From the Memoirs of a Minister of France [77]
falling bars and the rising sound of voices outside had already told us--that we were outwitted! We were prisoners.
The room in which we stood, looking foolishly at one another, was a great barn-like chamber, with small windows high in the unplaistered walls. A long board set on trestles, and two or three stools placed round it--on the occasion, perhaps, of some recent festivity--had for a moment deceived us, and played the landlord's game.
In the first shock of the discovery, hearing the bars drop home, we stood gaping, and wondering what it meant. Then Maignan, with an oath, sprang to the door and tried it--fruitlessly.
I joined him more at my leisure, and raising my voice, asked angrily what this folly meant. "Open the door there! Do you hear, landlord?" I cried.
No one moved, though Maignan continued to rattle the door furiously.
"Do you hear?" I repeated, between anger and amazement at the fix in which we had placed ourselves. "Open!"
But, although the murmur of voices outside the door grew louder, no one answered, and I had time to take in the full absurdity of the position; to measure the height; of the windows with my eye and plumb the dark shadows under the rafters, where the feebler rays of our candle lost themselves; to appreciate, in a word, the extent of our predicament. Maignan was furious, La Trape vicious, while my own equanimity scarcely supported me against the thought that we should probably be where we were until the arrival of my people, whom I had directed my wife to send to Le Mesnil at noon next day. Their coming would free us, indeed, but at the cost of ridicule and laughter. Never was man worse placed.
Wincing at the thought, I bade Maignan be silent; and, drumming on the door myself, I called for the landlord. Someone who had been giving directions in a tone of great, consequence ceased speaking, and came close to the door. After listening a moment, he struck it with his hand.
"Silence, rogues!" he cried. "Do you hear? Silence there, unless you want your ears nailed to the post."
"Fool!" I answered. "Open the door instantly! Are you all mad here, that you shut up the King's servants in this way?"
"The King's servants!" be cried, jeering at us. "Where are they?"
"Here!" I answered, swallowing my rage as well as I might. "I am M. Gringuet's deputy, and if you do not this instant--"
"M. Gringuet's deputy! Ho! ho!" he said. "Why, you fool, M. Gringuet's deputy arrived two hours before you. You must get up a little earlier another time. They are poor tricksters who are too late for the fair. And now be silent, and it may save you a stripe or two to-morrow."
There are situations in which even the greatest find it hard to maintain their dignity, and this was one. I looked at Maignan and La Trape, and they at me, and by the light of the lanthorn which the latter held I saw that they were smiling, doubtless at the dilemma in which we had innocently placed ourselves. But I found nothing to laugh at in the position; since the people outside might at any moment leave us where we were to fast until morning; and, after a moment's reflection, I called out to know who the speaker on the other side was.
"I am M. de Fonvelle," he answered.
"Well, M. de Fonvelle," I replied, "I advise you to have a care what you do. I am M. Gringuet's deputy. The other man is an impostor."
He laughed.
"He has no papers," I cried.
"Oh, yes, he has!" he answered, mocking me. "M. Curtin has seen them, my fine fellow, and he is not one to pay money without warrant."
At this several laughed, and a quavering voice chimed in with "Oh, yes, he has papers! I have seen them. Still, in a case--"
"There!" M. Fonvelle cried, drowning the other's words. "Now are you satisfied--you in there?"
But M. Curtin had not done. "He has papers," he piped again in his thin voice.
"Still, M. de Fonvelle, it is well to be cautious, and--"
"Tut, tut! it is all right."
"He has papers, but he has no authority!" I shouted.
"He has seals," Fonvelle
The room in which we stood, looking foolishly at one another, was a great barn-like chamber, with small windows high in the unplaistered walls. A long board set on trestles, and two or three stools placed round it--on the occasion, perhaps, of some recent festivity--had for a moment deceived us, and played the landlord's game.
In the first shock of the discovery, hearing the bars drop home, we stood gaping, and wondering what it meant. Then Maignan, with an oath, sprang to the door and tried it--fruitlessly.
I joined him more at my leisure, and raising my voice, asked angrily what this folly meant. "Open the door there! Do you hear, landlord?" I cried.
No one moved, though Maignan continued to rattle the door furiously.
"Do you hear?" I repeated, between anger and amazement at the fix in which we had placed ourselves. "Open!"
But, although the murmur of voices outside the door grew louder, no one answered, and I had time to take in the full absurdity of the position; to measure the height; of the windows with my eye and plumb the dark shadows under the rafters, where the feebler rays of our candle lost themselves; to appreciate, in a word, the extent of our predicament. Maignan was furious, La Trape vicious, while my own equanimity scarcely supported me against the thought that we should probably be where we were until the arrival of my people, whom I had directed my wife to send to Le Mesnil at noon next day. Their coming would free us, indeed, but at the cost of ridicule and laughter. Never was man worse placed.
Wincing at the thought, I bade Maignan be silent; and, drumming on the door myself, I called for the landlord. Someone who had been giving directions in a tone of great, consequence ceased speaking, and came close to the door. After listening a moment, he struck it with his hand.
"Silence, rogues!" he cried. "Do you hear? Silence there, unless you want your ears nailed to the post."
"Fool!" I answered. "Open the door instantly! Are you all mad here, that you shut up the King's servants in this way?"
"The King's servants!" be cried, jeering at us. "Where are they?"
"Here!" I answered, swallowing my rage as well as I might. "I am M. Gringuet's deputy, and if you do not this instant--"
"M. Gringuet's deputy! Ho! ho!" he said. "Why, you fool, M. Gringuet's deputy arrived two hours before you. You must get up a little earlier another time. They are poor tricksters who are too late for the fair. And now be silent, and it may save you a stripe or two to-morrow."
There are situations in which even the greatest find it hard to maintain their dignity, and this was one. I looked at Maignan and La Trape, and they at me, and by the light of the lanthorn which the latter held I saw that they were smiling, doubtless at the dilemma in which we had innocently placed ourselves. But I found nothing to laugh at in the position; since the people outside might at any moment leave us where we were to fast until morning; and, after a moment's reflection, I called out to know who the speaker on the other side was.
"I am M. de Fonvelle," he answered.
"Well, M. de Fonvelle," I replied, "I advise you to have a care what you do. I am M. Gringuet's deputy. The other man is an impostor."
He laughed.
"He has no papers," I cried.
"Oh, yes, he has!" he answered, mocking me. "M. Curtin has seen them, my fine fellow, and he is not one to pay money without warrant."
At this several laughed, and a quavering voice chimed in with "Oh, yes, he has papers! I have seen them. Still, in a case--"
"There!" M. Fonvelle cried, drowning the other's words. "Now are you satisfied--you in there?"
But M. Curtin had not done. "He has papers," he piped again in his thin voice.
"Still, M. de Fonvelle, it is well to be cautious, and--"
"Tut, tut! it is all right."
"He has papers, but he has no authority!" I shouted.
"He has seals," Fonvelle