THE ESCAPE
Resting his elbow on the table, and with his hand to his brow, Caron sat deep in thought, his forefinger and thumb pressed against his closed eyelids. From beyond the board Mademoiselle watched him anxiously and waited. At last he looked up.
"I think I have it," he announced, rising. "You say that the men are drinking heavily. That should materially assist us."
She asked him what plan he had conceived, but he urged that time pressed; she should know presently; meanwhile, she had best return immediately to her carriage. He went to the door to call Guyot, but she stayed him.
"No, no, Monsieur,"she exclaimed. "I will not pass through the common-room again in that fellow's company. They are all in there, carousing, and - and I dare not."
As if to confirm her words, now that he held the door open, he caught some sounds of mirth and the drone of voices from below.
"Come with me, then,"said he, taking up one of the candles. "I will escort you."
Together they descended the narrow staircase, La Boulaye going first, to guide her, since two might not go abreast. At the foot there was a door, which he opened, and then, at the end of a short passage - in which the drone of voices sounded very loud and in particular one, cracked voice that was raised in song - they gained the door of the common-room. As La Boulaye pushed it open they came upon a scene of Bacchanalian revelry. On a chair that had been set upon the table they beheld Mother Capoulade enthroned like a Goddess of Liberty, and wearing a Phrygian cap on her dishevelled locks. Her yellow cheeks were flushed and her eyes watery, whilst hers was the crazy voice that sang.
Around the table, in every conceivable attitude of abandonment, sat Captain Charlot's guard - every man of the ten - and with them the six men and the corporal of La Boulaye's escort, all more or less in a condition of drunkenness.
"Le jour de gloire est arrive?" sang the croaking voice of Dame Capoulade, and there it stopped abruptly upon catching sight of La Boulaye and his companion in the doorway. Mademoiselle shivered out of loathing; but La Boulaye felt his pulses quickened with hope, for surely all this was calculated to assist him in his purpose.
At the abrupt interruption of the landlady's version of the "Marseillaise "the men swung round, and upon seeing the Deputy they sought in ludicrous haste to repair the disorder of their appearance.
"So!" thundered Caron. "This is the watch you keep? This is how you are to be trusted? And you, Guyot," he continued, pointing his finger at the man. "Did I not bid you await my orders? Is this how you wait? You see that I am compelled to reconduct the Citoyenne myself, for I might have called you in vain all night."
Guyot came forward sheepishly, and a trifle unsteady in his gait.
"I did not hear you call, Citizen," he muttered.
"It had been a miracle if you had with this din," answered La Boulaye.
"Here, take the Citoyenne back to her carriage."
Obediently Guyot led the Citoyenne across the room and out into the courtyard, and the men, restrained by La Boulaye's severe presence, dared scarcely so much as raise their eyes to her as she passed out.
"And now to your posts," was Caron's stern command. "By my soul, if you were men of mine I would have you flogged for this. Out with you!" And he pointed imperiously to the door.
"It is a bitter night, Citizen," grumbled one of them.
"Do you call yourself soldiers, and does a touch of frost make cowards of you? Outside, you old wives, at once! I'll see you at your post before I go to bed."
And with that he set himself to drive them out, and they went, until none but his own half-dozen remained. These he bade dispose themselves about the hearth, in which they very readily obeyed him.
On a side-table stood a huge steaming can which had attracted La Boulaye's attention from the moment that he had entered the room.
He went to peer into this, and found it full almost to the brim of mulled red wine.
With his back to those in the room, so as to screen his actions, he had uncorked the phial as he was approaching the can. Now, as he made pretence first to peer into it and then to smell its contents, he surreptitiously emptied the potion into it, wondering vaguely to himself whether the men would ever wake again if they had drunk it.
Slipping the phial into his sash he turned to Mother Capoulade, who had descended from the table and stood looking very foolish.
"What is this?" he demanded angrily.
"It was a last cup of wine for the men," she faltered. "The night is bitterly cold, Citizen," she added, by way of excusing herself.
"Bah!" snarled Caron, and for a moment he stood there as if deliberating. "I am minded to empty it into the kennel," he announced.
"Citizen!" cried the woman, in alarm. "It is good wine, and I have spiced it."
"Well," he relented, "they may have it. But see that it is the last to-night."
And with that he strode across the room, and with a surly "Good-night" to his men, he mounted the stairs once more.
He waited perhaps ten minutes in the chamber above, then he went to the casement, and softly opened the window. It was as he expected.
With the exception of the coach standing in the middle of the yard, and just discernible by the glow of the smouldering fire they had built there but allowed to burn low, the place was untenanted.
Believing him to have retired for the night, the men were back again in the more congenial atmosphere of the hostelry, drinking themselves no doubt into a stupor with that last can of drugged wine. He sat down to quietly mature his plans, and to think out every detail of what he was about to do. At the end of a half-hour, silence reigning throughout the house, he rose. He crept softly into Charlot's chamber and possessed himself of the Captain's outer garments. These he carried back to the sitting-room, and extracted from the coat pocket two huge keys tied together with a piece of string. He never doubted that they were the keys he sought, one opening the stable door and the other the gates of the porte-cochere.