Charles de Lescure shuddered as he saw the dangerous employment on which his sister was engaged; but Henri's sister was doing the same thing, and he knew that dangerous times for all of them were coming.

Adolphe was disgusted that Agatha's white hands should be employed in so vile a service, but he thought little of the danger to which she was exposed.

"You are well employed, ladies," said de Lescure, "but not an hour too soon. I am rejoiced to see you so well supplied, Henri; this is indeed a G.o.dsend. Father Jerome, is this strictly canonical; gunpowder I fear is altogether a temporal affair."

"But rebellion and h.e.l.l-fire are synonymous," said the priest, "and loyalty is the road to Paradise. I am strictly within my calling, M. de Lescure. Mademoiselle, these packets are too large. You are giving too good measure. Remember how many are the claimants for our bounty."

"You have, of course, all heard what occurred at St. Florent the day before yesterday," said de Lescure.

"Not a word," said Henri. "What happened there? we hear nothing here till a week after it is known in the towns."

They all left off what they were doing, and listened anxiously for M.

de Lescure's tidings. "Good news, I trust," said the Cure, whose face showed a fearful degree of anxiety. "Good news, I trust in G.o.d; the men of St. Florent, I am sure, have not disgraced themselves."

"Indeed, they have not, Father Jerome. If the half of what I hear be true, they have already played a grand part. What I hear is this--not a conscript was to be seen at the barracks when they were summoned.

Three or four soldiers were sent to commence the collection in the town, and they were at once taken prisoners by a party headed by Cathelineau, the postillion. The Colonel then turned out, and fired on the crowd; but he could not stand his ground before the people, who drove him back to the barracks; half his men were killed in retreating. The people then attacked the barracks, and regularly carried them by storm; took the cannon which was with the detachment, and made prisoners of every soldier that was not killed in the fray. If the half of it be true, St.

Florent has made a fine beginning for us."

"Glorious fellows!" said Adolphe. "What would I not give to have been with them?"

"You will have plenty of opportunity, M. Denot," said the priest, who held Adolphe in great aversion.

"But, Charles, the carnage of the people must have been dreadful," said Henri; "they had nothing but their hands and nails to fight with, against the muskets and bayonets of the soldiers--against artillery even."

"The Lord supplied them with weapons, my son," said the priest, solemnly. "Cannot He, who has given them courage and good hearts to stand against the enemies of their country, also give them weapons to fight his battles?"

"They say, too, that by some miracle the cannon could not be got to fire on the town. They say it was loaded and ready, but that the powder would not ignite when the torch was put to it," said de Lescure.

"They say," added Denot, "that the Colonel himself repeatedly tried to fire it, but could not; and that when he found that Providence, interfered for the people, he laid down his sword, and gave himself up."

"The man who came to me from the town," continued de Lescure, "had a thousand wonderful stories. He says, that twenty times in the day Cathelineau stood, unharmed before the bayonets of the soldiers; that twenty times he was shot at, but it was impossible to wound him. They say that G.o.d has interfered for the protection of St. Florent."

"Most probable," said the priest, "most probable; for who, my children, shall attempt to judge the ways of G.o.d? Why should He not put out his right hand to a.s.sist his own?"

"And were there not many of the townspeople killed?" asked Agatha.

"We did not hear," replied de Lescure; "but the news of their triumph would travel faster than the account of their misfortunes; there could not but have been much bloodshed."

"After all," said Henri, "we do not know how much of this is true. We must not believe it all; it is too glorious to be true."

"Do not say so, M. Larochejaquelin," said the priest, "do not say so; we will do greater things than that with the a.s.sistance of G.o.d and the blessed Virgin; but we will not envy the men of St. Florent the honour they have won."

"You believe it all, then, Father Jerome," said Marie. "You believe that the republicans have been beaten."

"Every word, Mademoiselle, every word religiously. I should be a heathen else, or worse than that, a republican."

The group who were discussing the probability of the victory said to have been gained at St. Florent, were standing at the window of one of the front rooms of the chateau, which looked immediately on one of the whitewashed rec.u.mbent lions, and from it they could see the wooden gates, the lodge, and the paved road which ran from Chatillon to Vihiers in front of the chateau. As the priest finished speaking, three men rode through the gates, into the avenue, directly up to the house-door: one was tolerably well mounted on a large horse, the second was on a s.h.a.ggy pony, and the third, who was rather behind the others, was seated on a mule of most unprepossessing appearance, whose sides he did not for a moment cease to lacerate with his heels, to enable himself to keep up with his companions.

"That is Foret, from St. Florent himself!" shouted the priest, rushing out towards the door, as soon as he saw the first horseman turn in at the gate; "a good man, and true as any living, and one who hates a skulking republican as he does the devil."

"And that is the postillion himself, on the pony!" shouted Henri, running after him. "I could swear to him, by his hat, among a thousand."

"Who is the man on the mule, Adolphe?" said de Lescure, remaining at the window. "By the bye," he added, turning to the two girls who remained with him, and who were trembling in every joint, at they knew not what, "I forgot, in my hurry, or rather I hadn't time as yet to tell Henri that I had heard that these men were coming here."

"Are those the very men who gained the victory at St. Florent?" asked Marie.

"So we heard," replied de Lescure, "and now, and not till now, I believe it; their coming here is strong confirmation; the Cure is right, it seems."

"And is that man the good postillion of whom the people talk?"

"He is--at least he is no longer a postillion. He will cease to be a postillion now; from henceforth he will be only a soldier."

The Cure and Larochejaquelin had rushed down the steps, and seized the hands of Foret and Cathelineau, as they got off their horses. It was soon evident to them that the noise of their deeds had gone before them.

Foret at once returned the greeting of Father Jerome, for they had long known each other, and the difference between their stations was not so very great; but Cathelineau hardly knew how to accept, or how to refuse, the unwonted mark of friendship shewn him by a wealthy seigneur; it had not been his lot to shake hands with gentlemen, and he had no wish to step beyond his proper sphere, because he had been put prominently forward in the affair of St. Florent; but he had no help for it; before he knew where he was, Larochejaquelin had got him by the hand, and was dragging him into the salon of Durbelliere. It appeared to the postillion that the room was full; there were ladies there too--young, beautiful, and modest--such as he was in the habit of seeing through the windows of the carriages which he drove; the old Marquis was there too now; the butler had just wheeled in his chair, and Cathelineau perceived that he was expected to join the group at once. A vista was opened for him up to the old man's chair; his eyes swam, and he hardly recollected the faces of the different people round him. He wished that he had waited at the gate, and sent in for M. Henri; he could have talked to him alone. Why had he ridden up so boldly to the chateau gate? He had never trembled, for a moment, during the hot work at St. Florent, but now he felt that circ.u.mstances could almost make him a coward.

On a sudden he remembered that his hat was still on his head, and he s.n.a.t.c.hed his hand out of Henri's to remove it, and then, when it was off, he wanted to go back to the hall to put it down.

Henri saw his confusion, and, taking it from him, put it on a chair, and then they all shook hands with him. He first found his hand in that of the Marquis, and heard the old man bless him, and then the Priest blessed him, and then he felt the soft, sweet hands of those bright angels within his own h.o.r.n.y palm; he heard them speaking to him, though he knew not what they said; and then he could restrain himself no longer, for tears forced themselves into his eyes, and, in the midst of them all, he cried like a child.

There was infection in his tears, for Agatha and Marie, when they saw them, cried too, and the eyes of some of the men also were not dry; they all knew what the feelings of the man were, and they fully sympathised with him. It was strange how little they said about St. Florent at first; the moment the men had been seen, they were most anxious for the tidings of what had been done; but now they all seemed satisfied as to the truth of what they had heard--there was no longer any doubt. The heroes of St. Florent were there, and, though neither of them had yet spoken a word about the battle which had been fought, the presence of the victors was sufficient evidence of the victory.

The Cure, however, and M. de Lescure soon took Foret apart, and learnt from him the details of what had been done, while the father and son, and the two girls, endeavoured to put the postillion at his ease in his new position.

Cathelineau was a very good-looking man, about thirty-five years of age; his hair was very dark, and curled in short, thick cl.u.s.ters; his whiskers were large and bushy, and met beneath his face; his upper lip was short, his mouth was beautifully formed, and there was a deep dimple on his chin; but the charm of his face was in the soft benignant expression of his eyes; he looked as though he loved his fellow-creatures--he looked as though he could not hear, unmoved, a tale of woe or oppression--of injuries inflicted on the weak, or of unfair advantages a.s.sumed by the strong. It was this which had made him so much beloved; and it was not only the expression of his countenance, but of his heart also.

"And were you not wounded, Cathelineau?" asked the old gentleman.

"No, M. le Marquis, thank G.o.d! I was not."

"Nor Foret?"

"No, M. le Marquis."

"But were there many wounded?" said Agatha.

"Ah! Mademoiselle, there were--many, very many!"

"I knew there must have been," said Marie, shuddering.

"We cannot have war without the horrors of war," said Henri. "It is better, is it not, Cathelineau, that some of us should fall, than that all of us should be slaves?"

"A thousand times, M. Larochejaquelin ten thousand times!" said he, with a return of that determined vigour with which he had addressed his fellow-townsmen the day before.

"Yes, you are right, ten thousand times better! and, Marie, you would not be your brother's sister if you did not think so," said Henri; "but you do think so, and so does Agatha, though she cries so fast."

"I am not crying, Henri," said Agatha, removing her handkerchief from her eyes, which belied her a.s.sertion; "but one cannot but think of all the misery which is coming on us: were there--were there any women wounded in the battle?"

"There were, Mademoiselle; but those who were so, never complained; and those who were killed will never have need to complain again."