(vanquished at Austerlitz) and
internally by the coalition of men politically opposed to each other,
but united by their common hatred of a man whose death some of them
were meditating, like Laurence herself, without shrinking from the word
assassination. This young girl, so fragile to the eye, so powerful to
those who knew her well, was at the present moment the faithful guide
and assistant of the exiled gentlemen who came from England to take part
in this deadly enterprise.
Fouche relied on the co-operation of the
emigres
everywhere beyond
the Rhine to lure the Duc d'Enghien into the plot. The presence of that
prince in the Baden territory, not far from Strasburg, gave much weight
later to the accusation. The great question of whether the prince really
knew of the enterprise, and was waiting on the frontier to enter France
on its success, is one of those secrets about which, as about several
others, the house of Bourbon has maintained an unbroken silence. As the
history of that period recedes into the past, impartial historians
will declare the imprudence, to say the least, of the Duc d'Enghien in
placing himself close to the frontier at a time when a vast conspiracy
was about to break forth, the secret of which was undoubtedly known to
every member of the Bourbon family.
The caution which Malin displayed in talking with Grevin in the open
air, Laurence applied to her every action. She met the emissaries and
conferred with them either at various points in the Nodesme forest, or
beyond the valley of the Cinq-Cygne, between the villages of Sezanne
and Brienne. Often she rode forty miles on a stretch with Gothard,
and returned to Cinq-Cygne without the least sign of weariness or
pre-occupation on her fair young face.
Some years earlier, Laurence had seen in the eyes of a little cow-boy,
then nine years old, the artless admiration which children feel for
everything that is out of the common way. She made him her page, and
taught him to groom a horse with the nicety and care of an Englishman.
She saw in the lad a desire to do well, a bright intelligence, and a
total absence of sly motives; she tested his devotion and found he had
not only mind but nobility of character; he never dreamed of reward. The
young girl trained this soul that was still so young; she was good to
him, good with dignity; she attached him to her by attaching herself
to him, and by herself polishing a nature that was half wild, without
destroying its freshness or its simplicity. When she had sufficiently
tested the almost canine fidelity she had nurtured, Gothard became her
intelligent and ingenuous accomplice. The little peasant, whom no one
could suspect, went from Cinq-Cygne to Nancy, and often returned before
any one had missed him from the neighborhood. He knew how to practise
all the tricks of a spy. The extreme distrust and caution his mistress
had taught him did not change his natural self. Gothard, who possessed
all the craft of a woman, the candor of a child, and the ceaseless
observation of a conspirator, hid every one of these admirable qualities
beneath the torpor and dull ignorance of a country lad. The little
fellow had a silly, weak, and clumsy appearance; but once at work he was
active as a fish; he escaped like an eel; he understood, as the dogs do,
the merest glance; he nosed a thought. His good fat face, both round and
red, his sleepy brown eyes, his hair, cut in the peasant fashion, his
clothes, and his slow growth gave him the appearance of a child of ten.
The two young d'Hauteserres and the twin brothers Simeuse, under the
guidance of their cousin Laurence, who had been watching over their
safety and that of the other
emigres
who accompanied them from
Strasburg to Bar-sur-Aube, had just passed through Alsace and Lorraine,
and were now in Champagne while other conspirators, not less bold,
were entering France by the cliffs of Normandy. Dressed as workmen the
d'Hauteserres and the Simeuse twins had walked from forest to forest,
guided
internally by the coalition of men politically opposed to each other,
but united by their common hatred of a man whose death some of them
were meditating, like Laurence herself, without shrinking from the word
assassination. This young girl, so fragile to the eye, so powerful to
those who knew her well, was at the present moment the faithful guide
and assistant of the exiled gentlemen who came from England to take part
in this deadly enterprise.
Fouche relied on the co-operation of the
emigres
everywhere beyond
the Rhine to lure the Duc d'Enghien into the plot. The presence of that
prince in the Baden territory, not far from Strasburg, gave much weight
later to the accusation. The great question of whether the prince really
knew of the enterprise, and was waiting on the frontier to enter France
on its success, is one of those secrets about which, as about several
others, the house of Bourbon has maintained an unbroken silence. As the
history of that period recedes into the past, impartial historians
will declare the imprudence, to say the least, of the Duc d'Enghien in
placing himself close to the frontier at a time when a vast conspiracy
was about to break forth, the secret of which was undoubtedly known to
every member of the Bourbon family.
The caution which Malin displayed in talking with Grevin in the open
air, Laurence applied to her every action. She met the emissaries and
conferred with them either at various points in the Nodesme forest, or
beyond the valley of the Cinq-Cygne, between the villages of Sezanne
and Brienne. Often she rode forty miles on a stretch with Gothard,
and returned to Cinq-Cygne without the least sign of weariness or
pre-occupation on her fair young face.
Some years earlier, Laurence had seen in the eyes of a little cow-boy,
then nine years old, the artless admiration which children feel for
everything that is out of the common way. She made him her page, and
taught him to groom a horse with the nicety and care of an Englishman.
She saw in the lad a desire to do well, a bright intelligence, and a
total absence of sly motives; she tested his devotion and found he had
not only mind but nobility of character; he never dreamed of reward. The
young girl trained this soul that was still so young; she was good to
him, good with dignity; she attached him to her by attaching herself
to him, and by herself polishing a nature that was half wild, without
destroying its freshness or its simplicity. When she had sufficiently
tested the almost canine fidelity she had nurtured, Gothard became her
intelligent and ingenuous accomplice. The little peasant, whom no one
could suspect, went from Cinq-Cygne to Nancy, and often returned before
any one had missed him from the neighborhood. He knew how to practise
all the tricks of a spy. The extreme distrust and caution his mistress
had taught him did not change his natural self. Gothard, who possessed
all the craft of a woman, the candor of a child, and the ceaseless
observation of a conspirator, hid every one of these admirable qualities
beneath the torpor and dull ignorance of a country lad. The little
fellow had a silly, weak, and clumsy appearance; but once at work he was
active as a fish; he escaped like an eel; he understood, as the dogs do,
the merest glance; he nosed a thought. His good fat face, both round and
red, his sleepy brown eyes, his hair, cut in the peasant fashion, his
clothes, and his slow growth gave him the appearance of a child of ten.
The two young d'Hauteserres and the twin brothers Simeuse, under the
guidance of their cousin Laurence, who had been watching over their
safety and that of the other
emigres
who accompanied them from
Strasburg to Bar-sur-Aube, had just passed through Alsace and Lorraine,
and were now in Champagne while other conspirators, not less bold,
were entering France by the cliffs of Normandy. Dressed as workmen the
d'Hauteserres and the Simeuse twins had walked from forest to forest,
guided
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