The Last Vendée; or, the She-Wolves of Machecoul. Alexandre Dumas
him coming along in his wicker vehicle, which shook him grotesquely, the young fellow congratulated himself more than ever for having come on foot. It was true that if Bertha had gone in, as she had just done, when she heard the wheels she would not have seen him in that vulgar trap. But if he had not already returned would she, or would she not, have waited till he came?
Michel told himself that it was more than probable she would have waited, and he felt in his heart, if not the warm satisfactions of love, at any rate the soft ticklings of vanity.
XII.
NOBLESSE OBLIGE.
When the doctor entered the room Bertha was beside the patient. The first thing that met M. Roger's eyes was her graceful form, like those of the angels in German legends bending forward to receive the souls of the dying. He knew her at once, for he was rarely called to the cottages of the poor that he did not find either her or her sister between death and the dying.
"Oh, doctor," she said, "come quick! poor Tinguy is delirious."
The patient was under much excitement. The doctor went to him.
"Come, friend," said he, "be calm."
"Let me alone! let me alone!" cried Tinguy. "I must get up; they want me at Montaigu."
"No, dear Tinguy," said Bertha, "no; they are not expecting you just yet."
"Yes, mademoiselle; yes, they are! It was for to-night. Who will go from house to house and carry the news if I'm not there?"
"Hush, Tinguy, hush!" said Bertha; "remember you are ill, and Doctor Roger is here."
"Doctor Roger, is one of us, mademoiselle; we can talk before him. He knows they are waiting for me; he knows I must get up at once. I must go to Montaigu."
Doctor Roger and the young girl looked at each other.
"Massa," said the doctor.
"Marseille," replied Bertha.
And then, with a spontaneous movement, they shook hands.
Bertha returned to the patient.
"Yes," she said, bending to his ear, "you are right. The doctor is one of us; but there is some one else here who is not." She lowered her voice so that only Tinguy could hear. "And that," she added, "is the young Baron Michel."
"Ah, true," said the goodman. "Don't let him hear anything. Courtin is a traitor. But if I don't go to Montaigu, who will?"
"Jean Oullier. Don't worry, Tinguy."
"Oh! if Jean Oullier will go," said the sick man,--"if Jean Oullier will go I need not. His foot's good, and his eye true; he can fire straight, he can!"
And he burst out laughing; but in that laugh he seemed to expend his last vital strength and fell backward on the bed.
The young baron had listened to this dialogue (of which he could only hear portions) without in the least understanding it. All he distinctly made out was, "Courtin is a traitor," and from the direction of the young girl's eye as she spoke with the peasant he was certain that they were talking of him. His heart contracted; they had some secret in which they would not let him share. He went up to Bertha.
"Mademoiselle," he said, "if I am in your way, or if you have no further need of me, say the word and I retire."
He spoke in a tone of so much pain that Bertha was touched.
"No," she said, "stay. We need you still; you must help Rosine to prepare M. Roger's prescriptions while I talk with him about the case." Then to the doctor she said, in a low voice, "Keep them busy, and you can tell me what you know, and I will tell you what I know." Turning again to Michel she added, in her sweetest voice, "I know, my dear friend, that you will be willing to help Rosine."
"As long as you wish, mademoiselle; give your orders and I will obey them," said the young man.
"You see, doctor," said Bertha, smiling, "you have two willing helpers."
The doctor went out to his vehicle and returned with a bottle of Sedlitz water and a package of mustard.
"Here," he said to Michel, giving him the bottle, "uncork that and make him drink half a glassful every ten minutes. And you, Rosine," giving her the mustard, "mix that into a paste with hot water; it is to be put on the soles of your father's feet."
The sick man had dropped back into the state of apathetic indifference which preceded the excitement Bertha had calmed by assuring him that Jean Oullier would take his place. The doctor cast a look at him, and seeing that in his present state of quiescence he could safely be left to the care of the young baron, he went eagerly up to Bertha.
"Mademoiselle de Souday," he said, "since it seems that we hold the same opinions, what news have you?"
"Madame left Massa on the 21st of last April, and she ought to have landed at Marseille on the 29th or 30th. This is now the 6th of May. Madame must have disembarked, and the whole South ought by this time to have risen."
"Is that all you know?" asked the doctor.
"Yes, all," replied Bertha.
"You have not read the evening papers of the 3d?"
"We do not get any papers at the château de Souday," she said.
"Well," said the doctor, "the whole thing failed."
"Is it possible! Failed?"
"Yes, Madame was utterly misled."
"Good God! what are you telling me?"
"The exact truth. Madame, after a prosperous voyage in the 'Carlo Alberto,' landed on the coast at some little distance from Marseille. A guide awaited her and took her to a lonely house in the woods. Madame had only six persons with her--"
"Oh! go on; go on!"
"She sent one of those persons to Marseille to inform the leader of the movement that she had landed and was awaiting the result of the promises which had brought her to France--"
"Well?"
"That evening the messenger came back with a note, congratulating the princess on her safe arrival, and saying that Marseille would rise on the following day--"
"Yes; what then?"
"The next day an attempt was made, but Marseille would not rise at all. The people would take no part in the affair, which failed utterly."
"And Madame?"
"It is not known where she is; but they hope she re-embarked on the 'Carlo Alberto.'"
"Cowards!" muttered Bertha. "I am nothing but a woman; but oh! I swear to God that if Madame comes into La Vendée I will set an example to some men. Good-bye, doctor, and thank you."
"Must you go?"
"Yes; it is important that my father should know this news. He is at a meeting to-night at the château de Montaigu. I must get back to Souday. I commit my poor patient to you. Leave exact directions, and I or my sister, unless something unforeseen prevents, will be here to-morrow and watch at night."
"Will you take my carriage? I can get back on foot, and you can return it by Jean Oullier, or any one, to-morrow."
"Thank you, no; I don't know where Jean Oullier may be to-morrow. Besides, I prefer walking; the air will do me good."
Bertha held out her hand to the doctor, pressed his with almost masculine strength, threw her mantle over her shoulders, and left the cottage. At the door she found Michel, who, although he could not hear the conversation, had kept his eye on the young girl,