“General, the first soldier we meet will light us.”
“No,” said Monck, in order to discover if there were not any connivance between the Comte de la Fère and the fisherman. “No, I should prefer one of these French sailors who came this evening to sell me their fish. They leave tomorrow, and the secret will be better kept by them; whereas, if a report should be spread in the Scottish army, that treasures are to be found in the abbey of Newcastle, my Highlanders will believe there is a million concealed beneath every slab, and they will not leave stone upon stone in the building.”
“Do as you think best, general,” replied Athos, in a natural tone of voice, making evident that soldier or fisherman was the same to him, and that he had no preference.
Monck approached the causeway behind which had disappeared the person he had taken for Digby, and met a patrol who, making the tour of the tents, was going towards headquarters; he was stopped with his companion, gave the password, and went on. A soldier, roused by the noise, unrolled his plaid, and looked up to see what was going forward. “Ask him,” said Monck to Athos, “where the fishermen are; if I were to speak to him, he would know me.”
Athos went up to the soldier, who pointed out the tent to him; immediately Monck and Athos turned towards it. It appeared to the general that at the moment they came up, a shadow like that they had already seen, glided into this tent; but on drawing nearer he perceived he must have been mistaken, for all of them were asleep pêle-mêle, and nothing was seen but arms and legs joined, crossed, and mixed. Athos, fearing lest he should be suspected of connivance with some of his compatriots, remained outside the tent.
“Holà!” said Monck, in French, “wake up here.” Two or three of the sleepers got up.
“I want a man to light me,” continued Monck.
“Your honor may depend on us,” said a voice which made Athos start. “Where do you wish us to go?”
“You shall see. A light! come, quickly!”
“Yes, your honor. Does it please your honor that I should accompany you?”
“You or another; it is of very little consequence, provided I have a light.”
It is strange!
thought Athos; what a singular voice that man has!
“Some fire, you fellows!” cried the fisherman; “come, make haste!”
Then addressing his companion nearest to him in a low voice:—“Get ready a light, Menneville,” said he, “and hold yourself ready for anything.”
One of the fishermen struck light from a stone, set fire to some tinder, and by the aid of a match lit a lantern. The light immediately spread all over the tent.
“Are you ready, Monsieur?” said Monck to Athos, who had turned away, not to expose his face to the light.
“Yes, general,” replied he.
“Ah! the French gentleman!” said the leader of the fishermen to himself. “Peste! I have a great mind to charge you with the commission, Menneville; he may know me. Light! light!” This dialogue was pronounced at the back of the tent, and in so low a voice that Monck could not hear a syllable of it; he was, besides, talking with Athos. Menneville got himself ready in the meantime, or rather received the orders of his leader.
“Well?” said Monck.
“I am ready, general,” said the fisherman.
Monck, Athos, and the fisherman left the tent.
It is impossible!
thought Athos. What dream could put that into my head?
“Go forward; follow the middle causeway, and stretch out your legs,” said Monck to the fisherman.
They were not twenty paces on their way when the same shadow that had appeared to enter the tent came out of it again, crawled along as far as the piles, and, protected by that sort of parapet placed along the causeway, carefully observed the march of the general. All three disappeared in the night haze. They were walking towards Newcastle, the white stones of which appeared to them like sepulchers. After standing for a few seconds under the porch, they penetrated into the interior. The door had been broken open by hatchets. A post of four men slept in safety in a corner, so certain were they that the attack would not take place on that side.
“Will not these men be in your way?” said Monck to Athos.
“On the contrary, Monsieur, they will assist in rolling out the barrels, if your honor will permit them.”
“You are right.”
The post, though fast asleep, roused up at the first steps of the three visitors amongst the briars and grass that invaded the porch. Monck gave the password, and penetrated into the interior of the convent, preceded by the light. He walked last, watching the least movement of Athos, his naked dirk in his sleeve, and ready to plunge it into the back of the gentleman at the first suspicious gesture he should see him make. But Athos, with a firm and sure step, crossed the chambers and courts.
Not a door, not a window was left in this building. The doors had been burnt, some on the spot, and the charcoal of them was still jagged with the action of the fire, which had gone out of itself, powerless, no doubt, to get to the heart of those massive joints of oak fastened together with iron nails. As to the windows, all the panes having been broken, night birds, alarmed by the torch, flew away through their holes. At the same time, gigantic bats began to trace their vast, silent circles around the intruders, whilst the light of the torch made their shadows tremble on the high stone walls. Monck concluded that there could be no man in the convent, since wild beasts and birds were there still, and fled away at his approach.
After having passed the
