Uncle Bernac: A Memory of the EmpireDoyle, Arthur Conan
History
Uncle Bernac: A Memory of the Empire
Doyle, Arthur Conan
France -- History -- Consulate and First Empire, 1799-1815 -- Fiction
Hence a series of conspiracies, most of them with their base in
England; and hence also a large use of spies and informers upon the part
of Fouche and of Savary, upon whom the responsibility of the safety of
the Emperor lay. A strange chance had landed me upon the French coast
at the very same time as a murderous conspirator, and had afterwards
enabled me to see the weapons with which the police contrived to thwart
and outwit him and his associates. When I looked back upon my series of
adventures, my wanderings in the salt-marsh, my entrance into the
cottage, my discovery of the papers, my capture by the conspirators, the
long period of suspense with Toussac's dreadful thumb upon my chin, and
finally the moving scenes which I had witnessed--the killing of the
hound, the capture of Lesage, and the arrival of the soldiers--I could
not wonder that my nerves were overwrought, and that I surprised myself
in little convulsive gestures, like those of a frightened child.
The chief thought which now filled my mind was what my relations were
with this dangerous man who walked by my side. His conduct and bearing
had filled me with abhorrence. I had seen the depth of cunning with
which he had duped and betrayed his companions, and I had read in his
lean smiling face the cold deliberate cruelty of his nature, as he
stood, pistol in hand, over the whimpering coward whom he had outwitted.
Yet I could not deny that when, through my own foolish curiosity, I had
placed myself in a most hopeless position, it was he who had braved the
wrath of the formidable Toussac in order to extricate me. It was
evident also that he might have made his achievement more striking by
delivering up two prisoners instead of one to the troopers. It is true
that I was not a conspirator, but I might have found it difficult to
prove it. So inconsistent did such conduct seem in this little yellow
flint-stone of a man that, after walking a mile or two in silence, I
asked him suddenly what the meaning of it might be.
I heard a dry chuckle in the darkness, as if he were amused by the
abruptness and directness of my question.
'You are a most amusing person, Monsieur--Monsieur--let me see, what did
you say your name was?'
'De Laval.'
'Ah, quite so, Monsieur de Laval. You have the impetuosity and the
ingenuousness of youth. You want to know what is up a chimney, you jump
up the chimney. You want to know the reason of a thing, and you blurt
out a question. I have been in the habit of living among people who
keep their thoughts to themselves, and I find you very refreshing.'
'Whatever the motives of your conduct, there is no doubt that you saved
my life,' said I. 'I am much obliged to you for your intercession.'
It is the most difficult thing in the world to express gratitude to a
person who fills you with abhorrence, and I fear that my halting speech
was another instance of that ingenuousness of which he accused me.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
Reviews
Reviews
No reviews yet
Be the first to share your thoughts on this work.
Join the Discussion
Join the discussion
Sign in to leave a comment or review.
Sign InorCreate an account