AN EMPEROR AND A GENTLEMAN

“The Emperor!” cried Marteau.

The Russian officer recognized Napoleon as quickly as the other.  The Emperor advanced, the soldiers crowding after threw themselves upon the renegades immediately, while the Emperor strode forward alone.  The young Russian noble was a quicker witted man than his countrymen ordinarily were.  He saw a chance to end everything then and there, to do his country a great service, although his life would be forfeited instantly in the doing of it.

“My chance,” he shouted, raising Pierre’s pistol.

The shot was an easy one.  It was impossible to miss.  Marteau had stepped forward.  The thrill in the tones of the man’s voice attracted his attention.  One glance and he saw all.  He threw himself in front of the Emperor just as the Russian pressed the trigger.  At the same moment the Countess Laure, who stood nearest him, struck up the Russian’s arm.  The bullet buried itself in the ceiling above.

“Thank God!” cried Marteau as the sound died away and he saw the Emperor standing unharmed.

Napoleon’s keen eye had seen everything.

“It is this lady,” said he gracefully, “to whom my safety is due.  And I am not unmindful that you interposed your own body between the bullet and your Emperor.”

“Your Majesty,” cried Marteau, now that his Emperor was safe, fain to discharge his duty, “I have tidings of the utmost importance.  I have held this chateau and detained this convoy the Russians had captured.  It contains powder, food, guns -”

“I know,” said the Emperor.  “It comes in the nick of time.”

“And I have to report, Sire, that the corps of Wittgenstein, Wrede and of the Field-Marshal Bluecher, himself, are strung out at long intervals to the eastward of Champaubert.  They have no idea of your proximity.”

“Are the divisions in supporting distance of one another?”

“No, Sire.  Olsuvieff’s division lies isolated at Champaubert.  As to the divisions of Sacken and Yorck I think -”

“I have already received information concerning them,” said the Emperor, “from your friend, Bullet-Stopper.  He should be here.”

“I am here, your Majesty,” roared the grenadier, stepping forward, “and saving your Imperial Presence I am glad to see the lad.  It was I,” continued the grenadier, addressing Marteau and presuming on the familiarity with which Napoleon sometimes treated his men, “that fired the shot that brought the man down from the window.”

“And that shot saved us,” said young Marteau.  “This young peasant here -” he bent over Pierre-“he is not dead, Sire, but sorely wounded-he kept them out up there while we held the room here.”

“But these?” asked Napoleon, looking at the prisoners.

“Renegades who had taken advantage of the absence of the Russians pursuing the escort to the wagon-train to seize the castle.”

“Why did you not impress them for the defense thereof?” asked the Emperor.  “They were French undoubtedly -”

“I found them fighting against us.”

Rapidly and in few words Marteau told the story of the night, touching lightly upon his own part, but the Emperor was soldier enough to read between the words of the narration and reconstruct the scene instantly.  He turned to one of his officers.

“Take those scoundrels out.  Put them up against the wall and shoot them out of hand.  They disgrace the name of France.  Bid the surgeons of the command come here to look to the wounded.”

“They are past hope, except the French boy, your Majesty,” said Yeovil, who having recovered his own consciousness speedily had been examining them meanwhile.  “I have some skill in wounds.  One Cossack is already dead.  It would be a mercy to put that other out of his misery with that horrible scythe slash.”

“The Russian officer?”

“Gone, too.”

“And who are you?”

“I am a barrister,” answered the Englishman in bad but comprehensible French.

“A man of the law.  You look it not,” said the Emperor, smiling faintly.

“Necessity makes us all resort to the sword,” said Sir Gervaise, looking at his bloody blade, for he had fought valiantly with the rest and would have been killed but he had been knocked senseless with that billet of wood which had hit him on the head and felled him to the floor.

“You are, by your language, an Englishman.”

“I am, and proud of it.”

“The English,” said Napoleon slowly, “have been my bitterest enemies.”

“Pardon, Sire,” said the Russian bluntly, “we children of the white Czar will dispute that honor with them.”

“And you sought to kill me?” said the Emperor, turning upon the other.  “You are a brave man,” he added.

“And I would have done so but for -”

“Bah!” interrupted Napoleon contemptuously.  “The bullet is not molded that is destined for me.  My career is not to be cut short by the hand of any young boy who wears the uniform of the Russian guard.  Silence, monsieur!  Take him prisoner.  See that he be kept under close guard.  When we have taken Olsuvieff’s division to-morrow and then Sacken’s there will be many of his comrades to bear him company to Paris.  Did any of the men outside escape?”

“No, Sire,” answered General Maurice, entering the room just in time to hear the question.  “The wood around the chateau was completely filled with my men.  Those we have not killed here we have taken prisoner.  Most of them were shot down as they strove to break through.”

“That is well,” said the Emperor.

“And the convoy?” asked General Maurice.

“Detach a regiment to escort it back to Sezanne.  Let it be distributed to the regiments and divisions as they arrive.”

“And those who have gone on ahead?”

“Their arms, equipment and provisions are in the hands of the Prussians.  We shall march immediately.  As for you, mademoiselle, what is your name?”

“I am the Comtesse Laure d’Aumenier.”

“H’m, the daughter of the Comte Robert d’Aumenier, who made his submission to the Empire and received back his estates, I believe?”

“The same, Sire.”

“Where is he?”

“Dead, Sire, these two years.”

“And you?”

“I went to my uncle in England.”

“To the enemy!” exclaimed Napoleon sharply.

“To the enemy,” answered the Countess, looking at him courageously.

“And you came back for what purpose?”

“The estates are to be sold.  There were certain papers of which I alone knew the hiding place.  There was no way for me to reach them save by the courtesy of the Czar Alexander.  He sent me to Field-Marshal Bluecher with instructions to provide me with an escort to this chateau.  The Field-Marshal did so, and the rest you know.”

“And you propose to sell estates that have been in the hands of the family for so long a period?  It seems to me that I visited them once when I was a military student at Brienne.  Was not your uncle there at the time, an officer in command?”

“I have heard him say so.”

“I remember him very well now.”

“And he you, your Majesty.”

“And he intends now to sell the estates?”

“He did, Sire, but now that there is a possibility of the re-of the -”

“The return of the Bourbons,” said Napoleon, divining her thought as the Countess paused in confusion, “There is no possibility of that, mademoiselle.  In three weeks the armies opposing me will have been hurled back beyond the frontier.  Your family has forfeited its rights to any consideration at my hands.  Your uncle is an emigre who has never made his submission.  I find you, a Frenchwoman, in the company of my enemies.  Your estates are forfeited.  Major Marteau, I make you Comte d’Aumenier.  The domains are yours.”

“I accept them, your Majesty.”

“What!  Is it possible -” cried the Countess Laure, her face flaming.

“Silence, mademoiselle.  By the laws of war I could have you shot.  It would be a fine example.  No Frenchman, however high in rank and station, no Frenchwoman, however young or beautiful, can fight against me and France with impunity.  Have you anything to say why I should not mete out to you this well-deserved punishment?”

“Nothing,” said the young woman with proud disdain.  “The revolution has taken the lives of many of my people.  I am not better than they.  You are the very spirit of the revolution incarnate, Sire, and -”

“Your Majesty,” interposed General Maurice.

“Well, sir?” said Napoleon.

General Maurice, a famous light horseman, otherwise known as the Count de Vivonne, was an old friend and a devoted follower of the Emperor.  He had interfered before on occasion between Napoleon and his victims.  He knew the Emperor thoroughly and loved him.  He realized that it was his time to interpose, or someone’s, and he had intuition enough to suspect that his interposition would be most welcome, that indeed Napoleon was playing, as he sometimes loved to do, a little comedy.  With a wave of his hand the general checked Marteau, whom he knew slightly, who had sprung forward to protest to the Emperor at the words of the woman he loved.

“Allow me a word, Sire,” asked the General with that exquisite mixture of courtesy, deference and resolution which characterized his intercourse with the Emperor.

“I am always glad to hear from you, my good Maurice,” said the Emperor familiarly.  “What have you to say?”

“This young woman is no traitor to you or to France, Sire, however strange her position.”

“How do you make that out?” asked the Emperor, the flickering of a smile playing about his lips.

“It was her hand that struck up the Russian’s pistol so that the bullet went there,” the General of cavalry pointed upward a moment and then his hand fell until his index finger was trained upon the Emperor’s heart, “instead of there,” he added meaningly.

“Very good,” said the Emperor graciously.  “But had she not struck up that hand it was in Marteau’s heart that the bullet would have lodged, not in mine, if I remember rightly.”

“And if that gives me a claim, Sire, to your consideration -”

“Have I not rewarded you enough,” asked the Emperor, “in adding the official stamp of a patent to the nobility of heart which is already yours and by giving you the forfeited lands of Aumenier to boot?”

“And I would give them all for the safety of the lady yonder, whose family mine have served for eight hundred years, with whom I played when a boy, and be content to follow your Majesty as the simple soldier I have always been.”

“Brave heart and true,” said the Emperor, touched.  “Mademoiselle, you cannot go back to Bluecher.  Within two days his army will be no more.  I will give you a safe conduct.  You can remain here for the night.  Couriers will be dispatched to Troyes and to Paris under escort in the morning.  They will take you there.  You have friends there, I presume?”

“Many.”

“You can remain there or, if opportunity arises, I will give orders to have you safely conducted so you can go back to England.”

“And me, Sire?” growled out Sir Gervaise Yeovil.

The Emperor laughed.

“I am too good a soldier to fight with men of the law,” he said.  “You may go with your protegee and share her fortunes.”

“I thank your Majesty,” said the Englishman, touched in his blunt nature by this extraordinary magnanimity.  “I will report your consideration to my king and his people and -”

“And say to them that I long for the moment when I can measure swords with the Duke of Wellington.”

“And may that moment come speedily,” returned Sir Gervaise.

“As for the rest,” said the Emperor, turning away in high good humor, “Marteau, you have been continuously on service for two days and two nights and you are wounded -”

“It is nothing.”

“Remain here with old Bullet-Stopper, who, true to his name, has had another touch of the enemy’s lead.  General Maurice, detail a score of the weakest of your command, those slightly wounded, to whom a night’s rest would be useful.  They shall remain here until the courier stops for the lady and her English friend, and then under Marteau’s command rejoin me in the morning.”

“Very good, Sire,” said General Maurice, turning away.

“I thank your Majesty,” said Marteau, “for all you have done for me, and for the Comtesse d’Aumenier.”

“And I thank the Emperor also,” said the young woman, smiling at him.  “Your Majesty’s generosity almost wins me to an imperial allegiance.”

Napoleon laughed.

“Not even the Emperor,” he said proudly, “is as black as he is painted by traitors and the English, Mademoiselle!” he bowed abruptly but not ungracefully.  “Come, gentlemen,” he said, turning on his heel, “we must march.”