Petticoat Rule

He turned into the gate. The house itself was low, one-storied only, and built entirely of wood round a central court-yard, which was as deep in slime as the rest of the town of Le Havre. Opposite Gaston as he rode in, were some primitive stablings, and on his right some equally primitive open sheds; the remaining two sides apparently stood for the main portion of the building, as several doors gave upon a covered verandah, to which some four or five steps gave access.

A weary-eyed ostler in a blue blouse and huge wooden sabots, from which bunches of straw protruded at the heel came leisurely forward when Gaston drew rein. He seemed to have emerged from nowhere in particular, risen out of the mud mayhap, but he held the mare none too clumsily when M. le Comte dismounted.

The next moment a portly figure appeared in one of the doorways under the verandah, clad precisely like the ostler, save for the gorgeous scarlet kerchief round the gargantuan neck, whilst another, equally bright in hue, peeped out of the pocket of the blouse.

Above the scarlet neckerchief a round face, red as a Normandy apple, was turned meditatively on the mud-stained cavalier, whilst a pair of small, beady eyes blinked drowsily at the afternoon sun.

"See that the mare gets a good rub down at once, then a feed of corn with a dash of eau-de-vie in it, a litter of straw, and a drink of water; she is done to death," said Gaston, peremptorily to the sleepy-looking ostler. "I'll be round in a quarter of an hour to see if she is comfortable, and give you a taste of my whip if she is not."

The ostler did not reply, neither did he touch his forelock in token of obedience. He smothered a yawn and with slow, dragging steps he led the over-tired mare toward the rough stabling in the rear. Gaston then turned toward the verandah and to the few wooden steps which led up to the doorway, wherein the apple-faced man still stood with his hands behind him, drowsily blinking at the unexpected visitor.

"Are you the innkeeper?" asked Gaston curtly.

"Yes, M'sieu," replied the other with great deliberation.

"I shall want a good room for the night, and a well-cooked supper. See to it at once."

Mine host's placidity gave way somewhat at these peremptory orders, which were accompanied by a loud and significant tapping of a whip across a riding boot. But the placidity did not yield to eagerness, only to a certain effort at sulky protest, as Gaston, having mounted the steps, now stood facing him in his own doorway.

"My house is full, M'sieu." he began.

"I am on the King's business," shouted Gaston now with angry impatience, "so none of this nonsense. Understand?"

Evidently mine host not only understood, but thought it best to obey with as good grace as he could muster. He stepped aside still somewhat grudgingly, and allowed Gaston de Stainville to enter: but he did not condescend to bow nor did he bid M'sieu the visitor welcome in his house.

Gaston however was not minded to notice the fat man's sulky temper. The moodiness of provincial innkeepers had become proverbial in France; they seemed to look upon all guests, who brought money into their pockets, as arrogant intruders, and treated them accordingly.

"See to a decent supper at once," repeated de Stainville now with that peremptoriness which he knew would alone ensure civility, "and send a wench into my room to see that it is properly aired, and that clean linen is put upon the bed."

The warning was no doubt necessary, judging by the appearance of the room in which Gaston now found himself. It was low and stuffy in the extreme. He was conscious of nothing else for the moment, as only two diminutive windows, hermetically closed, admitted a tiny modicum of light through four dirty and thick panes of rough glass. On the left there was a door evidently leading to another and larger room from which – as this door was ajar – came the sound of voices and also suffocating gusts of very pungent tobacco.

Obviously there was some light and air in that further room, whereas here it seemed to Gaston as if only cave-dwellers and moles could live and breathe.

"You had best serve my supper in there," he said, pointing with his riding whip toward that half-open door, and without waiting for the protests which mine host was obviously preparing himself to make, he strode boldly toward it and pushed it fully open.

The place was certainly very different to the one which he had just quitted. The floor was strewn with clean white sand, and, though the air was thick with the fumes of that same pungent tobacco, which already had offended Gaston's nostrils, it was not hopelessly unpleasant, as the deep and square oriel window at the extreme end of this long, low room was wide open, freely admitting the sweet, salt breeze which blew straight from the English Channel; affording too – as Gaston had originally surmised – a magnificent view of a panorama which embraced the mouth of the Seine, the rough harbour and tiny jetty, with the many small craft lying at anchor on the calm bosom of the river, and the graceful schooners and majestic three-deckers further away, all lit by the slanting rays of the slowly-sinking sun.

Gaston, without hesitation, walked straight up to a bench and trestle table, which to his pleasurable surprise he found was unoccupied. These were just inside the bay of the window, and he deliberately placed his hat, coat and whip upon the table in token that he took possession of it. Then he once more turned to mine host, who, much torn between respect for a man who travelled on the King's business – a nobleman mayhap – and pride of peasant at contact with an unwelcome visitor, had slowly followed Gaston, lolling with that peculiar gait which betrays the ex-sailor whilst firm if deferential protest was writ all over his rubicund countenance.

Jean Marie Palisson was born at Le Havre; he had been armateur ere the welcome death of a relative put him in possession of the most frequented inn in the town together with a very comfortable competence, and the best furnished cellars this side of Rouen. He greatly resented the appearance of a stranger in the midst of his usual habitués, which distinguished circle embraced M. le Général commanding the fortress, M. the Military Governor of the port, M. the Civil Governor of the town, MM. the commanders on His Majesty's ships, not to speak of M. le Maire, and M. le Député of the Parliament of Rouen, in fact all the notabilities and dignitaries of the town and the harbour.

These gentlemen were wont to assemble in this the best room of "Les Trois Matelots" at five o'clock, "l'heure de l'apéritif," when eau-de-vie, punch or mulled wine were consumed, in order to coax recalcitrant appetites to a pleasurable anticipation of supper. It was an understood thing, between the worthy Jean Marie Palisson and his distinguished customers, that no strangers were to be admitted within this inner sanctum, save by the vote of the majority, nor had it ever occurred before that any one had thus forced an entrance past that magic door which mine host guarded with jealous care.

Now when Gaston thus arrogantly took possession of the best table in the best portion of the best room in "Les Trois Matelots," Jean Marie was so taken aback, and so awed by the masterfulness which could rise to such complete disregard of the etiquette pertaining to the social circles of Le Havre, that he found himself unable to do aught but shrug his broad shoulders at intervals, and blink his beady eyes in token of helpless distress.

And this in spite of the fact that several pairs of eyebrows were lifted in token of pained surprise.

Gaston was equally unconscious of the disapproval which his entry had evoked, as of Jean Marie's want of alacrity in his service. When he entered, he noted that the several occupants of the room were gentlemen like himself, and he always felt thoroughly at home and unabashed amongst his kind: as for the landlord of a tumbledown provincial inn, Gaston thought him quite unworthy of close attention. He sat himself down on the edge of the table, dangling one well-booted leg with easy nonchalance, and from this elevated position he surveyed leisurely and with no small amount of impertinence, the company there assembled. He had scarce time to note the scowling looks of haughty disapproval which were levelled at him from every side, when the door was vigorously pushed open and an aggressively cheerful young man, loud of voice, jocose of manner, boisterously entered the room.

"Par ma foi! my worthy Jean Marie," he said in stentorian tones, "is this the latest fashion in Le Havre? the host not at the door to receive his guests?.. Hé!." he added, suddenly realizing the presence of a stranger in the room, "whom have we here?"

But already, at the first words uttered by the newcomer, Gaston de Stainville had jumped to his feet, and as soon as the young man ceased talking, he went forward to greet him.

"None other than Gaston de Stainville, my good Mortémar, and pleased indeed to look into a friend's face."

"Gaston de Stainville!" exclaimed the other gaily, "par tous les diables! but this is a surprise! Who would have thought to see you in this damned and God-forsaken hole!"

"The King's business, my good Mortémar," said Gaston, "and if you'll forgive me I'll see to it at once and then we'll sup together, eh?.. Palsambleu! and I who thought I'd die of ennui during this enforced halt on this lonely shore."

"Ennui? perish the thought! Gentlemen," added the young Comte de Mortémar, with a graceful flourish of the arm which embraced the entire company, "allow me to present unto you the most accomplished cavalier of the day, whom I have the honour to call my friend, and whom I hope we will all have the honour to call our guest to-night, M. le Comte Gaston Amédé de Stainville."

Gaston had no cause now to complain of want of welcome. Once the stranger duly accredited and presented by a member of the intimate circle, he was cheered to the echo. Every one rose to greet him, many pressed forward to shake him by the hand: the presence of a cavalier of Versailles with all the Court gossip, the little intrigues, the laughable anecdotes which he would of necessity bring with him was indeed a veritable God-send to the little official world of Le Havre, who spent most of its life in mortal ennui.

"As for thee, my good Jean Marie," now interposed Mortémar with mock severity, "let me tell thee at once that if within an hour this table here doth not groan under the weight of the finest and best cooked capon that Normandy can produce, neither I nor these gentlemen here will e'er darken thy doors again. What say you, gentlemen?"

There was loudly expressed assent, accompanied by much laughter and vigorous clinking of pewter mugs against the deal tables.

"And in the meanwhile," continued Mortémar, who seemed to have taken the lead in this general desire to bid the visitor a substantial welcome, "a bowl of punch with half a glass of eau-de-vie and a dozen prunes soaked in kirsch therein. Never fear, friend Stainville," he added, slapping Gaston boisterously on the shoulder, "I tell you mine host knows how to brew a bowl of punch, which will send you reeling under one of his tables in less than half an hour."

A round of applause greeted this cheerful sally.

"Nay, in that case," said Gaston, on whom the strenuous fatigues of the day were telling severely after the preliminary excitement of arrival, "I'll to my business, ere your good cheer, friend, render me quite helpless."

"Perish the thought of business," retorted Mortémar. "Your head in a bucket of cold water after the punch, and you can meet the most astute notary on even ground and beat him at his own game. The punch, knave!" he shouted to the fat landlord, "the punch, this instant, M. le Comte de Stainville is wearied and is waiting for refreshment."

But Gaston's frame of mind was far too grave, his purpose far too important, to allow himself to be led into delaying business with Captain Barre a moment longer than was necessary. Mortémar and his convivial friends could not know that half a million livres would be the price paid for that bowl of punch, since it might mean an hour's carousing and the full of dusk before Le Monarque received her orders. He was deadly fatigued undoubtedly, faint too from the heat and want of proper food, but when money was at stake Gaston de Stainville always displayed an enthusiasm and an amount of courageous endurance worthy of a better cause.

"A thousand thanks, my good Mortémar, and to you all, gentlemen," he now said courteously but firmly, "do not, I beseech you, think me churlish if I must momentarily refuse your kind hospitality. One glass of eau-de-vie to give me a modicum of strength, and I must to my business first. Gentlemen, I see by your coats that most of you serve the King in some capacity or other, you know as well as I do that the laws which govern the King's commands cannot be broken. I will not be gone long, half an hour at most; after that I am at your commands, and will be the most grateful as well as the most joyous of you all."

"Well spoken, friend Stainville," declared Mortémar "and you, Jean Marie, serve a small refreshment to M. le Comte immediately. Nay, friend," he added pleasantly, "I fear I have been importunate.. 'twas the joy of seeing so elegant a cavalier grace this unhallowed spot."

Every one nodded approval; as Gaston had surmised, there were soldiers, sailors there present, all of whom understood duty and obedience to the King's commands.

"Perhaps some of us could be of assistance to M. le Comte de Stainville," suggested a grave gentleman who wore His Majesty's colours. "If he is a stranger at Le Havre he might be glad of help."

"Indeed well said," spoke another; "could one of us here accompany you anywhere, Monsieur le Comte?"

"I am more than grateful, gentlemen," replied Gaston, to whom the host was even now offering a cup of mulled wine. He drank the liquor at one draught, then set down the cup ere he spoke further:

"And gladly will I accept these kindly offers of assistance," he now said. "I am indeed a stranger here, and did feel doubtful how I could most speedily accomplish my business. I must have speech with Captain Barre, gentlemen, commanding His Majesty's ship Le Monarque and that with as little delay as possible.."

To his intense astonishment he was interrupted by a ringing laugh from his friend Mortémar.

"Nay, then my good Stainville," said the lively young man, "you'll have plenty of time for that bowl of punch, aye! and for getting right royally drunk and fully sober again if your business is with Captain Barre."

"What do you mean?" queried Gaston with a sudden frown.

"Le Monarque sailed out of Le Havre an hour ago; methinks you can still see her sails against the evening sun."

And the young man pointed through the open window out toward the West. Mechanically Gaston's eyes followed the direction in which his friend pointed. There, far away in the mist-laden distance, a graceful three-decker, with sails unfurled, was distinctly visible in the glow of the setting sun. She was gaily riding the waves, the soft south-easterly breeze having carried her swiftly and lightly already far out to sea.

Gaston felt an awful dizziness in his head. An icy sweat broke out upon his brow, he passed a hand across his eyes for he did not feel that he could trust them.

"That is not Le Monarque," he murmured.

"By my faith, but it is," said Mortémar, a little perturbed, for he had not thought to be conveying evil news. "I was bidding her captain 'God-speed' myself little more than an hour ago. A gallant sailor, and a personal friend," he added, "and he seemed mighty glad to get on the way."

"Whither was he bound?" asked Gaston mechanically.

"Nay! that I do not know. Barre had received secret orders only an hour before he started.."

But now Gaston felt his senses reeling.

"She must be stopped!.. she must be stopped!" he shouted wildly. "I have orders for her.. she must be stopped, at any cost!"

And breaking through the compact group of his newly found friends he made a wild dash for the door.

But the excitement, the terrible keenness of this disappointment had been too much for him, after the strenuous fatigues and the overpowering heat of the day. The dizziness turned to an intolerable feeling of sickness, the walls of the room spun round and round him, he felt as if a stunning blow had been dealt him on the head, and with a final shriek of "Stop her!" he staggered and would have fallen headlong, but that a pair of willing arms were there to break his fall.

CHAPTER XXXV

THE STRANGER

It was M. des Coutures – a middle-aged man, military governor of Le Havre – who had caught Gaston de Stainville in his arms when the latter all but lost consciousness. A dozen willing pairs of hands were now ready to administer to the guest's comforts, from the loosening of his cravat to the pulling off of his heavy riding boots.

"The mulled wine was too heavy for him," said M. le Maire Valledieu, "no doubt he had been fasting some hours and his stomach refused to deal with it."

"Tell the kitchen wench to hurry with that supper, Jean Marie," said Mortémar to mine host, "he'll be himself again when he has eaten."

"If there's a plate of soup ready, bring that," added M. Valledieu. "Anything's better than an empty paunch."

"I thank you, friends," now murmured Stainville feebly. "I fear me I must have turned giddy.. the heat and."

He was recovering quickly enough. It had been mere dizziness caused by fatigue; and then that awful blow which had staggered him physically as well as mentally! His newly found friends had dragged him back to the table close to the open window: the keen sea-breeze quickly restored him to complete consciousness.

Already he had turned his head slowly round to watch that fast disappearing three-decker, gleaming golden now in the distant haze.

His argosy which he had hoped to see returning from her voyage laden with golden freight! Somehow as first the hulk and then the graceful sails were gradually merged into the Western glow, Gaston knew – by one of those inexplainable yet absolutely unerring instincts which baffle the materialist – that all hopes of those coveted millions were vanishing as surely as did the ship now from before his gaze. He was still weak in body as well as in mind, and it was as if in a dream, that he listened to de Mortémar's carelessly given explanations of the event which meant the wreckage of so many fondly cherished hopes.

"Captain Barre broke his fast in this very room this morning," said the young man lightly, "several of these gentlemen here, as well as myself, had speech with him. He had no idea then that he would have to start on a voyage quite so soon. He left here at eleven o'clock and went back to his ship. An hour later when I was strolling along the shore I met him again. He seemed in a vast hurry and told me in a few curt words that Le Monarque had received orders to be under way as soon as the tide permitted."

"You did not ask him whither the ship was bound?" queried Gaston, speaking hoarsely like a man who has been drinking.

"He could not tell me," replied the other, "her orders were secret."

"Do you know who was the bearer of these secret orders?"

"No, but I heard later that a stranger had ridden into Le Havre at midday to-day. His mare – a beautiful creature so I understand – dropped not far from here; she had been ridden to her death, poor thing; and her rider, so they say, was near to dropping too."

"I saw him," here interposed a young soldier, "he was just outside that God-forsaken hole, 'Le Gros Normand' and politely asked me if it were the best inn in Le Havre."

"I hope you told him it was," said des Coutures with a growl, "we want no stranger here."

"Nor do we want Le Havre to have a reputation for dirt and discomfort," corrected M. le Maire.

"And I certainly could not allow a gentlemen – for he was that – I'll lay any wager on it, with any one – to be made superlatively uncomfortable on the broken beds of 'Le Gros Normand,'" asserted the young soldier hotly.

"You advised him to come here?" gasped Mortémar with genuine horror. He was the chief of that clique which desired to exclude, with utmost rigour from the sacred precincts of "Les Trois Matelots," every stranger not properly accredited.

"Ma foi! what would you have me do?" retorted the other sulkily.

"You did quite right, Lieutenant le Tellier," rejoined M. le Maire, who was jealous of the reputation of Le Havre. "Gentlemen must be under no misapprehension with regard to the refinement and hospitality of this town."

The entrance of mine host carrying a steaming bowl of soup broke up the conversation for awhile. Jean Marie was followed by a fat and jovial-looking wench, who quickly spread a white cloth for Monsieur le Comte's supper and generally administered to his wants.

De Mortémar, Général des Coutures, and M. le Maire Valledieu had constituted themselves the nominal hosts of Gaston. They too sat round the table, and anon when Jean Marie brought huge jugs of red wine, they fell to and entertained their guest, plying him with meat and drink.

This broke up the company somewhat. The other gentlemen had withdrawn with all the respect which Frenchmen always feel for the solemnity of a meal; they had once more assumed their old places at the various tables about the room. But no one thought yet of returning home: "l'heure de l'apéritif" was being indefinitely prolonged.

Conversation naturally drifted back again and again to Le Monarque and her secret orders. Every one scented mystery, for was it not strange that a noble cavalier like Monsieur le Comte de Stainville should have ridden all the way from Versailles on the King's business, in order to have speech with the commander of one of His Majesty's own ships, only to find that he had been forestalled? The good ship had apparently received orders which the King knew naught about, else His Majesty had not sent Monsieur de Stainville all this way on a fool's errand.

Eager, prying eyes watched him as he began to eat and drink, dreamily at first, almost drowsily. Obviously he was absorbed in thought. He too must be racking his brains as to who the stranger might be who had so unexpectedly forestalled him.

His three genial hosts plied him continually with wine and soon the traces of fatigue in him began to yield to his usual alertness and vigour. The well-cooked food, the rich liquors were putting life back into his veins. And with renewed life came a seething, an ungovernable wrath.

He had lost a fortune, the gratitude of the King, the goodwill of Pompadour, two and a half millions of money through the interference of a stranger!

He tried to think, to imagine, to argue with himself. Treacherous and false himself, he at once suspected treachery. He imagined that some sycophant, hanging to the Pompadour's skirts, had succeeded in winning her good graces sufficiently to be allowed to do this errand for her, instead of himself.

Or had the King played him false, and sent another messenger to do the delicate business and to share in the spoils?

Or had Lydie..? But no! this was impossible! What could she have done at a late hour of the night? How could she have found a messenger whom she could trust? when earlier in the day she had herself admitted that there was no one in whom she could confide, and thus turned almost unwillingly to the friend of her childhood.

Jean Marie's favoured customers sat at the various tables sipping their eau-de-vie; some had produced dice and cards, whilst others were content to loll about, still hoping to hear piquant anecdotes of that distant Court of Versailles, toward which they all sighed so longingly.

But the elegant guest was proving a disappointment. Even after the second bumper of wine Gaston de Stainville's tongue had not loosened. He was speculating on the identity of that mysterious stranger, and would not allow his moodiness to yield to the joys of good cheer. To-morrow he would have to ride back to Versailles hardly more leisurely than he had come, for he must find out the truth of how he came to be forestalled. But he could not start before dawn, even though fiery impatience and wrath burned in his veins.

To all inquisitive queries and pointed chaff he replied with a sulky growl, and very soon the delight of meeting an interesting stranger gave place to irritation at his sullen mood. He was drinking heavily, and did not seem cheerful in his cups, and anon even Mortémar's boisterous hilarity gave way before his persistent gloom.