When whole empires had striven in vain to strike, how could a mere association of obscure men hope to record its blow? The Tugendbund had begun humbly enough; and Napoleon, with that unerring foresight which raised him above all other men, had struck at its base. For an association in which kings and cobblers stand side by side on an equal footing must necessarily be dangerous to its foes.
Sebastian was not carried off his feet by the great events of the last six months. They only rendered him steadier. For he had waited a lifetime. It is only a sudden success that dazzles. Long waiting nearly always ensures a wise possession.
Sebastian, like all men absorbed in a great thought, was neglectful of his social and domestic obligations. Has it not been shown that he allowed Mathilde and Désirée to support him by giving dancing lessons? But he was not the ordinary domestic tyrant who is familiar to all—the dignified father of a family who must have the best of everything, whose teaching to his offspring takes the form of an unconscious and solemn warning. He did not ask the best; he hardly noticed what was offered to him; and it was not owing to his demand, but to that feminine spirit of self-sacrifice which has ruined so many men, that he fared better than his daughters.
If he thought about it at all, he probably concluded that Mathilde and Désirée were quite content to give their time and thought to the support of himself—not as their father, but as the motive power of the Tugendbund in Prussia. Many greater men have made the same mistake, and quite small men with a great name make it every day, thinking complacently that it is a privilege to some woman to minister to their wants while they produce their immortal pictures or deathless books; whereas, the woman would tend him as carefully were he a crossing-sweeper, and is only following the dictates of an instinct which is loftier than his highest thought and more admirable than his most astounding work of art.
Barlasch had not lived so long in the Frauengasse without learning the domestic economy of Sebastian’s household. He knew that Désirée, like many persons with kind blue eyes, shaped her own course through life, and abided by the result with a steadfastness not usually attributed to the lighthearted. He concluded that he must make ready to take the road again before midnight. He therefore gave a careful and businesslike attention to the simple meal set before him by Lisa; and, looking up over his plate, he saw for the second time in his life Sebastian hurrying into his own kitchen.
Barlasch half rose, and then, in obedience to a gesture from Sebastian, or remembering perhaps the sturdy Republicanism which he had not learnt until middle-age, he sat down again, fork in hand.
“You are prepared to accompany Madame Darragon to Thorn?” inquired Sebastian, inviting his guest by a gesture to make himself at home—scarcely a necessary thought in the present instance.
“Yes.”
“And how do you propose to make the journey?”
This was so unlike Sebastian’s usual method, so far from his lax comprehension of a father’s duty, that Barlasch paused and looked at him with suspicion. With the back of his hand he pushed up the unkempt hair which obscured his eyes. This unusual display of parental anxiety required looking into.
“From what I could see in the streets,” he answered, “the General will not stand in the way of women and useless mouths who wish to quit Danzig.”
“That is possible; but he will not go so far as to provide horses.”
Barlasch gave his companion a quick glance, and returned to his supper, eating with an exaggerated nonchalance, as if he were alone.
“Will you provide them?” he asked abruptly, at length, without looking up.
“I can get them for you, and can ensure you relays by the way.”
Barlasch cut a piece of meat very carefully, and, opening his mouth wide, looked at Sebastian over the orifice.
“On one condition,” pursued Sebastian quietly; “that you deliver a letter for me in Thorn. I make no pretence; if it is found on you, you will be shot.”
Barlasch smiled pleasantly.
“The risks are very great,” said Sebastian, tapping his snuffbox reflectively.
“I am not an officer to talk of my honour,” answered Barlasch, with a laugh. “And as for risk”—he paused and put half a potato into his mouth—“it is Mademoiselle I serve,” concluded this uncouth knight with a curt simplicity.
So they set out at ten o’clock that night in a light sleigh on high runners, such as may be seen on any winter day in Poland down to the present time. The horses were as good as any in Danzig at this date, when a horse was more costly than his master. The moon, sailing high overhead through fleecy clouds, found it no hard task to light a world all snow and ice. The streets of Danzig were astir with life and the rumble of wagons. At first there were difficulties, and Barlasch explained airily that he was not so accomplished a whip in the streets as in the open country.
“But never fear,” he added. “We shall get there, soon enough.”
At the city gates there was, as Barlasch had predicted, no objection made to the departure of a young girl and an old man. Others were quitting Danzig by the same gate, on foot, in sleighs and carts; but all turned westward at the crossroads and joined the stream of refugees hurrying forward to Germany. Barlasch and Désirée were alone on the wide road that runs southward across the plain towards Dirschau. The air was very cold and still. On the snow, hard and dry like white dust, the runners of the sleigh sang a song on one note, only varied from time to time by
