Part 5 (1/2)

”Amazons! ha! ha! capital! I should like to lead them.”

It seemed that the Prefect, for once, was ashamed of his great master.

He went on to explain, in a hurried fas.h.i.+on, how he and his brother Prefects had received this very singular command from the Emperor--that they were to send him, not a mere list, but a _catalogue raisonne_, of all the well-born girls in their several departments; their personal appearance, their disposition, their dowries, their prospects in the future; in short, every particular regarding them. And with what object?

to arrange marriages between these young women of the best blood in France and his most favoured officers. It was one way, an original way, of making society loyal to the Empire; but the plan savoured too much of the treatment of a conquered country to please men like the Baron de Mauves. He might speak of it with a certain outward respect, as coming from the Emperor; and the presence of General Ratoneau was also a check upon his real sentiments; but he was not surprised at Monsieur Joseph's evident disgust, and not out of sympathy with it.

The reign of the soldier! They were heroes, perhaps, many of these men whom Napoleon delighted to honour. It was not unnatural that he should heap dukedoms and pensions and orders upon them. But it seemed a dangerous step forward, to force such men as this Ratoneau, for instance, into the best families of France. No doubt he, in spite of his Napoleonic looks, was a bad specimen; but Monsieur Joseph might be excused if he looked at him as he said: ”My dear Baron, it is tyranny. I speak frankly, gentlemen; it is a step on the road to ruin. Our old families will not bear it. What have you done?”

”Nothing,” said Monsieur de Mauves. ”I think most of the Prefects agree with me; it is an order which will have to be repeated.”

On which the General turned round with a grin, and quoted to him his own words--”Monsieur le Prefet--if you accept the new regime, you should accept it loyally.”

”Pardon--nothing of this before the children, I beg,” exclaimed Monsieur Joseph in haste, for Angelot and Henriette were coming across the meadow.

The Prefect's delicate brows went up; he shrugged his shoulders, and moved off with a somewhat absent air to meet the young people.

The suns.h.i.+ne, the flowery meadow, the motionless woods all about in the still afternoon: no background could be more peaceful. Nor could any unwelcome visitor with official power be more gentle and courteous than the Prefect as he took off his hat and bowed low to the slim child in her old clinging frock, who curtseyed with her hands full of crocuses and a covered basket on her arm. But little Riette and her cousin Angelot watched the amiable Prefect with anxious, suspicious eyes, and she took his kind words and compliments with an ease of reply which was not quite natural. She was a responsible person in her father's house at all times; but the fates of men had never, perhaps, been hung round her neck before. Why, the very fact of their concealment would be enough to condemn the four in government eyes looking out for conspiracies. And Monsieur des Barres, always lively, had said to Riette ten minutes ago: ”Now, mademoiselle, you have sheltered us, you have fed us; we depend on you to keep all inconvenient persons out of the wood.”

”Stay where you are till they are gone, and have no fear,” the child answered, and went back to meet the enemy.

And presently the Prefect said, ”You have gathered some very pretty flowers, mademoiselle.”

”Pray take some, monsieur,” said Riette.

The Prefect took two crocuses in his fingers, and cleverly slipped them into a b.u.t.tonhole, for which they were not very well suited. Then he went on talking about flowers for a minute or two, but the subject was soon exhausted, for his knowledge lay among garden flowers, and Riette knew none but those that grew among her own woods and fields. Then suddenly and without warning, those pointed fingers of his had lifted the cover of the basket. It was done with a smile, as one might do it, a little mischievously, to a child trying to hide something, and with the words--”More flowers, mademoiselle?” At the bottom of the basket lay two corks and a small roll of bread. St. Elizabeth's miracle was not repeated for Henriette.

Angelot smiled and bit his lip; then looked at the faces of his two companions. In the Prefect's there was plainly a question. Riette flushed crimson; for a moment her dark eyes were cast down; then there was something both roguish and pathetic in them, as she looked up at the man on whom so much depended.

”Monsieur,” said the sweet, childish voice, ”I often eat my breakfast out-of-doors--I did to-day.”

The Prefect smiled, but gravely. Angelot hardly thought that he was deceived.

”It is an agreeable thing to do, when one is young,” the Prefect said.

”Young, and with a clear conscience. But most people, if they had the choice, would prefer your father's hospitable dining-room.”

He turned with a wave of his hand and walked towards the house.

”What have you done, child?” said Angelot, half laughing, half solemn.

”I did not tell a lie,” said Riette. ”Marie gave me something for myself too: she and papa both said I must not have breakfast with you. Oh, they were hungry, Angelot! They devoured what I took, especially the Baron d'Ombre. I am sorry there was a bit of bread left, and I don't know how the corks got there. But, my dear, he knows nothing!”

”Hush. I am not so sure. Now keep out of the way till they are gone.”

This was a counsel of perfection, which Henriette did her best to follow; but it was difficult, for the time was long. All the household at Les Chouettes became very restless and impatient as the afternoon wore on, but none of them dared show it. Poor Monsieur Joseph summoned up all his powers of general conversation, which were a little rusty, to entertain the Prefect, who went on talking politics and society as if life, for him, had no more immediate and present interest. Angelot marched about with an uneasy sense of keeping guard; knowing, too, that his father was expecting him to help to receive the distinguished cousins at Lancilly. He did not mind that much; the idea of the Sainfoy family was not very attractive to him: he thought they might interfere with the old freedom of the country-side; and even to please his father he could not desert his little uncle in a difficulty. He poured out some of his irritation on the Prefect's pet gendarme, whom he caught stealing round by the wood where, hidden behind a pile of logs in an old stone hovel, the four Royalist gentlemen were finding this official visit considerably more than a joke.

”What are you doing on my uncle's land?” Angelot said sharply to the man.

”Nothing, monsieur. Is it not allowed to take a little exercise?” said Simon, the Chouan-catcher.