CHAPTER IX.

Hector le Gautier, all unconscious of the plot against his safety and peace of mind, sat over his breakfast the same morning. He was on remarkably good terms with himself, for all his plans were prospering, and for him the present outlook was a rosy one. His plans were well laid. He intended to keep his present position in the League, to go to Warsaw if necessary; and now that he had Sir Geoffrey in his hands beyond all hope of extrication, it was easy enough to send Maxwell upon some dangerous foreign mission, where, if he escaped with his life, he would henceforth be an outlaw and a fugitive. Sir Geoffrey, too, had bound himself to join; and with this lever, he could work upon Enid’s fears to perfection.

He was in no hurry; he was far too consummate a rogue, too accomplished a schemer, to ruin the delicate combination by any premature move, preferring for the present to renew his forces and calculate his advance, as a chess-player might when he knows the game is in his hands. Then should come the crowning act, by which he should rid himself of the irksome chains which bound him to the League. All his plans were prepared for delivering the leaders into the hands of justice, always with a care to his own escape. As he turned these things over in his mind, he whistled a little air gaily, resumed his breakfast, and opened the broadsheet of the _Times_ to see the news of the day.

Fortune seemed to be smiling upon him, he thought, as he read the mystic announcement in the second outside column. Here was the thing which had caused him so much anxious thought as good as delivered again into his hands. Some friend, perhaps, had discovered his loss, and had determined to return it thus. Perhaps—and here he showed his white teeth in a dazzling smile—some fair one, who had taken this way to show her admiration; for Le Gautier was, like most vain men, a great admirer of the sex, and fully impressed with the all-conquering fascination of his manner. He was not the first clever man who has held such opinions, and found, when too late, the fatal error of underrating the power of an injured woman.

He perfectly understood the advertisement. It was not the first time that newspapers had been employed to do work for the League; nor did he hesitate to avail himself of this golden opportunity. He had scarcely finished his breakfast and made up his mind to meet the mysterious Eastern Eagle, when Salvarini entered. He was moody and preoccupied, with a sombre frown upon his face, telling of much inward uneasiness.

‘I do not like these new arrangements,’ he commenced abruptly, in answer to Le Gautier’s florid greeting. ‘There is great danger in them, and they cannot lead to any good results. I shall oppose them.’

‘Pray, explain yourself, my good Luigi; I am in Cimmerian darkness,’ Le Gautier replied carelessly. ‘You are so dreadfully in earnest; absolutely, you view life through the gloomy spectacles of the League.’

‘It is folly, madness!’ Salvarini replied passionately. ‘Heaven knows, we have had bloodshed enough. What do you think the last proposal is?—Nothing less than the removal of ministers: dynamite is to be the agent, and a special mission arranged to Rome. Visci—our dear old friend Visci—is doomed!’

‘They must be mad,’ Le Gautier returned calmly. ‘But tell me, Luigi, what of Visci?’ he continued, inspired by a sudden thought. ‘I presume you have been holding a Council this morning. Visci used to be a friend of yours. How do they propose to get rid of him?’

‘The dagger!’ Salvarini answered with great agitation. ‘Visci was once a friend of mine, as you say, and yours too, for that. Heaven save me from the task!’

‘But why need it be you? We have new members, new blood as yet untried. Let them show their mettle now. There is no reason why we should always be in the van of battle. But why this sudden determination?’

‘The old story,’ Salvarini continued bitterly—‘private grudges brought in; personal ends to be served where all should be of one accord, all striving for the good of the cause. I am heartsick and weary of the whole affair. Is our path always to be defiled with innocent blood?’

‘So long as I can keep my hands clean, it is nothing to me,’ Le Gautier replied with a careless shrug; ‘not that I hold with the present system.—But abandon your Cassandra vein, and be yourself for a moment. See what you think of that, and congratulate me upon a stroke of fortune I have not altogether deserved.’

‘I congratulate you,’ Salvarini grimly replied, when he had perused the paragraph. ‘You always contrive to fall upon your feet. Did I not tell you that night in the Kursaal you would hear of this again? Of course it is a woman. No man would have taken such trouble, especially if he happened to be a Brother,’ he concluded with significant emphasis.

Le Gautier drew his fingers airily across his throat, intending by this little playful action to allude to his own sudden death. In his petty vanity, he was not altogether displeased that his friend should hint at a conquest.

‘Undoubtedly from a woman,’ he said. ‘Mark the mystery and romance underlying it all. Some fair dame of the Order, perhaps, who has seen me only to become a victim to my numberless charms.—Luigi, my friend, this little affair promises amusement.’

‘I might have known that,’ Salvarini retorted with some little contempt. ‘I believe you could be turned aside from the most pressing mission by a glance from a pair of melting eyes.—Bah! your thoughts run on such things to the detriment of the Order.’

‘In such a charming situation as you mention, confusion to the Order!—Now, do not look so melodramatic! Pardieu! do you think a man should have no amusements? Now, as a penance, you shall bore me with the order of this morning’s proceedings.’

‘A woman will ruin you eventually.’—Le Gautier smiled; the sententious words read the wrong way.—‘We had not much transaction this morning, save what I have told you, and the initiation of a few members.’

‘Converts to the noble cause of freedom.—Any one I know?’

‘Several. Do I understand it is your intention to introduce Sir Geoffrey in person?’

Le Gautier nodded assent; and the friends proceeded to discuss other matters connected with their mission. When Salvarini had left, long and earnestly did Le Gautier sit silently there. Then he rose, and taking a pack of cards from a drawer, began to cut and shuffle them rapidly. He dealt them round six times, bringing the knave of clubs on the same heap each time. He put the cards away; an evil smile was on his face.

‘My right hand has not lost its cunning,’ he muttered. ‘Frederick Maxwell shall go to Rome, and—— Well, fate will do the rest.’

With this humane remark, he put on his hat, struggled into a pair of very tight-fitting gloves, and passed out from Hunter Street into the Euston Road; for it is almost needless to say that the house beyond Paddington where we last saw him was not his ordinary lodging, his abode being a much humbler one, as consisted with his limited means; for Hector le Gautier, though moving in good society, and always faultlessly attired, was not endowed with that wealth that smooths so many paths in this vale of tears. Like other men of his class, he contrived to keep his head above water, though how it was done was alike a mystery to himself and his friends.

It was past two as he turned into Grosvenor Square and up the broad flight of steps which led up to the Charteris’ mansion. He had come here with more purposes than one: in the first place, to see Enid—this attraction a powerful one; and secondly, to have a talk upon general matters with the baronet, and perhaps get an invitation to luncheon. Sir Geoffrey he found in the dining-room, just sitting down to his mid-day meal in solitary state; and in answer to an invitation to join, asked after Enid, who, he learned, had gone with Maxwell and a kindly chaperon to a morning-party at Twickenham. He was, however, too much a cosmopolitan to allow this to interfere with his appetite, so, with a few well-chosen words of regret, he settled himself quietly to his lunch, discussing in turn the weather, politics, the last new beauty, anything—waiting for his host to speak upon the subject nearest his heart. Sir Geoffrey’s patience being by this time exhausted, he commenced.

‘I think I am free, Le Gautier,’ he said at length.

The listener affected not to comprehend this enigmatic remark.

‘Free from what, Sir Geoffrey?’ he asked carelessly. ‘Is it gout, or headache, or a marvellous escape from dining with a notorious bore? Which of these things are you free from?’

‘I was thinking of nothing so worldly,’ was the serious reply. ‘I allude to the marvellous manifestations recently vouchsafed to me. Since you so kindly showed me through yourself the path of duty, I have felt like a different man. They are gone, I trust for ever. Tell me, do you think there is any possible chance of their recurring?’

‘So long as you fulfil your part of the contract, certainly not.—But, my dear Sir Geoffrey,’ the Frenchman continued gaily, ‘let us have no serious conversation now, I beseech you. Let us forget for the time we are anything but friends. I am too light and frivolous to talk seriously. The last new play, a fresh picture, anything but the supernatural.’

Despite this appearance of _bonhomie_, Le Gautier had no intention of changing the conversation, though it was not his cue to introduce the subject himself; besides, an appearance of good-naturedly yielding to the other’s news seemed to tell better, and create a deeper feeling of obligation.

‘The longer I put the matter off, the more difficult my task seems to be,’ the baronet continued, not without hesitation. ‘Certain restrictions were laid upon me, certain commands given, which I am bound to carry out. If you had heard the conversation, my task would be less difficult; but as you did not, I must do my best to explain.’

Le Gautier drummed with his fingers upon the table, shrugged his shoulders, and sighed gently, as a man yielding against his will upon the sacred ground of friendship, tempered with politeness.

‘If you have anything to say, it is perhaps better to say it. But if it pains you, if it gives you the slightest mental agony or discloses family affairs, then, my dear sir, be dumb;’ and the speaker glanced out of the window, as if he considered the matter settled.

‘But I must tell you. It is impossible I can fulfil my promises without your assistance. In the first place, I am commanded to join your League or Brotherhood; and here, you see, I cannot get any further without your good advice and countenance.’

‘You distress me,’ Le Gautier replied mournfully. ‘I wish that matter could have been settled without such a step being necessary. Our work, though a noble one, is attended at times with great hardship and danger. Think, my dear Sir Geoffrey—think if there is no middle course by which such an action may be avoided.’

The speaker created the impression he was most anxious to make. To the baronet, full of his scheme, this advice was unpalatable, the more that, like most spoilt, weak-minded men, he was intensely fond of his own way. He grew stubborn. Le Gautier was perfectly at ease as he studied the other’s face.

‘I see no middle course. The injunction was very strict. I dare not disobey, if I would. I must become a member of your League, whatever the danger may be; and if called upon, I must take my part in the work. Do you not remember the vision?’——

‘You forget my state,’ Le Gautier interrupted softly—‘that during the time I heard nothing, comprehended nothing going on around me. My faculties for the time being were torpid.’

This adroit interruption only served to increase the baronet’s uneasiness. He writhed in his chair, unable to continue.

‘And there is another thing,’ he stammered, ‘which I must tell you, though I scarcely know how. I daresay you have noticed my daughter?’

‘Is it possible to see her and not be conscious of her beauties!’ Le Gautier cried—‘to be in her presence and not feel the charm of her society! Ah! Sir Geoffrey,’ he continued blandly, throwing out a strong hint, ‘he will be a happy man who wins the treasure of her heart!’

At this helping of the lame dog over the stile, Sir Geoffrey looked grateful. ‘Has she ever impressed you, Le Gautier?’

‘Alas, yes,’ was the melancholy reply, but with some feeling too, for, as far as he was concerned, the passion was genuine. ‘Why should I strive to conceal my honest love? I may be poor and unknown, but I am at least a gentleman, and I offer the greatest compliment man can pay a woman—an ardent, loving heart.—But I am rambling; I dream, I rave! That I should aspire to an alliance with the House of Charteris!’

The baronet was somewhat moved by this display of manly emotion, and, moreover, his pride was tickled. The young man evidently knew that what he aspired to was a high honour indeed.

‘But, Sir Geoffrey,’ he continued brokenly, ‘you will not breathe a word of this to a soul! In a moment of passion, I have been led to divulge the master-passion of my life. Promise me you will forget it from this hour;’ and saying these words, he stretched out a hand trembling with suppressed emotion to his host and friend. A good actor was lost to an admiring world here.

‘But bless me!’ Sir Geoffrey exclaimed, taken aback by this display, and, sooth to say, somewhat irritated that the necessary explanation must come from him after all, ‘I _want_ you to marry the girl.’

‘Is it possible, or am I dreaming?’ Le Gautier cried in a delirium of rapture. ‘Do I hear aright? Oh, say these words again!’

Le Gautier was slightly overdoing the thing now, and Sir Geoffrey knew it. ‘I mean what I say,’ he added coldly. ‘You are the man for Enid.’

‘Who is talking about Enid?’ asked a fresh clear voice at that moment, as the subject of discourse, accompanied by her escort, glided into the room. Le Gautier, in love as he was, thought he had never seen her look so fair as she did then, her face slightly tinged with colour, her eyes all aglow with pleasurable excitement. For a moment the conspirators were abashed, and it took all the Frenchman’s cool equitable nerve to solve and explain what appeared to be a truly awkward question.

‘When we are not with the rose, we love to talk of her,’ he replied with one of these bold glances for which Maxwell longed to kick him on the spot.—‘I trust you have spent a pleasant morning?’

Enid answered as coldly as the dictates of breeding would allow. The man’s florid compliments were odious to her, and his presence oppressive. Le Gautier, accustomed to read men and faces like open books, did not fail to note this.

‘I have important news,’ he whispered to Maxwell, after he had made his graceful adieux to Enid and his host. ‘I want to say a few words to you, if you happen to be walking my way.’

Maxwell answered with studious politeness. ‘With pleasure,’ he said. ‘If you will allow me, I will drive you in my cab.’

Enid’s quick ears caught the whisper, and a feeling of approaching evil seemed to come over her—a cloud passed over the sun, and, to her fancy, for a moment Le Gautier looked like Mephistopheles tempting Faust. As the two men passed out, she called Maxwell back. ‘Be careful,’ she urged. ‘Beware of that man; he will do you a mischief.’

Maxwell smiled down in the pretty fearful face tenderly. ‘All right, little woman,’ he answered carelessly. ‘I shall take care. He is not likely to do any harm to me.’

NAPOLEON IN TOR BAY.

It is all but impossible to realise the scene of excitement which the calm blue waters of Tor Bay, crested with the bright sunshine of the summer of 1815, presented, when the Emperor Napoleon arrived on board the _Bellerophon_, soon to be transferred to the _Northumberland_, in which he was conveyed to St Helena. After the world-earthquake Waterloo, when the allies entered Paris, and the French army declared for Louis XVIII., Napoleon made his way to Rochefort, where he arrived on the 3d of July, and whence his attempts at escape were frustrated by the moonlight and the vigilance of the English cruisers. Two frigates had been placed at his disposal to facilitate his flight to America, and arrangements likewise made with a Danish smack which was to await him out at sea; but to reach her under the circumstances was deemed an attempt too hazardous. At last, on the 14th of July, Count Las Cases and General Allemand came on board the _Bellerophon_, then lying in the Basque Roads, with a proposal to Captain Maitland that he should receive Napoleon, who desired to proceed to England for the purpose of throwing himself upon the generosity of the Prince Regent. Captain Maitland clearly explained that it was out of his power to grant terms of any sort, and that his instructions only permitted him to convey Napoleon and his attendants to England; on which understanding, the ex-Emperor, with his baggage, embarked the following morning on board a French brig, which conveyed them to the _Bellerophon_, where he was received with the honours due to a crowned head. On gaining the quarter-deck, the Emperor said in French to the captain: ‘I am come, sir, to claim the protection of your Prince and of your laws.’ In appearance he is described as about five and a half feet in height, strongly made, decidedly stout, with a sallow complexion, and dark-brown hair, as yet untouched with gray. He wore a green uniform coat with epaulets and a red collar, a broad red sash, star on the left breast, white waistcoat, boots and pantaloons, and a large cocked hat with the tricoloured cockade.

The passage, by reason of adverse winds, was slow, so that it was the 24th ere the _Bellerophon_ arrived in Tor Bay, when Captain Maitland was signalled to stand out three leagues from shore, and there await further orders from the Admiralty. It is said that on first beholding the Devonshire coast, Napoleon could not conceal his admiration, exclaiming: ‘At length here is this beautiful country! How much it resembles Porto Ferrajo, in Elba.’

No sooner was it known that the disturber of the peace of Europe, against whom they had so long and so sternly striven, was actually on board ship at anchor in Tor Bay, than from Dartmouth, Paignton, Dawlish, Teignmouth, and by-and-by from ports more distant still, the country-folk thronged in boats of every size and shape, struggling to approach the _Bellerophon_ to catch a glimpse of the fallen Emperor. So inconvenient and dangerous was the crowding of these innumerable craft with their cargoes of sightseers, that it became necessary to order the _Bellerophon’s_ boats to row round the ship to keep them at a respectful distance. No fewer than a thousand boats daily put off from the shore; and Napoleon exhibited no little pleasure and amusement at the interest excited by his presence. From London and all parts of the country, people flocked down to Tor Bay during the time necessarily occupied in determining Napoleon’s final destination, well pleased if they succeeded in catching an occasional glimpse of him as he walked backwards and forwards in the stern gallery with his hands behind him, or surveyed through an opera glass the varied texture of the crowd in the vessels below. As he paced the quarter-deck in conversation with one or other of his followers, he would frequently approach the ship’s side and acknowledge the salutations of his visitors. Two or three French ladies, wives of members of the suite, dressed in the height of the prevailing fashion, were frequently seated on deck, with whom, as he paused in his walk and stooped to look through the ports at the vessels alongside, Napoleon would now and again exchange a word. At six o’clock the dinner-bell rang, when the Emperor with his attendants went below, the sailors with great good-humour putting out a board on which was chalked, ‘He’s gone to dine.’ He usually remained about half an hour, when another board announced his reappearance on deck. It was about the 1st of August when his ultimate destination became known to him through the newspapers, and he was shortly afterwards observed at the cabin window tearing up papers, which he threw into the sea. Fragments of some of these, being seized upon as relics, turned out to be translations of speeches in the last session of parliament, and a letter addressed to the Empress Maria Louisa immediately after his abdication.

But of all the incidents which occurred while Napoleon was in Tor Bay, the most remarkable was a farewell visit paid him by a lady of foreign appearance and surpassing loveliness. Cloaked and veiled, to escape observation, she carried with her a bouquet of choicest flowers, peculiarly arranged in rows, which, when her boat arrived at a convenient distance from the _Bellerophon_, was despatched in charge of her servant. As the token of unchanged affection reached the quarter-deck, the lady was observed to raise her veil, disclosing features of exceeding beauty. At first, the bouquet seemed to awaken no memories in Napoleon’s breast, but after a moment, he hastily approached the ship’s side, and steadfastly gazing awhile on the fair form disclosed to view, he waved a last farewell.

On Wednesday the 2d of August, the _Bellerophon_ and _Tonnant_ sailed for Plymouth, where it had been intended that the transfer to the _Northumberland_ should be carried out. But in consequence of the loss of life which occurred from the vast concourse of boats in the Sound, as well as to avoid a writ of habeas corpus, under which it was desired to obtain the evidence of Napoleon in a case at the time pending in the Queen’s Bench, it was deemed advisable to return to Tor Bay, where, on Sunday the 6th of August, the three vessels (the _Northumberland_ having meantime come round from Portsmouth) cast anchor. No sooner were the ships brought up, than Sir Henry Bunbury, accompanied by Mr Bathurst, proceeded on board the _Bellerophon_, and announced to the ex-Emperor the resolution of the cabinet, that he should be transported to St Helena, accompanied by four of his friends and twelve servants. The information was received without surprise; but in a speech of three-quarters of an hour’s duration, delivered in a manner the most impressive, Napoleon protested against the determination which had been arrived at.

The same afternoon, Lord Keith and Sir George Cockburn proceeded in the admiral’s yacht to the _Bellerophon_. Napoleon was on deck to receive them. After the usual salutations, Lord Keith addressed himself to Bonaparte, and acquainted him with his intended transfer to the _Northumberland_ for passage to St Helena. After much expostulation, Napoleon finally refused to go; but upon Lord Keith expressing the hope that no coercion would be necessary to carry out the orders of government, he replied: ‘O no, no! you command, I must obey! Only, recollect, I do not go of my own free-will.’ He then formally handed to Lord Keith a written protest against his transportation to St Helena, in which it was contended, that having come voluntarily on board the _Bellerophon_, he was the guest and not the prisoner of England. ‘I appeal,’ he concluded, ‘to history, whether an enemy who comes deliberately in his misfortunes to seek an asylum under the protection of English law, can give a more convincing proof of his esteem and confidence. But how have the English answered such confidence and magnanimity; they pretended to extend a friendly hand to this enemy; and when he relied on their good faith, they sacrificed him.’

It was afterwards arranged that the transfer should take place the following morning (Monday) about eleven o’clock. Early next day, Sir George Cockburn superintended the inspection of the baggage, consisting of services and toilet sets of plate, several articles in gold, books, beds, &c., which were sent on board the _Northumberland_, four thousand gold napoleons being sealed up and detained. The baggage having been removed, the parting scene commenced, Napoleon handing to several of his officers a certificate of fidelity and good service. About eleven o’clock, the barge of the _Tonnant_ proceeded to the _Bellerophon_ to receive the fallen Emperor and those who were to be the partakers of his exile: General and Madame Bertrand with their children, Count and Countess Montholon and child, Count Las Cases, General Gourgaud, nine men and three women servants. At the last moment, Napoleon’s surgeon refused to accompany him, whereupon the surgeon of the _Bellerophon_, Mr O’Meara, consented to supply his place. Shortly afterwards O’Meara was offered a salary of five hundred pounds per annum, but this he rejected, with the remark that the pay of his king was sufficient to satisfy him.

Before entering the barge which was to convey him to the _Northumberland_, Bonaparte addressed himself to Captain Maitland and the officers of the _Bellerophon_, not forgetting to take off his hat to them again after descending the ladder into the barge. It was about noon on the 7th of August when the barge of the _Tonnant_ approached the starboard side of the _Northumberland_. Bertrand was the first to go over the side, and standing with his hat off, upright as a sentinel, announced his master. Napoleon instantly followed, and taking off his hat, remarked to Sir George Cockburn, who received him: ‘Monsieur, je suis à vos ordres.’ At once moving forward on the quarter-deck, he desired to be introduced to Captain Ross, who commanded the ship, a ceremony which was immediately performed, the guard of marines, drawn up on the port side, receiving the ex-Emperor with the compliment due to his rank as a general officer. To Lord Lowther and Mr Lyttleton, who stood near the admiral, Napoleon bowed and spoke a few words, remarking also to an artillery officer who was by, that he himself had originally served in that arm. The introduction to the eight lieutenants of the ship, not one of whom could speak a single word of French, was sufficiently ridiculous; they were drawn up in line on one side of the cabin; and after gazing and smiling for a moment on Napoleon, who, in his turn, gazed and smiled at them, they bowed and defiled before him out of the cabin door. The after-cabin on board the _Northumberland_ was not, as on the _Bellerophon_, the private room wherein Napoleon was not to be intruded upon by any unbidden guest, but was shared equally by the admiral and his friends; a small cabin being besides appropriated for the sole accommodation of the ex-Emperor, and elegantly furnished, the toilet being of silver, and the bed linen of exquisite fineness. The party were also permitted to supply themselves from shore with any articles they might desire wherewith to add to their comfort and amusement, a permission of which they availed themselves by purchasing a billiard-table, an immense supply of playing-cards, chessmen, &c., besides a number of the best books in the English language.

After waiting for the _Weymouth_ storeship and some other vessels destined to complete the miniature squadron, the whole finally sailed out of Tor Bay on Friday the 11th of August; and Napoleon passed away from the shores of Europe to end his days in exile on a solitary rock in the Atlantic.

GEORGE HANNAY’S LOVE AFFAIR.