cleaving as it were the stream of sauntering courtiers. Away on their right, by the great marble fireplace, Monsieur, in dark blue, with a star of diamonds sparkling on his breast, sprawled untidily in an armchair. Idly he had thrust the ferrule of his cane into the inner side of his left shoe, and he was prodding with it there whilst entertaining a group of ladies in a conversation too gay and lively to be concerned with the heavy matters of the hour. Ever and anon his laugh would float across the room. It was the loud, unrestrained laugh of a foolish man; such a laugh as that which in his brother Louis XVI had offended the fine susceptibilities of the Marquise de Lâge; and there was a false note in it to the sensitive ears of André-Louis. He considered that he would not trust either the intelligence or the sentiments of a man with such a laugh. He frowned to see Aline foremost in the group, which included the Countess of Balbi, the Duchess of Caylus, and the Countess of Montleart; he was irritated by the expression in the eyes which Monsieur continually bent upon Aline and by Aline's apparent satisfaction in this royal notice.
Monsieur de Batz took him by the arm. 'Let us move where we shall be less in the way and better able to talk.'
André-Louis suffered himself to be steered into the embrasure of a window that overlooked the courtyard, where carriages of every kind and description waited. The rain had ceased, and again, as yesterday at this hour, the sun was struggling to pierce the heavy clouds.
'The King's position,' Monsieur de Batz was saying, 'is grown extremely precarious. He will have come to realize the wisdom of the emigration of his brothers and the nobles which he condemned when it took place. No doubt he realized it when he attempted to follow them only to be turned back at Varennes. He will be ready enough, therefore, to be fetched away now if it can be contrived. As a monarchist, Monsieur Moreau, you should desire to see the monarch out of peril. Would you be prepared to labour to contrive it?'
André-Louis took time to reply.
'Such a labour as that should be well-rewarded.'
'Rewarded? You do not believe, then, that virtue is its own reward?'
'Experience has shown me that the virtuous commonly perish of want.'
The Baron seemed disappointed. 'For so young a man you are oddly cynical.'
'You mean that my perceptions are not clouded by emotionalism.'
'I mean, sir, that you are not even consistent. You announce yourself a monarchist, yet you remain indifferent to the fate of the monarch.'
'Because my monarchism is not personal to Louis XVI. It is the office that matters, not the holder. King Louis XVI may perish, but there will still be a king in France, even if he does not reign.'
The dark face of de Batz was grave. 'You take a great many words, sir, merely to say "no." You disappoint me. I had conceived you a man of action, a man of bold enterprises. You reveal yourself as merely ... academic.'
'There must be theory behind all practice, Monsieur de Batz. I do not quite know what you propose to do or how you propose to do it. But the task is not one for me.'
De Batz looked sour. 'So be it. But I'll not conceal my regret. It may not surprise you, sir, incredible though it may seem, that I cannot find here a dozen gentlemen to engage with me in this enterprise. When I heard you announce yourself a monarchist, I took heart, for you would be worth a score of these fribbles to me. I might rake all France and never find a man more apt to my need.'
'You are pleased to flatter me, Monsieur de Batz.'
'Indeed, no. You have the qualities which the task demands. And you will not lack for friends among those in power, who would help you out of a difficult situation if you should fall into one.'
But André-Louis shook his head. 'You overrate both my qualities and my influence with my late associates. As I have said, sir, the task is not one for me.'
'Ah! A pity!' said de Batz frigidly, and moved away, leaving André-Louis with the impression that he had missed the only chance of making a friend that was offered him at Schönbornlust.
CHAPTER IV
THE REVOLUTIONARY
The days dragged on at Coblentz—days of waiting in which the hours are leaden-footed—their monotony intensified for André-Louis by the persistent foulness of the weather, which kept him within doors.
Mademoiselle de Kercadiou, however, was scarcely aware of it. Her beauty, liveliness, and amiability, winning the commendation of all, had justified the warmth of her welcome at court. With Monsieur and Madame alike she was in high favour, and even Madame de Balbi was observed to use her with great consideration, whilst of the men about the Princes it was said that one half at least were in love with her and in hot rivalry to serve her.
It was a state of things that made for the happiness of everybody but André-Louis, doomed to idleness and aimlessness in this environment into which he had been thrust, but in which there seemed to be no place or part for him. And then abruptly something happened which at least provided him with occupation for his wits.
He was taking the air one evening when it was so foul underfoot that only his restlessness could have sent him abroad. The wind had dropped and the air was close. On the heights of Pfaffendorf, across the Rhine, the green of the woods was lividly metallic against a sullen background of storm-clouds. He trudged on, following the yellow, swollen river, past the bridge of boats, with the mass of Ehrenbreitstein beyond, and the grim fortress like some grey, sprawling, ever-vigilant monster. He reached the confluence that gives Coblentz its name, and turning to the left followed now the tributary Moselle. Dusk was upon the narrow ways of the Alter Graben when he reached them. He turned a corner into a street that led directly to the Liebfraukirche, and came face to face with a man who at close quarters checked in his stride, to pause for an instant, then brushed swiftly past him and went on at an accelerated pace.
It was so odd that André-Louis halted there and swung about. Four things he had sensed: that this man, whoever he might be, had recognized him; that the meeting had taken him by surprise; that he had been about to speak; and that he had changed his mind, and then quickened his step so as to avoid a disclosure of himself. Nor was this all. Whilst André-Louis's face under the narrow-brimmed conical hat was still discernible in the fading daylight, the other's was in the masking shadow of a wide castor, and as if that were not enough he wore a cloak that muffled him to the nose.
Moved by curiosity and suspicion to go after him, André-Louis overtook him in a dozen swift strides, and tapped him on the shoulder.
'A word with you, my friend. I think we should know each other.'
The man bounded forward and round, loosening his cloak and disengaging his arms from its folds. In the very act of turning, he whipped out a small-sword, and presented the point at André-Louis's breast.
'At your peril!' His voice was muffled by the cloak. 'Be off, you footpad, before I put half a yard of steel in your entrails.'
Being unarmed, André-Louis hesitated for a couple of heartbeats. Then he played a trick that he had practised and taught in his fencing-master days in the Rue du Hasard, an easy trick if resolutely performed, but fatal to the performer if in the course of it he hesitates. With a rigid extended arm he knocked aside the blade, engaging it at the level of his elbow; swiftly continuing the movement, as if in a counter-parry, he partially enveloped it, seized the hilt by the quillons, and wrenched the weapon away. Almost before the other could realize what had happened, he found the point of his own sword presented to his vitals.
'To take me for a footpad is a poor pretence. You wear too many clothes for an honest man on so warm an evening. Let us look at this face of yours, my friend.' André-Louis leaned forward, and with his left hand pulled away the masking cloak, peering into the face which showed white under the shadow of the wide hat. Instantly, in recognition, he fell back, dropping the point of the sword and exclaiming in his profound amazement.
Before him