Scaramouche: Historical Novel. Rafael Sabatini

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СКАЧАТЬ was your friend, I think. Will you for his sake lend me the little help I need to save my neck?”

      The man kept his glance averted, and the cloud of sullenness deepened on his face.

      “I would if I dared, but I dare not.” Then, quite suddenly he became angry. It was as if in anger he sought support. “Don’t you understand that I dare not? Would you have a poor man risk his life for you? What have you or yours ever done for me that you should ask that? You do not cross to-night in my ferry. Understand that, monsieur, and go at once — go before I remember that it may be dangerous even to have talked to you and not give information. Go!”

      He turned on his heel to reenter his cottage, and a wave of hopelessness swept over Andre–Louis.

      But in a second it was gone. The man must be compelled, and he had the means. He bethought him of a pistol pressed upon him by Le Chapelier at the moment of his leaving Rennes, a gift which at the time he had almost disdained. True, it was not loaded, and he had no ammunition. But how was Fresnel to know that?

      He acted quickly. As with his right hand he pulled it from his pocket, with his left he caught the ferryman by the shoulder, and swung him round.

      “What do you want now?” Fresnel demanded angrily. “Haven’t I told you that I . . . ”

      He broke off short. The muzzle of the pistol was within a foot of his eyes.

      “I want the key of the boat. That is all, Fresnel. And you can either give it me at once, or I’ll take it after I have burnt your brains. I should regret to kill you, but I shall not hesitate. It is your life against mine, Fresnel; and you’ll not find it strange that if one of us must die I prefer that it shall be you.”

      Fresnel dipped a hand into his pocket, and fetched thence a key. He held it out to Andre–Louis in fingers that shook — more in anger than in fear.

      “I yield to violence,” he said, showing his teeth like a snarling dog. “But don’t imagine that it will greatly profit you.”

      Andre–Louis took the key. His pistol remained levelled.

      “You threaten me, I think,” he said. “It is not difficult to read your threat. The moment I am gone, you will run to inform against me. You will set the marechaussee on my heels to overtake me.”

      “No, no!” cried the other. He perceived his peril. He read his doom in the cold, sinister note on which Andre–Louis addressed him, and grew afraid. “I swear to you, monsieur, that I have no such intention.”

      “I think I had better make quite sure of you.”

      “O my God! Have mercy, monsieur!” The knave was in a palsy of terror. “I mean you no harm — I swear to Heaven I mean you no harm. I will not say a word. I will not . . . ”

      “I would rather depend upon your silence than your assurances. Still, you shall have your chance. I am a fool, perhaps, but I have a reluctance to shed blood. Go into the house, Fresnel. Go, man. I follow you.”

      In the shabby main room of that dwelling, Andre–Louis halted him again. “Get me a length of rope,” he commanded, and was readily obeyed.

      Five minutes later Fresnel was securely bound to a chair, and effectively silenced by a very uncomfortable gag improvised out of a block of wood and a muffler.

      On the threshold the departing Andre–Louis turned.

      “Good-night, Fresnel,” he said. Fierce eyes glared mute hatred at him. “It is unlikely that your ferry will be required again to-night. But some one is sure to come to your relief quite early in the morning. Until then bear your discomfort with what fortitude you can, remembering that you have brought it entirely upon yourself by your uncharitableness. If you spend the night considering that, the lesson should not be lost upon you. By morning you may even have grown so charitable as not to know who it was that tied you up. Good-night.”

      He stepped out and closed the door.

      To unlock the ferry, and pull himself across the swift-running waters, on which the faint moonlight was making a silver ripple, were matters that engaged not more than six or seven minutes. He drove the nose of the boat through the decaying sedges that fringed the southern bank of the stream, sprang ashore, and made the little craft secure. Then, missing the footpath in the dark, he struck out across a sodden meadow in quest of the road.

      Book II

       The Buskin

       Table of Contents

       Chapter 1 The Trespassers

       Chapter 2 The Service of Thespis

       Chapter 3 The Comic Muse

       Chapter 4 Exit Monsieur Parvissimus

       Chapter 5 Enter Scaramouche

       Chapter 6 Climene

       Chapter 7 The Conquest of Nantes

       Chapter 8 The Dream

       Chapter 9 The Awakening

       Chapter 10 Contrition

       Chapter 11 The Fracas at the Theatre Feydau

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