The Chouans

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"To those Jacobins!" shouted the smuggler. "Ha! if the king would let
me have my way, I'd answer for my thousand men; we'd soon wring their
necks and be rid of them."

"Monsieur /de/ Cottereau," said the marquis, "I see some of our
invited guests arriving. We must all do our best by attention and
courtesy to make them share our sacred enterprise; you will agree, I
am sure, that this is not the moment to bring forward your demands,
however just they may be."

So saying, the marquis went to the door, as if to meet certain of the
country nobles who were entering the room, but the bold smuggler
barred his way in a respectful manner.

"No, no, monsieur le marquis, excuse me," he said; "the Jacobins
taught me too well in 1793 that it is not he who sows and reaps who
eats the bread. Sign this bit of paper for me, and to-morrow I'll
bring you fifteen hundred gars. If not, I'll treat with the First
Consul."

Looking haughtily about him, the marquis saw plainly that the boldness
of the old partisan and his resolute air were not displeasing to any
of the spectators of this debate. One man alone, sitting by himself in
a corner of the room, appeared to take no part in the scene, and to be
chiefly occupied in filling his pipe. The contemptuous air with which
he glanced at the speakers, his modest demeanor, and a look of
sympathy which the marquis encountered in his eyes, made the young
leader observe the man, whom he then recognized as Major Brigaut, and
he went suddenly up to him.

"And you, what do you want?" he said.

"Oh, monsieur le marquis, if the king comes back that's all I want."

"But for yourself?"

"For myself? are you joking?"

The marquis pressed the horny hand of the Breton, and said to Madame
du Gua, who was near them: "Madame, I may perish in this enterprise
before I have time to make a faithful report to the king on the
Catholic armies of Brittany. I charge you, in case you live to see the
Restoration, not to forget this honorable man nor the Baron du Guenic.
There is more devotion in them than in all those other men put
together."

He pointed to the chiefs, who were waiting with some impatience till
the marquis should reply to their demands. They were all holding
papers in their hands, on which, no doubt, their services were
recorded over the signatures of the various generals of the former
war; and all were murmuring. The Abbe Gudin, the Comte de Bauvan, and
the Baron du Guenic were consulting how best to help the marquis in
rejecting these extravagant demands, for they felt the position of the
young leader to be extremely delicate.

Suddenly the marquis ran his blue eyes, gleaming with satire, over the
whole assembly, and said in a clear voice: "Gentlemen, I do not know
whether the powers which the king has graciously assigned to me are
such that I am able to satisfy your demands. He doubtless did not
foresee such zeal, such devotion, on your part. You shall judge
yourselves of the duties put upon me,--duties which I shall know how
to accomplish."

So saying, he left the room and returned immediately holding in his
hand an open letter bearing the royal seal and signature.

"These are the letters-patent in virtue of which you are to obey me,"
he said. "They authorize me to govern the provinces of Brittany,
Normandy, Maine, and Anjou, in the king's name, and to recognize the
services of such officers as may distinguish themselves in his
armies."

A movement of satisfaction ran through the assembly. The Chouans
approached the marquis and made a respectful circle round him. All
eyes fastened on the king's signature. The young chief, who was
standing near the chimney, suddenly threw the letters into the fire,
and they were burned in a second.

"I do not choose to command any," cried the young man, "but those who
see a king in the king, and not a prey to prey upon. You are free,
gentlemen, to leave me."

Madame du Gua, the Abbe Gudin, Major Brigaut, the Chevalier du
Vissard, the Baron du Guenic, and the Comte de Bauvan raised the cry
of "Vive le roi!" For a moment the other leaders hesitated; then,
carried away by the noble action of the marquis, they begged him to
forget what had passed, assuring him that, letters-patent or not, he
must always be their leader.

"Come and dance," cried the Comte de Bauvan, "and happen what will!
After all," he added, gaily, "it is better, my friends, to pray to God
than the saints. Let us fight first, and see what comes of it."

"Ha! that's good advice," said Brigaut. "I have never yet known a
day's pay drawn in the morning."

The assembly dispersed about the rooms, where the guests were now
arriving. The marquis tried in vain to shake off the gloom which
darkened his face. The chiefs perceived the unfavorable impression
made upon a young man whose devotion was still surrounded by all the
beautiful illusions of youth, and they were ashamed of their action.

However, a joyous gaiety soon enlivened the opening of the ball, at
which were present the most important personages of the royalist
party, who, unable to judge rightly, in the depths of a rebellious
province, of the actual events of the Revolution, mistook their hopes
for realities. The bold operations already begun by Montauran, his
name, his fortune, his capacity, raised their courage and caused that
political intoxication, the most dangerous of all excitements, which
does not cool till torrents of blood have been uselessly shed. In the
minds of all present the Revolution was nothing more than a passing
trouble to the kingdom of France, where, to their belated eyes,
nothing was changed. The country belonged as it ever did to the house
of Bourbon. The royalists were the lords of the soil as completely as
they were four years earlier, when Hoche obtained less a peace than an
armistice. The nobles made light of the revolutionists; for them
Bonaparte was another, but more fortunate, Marceau. So gaiety reigned.
The women had come to dance. A few only of the chiefs, who had fought
the Blues, knew the gravity of the situation; but they were well aware
that if they talked of the First Consul and his power to their
benighted companions, they could not make themselves understood. These
men stood apart and looked at the women with indifference. Madame du
Gua, who seemed to do the honors of the ball, endeavored to quiet the
impatience of the dancers by dispensing flatteries to each in turn.
The musicians were tuning their instruments and the dancing was about
to begin, when Madame du Gua noticed the gloom on de Montauran's face
and went hurriedly up to him.

"I hope it is not that vulgar scene you have just had with those
clodhoppers which depresses you?" she said.

She got no answer; the marquis, absorbed in thought, was listening in
fancy to the prophetic reasons which Marie had given him in the midst
of the same chiefs at La Vivetiere, urging him to abandon the struggle
of kings against peoples. But the young man's soul was too proud, too
lofty, too full perhaps of conviction, to abandon an enterprise he had
once begun, and he decided at this moment, to continue it boldly in
the face of all obstacles. He raised his head haughtily, and for the
first time noticed that Madame du Gua was speaking to him.

"Your mind is no doubt at Fougeres," she remarked bitterly, seeing how
useless her efforts to attract his attention had been. "Ah, monsieur,
I would give my life to put /her/ within your power, and see you happy
with her."

"Then why have you done all you could to kill her?"

"Because I wish her dead or in your arms. Yes, I may have loved the
Marquis de Montauran when I thought him a hero, but now I feel only a
pitying friendship for him; I see him shorn of all his glory by a
fickle love for a worthless woman."

"As for love," said the marquis, in a sarcastic tone, "you judge me
wrong. If I loved that girl, madame, I might desire her less; if it
were not for you, perhaps I should not think of her at all."

"Here she is!" exclaimed Madame du Gua, abruptly.

The haste with which the marquis looked round went to the heart of the
woman; but the clear light of the wax candles enabled her to see every
change on the face of the man she loved so violently, and when he
turned back his face, smiling at her woman's trick, she fancied there
was still some hope of recovering him.

"What are you laughing at?" asked the Comte de Bauvan.

"At a soap-bubble which has burst," interposed Madame du Gua, gaily.
"The marquis, if we are now to believe him, is astonished that his
heart ever beat the faster for that girl who presumes to call herself
Mademoiselle de Verneuil. You know who I mean."

"That girl!" echoed the count. "Madame, the author of a wrong is bound
to repair it. I give you my word of honor that she is really the
daughter of the Duc de Verneuil."

"Monsieur le comte," said the marquis, in a changed voice, "which of
your statements am I to believe,--that of La Vivetiere, or that now
made?"

The loud voice of a servant at the door announced Mademoiselle de
Verneuil. The count sprang forward instantly, offered his hand to the
beautiful woman with every mark of profound respect, and led her
through the inquisitive crowd to the marquis and Madame du Gua.
"Believe the one now made," he replied to the astonished young leader.

Madame du Gua turned pale at the unwelcome sight of the girl, who
stood for a moment, glancing proudly over the assembled company, among
whom she sought to find the guests at La Vivetiere. She awaited the
forced salutation of her rival, and, without even looking at the
marquis, she allowed the count to lead her to the place of honor
beside Madame du Gua, whose bow she returned with an air that was
slightly protecting. But the latter, with a woman's instinct, took no
offense; on the contrary, she immediately assumed a smiling, friendly
manner. The extraordinary dress and beauty of Mademoiselle de Verneuil
caused a murmur throughout the ballroom. When the marquis and Madame
du Gua looked towards the late guests at La Vivetiere they saw them in
an attitude of respectful admiration which was not assumed; each
seemed desirous of recovering favor with the misjudged young woman.
The enemies were in presence of each other.

"This is really magic, mademoiselle," said Madame du Gua; "there is no
one like you for surprises. Have you come all alone?"

"All alone," replied Mademoiselle de Verneuil. "So you have only one
to kill to-night, madame."

"Be merciful," said Madame du Gua. "I cannot express to you the
pleasure I have in seeing you again. I have truly been overwhelmed by
the remembrance of the wrongs I have done you, and am most anxious for
an occasion to repair them."

"As for those wrongs, madame, I readily pardon those you did to me,
but my heart bleeds for the Blues whom you murdered. However, I excuse
all, in return for the service you have done me."

Madame du Gua lost countenance as she felt her hand pressed by her
beautiful rival with insulting courtesy. The marquis had hitherto
stood motionless, but he now seized the arm of the count.

"You have shamefully misled me," he said; "you have compromised my
honor. I am not a Geronte of comedy, and I shall have your life or you
will have mine."

"Marquis," said the count, haughtily, "I am ready to give you all the
explanations you desire."

They passed into the next room. The witnesses of this scene, even
those least initiated into the secret, began to understand its nature,
so that when the musicians gave the signal for the dancing to begin no
one moved.

"Mademoiselle, what service have I rendered you that deserves a
return?" said Madame du Gua, biting her lips in a sort of rage.

"Did you not enlighten me as to the true character of the Marquis de
Montauran, madame? With what utter indifference that man allowed me to
go to my death! I give him up to you willingly!"

"Then why are you here?" asked Madame du Gua, eagerly.

"To recover the respect and consideration you took from me at La
Vivetiere, madame. As for all the rest, make yourself easy. Even if
the marquis returned to me, you know very well that a return is never
love."

Madame du Gua took Mademoiselle de Verneuil's hand with that
affectionate touch and motion which women practise to each other,
especially in the presence of men.

"Well, my poor dear child," she said, "I am glad to find you so
reasonable. If the service I did you was rather harsh," she added,
pressing the hand she held, and feeling a desire to rend it as her
fingers felt its softness and delicacy, "it shall at least be
thorough. Listen to me, I know the character of the Gars; he meant to
deceive you; he neither can nor will marry any woman except--"

"Ah!"

"Yes, mademoiselle, he has accepted his dangerous mission to win the
hand of Mademoiselle d'Uxelles, a marriage to which his Majesty has
promised his countenance."

"Ah! ah!"

Mademoiselle de Verneuil added not a word to that scornful
ejaculation. The young and handsome Chevalier du Vissard, eager to be
forgiven for the joke which had led to the insults at La Vivetiere,
now came up to her and respectfully invited her to dance. She placed
her hand in his, and they took their places in a quadrille opposite to
Madame du Gua. The gowns of the royalist women, which recalled the
fashions of the exiled court, and their creped and powdered hair
seemed absurd as soon as they were contrasted with the attire which
republican fashions authorized Mademoiselle de Verneuil to wear. This
attire, which was elegant, rich, and yet severe, was loudly condemned
but inwardly envied by all the women present. The men could not
restrain their admiration for the beauty of her natural hair and the
adjustment of a dress the charm of which was in the proportions of the
form which it revealed.

At that moment the marquis and the count re-entered the ballroom
behind Mademoiselle de Verneuil, who did not turn her head. If a
mirror had not been there to inform her of Montauran's presence, she
would have known it from Madame du Gua's face, which scarcely
concealed, under an apparently indifferent air, the impatience with
which she awaited the conflict which must, sooner or later, take place
between the lovers. Though the marquis talked with the count and other
persons, he heard the remarks of all the dancers who from time to time
in the mazes of the quadrille took the place of Mademoiselle de
Verneuil and her partner.

"Positively, madame, she came alone," said one.

"She must be a bold woman," replied the lady.

"If I were dressed like that I should feel myself naked," said another
woman.

"Oh, the gown is not decent, certainly," replied her partner; "but it
is so becoming, and she is so handsome."

"I am ashamed to look at such perfect dancing, for her sake; isn't it
exactly that of an opera girl?" said the envious woman.

"Do you suppose that she has come here to intrigue for the First
Consul?" said another.

"A joke if she has," replied the partner.

"Well, she can't offer innocence as a dowry," said the lady, laughing.

The Gars turned abruptly to see the lady who uttered this sarcasm, and
Madame du Gua looked at him as if to say, "You see what people think
of her."

"Madame," said the count, laughing, "so far, it is only women who have
taken her innocence away from her."

The marquis privately forgave the count. When he ventured to look at
his mistress, whose beauty was, like that of most women, brought into
relief by the light of the wax candles, she turned her back upon him
as she resumed her place, and went on talking to her partner in a way
to let the marquis hear the sweetest and most caressing tones of her
voice.

"The First Consul sends dangerous ambassadors," her partner was
saying.

"Monsieur," she replied, "you all said that at La Vivetiere."

"You have the memory of a king," replied he, disconcerted at his own
awkwardness.

"To forgive injuries one must needs remember them," she said quickly,
relieving his embarrassment with a smile.

"Are we all included in that amnesty?" said the marquis, approaching
her.

But she darted away in the dance, with the gaiety of a child, leaving
him without an answer. He watched her coldly and sadly; she saw it,
and bent her head with one of those coquettish motions which the
graceful lines of her throat enabled her to make, omitting no movement
or attitude which could prove to him the perfection of her figure. She
attracted him like hope, and eluded him like a memory. To see her thus
was to desire to possess her at any cost. She knew that, and the sense
it gave her of her own beauty shed upon her whole person an
inexpressible charm. The marquis felt the storm of love, of rage, of
madness, rising in his heart; he wrung the count's hand violently, and
left the room.

"Is he gone?" said Mademoiselle de Verneuil, returning to her place.

The count gave her a glance and passed into the next room, from which
he presently returned accompanied by the Gars.

"He is mine!" she thought, observing his face in the mirror.

She received the young leader with a displeased air and said nothing,
but she smiled as she turned away from him; he was so superior to all
about him that she was proud of being able to rule him; and obeying an
instinct which sways all women more or less, she resolved to let him
know the value of a few gracious words by making him pay dear for
them. As soon as the quadrille was over, all the gentlemen who had
been at La Vivetiere surrounded Mademoiselle de Verneuil, wishing by
their flattering attentions to obtain her pardon for the mistake they
had made; but he whom she longed to see at her feet did not approach
the circle over which she now reigned a queen.

"He thinks I still love him," she thought, "and does not wish to be
confounded with mere flatterers."

She refused to dance again. Then, as if the ball were given for her,
she walked about on the arm of the Comte de Bauvan, to whom she was
pleased to show some familiarity. The affair at La Vivetiere was by
this time known to all present, thanks to Madame du Gua, and the
lovers were the object of general attention. The marquis dared not
again address his mistress; a sense of the wrong he had done her and
the violence of his returning passion made her seem to him actually
terrible. On her side Marie watched his apparently calm face while she
seemed to be observing the ball.

"It is fearfully hot here," she said to the count. "Take me to the
other side where I can breathe; I am stifling here."

And she motioned towards a small room where a few card-players were
assembled. The marquis followed her. He ventured to hope she had left
the crowd to receive him, and this supposed favor roused his passion
to extreme violence; for his love had only increased through the
resistance he had made to it during the last few days. Mademoiselle de
Verneuil still tormented him; her eyes, so soft and velvety for the
count, were hard and stern when, as if by accident, they met his.
Montauran at last made a painful effort and said, in a muffled voice,
"Will you never forgive me?"

"Love forgives nothing, or it forgives all," she said, coldly. "But,"
she added, noticing his joyful look, "it must be love."

She took the count's arm once more and moved forward into a small
boudoir which adjoined the cardroom. The marquis followed her.

"Will you not hear me?" he said.

"One would really think, monsieur," she replied, "that I had come here
to meet you, and not to vindicate my own self-respect. If you do not
cease this odious pursuit I shall leave the ballroom."

"Ah!" he cried, recollecting one of the crazy actions of the last Duc
de Lorraine, "let me speak to you so long as I can hold this live coal
in my hand."

He stooped to the hearth and picking up a brand held it tightly.
Mademoiselle de Verneuil flushed, took her arm from that of the count,
and looked at the marquis in amazement. The count softly withdrew,
leaving them alone together. So crazy an action shook Marie's heart,
for there is nothing so persuasive in love as courageous folly.

"You only prove to me," she said, trying to make him throw away the
brand, "that you are willing to make me suffer cruelly. You are
extreme in everything. On the word of a fool and the slander of a
woman you suspected that one who had just saved your life was capable
of betraying you."

"Yes," he said, smiling, "I have been very cruel to you; but
nevertheless, forget it; I shall never forget it. Hear me. I have been
shamefully deceived; but so many circumstances on that fatal day told
against you--"

"And those circumstances were stronger than your love?"

He hesitated; she made a motion of contempt, and rose.

"Oh, Marie. I shall never cease to believe in you now."

"Then throw that fire away. You are mad. Open your hand; I insist upon
it."

He took delight in still resisting the soft efforts of her fingers,
but she succeeded in opening the hand she would fain have kissed.

"What good did that do you?" she said, as she tore her handkerchief
and laid it on the burn, which the marquis covered with his glove.

Madame du Gua had stolen softly into the cardroom, watching the lovers
with furtive eyes, but escaping theirs adroitly; it was, however,
impossible for her to understand their conversation from their
actions.

"If all that they said of me was true you must admit that I am avenged
at this moment," said Marie, with a look of malignity which startled
the marquis.

"What feeling brought you here?" he asked.

"Do you suppose, my dear friend, that you can despise a woman like me
with impunity? I came here for your sake and for my own," she
continued, after a pause, laying her hand on the hilt of rubies in her
bosom and showing him the blade of her dagger.

"What does all that mean?" thought Madame du Gua.

"But," she continued, "you still love me; at any rate, you desire me,
and the folly you have just committed," she added, taking his hand,
"proves it to me. I will again be that I desired to be; and I return
to Fougeres happy. Love absolves everything. You love me; I have
regained the respect of the man who represents to me the whole world,
and I can die."

"Then you still love me?" said the marquis.

"Have I said so?" she replied with a scornful look, delighting in the
torture she was making him endure. "I have run many risks to come
here. I have saved Monsieur de Bauvan's life, and he, more grateful
than others, offers me in return his fortune and his name. You have
never even thought of doing that."

The marquis, bewildered by these words, stifled the worst anger he had
ever felt, supposing that the count had played him false. He made no
answer.

"Ah! you reflect," she said, bitterly.

"Mademoiselle," replied the young man, "your doubts justify mine."

"Let us leave this room," said Mademoiselle de Verneuil, catching
sight of a corner of Madame du Gua's gown, and rising. But the wish to
reduce her rival to despair was too strong, and she made no further
motion to go.

"Do you mean to drive me to hell?" cried the marquis, seizing her hand
and pressing it violently.

"Did you not drive me to hell five days ago? are you not leaving me at
this very moment uncertain whether your love is sincere or not?"

"But how do I know whether your revenge may not lead you to obtain my
life to tarnish it, instead of killing me?"

"Ah! you do not love me! you think of yourself and not of me!" she
said angrily, shedding a few tears.

The coquettish creature well knew the power of her eyes when moistened
by tears.

"Well, then," he cried, beside himself, "take my life, but dry those
tears."

"Oh, my love! my love!" she exclaimed in a stifled voice: "those are
the words, the accents, the looks I have longed for, to allow me to
prefer your happiness to mine. But," she added, "I ask one more proof
of your love, which you say is so great. I wish to stay here only so
long as may be needed to show the company that you are mine. I will
not even drink a glass of water in the house of a woman who has twice
tried to kill me, who is now, perhaps, plotting mischief against us,"
and she showed the marquis the floating corner of Madame du Gua's
drapery. Then she dried her eyes and put her lips to the ear of the
young man, who quivered as he felt the caress of her warm breath. "See
that everything is prepared for my departure," she said; "you shall
take me yourself to Fougeres and there only will I tell you if I love
you. For the second time I trust you. Will you trust me a second
time?"

"Ah, Marie, you have brought me to a point where I know not what I do.
I am intoxicated by your words, your looks, by you--by you, and I am
ready to obey you."

"Well, then, make me for an instant very happy. Let me enjoy the only
triumph I desire. I want to breathe freely, to drink of the life I
have dreamed, to feed my illusions before they are gone forever. Come
--come into the ballroom and dance with me."

They re-entered the room together, and though Mademoiselle de Verneuil
was as completely satisfied in heart and vanity as any woman ever
could be, the unfathomable gentleness of her eyes, the demure smile on
her lips, the rapidity of the motions of a gay dance, kept the secret
of her thoughts as the sea swallows those of the criminal who casts a
weighted body into its depths. But a murmur of admiration ran through
the company as, circling in each other's arms, voluptuously
interlaced, with heavy heads, and dimmed sight, they waltzed with a
sort of frenzy, dreaming of the pleasures they hoped to find in a
future union.