well. By the way, try to find out one thing.”
“What is that, general?”
“How it happens that at a time when we are at war with England an Englishman stalks about France as freely and as easily as if he were at home.”
“Good; I will find out.”
“How?”
“I do not know; but when I promise you to find out I shall do so, though I have to ask it of himself.”
“Reckless fellow! Don’t get yourself involved in another affair in that direction.”
“In any case, it would not be a duel. It would be a battle, as he is a national enemy.”
“Well, once more – till I see you again. Embrace me.”
Roland flung himself with passionate gratitude upon the neck of the personage who had just given him this permission.
“Oh, general!” he exclaimed, “how happy I should be – if I were not so unhappy!”
The general looked at him with profound affection, then asked: “One day you will tell me what this sorrow is, will you not, Roland?”
Roland laughed that sorrowful laugh which had already escaped his lips once or twice.
“Oh! my word, no,” said he, “you would ridicule me too much.”
The general stared at him as one would contemplate a madman.
“After all,” he murmured, “one must accept men as they come.”
“Especially when they are not what they seem to be.”
“You must mistake me for OEdipe since you pose me with these enigmas, Roland.”
“Ah! If you guess this one, general, I will herald you king of Thebes! But, with all my follies, I forgot that your time is precious and that I am detaining you needlessly with my nonsense.”
“That is so! Have you any commissions for Paris?”
“Yes, three; my regards to Bourrienne, my respects to your brother Lucien, and my most tender homage to Madame Bonaparte.”
“I will deliver them.”
“Where shall I find you in Paris?”
“At my house in the Rue de la Victoire, perhaps.”
“Perhaps – ”
“Who knows? Perhaps at Luxembourg!” Then throwing himself back as if he regretted having said so much, even to a man he regarded as his best friend, he shouted to the postilion, “Road to Orange! As fast as possible.”
The postilion, who was only waiting for the order, whipped up his horses; the carriage departed rapidly, rumbling like a roll of thunder, and disappeared through the Porte d’Oulle.
CHAPTER III. THE ENGLISHMAN
Roland remained motionless, not only as long as he could see the carriage, but long after it had disappeared. Then, shaking his head as if to dispel the cloud which darkened his brow, he re-entered the inn and asked for a room.
“Show the gentleman to number three,” said the landlord to a chambermaid.
The chambermaid took a key hanging from a large black wooden tablet on which were arranged the numbers in white in two rows, and signed to the young traveller to follow her.
“Send up some paper, and a pen and ink,” Roland said to the landlord, “and if M. de Barjols should ask where I am tell him the number of my room.”
The landlord promised to obey Roland’s injunctions and the latter followed the girl upstairs whistling the Marseillaise. Five minutes later he was seated at a table with the desired paper, pen and ink before him preparing to write. But just as he was beginning the first line some one knocked, three times at the door.
“Come in,” said he, twirling his chair on one of its hind legs so as to face his visitor, whom he supposed to be either, M. de Barjols or one of his friends.
The door opened with a steady mechanical motion and the Englishman appeared upon the threshold.
“Ah!” exclaimed Roland, enchanted with this visit, in view of his general’s recommendation; “is it you?”
“Yes,” said the Englishman, “it is I.”
“You are welcome.”
“Oh! if I am welcome, so much the better! I was not sure that I ought to come.”
“Why not?”
“On account of Aboukir.”
Roland began to laugh.
“There are two battles of Aboukir,” said he; “one which we lost; the other we won.”
“I referred to the one you lost.”
“Good!” said Roland, “we fight, kill, and exterminate each other on the battlefield, but that does not prevent us from clasping hands on neutral ground. So I repeat, you are most welcome, especially if you will tell me why you have come.”
“Thank you; but, in the first place, read that.” And the Englishman drew a paper from his pocket.
“What is that?” asked Roland.
“My passport.”
“What have I to do with your passport?” asked Roland, “I am not a gendarme.”
“No, but I have come to offer you my services. Perhaps you will not accept them if you do not know who I am.”
“Your services, sir?”
“Yes; but read that first.”
Roland read:
In the name of the French Republic – The Executive Directory hereby orders that Sir John Tanlay, Esq., be permitted to travel freely throughout the territory of the Republic, and that both assistance and protection be accorded him in case of need.
(Signed) FOUCHÉ.
And below:
To whom it may concern – I recommend Sir John Tanlay particularly as a philanthropist and a friend of liberty.
(Signed) BARRAS.
“Have you read it?”
“Yes; what of it?”
“What of it? Well, my father, Lord Tanlay, rendered M. Barras some services; that is why M. Barras permits me to roam about France. And I am very glad to roam about; it amuses me very much.”
“Oh, I remember, Sir John; you did us the honor to say so at dinner.”
“I did say so, it is true; I also said that I liked the French people heartily.”
Roland
