The Man in Grey | Page 2

less than five kilométres in front of us."
But the passenger who, on the box-seat beside him, had so patiently
and silently listened to old Gontran's florid loquacity during the early
part of the journey, was no longer there to hear these well-justified
lamentations. No doubt he had taken refuge with his fellow-sufferers
down below.
There came no sound from the interior of the coach. In the darkness,
the passengers -- huddled up against one another, dumb with fright and
wearied with excitement -- had not yet found vent for their outraged
feelings in whispered words or smothered oaths. The coach lumbered
on at foot-pace. In the affray the head-light had been broken; the two
lanterns that remained lit up fitfully the tall pine trees on either side of
the road and gave momentary glimpses of a mysterious, fairy-like
world beyond, through the curtain of dead branches and the veil of tiny
bare twigs.
Through the fast gathering gloom the circle of light toyed with the haze
of damp and steam which rose from the cruppers, of the horses, and
issued from their snorting nostrils. From far away came the cry of a
screech-owl and the call of some night beasts on the prowl.
Instinctively, as the road widened out towards the edge of the wood,
Gontran gave a click with his tongue and the horses broke into a
leisurely trot. Immediately from behind, not forty paces to the rear,
there came the sharp detonation of a pistol shot. The horses, still
quivering from past terrors, were ready to plunge once more, the
wheelers stumbled, the leaders reared, and the team would again have
been thrown into confusion but for the presence of mind of the driver
and the coolness of the postilion.

"Oh! those accursed brigands!" muttered Gontran through his set teeth
as soon as order was restored. "That's just to remind us that they are on
the watch. Keep the leaders well in hand, Hector," he shouted to the
postilion: "don't let them trot till we are well out of the wood."
Though he had sworn copiously and plentifully at first, when one of
those outlaws held a pistol to his head whilst the others ransacked the
coach of its contents and terrorised the passengers, he seemed inclined
to take the matter philosophically now. After all, he himself had lost
nothing; he was too wise a man was old Gontran to carry his wages in
his breeches pocket these days, when those accursed Chouans robbed,
pillaged and plundered rich and poor alike. No! Gontran flattered
himself that the rogues had got nothing out of him: he had lost nothing
-- not even prestige, for it had been a case of twenty to one at the least,
and the brigands had been armed to the teeth. Who could blame him
that in such circumstances the sixty-two hundred francs, all in small
silver and paper money -- which the collector of taxes of the Falaise
district was sending up to his chief at Alençon -- had passed from the
boot of the coach into the hands of that clever band of rascals?
Who could blame him? I say. Surely, not the Imperial Government up
in Paris who did not know how to protect its citizens from the
depredations of such villains, and had not even succeeded in making
the high road between Caen and Alençon safe for peaceable travellers.
Inside the coach the passengers were at last giving tongue to their
indignation. Highway robbery at six o'clock in the afternoon, and the
evening not a very dark one at that! It were monstrous, outrageous,
almost incredible, did not the empty pockets and ransacked valises
testify to the scandalous fact. M. Fouché, Duc d'Otrante, was drawing a
princely salary as Minister of Police, and yet allowed a mail-coach to
he held up and pillaged -- almost by daylight and within five kilométres,
of the county town!
The last half-hour of the eventful journey flew by like magic: there was
so much to say that it became impossible to keep count of time.
Alençon was reached before everyone had had a chance of saying just
what he or she thought of the whole affair, or of consigning M. le Duc:

d'Otrante and all his myrmidons to that particular chamber in Hades
which was most suitable for their crimes. Outside the "Adam et Ève,"
where Gontran finally drew rein, there was a gigantic clatter and din as
the passengers tumbled out of the coach, and by the dim light of the
nearest street lantern tried to disentangle their own belongings from the
pile of ransacked valises which the ostlers had unceremoniously
tumbled out in a heap upon the cobble stones. Everyone was talking --
no one in especial seemed inclined to listen -- anecdotes of