Barlasch of the Guard | Page 9

was from a sense of
gratitude that my father placed me in the English service--and I have
never regretted it, monsieur."
"Your father received kindnesses at English hands, after his escape, like
many others."
"Yes, and he was too old to repay them by doing the country any
service himself. He would have done it if he could--"
D'Arragon paused, looking steadily at the tall old man who listened to
him with averted eyes.
"My father was one of those," he said at length, "who did not think that

in fighting for Bonaparte one was necessarily fighting for France."
Sebastian held up a warning hand.
"In England--" he corrected, "in England one may think such things.
But not in France, and still less in Dantzig."
"If one is an Englishman," replied D'Arragon with a smile, "one may
think them where one likes, and say them when one is disposed. It is
one of the privileges of the nation, monsieur."
He made the statement lightly, seeing the humour of it with a
cosmopolitan understanding, without any suggestion of the
boastfulness of youth. Desiree noticed that his hair was turning grey at
the temples.
"I did not know," he said, turning to her, "that Charles was in Dantzig,
much less that he was celebrating so happy an occasion. We ran against
each other by accident in the street. It was a lucky accident that allowed
me to make your acquaintance so soon after you have become his
wife."
"It scarcely seems possible that it should be an accident," said Desiree.
"It must have been the work of fate--if fate has time to think of such an
insignificant person as myself and so small an event as my marriage in
these days."
"Fate," put in Mathilde in her composed voice and manner, "has come
to Dantzig to-day."
"Ah!"
"Yes. You are the second unexpected arrival this afternoon."
D'Arragon turned and looked at Mathilde. His manner, always grave
and attentive, was that of a reader who has found an interesting book on
a dusty shelf.
"Has the Emperor come?" he asked.

Mathilde nodded.
"I thought I saw something in Charles's face," he said reflectively,
looking back through the open door towards the stairs where Charles
had nodded farewell to them. "So the Emperor is here, in Dantzig?"
He turned towards Sebastian, who stood with a stony face.
"Which means war," he said.
"It always means war," replied Sebastian in a tired voice. "Is he again
going to prove himself stronger than any?"
"Some day he will make a mistake," said D'Arragon cheerfully. "And
then will come the day of reckoning."
"Ah!" said Sebastian, with a shake of the head that seemed to indicate
an account so one-sided that none could ever liquidate it. "You are
young, monsieur. You are full of hope."
"I am not young--I am thirty-one--but I am, as you say, full of hope. I
look to that day, Monsieur Sebastian."
"And in the mean time?" suggested the man who seemed but a shadow
of someone standing apart and far away from the affairs of daily life
"In the mean time one must play one's part," returned D'Arragon, with
his almost inaudible laugh, "whatever it may be."
There was no foreboding in his voice; no second meaning in the words.
He was open and simple and practical, like the life he led.
"Then you have a part to play, too," said Desiree, thinking of Charles,
who had been called away at such an inopportune moment, and had
gone without complaint. "It is the penalty we pay for living in one of
the less dull periods of history. He touches your life too."
"He touches every one's life, mademoiselle. That is what makes him so
great a man. Yes. I have a little part to play. I am like one of the unseen

supernumeraries who has to see that a door is open to allow the great
actors to make an effective entree. I am lent to Russia for the war that is
coming. It is a little part. I have to keep open one small portion of the
line of communication between England and St. Petersburg, so that
news may pass to and fro."
He glanced towards Mathilde as he spoke. She was listening with an
odd eagerness which he noted, as he noted everything, methodically
and surely. He remembered it afterwards.
"That will not be easy, with Denmark friendly to France," said
Sebastian, "and every Prussian port closed to you."
"But Sweden will help. She is not friendly to France."
Sebastian laughed, and made a gesture with his white and elegant hand,
of contempt and ridicule.
"And, bon Dieu! what a friendship it is," he exclaimed, "that is based
on the fear of being taken for an enemy."
"It is a friendship that waits