CHAPTER XXXIII. A GLIMPSE OF A NEW PATH
Shall I own it that when I once more found myself at liberty, and with means sufficient for the purpose, my first thought was to leave England forever? So far as I was concerned, my country had shown herself anything but a kind mother to me. It was an impulse of patriotism—a vague desire to serve her—had brought me to her shores; and yet my requital had been at first neglect, and at last imprisonment. Had I the very slightest clew to where “my mother” and Raper were, I should inevitably have set out to seek them; but of the track I knew nothing whatever. I ransacked my few letters and papers, amongst which I found the yet undelivered note to the Père Tonsurd; and this I determined to present on that very day. The mere thought of meeting with one to whom I could speak of my kind friends at Linange was a comfort in the midst of all my desolation.
On arriving at his lodgings, however, I learned that he had gone to Richmond; and as suddenly I bethought me of my own visit, the hour for which had already gone by. Determining to repair my fault as well as I could, I set out at once, and by three o'clock in the afternoon arrived at a neat-looking house, standing in a small park that descended to the river, and which, they told me, was Treverton. All I could ascertain of the proprietor was that he was a French gentleman, an émigré, who had lived there for two years, and was popularly known as the “General,” his servants always giving him that title. I presented myself at his door and sent in my card, with the request that I might be admitted to an interview.
Before I could well believe that my message was delivered, the servant returned to say that the General was expecting me since morning, and desired to see me at once. I followed him through two or three rooms till we reached a door covered with green cloth, and which concealed another behind it, on opening which I found myself in a small chamber fitted up like a library, where two gentlemen were seated at a table. One arose as I entered, and in a polite, but somewhat haughty, tone said,—
“You are scarcely as punctual, sir, as I had hoped. Eleven o'clock was, I think, the hour mentioned.”
As the appointment had not been of my seeking, I returned a very cold and half-careless apology for my tardy appearance; but he stopped me quietly, saying,—
“Apparently, then, you have not been informed as to the object of this visit, nor by whom—”
A hasty gesture from the other interrupted his speech, and he stopped short.
“I mean,” added he, “that you are unaware of the reason for which your presence here has been requested.”
“I have not the slightest knowledge of it, sir,” was my reply.
“We wished to see and speak with you about many things in France, sir. You have latterly been there? We are given to understand that you are a shrewd observer, and we desire to learn your views of events, and of the people who direct them. Our own informant induces us to believe that the tide of popular favor is turning against the men of violent opinions, and that a wiser and healthier tone pervades the nation. Does that agree with your experience?”
“Quite so, sir; there cannot be a second opinion on the question.”
“And the old attachment to the monarchy is again displaying itself, far and near, through the country?” added he, warmly.
“There I cannot go with you, sir,” was my answer; and although his look was a fierce, almost an angry one, I continued: “The military spirit is that which now sways the nation, and he who can best gratify the thirst of glory will be the ruler. The kings of France have been but pageants of late.”
“Be discreet, sir. Speak of what you know, and do not dare to insult—” he paused, and then added, “an ancient follower of his sovereign.”
His age and his fervor repressed any resentment the speech might have suggested, and I only said,—
“You asked me for opinions, sir, and I gave you mine frankly. You must not be displeased if they do not always chime with your own.”
“Monsieur is perfectly right. His remark is a just one,” said the other, who now spoke for the first time.
“I think he is mistaken, though,” replied the former. “I fancy that he is led away by that vulgar cant which sees in the degradation of one solitary individual the abasement of his whole class and order. By the way, you knew that same Count de Gabriac?”
I bowed my assent.
“You may speak freely of him now he is past the consequences of either our censure or our praise. You know, perhaps, that he completely exonerated you from all share in his odious scheme, and at the same time communicated certain particulars about yourself which suggested the desire to see you here.”
“Yes,” said the other, with a faint but very pleasing smile. “We are relatives, Monsieur Carew; and if all that I hear of you be true, I shall not disown the relationship.”
“You knew my dear mother, then,” cried I, wild with the glad thought.
“Pardon me,” said he, slowly, “I had not that honor. I have, however, frequently heard of her beauty and her fascination; but I never saw her.”
The General here whispered a few words, to which the other replied aloud,—
“Be it so, then. My friend here,” resumed he, addressing me, “is of opinion that your information and habits would well fit you for a task which will be at once one of emolument and trust. The English minister has already pointed you out as a suitable agent, and nothing but your own concurrence is now needed.”
I begged for a further explanation; and he briefly told me that the Royalist party, not alone throughout France, but in different parts of the Continent, where they had sought refuge, were distracted and broken up for want of due intercourse with each other and with the head of their party; that false intelligence and fictitious stories had been circulated industriously to sow discord and disunion amongst them; and that nothing but an actual, direct, and personal agency could efficiently counteract this peril and restore confidence and stability to the party. Many—some of them men of the highest rank—had taken service in this way; some had condescended to accept of the very humblest stations, and almost menial duties, where they could obtain information of value; and all we're ready to risk life and fortune for the Prince to whom they owed their allegiance.
“But you forget, sir, that the loyalty which reflects such honor on them would be wanting in my case: I am not a Frenchman.”
“But your mother was French,” said he who sat at the table, “and of the best blood of France too. I have told you we are relations.”
A gesture of caution from the General stopped him here, and he was silent. I saw there was embarrassment somewhere; but on what ground I knew not. More to relieve the awkwardness of the moment than from any other intention, I asked what my duties might be in this capacity.
“On that head you will receive the fullest instructions,” said the General. “Once say that you are ready and at our disposal, and we shall supply you with every means and every knowledge you can wish for.”
“May I have a little time to consider of it, sir?” asked I. “A night, for instance?”
“Yes, a night,—certainly; only remember that whether you accept or refuse, this interview is a secret, and not to be divulged to any one.”
“I shall so consider it,” said I.
“You will, then, be here to-morrow at ten,—at ten, remember, and this time punctually.” And with that he bowed me ceremoniously to the door, the other waving his hand more familiarly, and wishing me a good-bye as I passed out.
As I reached the outer gate of the lawn, a servant hastily overtook me. It was a gentleman, he said, who wished to return to London, begged permission to accompany me, if I would so far oblige him.
“With pleasure,” said I. “Will you favor me with his name?”
“The Abbé Tonsurd.”
“The Abbé Tonsurd!—the very man of all others I wished to meet!” And while I was just rejoicing over my good fortune on the occurrence, he came hurrying forward to offer me his thanks.
“Chance has favored me for once, Monsieur l'Abbé,” said I, “since I have the good fortune to see one to whom I have a letter of introduction. I called this very morning at your lodgings to deliver this.”
“Oh, the rare good luck indeed,” cried he, breaking open the seal and rapidly perusing the contents. “That dear Ursule,” said he, with something very near to a smile, “always so good and so confiding, trusts even after hope has departed. But tell me rather of themselves; for this is the theme she has not spoken of.”
I rapidly related all that I knew of the family. I saw, however, that his mind was wandering from the subject ere I had finished.
“And you,” said he, suddenly, “when do you set out on your mission?”
“I have not decided on accepting it.”
“Not decided! Can you hesitate, can you waver for a moment? Has not the Count himself charged you with his commands?”
“And who may the Count be?” asked I.
“His Majesty the rightful king of France. You cannot be well versed in physiognomy, or you must have recognized the royal features of his race. He is every inch a Bourbon.”
“He who sat at the table?”
“The same. The General Guerronville is reckoned handsome; but he is vulgar and commonplace when seen beside his Majesty.”
The Abbé, to whom, doubtless, the letter imparted sufficient to give him full confidence in me, spoke frankly and openly of the Royalist party, their hopes and fears and future prospects. He even went so far as to say that they were losing confidence in the English Government, of whose designs for a peace they entertained deep suspicion. Turning hastily from this, he urged me earnestly not to decline the duty proposed to me, and said at last,—
“That if no other argument could weigh with me, personal advantage might, and that success in my enterprise was my fortune made forever.”
While he was thus speaking, I was only dwelling upon what I could recall of my late scene with the King of France, and wondering what he possibly could mean by a relationship between us. The Abbé explained the difficulty away by a careless reply as to the various small channels into which the royal blood had been diverted, by obscure marriages and the like.
“At all events,” said he, “if his Majesty could remember the tie, it would come badly from you to forget it. Accept this offer, therefore, and be assured that you will serve yourself even more than his cause.”
It was not very difficult to persuade me; and even where his arguments failed, my own necessities urged me to accept the offer. I therefore agreed, and, charging the Abbé to convey my sentiments of gratitude for the trust reposed in me, I stated my readiness to set out at once wherever it was deemed necessary to employ me; and with this I lay down to rest, more at ease in heart than I had felt for months long.