Part 4 (1/2)
”And if not at your word, perhaps at that of Monsieur de Lafayette, Sieur Motier,” Barrington suggested. He wanted the man to talk about the Marquis.
”He is an aristocrat with sympathies which make no appeal to me. The people have grown tired of him, too. I am honest, and fear no man, and I say that Motier has long been at the crossroads. He is, or was, an honest man, I hardly know which he is now, and even honest men must suffer for the cause. You say you are his friend, whisper that warning in his ear, if you see him; say you had it from Jacques Sabatier, he will have heard of me.”
”Certainly, I will tell him,” said Barrington, wondering if such a man as Lafayette could have heard of such a truculent scoundrel as this. ”Is he in Paris?”
”I know nothing of him. He was with the army in the North, but he may have been recalled. He must obey like the rest of us. Do you ride with us to Paris to-night?”
”No. Our horses need rest, but we shall meet there, I hope.”
”A true patriot must needs meet Sabatier in Paris,” and the man swaggered out of the room, followed by his companion.
Barrington and Seth stood at the tavern door to watch their departure.
It was not advisable that they should be alone with the landlord and have an opportunity of asking him questions.
The two men rode sharply through the village, but on the outskirts drew rein.
”Had you sharp enough eyes to discover anything?” Sabatier asked, turning to his companion.
”Nothing, except that one of them was too much like an aristocrat to please me.”
”He comes to Paris, and may be dealt with there. What of Bruslart's messenger?”
”I saw no sign of him.”
”Yet they journey from the coast and must have pa.s.sed him on the road.
He was beyond moving of his own accord.”
”Do you mean they helped him?”
”Some one has. We were fools to allow ourselves to be disturbed before completing our work.”
”Why did you not question the landlord or the men themselves?”
”Time enough for that,” Sabatier answered. ”Two men against two gives no odds to depend upon. Ride on toward Paris and send me back a dozen patriots, no matter where you find them. There are some in the neighborhood who have tasted blood in burning a chateau, whisper that there are aristocrats in Tremont. They shall find me by that farm yonder, s.n.a.t.c.hing an hour's sleep in the straw maybe. Then get you to Villefort, where Mercier and Dubois are waiting. Bid them watch that road. Possibly the messenger was not so helpless as we imagined.”
Jacques Sabatier did not move until the sound of his comrade's horse had died into silence, then he went toward the farm, tethered his horse, and threw himself down on the straw in a dilapidated barn. Sleep must be taken when it could be got. The days and nights were too full for settled times of rest. In his little sphere he was a man of consequence, not of such importance as he imagined, but, nevertheless, before his fellows. He had been at the storming of the Bastille, that gave him prestige; he had a truculent swagger which counted in these days, especially if there had been no opportunity of being proved a coward.
Perchance Sabatier had never been put to the test. In a rabble it is easy to shout loudly, yet be where the danger is least, and this wide-mouthed patriot had much to say about himself.
His sleep was sound enough for the proverbial just man, sound and dreamless, aided perhaps by a liberal allowance of wine. At daybreak he was still slumbering, and the little crowd of men who presently found him in the barn had some trouble in rousing him. He struggled to his feet, his mind a blank for a moment.
”What is it? What do you want?” and for an instant there was a look in his eyes strangely like fear.
”You sent for us,” said one.
”Ah! I remember.” Sabatier was himself again. ”There's work for us in the village yonder. Rats in a hole, comrades. We go to smoke them out.”
A fierce undertone of approval was the answer.
So in the early morning there was once more a heavy battering at the closed door of the tavern, and shouting to the landlord to open quickly.