Evening had come on before I was awake, and, on looking upward, saw above me the green leafy branches of some great trees. Then, on peeping from my nest amid the straw, I found, to my very great astonishment, that the wain was not in the same place where I had entered it, but that it was now at the end of a long and stately avenue, and close to an embattled wall, in which there opened an arched gateway surmounted by a coat of arms carved in stone.
I was about to investigate this circumstance further, when the sound of voices near me, or apparently immediately under the huge wain, made me shrink down and lie still and breathless to listen.
"Come, come, mon ami, don't lose your temper, for I assure you that you have none to spare," said a female voice.
"Bah! you always laugh when I kiss you, Angelique," replied a man, reproachfully; "why is this?"
"Because, Jacquot, your moustaches tickle me."
"You are always rather too ticklish between the nose and chin," retorted the other.
"Perhaps so, when Monsieur de Boisguiller and his hussars are here."
"Pardieu, if this be the case, then I shall go back to St. Malo, to dine with the fat cits and dance with their pretty daughters."
"You? Ha! ha!"
"Laugh as you may, mademoiselle: the coachman of Monsieur le Curé of St. Solidore, who holds the consciences of half the province in his keeping, is not without some importance at St. Malo, be assured."
"Que cons êtes bon! (what a simpleton you are!) Kiss me and say nothing more."
A certain remarkable sound followed; then the lovers, apparently reconciled, passed through the archway, and I could perceive that the man was no other than Jacquot Tricot, who had driven the d'esobligeant of the old Curé of St. Solidore, and that his companion was a pretty and piquant young Bretonne, with fine features and coal-black eyes, and having her dark hair dressed back à la marquise, under a tall white cap of spotless linen.
She wore a tight red bodice, with its armholes so large that at the back only an inch or two of the stuff remained between the shoulders; but under this she had a pretty habit-shirt, which fully displayed the swelling form of her fine bust and shoulders. Her ample but short black skirt, embroidered with silver, announced, after the Breton custom, that she was not altogether dowerless, and by her high instep, smart ankle, and taper leg, no one could doubt that Angelique was a charming dancer.
I am thus particular in describing this girl, who was a piquante little country beauty, full of queer Breton exclamations, because our acquaintance did not end here.
My wound was very painful. I felt weak and light-headed; but the consciousness that other concealment was necessary made me look about for a new lurking-place.
On one side of the avenue there opened a spacious lawn; on the other lay a lake, and above the embattled wall and gateway the turrets of a chateau were visible in the sunshine. In the middle of the lawn grew a thicket of shrubs or dwarf trees. My course was soon determined on—to reach the thicket and remain there concealed till nightfall, and trust the rest to Providence.
I dropped from the summit of the straw-laden wain, and, passing quickly through the line of lofty trees, was about to hurry across the lawn, when I heard a shout uttered by many voices, and found myself within fifty paces of a strong party of French Hussars, who had picketed their horses near the avenue, and were quietly enjoying, al fresco, a meal which had no doubt been sent to them from the chateau. It was quite a military picnic, as they were all lounging on the grass, around cold pies, fowls, tarts, and bottles of wine, with their jackets open, their belts and pelisses off.
So busy had they been with their jaws, that their tongues had been silent hitherto, and thus I knew nothing of a vicinity so dangerous, until it was too late to retreat.
Being defenceless, my first thought was to advance confidently and surrender myself as a prisoner of war; but, on seeing that while some rushed to their holsters to procure pistols, others snatched up their sabres, with cries of—
"Down with the Englishman! Sacré Dieu!"
"Shoot him down!"
"A bas les Anglais!"
"Tuez! Tuez! Cut him to pieces!" and so forth, I turned and fled towards the chateau, followed by the whole party, some twenty in number, on foot.
Several shots were fired, but I escaped them all. I passed the wain, dashed through the gateway within which Angelique and Jacquot were still tenderly cooing and billing, and crossed the gravelled courtyard, closely pursued by the hussars, who would no doubt have immolated me there, had not a young lady who was standing on the steps of the entrance-door in conversation with a brilliant-looking cavalry officer, rushed forward and courageously and humanely interposed between them and me, with her arms outspread.
"Pardieu! where did you come from, Coquin? Cut the fellow down!" exclaimed the officer, who was the Chevalier Guillaume do Boisguiller, and in whom I recognised my antagonist of the morning—he of the white scarf, crimson ribbon, and grand cross of St. Louis.
"Ah, je vous prie, monsieur le Chevalier—Messieurs les soldats, don't harm him, pray," cried the young lady; and then she added—"Nay, hold, I command you!"
"What! you intercede for him, do you?" said the officer, with haughty surprise.
"Yes—I do, monsieur."
"Although he is one of those pestilent English who have been playing the devil at Cancalle and St. Malo?"
"I care not—I am Jacqueline de Broglie."
It was she indeed—she whom I had rescued, and who gave me the emerald ring by the wayside well; but she was now so richly attired, and had her fine hair so perfectly dressed, that I did not at first, and in such a terrible crisis, recognise her.
"Parbleu, 'tis very well. Fall back, comrades, sheath your sabres, and finish your luncheon, for we march at sunset," said the captain, twisting his short moustache; "but what am I to understand by all this, mademoiselle?"
"That he saved my life—my honour—scarcely four-and-twenty hours ago," said she, emphatically.
"Sacré! he nearly took both my life and honour this morning," said the chevalier, with a grimace.
"And he is wounded—severely, too—the poor fellow!" she added, in a voice of tender commiseration.
"What! is this the soldier of whom you were just speaking—he who saved you from that rascal Hautois, on the night St. Solidore was cannonaded and destroyed?" asked the hussar, with surprise.
"The same, Monsieur de Boisguiller, and I demand that here, on my own threshold, his life shall be respected."
"So be it, mademoiselle; for your sake, I would spare the lives of the whole British army, if such were your wish—assuredly it should not be mine," said the captain, bowing low, with a tender glance in his eye.
"I thank you, M. le Chevalier," replied the lady, laughing.
"And I congratulate you, M. le soldat, on having such an intercessor," said the Frenchman, making a merit of necessity, and with somewhat of apparent frankness presenting his hand to me.
At that moment the whole place, the chateau with its turrets, the chevalier and the lady, appeared to whirl round me; the light went from my eyes, and darkness seemed to descend in its place; I made a wild clutch at a railing to prevent myself from falling, but failed; and, sinking on the steps that led to the entrance, remember no more of that interview.
For several days after this, all was confusion or all oblivion to me.
I was delirious and in a burning fever.