“Cadoudal has just sent an express to say that the English convoy with muskets and ammunition for the Morbihan which he was expecting has arrived—arrived two days ago,” he added, glancing at the open letter in his hand, “but that, knowing M. de Kersaint to be in need of both, and that he would probably be in a position to repay him in kind later on, he detached one ship for us before it unloaded, and directed it to put in at Sainte-Brigitte, and as the wind is favourable it ought to be there this evening. Splendid news—provided we can reach the coast quickly. And of course we shall want every man we can get together to cover the disembarkation, for the Blues are certain to get wind of it.”
“I will rouse the Marquis instantly,” said M. Chassin. “Only do me the favour, Monsieur du Ménars, of allowing me to see him first. He was much indisposed last night. . . .”
And a few seconds later, with Cadoudal’s despatch in his hand, he was knocking gently on his foster-brother’s door. Receiving no answer he tried the handle. To his surprise it gave, so he went in, shutting the door quickly.
It was light, of course; had been light for long enough, added to which the sun would soon be up. All the eastern sky already expected him. But in the room there still survived the pale, forgotten ghost of a candle flame, and the open window was curtained over. And by the window, fully dressed, his sound arm stretched out along the wide ledge, his head sunk forward on that arm, sat Gaston de Trélan asleep. At least he did not move until the priest touched him on the shoulder.
“Who is it?” he asked without moving. “I thought the door was locked.”
“It is I, Pierre,” answered the Abbé, his voice very stirred. “Gaston, my brother . . .”
And his brother sighed, lifted his head, and pulled himself up from the sill, stiffly, as if he had been there a long time. In his one available hand he held something tightly. He looked like a man who has had as much as he can bear in this world, from whom shock has shorn away everything, even the power to feel joy.
“I fell asleep, I think,” he said uncertainly. “I suppose you have come to tell me, Pierre, that it is all a dream?”
“No, thank the ever-merciful God, it is true. Look in your hand!”