The fellow looked up with a scowl.
'We take our orders from our officer,' he answered sourly.
'Ah!' quoth the Deputy. 'There is someone in charge here, then? Who may it be?'
'Captain Charlot,' the fellow answered, with an impudent air, which clearly seemed to ask: 'What have you to say to that?'
'Captain Charlot?' echoed La Boulaye, in astonishment, for the name was that of the sometime peasant of Bellecour, who had since risen in life, and who, as an officer, had in a few months acquired a brilliant fame for deeds of daring. 'Charlot Tardivet?' he inquired.
'Is there any other Captain Charlot in the army of the Republic?' the fellow asked insolently.
'Is he invalided too?' inquired Caron, without heeding the soldier's offensiveness of manner.
'He was severely wounded at Jemappes,' was the answer.
'At Jemappes? But, voyons my friend, Jemappes was fought three months ago.'
'Why, so all the world knows. What then? The General sent Captain Charlot here to rest and be cured, giving him charge of the invalided soldiers who came with him and of others who were already here.'
'And of these,' cried La Boulaye, his amazement growing, 'have none returned to Dumouriez?'
'Have I not said that we are invalids?'
Caron eyed him with cold contempt.
'How many of you are there?' he asked. And for all that the man began to mislike this questioning, he had not the hardihood to refuse an answer to the stern tones of that stern man on horseback.
'Some fifty, or thereabouts.'
La Boulaye said nothing for a moment, then touching the fellow's sleeve with his whip.
'How came you into this masquerade?' he inquired.
'Ma foi,' answered the man, shrugging his shoulders, 'we were in rags. The commissariat was demoralised, and supplies were not forthcoming. We had to take what we could find, or else go naked.'
'And where did you find these things?'
'Diable! Will your questions never come to an end, Citizen? Would you not be better advised in putting them to the Captain himself?'
'Why, so I will. Where is he?'
In the distance a cloud of dust might be perceived above the long, white road. The soldier espied it as La Boulaye put his question.
'I am much at fault if he does not come yonder.' And he pointed to the dust-cloud.
'I think,' said La Boulaye, turning to his men, 'that we will drink a cup of wine at the 'Eagle Inn.''
Mean though the place was, it was equipped with a stable-yard, to which admittance was gained by a porte-cochere on the right. Wheeling his horse, La Boulaye, without another word to the soldier he had been questioning, rode through it, followed by his escort.
The hostess, who came forward to receive them, was a tall, bony woman of very swarthy complexion, with beady eyes and teeth prominent as a rat's. But if ill-favoured, she seemed, at least, well-intentioned, in addition to which the tricolour scarf of office round La Boulaye's waist was a thing that commanded respect and servility, however much it might be the insignia of a Government of liberty, equality, and fraternity.
She bade the ostler care for their horses, and she brought them her best wine, seeking under an assumed geniality to conceal the unrest born of her speculations as to what might happen did Captain Charlot return ere the Deputy departed.
Charlot did return. Scarce were they seated at their wine when the confused sounds that from the distance had been swelling took more definite shape. The hostess looked uneasy as La Boulaye rose and went to the door of the inn. Down the road marched now a numerous company from which—to judge by their odd appearance—the players at bowls had been drawn. They numbered close upon threescore, and in the centre of them came a great lumbering vehicle, which puzzled La Boulaye. He drew away from the door and posted himself at the window, so that unobserved he might ascertain what was toward. Into the courtyard came that company, pele-mele, an odd mixture of rags and gauds, yet a very lusty party, vigorous of limb and loud of voice. With them came the coach, and there was such a press about the gates that La Boulaye looked to see some of them crushed to death. But with a few shouts and oaths and threats at one another they got through in safety, and the unwieldy carriage was brought to a standstill.
They were clamouring about its doors, and to La Boulaye it seemed that they were on the point of quarrelling among themselves, some wanting to enter the coach and others seeking to restrain them, when through the porte-cochere rode Charlot Tardivet himself.
He barked out a sharp word of command, and they grew silent and still, testifying to a discipline which said much for the strength of character of their captain. He was strangely altered, was this Tardivet, and his appearance now was worthy of his followers. Under a gaudily-laced, three-cornered hat his hair hung dishevelled and unkempt, like wisps of straw. He wore a coat of flowered black silk, with a heavy gold edging, and a very bright plum-coloured waistcoat showed above the broad tricolour scarf that sashed his middle. His breeches were white (or had been white in origin), and disappeared into a pair of very lustrous lacquered boots that rose high above his knees. A cavalry sabre of ordinary dimensions hung from a military belt, and a pistol-butt, peeping from his sash, completed the astonishing motley of his appearance. For the rest, he was the same tall and well-knit fellow; but there was more strength in his square chin, more intelligence in the keen blue eyes, and, alas! more coarseness in the mouth, which bristled with a reddish beard of some days' growth.
La Boulaye watched him with interest. He had become intimate with him in the old days in Paris, whither Tardivet had gone, and where, fired by the wrongs he had suffered, he had been one of the apostles of the Revolution. When the frontiers of France had been in danger Tardivet had taken up arms, and by the lustre which he had shed upon the name of Captain Charlotas he was come to be called throughout the army—he had eclipsed the fame of Citizen Tardivet, the erstwhile prophet of liberty. Great changes these in the estate of one who had been a simple peasant; but then the times were times of great changes. Was not Santerre, the brewer, become a great general, and was not Robespierre, the obscure lawyer of Arras, by way of becoming a dictator? Was it, therefore, wonderful that Charlot should have passed from peasant to preacher, from preacher to soldier, and from soldier to—what?
A shrewd suspicion was being borne in upon La Boulaye's mind as he stood by that window, his men behind him watching also, with no less intentness and some uneasiness for themselves—for they misliked the look of the company.
In five seconds Charlot had restored order in the human chaos without. In five minutes there were but ten men left in the yard. The others were gone at Charlot's bidding—a bidding, couched in words that went to confirm La Boulaye's suspicions.
'You will get back to your posts at once,' he had said. 'Because we have made one rich capture is no reason why you should neglect the opportunities of making others no less rich. You, Moulinet, with twenty men, shall patrol the road to Charleroi, and get as near France as possible. You Boligny, station yourself in the neighbourhood of Conde, with ten men, and guard the road from Valenciennes. You, Aigreville, spread your twenty men from Conde to Tournay, and watch the frontiers closely. Make an inspection of any captures you may take, and waste no time in bringing hither worthless ones. Now go. I will see that each man's share of this is assured him. March!'
There were some shouts of 'Vive la Republique!' some of 'Vive le Captaine Charlot!' and so they poured out of the yard, and left him to give a few hurried directions to the ten men that remained.
'Sad invalids these, as I live!' exclaimed La Boulaye over his shoulder to his followers. 'Ha! There is my friend of the red redingote!'
The fellow with the bandaged head had approached Charlot and was tugging at his sleeve.
'Let be, you greasy rascal,' the Captain snapped at him, to add: 'What do you say? A Deputy? Where?' The fellow pointed with his thumb in the direction of the hostelry.
'Sacred name of a name!' growled Charlot, and, turning suddenly from the men to whom he had been issuing directions, he sprang up the steps and entered the inn. As he crossed the threshold of the common room he was confronted by the tall figure of La Boulaye.
'I make you my compliments, Charlot,' was Caron's greeting, 'upon the vigorous health that appears to prevail in your hospital.'
