Part 4 (1/2)

CHAPTER IV

HOW THE BREAKFAST COOKED FOR THOSE WAS EATEN BY THESE

The Prefect and the General enjoyed their breakfast thoroughly. They sat over it long; so long that Angelot, his hunger satisfied, began to suffer in his young limbs from a terrible restlessness. It was as much as he could do to sit still, listening first to the Prefect's political and society talk, then to stories of the General's campaigns. Under the influence of the despised wine of Anjou, Monsieur de Mauves, whose temper needed no sweetening, became a little sleepy, prosy, and long-winded. General Ratoneau on his side was mightily cheered, and showed quite a new animation: long before the meal ended, he was talking more than the other three put together. It was he who had been the hero of Eylau, of Friedland, of Wagram; the Emperor and the Marshals were nowhere. All the great movements were in consequence of his advice. And then his personal courage! The men he had killed with his own hand! As to the adventures which had fallen to his lot in storming and plundering towns, burning villages, quartering his men on country houses, these often belonged so much to the very seamiest side of war that Monsieur Joseph, soldier as he was, listened with a frown, and the Prefect coughed and glanced more than once at Angelot. For some of these stories were hardly suited to young and innocent ears, and Angelot looked, and indeed was, younger than his age.

He was listening, not curiously, but with a kind of unwilling impatience. The man seemed to impress him in spite of himself, in spite of disgust at the stories and dislike of the teller. Once or twice he laughed, and then General Ratoneau gave him a stare, as if just reminded of his existence, and went on to some further piece of coa.r.s.e bragging.

Monsieur Joseph became paler and graver, Angelot more restless, the Prefect sleepier, as the rough voice talked on. Angelot thought breakfast would never be over, and that this brute would never have done boasting of his fine deeds, such as hanging up six brothers in a row outside their own house, and threatening the mother and sisters with the same fate unless they showed him the way to the cellar, where he knew they had hidden plate and jewellery, as well as a quant.i.ty of good wine.

”You would not have done it, monsieur?” said Angelot, quickly.

The General a.s.sured him with oaths that he certainly would.

”And they knew it, and did as they were told,” he said. ”We did not hurt them, as it happened. We stripped the house, and left them to bury their men, if they chose. What had they to expect? Fortune of war, my boy!”

Angelot shrugged his shoulders.

”You should send that nephew of yours to learn a few things in the army,” the General said to Monsieur Joseph, when they at last rose and left the dining-room. ”He will grow up nothing but an ignorant, womanish baby, if you keep him down here among your woods much longer.”

”I am not his father,” Monsieur Joseph answered with some dryness. ”He is a friend of the Prefect's; you can easily remonstrate with him, Monsieur le General. But you are mistaken about young Ange. He is neither a girl nor a baby, but a very gallant young fellow, still humane and innocent, of course--but your stories might pierce a thicker skin, I fancy.”

The General laughed aloud, as they strolled out at the back of the house into the afternoon suns.h.i.+ne.

”Well, well, a soldier has the right to talk,” he said. ”I need not tell a man who knows the world, like you, that I should never have hanged those women--poor country rubbish though they were, and ugly too, I remember. But the men had tried to resist, and martial law must be obeyed.”

Some rea.s.surance of the same kind was given to Angelot by the Prefect, who lingered behind with him.

”And our conscripts go for this, monsieur!” Angelot said.

”My dear boy,” said Monsieur de Mauves, lazily, ”you must take these tales _c.u.m grano_. For instance, if I know the Emperor, he would have shot the man who hanged those women. And our friend Ratoneau knew it.”

Les Chouettes seemed stiller than ever, the sun hotter, the atmosphere more sleepy and peaceful. The dogs were lying in various directions at full length on the sand. The sleeping forms of the Prefect's gendarmes were also to be seen, stretched on the gra.s.s under the southern belt of fir trees. One moving figure came slowly into sight on the edge of the opposite wood, and strolled into the suns.h.i.+ne, stooping as she came to pick the pale purple crocuses of which the gra.s.s was full--little Henriette, a basket on her arm, her face shaded by a broad straw bonnet.

The General shaded his eyes with his hand, and stared at her.

”Who is that young girl, monsieur?” he asked.

The question itself seemed impertinent enough, but the insolence of the tone and the manner sent a quiver through Monsieur Joseph's nerves. His face twitched and his eyes flashed dangerously. At that moment he would have forgiven any rashness on the part of his Chouan friends; he would have liked to see Monsieur d'Ombre's pistol within a few inches of the General's head, and if it had gone off, so much the better. He wondered why he had not encouraged Cesar d'Ombre's idea of making these men prisoners. Perhaps he was right, after all; the boldest policy might have been the best. Perhaps it was a splendid opportunity lost. Anyhow, the imperial officials would have been none the worse for cooling their heels and starving a little, the fate of the Royalists now. As to the consequences, Monsieur Joseph in his present mood might have made short work of them, had it not been for that young girl in the meadow.

”It is my daughter, Monsieur le General.”

A person with finer instincts could not have failed to notice the angry shortness of the reply. But the General was in high good humour, for him, and he coolly went on adding to his offences.

”Your daughter, is it! I did not know you were married. I understood from Monsieur le Prefet that you were a lonely hermit. Is there a Madame de la Mariniere hidden away somewhere? and possibly a few more children?

This house is a kind of beehive, I dare say--” he walked on to the gra.s.s, and turned to stare at the windows. ”Was madame afraid to entertain us? My stories would have been too strong for her, perhaps?

but I a.s.sure you, monsieur, I know how to behave to women!” and he laughed.