Dorado — The Forest Of Boulogne

Then a sudden twist of the road hid the city from view; only the outlying churchyard remained in sight, with its white monuments and granite crosses, over which the dark yews, wet with the rain and shaken by the gale, sent showers of diamond-like sprays.

CHAPTER XLV. THE FOREST OF BOULOGNE

Progress was not easy, and very slow along the muddy road; the two coaches moved along laboriously, with wheels creaking and sinking deeply from time to time in the quagmire.

When the small party finally reached the edge of the wood the greyish light of this dismal day had changed in the west to a dull reddish glow--a glow that had neither brilliance nor incandescence in it; only a weird tint that hung over the horizon and turned the distance into lines of purple.

The nearness of the sea made itself already felt; there was a briny taste in the damp atmosphere, and the trees all turned their branches away in the same direction against the onslaught of the prevailing winds.

The road at this point formed a sharp fork, skirting the wood on either side, the forest lying like a black close mass of spruce and firs on the left, while the open expanse of country stretched out on the right.

The south-westerly gale struck with full violence against the barrier of forest trees, bending the tall crests of the pines and causing their small dead branches to break and fall with a sharp, crisp sound like a cry of pain.

The squad had been fresh at starting; now the men had been four hours in the saddle under persistent rain and gusty wind; they were tired, and the atmosphere of the close, black forest so near the road was weighing upon their spirits.

Strange sounds came to them from out the dense network of trees--the screeching of night-birds, the weird call of the owls, the swift and furtive tread of wild beasts on the prowl.

The cold winter and lack of food had lured the wolves from their fastnesses--hunger had emboldened them, and now, as gradually the grey light fled from the sky, dismal howls could be heard in the distance, and now and then a pair of eyes, bright with the reflection of the lurid western glow, would shine momentarily out of the darkness like tiny glow-worms, and as quickly vanish away.

The men shivered--more with vague superstitious fear than with cold.

They would have urged their horses on, but the wheels of the coaches stuck persistently in the mud, and now and again a halt had to be called so that the spokes and axles might be cleared.

They rode on in silence.

No one had a mind to speak, and the mournful soughing of the wind in the pine-trees seemed to check the words on every lip.

The dull thud of hoofs in the soft road, the clang of steel bits and buckles, the snorting of the horses alone answered the wind, and also the monotonous creaking of the wheels ploughing through the ruts.

Soon the ruddy glow in the west faded into soft-toned purple and then into grey; finally that too vanished.

Darkness was drawing in on every side like a wide, black mantle pulled together closer and closer overhead by invisible giant hands.

The rain still fell in a thin drizzle that soaked through caps and coats, made the bridles slimy and the saddles slippery and damp.

A veil of vapour hung over the horses’ cruppers, and was rendered fuller and thicker every moment with the breath that came from their nostrils.

The wind no longer blew with gusty fury--its strength seemed to have been spent with the grey light of day--but now and then it would still come sweeping across the open country, and dash itself upon the wall of forest trees, lashing against the horses’ ears, catching the corner of a mantle here, an ill-adjusted cap there, and wreaking its mischievous freak for a while, then with a sigh of satisfaction die, murmuring among the pines.

Suddenly there was a halt, much shouting, a volley of oaths from the drivers, and citizen Chauvelin thrust his head out of the carriage window.

“What is it?

” he asked.

“The scouts, citizen,” replied the sergeant, who had been riding close to the coach door all this while; “they have returned.

” “Tell one man to come straight to me and report.

” Marguerite sat quite still.

Indeed, she had almost ceased to live momentarily, for her spirit was absent from her body, which felt neither fatigue, nor cold, nor pain.

But she heard the snorting of the horse close by as its rider pulled him up sharply beside the carriage door.

“Well?

” said Chauvelin curtly.

“This is the cross-road, citizen,” replied the man; “it strikes straight into the wood, and the hamlet of Le Crocq lies down in the valley on the right.

” “Did you follow the road in the wood?

” “Yes, citizen.

About two leagues from here there is a clearing with a small stone chapel, more like a large shrine, nestling among the trees.

Opposite to it the angle of a high wall with large wrought-iron gates at the corner, and from these a wide drive leads through a park.

” “Did you turn into the drive?

” “Only a little way, citizen.

We thought we had best report first that all is safe.

” “You saw no one?

” “No one.

” “The chateau, then, lies some distance from the gates?

” “A league or more, citizen.

Close to the gates there are outhouses and stabling, the disused buildings of the home farm, I should say.

” “Good!

We are on the right road, that is clear.

Keep ahead with your men now, but only some two hundred metres or so.

Stay!

” he added, as if on second thoughts.

“Ride down to the other coach and ask the prisoner if we are on the right track.

” The rider turned his horse sharply round.

Marguerite heard-the clang of metal and the sound of retreating hoofs.

A few moments later the man returned.

“Yes, citizen,” he reported, “the prisoner says it is quite right.

The Chateau d’Ourde lies a full league from its gates.

This is the nearest road to the chapel and the chateau.

He says we should reach the former in half an hour.

It will be very dark in there,” he added with a significant nod in the direction of the wood.

Chauvelin made no reply, but quietly stepped out of the coach.

Marguerite watched him, leaning out of the window, following his small trim figure as he pushed his way past the groups of mounted men, catching at a horse’s bit now and then, or at a bridle, making a way for himself amongst the restless, champing animals, without the slightest hesitation or fear.

Soon his retreating figure lost its sharp outline silhouetted against the evening sky.

It was enfolded in the veil of vapour which was blown out of the horses’ nostrils or rising from their damp cruppers;

it became more vague, almost ghost-like, through the mist and the fast-gathering gloom.

Presently a group of troopers hid him entirely from her view, but she could hear his thin, smooth voice quite clearly as he called to citizen Heron.

“We are close to the end of our journey now, citizen,” she heard him say.

“If the prisoner has not played us false little Capet should be in our charge within the hour.

” A growl not unlike those that came from out the mysterious depths of the forest answered him.

“If he is not,” and Marguerite recognised the harsh tones of citizen Heron--“if he is not, then two corpses will be rotting in this wood tomorrow for the wolves to feed on, and the prisoner will be on his way back to Paris with me.

” Some one laughed.

It might have been one of the troopers, more callous than his comrades, but to Marguerite the laugh had a strange, familiar ring in it, the echo of something long since past and gone.

Then Chauvelin’s voice once more came clearly to her ear: “My suggestion, citizen,” he was saying, “is that the prisoner shall now give me an order--couched in whatever terms he may think necessary--but a distinct order to his friends to give up Capet to me without any resistance.

I could then take some of the men with me, and ride as quickly as the light will allow up to the chateau, and take possession of it, of Capet, and of those who are with him.

We could get along faster thus.

One man can give up his horse to me and continue the journey on the box of your coach.

The two carriages could then follow at foot pace.

But I fear that if we stick together complete darkness will overtake us and we might find ourselves obliged to pass a very uncomfortable night in this wood.

” “I won’t spend another night in this suspense--it would kill me,” growled Heron to the accompaniment of one of his choicest oaths.

“You must do as you think right--you planned the whole of this affair--see to it that it works out well in the end.

” “How many men shall I take with me?

Our advance guard is here, of course.

” “I couldn’t spare you more than four more men--I shall want the others to guard the prisoners.

” “Four men will be quite sufficient, with the four of the advance guard.

That will leave you twelve men for guarding your prisoners, and you really only need to guard the woman--her life will answer for the others.

” He had raised his voice when he said this, obviously intending that Marguerite and Armand should hear.

“Then I’ll ahead,” he continued, apparently in answer to an assent from his colleague.

“Sir Percy, will you be so kind as to scribble the necessary words on these tablets?

” There was a long pause, during which Marguerite heard plainly the long and dismal cry of a night bird that, mayhap, was seeking its mate.

Then Chauvelin’s voice was raised again.

“I thank you,” he said; “this certainly should be quite effectual.

And now, citizen Heron, I do not think that under the circumstances we need fear an ambuscade or any kind of trickery--you hold the hostages.

And if by any chance I and my men are attacked, or if we encounter armed resistance at the chateau, I will despatch a rider back straightway to you, and--well, you will know what to do.

” His voice died away, merged in the soughing of the wind, drowned by the clang of metal, of horses snorting, of men living and breathing.

Marguerite felt that beside her Armand had shuddered, and that in the darkness his trembling hand had sought and found hers.

She leaned well out of the window, trying to see.

The gloom had gathered more closely in, and round her the veil of vapour from the horses’ steaming cruppers hung heavily in the misty air.

In front of her the straight lines of a few fir trees stood out dense and black against the greyness beyond, and between these lines purple tints of various tones and shades mingled one with the other, merging the horizon line with the sky.

Here and there a more solid black patch indicated the tiny houses of the hamlet of Le Crocq far down in the valley below; from some of these houses small lights began to glimmer like blinking yellow eyes.

Marguerite’s gaze, however, did not rest on the distant landscape--it tried to pierce the gloom that hid her immediate surroundings; the mounted men were all round the coach--more closely round her than the trees in the forest.

But the horses were restless, moving all the time, and as they moved she caught glimpses of that other coach and of Chauvelin’s ghostlike figure, walking rapidly through the mist.

Just for one brief moment she saw the other coach, and Heron’s head and shoulders leaning out of the window.

His sugar-loaf hat was on his head, and the bandage across his brow looked like a sharp, pale streak below it.

“Do not doubt it, citizen Chauvelin,” he called out loudly in his harsh, raucous voice, “I shall know what to do; the wolves will have their meal to-night, and the guillotine will not be cheated either.

” Armand put his arm round his sister’s shoulders and gently drew her back into the carriage.

“Little mother,” he said, “if you can think of a way whereby my life would redeem Percy’s and yours, show me that way now.

” But she replied quietly and firmly: “There is no way, Armand.

If there is, it is in the hands of God.

” CHAPTER XLVI. OTHERS IN THE PARK

Chauvelin and his picked escort had in the meanwhile detached themselves from the main body of the squad.

Soon the dull thud of their horses’ hoofs treading the soft ground came more softly--then more softly still as they turned into the wood, and the purple shadows seemed to enfold every sound and finally to swallow them completely.

Armand and Marguerite from the depth of the carriage heard Heron’s voice ordering his own driver now to take the lead.

They sat quite still and watched, and presently the other coach passed them slowly on the road, its silhouette standing out ghostly and grim for a moment against the indigo tones of the distant country.

Heron’s head, with its battered sugar-loaf hat, and the soiled bandage round the brow, was as usual out of the carriage window.

He leered across at Marguerite when he saw the outline of her face framed by the window of the carriage.

“Say all the prayers you have ever known, citizeness,” he said with a loud laugh, “that my friend Chauvelin may find Capet at the chateau, or else you may take a last look at the open country, for you will not see the sun rise on it to-morrow.

It is one or the other, you know.

” She tried not to look at him; the very sight of him filled her with horror--that blotched, gaunt face of his, the fleshy lips, that hideous bandage across his face that hid one of his eyes!

She tried not to see him and not to hear him laugh.

Obviously he too laboured under the stress of great excitement.

So far everything had gone well; the prisoner had made no attempt at escape, and apparently did not mean to play a double game.

But the crucial hour had come, and with it darkness and the mysterious depths of the forest with their weird sounds and sudden flashes of ghostly lights.

They naturally wrought on the nerves of men like Heron, whose conscience might have been dormant, but whose ears were nevertheless filled with the cries of innocent victims sacrificed to their own lustful ambitions and their blind, unreasoning hates.

He gave sharp orders to the men to close up round the carriages, and then gave the curt word of command: “En avant!

” Marguerite could but strain her ears to listen.

All her senses, all her faculties had merged into that of hearing, rendering it doubly keen.

It seemed to her that she could distinguish the faint sound--that even as she listened grew fainter and fainter yet--of Chauvelin and his squad moving away rapidly into the thickness of the wood some distance already ahead.

Close to her there was the snorting of horses, the clanging and noise of moving mounted men.

Heron’s coach had taken the lead; she could hear the creaking of its wheels, the calls of the driver urging his beasts.

The diminished party was moving at foot-pace in the darkness that seemed to grow denser at every step, and through that silence which was so full of mysterious sounds.

The carriage rolled and rocked on its springs; Marguerite, giddy and overtired, lay back with closed eyes, her hand resting in that of Armand.

Time, space and distance had ceased to be; only Death, the great Lord of all, had remained; he walked on ahead, scythe on skeleton shoulder, and beckoned patiently, but with a sure, grim hand.

There was another halt, the coach-wheels groaned and creaked on their axles, one or two horses reared with the sudden drawing up of the curb.

“What is it now?

” came Heron’s hoarse voice through the darkness.

“It is pitch-dark, citizen,” was the response from ahead.

“The drivers cannot see their horses’ ears.

They wait to know if they may light their lanthorns and then lead their horses.

” “They can lead their horses,” replied Heron roughly, “but I’ll have no lanthorns lighted.

We don’t know what fools may be lurking behind trees, hoping to put a bullet through my head--or yours, sergeant--we don’t want to make a lighted target of ourselves--what?

But let the drivers lead their horses, and one or two of you who are riding greys might dismount too and lead the way--the greys would show up perhaps in this cursed blackness.

” While his orders were being carried out, he called out once more: “Are we far now from that confounded chapel?

” “We can’t be far, citizen; the whole forest is not more than six leagues wide at any point, and we have gone two since we turned into it.

” “Hush!

” Heron’s voice suddenly broke in hoarsely.

“What was that?

Silence, I say.

Damn you--can’t you hear?

” There was a hush--every ear straining to listen; but the horses were not still--they continued to champ their bits, to paw the ground, and to toss their heads, impatient to get on.

Only now and again there would come a lull even through these sounds--a second or two, mayhap, of perfect, unbroken silence--and then it seemed as if right through the darkness a mysterious echo sent back those same sounds--the champing of bits, the pawing of soft ground, the tossing and snorting of animals, human life that breathed far out there among the trees.

“It is citizen Chauvelin and his men,” said the sergeant after a while, and speaking in a whisper.

“Silence--I want to hear,” came the curt, hoarsely-whispered command.

Once more every one listened, the men hardly daring to breathe, clinging to their bridles and pulling on their horses’ mouths, trying to keep them still, and again through the night there came like a faint echo which seemed to throw back those sounds that indicated the presence of men and of horses not very far away.

“Yes, it must be citizen Chauvelin,” said Heron at last; but the tone of his voice sounded as if he were anxious and only half convinced; “but I thought he would be at the chateau by now.

” “He may have had to go at foot-pace; it is very dark, citizen Heron,” remarked the sergeant.

“En avant, then,” quoth the other; “the sooner we come up with him the better.

” And the squad of mounted men, the two coaches, the drivers and the advance section who were leading their horses slowly restarted on the way.

The horses snorted, the bits and stirrups clanged, and the springs and wheels of the coaches creaked and groaned dismally as the ramshackle vehicles began once more to plough the carpet of pine-needles that lay thick upon the road.

But inside the carriage Armand and Marguerite held one another tightly by the hand.

“It is de Batz--with his friends,” she whispered scarce above her breath.

“De Batz?

” he asked vaguely and fearfully, for in the dark he could not see her face, and as he did not understand why she should suddenly be talking of de Batz he thought with horror that mayhap her prophecy anent herself had come true, and that her mind wearied and over-wrought--had become suddenly unhinged.

“Yes, de Batz,” she replied.

“Percy sent him a message, through me, to meet him--here.

I am not mad, Armand,” she added more calmly.

“Sir Andrew took Percy’s letter to de Batz the day that we started from Paris.

” “Great God!

” exclaimed Armand, and instinctively, with a sense of protection, he put his arms round his sister.

“Then, if Chauvelin or the squad is attacked--if--” “Yes,” she said calmly; “if de Batz makes an attack on Chauvelin, or if he reaches the chateau first and tries to defend it, they will shoot us...

Armand, and Percy.

” “But is the Dauphin at the Chateau d’Ourde?

” “No, no!

I think not.

” “Then why should Percy have invoked the aid of de Batz?

Now, when--” “I don’t know,” she murmured helplessly.

“Of course, when he wrote the letter he could not guess that they would hold us as hostages.

He may have thought that under cover of darkness and of an unexpected attack he might have saved himself had he been alone; but now--now that you and I are here--Oh!

it is all so horrible, and I cannot understand it all.

” “Hark!

” broke in Armand, suddenly gripping her arm more tightly.

“Halt!

” rang the sergeant’s voice through the night.

This time there was no mistaking the sound; already it came from no far distance.

It was the sound of a man running and panting, and now and again calling out as he ran.

For a moment there was stillness in the very air, the wind itself was hushed between two gusts, even the rain had ceased its incessant pattering.

Heron’s harsh voice was raised in the stillness.

“What is it now?

” he demanded.

“A runner, citizen,” replied the sergeant, “coming through the wood from the right.

” “From the right?

” and the exclamation was accompanied by a volley of oaths; “the direction of the chateau?

Chauvelin has been attacked; he is sending a messenger back to me.

Sergeant--sergeant, close up round that coach; guard your prisoners as you value your life, and--” The rest of his words were drowned in a yell of such violent fury that the horses, already over-nervous and fidgety, reared in mad terror, and the men had the greatest difficulty in holding them in.

For a few minutes noisy confusion prevailed, until the men could quieten their quivering animals with soft words and gentle pattings.

Then the troopers obeyed, closing up round the coach wherein brother and sister sat huddled against one another.

One of the men said under his breath: “Ah!

but the citizen agent knows how to curse!

One day he will break his gullet with the fury of his oaths.

” In the meanwhile the runner had come nearer, always at the same breathless speed.

The next moment he was challenged: “Qui va la?

” “A friend!

” he replied, panting and exhausted.

“Where is citizen Heron?

” “Here!

” came the reply in a voice hoarse with passionate excitement.

“Come up, damn you.

Be quick!

” “A lanthorn, citizen,” suggested one of the drivers.

“No--no--not now.

Here!

Where the devil are we?

” “We are close to the chapel on our left, citizen,” said the sergeant.

The runner, whose eyes were no doubt accustomed to the gloom, had drawn nearer to the carriage.

“The gates of the chateau,” he said, still somewhat breathlessly, “are just opposite here on the right, citizen.

I have just come through them.

” “Speak up, man!

” and Heron’s voice now sounded as if choked with passion.

“Citizen Chauvelin sent you?

” “Yes.

He bade me tell you that he has gained access to the chateau, and that Capet is not there.

” A series of citizen Heron’s choicest oaths interrupted the man’s speech.

Then he was curtly ordered to proceed, and he resumed his report.

“Citizen Chauvelin rang at the door of the chateau; after a while he was admitted by an old servant, who appeared to be in charge, but the place seemed otherwise absolutely deserted--only--” “Only what?

Go on; what is it?

” “As we rode through the park it seemed to us as if we were being watched, and followed.

We heard distinctly the sound of horses behind and around us, but we could see nothing; and now, when I ran back, again I heard.

There are others in the park to-night besides us, citizen.

” There was silence after that.

It seemed as if the flood of Heron’s blasphemous eloquence had spent itself at last.

“Others in the park!

” And now his voice was scarcely above a whisper, hoarse and trembling.

“How many?

Could you see?

” “No, citizen, we could not see; but there are horsemen lurking round the chateau now.

Citizen Chauvelin took four men into the house with him and left the others on guard outside.

He bade me tell you that it might be safer to send him a few more men if you could spare them.

There are a number of disused farm buildings quite close to the gates, and he suggested that all the horses be put up there for the night, and that the men come up to the chateau on foot; it would be quicker and safer, for the darkness is intense.

” Even while the man spoke the forest in the distance seemed to wake from its solemn silence, the wind on its wings brought sounds of life and movement different from the prowling of beasts or the screeching of night-birds.

It was the furtive advance of men, the quick whispers of command, of encouragement, of the human animal preparing to attack his kind.

But all in the distance still, all muffled, all furtive as yet.

“Sergeant!

” It was Heron’s voice, but it too was subdued, and almost calm now; “can you see the chapel?

” “More clearly, citizen,” replied the sergeant.

“It is on our left; quite a small building, I think.

” “Then dismount, and walk all round it.

See that there are no windows or door in the rear.

” There was a prolonged silence, during which those distant sounds of men moving, of furtive preparations for attack, struck distinctly through the night.

Marguerite and Armand, clinging to one another, not knowing what to think, nor yet what to fear, heard the sounds mingling with those immediately round them, and Marguerite murmured under her breath: “It is de Batz and some of his friends; but what can they do?

What can Percy hope for now?

” But of Percy she could hear and see nothing.

The darkness and the silence had drawn their impenetrable veil between his unseen presence and her own consciousness.

She could see the coach in which he was, but Heron’s hideous personality, his head with its battered hat and soiled bandage, had seemed to obtrude itself always before her gaze, blotting out from her mind even the knowledge that Percy was there not fifty yards away from her.

So strong did this feeling grow in her that presently the awful dread seized upon her that he was no longer there; that he was dead, worn out with fatigue and illness brought on by terrible privations, or if not dead that he had swooned, that he was unconscious--his spirit absent from his body.

She remembered that frightful yell of rage and hate which Heron had uttered a few minutes ago.

Had the brute vented his fury on his helpless, weakened prisoner, and stilled forever those lips that, mayhap, had mocked him to the last?

Marguerite could not guess.

She hardly knew what to hope.

Vaguely, when the thought of Percy lying dead beside his enemy floated through her aching brain, she was almost conscious of a sense of relief at the thought that at least he would be spared the pain of the final, inevitable cataclysm.

CHAPTER XLVII. THE CHAPEL OF THE HOLY SEPULCHRE

The sergeant’s voice broke in upon her misery.

The man had apparently done as the citizen agent had ordered, and had closely examined the little building that stood on the left--a vague, black mass more dense than the surrounding gloom.

“It is all solid stone, citizen,” he said; “iron gates in front, closed but not locked, rusty key in the lock, which turns quite easily; no windows or door in the rear.

” “You are quite sure?

” “Quite certain, citizen; it is plain, solid stone at the back, and the only possible access to the interior is through the iron gate in front.

” “Good.

” Marguerite could only just hear Heron speaking to the sergeant.

Darkness enveloped every form and deadened every sound.

Even the harsh voice which she had learned to loathe and to dread sounded curiously subdued and unfamiliar.

Heron no longer seemed inclined to storm, to rage, or to curse.

The momentary danger, the thought of failure, the hope of revenge, had apparently cooled his temper, strengthened his determination, and forced his voice down to a little above a whisper.

He gave his orders clearly and firmly, and the words came to Marguerite on the wings of the wind with strange distinctness, borne to her ears by the darkness itself, and the hush that lay over the wood.

“Take half a dozen men with you, sergeant,” she heard him say, “and join citizen Chauvelin at the chateau.

You can stable your horses in the farm buildings close by, as he suggests and run to him on foot.

You and your men should quickly get the best of a handful of midnight prowlers; you are well armed and they only civilians.

Tell citizen Chauvelin that I in the meanwhile will take care of our prisoners.

The Englishman I shall put in irons and lock up inside the chapel, with five men under the command of your corporal to guard him, the other two I will drive myself straight to Crecy with what is left of the escort.

You understand?

” “Yes, citizen.

” “We may not reach Crecy until two hours after midnight, but directly I arrive I will send citizen Chauvelin further reinforcements, which, however, I hope may not necessary, but which will reach him in the early morning.

Even if he is seriously attacked, he can, with fourteen men he will have with him, hold out inside the castle through the night.

Tell him also that at dawn two prisoners who will be with me will be shot in the courtyard of the guard-house at Crecy, but that whether he has got hold of Capet or not he had best pick up the Englishman in the chapel in the morning and bring him straight to Crecy, where I shall be awaiting him ready to return to Paris.

You understand?

” “Yes, citizen.

” “Then repeat what I said.

” “I am to take six men with me to reinforce citizen Chauvelin now.

” “Yes.

” “And you, citizen, will drive straight back to Crecy, and will send us further reinforcements from there, which will reach us in the early morning.

” “Yes.

” “We are to hold the chateau against those unknown marauders if necessary until the reinforcements come from Crecy.

Having routed them, we return here, pick up the Englishman whom you will have locked up in the chapel under a strong guard commanded by Corporal Cassard, and join you forthwith at Crecy.

” “This, whether citizen Chauvelin has got hold of Capet or not.

” “Yes, citizen, I understand,” concluded the sergeant imperturbably; “and I am also to tell citizen Chauvelin that the two prisoners will be shot at dawn in the courtyard of the guard-house at Crecy.

” “Yes.

That is all.

Try to find the leader of the attacking party, and bring him along to Crecy with the Englishman; but unless they are in very small numbers do not trouble about the others.

Now en avant;

citizen Chauvelin might be glad of your help.

And--stay--order all the men to dismount, and take the horses out of one of the coaches, then let the men you are taking with you each lead a horse, or even two, and stable them all in the farm buildings.

I shall not need them, and could not spare any of my men for the work later on.

Remember that, above all, silence is the order.

When you are ready to start, come back to me here.

” The sergeant moved away, and Marguerite heard him transmitting the citizen agent’s orders to the soldiers.

The dismounting was carried on in wonderful silence--for silence had been one of the principal commands--only one or two words reached her ears.