El Dorado by Baroness Orczy (if you liked this book .txt) 📕

came to Marguerite on the wings of the wind with strange distinctness, borne to her ears by the darkness itself, and the hush that lay over the wood.

“Take half a dozen men with you, sergeant,” she heard him say, “and join citizen Chauvelin at the château. You can stable your horses in the farm buildings close by, as he suggests and run to him on foot. You and your men should quickly get the best of a handful of midnight prowlers; you are well armed and they only civilians. Tell citizen Chauvelin that I in the meanwhile will take care of our prisoners. The Englishman I shall put in irons and lock up inside the chapel, with five men under the command of your corporal to guard him, the other two I will drive myself straight to Crècy with what is left of the escort. You understand?”

“Yes, citizen.”

“We may not reach Crècy until two hours after midnight, but directly I arrive I will send citizen Chauvelin further reinforcements, which, however, I hope may not necessary, but which will reach him in the early morning. Even if he is seriously attacked, he can, with fourteen men he will have with him, hold out inside the castle through the night. Tell him also that at dawn two prisoners who will be with me will be shot in the courtyard of the guardhouse at Crècy, but that whether he has got hold of Capet or not he had best pick up the Englishman in the chapel in the morning and bring him straight to Crècy, where I shall be awaiting him ready to return to Paris. You understand?”

“Yes, citizen.”

“Then repeat what I said.”

“I am to take six men with me to reinforce citizen Chauvelin now.”

“Yes.”

“And you, citizen, will drive straight back to Crècy, and will send us further reinforcements from there, which will reach us in the early morning.”

“Yes.”

“We are to hold the château against those unknown marauders if necessary until the reinforcements come from Crècy. Having routed them, we return here, pick up the Englishman whom you will have locked up in the chapel under a strong guard commanded by Corporal Cassard, and join you forthwith at Crècy.”

“This, whether citizen Chauvelin has got hold of Capet or not.”

“Yes, citizen, I understand,” concluded the sergeant imperturbably; “and I am also to tell citizen Chauvelin that the two prisoners will be shot at dawn in the courtyard of the guardhouse at Crècy.”

“Yes. That is all. Try to find the leader of the attacking party, and bring him along to Crècy with the Englishman; but unless they are in very small numbers do not trouble about the others. Now en avant; citizen Chauvelin might be glad of your help. And⁠—stay⁠—order all the men to dismount, and take the horses out of one of the coaches, then let the men you are taking with you each lead a horse, or even two, and stable them all in the farm buildings. I shall not need them, and could not spare any of my men for the work later on. Remember that, above all, silence is the order. When you are ready to start, come back to me here.”

The sergeant moved away, and Marguerite heard him transmitting the citizen agent’s orders to the soldiers. The dismounting was carried on in wonderful silence⁠—for silence had been one of the principal commands⁠—only one or two words reached her ears.

“First section and first half of second section fall in, right wheel. First section each take two horses on the lead. Quietly now there; don’t tug at his bridle⁠—let him go.”

And after that a simple report:

“All ready, citizen!”

“Good!” was the response. “Now detail your corporal and two men to come here to me, so that we may put the Englishman in irons, and take him at once to the chapel, and four men to stand guard at the doors of the other coach.”

The necessary orders were given, and after that there came the curt command:

“En avant!”

The sergeant, with his squad and all the horses, was slowly moving away in the night. The horses’ hoofs hardly made a noise on the soft carpet of pine-needles and of dead fallen leaves, but the champing of the bits was of course audible, and now and then the snorting of some poor, tired horse longing for its stable.

Somehow in Marguerite’s fevered mind this departure of a squad of men seemed like the final flitting of her last hope; the slow agony of the familiar sounds, the retreating horses and soldiers moving away amongst the shadows, took on a weird significance. Héron had given his last orders. Percy, helpless and probably unconscious, would spend the night in that dank chapel, while she and Armand would be taken back to Crècy, driven to death like some insentient animals to the slaughter.

When the grey dawn would first begin to peep through the branches of the pines Percy would be led back to Paris and the guillotine, and she and Armand will have been sacrificed to the hatred and revenge of brutes.

The end had come, and there was nothing more to be done. Struggling, fighting, scheming, could be of no avail now; but she wanted to get to her husband; she wanted to be near him now that death was so imminent both for him and for her.

She tried to envisage it all, quite calmly, just as she knew that Percy would wish her to do. The inevitable end was there, and she would not give to these callous wretches here the gratuitous spectacle of a despairing woman fighting blindly against adverse Fate.

But she wanted to go to her husband. She felt that she could face death more easily on the morrow if she could but see him once, if she could but look once more into the eyes that had mirrored so much enthusiasm, such absolute vitality and wholehearted self-sacrifice, and such an intensity of love and passion; if she could but kiss once more those lips that had