Then he too turned his horse's head in the same direction back toward Lyons once more, and allowing the reins to hang loosely in his hand, and letting his horse pick its own slow way along the road, he gave himself over to the gloominess of his own thoughts.
II
He too had some difficulty in entering the town. M. le Duc d'Orléans, cousin of the King, had just arrived to support M. le Comte d'Artois, and together these two royal princes had framed and posted up a proclamation to the brave Lyonese of the National Guard.
The whole city was in a turmoil, for M. le Duc d'Orléans—who was nothing if not practical—had at once declared that there was not the slightest chance of a successful defence of Lyons, and that by far the best thing to do would be to withdraw the troops while they were still loyal.
M. le Comte d'Artois protested; at any rate he wouldn't do anything so drastic till after the arrival of Marshal Macdonald, to whom he had sent an urgent courier the day before, enjoining him to come to Lyons without delay. In the meanwhile he and his royal cousin did all they could to kindle or at any rate to keep up the loyalty of the troops, but defection was already in the air: here and there the men had been seen to throw their white cockades into the mud, and more than one cry of "Vive l'Empereur!" had risen even while Monsieur himself was reviewing the National Guard on the Place Bellecour.
The bridge of La Guillotière was stoutly barricaded, but as St. Genis waited out in the open road while his name was being taken to the officer in command he saw crowds of people standing or walking up and down on the opposite bank of the river.
They were waiting for the Emperor, the news of whose approach was filling the townspeople with glee.
Heartsick and wretched, St. Genis, after several hours of weary waiting, did ultimately obtain permission to enter the city by the ferry on the south side of the city. Once inside Lyons, he had no difficulty in ascertaining where such a distinguished gentleman as M. le Comte de Cambray had put up for the night, and he promptly made his way to the Hotel Bourbon, his mind, at this stage, still a complete blank as to how he would explain his discomfiture to the Comte and to Crystal.
In the present state of M. le Comte d'Artois' difficulties the money would have been thrice welcome, and St. Genis felt the load of failure weighing thrice as heavily on his soul, and dreaded the reproaches—mute or outspoken—which he knew awaited him. If only he could have thought of something! something plausible and not too inglorious! There was, of course, the possibility that he had failed to come upon the track of the thieves at all—but then he had no business to come back so soon—and he didn't want to come back, only that there was always the likelihood of the Englishman speaking of what had occurred—not necessarily with evil intent . . . but . . . some words of his: "If within a week I hear that the King of France has not received this money, I will proclaim you a liar and a thief!" rang unpleasantly in St. Genis' ears.
The young man's mind, I repeat, was at this point still a blank as to what explanation he would give to the Comte de Cambray of his own miserable failure.