Eugène shuddered, and the pale face turned paler still, but he did not answer the question.
“When we used to hunt the hare in Normandy,” he resumed, “I have observed that, if hard pressed, she would return to her form, and often thus made her escape, whereas the wolf and the stag, flying straight away, were generally run down. Like the hare, then, I doubled back and lay hid in the very house where I habitually lodged. It was the first place they searched, but they never came near it again; and the second day an old comrade found me out, took me to his own home, and furnished me with a disguise.”
“An old comrade!” repeated the Captain. “Bravo! Ah! we had always plenty of esprit de corps in the Musketeers. It was Adolphe, I’ll wager a crown, or the young Count de Guiches, or Bellegarde!”
“None of these, my Captain,” explained Eugène. “It was no Musketeer; Black, Red, or Grey. When I said comrade, I meant an old college friend. It was an Abbé. I know not why I should keep it secret. Abbé Malletort.”
The Captain pondered. “Abbé Malletort!” said he. “That is more than strange. The Regent’s confidant; his chief adviser, men said; his principal favourite! He must have had some reason—some deep-laid scheme of double treachery. I know the man. A smooth-spoken churchman; a pleasant fellow to drink with, and a good judge of drill. But if it was his interest to betray the poor thing, I wouldn’t trust him with the life of a dog!”
“You little know him,” urged the other, eagerly. “Generous, kind, and secret—had it not been for his advice and his exertions I should never have got away alive. He kept me a fortnight in his apartment, till the heat of the pursuit was over and Paris had ceased to talk of our affray, which everybody believed an organised conspiracy of the Huguenots—of the Jansenists—of the young King’s party—of the British Government. What shall I say?—of the Great Mogul. I did not dare show myself, of course. I could only hear the news from my friend, and I saw him but seldom. I was forced to leave Paris at last without knowing how far the disturbance affected the ladies in whose grounds it took place. I tried hard to find out, but it was impossible.”
The Captain glanced sharply in his face, and took a strong gulp at the punch. Eugène continued:—
“I got through the barrier with an Italian company of jugglers, disguised as a Pantaleone. It was not too amusing to be obliged to perform antics for the amusement of the Guard, fortunately they were of the Prince de Condé’s regiment, which had just marched into Paris. But the mountebanks were good people, kindly, and perfectly trustworthy. They were polite enough to say that I might make an excellent livelihood if I would but take in earnest to the business. I left them at Rouen, and from that place reached the seaboard on foot. My object was to take refuge in England. Here alone I felt I should be safe for a time, and when the storm should blow over I hoped to return again. I little knew what a climate it is! what a country! what people! They are somewhat better when you are used to them, and I own I accustom myself more easily than I could have believed to their beef, their beer, their barbarous language, and their utter want of politeness. But they have been kind to me, these rough islanders. It was an English fishing-boat that landed me from Havre, and the fisherman made me stay a week in his house for nothing because he discovered accidentally that I had exhausted my purse to pay for my passage. Since then, my Captain, I have supported myself by teaching these awkward English to dance. It is a noble exercise after all, were they not so stiff, so ungraceful! And yet my pupils make progress! These children above stairs have already begun the minuet. Egotist that I am! Tell me, my Captain, how you too come to find yourself in this miserable town, without gardens, without barriers, without barracks, without Hôtel de Ville, without a church, even without an opera!”
The Captain smiled. “You have a good right to ask,” said he, “since, but for you, I should not have been here at this moment. When I drew on the Regent that night, as I would have drawn on the young King himself had I seen him guilty of such an outrage, I was, as you know, surrounded and attacked by an escort of my own men. I tell you, Beaudésir, I never expected to leave the gardens alive, and I do not believe there is another fencer in France who could have helped me out of so awkward a scrape. I was sorry to see our old Bras-de-Fer go down, I admit; but what would you have? When it’s give and take, thrust and parry, ten against two, one cannot stand on these little delicacies of feeling. As I vanished through the garden-gate I looked for you everywhere, but there was no time to lose, and I thought we could escape more easily separate than in company. I knew you were neither down nor taken, because there was no shout of triumph from the men to announce the fact. The Prince du Chateau-Guerrand, my old general, was standing at the door of his coach when I gained the street. How he came there I am at a loss to guess, for you may believe I asked no questions; but that you and he should have dropped from the clouds at the Hôtel Montmirail, in the moment of my need, is one of those happy strokes of accident by which battles are won, and which we call fortune of war. I thought him a martinet when I was on his staff, with his everlasting parades, and reports, and correspondence, to say nothing of his interminable stories about Turenne, but I always knew his heart was in the right place. ‘Jump in!’ said he, catching me by the arm. ‘Drive those English horses to death, and take the coach where you will!’ In five minutes we were out of Paris, and half a league off on our way to the coast.