The Companions of Jehu. Dumas Alexandre
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which means: ‘All Frenchmen are not thieves, but – ”
“A good part are?” concluded Roland.
“Yes, ‘Buonaparté,’” replied Alfred de Barjols.
Scarcely had these insolent words left the young aristocrat’s lips than the plate with which Roland was playing flew from his hands and struck De Barjols full in the face. The women screamed, the men rose to their feet. Roland burst into that nervous laugh which was habitual with him, and threw himself back in his chair. The young aristocrat remained calm, although the blood was trickling from his brow to his cheek.
At this moment the conductor entered with the usual formula:
“Come! citizen travellers, take your places.”
The travellers, anxious to leave the scene of the quarrel, rushed to the door.
“Pardon me, sir,” said Alfred de Barjols to Roland, “you do not go by diligence, I hope?”
“No, sir, I travel by post; but you need have no fear; I shall not depart.”
“Nor I,” said the Englishman. “Have them unharness my horses; I shall remain.”
“I must go,” sighed the dark young man whom Roland had addressed as general. “You know it is necessary, my friend; my presence yonder is absolutely imperative. But I swear that I would not leave you if I could possibly avoid it.”
In saying these words his voice betrayed an emotion of which, judging from its usual harsh, metallic ring, it had seemed incapable. Roland, on the contrary, seemed overjoyed. His belligerent nature seemed to expand at the approach of a danger to which he had perhaps not given rise, but which he at least had not endeavored to avoid.
“Good! general,” he said. “We were to part at Lyons, since you have had the kindness to grant me a month’s furlough to visit my family at Bourg. It is merely some hundred and sixty miles or so less than we intended, that is all. I shall rejoin you in Paris. But you know if you need a devoted arm, and a man who never sulks, think of me!”
“You may rest easy on that score, Roland,” exclaimed the general. Then, looking attentively at the two adversaries, he added with an indescribable note of tenderness: “Above all, Roland, do not let yourself be killed; but if it is a possible thing don’t kill your adversary. Everything considered, he is a gallant man, and the day will come when I shall need such men at my side.”
“I shall do my best, general; don’t be alarmed.” At this moment the landlord appeared upon the thresh-hold of the door.
“The post-chaise is ready,” said he.
The general took his hat and his cane, which he had laid upon the chair. Roland, on the contrary, followed him bareheaded, that all might see plainly he did not intend to leave with his friend. Alfred de Barjols, therefore, offered no opposition to his leaving the room. Besides, it was easy to see that his adversary was of those who seek rather than avoid quarrels.
“Just the same,” said the general, seating himself in the carriage to which Roland had escorted him, “my heart is heavy at leaving you thus, Roland, without a friend to act as your second.”
“Good! Don’t worry about that, general; seconds are never lacking. There are and always will be enough men who are curious to see how one man can kill another.”
“Au revoir, Roland. Observe, I do not say farewell, but au revoir!”
“Yes, my dear general,” replied the young man, in a voice that revealed some emotion, “I understand, and I thank you.”
“Promise that you will send me word as soon as the affair is over, or that you will get some one to write if you are disabled.”
“Oh, don’t worry, general. You will have a letter from me personally in less than four days,” replied Roland, adding, in a tone of profound bitterness: “Have you not perceived that I am protected by a fatality which prevents me from dying?”
“Roland!” exclaimed the general in a severe tone, “Again!”
“Nothing, nothing,” said the young man, shaking his head and assuming an expression of careless gayety which must have been habitual with him before the occurrence of that unknown misfortune which oppressed his youth with this longing for death.
“Very well. By the way, try to find out one thing.”
“What is that, general?”
“How it happens that at a time when we are at war with England an Englishman stalks about France as freely and as easily as if he were at home.”
“Good; I will find out.”
“How?”
“I do not know; but when I promise you to find out I shall do so, though I have to ask it of himself.”
“Reckless fellow! Don’t get yourself involved in another affair in that direction.”
“In any case, it would not be a duel. It would be a battle, as he is a national enemy.”
“Well, once more – till I see you again. Embrace me.”
Roland flung himself with passionate gratitude upon the neck of the personage who had just given him this permission.
“Oh, general!” he exclaimed, “how happy I should be – if I were not so unhappy!”
The general looked at him with profound affection, then asked: “One day you will tell me what this sorrow is, will you not, Roland?”
Roland laughed that sorrowful laugh which had already escaped his lips once or twice.
“Oh! my word, no,” said he, “you would ridicule me too much.”
The general stared at him as one would contemplate a madman.
“After all,” he murmured, “one must accept men as they come.”
“Especially when they are not what they seem to be.”
“You must mistake me for OEdipe since you pose me with these enigmas, Roland.”
“Ah! If you guess this one, general, I will herald you king of Thebes! But, with all my follies, I forgot that your time is precious and that I am detaining you needlessly with my nonsense.”
“That is so! Have you any commissions for Paris?”
“Yes, three; my regards to Bourrienne, my respects to your brother Lucien, and my most tender homage to Madame Bonaparte.”
“I will deliver them.”
“Where shall I find you in Paris?”
“At my house in the Rue de la Victoire, perhaps.”
“Perhaps – ”
“Who knows? Perhaps at Luxembourg!” Then throwing himself back as if he regretted having said so much, even to a man he regarded as his best friend, he shouted to the postilion, “Road to Orange! As fast as possible.”
The postilion, who was only waiting for the order, whipped up his horses; the carriage departed rapidly, rumbling like a roll of thunder, and disappeared through the Porte d’Oulle.
CHAPTER III. THE ENGLISHMAN
Roland remained motionless, not only as long as he could see the carriage, but long after it had disappeared. Then, shaking his head as if to dispel the cloud which darkened his brow, he re-entered the inn and asked for a room.
“Show the gentleman to number three,” said the landlord to a chambermaid.
The chambermaid took a key hanging from a large black wooden tablet on which were arranged the numbers in white in two rows, and signed to the young traveller to follow her.
“Send up some paper, and a pen and ink,” Roland said to the landlord, “and if M. de Barjols should ask where I am tell him the number of my room.”
The landlord promised to obey Roland’s injunctions and the latter followed the girl upstairs whistling the Marseillaise.