CHAPTER VII
THE CHARTREUSE OF SEILLON
Beyond doubt, like the first affiliated member met on the road
to Sue by the man who styled himself prophet, the monk who opened
the gate was of secondary rank in the fraternity; for, grasping the
horse's bridle, he held it while the rider dismounted, rendering
the young man the service of a groom.
Morgan got off, unfastened the valise, pulled the pistols from
the holsters, and placed them in his belt, next to those already
there. Addressing the monk in a tone of command, he said: "I
thought I should find the brothers assembled in council."
"They are assembled," replied the monk.
"Where?"
"At La Correrie. Suspicious persons have been seen prowling around
the Chartreuse these last few days, and orders have been issued
to take the greatest precautions."
The young man shrugged his shoulders as if he considered such
precautions useless, and, always in the same tone of command,
said: "Have some one take my horse to the stable and conduct
me to the council."
The monk summoned another brother, to whom he flung the bridle.
He lighted a torch at a lamp, in the little chapel which can
still be seen to the right of the great portal, and walked before
the new-comer. Crossing the cloister, he took a few steps in the
garden, opened a door leading into a sort of cistern, invited
Morgan to enter, closed it as carefully as he had the outer door,
touched with his foot a stone which seemed to be accidentally
lying there, disclosed a ring and raised a slab, which concealed
a flight of steps leading down to a subterraneous passage. This
passage had a rounded roof and was wide enough to admit two men
walking abreast.
The two men proceeded thus for five or six minutes, when they
reached a grated door. The monk, drawing a key from his frock,
opened it. Then, when both had passed through and the door was
locked again, he asked: "By what name shall I announce you?"
"As Brother Morgan."
"Wait here; I will return in five minutes."
The young man made a sign with his head which showed that he
was familiar with these precautions and this distrust. Then he
sat down upon a tomb--they were in the mortuary vaults of the
convent--and waited. Five minutes had scarcely elapsed before
the monk reappeared.
"Follow me," said he; "the brothers are glad you have come. They
feared you had met with some mishap."
A few seconds later Morgan was admitted into the council chamber.
Twelve monks awaited him, their hoods drawn low over their eyes.
But, once the door had closed and the serving brother had
disappeared, while Morgan was removing his mask, the hoods were
thrown back and each monk exposed his face.
No brotherhood had ever been graced by a more brilliant assemblage
of handsome and joyous young men. Two or three only of these
strange monks had reached the age of forty. All hands were held
out to Morgan and several warm kisses were imprinted upon the
new-comer's cheek.
"'Pon my word," said one who had welcomed him most tenderly,
"you have drawn a mighty thorn from my foot; we thought you dead,
or, at any rate, a prisoner."
"Dead, I grant you, Amiet; but prisoner, never! citizen--as they
still say sometimes, and I hope they'll not say it much longer.
It must be admitted that the whole affair was conducted on both
sides with touching amenity. As soon as the conductor saw us he
shouted to the postilion to stop; I even believe he added: 'I
know what it is.' 'Then,' said I, 'if you know what it is, my
dear friend, our explanations needn't be long.' 'The government
money?' he asked. 'Exactly,' I replied. Then as there was a great
commotion inside the carriage, I added: 'Wait! first come down
and assure these gentlemen, and especially the ladies, that we
are well-behaved folk and will not harm them--the ladies; you
understand--and nobody will even look at them unless they put
their heads out of the window.' One did risk it; my faith! but
she was charming. I threw her a kiss, and she gave a little cry
and retired into the carriage, for all the world like Galatea, and
as there were no willows about, I didn't pursue her. In the meantime
the guard was rummaging in his strong-box in all expedition, and
to such good purpose, indeed, that with the government money,
in his hurry, he passed over two hundred louis belonging to a
poor wine merchant of Bordeaux."
"Ah, the devil!" exclaimed the brother called Amiet--an assumed
name, probably, like that of Morgan--"that is annoying! You know
the Directory, which is most imaginative, has organized some
bands of chauffeurs, who operate in our name, to make people
believe that we rob private individuals. In other words, that
we are mere thieves."
"Wait an instant," resumed Morgan; "that is just what makes me
late. I heard something similar at Lyons. I was half-way to Valence
when I discovered this breach of etiquette. It was not difficult,
for, as if the good man had foreseen what happened, he had marked
his bag 'Jean Picot, Wine Merchant at Fronsac, Bordeaux.'"
"And you sent his money back to him?"
"I did better; I returned it to him."
"At Fronsac?"
"Ah! no, but at Avignon. I suspected that so careful a man would
stop at the first large town to inquire what chance he had to
recover his two hundred louis. I was not mistaken. I inquired at
the inn if they knew citizen Jean Picot. They replied that not
only did they know him, but in fact he was then dining at the
table d'hôte. I went in. You can imagine what they were talking
about--the stoppage of the diligence. Conceive the sensation my
apparition caused. The god of antiquity descending from the
machine produced a no more unexpected finale than I. I asked
which one of the guests was called Jean Picot. The owner of this
distinguished and melodious name stood forth. I placed the two
hundred louis before him, with many apologies, in the name of the
Company, for the inconvenience its followers had occasioned him.
I exchanged a friendly glance with Barjols and a polite nod with
the Abbé de Rians who were present, and, with a profound bow to
the assembled company, withdrew. It was only a little thing, but
it took me fifteen hours; hence the delay. I thought it preferable
to leaving a false conception of us in our wake. Have I done well,
my masters?"
The gathering burst into bravos.
"Only," said one of the participants, "I think you were somewhat
imprudent to return the money yourself to citizen Jean Picot."
"My dear colonel," replied the young man, "there's an Italian
proverb which says: 'Who wills, goes; who does not will, sends.'
I willed--I went."
"And there's a jolly buck who, if you ever have the misfortune
to fall into the hands of the Directory, will reward you by
recognizing you; a recognition which means cutting off your head!"
"Oh! I defy him to recognize me."
"What can prevent it?"
"Oh! You seem to think that I play such pranks with my face
uncovered? Truly, my dear colonel, you mistake me for some one
else. It is well enough to lay aside my mask among friends; but
among strangers--no, no! Are not these carnival times? I don't
see why I shouldn't disguise myself as Abellino or Karl Moor,
when Messieurs Gohier, Sieyès, Roger Ducos, Moulin and Barras
are masquerading as kings of France."
"And you entered the city masked?"
"The city, the hotel, the dining-room. It is true that if my
face was covered, my belt was not, and, as you see, it is well
garnished."
The young man tossed aside his coat, displaying his belt, which
was furnished with four pistols and a short hunting-knife. Then,
with a gayety which seemed characteristic of his careless nature,
he added: "I ought to look ferocious, oughtn't I? They may have
taken me for the late Mandrin, descending from the mountains of
Savoy. By the bye, here are the sixty thousand francs of Her
Highness, the Directory." And the young man disdainfully kicked
the valise which he had placed on the ground, which emitted a
metallic sound indicating the presence of gold. Then he mingled
with the group of friends from whom he had been separated by
the natural distance between a narrator and his listeners.
One of the monks stooped and lifted the valise.
"Despise gold as much as you please, my dear Morgan, since that
doesn't prevent you from capturing it. But I know of some brave
fellows who are awaiting these sixty thousand francs, you so
disdainfully kick aside, with as much impatience and anxiety as
a caravan, lost in the desert, awaits the drop of water which
is to save it from dying of thirst."
"Our friends of the Vendée, I suppose?" replied Morgan. "Much
good may it do them! Egotists, they are fighting. These gentlemen
have chosen the roses and left us the thorns. Come! don't they
receive anything from England?"
"Oh, yes," said one of the monks, gayly; "at Quiberon they got
bullets and grapeshot."
"I did not say from the English," retorted Morgan; "I said from
England."
"Not a penny."
"It seems to me, however," said one of those present, who apparently
possessed a more reflective head than his comrades, "it seems
to me that our princes might send a little gold to those who
are shedding their blood for the monarchy. Are they not afraid
the Vendée may weary some day or other of a devotion which up to
this time has not, to my knowledge, won her a word of thanks."
"The Vendée, dear friend," replied Morgan, "is a generous land
which will not weary, you may be sure. Besides, where is the
merit of fidelity unless it has to deal with ingratitude? From
the instant devotion meets recognition, it is no longer devotion.
It becomes an exchange which reaps its reward. Let us be always
faithful, and always devoted, gentlemen, praying Heaven that
those whom we serve may remain ungrateful, and then, believe
me, we shall bear the better part in the history of our civil
wars."
Morgan had scarcely formulated this chivalric axiom, expressive
of a desire which had every chance of accomplishment, than three
Masonic blows resounded upon the door through which he had entered.
"Gentlemen," said the monk who seemed to fill the rôle of president,
"quick, your hoods and masks. We do not know who may be coming
to us."
