We say Mâcon or Saint-Julien, because about three miles from the capital of Bresse the road forks; the one to the right keeping straight on to Saint-Julien, the other, which deviates2 to the left, leading to Mâcon.
When the rider reached this bifurcation, he was about to take the road leading to Mâcon, when a voice, apparently3 coming from beneath an upset cart, implored4 his pity. The rider called to the postilion to see what the matter was.
A poor market-man was pinned down under a load of vegetables. He had evidently attempted to hold up the cart just as the wheel, sinking into the ditch, overbalanced the vehicle. The cart had fallen on him, but fortunately, he said, he thought no limbs were broken, and all he wanted was to get the cart righted, and then he could recover his legs.
The rider was compassionate5 to his fellow being, for he not only allowed the postilion to stop and help the market-man, but he himself dismounted, and with a vigor6 one would hardly have expected from so slight a man, he assisted the postilion not only to right the cart, but to replace it on the roadbed. After which he offered to help the man to rise; but the latter had said truly; he really was safe and sound, and if there were a slight shaking of the legs, it only served to prove the truth of the proverb that God takes care of drunkards. The man was profuse7 in his thanks, and took his horse by the bridle8, as much, it was evident, to hold himself steady as to lead the animal.
The riders remounted their homes, put them to a gallop9, and soon disappeared round a bend which the road makes a short distance before it reaches the woods of Monnet.
They had scarcely disappeared when a notable change took place in the demeanor10 of our market-man. He stopped his horse, straightened up, put the mouthpiece of a tiny trumpet11 to his lips, and blew three times. A species of groom12 emerged from the woods which line the road, leading a gentleman’s horse by the bridle. The market-man rapidly removed his blouse, discarded his linen13 trousers, and appeared in vest and breeches of buckskin, and top boots. He searched in his cart, drew forth14 a package which he opened, shook out a green hunting coat with gold braidings, put it on, and over it a dark-brown overcoat; took from the servant’s hands a hat which the latter presented him, and which harmonized with his elegant costume, made the man screw his spurs to his boots, and sprang upon his horse with the lightness and skill of an experienced horseman.
“To-night at seven,” he said to the groom, “be on the road between Saint-Just and Ceyzeriat. You will meet Morgan. Tell him that he whom he knows of has gone to Mâcon, but that I shall be there before him.”
Then, without troubling himself about his cart and vegetables, which he left in his servant’s charge, the ex-marketman, who was none other than our old acquaintance Montbar, turned his horse’s head toward the Monnet woods, and set out at a gallop. His mount was not a miserable15 post hack, like that on which Roland was riding. On the contrary, it was a blooded horse, so that Montbar easily overtook the two riders, and passed them on the road between the woods of Monnet and Polliat. The horse, except for a short stop at Saint-Cyr-sur-Menthon, did the twenty-eight or thirty miles between Bourg and Mâcon, without resting, in three hours.
Arrived at Mâcon, Montbar dismounted at the Hôtel de la Poste, the only one which at that time was fitted to receive guests of distinction. For the rest, from the manner in which Montbar was received it was evident that the host was dealing16 with an old acquaintance.
“Ah! is it you, Monsieur de Jayat?” said the host. “We were wondering yesterday what had become of you. It’s more than a month since we’ve seen you in these parts.”
“Do you think it’s as long as that, friend?” said the young man, affecting to drop his r’s after the fashion of the day. “Yes, on my honor, that’s so! I’ve been with friends, the Trefforts and the Hautecourts. You know those gentlemen by name, don’t you?”
“By name, and in person.”
“We hunted to hounds. They’re finely equipped, word of honor! Can I breakfast here this morning?”
“Why not?”
“Then serve me a chicken, a bottle of Bordeaux, two cutlets, fruit—any trifle will go.”
“At once. Shall it be served in your room, or in the common room?”
“In the common room, it’s more amusing; only give me a table to myself. Don’t forget my horse. He is a fine beast, and I love him better than I do certain Christians17, word of honor!”
The landlord gave his orders. Montbar stood before the fire, his coat-tails drawn18 aside, warming his calves19.
“So you still keep to the posting business?” he said to the landlord, as if desirous of keeping up the conversation.
“I should think so!”
“Then you relay the diligences?”
“Not the diligences, but the mail-coaches.”
“Ah! tell me—I want to go to Chambéry some of these days—how many places are there in the mail-coach?”
“Three; two inside, and one out with the courier.”
“Do I stand any chance of finding a vacant seat?”
“It may happen; but the safest way is to hire your own conveyance20.”
“Can’t I engage a place beforehand?”
“No; for don’t you see, Monsieur de Jayat, that if travellers take places from Paris to Lyons, they have the first right.”
“See, the aristocrats21!” said Montbar, laughing. “Apropos of aristocrats, there is one behind me posting here. I passed him about a mile the other side of Polliat. I thought his hack a little wind-broken.”
“Oh!” exclaimed the landlord, “that’s not astonishing; my brothers in the business have a poor lot of horses.”
“Why, there’s our man!” continued Montbar; “I thought I had more of a lead of him.”
Roland was, in fact, just passing the windows at a gallop.
“Do you still want chamber23 No. 1, Monsieur de Jayat?” asked the landlord.
“Why do you ask?”
“Because it is the best one, and if you don’t take it, I shall give it to that man, provided he wants to make any stay.”
“Oh! don’t bother about me; I shan’t know till later in the day whether I go or stay. If the new-comer means to remain give him No. l. I will content myself with No. 2.”
“The gentleman is served,” said the waiter, looking through the door which led from the kitchen to the common room.
Montbar nodded and accepted the invitation. He entered the common room just as Roland came into the kitchen. The dinner was on the table. Montbar changed his plate and sat down with his back to the door. The precaution was useless. Roland did not enter the common room, and Montbar breakfasted without interruption. When dessert was over, however, the host himself brought in his coffee. Montbar understood that the good man was in talkative humor; a fortunate circumstance, for there were certain things he was anxious to hear about.
“Well,” said Montbar, “what became of our man? Did he only change horses?”
“No, no, no,” said the landlord; “as you said, he’s an aristocrat22. He ordered breakfast in his own room.”
“His room or my room?” asked Montbar; “for I’m certain you put him in that famous No. 1.”
“Confound it! Monsieur de Jayat, it’s your own fault. You told me I could do as I liked.”
“And you took me at my word; that was right. I shall be satisfied with No. 2.”
“You’ll be very uncomfortable. It’s only separated from No. 1 by a partition, and you can hear everything that happens from one room to the other.”
“Nonsense, my dear man, do you think I’ve come here to do improper24 things, or sing seditious songs, that you are afraid the stranger should hear or see what I do?”
“Oh! that’s not it.”
“What is it then?”
“I’m not afraid you’ll disturb others. I’m afraid they’ll disturb you.”
“So your new guest is a roisterer?”
“No; he looks to me like an officer.”
“What makes you think so?”
“His manner, in the first place. Then he inquired what regiment25 was in garrison26 at Mâcon; and when I told him it was the 7th mounted Chasseurs, he said: ‘Good! the colonel is a friend of mine. Can a waiter take him my card and ask him to breakfast with me?’”
“Ah, ha!”
“So you see how it is. When officers get together they make so much racket and noise. Perhaps they’ll not only breakfast, but dine and sup together.”
“I’ve told you already, my good man, that I am not sure of passing the night here. I am expecting letters from Paris, paste restante, which will decide me. In the meantime, light a fire in No. 2, and make as little noise as possible, to avoid annoying my neighbors. And, at the same time, send me up pen and ink, and some paper. I have letters to write.”
Montbar’s orders were promptly27 executed, and he himself followed the waiter to see that Roland was not disturbed by his proximity28.
The chamber was just what the landlord had said. Not a movement could be made, not a word uttered in the next room, that was not heard. Consequently Montbar distinctly heard the waiter announce Colonel Saint-Maurice, then the resounding29 steps of the latter in the corridor, and the exclamations30 of the two friends, delighted to meet again.
On the other hand, Roland, who had been for a moment disturbed by the noise in the adjoining room, forgot it as soon as it had ceased, and there was no danger of its being renewed. Montbar, left alone, seated himself at the table, on which were paper, pen and ink, and remained perfectly31 motionless.
The two officers had known each other in Italy, where Roland was under the command of Saint-Maurice, the latter being then a captain and Roland a lieutenant32. At present their rank was equal, but Roland had beside a double commission from the First Consul33 and the minister of police, which placed all officers of his own rank under his command, and even, within the limits of his mission, those of a higher rank.
Morgan had not been mistaken in supposing that Amélie’s brother was in pursuit of the Companions of Jehu. If Roland’s nocturnal search at the Chartreuse of Seillon was not convincing, the conversation between the young officer and his colleague was proof positive. In it, it developed that the First Consul was really sending fifty thousand francs as a gift to the monks34 of Saint-Bernard, by post; but that this money was in reality a trap devised for the capture of the Companions of Jehu, if all means failed to surprise them in the Chartreuse of Seillon or some other refuge.
It now-remained to be seen how these bandits should be captured. The case was eagerly debated between the two officers while they had breakfast. By the time dessert was served they were both agreed upon a plan.
That same evening, Morgan received the following letter:
Just as Adler told us, next Friday at five o’clock the mail-coach
will leave Paris with fifty thousand francs for the fathers of
Saint-Bernard.
The three places, the one in the coupé and the two in the interior,
are already engaged by three travellers who will join the coach,
one at Sens, the other two at Tonnerre. The travellers are, in the
coupé, one of citizen Fouché’s best men: in the interior M. Roland
de Montrevel and the colonel of the 7th Chasseurs, garrisoned36 at
Mâcon. They will be in civilians’ clothes not to excite suspicion,
but armed to the teeth.
Twelve mounted Chasseurs, with muskets37, pistols, and sabres, will
escort the coach, but at some distance behind it, so as to arrive
during the fray38. The first pistol fired will be the signal for
putting their horses to a gallop and falling upon us.
Now my advice is that, in spite of these precautions, in fact
because of these precautions, the attack should be made at the
place agreed upon, namely the Maison-Blanche. If that is also the
opinion of the comrades, let me know it. I will myself take the
coach, as postilion, from Mâcon to Belleville. I will undertake
to settle the colonel, and one of you must be responsible for
Fouché’s agent.
As for M. Roland de Montrevel, no harm will befall him, for I
have a means, known to me alone and by me invented, by which he
can be prevented from leaving the coach.
The precise day and hour at which the mail to Chambéry will pass
the Maison-Blanche is Saturday at six in the evening. Answer in
these words, “Saturday, six of the evening,” and all will go on
rollers. MONTBAR.
At midnight Montbar, who had complained of the noise his neighbor made, and had removed to a room at the opposite end of the inn, was awakened39 by a courier, who was none other than the groom who had brought him his horse ready bridled40 and saddled in the morning. The letter contained only these words, followed by a postscript41:
Saturday, six of the evening. MORGAN.
P.S.—Do not forget, even when fighting, above all when fighting,
that Roland de Montrevel’s life is safeguarded.
The young man read this reply with visible satisfaction. The matter was no longer a mere42 stoppage of a diligence, but a species of affair of honor among men of differing opinions, with clashes of courage and bravery. It was no longer a matter of gold spilled upon the highroad, but of blood to be shed—not of pistols loaded with powder, and wielded43 by a child’s hands, but of deadly weapons handled by soldiers accustomed to their use.
For the rest, as Montbar had all the day that was dawning and the morrow before him in which to mature his plans, he contented44 himself with asking his groom to inquire which postilion would take the coach at Mâcon at five o’clock for the two stages between Mâcon and Belleville. He also sent him to buy four screw-rings and two padlocks fastening with keys.
He already knew that the mail was due at Mâcon at half past four, waited for the travellers to dine, and started again punctually at five. No doubt all his plans were previously45 laid, for, after giving these directions, Montbar dismissed his servant and went to sleep like a man who has long arrears46 of slumber
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CHAPTER XLII. THE CHAMBÉRY MAIL-COACH
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