The Whites and the Blues. Alexandre DumasЧитать онлайн книгу.
with that brute, Pierre Augereau?"
"He was Eugene Beauharnais' fencing-master."
"Son of General Beauharnais?"
"Yes."
"Another one who will expiate his victories upon the scaffold," said Pichegru, with a sigh; "they find that grape-shot does not work fast enough. But then, my poor child, you must be half starved."
"Oh, no," replied Charles; "I have just seen a sight that has taken away my appetite."
"What have you seen?"
"I saw a poor noble shot, who comes from our country. He emigrated, and I think you must know him."
"The Comte de Sainte-Hermine?"
"Yes."
"They guillotined the father eight months ago, and to-day they have shot the son. There are still two brothers." Pichegru shrugged his shoulders, and continued, "Why not shoot them all at once? Then they would be rid of the whole family. Have you ever seen any one guillotined?"
"No."
"Well, to-morrow, if it will amuse you, you can have the pleasure; there are twenty-two to be disposed of. There will be all kinds, from officers to grooms. And now let us arrange about your quarters. It will not take long." He showed the boy a mattress upon the floor. "That is my bed," said he. Then, pointing to another, "That one belongs to citizen Reignac, chief secretary of the staff." Here he rang, and a soldier appeared. "A mattress," ordered the general.
Five minutes later the soldier returned with a mattress. Pichegru pointed out the spot where he wished it to be placed.
"And there is yours," he said. Then, opening a closet, he continued, "This closet you will have for yourself. No one will put anything in it that does not belong to you, and you must not put anything in any closet that is not yours. As your bundle is not large, I think it will answer. If you have anything that you value particularly, carry it about with you; that is the safest way. Not that you risk having it stolen, but you risk leaving it behind you when the order comes for a hurried departure, whether it be to advance or to retreat."
"General," said the boy, ingenuously, "I had nothing precious except my father's letter to you, and you have that now."
"Then kiss me and unpack your belongings; I must get back to my map."
As he turned toward the table, he caught sight of two men talking in the corridor opposite his door.
"Ah!" he said. "Come in, citizen Ballu; come in, citizen Dumont! I want you to meet a guest who has just arrived." And he pointed to Charles. Then, as they both looked at him without recognizing him, Pichegru continued: "My dear compatriots, thank this child; he sent you the warning which has kept your heads on your shoulders until to-day."
"Charles!" they both cried at once, embracing him and pressing him to their hearts. "Our wives and our children shall know your name to love and bless it."
While Charles was replying as best he could to this effusion, a young man entered, and, in excellent Latin, asked Pichegru whether he could grant him an interview of a quarter of an hour.
Pichegru, much astonished by this greeting, replied in the same language that he was at his disposal.
Opening the door of a smaller room, he signed to the stranger to enter it, and followed him: then, thinking that the man had something confidential to confide to him, he closed the door behind him.
CHAPTER XIX
THE SPY
Pichegru threw a rapid and questioning glance at the new-comer; but sharp and piercing as it was, it failed to tell him to what nationality he belonged. His appearance was that of a man who has come a long distance, and has walked much of the way. He wore a fox-skin cap and a blouse made of goat-skin, secured at the waist by a leather belt; the sleeves of a striped woollen vest showed through the openings at the upper part of this blouse, of which the hairy side was turned in; and his long boots, of which the soles were in a bad state, came up to his knees.
There was no hint of his nationality in all this. But his fair hair, his clear blue eye, firm even to fierceness, his flaxen mustache, his determined chin and broad jaws, convinced Pichegru that he belonged to one of the northern races.
The young man suffered this examination in a silence which seemed to defy Pichegru's scrutiny.
"Hungarian or Russian?" asked Pichegru in French.
"Polish," replied the young man, laconically, in the same language.
"An exile then?" asked Pichegru.
"Worse than that!"
"Poor people! So brave and so unfortunate!" and he held out his hand to the young man.
"Wait," said the latter; "before doing me this honor, you must know—"
"Every Pole is brave," said Pichegru. "Every exile has the right to the hand-clasp of a patriot."
But the Pole seemed to take a certain pride in refusing to accept this courtesy until he had proved that he had a right to it. He pulled out a little leathern bag which he wore upon his breast, as the Neapolitans wear their amulets, and took a folded paper from it.
"Do you know Kosciusko?" asked the young man, his eyes flashing as he spoke.
"Who does not know the hero of Dubienka?" exclaimed Pichegru.
"Then read that," said the Pole, handing him the note.
Pichegru took it and read as follows:
I recommend to all men who struggle for independence and the liberty of their country, this brave man, son of a brave man, brother of a brave man.
He was with me at Dubienka.
T. Kosciusko.
"You have a fine brevet of bravery there, sir," said Pichegru; "will you do me the honor to become my aide-de-camp?"
"I should not do you much service, and I should not be avenging myself; it is vengeance that I seek."
"And against whom—Russians, Austrians or Prussians?"
"Against all three, since they are all oppressing and devouring unhappy Poland; but I hate the Prussians most."
"Where do you come from?"
"Dantzic. I belong to the old Polish race which, after having lost Poland in 1308, reconquered it in 1454, and defended it against Etienne Battori in 1575. From that day Dantzic has always held a Polish party ready to revolt, and which did revolt at Kosciusko's first call. My brother, my father and I seized our guns and placed ourselves under his orders.
"Thus we, my father, my brother and myself, found ourselves among four thousand men who defended the fort of Dubienka for five days against sixteen thousand Russians, when we had had only one day to fortify it.
"Some time later Stanislas yielded to Catherine's will. Kosciusko, unwilling to become the accomplice of the Czarina's lover, sent in his resignation, and my father, my brother and I returned to Dantzic, where I resumed my studies.
"One morning we learned that Dantzic had been ceded to the Prussians. There were among us at least two thousand patriots who protested with one hand and took up arms with the other; this tearing asunder of our native land, this dismemberment of our dear Poland, seemed to us a direct appeal, after moral protestation, to material protestation—the protestation of blood with which it is necessary to water the nations in order