himself of the state of the Midi. Hoping that the joy of seeing his family again would revive the love of life in his heart crushed by its hidden sorrow, he informed Roland at Aix that they would part at Lyons, and gave him three weeks’ furlough to visit his mother and sister.
Roland replied: “Thank you, general. My sister and my mother will be very happy to see me.” Whereas formerly his words would have been: “Thank you, general. I shall be very happy to see my mother and sister again.”
We know what occurred at Avignon; we have seen with what profound contempt for danger, bitter disgust of life, Roland had provoked that terrible duel. We heard the reason he gave Sir John for this indifference to death. Was it true or false? Sir John at all events was obliged to content himself with it, since Roland was evidently not disposed to furnish any other.
And now, as we have said, they were sleeping or pretending to sleep as they were drawn by two horses at full speed along the road of Avignon to Orange.
CHAPTER VI. MORGAN
Our readers must permit us for an instant to abandon Roland and Sir John, who, thanks to the physical and moral conditions in which we left them, need inspire no anxiety, while we direct our attention seriously to a personage who has so far made but a brief appearance in this history, though he is destined to play an important part in it.
We are speaking of the man who, armed and masked, entered the room of the table d’hôte at Avignon to return Jean Picot the two hundred louis which had been stolen from him by mistake, stored as it had been with the government money.
We speak of the highwayman, who called himself Morgan. He had ridden into Avignon, masked, in broad daylight, entered the hotel of the Palais-Egalité leaving his horse at the door. This horse had enjoyed the same immunity in the pontifical and royalist town as his master; he found it again at the horse post, unfastened its bridle, sprang into the saddle, rode through the Porte d’Oulle, skirting the walls, and disappeared at a gallop along the road to Lyons. Only about three-quarters of a mile from Avignon, he drew his mantle closer about him, to conceal his weapons from the passers, and removing his mask he slipped it into one of the holsters of his saddle.
The persons whom he had left at Avignon who were curious to know if this could be the terrible Morgan, the terror of the Midi, might have convinced themselves with their own eyes, had they met him on the road between Avignon and Bédarides, whether the bandit’s appearance was as terrifying as his renown. We do not hesitate to assert that the features now revealed would have harmonized so little with the picture their prejudiced imagination had conjured up that their amazement would have been extreme.
The removal of the mask, by a hand of perfect whiteness and delicacy, revealed the face of a young man of twenty-four or five years of age, a face that, by its regularity of feature and gentle expression, had something of the character of a woman’s. One detail alone gave it or rather would give it at certain moments a touch of singular firmness. Beneath the beautiful fair hair waving on his brow and temples, as was the fashion at that period, eyebrows, eyes and lashes were black as ebony. The rest of the face was, as we have said, almost feminine. There were two little ears of which only the tips could be seen beneath the tufts of hair to which the Incroyables of the day had given the name of “dog’s-ears”; a straight, perfectly proportioned nose, a rather large mouth, rosy and always smiling, and which, when smiling, revealed a double row of brilliant teeth; a delicate refined chin faintly tinged with blue, showing that, if the beard had not been carefully and recently shaved, it would, protesting against the golden hair, have followed the same color as the brows, lashes and eyes, that is to say, a decided black. As for the unknown’s figure, it was seen, when he entered the dining-room, to be tall, well-formed and flexible, denoting, if not great muscular strength, at least much suppleness and agility.
The manner he sat his horse showed him to be a practiced rider. With his cloak thrown back over his shoulders, his mask hidden in the holster, his hat pulled low over his eyes, the rider resumed his rapid pace, checked for an instant, passed through Bédarides at a gallop, and reaching the first houses in Orange, entered the gate of one which closed immediately behind him. A servant in waiting sprang to the bit. The rider dismounted quickly.
“Is your master here?” he asked the domestic.
“No, Monsieur the Baron,” replied the man; “he was obliged to go away last night, but he left word that if Monsieur should ask for him, to say that he had gone in the interests of the Company.”
“Very good, Baptiste. I have brought back his horse in good condition, though somewhat tired. Rub him down with wine, and give him for two or three days barley instead of oats. He has covered something like one hundred miles since yesterday morning.”
“Monsieur the Baron was satisfied with him?”
“Perfectly satisfied. Is the carriage ready?”
“Yes, Monsieur the Baron, all harnessed in the coach-house; the postilion is drinking with Julien. Monsieur recommended that he should be kept outside the house that he might not see him arrive.”
“He thinks he is to take your master?”
“Yes, Monsieur the Baron. Here is my master’s passport, which we used to get the post-horses, and as my master has gone in the direction of Bordeaux with Monsieur the Baron’s passport, and as Monsieur the Baron goes toward Geneva with my master’s passport, the skein will probably be so tangled that the police, clever as their fingers are, can’t easily unravel it.”
“Unfasten the valise that is on the croup of my saddle, Baptiste, and give it to me.”
Baptiste obeyed dutifully, but the valise almost slipped from his hands. “Ah!” said he laughing, “Monsieur the Baron did not warn me! The devil! Monsieur the Baron has not wasted his time it seems.”
“Just where you’re mistaken, Baptiste! if I didn’t waste all my time, I at least lost a good deal, so I should like to be off again as soon as possible.”
“But Monsieur the Baron will breakfast?”
“I’ll eat a bite, but quickly.”
“Monsieur will not be delayed. It is now two, and breakfast has been ready since ten this morning. Luckily it’s a cold breakfast.”
And Baptiste, in the absence of his master, did the honors of the house to the visitor by showing him the way to the dining-room.
“Not necessary,” said the visitor, “I know the way. Do you see to the carriage; let it be close to the house with the door wide open when I come out, so that the postilion can’t see me. Here’s the money to pay him for the first relay.”
And the stranger whom Baptiste had addressed as Baron handed him a handful of notes.
“Why, Monsieur,” said the servant, “you have given me enough to pay all the way to Lyons!”
“Pay him as far as Valence, under pretext that I want to sleep, and keep the rest for your trouble in settling the accounts.”
“Shall I put the valise in the carriage-box?”
“I will do so myself.”
And taking the valise from the servant’s hands, without letting it be seen that it weighed heavily, he turned toward the dining-room, while Baptiste made his way toward the nearest inn, sorting his notes as he went.
As the stranger had said, the way was familiar to him, for he passed down a corridor, opened a first door without hesitation, then a second, and found
