Authors: Baroness Emmuska Orczy
All this had taken but a few seconds in accomplishment. M. le Comte had
not done more than give a sign to Hector to see M. de Marmont safely out
of the castle, and Maurice de St. Genis had only had time to think of
interposing, if de Marmont tried to take Crystal's hand.
Only a few seconds, but a lifetime of emotion was crammed into them.
Then de Marmont, with Crystal's look of loathing still eating into his
soul, caught sight of Clyffurde who stood close by—Clyffurde whose one
thought throughout all this unhappy scene had been of Crystal, who
through it all had eyes and ears only for her.
Some kind of instinct made the young girl look up to him just then:
probably only in response to a wave of memory which brought back to her
at that very moment, the words of devotion and offer of service which he
had spoken awhile ago; or it may have been that same sense which had
told her at the time that here was a man whom she could always trust,
that he would always prove a friend, as he had promised, and the look
which she gave him was one of simple confidence.
But de Marmont just happened to intercept that look. He had never been
jealous of Clyffurde of course. Clyffurde—the foreigner, the bourgeois
tradesman—never could under any circumstances be a rival to reckon
with. At any other time he would have laughed at the idea of Mlle.
Crystal de Cambray bestowing the slightest favour
[Pg 133]
upon the Englishman.
But within the last few seconds everything had become different. Victor
de Marmont, the triumphant and wealthy suitor of Mlle. de Cambray, had
become a pariah among all these ladies and gentlemen, and he had become
a man scorned by the woman whom he had wooed and thought to win so
easily.
The fierce love engendered for Crystal in his turbulent heart by all the
hatred and all the scorn which she lavished upon him, brought an
unreasoning jealousy into being. He felt suddenly that he detested
Clyffurde. He remembered Clyffurde's nationality and its avowed hatred
of the hero whom he—de Marmont—worshipped. And he realised also that
that same hatred must of necessity be a bond between the Englishman and
Crystal de Cambray.
Therefore—though this new untamed jealousy seized hold of him with
extraordinary power, though it brought that ominous red film before his
eyes, which makes a man strike out blindly and stupidly against his
rival, it also suggested to de Marmont a far simpler and far more
efficacious way of ridding himself once for all of any fear of rivalry
from Clyffurde.
When he had bowed quite formally to Crystal he looked up at Bobby and
gave him a pleasant and friendly nod.
"I suppose you will be coming with me, my good Clyffurde," he said
lightly, "we are rowing in the same boat, you and I. We were a very
happy party, were we not? you and Emery and I when Général Mouton met us
outside Grenoble: for we had just heard the glorious news that the
Emperor is marching triumphantly through France."
Then he turned once more to St. Genis: "Did not," he said, "the
General's aide-de-camp tell you that, M. de St. Genis?"
St. Genis had—during these few seconds while de Marmont held the centre
of the stage—succeeded in controlling his excitement, at any rate
outwardly. He was so
[Pg 134]
absolutely master of the situation and had put his
successful rival so completely to rout, that the sense of satisfaction
helped to soothe his nerves: and when de Marmont spoke directly to him,
he was able to reply with comparative calm.
"Had you," he said to de Marmont, "attempted to deny the accusation
which I have brought against you, I was ready to confront you with the
report which Général Mouton's aide-de-camp brought into the town."
"I had no intention of denying my loyalty to the Emperor," rejoined de
Marmont, "but I would like to know what report Général Mouton's
aide-de-camp brought into Grenoble. The worthy General did not belie his
name, I assure you, he looked mightily scared when he recognised Emery."
"He was alone with his aide-de-camp and in his coach," retorted St.
Genis, "whilst that traitor Emery, you and your friend Mr. Clyffurde
were on horseback—you gave him the slip easily enough."
"That's true, of course," said de Marmont simply. "Well, shall we go, my
dear Clyffurde?"
He had accomplished the purpose of his jealousy even more effectually
than he could have wished. He looked round and saw that everyone had
thrown a casual glance of contempt upon Clyffurde and then turned away
to murmur with scornful indifference: "I always mistrusted that man."
Or: "The Comte ought never to have had the fellow in the house," while
the words: "English spy!" and "Informer" were on every lip.
But Clyffurde had made no movement during this brief colloquy. He
saw—just as de Marmont did—that everyone was listening more with
indifference than with horror. He—the stranger—was of so little
consequence after all!—a tradesman and an Englishman—what mattered
what his political convictions were? De Marmont was an ob
[Pg 135]
ject of
hatred, but he—Clyffurde—was only one of contempt.
He heard the muttered words: "English spy!" "Informer!" and others of
still more overwhelming disdain. But he cared little what these people
said. He knew that they would never trouble to hear any justification
from himself—they would not worry their heads about him a moment longer
once he had left the house in company with de Marmont.
He was not quite sure either whether de Marmont's spite had been
directed against himself, personally, or that it was merely the outcome
of his present humiliating position.
M. le Comte had not bestowed more than a glance upon him and that from
under haughtily raised brows and across half the width of the room: but
Crystal had looked up to him, and was still looking, and it was that
look which had driven all the blood from Clyffurde's face and caused his
lips to set closely as if with a sense of physical pain.
The insults which her father's guests were overtly murmuring, she had in
her mind and her eyes were conveying them to him far more plainly than
her lips could have done:
"English spy—traitor to friendship and to trust—liar, deceiver,
hypocrite." That and more did her scornful glance imply. But she said
nothing. He tried to plead with eyes as expressive as were her own, and
she merely turned away from him, just as if he no longer existed. She
drew her skirt closer round her and somehow with that gesture she seemed
to sweep him entirely out of her existence.
Even Mme. la Duchesse had not one glance for him. To these passionate,
hot-headed, impulsive royalists, an adherent of the Corsican ogre was
lower than the scum of the earth. They loathed de Marmont because he had
been one of themselves: he was a traitor, and not one man there
[Pg 136]
but
would have liked to see him put up against a wall and summarily shot.
But the stranger they wiped out of their lives.
Was there any chance for Clyffurde, if he tried to defend himself? None
of a certainty. He could not call the accusation a lie, since he had
been in the company of Emery and of de Marmont most of the day, and mere
explanations would have fallen on deaf and unwilling ears.
Clyffurde knew this, nor did he attempt any explanation. There is a
certain pride in the heart of every English gentleman which in moments
of acute crisis rises to its full power and height. That pride would not
allow Clyffurde to utter a single word in his own defence. The futility
of attempting it also influenced his decision. He scorned the idea of
speaking on his own behalf, words which were doomed to be disbelieved.
In a moment he had found himself absolutely isolated in the centre of
the room, not far from the hearth where he had stood a little while ago
talking to Crystal, and close to the chair where she had sat with the
light of the fire playing upon her satin gown. The cushions still bore
the impress of her young figure as she had leaned up against them: the
sight of it was an additional pain which almost made Clyffurde wince.
He bowed silently and very low to Crystal and to Mme. la Duchesse, and
then to all the ladies and gentlemen who cold-shouldered him with such
contemptuous ostentation. De Marmont with head erect and an air of
swagger was already waiting for him at the door. Clyffurde in taking
leave of M. le Comte made a violent effort to say at any rate the one
word which weighed upon his heart.
"Will you at least permit me, M. le Comte," he said, "to thank you for
. . ."
But already the Comte had interrupted him, even before the words were
clearly out of his mouth.
[Pg 137]
"I will not permit you, Sir," he broke in firmly, "to speak a single
word other than a plain denial of M. de St. Genis' accusations against
you."
Then as Clyffurde relapsed into silence, M. le Comte continued with
haughty peremptoriness:
"A plain 'yes' or 'no' will suffice, Sir. Were you or were you not in
the company of those traitors Emery and de Marmont when Général
Mouton-Duvernet came upon them outside Grenoble?"
"I was," replied Clyffurde simply.
With a stiff nod of the head the Comte turned his back abruptly upon
him; no one took any further notice of the "English spy." The accused
had been condemned without enquiry and without trial. In times like
these all one's friends must be above suspicion. Clyffurde knew that
there was nothing to be said. With a quickly suppressed sigh, he too
turned away and in his habitual, English, dogged way he resolutely set
his teeth, and with a firm soldierly step walked quietly out of the
room.
"Hector, see that M. de Marmont's coach is ready for him," said M. le
Comte with well assumed indifference; "and that supper is no longer
delayed."
He then once more offered his arm to Mme. la Duchesse d'Embrun. "Mme. la
Duchesse," he said in his most courtly manner, "I beg that you will
accept my apologies for this unforeseen interruption. May I have the
honour of conducting you to supper?"
De Marmont, having successfully shot his poisoned arrow and brought down
his enemy, had no longer any ill-feeling against Clyffurde. His jealousy
had been short-lived; it was set at rest by the brief episode which had
culminated in the Englishman's final exit from the Castle of Brestalou.
Not a single detail of that moving little episode had escaped de
Marmont's keen eyes: he had seen Crystal's look of positive abhorrence
wherewith she had regarded Clyffurde, he had seen the gathering up of
her skirts away—as it were—from the contaminating propinquity of the
"English spy."
And de Marmont was satisfied.
He was perfectly ready to pick up the strained strands of friendship
with the Englishman and affected not to notice the latter's absorption
and moodiness.
"Can I drive you into Grenoble, my good Clyffurde?" he asked airily as
he paused on the top of the perron steps, waiting for the hackney coach.
"I thank you," replied Clyffurde; "I prefer to walk."
"It is eight kilometres and a pitch-dark night."
"I know my way, I thank you."
"Just as you like."
He paused a moment, and began humming the "Marseillaise." Clyffurde
started walking down the monumental steps.
[Pg 139]
"Well, I'll say 'good-night,' de Marmont," he said coldly. "And
'good-bye,' too."
"You are not going away?" queried the other.
"As soon as I can get the means of going."
"Troops will be on the move all over the country soon. Foreigners will
be interned. You will have some difficulty in getting away."
"I know that. That's why I want to make arrangements as early as
possible."
"Where will you stay in the meanwhile?"
"Possibly at the 'Trois-Dauphins' if I can get a room."
"I shall see you again then. The Emperor will stay there while he is in
Grenoble. Well, good-night, my dear friend," said de Marmont, as he
extended a cordial hand to Clyffurde, who, in the dark, evidently failed
to see it. "And don't take the insults of all these fools too much to
heart." And he gave an expressive nod in the direction of the stately
castle behind him.
"They are dolts," he continued airily; "if they possessed a grain of
sense they would have kept on friendly terms with me. As that old fool's
son-in-law I could have saved him from all the reprisals which will
inevitably fall on all these royalist traitors, now that the Emperor has
come into his own again."
Clyffurde was half-way down the stone steps when these words of de
Marmont struck upon his ear. Instinctively he retraced his steps. There
was a suggestion of impending danger to Crystal in what the young man
had said.
"What do you mean by talking about reprisals?" he asked.
"Oh! . . . only the inevitable," replied de Marmont. "The people of the
Dauphiné never cared for these royalists, you know . . . and didn't
learn to like them any better in these past eleven months since the
Restoration. M. le Comte de Cambray has been very high and mighty since
[Pg 140]
his return from exile. He may yet come to wish that he had never quitted
the comfortable little provincial town in England where he gave drawing
lessons and French lessons to some very bourgeois boys. . . . But here's
that coach at last!" he continued with that jaunty air which he had
assumed since turning his back upon the reception halls of Brestalou.
"Are you sure that you would rather walk than drive with me?"
"No," replied Clyffurde abruptly, "I am not sure. Thank you very much. I
think that if you don't object to my somewhat morose company I would
like a lift as far as Grenoble."
He wanted to make de Marmont talk, to hear what the young man had to
say. From it he thought that he could learn more accurately what danger
would threaten Brestalou in the event of Napoleon's successful march to
Paris.