The Eagle of the Empire by Cyrus Townsend Brady (best smutty novels .txt) 📕

and fro seeking lights and some other entrance. Taking aim at the nearest Marteau pulled the trigger and Pierre followed his example. The noise of the explosions was succeeded by a scream of anguish, one man was severely wounded and another killed. Something mysterious had happened while they had been off on the wild goose chase apparently, the Russians decided. The château had been seized, their officers had been made way with, it was held by the enemy.

"They can't be anything more than wandering peasants," cried an imperious voice in Russian outside. "I thought you had made thorough work with them all, Scoref," continued the speaker. "Your Cossacks must have failed to complete the job."

"It will be the first time," answered Scoref, the _hetman_ of the raiders. "Look, the village burns!"

"Well, what's to be done now?" said the first voice.

"I don't know, Baron," was the answer. "Besieging castles is more in your line than in mine."

"Shall we fire again, monsieur?" asked Pierre within.

"No," was the answer. "Remember we've only got eight shots and we must wait."

"Let us have lights," cried the commander of the squadron. "Here, take one of those wagons and----"

In a few moments a bright fire was blazing in the courtyard.

"The shots came from those windows," continued the Russian. "Keep out of the way and---- Isn't that a window open up there?"

"It is, it is!" came the answer from a dozen throats.

All the talk being in Russian was, of course, not understood by the two Frenchmen.

"One of you climb up there," continued the Russian. "You see the spout, and the coping, that buttress? Ten roubles to the man who does it."

A soldier sprang forward. Those within could hear his heavy body rub along the wall. They did not know what he was doing or what was toward. They were in entire ignorance that a shutter had become detached from its hinges in the room above the drawing-room and that they would soon have to face an attack from the rear. The man who climbed fancied himself perfectly secure, and indeed he was from those within. It was a hard climb, but presently he reached the window-ledge. His hands clasped it, he made a brave effort, drew himself up and on the instant from beyond the wagons came a pistol shot. The man shrieked, released his hold and fell crashing to the ground. The besiegers broke into wild outcries. Some of them ran in the direction whence the shot had come. They thought they caught the glimpse of a figure running away in the darkness. Pistols were fired and the vicinity was thoroughly searched, but they found nothing.

The shot, the man's cry overhead, the body crashing down to the ground, enlightened Marteau. He handed Pierre two of the six remaining pistols, told him to run to the floor above and watch the window. The young peasant crossed himself and turned away. He found the room easily enough. It was impossible to barricade the window, but he drew back in the darkness and waited.

Having found no one in the grove beyond the baggage-wagons, the Russians called for another volunteer and a second man offered. Pierre heard him coming, permitted him to gain the ledge and then thrust the pistol in his face and pulled the trigger. At the same time a big Cossack coming within easy range and standing outlined between the loophole and the fire, Marteau gave him his second bullet, with fatal effect. There flashed into his mind that the shot which had come so opportunely from outside bespoke the arrival of his friend, the grenadier. He hoped the man would have sense enough to go immediately to Sézanne and report the situation. If he could maintain the defense of the castle for two hours he might be rescued. He stepped to the hall and called up to Pierre. Receiving a cheery reply to the effect that all was well and that he would keep good watch, he came back into the great hall and resumed his ward.


CHAPTER VIII


A TRIAL OF ALLEGIANCE

Mademoiselle d'Aumenier had seated herself at a table and remained there in spite of the entreaties and black looks of the prisoners. Marteau did not dare to leave his loophole, but the necessity for watching did not prevent him from talking. The men outside seemed to have decided that nothing more could be done for the present. They withdrew from out of range of the deadly fire of the defenders and, back of the wagons, kindled fires, and seemed to be preparing to make a night of it.

The best officers of the detachment were prisoners in the château. The subordinate who had been entrusted with the pursuit was young and inexperienced; the Cossack commander was a mere raider. They themselves belonged to the cavalry. They decided, after inspecting the whole building carefully as nearly as they dared in view of the constant threat of discharge, that they would have to wait until morning, unless something occurred to them or some chance favored them. They trusted that at daylight they would have no difficulty in effecting an entrance somewhere. A total of three men dead and one wounded, to say nothing of the sentries and officers, had a discouraging effect on night work. They did not dream that there was an enemy, a French soldier, that is, nearer than Troyes. They supposed that the castle had been seized by some of the enraged country people who had escaped the Cossacks and that they could easily deal with them in the morning.

Incidentally, the wine cellars in which the peasants had been shut had openings to the outer air, and through them came shouts and cries which added to the mystification of the besiegers and increased their prudence. The walls of the château were massive, the floors thick, the wine cellar far away, and no sound came from them to the inmates of the great hall. Indeed, in the exciting adventure that had taken place, the raiders had been completely forgot by Marteau and the others.

The conversation in the hall was not animated. The Countess Laure, womanlike, at last began to ask questions.

"Monsieur Marteau," she asked persuasively, "will you hear reason?"

"I will hear anything, mademoiselle, from you," was the instant reply.

"Think of the unhappy state of France."

"I have had reason enough to think of it to-night, mademoiselle. My father and my sister----" his voice faltered.

"I know," said the girl sympathetically, and, indeed, she was deeply grieved for the misfortunes of the faithful and devoted old man and the young girl she had loved. She waited a moment and then continued. "The Emperor is at last facing defeat. His cause is hopeless."

"He yet lives," answered the soldier softly.

"Yes, of course," said the woman. "I do not understand the military situation, but my friends----"

"Will monsieur allow me the favor of a word?" interposed the chief Russian officer courteously.

"If it is not to summon assistance you may speak," replied Marteau.

"As a soldier you know the situation as well as I," continued the Russian. "Prince Von Schwarzenberg has Napoleon in his grasp. He will hold him until he is ready to seize him, while Field-Marshal Blücher takes Paris."

"The Emperor yet lives," said Marteau, repeating his former remark with more emphasis and smiling somewhat scornfully. "It is not wise to portion the lion's skin while it covers his beating heart," he added meaningly.

"Not even the genius of your Emperor," persisted the Russian more earnestly, "will avail now, monsieur. He is lost, his cause as well. Why, this very convoy tells the story. We intercepted letters that told how pressing was its need. Your army is without arms, without food, without clothes."

"It still has its Emperor."

"Death!" cried the Russian impatiently. "Must we kill him in order to teach you a lesson?"

"You will not kill him while there is a soldier in France to interpose his body."

"Very heroic, doubtless," sneered the Russian, beginning to get angry. "But you know your cause is lost."

"And if it were?"

"Be reasonable. There are many Frenchmen with the allied armies. Your rank is----?"

"I am a Major on the Emperor's staff if you are interested to know."

"Major Marteau, I have no doubt that my interest with my Emperor, the Czar Alexander, with whom I am remotely connected--I may say I am a favorite officer in his guard--would doubtless insure you a Colonel's commission, perhaps even that of a General of Brigade, with my gracious master, or in the army of King Louis after we have replaced him on his throne if----"

"If what?"

"If you release us, restore us to our command. Permit us to send for horses to take the place of those we have killed to take the wagons of the valuable convoy to our own army."

"And you would have me abandon my Emperor?"

"For the good of France," urged the Russian meaningly.

"Will you answer me a question, monsieur?" continued the young man after a moment's deep thought.

"Certainly, if it be not treason to my master."

"Oh, you have views on treason, then," said the Frenchman adroitly and not giving the other time to answer he continued. "To what corps are you attached?"

"Count Sacken's."

"And whose division?"

"General Olsuvieff's."

"Monsieur," said the young Frenchman calmly, "it is more than probable that before to-morrow your division will be annihilated and the next day the corps of General Sacken may meet the same fate."

The Russian laughed scornfully at what seemed to him the wildest boasting.

"Are you mad?"

"Not so mad as you will be when it happens."

The Russian controlled himself with difficulty in the face of the irritating observations.

"And who will do this?" he asked, at last.

"The Emperor."

"Does he command the lightning-flash that he could hurl the thunder-bolt from Troyes?"

"Upon my word, I believe he does," laughed the Frenchman.

"This is foolish jesting, boy," broke out the Englishman. "I am a man of consideration in my own country. The lady here will bear me out. I offered you fifty pounds. I will give you five hundred if you will release us and----"

"And I offer you my--friendship," said the Countess, making a long pause before the last word.

How much of it she meant or how little no one could say. Any ruse was fair in war like this. Marteau looked at her. The color flamed to her cheek and died away. It had flamed into his cheek and died away also.

"Gentlemen," he said, "you offer me rank, money----" he paused--"friendship----" he shot a meaning glance at the young girl. He paused again.

"Well?" said the Russian.

"Speak out," said the Englishman. "Your answer, lad?"

"I refuse."

"Don't be a fool," roared Sir Gervaise bluntly.

"I refuse, I repeat," said Marteau. "While the Emperor lives I am his man. Not rank, not money, not friendship, not love itself even could move me. Enough, gentlemen,"