Petticoat Rule Part 45

But now Gaston felt his senses reeling.

"She must be stopped! . . . she must be stopped!" he shouted wildly.

"I have orders for her . . . she must be stopped, at any cost!"

And breaking through the compact group of his newly found friends he made a wild dash for the door.

But the excitement, the terrible keenness of this disappointment had been too much for him, after the strenuous fatigues and the overpowering heat of the day. The dizziness turned to an intolerable feeling of sickness, the walls of the room spun round and round him, he felt as if a stunning blow had been dealt him on the head, and with a final shriek of "Stop her!" he staggered and would have fallen headlong, but that a pair of willing arms were there to break his fall.

CHAPTER x.x.xV

THE STRANGER

It was M. des Coutures--a middle-aged man, military governor of Le Havre--who had caught Gaston de Stainville in his arms when the latter all but lost consciousness. A dozen willing pairs of hands were now ready to administer to the guest's comforts, from the loosening of his cravat to the pulling off of his heavy riding boots.

"The mulled wine was too heavy for him," said M. le Maire Valledieu, "no doubt he had been fasting some hours and his stomach refused to deal with it."

"Tell the kitchen wench to hurry with that supper, Jean Marie," said Mortemar to mine host, "he'll be himself again when he has eaten."

"If there's a plate of soup ready, bring that," added M. Valledieu.

"Anything's better than an empty paunch."

"I thank you, friends," now murmured Stainville feebly. "I fear me I must have turned giddy . . . the heat and . . ."

He was recovering quickly enough. It had been mere dizziness caused by fatigue; and then that awful blow which had staggered him physically as well as mentally! His newly found friends had dragged him back to the table close to the open window: the keen sea-breeze quickly restored him to complete consciousness.

Already he had turned his head slowly round to watch that fast disappearing three-decker, gleaming golden now in the distant haze.

His argosy which he had hoped to see returning from her voyage laden with golden freight! Somehow as first the hulk and then the graceful sails were gradually merged into the Western glow, Gaston knew--by one of those inexplainable yet absolutely unerring instincts which baffle the materialist--that all hopes of those coveted millions were vanishing as surely as did the ship now from before his gaze. He was still weak in body as well as in mind, and it was as if in a dream, that he listened to de Mortemar's carelessly given explanations of the event which meant the wreckage of so many fondly cherished hopes.

"Captain Barre broke his fast in this very room this morning," said the young man lightly, "several of these gentlemen here, as well as myself, had speech with him. He had no idea then that he would have to start on a voyage quite so soon. He left here at eleven o'clock and went back to his ship. An hour later when I was strolling along the sh.o.r.e I met him again. He seemed in a vast hurry and told me in a few curt words that _Le Monarque_ had received orders to be under way as soon as the tide permitted."

"You did not ask him whither the ship was bound?" queried Gaston, speaking hoa.r.s.ely like a man who has been drinking.

"He could not tell me," replied the other, "her orders were secret."

"Do you know who was the bearer of these secret orders?"

"No, but I heard later that a stranger had ridden into Le Havre at midday to-day. His mare--a beautiful creature so I understand--dropped not far from here; she had been ridden to her death, poor thing; and her rider, so they say, was near to dropping too."

"I saw him," here interposed a young soldier, "he was just outside that G.o.d-forsaken hole, 'Le Gros Normand' and politely asked me if it were the best inn in Le Havre."

"I hope you told him it was," said des Coutures with a growl, "we want no stranger here."

"Nor do we want Le Havre to have a reputation for dirt and discomfort," corrected M. le Maire.

"And I certainly could not allow a gentlemen--for he was that--I'll lay any wager on it, with any one--to be made superlatively uncomfortable on the broken beds of 'Le Gros Normand,'" a.s.serted the young soldier hotly.

"You advised him to come here?" gasped Mortemar with genuine horror.

He was the chief of that clique which desired to exclude, with utmost rigour from the sacred precincts of "Les Trois Matelots," every stranger not properly accredited.

"Ma foi! what would you have me do?" retorted the other sulkily.

"You did quite right, Lieutenant le Tellier," rejoined M. le Maire, who was jealous of the reputation of Le Havre. "Gentlemen must be under no misapprehension with regard to the refinement and hospitality of this town."

The entrance of mine host carrying a steaming bowl of soup broke up the conversation for awhile. Jean Marie was followed by a fat and jovial-looking wench, who quickly spread a white cloth for Monsieur le Comte's supper and generally administered to his wants.

De Mortemar, General des Coutures, and M. le Maire Valledieu had const.i.tuted themselves the nominal hosts of Gaston. They too sat round the table, and anon when Jean Marie brought huge jugs of red wine, they fell to and entertained their guest, plying him with meat and drink.

This broke up the company somewhat. The other gentlemen had withdrawn with all the respect which Frenchmen always feel for the solemnity of a meal; they had once more a.s.sumed their old places at the various tables about the room. But no one thought yet of returning home: "l'heure de l'aperitif" was being indefinitely prolonged.

Conversation naturally drifted back again and again to _Le Monarque_ and her secret orders. Every one scented mystery, for was it not strange that a n.o.ble cavalier like Monsieur le Comte de Stainville should have ridden all the way from Versailles on the King's business, in order to have speech with the commander of one of His Majesty's own ships, only to find that he had been forestalled? The good ship had apparently received orders which the King knew naught about, else His Majesty had not sent Monsieur de Stainville all this way on a fool's errand.

Eager, prying eyes watched him as he began to eat and drink, dreamily at first, almost drowsily. Obviously he was absorbed in thought. He too must be racking his brains as to who the stranger might be who had so unexpectedly forestalled him.

His three genial hosts plied him continually with wine and soon the traces of fatigue in him began to yield to his usual alertness and vigour. The well-cooked food, the rich liquors were putting life back into his veins. And with renewed life came a seething, an ungovernable wrath.

He had lost a fortune, the grat.i.tude of the King, the goodwill of Pompadour, two and a half millions of money through the interference of a stranger!

He tried to think, to imagine, to argue with himself. Treacherous and false himself, he at once suspected treachery. He imagined that some sycophant, hanging to the Pompadour's skirts, had succeeded in winning her good graces sufficiently to be allowed to do this errand for her, instead of himself.

Or had the King played him false, and sent another messenger to do the delicate business and to share in the spoils?

Or had Lydie . . . ? But no! this was impossible! What could she have done at a late hour of the night? How could she have found a messenger whom she could trust? when earlier in the day she had herself admitted that there was no one in whom she could confide, and thus turned almost unwillingly to the friend of her childhood.

Jean Marie's favoured customers sat at the various tables sipping their eau-de-vie; some had produced dice and cards, whilst others were content to loll about, still hoping to hear piquant anecdotes of that distant Court of Versailles, toward which they all sighed so longingly.

But the elegant guest was proving a disappointment. Even after the second b.u.mper of wine Gaston de Stainville's tongue had not loosened.

He was speculating on the ident.i.ty of that mysterious stranger, and would not allow his moodiness to yield to the joys of good cheer.

To-morrow he would have to ride back to Versailles hardly more leisurely than he had come, for he must find out the truth of how he came to be forestalled. But he could not start before dawn, even though fiery impatience and wrath burned in his veins.

To all inquisitive queries and pointed chaff he replied with a sulky growl, and very soon the delight of meeting an interesting stranger gave place to irritation at his sullen mood. He was drinking heavily, and did not seem cheerful in his cups, and anon even Mortemar's boisterous hilarity gave way before his persistent gloom.

After an hour or two the company started yawning: every one had had enough of this silent and ill-tempered stranger, who not only had brought no new life and animation into the sleepy town, but was ill repaying the lavish hospitality of "Les Trois Matelots" by his reticence and sulky humour.

One by one now the habitues departed, nodding genially to mine host, as they settled for their _consommations_, and bidding as hearty a good-night to the stranger as their disappointment would allow.

De Mortemar and Valledieu had tried to lure M. le Comte de Stainville to hazard or even to a more sober game of piquet, but the latter had persistently refused and sat with legs stretched out before him, hands buried in breeches' pockets, his head drooping on his chest, and a meditative scowl between his eyes.

The wine had apparently quite dulled his brilliant wit, and now he only replied in curt monosyllables to queries addressed directly to him.

Anon Valledieu and old General de Coutures pleading the ties of family and home, begged to be excused. Now de Mortemar alone was left to entertain his surly guest, bored to distraction, and dislocating his jaws in the vain efforts which he made to smother persistent yawns.

It was then close on half-past seven. The final glory of the setting sun had yielded to the magic wand of night which had changed the vivid crimson and orange first to delicate greens and mauves and then to the deep, the gorgeous blue of a summer's evening sky. The stars one by one gleamed in the firmament, and soon the crescent moon, chaste and cold, added her incomparable glory to the beauty and the silent peace of the night.

Tiny lights appeared at masthead or prow of the many craft lying at anchor in the roadsteads, and from far away through the open window there came wafted, on the sweet salt breeze, the melancholy sound of an old Normandy ditty sung by a pair of youthful throats.