“What!” asked I of myself, “is it a spy—is it a false underhand betrayer of the men into whose society I have been admitted on terms of friendly intercourse—he would make of me? What saw he in me or in my actions to dare so far? Was not the very cloth I wear enough to guard me against such an insult?” Then came the maddening reflection, “Why had I not thought of this sooner? Why had I not rejected his proposal with scorn, and told him that I was not of the stuff he looked for?”
But what is it that he wished to learn? and who were these men, and what were their designs? These were questions' that flashed across me; and I trembled to think how deeply implicated I might become at any moment in plans of which I knew nothing, merely from the imprudence with which I had made their acquaintance. The escape of De Beauvais, if discovered, would also inevitably involve me; and thus did I seem hurried along by a train of incidents without will or concurrence, each step but increasing the darkness around me.
That Gisquet knew most of the party was clear; De Beauvais alone seemed personally unknown to him. What, then, did he want of me? Alas! it was a tangled web I could make nothing of: and all I could resolve on was, to avoid in future all renewal of intimacy with De Beauvais; to observe the greatest circumspection with regard to all new acquaintance; and since the police thought it worth their while to set spies upon my track, to limit any excursions, for some time at least, to the routine of my duty and the bounds of the barrack-yard. These were wise resolutions, and if somewhat late in coming, yet not without their comfort; above all, because, in my heart, I felt no misgivings of affection, no lack of loyalty, to him who was still my idol.
“Well, well,” thought I, “something may come of this,—perhaps a war. If so, happy shall I be to leave Paris and all its intrigues behind me, and seek distinction in a more congenial sphere, and under other banners than a police minister would afford me.”
With thoughts like these I fell asleep, to dream over all the events of the preceding day, and wake the next morning with an aching head and confused brain,—my only clear impression being that some danger hung over me; but from what quarter, and how or in what way it was to be met or averted, I could not guess.
The whole day I felt a feverish dread lest De Beauvais should appear. Something whispered me that my difficulties were to come of my acquaintance with him; and I studiously passed my time among my brother officers, knowing that, so long as I remained among them, he was not likely to visit me. And when evening came, I gladly accepted an invitation to a barrack-room supper, which, but the night before, I should have declined without hesitation.
This compliance on my part seemed well taken by my companions; and in their frank and cordial reception of me, I felt a degree of reproach to myself for my having hitherto lived estranged from them. We had just taken our places at table, when the door was flung wide open, and a young captain of the regiment rushed in, waving a paper over his head, as he called out,—
“Good news, mes braves, glorious news for you! Listen to this: The English ambassador has demanded his passports, and left Paris. Expresses are sent off to the fourth corps to move towards the coast; twelve regiments have received orders to march; so that before my Lord leaves Calais, he may witness a review of the army. '”
“Is this true?”
“It is all certain. Read it; here 's the 'Moniteur,' with the official announcement.”