El Dorado: An Adventure of the Scarlet Pimpernel by Baroness Emmuska Orczy Orczy (best smutty novels .txt) 📗

farmer may not have a sufficiency of horses available at a moment’s notice. I want you to be spokesman with Achard, so that Hastings’ British accent should not betray you both. Also you might not get a conveyance for St. Germain immediately. We must think of every eventuality, Armand. There is so much at stake.”

Armand made no further comment just then. But the others looked astonished. Armand had but asked a simple question, and Blakeney’s reply seemed almost like a rebuke—so circumstantial too, and so explanatory. He was so used to being obeyed at a word, so accustomed that the merest wish, the slightest hint from him was understood by his band of devoted followers, that the long explanation of his orders which he gave to Armand struck them all with a strange sense of unpleasant surprise.

Hastings was the first to break the spell that seemed to have fallen over the party.

“We leave at daybreak, of course,” he said, “as soon as the gates are open. We can, I know, get one of the carriers to give us a lift as far as St. Germain. There, how do we find Achard?”

“He is a well-known farmer,” replied Blakeney. “You have but to ask.”

“Good. Then we bespeak five horses for the next day, find lodgings in the village that night, and make a fresh start back towards Paris in the evening of Sunday. Is that right?”

“Yes. One of you will have two horses on the lead, the other one. Pack some fodder on the empty saddles and start at about ten o’clock. Ride straight along the main road, as if you were making back for Paris, until you come to four cross-roads with a sign-post pointing to Courbevoie. Turn down there and go along the road until you meet a close spinney of fir-trees on your right. Make for the interior of that. It gives splendid shelter, and you can dismount there and give the horses a feed. We’ll join you one hour after midnight. The night will be dark, I hope, and the moon anyhow will be on the wane.”

“I think I understand. Anyhow, it’s not difficult, and we’ll be as careful as may be.”

“You will have to keep your heads clear, both of you,” concluded Blakeney.

He was looking at Armand as he said this; but the young man had not made a movement during this brief colloquy between Hastings and the chief. He still sat with arms folded, his head falling on his breast.

Silence had fallen on them all. They all sat round the fire buried in thought. Through the open window there came from the quay beyond the hum of life in the open-air camp; the tramp of the sentinels around it, the words of command from the drill-sergeant, and through it all the moaning of the wind and the beating of the sleet against the window-panes.

A whole world of wretchedness was expressed by those sounds! Blakeney gave a quick, impatient sigh, and going to the window he pushed it further open, and just then there came from afar the muffled roll of drums, and from below the watchman’s cry that seemed such dire mockery:

“Sleep, citizens! Everything is safe and peaceful.”

“Sound advice,” said Blakeney lightly. “Shall we also go to sleep? What say you all—eh?”

He had with that sudden rapidity characteristic of his every action, already thrown off the serious air which he had worn a moment ago when giving instructions to Hastings. His usual debonnair manner was on him once again, his laziness, his careless insouciance. He was even at this moment deeply engaged in flicking off a grain of dust from the immaculate Mechlin ruff at his wrist. The heavy lids had fallen over the tell-tale eyes as if weighted with fatigue, the mouth appeared ready for the laugh which never was absent from it very long.

It was only Ffoulkes’s devoted eyes that were sharp enough to pierce the mask of light-hearted gaiety which enveloped the soul of his leader at the present moment. He saw—for the first time in all the years that he had known Blakeney—a frown across the habitually smooth brow, and though the lips were parted for a laugh, the lines round mouth and chin were hard and set.

With that intuition born of whole-hearted friendship Sir Andrew guessed what troubled Percy. He had caught the look which the latter had thrown on Armand, and knew that some explanation would have to pass between the two men before they parted to-night. Therefore he gave the signal for the breaking up of the meeting.

“There is nothing more to say, is there, Blakeney?” he asked.

“No, my good fellow, nothing,” replied Sir Percy. “I do not know how you all feel, but I am demmed fatigued.”

“What about the rags for to-morrow?” queried Hastings.

“You know where to find them. In the room below. Ffoulkes has the key. Wigs and all are there. But don’t use false hair if you can help it—it is apt to shift in a scrimmage.”

He spoke jerkily, more curtly than was his wont. Hastings and Tony thought that he was tired. They rose to say good night. Then the three men went away together, Armand remaining behind.