CHAPTER XXVII
THE BEAR'S SKIN
With a rapidity and good nature that did honor to his courtesy,
he went close to the candelabra, which were burning on the
chimney-piece. The waistcoat and trousers seemed to be of the same
stuff; but what was that stuff? The most experienced connoisseur
would have been puzzled.
The trousers were tight-fitting as usual, of a light tint between
buff and flesh color; the only remarkable thing about them was the
absence of the seam, and the closeness with which they clung to
the leg. The waistcoat, on the other hand, had two characteristic
signs which attracted attention; it had been pierced by three balls,
which had the holes gaping, and these were stained a carmine, so
like blood, that it might easily have been mistaken for it. On
the left side was painted a bloody heart, the distinguishing
sign of the Vendéans. Morgan examined the two articles with the
closest attention, but without result.
"If I were not in such a hurry," said he, "I should like to look
into the matter for myself. But you heard for yourself; in all
probability, some news has reached the committee; government
money probably. You can announce it to Cadoudal; only we shall
have to take it first. Ordinarily, I command these expeditions;
if I delay, some one may take my place. So tell me what your
waistcoat and trousers are made of."
"My dear Morgan," replied the Vendéan, "perhaps you have heard
that my brother was captured near Bressure, and shot by the Blues?"
"Yes, I know that."
"The Blues were retreating; they left the body at the corner
of the hedge. We were pursuing them so closely that we arrived
just after them. I found the body of my brother still warm. In
one of his wounds a sprig was stuck with these words: 'Shot as a
brigand by me, Claude Flageolet, corporal of the Third Battalion
of Paris.' I took my brother's body, and had the skin removed from
his breast. I vowed that this skin, pierced with three holes,
should eternally cry vengeance before my eyes. I made it my battle
waistcoat."
"Ah!" exclaimed Morgan, with a certain astonishment, in which,
for the first time, was mingled something akin to terror--"Ah!
then that waistcoat is made of your brother's skin? And the
trousers?"
"Oh!" replied the Vendéan, "the trousers, that's another matter.
They are made of the skin of Claude Flageolet, corporal of the
Third Battalion of Paris."
At that moment the voice again called out, in the same order,
the names of Morgan, Montbar, Adler and d'Assas.
Morgan rushed out of the study, crossed the dancing-hall from
end to end, and made his way to a little salon on the other side
of the dressing-room. His three companions, Montbar, Adler and
d'Assas, were there already. With them was a young man in the
government livery of a bearer of despatches, namely a green and
gold coat. His boots were dusty, and he wore a visored cap and
carried the despatch-box, the essential accoutrements of a cabinet
courier.
One of Cassini's maps, on which could be followed the whole lay
of the land, was spread on the table.
Before saying why this courier was there, and with what object
the map was unfolded, let us cast a glance at the three new
personages whose names had echoed through the ballroom, and who
are destined to play an important part in the rest of this history.
The reader already knows Morgan, the Achilles and the Paris of
this strange association; Morgan, with his blue eyes, his black
hair, his tall, well-built figure, graceful, easy, active bearing;
his eye, which was never without animation; his mouth, with its
fresh lips and white teeth, that was never without a smile; his
remarkable countenance, composed of mingling elements that seemed
so foreign to each other--strength and tenderness, gentleness
and energy; and, through it all, that bewildering expression
of gayety that was at times alarming when one remembered that
this man was perpetually rubbing shoulders with death, and the
most terrifying of all deaths--that of the scaffold.
As for d'Assas, he was a man from thirty-five to thirty-eight
years of age, with bushy hair that was turning gray, and mustaches
as black as ebony. His eyes were of that wonderful shade of Indian
eyes, verging on maroon. He was formerly a captain of dragoons,
admirably built for struggle, whether physical or moral, his
muscles indicating strength, and his face, obstinacy. For the
rest, a noble bearing, great elegance of manners, scented like
a dandy, carrying, either from caprice or luxury, a bottle of
English smelling-salts, or a silver-gilt vinaigrette containing
the most subtle perfumes.
Montbar and Adler, whose real names were unknown, like those
of d'Assas and Morgan, were commonly called by the Company "the
inseparables." Imagine Damon and Pythias, Euryalus and Nisus,
Orestes and Pylades at twenty-two--one joyous, loquacious, noisy,
the other melancholy, silent, dreamy; sharing all things, dangers,
money, mistresses; one the complement of the other; each rushing
to all extremes, but forgetting self when in peril to watch over
the other, like the Spartan youths on the sacred legions--and
you will form an idea of Montbar and Adler.
It is needless to say that all three were Companions of Jehu.
They had been convoked, as Morgan suspected, on business of the
Company.
On entering the room, Morgan went straight to the pretended bearer
of despatches and shook hands with him.
"Ah! the dear friend," said the latter, with a stiff movement,
showing that the best rider cannot do a hundred and fifty miles on
post-hacks with impunity. "You are taking it easy, you Parisians.
Hannibal at Capua slept on rushes and thorns compared to you.
I only glanced at the ballroom in passing, as becomes a poor
cabinet courier bearing despatches from General Masséna to the
citizen First Consul; but it seemed to me you were a fine lot
of victims! Only, my poor friends, you will have to bid farewell
to all that for the present; disagreeable, unlucky, exasperating,
no doubt, but the House of Jehu before all."
"My dear Hastier--" began Morgan.
"Stop!" cried Hastier. "No proper names, if you please, gentlemen.
The Hastiers are an honest family in Lyons, doing business, it is
said, on the Place des Terreaux, from father to son, and would
be much humiliated to learn that their heir had become a cabinet
courier, and rode the highways with the national pack on his
back. Lecoq as much as you please, but not Hastier. I don't know
Hastier; and you, gentlemen," continued the young man, addressing
Montbar, Adler and d'Assas, "do you know him?"
"No," replied the three young men, "and we ask pardon for Morgan,
who did wrong."
"My dear Lecoq," exclaimed Morgan.
"That's right," interrupted Hastier. "I answer to that name! Well,
what did you want to tell me?"
"I wanted to say that if you are not the antipodes of the god
Harpocrates, whom the Egyptians represent with a finger on his
lips, you will, instead of indulging in a lot of declamations,
more or less flowery, tell us why this costume, and why that
map?"
"The deuce!" retorted the young man. "If you don't know already,
it's your fault and not mine. If I hadn't been obliged to call
you twice, caught as you doubtless were in the toils of some
beautiful Eumenides imploring vengeance of a fine young man for
the death of her old parents, you'd know as much as these gentlemen,
and I wouldn't have to sing an encore. Well, here's what it is:
simply of the remaining treasure of the Berne bears, which General
Lecourbe is sending to the citizen First Consul by order of General
Masséna. A trifle, only a hundred thousand francs, that they don't
dare send over the Jura on account of M. Teysonnet's partisans,
who, they pretend, are likely to seize it; so it will be sent
by Geneva, Bourg, Mâcon, Dijon, and Troyes; a much safer way,
as they will find when they try it."
"Very good!"
"We were informed of this by Renard, who started from Gex at
full speed, and transmitted the news to l'Hirondelle, who is
at present stationed at Châlon-sur-Saône. He transmitted it to
me, Lecoq, at Auxerre, and I have done a hundred and fifty miles
to transmit it in turn to you. As for the secondary details,
here they are. The treasure left Berne last octodi, 28th Nivôse,
year VIII. of the Republic triple and indivisible. It should
reach Genoa to-day, duodi, and leave to-morrow, tridi, by the
diligence from Geneva to Bourg; so that, by leaving this very
night, by the day after to-morrow, quintide, you can, my dear
sons of Israel, meet the treasure of messires the bears between
Dijon and Troyes, near Bar-sur-Seine or Châtillon. What say you?"
"By heavens!" cried Morgan, "we say that there seems to be no
room for argument left; we say we should never have permitted
ourselves to touch the money of their Highnesses the bears of
Berne so long as it remained in their coffers; but as it has
changed hands once, I see no objection to its doing so a second
time. Only how are we to start?"
"Haven't you a post-chaise?"
"Yes, it's here in the coach-house."
"Haven't you horses to get you to the next stage?"
"They are in the stable."
"Haven't you each your passports."
"We have each four."
"Well, then?"
"Well, we can't stop the diligence in a post-chaise. We don't
put ourselves to too much inconvenience, but we don't take our
ease in that way."
"Well, and why not?" asked Montbar; "it would be original. I
can't see why, if sailors board from one vessel to another, we
couldn't board a diligence from a post-chaise. We want novelty;
shall we try it, Adler?"
"I ask nothing better," replied the latter, "but what will we
do with the postilion?"
"That's true," replied Montbar.
"The difficulty is foreseen, my children," said the courier; "a
messenger has been sent to Troyes. You will leave your post-chaise
at Delbauce; there you will find four horses all saddled and
stuffed with oats. You will then calculate your time, and the day
after to-morrow, or rather to-morrow, for it is past midnight,
between seven and eight in the morning, the money of Messires
Bruin will pass an anxious quarter of an hour."
"Shall we change our clothes?" inquired d'Assas.
"What for?" replied Morgan. "I think we are very presentable
as we are. No diligence could be relieved of unnecessary weight
by better dressed fellows. Let us take a last glance at the map,
transfer a pâté, a cold chicken, and a dozen of champagne from
the supper-room to the pockets of the coach, arm to the teeth
in the arsenal, wrap ourselves in warm cloaks, and--clack!
postilion!"
"Yes!" cried Montbar, "that's the idea."
"I should think so," added Morgan. "We'll kill the horses if
necessary, and be back at seven in the evening, in time to show
ourselves at the opera."
"That will establish an alibi," observed d'Assas.
"Precisely," said Morgan, with his imperturbable gayety. "How
could men who applaud Mademoiselle Clotilde and M. Vestris at
eight o'clock in the evening have been at Bar and Chatillon in
the morning settling accounts with the conductor of a diligence?
Come, my sons, a last look at the map to choose our spot."
The four young men bent over Cassini's map.
"If I may give you a bit of topographical advice," said the courier,
"it would be to put yourselves in ambush just beyond Massu; there's
a ford opposite to the Riceys--see, there!"
And the young man pointed out the exact spot on the map.
"I should return to Chacource, there; from Chacource you have a
department road, straight as an arrow, which will take you to
Troyes; at Troyes you take carriage again, and follow the road
to Sens instead of that to Coulommiers. The donkeys--there are
plenty in the provinces--who saw you in the morning won't wonder
at seeing you again in the evening; you'll get to the opera at
ten instead of eight--a more fashionable hour--neither seen nor
recognized, I'll warrant you."
"Adopted, so far as I am concerned," said Morgan.
"Adopted!" cried the other three in chorus.
Morgan pulled out one of the two watches whose chains were dangling
from his belt; it was a masterpiece of Petitot's enamel, and
on the outer case which protected the painting was a diamond
monogram. The pedigree of this beautiful trinket was as well
established as that of an Arab horse; it had been made for
Marie-Antoinette, who had given it to the Duchesse de Polastron,
who had given it to Morgan's mother.
"One o'clock," said Morgan; "come, gentlemen, we must relay at
Lagny at three."
From that moment the expedition had begun, and Morgan became its
leader; he no longer consulted, he commanded.
D'Assas, who in Morgan's absence commanded, was the first to obey
on his return.
Half an hour later a closed carriage containing four young men
wrapped in their cloaks was stopped at the Fontainebleau barrier
by the post-guard, who demanded their passports.
"Oh, what a joke!" exclaimed one of them, putting his head out of
the window and affecting the pronunciation of the day. "Passpawts
to dwive to Gwobois to call on citizen _Ba-as_? 'Word of
fluted honor!' you're cwazy, fwend! Go on, dwiver!"
The coachman whipped up his horses and the carriage passed without
further opposition.
