THE RUINED COTTAGE

It was delightful to see the glow and twinkle of the fire and to escape from the wet wind and the numbing cold, but my curiosity had already risen so high about this lonely man and his singular dwelling that my thoughts ran rather upon that than upon my personal comfort.  There was his remarkable appearance, the fact that he should be awaiting company within that miserable ruin in the heart of the morass at so sinister an hour, and finally the inexplicable incident of the chimney, all of which excited my imagination.  It was beyond my comprehension why he should at one moment charge me sternly to continue my journey, and then, in almost the same breath, invite me most cordially to seek the shelter of his hut.  On all these points I was keenly on the alert for an explanation.  Yet I endeavoured to conceal my feelings, and to assume the air of a man who finds everything quite natural about him, and who is much too absorbed in his own personal wants to have a thought to spare upon anything outside himself.

A glance at the inside of the cottage, as I entered, confirmed me in the conjecture which the appearance of the outside had already given rise to, that it was not used for human residence, and that this man was only here for a rendezvous.  Prolonged moisture had peeled the plaster in flakes from the walls, and had covered the stones with blotches and rosettes of lichen.  The whole place was rotten and scaling like a leper.  The single large room was unfurnished save for a crazy table, three wooden boxes, which might be used as seats, and a great pile of decayed fishing-net in the corner.  The splinters of a fourth box, with a hand-axe, which leaned against the wall, showed how the wood for the fire had been gathered.  But it was to the table that my gaze was chiefly drawn, for there, beside the lamp and the book, lay an open basket, from which projected the knuckle-end of a ham, the corner of a loaf of bread, and the black neck of a bottle.

If my host had been suspicious and cold at our first meeting he was now atoning for his inhospitality by an overdone cordiality even harder for me to explain.  With many lamentations over my mud-stained and sodden condition, he drew a box close to the blaze and cut me off a corner of the bread and ham.  I could not help observing, however, that though his loose under-lipped mouth was wreathed with smiles, his beautiful dark eyes were continually running over me and my attire, asking and re-asking what my business might be.

‘As for myself,’ said he, with an air of false candour, ’you will very well understand that in these days a worthy merchant must do the best he can to get his wares, and if the Emperor, God save him, sees fit in his wisdom to put an end to open trade, one must come to such places as these to get into touch with those who bring across the coffee and the tobacco.  I promise you that in the Tuileries itself there is no difficulty about getting either one or the other, and the Emperor drinks his ten cups a day of the real Mocha without asking questions, though he must know that it is not grown within the confines of France.  The vegetable kingdom still remains one of the few which Napoleon has not yet conquered, and, if it were not for traders, who are at some risk and inconvenience, it is hard to say what we should do for our supplies.  I suppose, sir, that you are not yourself either in the seafaring or in the trading line?’

I contented myself by answering that I was not, by which reticence I could see that I only excited his curiosity the more.  As to his account of himself, I read a lie in those tell-tale eyes all the time that he was talking.  As I looked at him now in the full light of the lamp and the fire, I could see that he was even more good-looking than I had at first thought, but with a type of beauty which has never been to my taste.  His features were so refined as to be almost effeminate, and so regular that they would have been perfect if it had not been for that ill-fitting, slabbing mouth.  It was a clever, and yet it was a weak face, full of a sort of fickle enthusiasm and feeble impulsiveness.  I felt that the more I knew him the less reason I should probably find either to like him or to fear him, and in my first conclusion I was right, although I had occasion to change my views upon the second.

‘You will forgive me, Monsieur Laval, if I was a little cold at first,’ said he.  ’Since the Emperor has been upon the coast the place swarms with police agents, so that a trader must look to his own interests.  You will allow that my fears of you were not unnatural, since neither your dress nor your appearance were such as one would expect to meet with in such a place and at such a time.’

It was on my lips to return the remark, but I refrained.

‘I can assure you,’ said I, ’that I am merely a traveller who have lost my way.  Now that I am refreshed and rested I will not encroach further upon your hospitality, except to ask you to point out the way to the nearest village.’

’Tut; you had best stay where you are, for the night grows wilder every instant.’  As he spoke there came a whoop and scream of wind in the chimney, as if the old place were coming down about our ears.  He walked across to the window and looked very earnestly out of it, just as I had seen him do upon my first approach.  ‘The fact is, Monsieur Laval,’ said he, looking round at me with his false-air of good fellowship, ’you may be of some good service to me if you will wait here for half an hour or so.’

‘How so?’ I asked, wavering between my distrust and my curiosity.

’Well, to be frank with you’ ­and never did a man look less frank as he spoke ­’I am waiting here for some of those people with whom I do business; but in some way they have not come yet, and I am inclined to take a walk round the marsh on the chance of finding them, if they have lost their way.  On the other hand, it would be exceedingly awkward for me if they were to come here in my absence and imagine that I am gone.  I should take it as a favour, then, if you would remain here for half an hour or so, that you may tell them how matters stand if I should chance to miss them.’

The request seemed reasonable enough, and yet there was that same oblique glance which told me that it was false.  Still, I could not see what harm could come to me by complying with his request, and certainly I could not have devised any arrangement which would give me such an opportunity of satisfying my curiosity.  What was in that wide stone chimney, and why had he clambered up there upon the sight of me?  My adventure would be inconclusive indeed if I did not settle that point before I went on with my journey.

‘Well,’ said he, snatching up his black broad-brimmed hat and running very briskly to the door, ’I am sure that you will not refuse me my request, and I must delay no longer or I shall never get my business finished.’  He closed the door hurriedly behind him, and I heard the splashing of his foot-steps until they were lost in the howling of the gale.

And so the mysterious cottage was mine to ransack if I could pluck its secrets from it.  I lifted the book which had been left upon the table.  It was Rousseau’s ’Social Contract’ ­excellent literature, but hardly what one would expect a trader to carry with him whilst awaiting an appointment with smugglers.  On the fly-leaf was written ’Lucien Lesage,’ and beneath it, in a woman’s hand, ‘Lucien, from Sibylle.’  Lesage, then, was the name of my good-looking but sinister acquaintance.  It only remained for me now to discover what it was which he had concealed up the chimney.  I listened intently, and as there was no sound from without save the cry of the storm, I stepped on to the edge of the grate as I had seen him do, and sprang up by the side of the fire.

It was a very broad, old-fashioned cottage chimney, so that standing on one side I was not inconvenienced either by the heat or by the smoke, and the bright glare from below showed me in an instant that for which I sought.  There was a recess at the back, caused by the fall or removal of one of the stones, and in this was lying a small bundle.  There could not be the least doubt that it was this which the fellow had striven so frantically to conceal upon the first alarm of the approach of a stranger.  I took it down and held it to the light.  It was a small square of yellow glazed cloth tied round with white tape.  Upon my opening it a number of letters appeared, and a single large paper folded up.  The addresses upon the letters took my breath away.  The first that I glanced at was to Citizen Talleyrand.  The others were in the Republican style addressed to Citizen Fouche, to Citizen Soult, to Citizen MacDonald, to Citizen Berthier, and so on through the whole list of famous names in war and in diplomacy who were the pillars of the new Empire.  What in the world could this pretended merchant of coffee have to write to all these great notables about?  The other paper would explain, no doubt.  I laid the letters upon the shelf and I unfolded the paper which had been enclosed with them.  It did not take more than the opening sentence to convince me that the salt-marsh outside might prove to be a very much safer place than this accursed cottage.

These were the words which met my eyes: ­

’Fellow-citizens of France.  The deed of to-day has proved that, even in the midst of his troops, a tyrant is unable to escape the vengeance of an outraged people.  The committee of three, acting temporarily for the Republic, has awarded to Buonaparte the same fate which has already befallen Louis Capet.  In avenging the outrage of the 18th Brumaire ­’

So far I had got when my heart sprang suddenly into my mouth and the paper fluttered down from my fingers.  A grip of iron had closed suddenly round each of my ankles, and there in the light of the fire I saw two hands which, even in that terrified glance, I perceived to be covered with black hair and of an enormous size.

‘So, my friend,’ cried a thundering voice, ’this time, at least, we have been too many for you.’