Twenty years after
you were to remain with me and that Olivain should return to Paris. I
shall follow the count’s directions.”
“Not under present circumstances, monsieur.”
“Perhaps you mean to disobey me?”
“Yes, monsieur, I must.”
“You persist, then?”
“Yes, I am going; may you be happy, monsieur,” and Grimaud saluted and
turned toward the door to go out.
Raoul, angry and at the same time uneasy, ran after him and seized him
by the arm. “Grimaud!” he cried; “remain; I wish it.”
“Then,” replied Grimaud, “you wish me to allow monsieur le comte to be
killed.” He saluted and made a movement to depart.
“Grimaud, my friend,” said the viscount, “will you leave me thus, in
such anxiety? Speak, speak, in Heaven’s name!” And Raoul fell back
trembling upon his chair.
“I can tell you but one thing, sir, for the secret you wish to know is
not my own. You met a monk, did you not?”
“Yes.”
The young men looked at each other with an expression of fear.
“You conducted him to the wounded man and you had time to observe him,
and perhaps you would know him again were you to meet him.”
“Yes, yes!” cried both young men.
“Very well; if ever you meet him again, wherever it may be, whether on
the high road or in the street or in a church, anywhere that he or you
may be, put your foot on his neck and crush him without pity, without
mercy, as you would crush a viper or a scorpion! destroy him utterly
and quit him not until he is dead; the lives of five men are not safe,
in my opinion, as long as he is on the earth.”
And without adding another word, Grimaud, profiting by the astonishment
and terror into which he had thrown his auditors, rushed from the room.
Two minutes later the thunder of a horse’s hoofs was heard upon the
road; it was Grimaud, on his way to Paris. When once in the saddle
Grimaud reflected on two things; first, that at the pace he was going
his horse would not carry him ten miles, and secondly, that he had no
money. But Grimaud’s ingenuity was more prolific than his speech, and
therefore at the first halt he sold his steed and with the money
obtained from the purchase took post horses.
Chapter XXXIV.
On the Eve of Battle.
Raoul was aroused from his sombre reflections by his host, who rushed
into the apartment crying out, “The Spaniards! the Spaniards!”
That cry was of such importance as to overcome all preoccupation. The
young men made inquiries and ascertained that the enemy was advancing
by way of Houdin and Bethune.
While Monsieur d’Arminges gave orders for the horses to be made ready
for departure, the two young men ascended to the upper windows of the
house and saw in the direction of Marsin and of Lens a large body of
infantry and cavalry. This time it was not a wandering troop of
partisans; it was an entire army. There was therefore nothing for them
to do but to follow the prudent advice of Monsieur d’Arminges and beat
a retreat. They quickly went downstairs. Monsieur d’Arminges was
already mounted. Olivain had ready the horses of the young men, and the
lackeys of the Count de Guiche guarded carefully between them the
Spanish prisoner, mounted on a pony which had been bought for his use.
As a further precaution they had bound his hands.
The little company started off at a trot on the road to Cambrin, where
they expected to find the prince. But he was no longer there, having
withdrawn on the previous evening to La Bassee, misled by false
intelligence of the enemy’s movements. Deceived by this intelligence he
had concentrated his forces between Vieille-Chapelle and La Venthie;
and after a reconnoissance along the entire line, in company with
Marshal de Grammont, he had returned and seated himself before a table,
with his officers around him. He questioned them as to the news they
had each been charged to obtain, but nothing positive had been learned.
The hostile army had disappeared two days before and seemed to have
gone out of existence.
Now an enemy is never so near and consequently so threatening, as when
he has completely disappeared. The prince was, therefore, contrary to
his custom, gloomy and anxious, when an officer entered and announced
to Marshal de Grammont that some one wished to see him.
The Duc de Grammont received permission from the prince by a glance and
went out. The prince followed him with his eyes and continued looking
at the door; no one ventured to speak, for fear of disturbing him.
Suddenly a dull and heavy noise was heard. The prince leaped to his
feet, extending his hand in the direction whence came the sound, there
was no mistaking it—it was the noise of cannon. Every one stood up.
At that moment the door opened.
“Monseigneur,” said Marshal de Grammont, with a radiant face, “will
your highness permit my son, Count de Guiche, and his traveling
companion, Viscount de Bragelonne, to come in and give news of the
enemy, whom they have found while we were looking for him?”
“What!” eagerly replied the prince, “will I permit? I not only permit,
I desire; let them come in.”
The marshal introduced the two young men and placed them face to face
with the prince.
“Speak, gentlemen,” said the prince, saluting them; “first speak; we
shall have time afterward for the usual compliments. The most urgent
thing now is to learn where the enemy is and what he is doing.”
It fell naturally to the Count de Guiche to make reply; not only was he
the elder, but he had been presented to the prince by his father.
Besides, he had long known the prince, whilst Raoul now saw him for the
first time. He therefore narrated to the prince what they had seen from
the inn at Mazingarbe.
Meanwhile Raoul closely observed the young general, already made so
famous by the battles of Rocroy, Fribourg, and Nordlingen.
Louis de Bourbon, Prince de Condé, who, since the death of his father,
Henri de Bourbon, was called, in accordance with the custom of that
period, Monsieur le Prince, was a young man, not more than twenty-six
or twenty-seven years old, with the eye of an eagle—_agl’ occhi
grifani_, as Dante says—aquiline nose, long, waving hair, of medium
height, well formed, possessed of all the qualities essential to the
successful soldier—that is to say, the rapid glance, quick decision,
fabulous courage. At the same time he was a man of elegant manners and
strong mind, so that in addition to the revolution he had made in war,
by his new contributions to its methods, he had also made a revolution
at Paris, among the young noblemen of the court, whose natural chief he
was and who, in distinction from the social leaders of the ancient
court, modeled after Bassompierre, Bellegarde and the Duke d’Angouleme,
were called the _petits-maîtres_.
At the first words of the Count de Guiche, the prince, having in mind
the direction whence came the sound of cannon, had understood
everything. The enemy was marching upon Lens, with the intention,
doubtless, of securing possession of that town and separating from
France the army of France. But in what force was the enemy? Was it a
corps sent out to make a diversion? Was it an entire army? To this
question De Guiche could not respond.
Now, as these questions involved matters of gravest consequence, it was
these to which the prince had especially desired an answer, exact,
precise, positive.
Raoul conquered the very natural feeling of timidity he experienced and
approaching the prince:
“My lord,” he said, “will you permit me to hazard a few words on that
subject, which will perhaps relieve you of your uncertainty?”
The prince turned and seemed to cover the young man with a single
glance; he smiled on perceiving that he was a child hardly fifteen
years old.
“Certainly, monsieur, speak,” he said, softening his stern, accented
tones, as if he were speaking to a woman.
“My lord,” said Raoul, blushing, “might examine the Spanish prisoner.”
“Have you a Spanish prisoner?” cried the prince.
“Yes, my lord.”
“Ah, that is true,” said De Guiche; “I had forgotten it.”
“That is easily understood; it was you who took him, count,” said
Raoul, smiling.
The old marshal turned toward the viscount, grateful for that praise of
his son, whilst the prince exclaimed:
“The young man is right; let the prisoner be brought in.”
Meanwhile the prince took De Guiche aside and asked him how the
prisoner had been taken and who this young man was.
“Monsieur,” said the prince, turning toward Raoul, “I know that you
have a letter from my sister, Madame de Longueville; but I see that you
have preferred commending yourself to me by giving me good counsel.”
“My lord,” said Raoul, coloring up, “I did not wish to interrupt your
highness in a conversation so important as that in which you were
engaged with the count. But here is the letter.”
“Very well,” said the prince; “give it to me later. Here is the
prisoner; let us attend to what is most pressing.”
The prisoner was one of those military adventurers who sold their blood
to whoever would buy, and grew old in stratagems and spoils. Since he
had been taken he had not uttered a word, so that it was not known to
what country he belonged. The prince looked at him with unspeakable
distrust.
“Of what country are you?” asked the prince.
The prisoner muttered a few words in a foreign tongue.
“Ah! ah! it seems that he is a Spaniard. Do you speak Spanish,
Grammont?”
“Faith, my lord, but indifferently.”
“And I not at all,” said the prince, laughing. “Gentlemen,” he said,
turning to those who were near him “can any one of you speak Spanish
and serve me as interpreter?”
“I can, my lord,” said Raoul.
“Ah, you speak Spanish?”
“Enough, I think, to fulfill your highness’s wishes on this occasion.”
Meanwhile the prisoner had remained impassive and as if he had no
understanding of what was taking place.
“My lord asks of what country you are,” said the young man, in the
purest Castilian.
“_Ich bin ein Deutscher_,” replied the prisoner.
“What in the devil does he say?” asked the prince. “What new gibberish
is that?”
“He says he is German, my lord,” replied Raoul; “but I doubt it, for
his accent is bad and his pronunciation defective.”
“Then you speak German, also?” asked the prince.
“Yes, my lord.”
“Well enough to question him in that language?”
“Yes, my lord.”
“Question him, then.”
Raoul began the examination, but the result justified his opinion. The
prisoner did not understand, or seemed not to understand, what Raoul
said to him; and Raoul could hardly understand his replies, containing
a mixture of Flemish and Alsatian. However, amidst all the prisoner’s
efforts to elude a systematic examination, Raoul had recognized his
natural accent.
“_Non siete Spagnuolo_,” he said; “_non siete Tedesco; siete
Italiano_.”
The prisoner started and bit his lips.
“Ah, that,” said the prince, “I understand that language thoroughly;
and since he is Italian I will myself continue the examination. Thank
you, viscount,” continued the prince, laughing, “and I appoint you from
this moment my interpreter.”
But the prisoner was not less unwilling to respond in Italian than in
the other languages; his aim was to elude the examination. Therefore,
he knew nothing either of the enemy’s numbers, or of those in command,
or of the purpose of the army.
“Very good,” said the prince, understanding the reason of that
ignorance; “the man was caught in the act of assassination and robbery;
he might have purchased his life by speaking; he doesn’t wish to speak.
Take him out and shoot him.”
The prisoner turned pale. The two soldiers who had brought him in took
him, each by one arm, and led him toward the door, whilst the prince,
turning to Marshal de Grammont, seemed to have already forgotten the
order he had given.