 
surmise was correct, and second, Uiat a light travelling 
carriage stood in the yard. The kitchen windows shed 
a ruddy light upon it, and there was a cheerful noise 
going on within. 

Monsieur Bocal would then have it in mind to over- 
take his carriage and the occupant. 

The Count K)de up to the door of the inn and called 
loudly for an ostler. 



26o The Red Neighbour. 

The host came out, a Qerman, heavily built, of a fair 
jolly countenance, and greeted the travellers. 

" You have a lady guest here not long arrived ? " 

'^ Ja gewiss ! Two hours since. She has gone to her 
chamber. Her maid and her man are in the kitchen 
having their evening meal It is late, but I can give 
you some sausage, a bit of ham, and a slice of cold 
veal Hans! Take the horses to the stable." 

The Count dismounted, followed the innkeeper into 
the common room, a plain room with sanded noor and 
wooden tables and benches — trough and solid. 

*' Tell the lady the Marquis is here and would speak 
with her." 

The host bowed and lit a candle and proceeded up 
the narrow stair& The Count waited below. 

He heard the host knock on the door of a chamber, 
but there was no answer. He knocked again without 
result and descended. 

" She is fast asleep ! I dare not waken her, my lord," 

" The matter is urgent. Send her maid up to her." 

The maid came, curtsejong and smiling when she saw 
the Count, whom she regarded as the beau-ideal of 
countiiood. She blithely undertook the task of awaken- 
ing madame. She tripped up the stairs and knocked 
a rapid, sharp, decisive knock. There was no answer. 
She applied her ear to the familiar keyhole. Not a 
sound, not a breath but her own and a cold current of 
air as if from an open window. 

She came down again. '' It is strange, I cannot make 
her hear," she said. 

The Count drew her outside. Yes, fortunately, there 
was a ladder. But the window was no great height. 

"Go up, my little dear," he said. "I will hold the 
ladder." 

With a coy gesture she mounted and peeped in. She 
climbed in. Tben she reappeared. 

'' She has gone ! " she said in amaze. 

"Two crowns for you to keep silence," said the 
Count. "Let yourself out by the door. I will come 
up. 



The Count de Roubaix finds Traces. 261 

In a trice he had returned to the front of the house, 
mounted tlie stair, held a whispered colloquy. 

The maid returned to the kitchen. 

"My mistress wanted something/' she said aloud. 

"They will say anything," cynically observed the 
Count. 

No one knew of the departure of the Marquise but 
the maid and he. 

"It is as bad as ever," thought the Count, as he 
emptied his first bottle of "vm gris," that curious 
Al»btian wine which is neither Claret nor Moselle nor 
Hock, nor anvthing on earth but "vin gris." It was 
all they had but " vin blanc," and that was worse. " It 
is as bad as ever — ^like this wine ; here is the beautiful 
Marie Qabrielle ^ne off to find the ford through the 
damp grass and mists. I ou^ht to follow her. Presently 
— ^will come Monsieur BociS, and I ought to stay and 
meet him . • . 

"Tiens! My rascal will do . . ." 

He called his man. 

"Follow that green road beside the house— right to 
the river. Don't fall in, however. I want you. See 
if there is a ferry. If so find out, if there is a ferry- 
man, whether any one— « lady — ^has crossed to-night. 
If there is no ferryman, try and discover all you 
can. Providence has given you a nose, two eyes, 
two hands with the usual complement of fingera 
Qo! Do not lose yourself. Return in an hour at 
most" 

It was very disagreeable. The valet was sleepy. But 
the Count was no f ooL He cudgelled or kicked his 
servants — occasionally, but not t^ often, paid them. 
But they infallibly obeyed him, or ran away both fast 
and far. They never argued. 

The Count put some wood on the fire. It was getting 
chilly. 

" Poor Marie Qabrielle ! " he said " She will assuredly 
get her feet wet." 

One hour went by. 

The host reminded him that his bed was ready. 



262 The Red Neighbour. 

The Count bade him set two more bottles of wine on 
the table, and go to bed himself. 

The valet returned and told his tale. 

"So!" the Count mused aloud. "There is an old 
ferry-boat. It works on a chain. Tou turn a winch. 
I remember. There was one at Boubaix where I was 
as a boy. Some one has used the ferry to-night — ^for the 
boat is at the other side, and there is the freish mark of 
the boat bein^ pushed off. Tes ! And you have found 
this piece of lace, Point de Venise — ^from her ladyship's 
petticoat. I can ask Lucille or whatever her name is. 

"Good! If Marie Gabrielle is not drowned — she is 
by this time in the hands of the patrola I will 
wait." 

The Count disposed his cloak comfortably about him, 
his hat well over his eyes, the comer of the table under 
his right elbow, his sword on the table, his feet on the 
bench on which he sat, and bidding his man go to sleep 
in the kitchen and waken him if any one arrived, went 
to sleep. 

Daylight was breaking when the door opened and 
Monsieur Bocal in fact walked in. 

He was muddy, dishevelled, haggard with nearly 
twentv-four hours incessant travel and toil, his eyes 
glazed and staring for sheer want of sleep. 

Without a second look at the Count, whom he took for 
some officer going to the camp, he threw a couple of 
billets on to the expiring ashes, lay down in front of 
the fire with a couple under his great head, and wsus 
asleep in an instant. 

The Count, who made no sign, proceeded to take 
another little nap — Bocal was safe for another hour. 

But not for longer. To men of Bocal's type, sleep is 
a draught that can be taken in sipa An hour would 
revive his energy. The Count pondered for a minute or 
two on Bocal's outward condition of mud and water, on 
the haggard unusual appearance of his face: wondered 
what Bocal had gone through, and why, in the last 
twenty hours or so. Then he went to sleep. 

It was five o'clock when they woke. 



The Count de Roubaix finds Traces. 263 

Bocal shook his head, ran his big hands through his 
black locks, sat up and looked at the Count. 

The Count smiled that disagreeable smile of his that 
showed his white teeth. 

" You here ? " said Bocal. 

" I have come for the Marquise. Here is my author- 
ity," he added, unfastening the letter. 

'' I am going to conduct her to Turenne's headquarters 
mysejf ," said BocaL 

"Ab to that we can ask her," said the Count. "But 
just now, my dear Forage (Bocal snarled at the name) 
let us have an understcmding." 

"About what?" 

"The Marquise. It seems to me that you have been 
doing your best to keep her in your own possession. 
You must.know that it is an imposssible game to play. 
The Marquis ..." 

"Had better look after his own interests!" growled 
Bocal. 

" The Marquis, my dear Bocal, is well able to do that. 
He has evidently dislocated your plans, and you seek to 
move his wife about, a lady of the best blood in France, 
as a sort of hostage till you can arrange terms." 

" And what have you to do with tnat ? " asked Bocal. 
" Are you the Marquis's bully ? " 

" Not in the least, my dear Forage. But I say that 
you shall not pursue this line any further." 

"You! Pou-ah!" 

" Not ve^ prettily expressed," said the Count, " But 
forcibly. Yes! If you make any further attempt in 
this direction I shall run you through the body.' 

Bocal put a strong control over himself. But the effect 
was immense. He was no poltroon. 

" It seems to me that I can ruin you in one short 
hour by handing to your master, the Marquis, a few 
papers.' 

"It was you then who ransacked my rooms while I 
was in the Conciergerie ? " 

" Not I ! " Bocal replied contemptuously. 

The Count was certain Bocal spoke truth that time. 



264 The Red Neighbour. 

"Ton can do as you please about the papers, and I 
shall do as I please about your son." 

"Ifyson! What do you know about my son?" 

" miat you told me and what I have discovered. He 
is a pretty lad is Monsieur Giles de Beaupr^ It would 
be a pity for him to know who and what his father ia" 

Bocal glared at the Count, strode two or three times 
up and down, grinding the sand of the floor beneath his 
heels. He comd have slain the Count where he stood 
with his two hands, so great was his fury. The Count 
did not appear perturl^, but his right hand did not 
wander far from the sword-hilt. 

" Tou know Qiles de Beaupr^ ? " Bocal asked, panting. 

"Yes! We have had an adventure together at 
Chftlons. We slew two (or was it three?) of your 
rascals, and released Mademoiselle de Polignac" 

The efiect of this news upon Bocal was to steady his 
nerves. He seemed to become in an instant the master 
of bold eflFrontery and resource. 

"Qiles will have the pleasure of seeing you han^ one 
of these days. My servants are not killed for nouiing. 
I shall not release the Marquise till I choose." 

" No ? Tou are^ late then ! The Marquise has already 
gone." 

"Gone?" 

Bocal rushed up the stair, biu^ open the first, the 
second, the third doors. The third showed that the room 
had been occupied. 

The Count awaited his return calmly. 

When Bocal descended, he cross-questioned the host, 
the servants, the maid Nanette. No one knew anything. 

" It seems to me," said the Count, " you have been out- 
pl^ed this time. I am going on to Wantzenau." 

!DOcal ordered out his travelling carriage, and resumed 
the journey to the camp, which he had begun on ioot 
earlier that morning. 

He felt that all thin^ were crumbling away, and yet 
he would face the world in spite of it. As for the Count 
who knew so much, he would get even with him. That 
at least must be done. 



Monsieur Bocal plays "Philippe." 265 

CHAPTER XXXV. 

MONSIEUR BOCAL PLAYS "PHILIPPE." 

Monsieur Bocal, having made sure that the Marquise 
had left Wantzenau without waiting, as he had intended, 
for hun, made the best of his way to camp. Concerning 
his misfortune in the matter of me Strassburs stores, so 
nearly a success that in fact he felt sure mudi of them 
had reached French hands, though not as he had planned, 
he could not throw off the f e^in^ that the fates were 
against him. He knew enough, una money-builder, to 
know that success in a life &e his was due to a com- 
bination of skill and perseverance, exerted under a cer- 
tain benign aspect of things themselves, — call it chance, 
fortune, what you wilL The wise contractor reduced 
chance to a smsdl factor, but it was there; and now, 
after years of success, he had suddenly met with ^santic 
reverses — credit shaken in Paris, stores despoiled horses 
stolen, organisation broken down, his honest profits the 
subject of scrutiny, and lastly, a stroke of genius and 
darmg turned aside by the arm of a woman. The woman 
had been at the bottom of all the rest, except that for 
which that cursed interfering Marquis had been respon- 
sible. Well ! She was dead. And no one would be able 
to swear that he, Bocal, had anything to do with it. 

In disposing of her he had once more reduced Fate to 
a small factor. It would go hard, but he would mini- 
mise the importance of the Marquis: not that he had 
any covert idea of resorting to assassination. But the 
succession of events had brought into Bocal's mind a 
tendency to brood over his wrath, and his wrath had 
led to his dealing the blow at the woman he had once 
loved, because she stood so manifestly between him and 
his immediate object, as well as being the author of the 
many mischiefs that had been wreaked upon his in- 
terests. Bis wrath might burst out again. It might 
obscure his judgment. 



266 The Red Neighbour. 

Having made sure of the Marshal's movements, he sent 
out messengers to direct his convoys from Saveme and 
other places to converge on a road tnat should lead con- 
veniently to where the next encampment should be. The 
Marshal was busy ; so was Bocal. The Marquis was no 
doubt still hunting for his wife. Turenne's storm might 
blow over, if he was only busy enough, and Bocal could 
make things go with any sort of smoothness. To this 
he bent hmiself . 

To his profound disgust he was summoned to the 
Marshal's tent at Gammiurst, just after the defeat of 
the Qerman advance-guard by the Chevalier d'Hoc- 
quinoourt His disgust became deeper still when he 
learned that the ]k£krquis de Folignac was with the 
Marshal. 

The Marquis had in fact learned, before threading the 
Col de Saveme in its entirety, from a waggoner, that he 
had been passed by a boy and a girl riding on nags on 
the way from Nancy to Sarrebourg, and by this time 
they should have passed Saveme. He found on turn- 
ing back and making further inquiries that this was 
so, and that they had set off in a baggage -waggon 
which was bound for Wantzenau in charge of some 
soldiers. 

The Marquis had ridden as quickly as possible back 
to Wantzenau, thence to Bischen, and finallv to Qams- 
hurst, without gaining further trace of them oeyond the 
fact that they iSid left the artillery waggon at Wantzenau 
and started on foot for the Mardbal's camp. 

Still bereft of wife and child, and without knowledge 
of their precise situation in the midst of this war-swept 
country, the Marquis was in no very calm mood. It 
was impossible for any one to be so. 

But being at Gamshurst he resolved to see to what 
extent Boc^ was fulfilling his undertaking. Turenne, 
anxious for his next movement, in which he felt cer- 
tain of success, was equally desirous that no failure 
of the commissariat should give him one instant's 
check. 

''Come, Monsieur Bocal," said the Marshal not ill- 



Monsieur Bocal plays "Philippe." 267 

humouredly, for were not his plans maturing to his 
wishes, "where is your flour?" 

"It is on the way, Marshal. I shall have by good 
luck twenty waggons at Gamshurst to-night." 

"But that is not keeping to the contract!" 

" I have had grave misfortunes. An ambush was laid 
in the Col de Saveme. I have had the devil's own job 
to get it through. The roads are clear now. There will 
be a steady supply." 

"But, monsieur, I move forward almost at once. I 
want fifty at least at Nieder-Achem by to-morrow or 
next day at latest." 

"Then it is not possible. The roads are bad. You 
move so fast." 

"All this is the chance of war," said Turenne coldly. 
" We shall have to look elsewhere, it is evident. Your 
supplies ought to have been nearer." 

" Monsieur, you must have patience ! If your friend 
the Marquis de Polignac had not so ill-advisedlv inter- 
fered, for instance, you would have had plenty. ' 

"Yes; and my soldiers would have been dying of 
dysentery and bad flour. No, no! Monsieur Bocal, I 
want flour, not patience. Patience won't feed the 
soldiers. And hay? Where are my hundred waggons 
of fine hay ? How can we pursue the Germans without 
hay ? I tell you I must have another contractor." 

"Very weU, Marshal. Where will you find another 
in France? Where will vou find one in Alsace, and 
where will he find flour? 

"There is Josef Kuhn!" 

" Josef Kuhn ! Who buys hides and sells boots ! Josef 
Kuhn find flour?" 

BoccJ's eyes displayed an unmeasured surprise. 

" Be it so ! We will see if you can break contracts. 
His M^esty, whom I have served so long, will see to 
that, is not De Louvois satisfied ? Has he not recalled 
the Marquis de Polignac, who stays here at his own 
peril?" • 

Turenne looked at the. Marquis. 

The Marquis made no sign. 



268 The Red Neighbour. 

''It is true his Majesty had ^ven you the contract, 
but in the field I act for his Majesty, and if the food is 
not good or not sufficient, I must get another contractor. 
Yours becomes void." 

*' Void ! His Majesty must pay me for every waggon 
I have upon the road. 

''Not so!" said the Marquis, intervening for the first 
time. "The contract not being fulfilled the loss falls oa 
the contractor. Doubtless the Marshal will accept an^ 
food or forage that you bring in, but it will be at his 
ownprice, according to its goodnesa" 

"Ventre diable! No! I will have every penny of 
my contract price." 

"How do you propose to get it ?" asked the Marquis 
coldly. 

" listen, Monsieur le Marquis — ^the Duke of (Means is 
my good friend. He will see me paid." 

"The Duke of Orleans !" said Turenne. "The Duke 
will not trouble about a mere contractor ! " 

" Will he not ? The Duke of Orleans owes me twenty 
thousand livres." 

" I think not," said the Marquis, taking a slip of paper 
from his vest " Here is the quittance signed by your 
own bankers." 

Turenne glanced at it, and held it so that Bocal could 
see it. 

Bocal turned furious. "Conspiracy after conspiracy 
to ruin me ! The devil take you all for a set of lying 
rascally damned . . ." 

Turenne was on the point of ordering a guard to 
arrest him when an officer came in with a message. 

"I ^ve you till to-morrow," said the Marshal, "to 
apologise for your language, but understand your con- 
tract no longer holds good. Next time you rely upon a 
rear-guard see that it is good in an emergency. 

Bocal went out murmuring imprecations. He knew 
he had gone too far and jeopardised his neck, but his 
evil passions were uppermost and his judgment wanted 
time to reassert itself. 

Was he going to be ruined after all ? 



Dr Levani to the Rescue. 269 



CHAPTER XXXVI. 

DR LEVANI TO THE RESCUE. 

There was one quality in Dr Levani, formerly, under 
another name, lackey to the Comte de Boubaix, which 
makes for greatness — ^to wit, doggedness. 

He had been a secret witness of the departure of the 
Marquise in the travelling carriage of Monsieur Bocal 
Monsieur Bocal was a new star in Levani's firmament. 
Their orbits had hitherto been in different planes. The 
ex- valet, who was now an astrologer, was not long in 
learning from the stars and other sources all that was 
generally known about the great army contractor. He 
did not regard the information as promising much custom. 
Contractors did not, in his experience, concern themselves 
much about horoscopes or love-philtres, or the search for 
the philosopher's stone. They were an unimaginative 
phlegmatic class, not burdened with superstitious curi- 
osity. All the same, he resolved to follow the Marquise. 
That she had so suddenly dispensed with the society of 
the Count seemed to tumble to the ground his previous 
conclusion about their having met dandestinely to con- 
duct a love-affair. If there were still something under- 
lying it, the Marquise must be a singularly light woman 
to exchange the Comte for this Monsieur Bocal at so 
short a notice. Monsieur Bocal was, however, sure to 
be rich, and, despite outward appearances, Levani judged 
the Count to be poor. Women were, in the astrologer's 
opinion, far more easily swayed by wealth than by any 
other commonplace motive. The true view, that the 
Marquise was really eager to reach her husband, and 
regarded the Count, Bocal, and himself as mere signs 
and tokens, by using which she was nearing her goal, 
did not occur to him. His experience of the ladies of 
Paris was that the^ willingly expended time and money 
in avoidijD^ the society of their husbands, never in seek- 
ing it. Tne Marquise, then, had some object in view, 



270 The Red Neighbour. 

but she was deeper than the ordinary woman of fashion. 
He would still follow. At the worst he would ultimately 
arrive at the camp, where there would be the usual 
feminine cohort, passionate or greedy, and therefore 
gullible. There would be officers ana soldiers, idle in 
the intervals of war, on the look-out for anything that 
would stimulate their curiosity or their superstition. 

The worthy Doctor had hired a horse at Ch&lons, on 
a sufficiently plausible pretext to secure its services, for 
a moderate deposit as guarantee of good faith, fastened 
his modest valise upon it, mounted, and set out. It was 
not so difficult a matter to keep up with the quarry, for 
the reason that, though Bocal travelled fast £rom place 
to place, )ie invariably had business to transact at the 
towns he came to, and the sufficient rest and refreshment 
of the Marquise and her servants were scrupulously cared 
for. By curtailing his own hours of rest to the bare 
needs of his horse, which, not being overfed, always 
started with great vivacity for the next stage in the 
ever alluring hope that it meant his destination and a 
plentiful supply, Levani made up the ground he lost 
upon the road. 

He climbed up the steep winding ascent into Bar-le- 
Duc with the feax in his heart that he had been left 
hopelessly behind, up the street of the Qreat Clock, past 
the fountain, and beheld with a certain amazement the 
street of the Dukes of Bar with its fine houses, wide, 
white, and quiet, ornamented by sculptured gargoyles, 
and wondered if he could get news of the con&actor 
and his carriage. He was relieved when he caught a 
glimpse of it in the yard of an inn, and immediately 
passed on to a second one of more moderate appearance. 
After that his mind was at ease. And he devoted his 
mental abilities to the economy of his funds. 

He kept well out of sight, and started for Toul a bare 
quarter of an hour after Monsieur Bocal. 

It had been a sufficiently weary journey to Bar-le-Duc 
across the wide Champenois, the everlasting verdure 
flowing like a sea from the roadside to the hills many 
miles away. But between Bar-le-Duc and Toul the 



Dr Levani to the Rescue. 271 

scene became more diversified. The hills covered with 
rough pines drew closer about the river. Villages with 
red-tiled roofs and white houses succeeded one another 
along the hillside. Now and again showed great cliffii 
of chalk, where the base of the mils had been cut away 
or fallen. Vines covered the lower slopes of the hills to 
the left hand, and the chalk-white riband of the road 
wound on and on and about, visible for long distances, 
the dust of it settling upon his clothes and hat till he 
might have been a muler who rode into Toul, and sought 
a very welcome inn in the " Rue Qui-qu'en Grogne," once 
more to find that the elusive travelling carriage was 
snugly ensconced in a neighbouring inn-yard. 

From Toul the patient jackal followed to Nancy, and 
from Nancy to Sarrebourg, the little town of red tiles 
set against a middle-distance of pine forests and a dim 
horizon of blue mountaina Soon began the road through 
the defile of a northern spur of the Vosges, known as 
the Col de Saveme, and he duly caught up his prev, to 
find that a whole day was to elapse before any n*esh 
move was made. 

The Marquise was left alone. With what excuse of 
aid he could present himself was a puzzle, so he con- 
tented himself by making his way into the guard-rooms 
of the town and offering to draw horoscopes or to sell 
a certain specific against ague, which he had learned 
incidentally was a common sickness in this part of the 
country. The same specific he would have been equally 
confident to recommend in another place for an antidote 
against the dryness of the atmosphere, the gout, or the 
smallpox. 

From these dealings he made enough money to pay 
his bill and leave him a little over; and learned the 
positions of the camp, of the enemy, and other useful 
details. 

At last the welcome travelling carriage was at the 
door of the " Black Ox," and he saw the Marquise drive 
away, this time by herself. His fingers insensibly 
wajidered to his slender purse and felt the coins within 
lovingly, as a widower who marries again may embrace 



272 The Red Neighbour. 

his first family, before introducing the new-comers to 
its tender welcome. 

He took good care to follow by the right road at no 
very long interval, and rejoiced to find that he easily 
kept the carriage in sight. 

Me made no chain of reasoning to explam the move- 
ment of the Marquise or to hry^ bare the motives at i^e 
root of them. He was essentially a waiter on oppor- 
tunity. He followed, followed, i^esting at Hochfelden, 
resting again at Brumath, and then fared onward. 

When the carriage was eventually unhorsed near 
Wantzenau with every appearance of staying the nighty 
he waited to reconnoitr^ before halting iSso at tiiis 
solitary inn, because he wished not to be recognised by 
the Marquise or by her servants till the moment wh^i 
he should offer his service& For this reason he led his 
horse a little way down the grassy road that led to i^e 
ferry in entire ignorance of its termination, and event- 
uaUv to the ferry itself. 

He was on the point of going back to the inn when 
he was aware of some one approaching, and looking up 
perceived the very object of his solicitude, the Marquise. 

She did not at first recognise him, and, taking him 
for a simple traveller, said — 

"Monsieur, I wish to cross this ferry immediately. 
Will you assist me?" 

"With good will, Madame la Marquise!" 

" What ! Dr Levani ' You have befriended me before. 
Quick ! Help me to cross this ferry, and take me to the 
French camp, to Turenne ! I will give you anything." 

" Madame ! " the Doctor protested ; " you do me injury. 
In your service . . ." 

" We lose time ! " she said, dragging with all her puny 
might at the boat. 

The Doctor loosened it from the mud, assisted her into 
it, and pushed off, turning the winch with a will. 

Having landed her safely, he said — "Await me! I 
must return for my horse. With him we can go far. 
Without him we can do nothing." 

Impatiently she wrung her hands and wept. But the 



Dr Levani to the JRescue. 273 

Doctor was as speedy as he was dexterous, and returned 
in good order with the horse. 

Then having mounted her upon the horse in as much 
comfort as he could, he set out to lead the horse towards 
the Rhine and towards the south. There was light 
suflEicient to see the church-spires of several villages 
across the Rhine, and the rest was guesswork. In their 
slow and tortuous journey of perhaps two or three 
leagues towards the Rhine, and towards that portion 
of the bank which lay opposite to the village of Liny 
and Bodesweier where the Marshal's camp was, so far 
as Levani's information, obtained at Saveme, carried 
him, Levani by turns reassured the Marquise, growing 
more and more timid with the lowering nightfall and 
very evident mist, cold, and damp which seemed to rise 
about them, and fell into questionings with himself as 
to where and how he was to take his own reward. 

In the first place, always resting his premises on his 
own general postulate of the extreme faUibility of human 
nature, he considered that, if a happy chance threw 
them in the way of a boatman who could put them 
across the Rhine, his own reward would be very 
uncertain, as depending entirely on the gratitude of 
the Marquise, a fine bidy, and therefore unlikely to 
remember so humble a helper as himself. Self-interest 
urged that he should extract some of the louis d'or she 
probably carried without delay. On the other hand, by 
waiting, by playing the disinterested friend, he would 
establish a claim on the Marquis. Had he known how 
strong this claim would have been in fact, he would 
have been content with a future reckoning. But his 
disbelief in human gratitude, together with his extreme 
faith in a gospel of self-interest, decided him to take 
advantage of the fears of the Marquise on the first 
opportunity which seemed to promise her ultimate 
safeW. 

After two hours' journey they were without doubt 
close to the Rhine, and his quick ears detected the sound 
of oars. 

"If madame will descend," he said, "I will go for- 

s 



274 The Red Neighbour. 

ward and see if I can procure assistance to cross the 
river." 

The Marquise dismounted and took the animal's reins 
in her hands, passive with fatigue and chill. 

" I may need to bribe them, madame, heavily. It is 
the time of war!" 

She handed him her purse as she would have handed 
him a biscuit. 

He took it with grave deference and placed it in his 
vest 

" Don't leave me, I pray ! Suppose the horse were to 
run away — don't leave me ! " 

" It is necessary for one or two momenta You cannot 
come on to the edge of the river." Levani's tones almost 
amounted to command. He advanced, cleverly picking 
his way through the reeds, and caught hold of a willow 
while he shouted. 

" Holla ! holla ! there ! Boatmen ! " 
; ; A long-boat with a dozen or so of soldiers armed with 

I muskets, four with oars, rumbled slowly into the half 

I light. 

" What do you want ? " a sergeant, who appeared to 

be in command, asked gruffly in French. " We are the 

river patrol. If you have not seen the enemy be silent." 

" If you are the river patrol you can earn a little 

; money. Monsieur le Lieutenant, by taking a lady across 

j who wishes to reach the Marshal." 

" Women enough ! " said the sergeant. " The Marshal 
i wants men, not women ! Peste ! We don't get enough 

' food as it is." 

! "She is a lady of rank this one, a Marquise, and a 

] great friend of Turenne's. He will assuredly promote 

i you" 

I "Who are you?" 

j " I am her physician ! It is not every one who carries 

a physician with her." 

" It is no part of our duty," said the sergeant. " Never- 
theless for a consideration, a crown a head, seeing she 
is a woman of rank, we might manage it. What say 
you, comrades?" 



Dr Levani to the Rescue. 275 

" It is little enough, seeing the night it is ! " said one. 

" Monsieur, twelve crowns for a little journey like that ! 
Come, you're joking ! We must trudge on to Bischen, 
horse and all. One cannot be robl^ of every sou. 
Come ! Say twelve livres and it is yours ! The horse 
can swim behind." 

" Five livres for the horse. He miffht upset us." 

At that moment a dull discharge of musketry sounded 
in the distance. 

"The Germans are attacking us at Renchen!" said 
one. 

" At Renchen ? What are those villages over there ? " 

" linx and Bodesweier ! " 

" You are no longer there ! " 

" No ! The MarAchal is not the man to stay long any- 
where. He is moving north." 

The Marquise had crept nearer at the sound of the 
muskets, and heard the last words. 

" The Marshal ! Take me across the river, quick ! I 
must see the Marshal." 

The sergeant ran the boat into the reeds. Levani 
sprang back to assist the Marquise. 

And in a few moments they had her safe in the bow 
of the boat, and Levani, in the stem by the sergeant, 
held the horse by the reins, and being a middle-aged 
beast, which had entirely lost the habit of expostulating, 
it allowed itself to be towed with some plaintive efforts 
at self-assertion to the other bank, up which it scrambled 
with very good will 

Levani dexterously drew out the four pistoles, gave 
the sergeant two and slipped the other two into his 
breeches pocket. 

"Keep straight on," said the sergeant, "along that 
road, it will take you into Linx. You will not get 
farther to-night." 



276 The Red Neighbour. 



CHAPTER XXXVn. 

A NIQHT IN THE FOBEST. 

It was a miserable inn at Linx to which Dr Levani, 
by help of a belated peasant or two, brought his 
convoy; for. the best rooms were taken up By sick 
officers, victims to the rains and to the low marshy 
ground, seasoned campaigners though they were. 

Still the Marquise was content, only too glad to 
have escaped from surroundings full of presage of 
Bocal, of whom, till her arriv^ at Saveme, she had 
taken no real heed, and at whom the last phase of her 
journey had conjured up an unreasoning alarm. 

Now treading on the very skirts of war, she realised 
what sheer dii^mfort meant. There was thai, how- 
ever, about the Marquise which procured all the atten- 
tions the hostess could pay her and Levani's methods 
alone would have failed to obtain. 

The last information she had been able to glean, 
before faUing asleep in an uncomfortable but dean 
bed, was that Turenne was at Waghurst, three leagues 
away. The camp itself had been removed. Half the 
forces were at Freistett — part on the Benchen near 
the castle, part at various posts between. 

At intervals during that night she awoke to the 
sound of musketry and even of occasional cannon fire. 
The enemy was attacking by night to the north and 
to the east. 

Attacking what, and why ? 

Turenne's plan, after crossing the Rhine, had been 
to secure the line of the river so that no crossing 
should be possible on the part of the enemy, and no 
supplies could issue from Strassburg to maintain him. 

Tbis done he began a movement from the right, 
which was to turn the enemy's left from the hillsides 
at their back, and roll them into an armed coil, of 
which the other end was at Freistett. As they re- 



A Night in the Forest. 277 

treated, they would find themselves either surrounded 
or driven away from the hills and on to the Rhine 
at a point so far north of their present posts as to 
render a crossing nugatory or self-aestructive. 

Montecuculli, unaware at present of the new develop- 
ment, and thinking that Turenne's forces were for the 
most part at Freistett, and that there was merely a 
chain of posts along the line of the river Benchen 
from Qamshurst to Benchen, had ordered an attack 
on these posts at the same moment that Turenne was 
on the road, laid with faggots, through the marshy 
woods that separated Bischen from Wa^hurst. The 
effect was that Prince Charles, who was in command 
of the enemy's attack, was himself surprised by the 
weight of the force he was called upon to encounter, 
and beat a retreat. It was the sound of this conflict 
by night that reached the sleeping Marquise. Turenne 
the next day did not deem it advisable to follow up 
this retreat, owing to the presence of a heavy haze 
which spread over the plain, obscuring all movements 
of his own as well as of the enemy's troops, and 
contented himself with preparing for the further move- 
ment by concentrating his forces astride the road 
which leads from Wa^urst to Nieder-Achem. 

This was the morning after the Marquise crossed 
the Rhine. She awoke to find the whole countiy- 
side wrapped in mist. Stragglers from the night attacks 
came in, and some said l^renne was at Waghurst, 
others at Benchen, others still at Qamshurst, the three 
other angles of an irregular square, of which one was 
Linx. 

Levani pronounced it clearly impossible to go wander- 
ing over the country, the roads of which, Md enough 
at all times, were filled with baggage -waggons, gun- 
carriages, and regiments in movement. Even he had 
become convinced by this time that the one and only 
desire of the Marquise was to find her husband, and 
it was because she felt certain he would be with 
Turenne that she begged and implored to be shown 
the way to the Marsbu himself. 



278 The Red Neighbour. 

Levani made two practical suggestions — one to send a 
careful ^uide to fetch her maioC her man-servant, and 
her valises, the other that she should rest where she 
was till he ascertained without doubt where Turenne 
or the Marquis waa 

The Mar(]^uise agreed reluctantly enough, and the 
Doctor, havmg prudently discharged all expenses to 
this point, handed her back her purse lighter by 
several pistoles. She merely o^ned it to press upon 
him some further money for ms journey, and Levani, 
with some misfgiving as to whether he had not been 
too modest in his exactions, took leave and set out 
on his still unsatisfied horse. 

The sullen sun, however, would not be denied, and 
at midday disj^rsed the haze. The Marquise, ever 
CTOwing more impatient, fearful, not for herself but 
for the safety of the Marquis, questioned every soldier 
upon whom the host could lay hands, and at last made 
up her mind that the balance of truth lay in the 
rumour of Turenne's being at Wa^hurst, the nearest 
of the three possible points mentioned. She commanded 
a carriage, a guide, and a sturdy driver, and regardless 
of her servants, her personal attire, and of her agree- 
ment with Levani, set out, buoyed up by a new feeling 
of independence which her solitary flight had en- 
gendered. To Wa^hurst she would go. 

But the same lifting of the haze which had made 
it possible for her to start from Linx had induced 
Turenne to start northward to clear the ground in 
front of him to Gamshurst. With his left as a pivot, 
his centre and riffht were advancing to the north- — 
his own objective being Gamshurst, that of his extreme 
right Nieder-Achem. 

This movement was in progress while the Marquise 
pursued her solitary journey, hindered by all kinds 
of obstacles. It was night when she reached Waghurst, 
to find the place and neighbourhood strewn with the 
dibria of an army and the last of a long train of 
waggons following its route to the north. 

fiiquiries there for Dr Levani proved fruitless. 



A Night in the Forest. 279 

Another night of even greater discomfort dragged its 
slow length away, A more haughty lady, or one whose 
natural sweetness and goodness dione less conspicuously, 
would have had to spend it in her carriage, for the 
innkeeper at Waghurst had found more custom than 
profit m the temporary occupation of his hostel by 
the staff of the Marshal, and by o£Bcers, sick or 
wounded in the recent skirmishes. The operations of 
war, which might centre a dozen times in a short 
month in a little village such as this, did not conduce 
to the outward courtesies of innkeeping, nor to the 
refined treatment of women. In every campaign women 
of different degrees followed the camp, and innkeepers 
were not careful of their manners to ladies whom 
their own particular cavaliers treated with little cere- 
mony, except that of a sufficiently coarse gallantry. 
The officers and men alike got what they wanted for 
payment or by force. The women got what the officers 
and men gave them, now profuse, now savagely sparing, 
according to the quarters they were in and their success 
at cards, dice, or the gathering of booty. 

The innkeeper at Wadb.urst had not heard of the 
Marquis de Polignac. The Marquise described her 
husband to the last button. No! He was positive 
he had not seen him. Her heart sank, but she deter- 
mined to go on, and partly persuaded by her beauty 
and courageous perseverance, partly by other inducements, 
her guide and her driver agreed to follow the army to 
Gamshurst. 

It was easy to intend. She was now to experience 
the difficulties of progress along the road, at no time 
good, cut into a thousand muddy ruts by endless 
wheels of gun-carriages and waggons, stamped with 
the criss-cross hoof -marks of numerous horses, choked 
for leagues on end with every kind of military vehicle, 
with camp-followers, with regiments of soldiery, under 
discipline it is true, and officered by some of the 
bravest and best of Frenchmen. But soldiers on the 
march to a new camp, officers, whose profession gave 
a prerogative of licence when not actually upon the 



28o The Red Neighbour. 

battle-fidd, were not all of them able to let a carriage 
pass them as they rested at the roadside without 
rough salutes of officious gallantry. Time and again 
she had to raise her voice and say, "Messieurs! You 
for^t your Paris manners. I am the Marquise de 
Pohgnac 1 " before they drew back abashed or tendered 
a h^v apology. 

At last her carriage came to a complete stop. The 
driver learned from those immediately in front, to 
whom it had come from mouth to mouth over leagues 
of road, that Turenne had found a strong body of the 
enemy in front of him, and had commanded that no 
one ^ould go forward till he had cleared away the 
obstacles. 

Night found them in the same position. To left 
and right stretched a forest. Many of the younger 
trees had been cut down to supply the needs of the 
army's carpenters and wheelwrights for their crafts, 
and of the common soldiers for camp-fires. The camp- 
followers were not slow at f oUowing the example set 
them, and hacked and hewed in all dim^tions. Presently 
a hundred fires glinted through the trees, sending up 
a crackling noise and a thick smoke, which on account 
of the thick foliage above hung above the heads of 
the bivouacked and spread where it listed. 

The driver and guide took out the horses and 
tethered them in the wood within sight of the carriage, 
and explained to the Marquise that she must just go 
to sleep. They would watch by turns. The night 
would be short, and by sunrise, doubtless, they could 
get on. 

Sleep! The children of fortune that followed the 
camp, motley medley of men and women, s(}uatted 
round their fires drinking, eating, throwing dice for 
sous, chattered and swore in tones now shrill, now 
deep, in a patois that was made up of many patois. 
There was an interminable distracting clamour. Sleep ! 

The Marquise shrank into the comer of her carriage, 
wrapped in her cloak, fearful lest she should lose sight of 
both her protectors. Never had she been face to &ce 



A Night in the Forest. 281 

with the rascaldom of Paria She had caught glinmses 
of it on the Pont Neuf and in other crowded resorts, nx>m 
her carriage. Here in this dark forest beyond the lUiine 
surrounding her on every side was a rabble of all Europe, 
and nothing but the thin covering of her horseless 
carria^ between her and it, except the fidelity and 
watchfulness of a strange coachman, and an equally 
strange guide. 

If some of these women, who a few steps off were 
haggling over the value of some silver buttons, were to 
insist on sharing her quarters for the night ? 

" Tiens ! " one of them was saying. " He was a hand- 
some feUow, I tell you, and he just cut them off his 
uniform like that and said, 'Tou are a good girl, 
Nichette! They are worth a livre each.'" 

"One must get what one can!" said another. "We 
cannot all ride in our carriage like that. She will be 
some great general's girl!" 

The Marquise heard, and saw the gesture. She felt an 
angry flush pass over her face, and drew her hood closer 
about her ears. 

There was the rattle of a drum. Presently she made 
out the tramp of men, and peeping out descned soldiers 
making their way on either side of the road through the 
trees in irregular order, but always marching as best 
they could, in and out in endless files, the fires now and 
^ain lighting up a button, a buckle, or a sword-hilt^ 
IXu^nne was wanting them. They had no time for sleep. 
She wished she was one of them. For an instant she 
even dreamed of following in their wake, but the wish 
passed. It was too severe an ordeal to face. 

A silence followed. Sleep, which was denied to her, 
came to all or nearly alL The silence was more intoler- 
able than the noise. The presence of hundreds of fellow 
human beings sleeping around her gave her no sense of 
security such as it gave them. She feared the midxi^ht 
robber stalking in the silence and the darkness. The 
crackling of a branch, a bird wakeful on the bough, made 
her start from the half dose into which she occasionally 
feU. Always she peered out to see if one or other of her 



282 The Red Neighbour. 

men were on the percL . One was there, asleep like the 
rest 

The silence became deeper still to the Marquise, for 
she too became a part of it, for how long she did not know, 
but she woke to a strange voice calling — 

" Madame la Marquise ! " 
. She made a curious petulant movement and nestled 
her head more closely to the cushions as a child does who 
refuses to be wakened. 

** Madame la Marquise ! " 

She must wake again to the troublous world. She 
opened her eyes and blinked at the light of a torch held 
by some one without the carriage. The light fell on a 
woman's face surmounted by an officer's plumed hat; 
beneath the shadow of the brim peered two startling 
brown eyes. 

For a moment the two women looked at one another. 
Then remembrance asserted itself, amid the unlikenesses 
of the surroundings. 

" The Red Nei^bour," murmured the Marquise. 

" It is certainly I, madame." 

" You did not die, then ? " 

"By the torture? No! I do not die easily." There 
was no trace of boasting in the tone, only bitterness. 
" Monsieur Bocal has done his best to drown me since, 
but thanks to Tintorin," she half turned her head to the 
tall man who held the torch, "I am still alive for 
vengeance." 

"Monsieur Bocal? Monsieur Bocal?" the Marquise 
repeated. "Why should he want to drown you? He 
brought me to Saveme in his carriage. Then I dis- 
trusted him and tried to get to Turenne by myself." 

The Red Neighbour noted the uncertain questioning 
look in her eyes. She divined instantly. She had not 
been a sorceress of fashion and a woman for nothing. 

" There will be a reckoning with Monsieur Bocal. But 
what takes you to Turenne ? " 

"To find my husband." 

" Three days ago your husband started for Saveme to 
find you." 



On the very Eve of Victory. 283 

The Marquise was too proud to weep before this 
woman who was neither laiiy nor servant. She could 
feel the pang, nevertheless. It stopped her speech for 
an instant. 

" He will immediately return to Turenne when he finds 
you have come on. You had better leave your carriage 
and come with me. I have a horse. It will carry us 
both." 

Trust herself to the Red Neighbour, the source of all 
her misfortunes ! To a woman who had been in the 
Conciergerie, put to the torture for sorcery and on a 
charge of poisoning! The Marquise winced a little at 
this new irony of destiny. 

"Yes!" said the Red Neighbour, reading her mind, 
"you will be safer with me than with this rabble, the 
booty of the first scoundrel who lights upon an unpro- 
tected pretty woman. Come." 

The Marquise marvelled at the Red Neighbour's 
cavalier suit, at her neat and shapely riding-boots with 
the tiny spurs, as she sat astride her horse while Tintorin 
lifted her up and set her in front of the strange woman, 
marvelled still more at the arm, strong and muscular, as 
if it had been a man's, that held her tightly roimd the 
waist. 

Tintorin, with his torch, leading his own horse, went 
in front. The Red Neighbour foUowed. They went 
slowly, but they went. Hope flickered into flame once 
more. 



CHAPTER XXXVIIL 

ON THE VERY EVE OF VICTORY. 

The world, if it openly belittles the services and worth 
of its great commanders, in its secret heart worships 
them. But its worship, open or secret, its gifts of laurel 
or of public moneys, were never a feather in the balance 



284 The Red Neighbour. 

against the joy of the great general in his own feats of 
strategy. 

The shock of battle may fill the younger officers with 
a tumultuous enthusiasm, almost with a frenzy, but the 
old commander, who in his day has doubtless been a 
famous fighting leader too, has a far more subtle jo^ in 
the preparation for the event : which he has deteimuied 
shall have only one ending. His it is to dispose his 
troops so that one regiment shall do the work of four, 
so that his mightv hammer shall come down upon the 
anvil fully and lairly, to flatten out his horsenahoe. 
There may be movement after movement, an affidr of 
outposts here or there, but his great battle is to be one 
of his own making, and not of the enemy's. 

Turenne, the great Mar^chal, knew that he was draw- 
ingnear to his great battle. 

He had reached Gamshurst and found it an unexpected 
obstacle. The Germans were there befpre him. They 
had entrenched themselves in and behind the church, 
even in the graveyard, a grim rampart from which the^ 
could level their muskets in some safety. They had barri- 
caded themselves in the stronger houses of the village, 
and the church commanded the ford of the river Achem, 
across which lay Nieder- Achem and the enemy. 

It was not possible to leave them there, for the 
Germans might turn Tiu*enne's flank — ^unless he changed 
the direction of his whole line of advance, and that 
would have been to begin all over again. His scouts 
brought word that two thousand foot and six squadrons 
of cavaliy were ensconced in and about Gamshurst. 

He ordered forward the Chevalier d'Hocquincourt and 
his dragoons, half a dozen battalions of toot and four 
pieces of cannon. They were to take the place at all 
hazards. It was one of the most stirring events of the 
war, fought at pike's-length in a few minutes from the 
onset. There is nothing like the French onset. They 
took the position, and Master of Camp D'Hocquincourt 
and fifty Frenchmen of all ranks found their last 
resting-place in the cemetery, along with as many of 
their foea 



On the very Eve of Victory. 285 

And the great Marshal had possession of the grass 
lands between the river Benchen and the river Aehem, 
and his rear-guard was coming up. Montecuculli saw 
that Turenne had won the first moves of the game. He 
could get no forage where he was, he was being pushed 
away from Strassburg, on whose favourable neutrality 
he had so much depended. He must think about retreat. 
It was only a move in the game. 

For why ? If he did not retreat, Turenne would press 
him vigorously away from the mountains and towards 
the RMne, a Rhine of no bridges, a Rhine of swampy 
mud-flats in lieu of banks. A BO/ave qui peut there was 
not to be thought of. 

Retreat ? If one has time, a snug defile through the 
mountains is as good as any back-door. Draw off your 
men from the rear, keep a good %hting front as long as 
possible, and then at the last, when'you gather your men 
together round the jaws of the mountains, the enemy is 
forced to lie still, for there is no prolonged objective at 
which to fire. And in the pass itself a bold guerilla or 
two can stop a regiment 

Such a defile was at Nieder Sassbach, a league or so 
from Nieder- Achem, where Turenne lay. 

Turenne was beginning already to throw out reoon- 
lioitring parties across the Achem. Montecuculli had 
no time to lose. A mounted messenger sped, by what 
devious routes it is hard to say, but tlm>ugh the country 
occupied by the French, to Offenbourg, which commanded 
another mountain pass, to the Comte de Caprara, who 
had already made several ineffective attempts to take 
the French in the rear, bidding him creep along the 
mountains and join lids chief at Nieder Sassbach. 
Perhaps, had Caprara possessed the dash of Turenne, 
Montecuculli might have hoped that with his lieutenant* 
general coming up behind, and he himself with one wing 
resting on the defile, the other facing Turenne, even yet 
the indorious, but quite professional, retreat might be 
averted. 

Then Montecuculli's own march began, and in the dead 
of night, starting from lichtenau, which was on the 



286 The Red Neighbour. 

extreme left of the plain between the mountains and the 
Bhine, he made a torced march, which brought him to 
Nieder Sassbach by the next day, and an advance-guard 
occupied the church. 

Turenne's scouts were not long in reporting the dis- 
positions of the enemy so far as they could understand 
them, and the great Mar^chal called up all his army save 
two battalions of infantry and two squadrons of dragoons 
which he left at Freistett to keep watch over that hmuI to 
Strassburg, along which Montecuculli so much desired 
to travel. 

Then, his columns formed, he be^n his march to 
Ottersweier, where he expected to find Montecuculli He 
passed Nieder- Achem, threading a difficult road along 
the very toes of the mountains, and had got to Nieder 
Sassbach — at which point he found a strong body of the 
enemy commanded by Montecuculli himself. It was 
plain that the German army was only just behind. The 
wOy Italian was strongly posted, and Turenne had no 
desire to waste the fiu>y of the French attack on an 
advance-guard. He took ground to the left with the 
view of an attack on the whole body of the enemy at 
once. 

Caprara, finding his road blocked by the French, had 
taken to the mountains and contrived, though somewhat 
late, to keep his rendezvous with his chief, who, feeling 
strong enough to try Turenne's metal, put his men in 
battle array, his right resting on Croschweiler, his left in 
the rear of upper Sassbach. Turenne lost no time in 
making corresponding dispositions. It was a momentous 
preparation. 

In point of forces as in point of experience, the two 
generals were on very equal terma Tne Germans were 
to fight with their backs to the mountains, the French 
with theirs to the Rhine. If the Germans suffered rout, 
they had little chance of swarming through the narrow 
def&es of the Black Forest before their retreat would be 
cut o£F. If the French gave way, it was a long stride to 
the bridges, and an army in hot retreat always suffers 



On the very Eve of Victory. 287 

murderously at the crossing of a bridge, as much from its 
own confusion as from the enemy at its heels. 

The cup of the glory of France was almost full. A 
few drops more from the flagon of fate, and Turenne 
looked to raise it to his lips. 

** I shall place my left as near to Sassbach as possible/' 
said the old Mar^chal to Saint Hilaire, his chief aide-de- 
camp, " with my right stretching towards the mountaina 
Go you along this m)nt, choose the most suitable spots to 
post your artillery, and let your father say if they are 
suitable and bring up his cannon, for in a little we shall 
be in the midst of a battle in grim earnest." 

Then he sat himself down at the foot of a tree, in 
which was an old soldier who ajrarised him of the 
various manoeuvres of the enemy, llie two armies were 
separated only by the ravine along which trickles the 
brook of Sassbach. They listlessly exchanged cannon- 
shots, more perhaps to find the range than with any 
intent to do harm. They were the amicable salutes of 
the opposing gunners. 

"They are sending away the baggage into Wtirtem- 
berg!" the look-out called. 

" Montecuculli perhaps meditates retreat after all," 
said the Mar^chal, beginning to dictate at midday a 
despatch to the king. " I shall fall upon his rear-guard 
the moment his troops begin to leave their positions," he 
wrote, " and I will send you a further despatch to inform 
your Majesty of the residt." 

At two o'clock a body of cavalry and inf antrv advanced 
towards a brickwork near the stream at the foot of the 
mountain. 

" Monsieur le Comte de Roye, may I trouble you to 
watch this movement and give me exact details?" 

The Comte de Boye obeyed, but presently sent two 
officers for the Mar^chal, himself fearful of a misinter- 
pretation. Turenne ordered two battalions to advance 
upon the brickwork. But still De Boye was urgent, 
sending a third messenger. Count Hamilton. 

Turenne had said a &w moments before to the other 



288, The Red Neighbour. 

two messengers that a Commander-in-Chief should not 
put himself about except for important events, but at 
the coming of Count Hamilton he yielded, mounted and 
rode to the left wing. 

Scarcely had the old Mar^chal mounted than the 
Murquise de Polignac came to the foot of the 
very tree, beneath whose boughs Turenne had spent the 
hours from eleven till two, listening to the reports of his 
officers and the advices of the outlook man. 

By what inlBnite and tedious delays the Marquise had 
been stayed upon her road with the Red Neighoour it is 
superfluous to telL The affidr at Gamshurst, the march 
towards Ottersweier, the constant movements of the 
Mar^chal himself backward and forward, his strict orders 
as to the retention of camp-followers at such a distance 
as could not involve any interference with the swift and 
accurate movements of troop& All these had contributed 
to keep back the Marquise. At Gamshurst she had lost 
the aid of the Bed Neighbour, for at that point the 
mysterious sorceress, as the Marquise knew her, and her 
tall escort had disappeared. But still Marie de Polignac 
had persevered, buoyed up by the hope of reaching the 
Marshal within an hour or two at furthest. The hour or 
two had stretched into forty-eight. But on arriving at 
Nieder-Achem, and finding herself indubitably in the 
presence of the army, the rest appeared to be merely a 
bagateUe. 

No one could teU her of her husband. Her only hope 
was in Tiu*enne, but that hope was confidence itself. 

The Marshal had then just ridden off! One of the 
soldiers would escort her to the left wing. Still she 
found fresh spirit and strode on. She even caught a 
glimpse of the Mar^chal as he stayed to speak with some 
officer, but always a little in front. The familiar big 
shoulders, the broad open countenance with the moustache 
and tuft of Louis Treize, caught her eye. Still a few 
steps more ! Courage, Marie de Polignac ! Courage ! 

At last he reined in his horse upon a little knoll amid 
a ^x)up of officera She waited timidly a few yards off. 

In front of her, left and right, rose a great screen of 



On the very Eve of Victory, 289 

high mountains, on one of which, half-way up, a castle 
aicod, stronghold of ancient days; below them were 
lower hills and spurs of the great chain ; at the bottom, 
in the valley itself, was the ^age of Nieder Sassbach, 
dotted about with trees. In places she could discern the 
blue depths of glens leading through the mountains, 
dense with pines. Behind her were the low wall of the 
village churchyard of Upper Sassbach, studded with 
crosses, and the little grey and white church itself. It 
was a peaceful and a lovely spot. She could see, where 
the group of oflScers pointed, some confused movement 
of soldiery ; the gleam of steel and scarlet came to her 
eyes, and the ratue of drums to her ears. Her ancestry 
was strong enough to give her the sense of a proud 
sharing in these stirring events which men called war. 

Of a sudden she noticed two little puffs of smoke arise 
from the enemy*s position just descried. An instant 
later there came a confused cry from the group composed 
of Turenne and his officers. Then the l^lated boom of 
the cannon came to her ears, the knell of a great soul, 
though she knew it not. 

Involuntarily, forgetful of timidity, she ran towards 
the tree beneath wfich Turenne had stood. 

All was dismay ! Some one held a horse, and beside 
it on the ground lay the hope of France and her own, — 
the great Mar^chal bleeding from the left side, through 
which the enemy's ball had torn a ruthless passage to 
his miffhty heart, and stilled its beat for ever. 

She knelt down, regardless of the press of officers, and 
clasped his hands and looked into nis eye& They had 
no sense of sight. Then the revulsion set in; she 
dragged herself away a few steps, and fell in a swoon 
upon the grassy hillside. 



290 The Red Neighbour. 



CHAPTER XXXIX. 

JETSAM OF WAR. 

Toung Monsieur de Beaupr6 and his companion, 
Th^r^ de Polignac, had at length arrived, not exactly 
at the goal of tneir respective desires (for who does T), 
but at the vortex of the storm. Strangely enough they 
attracted less notice, and in consequence advanced more 
rapidly, as they drew near to the very field of action. 
During the last two days they had heard confused 
rumours of the death of Marshal Turenne, but no one 
took much trouble to answer the inquiries of a boy and 
a girl, when so many things were in confusion, — and 
besides, one had to look to one's own gear and children. 

The death of the great Marshal brought about an 
immediate suspension of the French forward movement, 
for the details of the plan died with the brain of the 
great strategist. There was no young Csesar on the 
field at once able enough to divine them and of sufficient 
seniority to assume the command and lead the enraged 
soldiery to the avenging of their beloved commander. 
Had it been so, nothing would have stood between them 
and the headlong rout of the hesitating and out- 
manoeuvred Germans. 

But instead of advance there was a lull. Montecu- 
cuUi with all things ready for a retreat, noticed it, noticed 
that the battle made no beginning. The wary veteran 
sent out spies into the villages and learned the news, 
which indeed could not be fid for long. Turenne, his 
great antagonist, was dead. Perhaps no more genuine a 
^ar was dropped than that of old MontecucuUi, who was 
not expecting the reversion of his rival's pay. Turenne 
was a man who understood the game of war and played 
it, a doughty player. Without him to play against even 
war lost its zest. 

But MontecucuUi had his own pay to earn, so he 
began the attack. There is nothing so easy to an able 



Jetsam of War. 291 

commander as to confuse and throw into disorder an 
enemy's army which has no leader, but many generals. 
Moving this way and that, communications severed, with- 
out a common objective, the various corps of the French 
army recoiled upon themselves, gave ground, retreated. 

The boy and girl took refuge, under the friendly cover 
of the dusk and of the evening mist, in the long loft of a 
small farmhouse, which boastid of but two rooms. The 
underside of the floor of the loft was the common ceiling 
of both rooms below. 

They had a loaf of bread, some cheese, and a bottle of 
some indifferent wine of the country. 

"I wish I had stayed at Meudon!" sobbed Th^rfese 
softly. " I am afraid of these fierce tired-looking soldiers 
that we see every day now. Something dreadful has 
happ^ii^ What is it, Giles?" 

Giles put his finger to his lip, and answered in a still 
lower voice — 

" It must be tru,e what we hear. Turenne's dead, and 
France has no one to lead her." 

" She has my father ! " the girl answered, as if rather 
hurt 

"But it is evident he is not leading the soldiers!" 
said Giles, "or things would not be as they are. The 
people speak of the Germans being across the Rhine." 

"Where can he be, then ? " Thertee asked petulantly. 
"I have come all tids way to seek him. And now 
you say he is not here! It is too bad!" 

Poor Giles was beginning to feel the matchless incon- 
sistency of women. What had he not suffered in body 
and spirit forTh^r&se? He did. not grudge it, but he 
could not have done more for Clotilde. It is a mistake 
to suppose that a true gentleman grudges any personal 
efforts in the cause of the woman he has electa to 
serve. He did not say this, however. It was a shadowy 
thought. Clotilde herself was a memory. But Th^r^, 
brave, clever, variable but affectionate Th6r^, had been 
impressing her very definite self-willed self upon his 
boyish mmd and heart for three or four weeks. When 
circumstances permitted, he would reconsider his position 



292 The Red Neighbour. 

with regard to Clotilde. But his immediate chivalric 
duty was to care for Th6r^. It was only hard if she 
expected mountains. 

Hitherto they had succeeded in creeping into some inn 
where they could obtain a nis^ht's lodgings, but to-day 
had been a day of harassment &om the rising of the sun 
to its setting. Giles was aware that though they had 
travelled many miles they had merely passed backwards 
and forwards over the same area, thrust back and forth 
by the movements of troops and camp-followers, until 
he felt incapable of making any fresh effort Here in 
this loft they must couch. And he set about mAlring 
the door fast. There was still light in a degree, 1^ 
so, pulling together a few armfuls of fodder and a 
sack or two, he made a not uncomfortable litter for his 
companion. 

Th6rfese left off sobbing. She was not old enough to 
cry for the luxury of it. '^ You shall at least not make 
the beds," she said. " That is a woman's work." 

" The soldier," Giles replied, " must make his own bed, 
and if he has a lady to guard, as I have, then hers also." 

" We shall see," said Th^r^se determinedly. " I shall 
make yours against the door. You will sleep with your 
sword drawn beside you." 

And she proceeded to follow his plan with a few 
slight devices of her own added. 

"Now," said Giles with an air of command, "the 
garrison must eat." 

"I am very hungry, dear Giles," she said. "Let us 
begin at once in case we should be interrupted." 

For the next few minutes they munchea in silence 
in the semi-darknesa Three weeks ago Th^r^ would 
have considered the prospect as a mere imagination 
of celestial happiness to be eating rye bread and cheese 
and sipping sour Alsatian wine in a loft in company 
with a jofly- looking but somewhat tattered boy of 
her own age. Now she was weary, and it was not 
so amusing. But there is a curious fatalism about 
women, which leads them to acquiesce in aU sorts of 
fortune, if they cannot themselves mend it. She 



/ 



Jetsam of War. 293 

was in a way quite content — only the future troubled 
her. 

She was anxious to find her father. And no one 
had been able to tell her anything of him. Giles was 
anxious too, for although he had never seen war he 
knew enough to distinguish between the movements 
of troops under strong disciplinary control and those 
spasmodic trampings to and fro of armed men, not so 
much under the command of their oflScers as carrying 
their officers along with them. There is a point when 
an army becomes a mob. The French had not yet 
reached that point, but isolated bodies of men, an odd 
company or two of infantry, a squadron or so of cavalry, 
were here and there out of hand. Qiles had noticed 
more than one happening, which had brought the blood 
to his temples, of which ne had said nothing to Th^r^, 
but he was none the less troubled in spirit by forebod- 
ings of evil. 

Presently^ Th^rfese took out a little rosary and said 
her prayers. Then she made the sign of the cross 
on G&les' forehead and kissed him very gravely. 

" The good God keep thee, Giles ! " she said fervently, 
and lay down at the inner end of the loft beneath a 
rough window'of three or four cobwebby panes of glass, 
one of which was broken, and in a few minutes she 
was asleep, her long hair wrapping her face round like 
a hood and covering her neck, her two hands placed 
together as if in prayer, under her chin. Giles took 
one peep at her by the Y^i^d light that fell upon her 
face from above. He was solemn enough before. Now 
he felt, as one of the young knights that followed Joan 
of Arc must have felt, a sense of uplifted resolve to 
guard this treasure of heaven to his last breath. 

'* God guard thee, sweet Th6rtee ! " he murmured, and 
knelt down at the other end to say his own prayers. 

He had doubtless fallen asleep a while and then 
wakened hearing voices below him. 

Earlier it had seemed to him that the farmhouse 
itself was deserted, for he had seen neither man nor 
maid, heard no lowing of cattle in the byre nor the 



294 The Red Neighbour. 

restless movement of horses in the stable. Now people, 
were below, but they were not the country people, 
whose rough voices and patois were very difficult to 
understand. 

The river in flood brings down many diverse objects 
with it, and, at 'the first check of a projecting bank, 
deposits a part of its load, — a log of wood, a wisp of 
hay, a drowned dog, an old hat, an often unguessable 
assortment. So into a clearing of a forest when the 
fires rage, perhaps miles ofi*, flock all kinds of terrified 
animals, regardless of their natural habitat, bewildered 
by the one common terror into seeking one common 
refuge. 

Giles decided that below were other refugees from 
the encircling movements of the hostile forces. K 
they should hy chance be people whose protection would 
be worth having, he would lose no time in the morning 
making himself known. There was more safety in 
numbers. 

With a light below, a lantern as he guessed, and 
a cra<ck between the planks, he could catch a fleeting 
glimpse of the figures of the guests. By bending an 
ear he could gather some of their talk. 

They were a man and a woman — and another man, 
evidently a servant, for his rejoinders to orders given 
him were short, sullen almost, but still respectful, as 
if respect was wrung from him by a strong hand. 

"We have supped — take these things away — have 
your own supper and sleep till I want you. You have 
brouffht in the cushions — our cloaks ? " 

" Yes, monsieur, there they are." 

" Enough ! " The door closed behind him. 

"Now that I have brought you to a place of safety, 
dear madame, let me recapitulate a little. You are 
tired! Who would not be with such a day? But 
you can keep awake a little longer." 

The tones were intended to be gentle, but the man 
himself was tired, and his habit oi command and im- 
patience of opposition were evident through the softer 
notes, as honey thinly spread on peasant's black bread 



Jetsam of War. 295 

leaves the coarse food still visible. The man's tones 
conveyed that he was in the position of master and 
intended to have his own way. 

The boy drew a hasty breath and felt the beating 
of his heart. He felt indignant at the way the man 
spjoke to the lady, a glimpse of whom he could, though 
with difficulty, catch. As he held his breath again 
he heard the soft inhalations of Th^rfese, who, lying 
as she did over the outer room, heard nothing. Then 
as he listened he took out a small knife he carried 
and cautiously strove to enlarge the slit by whittling 
away the wood. He found the wood hard and difficult 
to scrape or cut without noise, but his busy finders 
went on making little more than a mouse's scratcmng. 

''I came up, madame, just after the ball had killed 
Turenne. I found you lying under a bush a few yards 
away. No one was carina for you. The nobles (the 
man underlined the word with a sneer), your peers, 
were in too much consternation to mind you, a lady 
of the best blood in France. Consternation — do I 
say ? Perhaps." 

" It was quite natural, monsieur 1 " It was the woman 
who spoke now, cold, lofty, aristocratic, but all the 
same an undercurrent of something — was it fear or 
fatigue? — ^permeating her reserve. She went on — 

"It was very natiu^al. The battle was range^. It 
was no time to attend to women!" 

"It was fortunate that I should have found time," 
said the man. 

"But you are not an officer of his Majesty. You 
are only a . . ." 

" (Contractor of food and forage! It is true. The 
one is as necessary as the other. But do you think 
they attacked?" 

"Of course!" said the lady with great conviction. 

" Not they," returned the man. " They let the occasion 
slip. They set to discussing who should succeed. Some 
clamoiu^ed for the Marquis de Vaubrun because he was 
the oldest, some for De Lorges because he was Turenne's 
nephew. And they did nothing. They cannonaded 



296 The Red Neighbour. 

for two days and then they began to draw back their 
troops on WiUstett. Montecuculli has advanced, but 
by dodging this way and that I have brought you 
thus far in safety." 

"Say rather — ^you have carried me off— out of the 
camp where I should have been at least safe and in 
the hands of gentlemen, for what purpose I cannot 
telL" 

"Tiens! You need not be so full of bitterness. I 
have more resource in my little finger than the general 
staff has in its whole collection of cabbage heads. From 
what motive do you think, madame, I ran all these 
risks, jeopardised a thousand plans ? " 

" Monsieur ! I am too tired to conjecture," said the 
lady. 

" Out of love ! " There was no mistaking the earnest- 
ness of the man's tones, sincere, passionate, strenuous, 
tones almost choking with emotion. 

The woman made no answer. And Giles could 
not see the look of scornful contempt which was her 
anss^er. 

Giles held his breath and trembled, thinking what he 
should or could do. He knew that the servant was on 
guard in the outer room. 

" You may look as scornful as you like. It makes no 
difference. I tell you I love you, and you shall return 
it. Listen — your husband is in peril of losing his head, 
which matters nothing, it has been of so littla use to 
him." ^ 

"I will not hear a word against my husband!" she 
said. 

" It is of no use putting your fingers to your pretty 
ears. We are alone, and I can make myself heara very 
well. Your husband disobeyed the orders of the king, 
conveyed by Monsieur de Louvois, — persisted in disobey- 
ing. Do you think Louis will forgive that ? It is not 
his way. I have the power to save him, and will exer- 
cise it at the price of your love ! " 

"I do not believe you!" she said in clear defiant 
syllables. 



Jetsam of War. 297 

Giles' heart glowed within him. He had shivered off 
a thin strip of wood. What joy ! He could see her eyes 
glancing with courage, the high tranquil look of the 
woman who can die. 

" Look at that ! " said the man. " It is the copy of the 
order signed by De Louvois himself." 

" Since when has De Louvois made you his secretary, 
or have you become a purloiner of State papers ? And 
you offer me your love ! " 

The man came nearer — ^Giles could hear his heavy 
tread. 

"The fact is there, Marie Gabrielle! The Marquis 
is worth nothing. He tried to crush me! I am the 
victor! To the victor belong the spoils. Come and 
give me a good-night kiss, Marie Gabrielle!" 

The lady cast one glance above as if invoking the 
aid of heaven, and Giles slid a foot of his sword-blade 
through the crack in the floor. The lady saw it. It 
was her answer. 

" You forget, monsieur," she said suddenly, and smiling 
as she did so, " there are witnesses." 

Giles understood she was gaining time, and opening 
the door of the loft, slid down the ladder softly and 
ran round to the front of the house. 

Luckily the door was not fastened. The servant was 
asleep. In an instant he burst open the inner door. 

The man held the lady by the wrists. 

He timied angrily at the intrusion. 

And Biles and he both stood a pace or two apart, 
struck by one common amazement. 

" Giles deBeaupr6!" 

" Monsieur Bocal ! " 

The Marquise looked from one to the other. Apart, 
one would have scarcely, in seeing one, thought oJc the 
other, but together, a quick eye, despite the many un- 
likenesses, would have diving they were father and 
son. 

" Some one has loved you once. Monsieur Bocal. I had 
not thought it possible," she murmured. 

Bocal shot her a look — ^it was the single look of 



298 The Red Neighbour. 

understanding that ever passed between them — a look 
of entreaty, entreaty for silence. 

Giles de Beaupre looked pnzzled. No one spoke. 
Ready of mind as he was, £ocal in presence of Qiles 
could only blurt out — 

" You here, young sir ? " 

" Who is this lady ? " asked Giles, with his fine frank 
air and noble voice, in which a manly sternness made 
itself felt. 

"Madame la Marquise de Polignac!" said BocaL "I 
have had . . ." 

"Madame la Marquise de Polignac!" said Giles in 
astonishment and feU on his knee. "Your Th^rese is 
upstairs asleep. Permit me to conduct you to her." 

Picking the cloak up with one hand, he replaced his 
sword in its sheath, took her hand, led her through the 
anteroom as he would have done to her carriage at a 
grand reception with the air of a faultless cavaher, and 
ushered her up the ladder to the loft. 

" It is somewhat dark, madame. Mademoiselle Th^r^ ! 
Th^rtee!" 

Th6r^e awoke. " What is it, dearest Giles ? " 

" It is madame, your mother ! " 

Mother and daughter fell into one another's arms, and 
wept together for one another, and for the love that had 
been perfected between them. 

" I shall watch without till dawn," said Giles. 

" You are my little knight," said the Marquise, " from 
this time forward ! " 

And with the full knowledge in her heart whose son 
he was, she still kissed him — a kiss which consecrated 
him to her service and thrilled his soul with chivalry 
and joy. 

He was too much troubled in mind and too tired to 
seek Monsieur Bocal and demand explanations. So he 
sat himself down determinedly on the bottom step, his 
sword in his hand. 

"Decidedly," he said to himself sleepily, "I must 
challenge that Monsieur Bocal. I must ch . . ." and 
before he had finished he had fallen asleep. 



In the Dawn. 299 

In which pcNEdtion Bocal a few minutes after found 
him, covered him up warmly with his own cloak, placed 
a cushion under his head, and returning to the house 
went to sleep upon the bare floor himsdf . 



CHAPTER XL. 

IN THE DAWN. 

Bocal had gone to sleep because he was tired, and 
because he could sleep when he would, — a priceless 
endowment to the man whose genius demands a great 
physical ouUay. His last thought had been that his 
ste^ was waning indeed, when his own good deeds rose 
up out of space and intervened between him and his 
evil intentiona He was a man of action and not a 
moralist. But he had taken pains to have his son 
brought up in the strictest code of honour and conduct, 
in the ideal ritual of life, as it should be lived by the 
noblest of. that very aristocratic class at whose manners, 
habits, and morals he himself lost no opportunity of 
gibing. For himself, he deliberately chose the dis- 
honourable, because it gave him no qualms ; for his son 
he chose the path wherein he should learn to walk 
uprightly. He might more* readily, to his own greater 
ease and perhaps greater enjoyment, have brought him 
up to be a^ army contractor. To have his son adopted 
by the Chevalier de Beaupr6 was at once better for the 
boy and a tribute to the memory of the boy's mother, 
a poor but undoubted gentlewoman, whom Bocal had 
married when he had cumbed the first few and most 
diffipult rungs of the ladder of success. Let us agree 
that in the main the motive and the means he had 
taken were good. 

And it was this very cherished idol of his good intent, 
the son that he had made a gentleman, the son that 



300 The Red Neighbour. 

knew him not as his father, that had appeared, — an 
angel with a flaming sword could not more effectually 
have paralysed his movements, — and stood between him 
and the intended victim of his passions. One reflection 
he made was a bitter one upon his own folly in sup- 
posing that anything could come of a divided purpose. 
Seek your own interest or what you think your own 
interest in all things, and you will probably get it. 
Seek your own interest, and try also to do a little good 
for some one else at the same time, and you will 
assuredly s^il the exquisite balance on which hangs 
your own interest. Such thoughts flashed throu^ 
bocal's brain. As to what was to b§ the outcome in 
the morning he cared nothing : he was bent upon sleep. 
It would be decidedly tedious work finding explanations 
for his own son, that young mirror of the chivalry he 
despised. Besides, he was expecting a messenger at 
dawn to tell him of the next movement of the army. 
He had intended to be as swift in his love-making as 
in all else for the time being. He would have time 
to studv dalliance at his leisure after the war. 

He slept upon the bare floor. And while he slept, 
the stealthy aawn began to peep over the great black 
mountains at whose feet Montecuculli, that wary general, 
and his men (not all of them, one may be sure) slept 
also. At the first it made visible the mist. And 
through the mist, could Bocal have been warned by 
angel, good or bad, and endowed with far-seeing eyes, 
he would have recognised that at intervals, and all 
unknowing each of the other's errand, three separate 
riders came with all the speed the shadowy dawn 
permitted. 

The first was a man. The second a woman. The 
third was a man. Could he have seen them riding, each 
intent upon his or her errand, he would have recognised 
Fate with triple head seeking her own. For the first 
was his secret enemy, often scorned, often threatened; 
the second was the woman he deemed was drowned 
in the waters of HI; the third the relentless seeker of 
justice whose wife he had dared to dream of betraying. 



In the Dawn. 301 

But Bocal slept on. And at last the reverberation 
of horses' hoofs upon the ground commg nearer and 
nearer shook the very earthen floor on which he slept, 
and the sleeper awakened. 

The Count de Boubaix strode in without ceremony. 
There was nothing of the careless debonair carria^ 
he affected as a general rule. Bocal had risen to his 
feet, shaken, and stretched himself. He was not pleased 
to see him. 

"Come," said the Count, "out beneath those trees 
in the orchard! We have business to settle, you 
and L" 

" The devil take you and your business ! " was Bocal's 
angry reply. 

"Do you see this sword?" the Count asked menac- 
inrfy. " I give you three minutes. Are you coming ? " 

Docal clapped on his hat. He was furiously angry, 
but he went, expecting to find his man in the outer 
room. 

Not finding him he drew back at the door. The 
Count tapped the hilt of his sword. 

When they were out of earshot of the house, Bocal 
broke out again. 

" What tomfoolery is this, De Boubaix ? " 

" Do you remember our last conversation, monsieur ? " 

" Yes ! I remember threatening to show some papers 
to the Marquis de Polignac ! " 

" That is correct ! I also told you that if you ventured 
to press any more of your attentions upon the Marquise 
I should run you through the body." 

Bocal blew a whistle for his man. 

"It is useless! I took the precaution to bind your 
man to the manger in the stable," the Count observed 
coldly. 1 

Bocal changed his attitude rather clumsily. 

"It was mere pretence of mine that speech I made 
about handing certain papers to the Marquia" 

" Yes ? " said the Count. " It was also mere pretence, 
I suppose, that you carried off the Marquise from the 
middle of the camp, — mere pretence that you were about 



302 The Red Neighbour. 

to press upon her your vile attentions when you were 
providentially interrupted." 

" You are the right person to talk about Providence," 
snarled Boeal. ** I shall not make any reply to you. 
Again I say a truce to this tomfoolery; what is it 
you want — ^money?" 

''There are times when even money fails," said the 
Count. " Here is a spare sword. Here is mine. Choose. 
K you can run me through, let it be so. K you can't, 
I shall most effectually finidi with you. There are no 
witnesses." 
. Bocal looked to the right, to the left There was 

||> no visible help. It came to this, then, that he had to 

fight for his life with the best swordsman of Paria 
At least he would sell his life dearly, and as for the 
rules of the duel, he would cheerfully break every 
one of them if he could compass the death of his 
adversary. 

Did he hear a horse's gallop in the distance? He 
had good eara It would be his messenger. 

" At least," he said, trjring his sword, " I shall choose 
my own ground." 

" Without doubt," said the Count. " You are welcome 
to all the advantage you can get from it." 

Bocal took up his position with his back to the rising 
sun, which began to glint rather uncomfortably in the 
Count's eyes. 

Decidediy the hoofs came nearer. They stopped 
suddenly. 

" To my aid ! " Bocal cried in a stentorian voice. 

"On guard, monsieur!" said the Count quietly and 
sternly, taking up his position. 

Bocal could do no less than bring himself to the guard 
also. 

A figure came hurriedly through the trees and stood 
at the Count's left hand. It was a woman in a coarse 
brown frock, coarse shoes upon her feet, her hair, bright 
red hair, tied loosely in a coil hanging upon her neck, 
with bright red lips, pale skin, and two piercing brown 



In the Dawn. 303 

Bocal saw her first and threw down his sword. A 
cold sweat came out upon his brow. 

'* Jeanne 1 Jeanne ! Alive ! " 

The Count let fall his point. 

"The Red Neighbour!" he exclaimed. 

" Yes ! It is I, the Red Nei^hboiu^, otherwise Jeanne 
Chavigny. Monsieur Bocal tried to drown me in the 
111, but I am alive and come to see him receive his 
deserts." 

" Pick up your sword ! " said the Count. 

Bocal shot one imploring look at the woman as he 
rose from picking up his sword. Then he clenched his 
lips and looked straight into his adversary's eyes. Bocal 
had two aids to trust to beside his sword — his quick eye 
and his great strength. He felt that he would fight 
better now that he knew the blacksmith's daughter was 
not dead after all. 

He inwardly cursed his bad luck that had sent this 
assassin to him in this untoward situation, but the 
presence of the woman assured him that at least he 
would not play the craven. It was a part he never had 
played. He settled down to fence for his life. At 
intervals he had even picked up a respectable knowledge 
of the art. 

Once the Count got past his guard and touched him 
lightly. 

"A shirt of mail, scoundrel," said the Count. "It 
shall not avail you." 

Bocal laughed a bitter laugh. "It is against assassins!" 
he said, and made a rush at the Count, pressing him 
back by sheer force, hoping to see him trip over a pro- 
jecting root of a tree. The Count stepped back warily. 
He hcul not forgotten. 

The woman held her breath, for she saw that the 
Count was only biding his time, parrying the lunges, 
playing a waiting game. 

Something began to work within her. Was it the 
influence of the brother praying afar off in St Gengoult ? 
She began to feel pity tor the man who had been her 
first and only love, her betrayer, the man who had 



304 The Red Neighbour. 

abandoned her to many a gentlewoman. She had 
compassed his ruin, his death, but for the timely death 
of Turenne. His fall worked for him. 

What strength he used to no purpose striving to get 
at the Count ! The CJount went on remorselessly, thrust, 
parry, lunge. 

Should she intervene— a hand upon the Count's arm 
and it was done. Should she ? Should she ? 

The blood began to flow from a long flesh-wound in 
Bocal's right arm. 

" It is enough ! " she cried. " Let him go ! " 

"A thousand pardons," said the Count, keeping his 
eye steadily on iBocal's. "It is not enough!" 

" But I say vou shall let him go ! " she said, gripping 
the Count's left arm in a way that almost cripplea his 
activity. 

Bocal drew back a space to breathe. 

"Madame! I did not challenge you nor invite you. 
Be good enough to let go my arm." 

" Promise me," she said. " I will make you rich." 

Bocal came forward again, a sinister look in his eye& 

Quicker than thought the Count twisted his arm from 
the woman's grasp and resumed the battle, wheeling 
round so fast that Bocal now got the sun upon his 
sword, now in his eyes, now nowhere. 

In vain the Red Neighbour supplicated and promised 
mountains and marvels. In vain Bocal tried to grapple 
with his adversary. There came one great and rapid 
passage of arms and Bocal gave one gurgling cry, for 
the Count's sword had pierced his throat. The red 
blood spurted out flooding the green sward and dabbling 
the leaves of the apple-trees. Bocal was dead. 

The Red Neighbour fell upon his. face and kissed it, 
tried to see a look of recognition once more in his eyes. 
That was in vain too. Then she offered up a silent 
prayer and made the sign of the cross. 

As she did so the third rider of the dawn came up. 
It was the Marquis. 

He pointed to the dead, and then, looking at the Count, 
asked, " Why this, monsieur ? " 



In the Dawn. 305 

"He had insulted the Marquise beyond pardon. I 
challenged him and slew him! Let me take you to 
her!" 

They left the Red Neighbour alone with the dead 
man, who after all belonged more to her than to any one, 
unless it was to Giles de Beaupr^, and he knew nothing. 

Presently Tintorin came to seek her. 

" It is fmished then ! Weep a little, my mistresa I 
will fetch a priest and a carriage from somewhere. And 
so you are revenged and are sorrier than ever! It is 
a queer world." 

" You must have loved him," he muttered to himself 
as he stalked off with his peculiar stage stride, " or you 
would not have hated him so badly." And if it comes 
to that, what am I doing here? I should have been 
better on the Pont Neuf . When I was in Paris I wanted 
to see the country because you were going there. Red 
Neighbour, and now I have seen the country I think 
Paris is better ; and so it is, but the saints above know 
if you will go back there, Red Neighbour ! And if you 
don't go back. Pish ! What a thing is woman, and, if 
it comes to that, what is man either ? She won't love 
me now any the more that yon rascal is dead. He was 
her rascal it seema Tiens!-^and here's the rascal's 
carriage. Now where can I find a priest ? They're as 
plentiful as blackberries when you don't want them. 
Why, where are my wits, I see a chiirch in the distance. 
I can surely find a church. And if I can find a church 
there is sure to be a priest collecting the offerings of the 
faithful. Heaven be praised ! 



u 



3o6 The Red Neighboun 



CHAPTER XLI. 

FOB THE BBIDGE AT ALTENHEUL 

The great Marshal was dead mdeed. The strong hand 
was relaxed ; for want of it our soldiers began to fall 
back first on Bischen, then on the Renchen^ then farther 
to the southward on Wilstett : always wary old Monte- 
cucuUi advanced, hungry for the stores at Strassburg. 
And as there is nothing so dispiriting to us Frenchmen 
as retreat, so there is nothing that quickens the wit 
like hunger stimulated by a pinch of the salt of succesa 

There had been a skirmish at the crossing of the 
Schutter, a small affair, only the Imperial troops had 
gained ground, and after it a council of war, to which 
the Marquis de Polignac had been invited out of courtesy. 
Vaubrun had suggested one course, De Lorges, "the 
obstinate/' another, and their dissension showed clearly 
that between these two eminent pillars of the army the 
glory of France stood in peril of falling into the mire. 

So the Marquis sat down and wrote a despatch to the 
king, imploring him to send the greatest soldier France 
now possessed, — in a word, Cond6, the great Cond6, who 
was keeping the Prince of Orange in check in the Low 
Countries. Let him but come with his dashing resource 
'I' and his great name, worth five thousand men at any 

time, and at least ruin would be averted. Heavens! 
How the Marquis wrote — moving, strong, terse sentences, 
so unlike De Louvois* official, modulated, neatly spaced 
State papers. 

" Loches ! This to his Majesty. Spare neither horses 
nor yourself. Deliver it to the king himself ! There is 
money ! Now to horse ! " 

Loches had scarcely left when once more the Red 
Neighbour, in her man's attire, entered the quarters of 
the Marquis. 

" What now ? " The Marquis was dispirited at the 
outlook. 



For the Bridge at Altenheim. 307 

"The bridge at Altenheim!" 

The Marquis seized his map. 

" Look ! " she said, " the German left is at Offenbourg, 
centre there, right coming up ! " 

In a flash it came to him. The brid^ at Altenheim 
was where Turenne had crossed the Siine. That in 
German hands, and Montecuculli's left wheeling round 
might seize it; Altenheim, and not Straasburg, would 
be5)me the French objective. They would be fightinjg 
in a room with the door locked and the key lost Panie 
might spread and the whole French army be captured, 
or crushed piecemeal. Strassburg would be an open 
door to the Germans, and once secure of provisions 
nothing could stay Montecuculli, — not even Cond^, if 
Cond^ came too late. 

The French army must reach Altenheim before the 
Germans. 

"It is in Montecuculli's mind?" he asked. 

"Josef Kuhn heard it." 

The Marquis, who was so little moved to warmtL tc. 
speech, wrung her hands, and said — 

" Red Neighbour ! You have saved France ! " 

For a moment her eyes glistened She lammi jii 
hand, saluted, and went out. 

The Marquis followed her with hiw eyet 
plicable woman whom France had 
ceress. Then he went out. It was 
retrospect. 

Vaubrun and De Lorges were i 
leaders, if they could n(^ fof]pR tbl 
listened. They organised a 
of the Chevaux-Legers, four { 
trooper carrying an iu^ 
of pieces of eimt, the 
men to serve tnem, \ ' 
and ball, and a eoiue cf 
artillery. An officer c: 
command, with 
his forces into to»r ^ 
the 





3o8 The Red Neighboun 

The Marquis told De Lorges that he was going as a 
volunteer. It was not so many years ago that he had 
been a captain in the Chevaux-Legers. He broke the 
news to the Marquise. 

"I could not do less, Marie Gabrielle, my beloved!" 

"I do not grudge you. I go also, Gaston." 

At first the Marquis w€ts amazed. Then he looked 
into her eyes and saw the spirit that was in them. He 
did not attempt to dissuade her. He did better. He 
embraced her. 

"And Th^r^?" 

Th^r^ opened her Uue eyes more widely than usual 

''It is certain you cannot go without me/' she said. 
"You two are in love! . . . Sesides, there is Giles." 

Giles was riding as a cadet of the Chevaux-Legers. 

It is curious how lightly a woman regards real danger. 
She is afraid of a cow, yet for the sake of those she 
loves will cheerfully face a cannon. 

The Marquis tola himself that once at Altenheim he 
could persuade them to cross the river out of danger. 
He had not yet learned that to the Marquise and to his 
daughter love was all, and there was nothing else. 

It was young St Hilaire who led the flying column. 
The same ball that killed Turenne had taken off his left 
arm. His sleeve was pinned to his coat. He had not 
stayed to inquire what he would do if called upon to 
head a charge, but no one doubted that he would use his 
right arm with terrible effect. His leadership gave all 
the men confidence. The two cavalrymen who rode 
behind him meant death before any harm came to him, 
and their grim resolution possessed all that followed. 
They were a terrible set of fellows were the Chevaux- 
Legers, without equals in Europe, and they knew it. 

Had Montecuculli been Turenne, he would have sent a 
similar force to seize the head of the bridge, but he was 
a general of many precautions, and a general cannot take 
too many. He must know the country well in order to 
avoid a check, its woods, its ditches, its marshland, its 
rivers, which is the shortest and the best way for the 
artillery, for his provisions and heavier baggage-waggons. 



For the Bridge at Altenheim. 309 

Montecuculli was intent on the larger movement of the 
whole army. His left was to swin^ round as speedily as 
possible, his centre more slowly, his right was to stand 
fast. Because the French were retreating slowly, he did 
not therefore think he had won the game. Besides* he 
had but a short way to go. 

The bridge at Altenheim was a pontoon bridge, thrown 
across the river by Turenne's engineers, who, following 
the best military science, had raised at a convenient 
distance from the bridge-head a line of earthworks with 
two bastions, and still a little space in front of them a 
demi-lune, a raised triangular work, with its base towards 
the line of earthworks and its apex to the enemy's 
country. 

These had been thrown up hastily to ensure the safety 
of the army as it crossed m)m the French side of the 
Rhine to the German. A few guns had been mounted, 
and a strong guard of three battolions under De Flessis, 
left by Turenne when he began his advance step by step 
northward, but as the Germans fell back, De Plessis and 
his battalions had been withdrawn. A strong fighting 
line was always Turenne's notion of the best rear-guard. 

The guard at the brid^, — a mere half company who 
had almost given up any idea of seeing an Imperial flag, 
so the successes of Turenne had cleared their neighbour- 
hood of German soldiers, — were struck with consternation 
when stray villagers came to them with tales of the 
advance of the German army in great force across the 
Schutter. The sergeants in charge of the artillery divided 
their time between polishing their 2uns and peering from 
the bastions, always peering towaras Offenbourg. 

" If Turenne had not died ! " 

They knew well what was expected of them, but they 
also knew how hopeless their defence must be. 

Then came the welcome sound of the French drums. 
Then the Chevaux-Legers. " What a relief ! " 

Presently two squ^lrons of dragoons and as many 
foot soldiers. Next, two pieces of eight, which they 
hailed with a great shout, and then the waggons of 
ammunition. 



3IO The Red Neighbour. 

" Now one can stand fast for a little while/' said Uie 
semantfi. 

The flying column was all in now^ the cavalrymen 
encamped on either side of the bridge-head to right and 
left of the earthworks. The artillerymen manned Uie 
earthworks and the demi-lune, where also a strong body 
of grenadiers — the enfwrvU perdus of the foot soldiers- 
were posted. The ladies ana the baggage-waggons were 
placea in the rear near the bridge. 

Then ensued long hours of suspense, spent chiefly in 
wondering who woiSd be the first to come up, the French 
or the Germana Scouting parties of dragoons were sent 
out, who brought back first one report -then another. 
But St Hilaii*e and the Marquis made up their minds 
that nothing could prevent the Germans arriving first. 
All they could do would be to hamper them by harassing 
the head of their colunms: and first one squadron cS 
dragoons and then another were sent out. Again and 
agam they met the advance-guard of Montecuculli. 
But always the German C€uinon came into play and 
emptied saddles, till the dragoons had to draw back for 
fear of losing too many men before it came to the 
desperately close quarters at the head of the bridge. 

In vain did the Marquis exhort his wife and daughter 
to cross the bridge into safety. They found it more 
interesting, they said, to bind up the wounds of the 
dragoons as they returned from the skirmishes. Besides, 
the soldiers wanted them. " We cannot do without our 
* Lady Mother * and our * Little Mother,* " said the rough 
children of war. " We will carry them across the river, 
never fear, my captain, when the time comes." So they 
told the Marquis. He was forced to let things go on as 
they were. 

Then came moments of eager hope when the news 
reached St Hilaire that the head of the French columns 
was but a few leagues off, and marching like men 
possessed. It was time, too, for the German army was 
plainly visible, the batteries taking up their stations, so 
many here, so many there, according to the rules. The 
bastions would get their share, the demi-lune its share. 



For the Bridge at Altenheim. 311 

the earthworks theirs. And always regiment after 
regiment was taking up its position, ready to make that 
overwhehning attack that was lying at the back of old 
Montecuculli's mind. 

The Marquis, after his last fruitless appeal, rejoined 
St Hilaire. Perched on their little rock of refuge, they 
watched in silence the tide of war lengthening its ripples, 
always curling round a little more, always coming nearer, 
and every ripple was a company, and when that tide 
should begin to roar and break into white puf& at their 
feet, what would become of that tiny flying column that 
was sent to keep the bridge for France at all costs till 
the army should come up? 

They looked out in silence watching with intentness 
the disposition of the enemy's standards. They seemed 
to stretch into infinity. Then they fell into whispered 
converse, while the gunners looked at them inquiringly, 
their finders itching to fire the first match, as they laid 
and relaid their pet weapons. Down below on either 
side Chevaux-Legers and dragoons stood, with horses 
ready saddled, on the qui vive for the expected order. 

A long muttering roll came from the northward. 

"Mon Dieu! Our drums at last," said St Hilaire. 
"You are quite ready, Gaston?" 

" Ventre Saint Gris ! " cried the gunner in the farthest 
bastion. " I see the standards ! "fiie white and gold of 
the Gendarmerie de la Garde ! The scarlet and silver of 
the Gardes Fran9aises ! " his fellow almost shrieked with 
his excitement. " The blue sewn with lilies ! " 

St Hilaire gave a nod. 

" To your touch-holes. Messieurs Cannoneers," shouted 
the major in charge. "Let them have it all — every 
gun!" 

And the cannons of the bastions and of the earth- 
works belched out flame and smojte, and then the 
demi-lune spoke, and the nearest regiments of German 
infantry received the salute with what cheer they might. 

It was the moment for a great diversion. At the 
head of the Chevaux-Legers, who were followed by the 
four squadrons of dragoons, the Marquis de Polignac 



312 The Red Neighbour. 

dashed forward at the right wing of the Germans, 
scattering their gunners of the first line, riding through 
their astonished infantry, spreading the pikes like 
trampled com, full into the face of the stolid squadrons 
of German cavalry, at whom the Frenchmen emptied 
their muskets at short range, and engaged them with 
such an onset that before they could be beaten back by 
sheer weight of numbers, the French army^ was, under 
cover of me ^uns, taking up its position with an order- 
Imess bom of the discipline and training of the dead 
Turenne. 

The Gendarmerie of the Guard were on the right 
wing, a superb body of cavalry, then solid masses of 
infantry, regiment arter regiment falling into long lines 
of six men deep, musketeers on each flank, pikemen in 
the centre. On their left were the dragoons. Vaubrun 
commanded the right wing. In front of the earthwork 
ranged the centre, the famous "old" foot regiments of 
Navarre, of Champame, of Pi^mont, flanked on either 
side by cavalry, the choice squadrons of Chevaux-Legers 
on the right, dragoons on the left. The rest of the 
troops massed in like order spread out, a lone left 
wing, ranged in the traditional first line, second line, 
and reserve. If the German army looked formidable, 
so did the French no less. De Lorges, "the obstinate," 
commanded the centre, Hamilton the left. With the 
uniforms of scarlet and blue and white, with its forest 
of pikes and bayonets and muskets, its glory of 
standards, it was a noble and great array. 

By slow degrees the baggage-waggons rumbled up 
and crept behind the reserve lines, making for the 
bridge-head ready to cross. 

The purpose served, the Marquis rallied his men and 
withdrew them, a tattered but triumphant remnant from 
the disorder of the German right, to ride back amid the 
cheers of their f eUows and recover their wind under the 
protecting lee of the earthworks St Hilaire, on his 
way to his place at the head of the Chevaux-Legers of 
the centre, embraced him with all imaginable joy. " You 
are too good a soldier for an under-secretary, my friend ! " 



For the Bridge at Altenheim. 313 

Then the Qerman cannon awoke, and for a full half 
hour a furious cannonade deafened the combatants and 
obscured the air. The cavalry on both sides with 
difficulty restrained their horses, themselves eager as 
their steeds to join issue, and, at the word, six regiments 
of the first line, keeping exact intervals, charged down 
upon the Germans, to be met half-way by the i^ady fire 
of the enemy's musketeers, by long thrusts of his pike- 
men, and the swords of his heavy cavalry. 

As they advanced so did the infantry of the first line, 
halting, as the cavalry fell back after delivering their 
charge, to fire at the opposing lines of the enemy's 
infantry. The battle became general. 

Amid the general hubbub one thing was apparent. 
The German artillery fire was concentrated on the 
bastions, the earthworks, and the demi-lune. In face, 
transversely, the balls came pounding at the devoted 
batteries. The gunners fell, iresh gunners came with 
fresh ammimition, but always came me unceaising metal 
from the German lines. The fire from the bastions 
grew feebler and feebler, and in the centre and on the 
right the German attack in general seemed to gain 
ground. 

Twice Vaubrun and De Lorges had called back their 
first line, halted and rested them, while the second line 
marched through their ranks and took up the cudgels 
of fight. Agam and again were fearfm charges of 
cavalry; not once but a score of times did grenadiers 
and fusiliers and musketmen ram home their charges, 
fire, and wait for the stout pikemen to bear the brunt 
of the rush of the horsemen. Before the Germans lay 
the Rhine, but between them and it was the still 
unbeaten army of the French, for whom that Rhine 
meant homeland and safety. 

"Vaubrun is slain!" The word spread, and dismay, 
quicker than words, spread through the centre. Monte- 
cuculli, secure in the relaxing of uie fire from the works, 
launched his best cavalry, held back patiently for such 
a moment, and down they came, these heavy troopers, 
routing as they came and following the rout up to the 



3H 



The Red Neighbour. 



very f oese of the demi-lune. The German infantiy 

Giured in behind them to the attack, regardless of 
ees, over dead, over dying, intent on taking the 
earthworks. 

In vain did De Lorges, " the obstinate/' charge again 
and a^dn with his Gendarmerie of the Guard, with the 
men (3 La Fert6, of Fronsenac De Lorges f elL 

'^ I am not killed, my children ! " he said as he tried 
to drag himself free from his horse and fainted, for his 
1^ was broken. St Hilaire was about to lead out his 
Chevaux-Legers, but the Marquis be^ed him to defer 
it for a moment or two till word co^ be sent to the 
left wing, which, under Hamilton, was still unbeaten, 
and steadily and grimly gaining CTOund. 

The enemy's infantry hc^ bridges the fosse and scaled 
the demi-lune despite the hot fire kept up by grenadiers 
from the bastions above. 

The corps commanders in all directions were using 
their utmost endeavours to steady and rally their men 
in the centre and on the right. Nothing but a great 
and immediate show of success would hearten tiiem. 
The word was given, and the whole demi-lune flew into 
the air, blown up by its own engineers, and with a 
tremendous cheer the Chevaux-Legers swept out from 
the ri^ht flank of the centre — St Hilaire leading, the 
Marquis commanding the second company. They made 
a wiae circuit, and then wheeling, charged full into the 
flanks of the second line of the Germans, while the left 
wing of the army began a brisk attack upon the right 
wing of the Germans, and sweeping round caught the 
first line of the enemy between the rallying forces of 
the centre and right and themselves, enfilading and 
destroying them, while the Chevaux-Legers carried 
havoc across the German second line almost to the 
standard of the general. 

Once more the French right shouted "Turenne! 
Turenne ! " and rallied. Once more the shattered centre 
asserted itself. With torn standards and broken pikes 
they went forward with an dan that nothing could 
stay. Li one regiment fifteen officers out of sixteen 



The Bridge of Life and Death. 315 

were dead. No matter. The sixteenth remained. 
Forward! Always forward! 

As the Chevaux-Legers rode back again to re-form and 
breathe by the side of the cherished bastion, which was 
still untaken, they heard the shouts of the rallied — 

"You have hammered in the point. Now we shall 
drive the nail home!" 

It was a very pale and battle-stained cadet that^ falling 
rather than dismounting from his horse, roused himseS 
with difficulty to the sound of a voice crying — 

" Giles ! My poor Giles ! It is never you ! " 



CHAPTER XLIL 

THE BRIDGE OF LIFE AND DEATH. 

life without an object is a terrible possession. To 
the ambitious who has attained the summit of his 
ambition, to the avenger who has wreaked his vengeance, 
there is no next thing. It is finished : and the prospect 
is terrible. We cannot live on retrospect at forty. 

The Red Neighbour had saved France. The Marquis 
de Polignac had said it. She sat unmoved by the 
musket-nre, by the roar of the combat which raged on 
the other side of the earthworks. She had fdlowed 
the army; she had helped the Marquise to tend the 
woundea The first relays Juswi had all the care they 
could give them. Presently more would be picked up 
and brought in. No one thought of coining in who 
could stand and fire a musket or give a thrust with 
a pike. 

It was all indifference with her. She could and 
would go on using her skill and strength mechanically, 
as the cock on the great clock of Strassburg flaps its 
wings and crows. But Bocal was dead. She haa had 



3i6 The Red Neighbour. 

her revenge. He had died knowing that she had, in a 
great measure, crippled his resourcea She had enjoyed 
her plans and the working out of them, and now it was 
all over. Bocal was dead, and she was not sure that she 
was not sorrv. Somehow her long sowing of revenge 
had not yielded its due harvest. And there was no 
next thing. 

She sought in her old brown dress, for she had again 
donned it, for the pack of cards with which she had told 
many fortunes in days mne by, and spread them out 
before her on a drum-head. Was there anything behind 
them? 

She had traded on the credulity of maay with those 
aces and kings and nines and sevens, filling the air 
with portents drawn from the brains of the ignorant, 
herself inwardly scoflSng the while. Suppose she laid 
them out according to the rules of magic, but without 
manipulating them to suit the scruples or desires of the 
dieni Let the Red Neighbour reiad her own fate as 
blind chance, or the spirit of evil, dictated it in the dark 
language of the cards. 

one called a little child to her and bade him shuffle 
the cards, and then before his wondering eyes she dealt 
them out into the sets and figures prescribed. 

The sounds of battle rang in her ears. It was the 
business of the army. She heeded it not. She only 
dealt the cards. 

They were arranged. She began to read into them 
the meanings she had so often read, the laboured jargon 
of the fabled Trismegistus and other worthies in the 
never-ending succession of necromancers. 

It was a dark fate that unfolded itself before her. 
There was a stream to be crossed. There were threaten- 
ing men. There were sick or wounded. There was a 
red streak of blood. And the gate of death yawned for 
some one's coming. There was one tall helper. That 
would be Tintorin — unconsciously she looked round for 
him. He was doubtless watching the fighting. For a 
few minutes she read over her destiny again. Pah! 
Mere playthings for the fools. They were bringing in 



J/: 



The Bridge of Life and Death. 317 

more wounded. She swept the cards aside, and of mere 
habit placed them in her bosom. Then with her panther 
stride she went swiftly to the first of them and began to 
stem the flow of blood, and tie rough tourniquets, and 
apply her salves, cool, deliberate, with rough words of 
comfort to the poorer soldiers, such as they understood. 

The task grew heavier and heavier as it drew on 
towards night. The Germans at last had given up the 
battle and were drawing off in good order, but greatly 
lessened in numbers, towards Strassburg. 

The Marquis had returned and ordered the Marquise, 
Th^r^se, and the wounded Giles into their carriage, and 
despatched them across the bridge on the road to Paris, 
promising to follow in an hour and overtake them at 
the first inn. Going round the rows of the wounded, 
and telling off the least wearied of the reserve to attend 
to them, he came upon the Red Neighbour. 

" And you ? " he asked. 

'' I stay here till the last waggon crosses ! " she said. 
"And then?" She shrugged her shoulders. "Who 
knows ? The stars await me ! There are many things 
I could tell you, but you must not stay. Take these 
papers. In exchange, see that Josef Kuhn gets all the 
contracta At least he will sell good flour and hay that 
is not mouldy." 

" But you ! Red Neighbour ! It seems to me that you 
deserve your reward." 

"Pray for me. Monsieur le Marquis! That is all! 
Adieu." 

The Marquis made the sign of the cross upon her 
forehead with his finger. "I commend you to Him," 
he said in a voice full of emotion. "Adieu." 

All the next day the baggage- waggons rumbled across 
the pontoons, the artillery, regiment after regiment. It 
was a retreat but not a rout. They had buried their 
dead. The Germans had buried theura Two thousand 
five hundred men in all had grisly war claimed as her 
toll. The French were hastening to take up new posi- 
tions in Lorraine. The Germans to tap StrassDurg 
and get possession of the stores, which accomplished. 



3i8 



The Red Neighbour. 



the battle would be renewed, but not for a little breath- 
ing-space. 

Two or three waggons with the last gleanings of the 
field were ready to cross that hazardous bridge at 
Altenheim, sadly worn and vnrenched by the huge strain 
of the past two days. 

Tintorin with his great hoarse voice tugged at the 
oxen and led the first waggon across, so that the others 
followed with little relucteSce. 

Suddenly, as if fallen from the skies, a small company 
of German troopers, irregulars, who had been rather 
looting viUages on the outskirts of the battlefield than 
doing much fighting, rode up. Their intention was, so 
the Ked Neighbour read it, to cross at a gallop, seize 
the waggons, as like as not throw the wounded into the 
river, and make what play they could with the booty. 

Swift as thought she seizea a musket and stood on 
the bridge a few steps from shore menacing their 
apr»roach. 

They were near enough for her to hear the leader's 
words— shameful coarse words for a woman to hear. 
At aU events be whose prey she might, she would not 
be his. She fired and saw him reel in his saddle. 

Two men rushed at her. But with a swift blow at 
the legs of the foremost horse, both men and both horses 
fell over into the stream. 

The next file hesitated. 

"Shoot her!" 

She felt something burn into her fiesh, and heard 
dimly the report as she clutched at air and fell upon the 
bridge. Then came rushing feet, and Tintorin lifted 
her up and sped with her across the planks that gave 
to their weight. And then no more. 

He reached the farther shore and bent down upon the 
banks trjmig to staunch the woimd, crying piteously in 
her ear, choking as he did so, a hoarse gabble of utter- 
ance pumped out of his heart, the cry of the strong in 
his agony. 

"I loved you! Do you hear? You must hear! I 
loved you, Jeanne ! How I have loved you. You must 



The real Duel is over. 319 

not die ! Holy saints ! she must not die ! Oh, Jeanne ! 
My little Jeanne! My Red Neighbour, who made the 
Pont Neuf paradise to me. Look at me ! Will it never 
stop ? Ah ! You look at me ! You are trying to say ? 
What is it? Ah! My God! She is dead. My God! 
My God!" 



CHAPTER XLIII. 

THE REAL DUEL IS OVER. 

They had returned to the Hotel de Polignac 

"It is not to be doubted," said the Marquis, "but 
that we owe De Roubaix our good opinion." There 
was a look in his eyes which said, "Madame, I am 
more than ever in love with you, and I expect you 
will agree with me!" 

The Marquise availed herself of one of the many 
ways a charming woman has of expressing dissent 
or at least doubt. She raised her eyebrows. 

" Let me remind you of his services, Madame la Mar- 
quise ! " her husband went on in his pleasantest vein. 

"In the first place he preserved you from the exac- 
tions of the quack Levam!" 

"He did!" She could have added, "for his own 
purposes," but did not. 

"Then there was the affair at Epemay. And he 
would have got you an escort from Chfilons." 

"My Gaston! I did not desire an escort!" 

"Arter that he discovered Th6r^se and delivered her. 
Giles has told me the whole history. He certainly 
showed great address." 

"It was my brave Giles who foimd her and shared 
the danger! Besides, the Count lost her again!" 

"He intended to put her into the charge of the 
Ursulines." 



320 The Red Neighbour. 

"And Th6rhae didn't want to ga It was very 
natural!" added the Marquise, rather inconsistently, 
fleeing that she herself had formerly immured the young 
lady at Meudon. 

" But^ mv dearest Marie, you are doing him less than 
justice. Me made me hugely his debtor when he fought 
and killed that ruffian Bocal for offering you insult." 

''Poor wretch!" said the Marquise. ''He had lost 
his sensea He was perhaps driven by revenge as 
much as b^ admiration for my eves. Wlio saved me ? 
There again it was Qiles. As for the Count, it was 
not so much a duel as an execution." 

" He is an expert swordsman certainly, but the crime 
cried aloud for punishment." 

She shook her head. 

"A most gallant cavalier!" said the Marquis with 
conviction. " I have been using my newly-found favour 
with his Majesty to find him a better employment." 

The Marquise had been growing more and more 
impatient of her husband's eulogy. 

"As far as possible from Paris, then!" She said 
this with an air that was conclusive of her strong 
dislike. 

"Why, my own Marie?" 

"I do not like the Count!" 

" You used to ! What has happened to change your 
feelings?" 

"Do not ask me, Gaston. It is not good for you 
to know." Inwardly she felt as if she were trembling 
on the brink of a precipice. 

"But, Marie, my beloved, there are to be no secrets 
between us. It is our new contract of love." 

" Why are you so provoking, Gaston ? Is it not enough 
that I detest him?" 

" Then it is true ! He has paid court to you ? " 

" He has certainly beset me with his attentions, which 
are hateful to me. I belong to you, Gaston!" She 
emphasised her speech by an embrace, which left 
notning to desire in the way of assurance of her 
truth. 



The real Duel is over. 321 

" And you, poor silent Marie Gabrielle, have not dared 
to tell me for fear I should challenge him." 

The Marquise burst into tears. 

"It is not fair of you to guess all my thoughts 1 
But you will not fight with mm, will you? He is 
not worth it." 

"That depends! Did he ever hint that he was too 
good a swordsman?" 

The tears burst out again. 

"Come, tell me, child!" said the Marquis, pressing 
her head into the hollow of his shoulder. 

"He told me — he told me you might . . . get 
kiUed!" 

"That is possible! But listen, my Marie Gabrielle! 
When a man gets a reputation like that he becomes 
a pest, and some one must teach him to do better. 
Can I really blame him for admiring what I admire, 
but have too long neglected? Suppose I send for 
him and give him a little admonition." 

" Oh ! No — ^no — ^no — Gaston ! He will challenge you, 
and . . ," 

"I — I shall accept. It will be about a straw, you 
imderstand; your name will not come into question!" 

"I implore you, Gaston, Gaston!" 

"In fact I have an acceptance ready." 

The Marquis laid on a table near a letter, something 
of parchment from which a great seal depended, and 
a small packet of papers. 

"Hush, dry your eyes! He is already here!" 

The Marquise screwed up her courage since there 
was nothing in the manner of the Marquis that sug- 
gested warlike intentions. 

The Coimt entered, debonair as usual, bowed with 
grace to the Marquise, and said to De Polignac — 

" So his Majesty has made you a lieutenant-General, 
Marquis, and cancelled your Under-Secretaryship ! Per- 
mit me to make my compliments ! " 

"Thank you, De Boubaix! But it is not of myself 
but of you that I wish to speak to-day, if you will 
favour me a moment." 



322 The Red Neighbour. 

The Count divined nothing from his manner, which 
was entirely cordial. 

"The Marquise tells me that you have permitted 
a noble madness to seize you." 

"It is true!" said the Coimt, eyeing the papers on 
the table, as he inclined his head towards the Marquise, 
who blushed slightly. "I have the greatest admira- 
tion for her!" 

"Which has led you into such an importunity of 
ardour as to have passed bearing." 

" Madame has said as much ! It is the one affair of 
the heart in which I seem to have made no progresa" 
The Count's expression was almost moumfuL 

The Marquis smiled a serene smile. As for the 
Marquise, she showed in her fine eyes pride, anger, 
fear, and astonishment, one after the other. 

" And always in my absence ? " continued the Marquis. 

" One does not usually . . ." began the Count. 

"Which is quite compatible with the generosity 
which is our birthright?" 

The Coimt's eyes flashed momentarily, and he showed 
his white teeth, a proceeding which always gave the 
Count's face a sinister expression. 

"I merely asked a question!" said the Marquis 
pleasantly. 

" Quite in the manner of Socrates ? " asked the Coimt, 
endeavouring to appear to enter into the humour of 
the thing, though he still wondered at those papers 
on the table. 

" Quite ! " replied the Marquis. 

The Count shrugged his shoulders and said — 

"In these matters I do not profess to be better 
than my fellows. It would be pedantic." 

"Then, monsieur, it is the mark of a gentleman, 
who happens to be a good swordsman, to pursue the 
wife of another, even of his most intimate friend, in 
W the belief that she will in the end submit to himjrather 

p than endanger her husband's life in a duel ! " 

The Count bit his lip. Was this a shrewd guess, 
or had the Marquise indeed betrayed him ? He decided 
quickly. 



The real Duel is over. 323 

"My dear Marquis!" The tone of sorrowful re- 
proach was adnurable. "Madame will . . ." 

"The Count appeals to you to clear him/' said the 
Marquis, turning to his wife. 

"As if I couM remember such trifles, Gaston. But 
since you wish it, I seem to recall a room in the * Bell ' 
at Chilons, and a gentleman who was very like the 
Comte de Boubaix, saying — 

"'That is the unforfcimate part of it! You cannot 
tell your husband because there might be a duel.'" 

" 1 seem to hear myself saying, ' God would protect 
him ! ' and the gentleman replying, tapping his sword- 
hilt— 

"'But then I have a certain skill. I always play 
to win!'" 

"You must have had many impleasant dreams in 
the course of your terrible journey, Marie Gabrielle. 
This must have been one! It is impossible to doubt 
the Count's word." 

" Quite impossible ! " said the Marquise, smiling. " As 
you say, I must have dreamt it." 

" Besides, it would have been the speech of a bully ! " 
added the Marquis. " But you will admit, De Roubaix, 
that it was indiscreet on your part to push your ex- 
pressions of devotion so far as to have disturbed 
madame's repose?" 

"I am crushed with remorse!" said the Count, 
wondering at the diplomacy of the Marquis. 

"After all, you handsomely atoned for your indis- 
cretion by avenging the insult offered to the honour 
of the Marquise by Bocal." 

The Count de Boubaix bowed. "Such an insult 
could only be washed out in blood," he said with a 
noble ingenuousnesa 

"There was no private quarrel to sully the beauty 
of its perfect chivahy?" 

"It .was for the sake of the Marquise and of you, 
monsieur." 

"I was sure of it. But it is incredible how many 
enemies one makes. Look for instance at these papers, 
my dear De Boubaix ! " 



324 The Red Neighbour. 

The Marquis took up the mysterious packet which 
had so drawn the eyes of the Count. "That is a 
passable imitation of your signature?" 

The Count controlled himself marvellously. He 
understood now that this was a duel not with swords, 
which would have given him no qualms, no uneasi- 
ness. The Marquis had thrust with the CTcatest 
address, and wounded him at every point of pride, 
humiliated him before the Marquise as he had never 
been humiliated before. This was a fresh round it 
seemed. 

"It is very like! What is the nature of the 
document ? " 

" It is a receipt for money given by one Josef Kuhn 
to some one, an enemy of yours, perhaps, who imitates 
your signature." 

" Josef Kuhn is a contractor to the army. Of course 
I remember him, a dry little German ! " 

" The man who signs your name has evidently shared 
in the profits of his traffic. It is the consideration 
which Josef Kuhn has paid. It is the way France 
bleeds." 

"It is unfortunately the way in which all our con- 
tractors get their business ! " said the Count. " Give 
me these papers, Monsieur le Marquis. It is so much 
my affair. I will seek out the man who has forged 
my signature and done me this infamy." 

Even the Marquise was deceived by his splendid 
indignation. 

"You can have them certainly, unless you prefer 
to hand them to his Majesty's secret agents." 

" If you will permit me. Monsieur le Marquis, I think 
I shall unravel the plot more quickly." 

"What a simpleton the Marquis really is!" thought 
the Count. 

" So much for these trifling explanations," the Marquis 
continued. "I took the opportunity, when his Majesty 
last received me, to ask him a small favour on your 
account." 

" You overrate my deserts. Indeed you do ! " said 
the Count. 



\ 



The real Duel is over, 325 

"Do not thank me/' said the Marquis, "till you 
have read this." 

"To our well beloved Alphonse, Comte de Roubaix, 
&c., &c., we grant a commission as Commandant of 
our fortress of Lille, on the condition that he takes 
up the post without delay, as we have urgent need 
of his services on the borders of Flanders. We have 
ordered our trea49urer to pay him five hundred livres 
a-month. Signed at our Court of Versailles this 30th 
day of September, 1675. Louis." 

As the Count raised his eyes from the parchment 
they met those of the Marquis. There was no longer 
any trace of pleasantry in them. 

" I am overwhelmed with his Majesty's goodness, for 
which I am indebted to you, Monsieur le Marquis, 
and to you, madame. I shall not fail to pay my adieux 
before going . . . into exile." 

The Count de Roubaix bowed respectfully to the 
Marquise. As a connoisseur in sensations, he felt that 
he had had more than enough for one brief half hour. 
He took up his hat. 

" I had written you a letter," said the Marquis, hand- 
ing him the third packet. 

"It is an answer to one which will never be sent," 
said the Coimt. "You may tear it up." 

"That poor wretch Bocal accused the Count of 
something in connection with Josef Kuhn," said the 
Marquise after the Count had gone. 

"It was evidently a plot!" said the Marquis. 

"I confess I do not understand it all,' said the 
Marquise. "But it does not matter — he seems very 
grateful, and there will be no duel at all events?" 

"Not the least sign of one. The real duel is over." 



THE END. 





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