Next evening M. du Ménars and another officer were also at supper.
CHAPTER III
M. DE KERSAINT ANSWERS FOR HIMSELF
(1)
Lucien du Boisfossé and Artamène de la Vergne would not have been themselves—particularly Artamène—if they had not remarked, during the next few days, that a state of curious restraint had come into existence between their leader and his chief of staff, the Comte de Brencourt. Indeed, apart from any intercourse that he held with M. de Kersaint, no one could fail to see that the Comte had returned from his mission another and a much less agreeable person. As Artamène remarked, he had never been genial in his manners, but at least he had some manners; now he seemed to have left them with the abandoned treasure at Mirabel. His moodiness and irritability vented themselves on all his subordinates, and he would harry gentleman and peasant alike for not saluting with sufficient precision, or not mounting guard properly. Indeed, the Chevalier de la Vergne opined that there might be a mutiny among the Chouans, caused for no other reason than that M. de Brencourt had something on his mind—was rongé with something or other, as he put it.
To what it could be that was thus gnawing at him the two young men then applied their wits, and, suddenly remembering that night at Hennebont, arrived without much trouble at a theory not very far removed from the truth. With the facile, half-contemptuous pity of youth, they threw a hasty crumb of sympathy to the elder man, obliged to return to the house where had lived the murdered lady for whom he had then confessed his admiration. Still, they wished it had not made him so unpleasant.
But Artus de Brencourt was to be pitied—and condemned—for reasons more acute than ‘les jeunes’ had divined.
He had come back to the Clos-aux-Grives after his escape from prison not only because, in the position he held, it was his plain duty to do so, but also because even a momentary return to Mirabel, where all his desire was set, would most certainly have involved Mme de Trélan in suspicion, or so he considered. Madly as he craved to see her again, his love was sufficiently unselfish to shrink from that. But he had by no means abandoned his intention of breaking down her opposition to his suit. When he got back to Finistère, and found that the Abbé had been despatched to Mirabel in spite of his letter of dissuasion (which had been prompted in reality less by fear for her safety than by anxiety about the preservation of her incognito) he decided that he must wait at the Clos-aux-Grives till the latter’s return, for, successful or unsuccessful, the priest would certainly bring some information about the concierge and the state of affairs at the château. Then he could make up his mind to his next move.
But there were tormenting elements in this course. If the Abbé proved unsuccessful in his quest, it was quite likely—having regard to the issues for Finistère hanging on the securing of the gold—that the Marquis himself would resolve to go after it, and then. . . . Or again, suppose that M. Chassin were successful, and that his very success brought “Mme Vidal” into suspicion? Prison at least would face her again—possibly deportation. Or, almost worst of all, suppose the self-contained little priest, anything but a fool, and deep, as he always suspected, in de Kersaint’s confidence, should discover who she was. What was there, indeed, to prevent her telling him? It was hardly surprising that during these days of suspense M. de Brencourt developed into a martinet.