When most of the officers had withdrawn, Monjoy drew close to me and said,—
"There is more in the Maréchal's dispatch than met our ears—matters not pleasant to the pride of de Broglie."
"How?" said I.
"You must know, monsieur, that since the time that Prince Ferdinand possessed himself of the castle of Marburg, and indeed ever since Minden, Maréchal de Contades has been very unpopular with our troops. He charged the Duc de Broglie with misconduct. The Duc recriminated, and gained credit with the Court at Versailles, when a victim was required to satisfy popular clamour. That victim was M. de Contades, so our camp, like your own, in the case of milord Sackville, has not been without dissensions. But permit me to inquire, did you ever meet the Comte de Bourgneuf before that day when we came for the body of Prince Xavier of Saxony?"
"No—but why do you ask?"
"Parbleu!—'tis strange! and you never did him any wrong?" continued Monjoy, earnestly.
"Wrong—I know of none; but wherefore these inquiries?" said I.
"Because during the execution of that Volontaire de Clermont——"
"The poor wretch who appropriated my ring?"
"Yes—well, I overheard him swear, a low voice, to Armand de Pricorbin, who accompanied his brother Silvain to the gallows, that you should never reach the allied lines alive, and the man gave him a fierce and rapid glance, as much as to say, we understand each other. I was not supposed to observe, or to overhear all this, and could neither control nor take the Count, my superior officer, to task for it."
"But I shall—he is not my superior officer. I thank you, M. Monjoy, and shall challenge him for this," said I, wrathfully.
"You would be extremely rash, and if a duel ensued the Duc de Broglie would severely punish the survivor, especially one in your circumstances."
"Then what is to be done, for at this moment a plot for my assassination may be forming?"
"Return as quickly as possible to the other side of the Lahn," said Boisguiller, who had listened in silence to the foregoing. "I know more of this matter than you, Monjoy, and while disapproving of the sentiments of my kinsman, de Bourgneuf, am most anxious to serve M. Gauntlet, as an old friend who saved and served me when in a desperate and degrading position. Grands Dieux! I am not likely to forget that prison-ship, the Alceste, for some time to come!"
For a minute or more, I remained in doubt what to do. My first idea suggested a report of the affair to the Duc de Broglie; but that would avail me little unless he gave me an armed escort, to apply for which would argue either guilt or timidity. To take the count bluntly and boldly to task would be, my friends averred, perilous work; and to seek an interview with Jacqueline, his countess, and beg her advice in the matter—even if I knew where she resided—was a measure more perilous still, and one to be dreaded.
"You really think that Bourgneuf is capable of having me waylaid and cut off?" said I.
"Quite," replied Monjoy; "excuse me talking thus of your kinsman, Boisguiller; but his mother was an Espagnole of Alava, and we all know the spirit he is likely to inherit. My advice to you is, monsieur, immediately on receiving the signed passport of the Duc de Broglie, to set out ostensibly for Hesse Cassel—observe this map; it is about seven leagues from here, according to Herman Mall. But go not there; strike off towards Frankenburg, and push on for the Lahn, while Bourgneuf and his people may be searching for you in the direction of the Weser."
"And pray start to-night, and bon voyage, mon ami!" said Boisguiller, draining his glass.
"In my ignorance of the country and the language—on foot, too—I shall never reach the Lahn alone."
"Of course not, mon camarade, we never meant you to do so," replied Monjoy. "Boisguiller cannot accompany you, as he returns to Helingenstadt to-morrow; but I shall do so with pleasure, at least a few leagues of the way, for to-morrow at noon, I have to lay before the Duc de Broglie plans of the castles of Marburg and Dillenburg, with the intended approaches and lines of circumvallation."
I was thanking this frank friend in suitable terms, when a gold locket became disengaged from the ribbon by which it was suspended at his neck, and fell at my feet. When handing it across the table to him, I could perceive that it contained the miniature of a girl, young, lovely, and fairhaired.
"Morbleu! Gervais Monjoy," exclaimed Boisguiller; "is it thus, my fine fellow, that you treasure the image of Madame d'Escombas?"
"Madame! is this girl, a child almost, married?" said I, perhaps imprudently.
"Hush, gentlemen—hush, for God's sake and for hers—upon your honour, hush!" said Monjoy, in a husky voice, as he replaced the locket in his breast, and his cheek grew very pale.
"I know your sad story, and hers too," said the chevalier in a whisper; "but are you wise to carry this trinket about with you?"
"'Tis all of her that evil fate has left me!" sighed Monjoy, filling his glass with wine.
"But—but suppose you were killed in action, and this portrait was found upon you?"
"Well?"
"Would it not compromise the honour of madame?"
"With none who knew our wretched history," replied Monjoy, in a broken voice, and with a tremulous manner; "but let us return to the affair of our friend."
"The Duc de Broglie knows not all the on dits of Paris and Versailles," said the chevalier, with an air of annoyance.
"The old man thinks only of brigades and squadrons, of advances and retreats, and of pontoon-bridges on the Rhine and Weser; but—a word in your ear, M. Gauntlet: if he knew all that was reported, you might perhaps have not fared quite so well in Ysembourg to-day."
"I do not comprehend," said I, coldly, perhaps haughtily.
"Well, mon ami, it was reported in the Chroniques Scandaleuses at Versailles and Paris, that the young countess, then Mademoiselle de Broglie, had a lover disguised as her soubrette, and that the fellow actually carried her off. Thus you see how rumour wove you and the outlaw Hautois into one."
"Rumour might have added, that it was revenue for Bourgneuf's abduction of the sister Hautois of and the demolition of his mother's cottage that made this man the wretch we found him," said I, bitterly "But oh! Boisguiller," I added, suddenly and passionately, as the fumes of the wine mounted to my head; "you know the truth and the falsehood of this affair; you must know that I loved Jacqueline purely and honourably, that I loved her to despair, and how I sorrowed for her supposed death!"
"Ah, mon garçon! I cheated you nicely at that old chaumière in the wood, and all for the best, was it not? But pray don't give way to such outbursts here; ma foi! no, they will never do; so be wary and be off, ere worse come to pass. Bourgneuf has some fellows in his Regiment de Bretagne who would skin their own fathers—people from his own estates who would chop you into mincemeat if such were his supreme will and pleasure, and if quietly shooting you down did not suit his purpose quite as well."
I took another glass of wine and snapped my fingers, as a spirit of bravado next possessed me.
"Tell me, is the countess here?" I asked.
"Madame de Bourgneuf, née Broglie? well, she is not exactly at Ysembourg, but we shall not say where. Awkward, is it not?" said the chevalier, playing with the gold tassel of his hussar pelisse.
"Awkward!—what—how!" stammered I.
"Diable! without condescending to be more plain, my friend, I think that under all the circumstances, it is exceedingly awkward that the countess, and you, a former lover, are, with the knowledge of such a man as Bourgneuf, within a few miles of each other. How do you feel about it?"
"Simply, my dear chevalier," said I, as the wax lights began to multiply strangely, and the room seemed to swim round me, "that my naturally fine appetite is in no way impaired by the circumstance, and I have dined as well as ever I did on that deuced tough ration beef of the Hessians; and as for Monsieur de Bourgneuf——"
"He is at your service, monsieur!" said a harsh voice in my car, while a hand was laid, almost with a clutch, on my right shoulder. I turned and encountered that which sobered me in a moment; the stern and sallow face, and dark, glittering, almond-shaped, and rather wicked eyes of the Count de Bourgneuf, who had entered unseen, and had overheard, how much or how little of the past conversation, we knew not. He delivered to me a paper, saying, "Monsieur, this is your signed pass to the nearest British cantonment; and you can depart when you please, and by any route; so delay is unadvisable," he added, with a keen glance.
"I thank you, Monsieur le Comte," said I.
"By the way of Hesse Cassel, I have advised," said Monjoy hastily.
"The Lahn lies in an opposite direction—but Hesse Cassel be it," said the Count, with a deep smile. "Ah, Boisguiller, thou unconscionable tosspot—art bibbing still? Good evening, monsieur," he added to me, as he bowed and withdrew; "a pleasant and a safe journey to you."
"Did you remark his smile?" asked Monjoy in a low voice, while twitching my sleeve.
"Yes," replied I; "and it reminded me of one who never smiled thus save when planning mischief."
I thought of the aide-de-camp, Shirley.
"Boisguiller, assist me in getting a horse for our comrade," said Monjoy, looking at his watch: "it is now eight, and we shall depart from this within an hour.”