Authors: Baroness Emmuska Orczy
Only Clyffurde, who stood somewhat apart from the others, knew—by some
unexplainable intuition—what it was that had brought Maurice de St.
Genis to this house in this excited state and at this hour. He felt
excited too, and mightily thankful that the catastrophe would be brought
about by others—not by himself.
But all his thoughts were for Crystal, and an instinctive desire to
stand by her and to shield her if necessary from some unknown or
unguessed evil, made him draw nearer to her. She stood on the fringe of
the little crowd—as isolated as Bobby was himself.
De Marmont—whose face had become the colour of dead
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ashes—had left
her side: one step at a time and very slowly he was getting nearer and
nearer to St. Genis, as if the latter's wrath-filled eyes were drawing
him against his will.
At the young man's ominous words, M. le Comte's sunken cheeks grew a
shade more pale.
"What catastrophe,
mon Dieu!
" he exclaimed, "could fall on my house
that would be worse than twenty years of exile?"
"An alliance with a traitor, M. le Comte," said St. Genis firmly.
A gasp went round the room, a sigh, a cry. The women looked in mute
horror from one man to the other, the men already had their right hand
on their swords. But Clyffurde's eyes were fixed upon Crystal, who pale,
silent, rigid as a marble statue, with lips parted and nostrils
quivering, stood not five paces away from him, her dilated eyes
wandering ceaselessly from the face of St. Genis to that of de Marmont
and thence to that of her father. But beyond that look of tense
excitement she revealed nothing of what she thought and felt.
Already de Marmont—his hand upon his sword—had advanced menacingly
towards St. Genis.
"M. le Marquis," he said between set teeth, "you will, by God! eat those
words, or——"
"Eat my words, man?" retorted St. Genis with a harsh laugh. "By Heaven!
have I not come here on purpose to throw my words into your lying face?"
There was a brief but violent skirmish, for de Marmont had made a
movement as if he meant to spring at his rival's throat, and Général
Marchand and the Vicomte de Génevois, who happened to be near, had much
ado to seize and hold him: even so they could not stop the hoarse cries
which he uttered:
"Liar! Liar! Liar! Let me go! Let me get to him! I must kill him! I must
kill him!"
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The Comte interposed his dignified person between the two men.
"Maurice," he said, in tones of calm and dispassionate reproof, "your
conduct is absolutely unjustifiable. You seem to forget that you are in
the presence of ladies and of my guests. If you had a quarrel with M. de
Marmont. . . ."
"A quarrel, my dear Comte?" exclaimed St. Genis, "nay, 'tis no quarrel I
have with him: and my conduct would have been a thousand times more vile
if I had not come to-night and stopped his hand from touching that of
Mlle. Crystal de Cambray—his hand which was engaged less than two hours
ago in affixing to the public buildings of Grenoble the infamous message
of the Corsican brigand to the army and the people of France."
A hoarse murmur—a sure sign that men or women are afraid—came from
every corner of the room.
"The message?—What message?"
Some people turned instinctively to M. le préfet, others to Général
Marchand. Every one knew that Bonaparte had landed on the Littoral,
every one had heard the rumour that he was marching in triumph through
Provence and the Dauphiné—but no one had altogether believed this—as
for a message—a proclamation—a call to the army—and this in Grenoble
itself. No one had heard of that—every one had been at home, getting
dressed for this festive function, thinking of good suppers and of
wedding bells. It was as if after a clap of thunder and a flash of
lightning the house was found to be in flames. M. le préfet in answer to
these mute queries had shrugged his shoulders, and Général Marchand
looked grim and silent.
But St. Genis with arm uplifted and shaking hand pointed a finger at de
Marmont.
"Ask him," he cried. "Ask him, my dear Comte, ask the miserable traitor
who with lies and damnable treachery
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has stolen his way into your
house, has stolen your regard, your hospitality, and was on the point of
stealing your most precious treasure—your daughter! Ask him! He knows
every word of that infamous message by heart! I doubt not but a copy of
it is inside his coat now. Ask him! Général Mouton-Duveret met him
outside Grenoble in company with that cur Emery and I saw him with mine
own eyes distributing these hellish papers among our townspeople and
pinning them up at the street-corners of our city."
While St. Genis was speaking—or rather screaming—for his voice,
pitched high, seemed to fill the entire room—every glance was fixed
upon de Marmont. Every one of course expected a contradiction as hot and
intemperate as was the accusation. It was unthinkable, impossible that
what St. Genis said could be true. They all knew de Marmont well. Nephew
of the Duc de Raguse who had borne the lion's share in surrendering
Paris to the allies and bringing about the downfall of the Corsican
usurper, he was one of the most trusted members of the royalist set in
Dauphiné. They had talked quite freely before him, consulted with him
when local Bonapartism appeared uncomfortably rampant. De Marmont was
one of themselves.
And yet he said nothing even now when St. Genis accused him and hurled
insult upon insult at him:—he said nothing to refute the awful
impeachment, to justify his conduct, to explain his companionship with
Emery. His face was still livid, but it was with rage—not indignation.
Marchand and Génevois still held him by the arms, else he and St. Genis
would have been at one another's throat before now. But his gestures as
he struggled to free himself, the imprecations which he uttered were
those of a man who was baffled and found out—not of one who is
innocent.
But as St. Genis continued to speak and worked himself
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up every moment
into a still greater state of excitement, de Marmont gradually seemed to
calm down. He ceased to curse: he ceased to struggle, and on his
face—which still was livid—there gradually crept a look of
determination and of defiance. He dug his teeth into his under lip until
tiny drops of blood appeared at the corner of his mouth and trickled
slowly down his chin.
Marchand and Génevois relaxed the grip upon his arms, since he no longer
fought, and thus released he contrived to pull himself together. He
tossed back his head and looked his infuriated accuser boldly in the
face.
By the time St. Genis paused in his impassioned denunciation, he had
himself completely under control: only his eyes appeared to glow with an
unnatural fire, and little beads of moisture appeared upon his brow and
matted the dark hair against his forehead. The Comte de Cambray at this
juncture would certainly have interposed with one of those temperate
speeches, full of dignity and brimming over with lofty sentiments, which
he knew so well how to deliver, but de Marmont gave him no time to
begin. When St. Genis paused for breath, he suddenly freed himself
completely with a quick movement, from Marchand's and Génevois' hold;
and then he turned to the Comte and to the rest of the company:
"And what if I did pin the Emperor's proclamation on the walls of
Grenoble," he said proudly and with a tremor of enthusiasm in his voice,
"the Emperor, whom treachery more vile than any since the days of the
Iscariot sent into humiliation and exile! The Emperor has come back!"
cried the young devotee with that extraordinary fervour which Napoleon
alone—of all men that have ever walked upon this earth—was able to
suscitate: "his Imperial eagles once more soar over France carrying on
their wings her honour and glory to the outermost corners of Europe. His
proclamation is to his people who have always loved
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him, to his
soldiers who in their hearts have always been true to him. His
proclamation?" he added as with a kind of exultant war-cry he drew a
roll of paper from his pocket and held it out at arm's length above his
head, "his proclamation? Here it is! Vive l'Empereur! by the grace of
God!"
Who shall attempt to describe the feelings of all those who were
assembled round this young enthusiast as he hurled his challenge right
in the face of those who called him a liar and a traitor? Surely it were
a hard task for the chronicler to search into the minds and hearts of
this score of men and women—who worshipped one God and reverenced one
King—at the moment when they saw that King threatened upon his throne,
their faith mocked and their God blasphemed: that the young man spoke
words of truth no one thought of denying. Napoleon's name had the power
to strike terror in the heart of every citizen who desired peace above
all things and of every royalist who wished to see King Louis in
possession of the throne of his fathers. But the army which had fought
under him, the army which he had led in triumph and to victory from one
end of the Continent of Europe to the other, that army still loved him
and had never been rightly loyal to King Louis. The horrors of war which
had lain so heavily over France and over Europe for the past twenty
years were painfully vivid still in everybody's mind, and all these
horrors were intimately associated with the name which stood out now in
bold characters on the paper which de Marmont was triumphantly waving.
M. le Comte had become a shade or two paler than he had been before: he
looked very old, very careworn, all of a sudden, and his pale eyes had
that look in them which comes into the eyes of the old after years of
sorrow and of regret.
But never for a moment did he depart from his attitude
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of dignity. When
de Marmont's exultant cry of "Vive l'Empereur!" had ceased to echo round
the majestic walls of this stately château, he straightened out his
spare figure and with one fine gesture begged for silence from his
guests.
Then he said very quietly: "M. Marmont, this is neither the place nor
the opportunity which I should have chosen for confronting you with all
the lies which you have told in the past ten months ever since you
entered my house as an honoured guest. But M. de St. Genis has left me
no option. Burning with indignation at your treachery he came hot-foot
to unmask you, before my daughter's fair hand had affixed her own
honourable name beneath that of a cheat and a traitor. . . . Yes! M. de
Marmont," he reiterated with virile force, breaking in on the hot
protests which had risen to the young man's lips, "no one but a cheat
and a traitor could thus have wormed himself into the confidence of an
old man and of a young girl! No one but a villainous blackguard could
have contemplated the abominable deceptions which you have planned
against me and against my daughter."
For a moment or two after the old man had finished speaking Victor de
Marmont remained silent. There were murmurs of indignation among the
guests, also of approval of the Comte's energetic words. De Marmont was
in the midst of a hostile crowd and he knew it. Here was no drawing-room
quarrel which could be settled at the point of a sword. Though—as Fate
and man so oft ordain it—a woman was the primary reason for the
quarrel, she was not its cause; and the hostility expressed against him
by every glance which de Marmont encountered was so general and so
great, that it overawed him even in the midst of his enthusiasm.
"M. le Comte," he said at last, and he made a great effort to appear
indifferent and unconcerned, "I wish for
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your daughter's sake that M.
de St. Genis had chosen some other time to make this fracas. We who have
learned chivalry at the Emperor's school would have hit our enemy when
he was in a position to defend himself. This, obviously, I cannot do at
this moment without trespassing still further upon your hospitality, and
causing Mlle. Crystal still more pain. I might even make a direct appeal
to her, since the decision in this matter rests, I imagine, primarily
with her, but with the Emperor at our gates, with the influence of his
power and of his pride dominating my every thought, I will with your
gracious permission relieve you of my unwelcome presence without taking
another leaf out of M. de St. Genis' book."
"As you will, Monsieur," said the Comte stiffly.
De Marmont bowed quite ceremoniously to him, and the Comte—courtly and
correct to the last—returned his salute with equal ceremony. Then the
young man turned to Crystal.
For the first time, perhaps, since the terrible fracas had begun, he
realised what it all must mean to her. She did not try to evade his
look, or to turn away from him. On the contrary she looked him straight
in the face, and watched him while he approached her, without retreating
one single step. But she watched him just as one would watch an abject
and revolting cur, that was too vile and too mean even to merit a kick.
Crystal's blue eyes were always expressive, but they had never been so
expressive as they were just then. De Marmont met her glance squarely,
and he read in it everything that she meant to convey—her contempt, her
loathing, her hatred—but above all her contempt. So overwhelming, so
complete was this contempt that it made him wince, as if he had been
struck in the face with a whip.
He stood still, for he knew that she would never allow him to kiss her
hand in farewell, and he had had enough
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of insults—he knew that he
could not bear that final one.
A red mist suddenly gathered before his eyes, a mad desire to strike, to
wound or to kill, and with it a wave of passion—he called it Love—for
this woman, such as he had never felt for her before. He gave her back
with a glance, hatred for hatred, but whereas her hatred for him was
smothered in contempt, his for her was leavened with a fierce and
dominant passion.