This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information, please visit LibriVox.org. This reading is by Gordon McKenzie. SCARAMUSCH A ROMANCE OF THE FRENCH REVOLUTION by Raphael Sabatini BOOK 3 CHAPTER X THE RETURNING CARAGE M. de Kercadio wrote a letter. Godson! he began, without any softening adjective. I have learnt with pain and indignation that you have dishonoured yourself again. By breaking the pledge you gave me to abstain from politics, with still greater pain and indignation, do I learn that your name has become, in a few short days, a byword, that you have discarded the weapon of false insidious arguments against my class, the class to which you owe everything, for the sword of the assassin. It is come to my knowledge that you have an assenation tomorrow with my good friend, M. de Latour de Zire. A gentleman of his station is under certain obligations imposed upon him by his birth, which do not permit him to draw back from an engagement. But you labour under no such disadvantages, for a man of your class to refuse an engagement of honour, or to neglect it when made entails no sacrifice. Your peers will probably be of the opinion that you display a commendable prudence. Therefore, I beg you, indeed, did I think that I still exercise over you any such authority as the favours you have received from me should entitle me to exercise?  Having no such authority, as your past conduct now makes clear, having no reason to hope that a proper sentiment of gratitude to me will induce to give heed to this my most earnest request, I am compelled to add, that should you survive tomorrow's encounter, I can in no circumstances ever again permit myself to be conscious of your existence. If any spark survives of the affection that once you expressed for me, or if you set any value upon the affection which in spite of all that you have done to forfeit it is the chief prompter of this letter, you will not refuse to do as I am asking. It was not a tactful letter. Monsieur de Kierkejo was not a tactful man. Read it as he would, André-Louis, when it was delivered to him on that Sunday afternoon by the groom dispatched with it into Paris. Could read into it only concern for Monsieur de la Tour de Zire, Monsieur de Kierkejo's good friend, as he called him, and prospective nephew-in-law. He kept the groom waiting a full hour while composing his answer. Brief though it was, it cost him very considerable effort and several unsuccessful attempts. In the end, this is what he wrote. Monsieur, my Godfather, you make refusal singularly hard for me when you appeal to me upon the ground. Of affection, it is a thing of which all my life I shall hail the opportunity to give you proofs, and I am therefore desolated beyond anything I could hope to express that I cannot give you the proof you ask today. There is too much between Monsieur de la Tour de Zire and me. Also you do me and my class whatever it may be, less than justice when you say that obligations of honour are not binding upon us. So binding do I count them that, if I would, I could not now draw back. If hereafter you should persist in the harsh intention you express, I must suffer it, that I shall suffer. Be assured, you're affectionate and grateful, Godson, Andre Louis. He dispatched that letter by Monsieur de Kierkejo's groom and conceived this to be the end of the matter. It cut him keenly, but he bore the wound with that outward stoicism he affected. Next morning, at quarter-past eight, as with Le Chappelleier, who had come to break his fast with him, he was rising from table to set out for the bois. His housekeeper startled him by announcing Mademoiselle de Kierkejo. He looked at his watch. Although his cabriolet was already at the door, he had a few minutes to spare. He excused himself from Le Chappelleier and went briskly out to the anti-room. She advanced to meet him. Her manner, eager, almost feverish. I will not affect ignorance of why you have come, he said quickly, to make short work. But time presses and I warn you that only the most solid of reasons can be worth stating. It surprised her. It amounted to a rebuff at the very outset before she had uttered a word, and that was the last thing that she had expected from Andre Louis. Moreover, there was about him an air of aloofness that was unusual where she was concerned, and his voice had been singularly cold and formal. It wounded her. She was not to guess the conclusion to which he had leapt. He made with regard to her, as was but natural, after all, the same mistake that he had made with regard to yesterday's letter from his godfather. He conceived that the mainspring of action here was solely concerned for Monsieur de la Tour d'Azur, that it might be concerned for himself never entered his mind. So, absolute was his own conviction of what must be the inevitable issue of that meeting that he could not conceive of anyone entertaining a fear on his behalf. What he assumed to be anxiety on the score of the predestined victim had irritated him in Monsieur de Kercadio. In Aline it filled him with a cold anger. He argued from it that she had hardly been frank with him, that ambition was urging her to consider with favor the suit of Monsieur de la Tour d'Azur. And then this there was no spur that could have driven more relentlessly in his purpose, since to save her was in his eyes almost as momentous as to avenge the past. She conned him, searchingly, and the complete calm of him at such a time amazed her. She could not repress the mention of it. How calm you are, André. I am not easily disturbed. It is a vanity of mine. But, oh André, this meeting must not take place.  You know, of course, of some good reason why it should not, said he. You may be killed, she answered him, and her eyes dilated as she spoke. It was so far from anything that he had expected, that for a moment he could only stare at her. Then he thought he had understood. He laughed as he removed her hands from his shoulders and stepped back. This was a shallow device, childish, non-worthy of her. Can you really think to prevail by attempting to frighten me? He asked, almost sneered. Oh, you are surely mad. Monsieur de la Toute-Azir has reputed the most dangerous sword in France. Have you never noticed that most reputations are undeserved? Chabriain was a dangerous swordsman, and Chabriain is underground. Le Matroyo was an even more dangerous swordsman, and he is in a surgeon's hands. So are the other spaticinicides who dreamed of skewering a poor sheep of a provincial lawyer. And here today comes the chief, the fine flower of these bully swordsmen. He comes for wages long overdue. Be sure of that. So, if you have no other reason to urge, it was the sarcasm of him that mystified her. Could he possibly be sincere in his assurance that he must prevail against Monsieur de la Toute-Azir?  He would act apart to the very end. Be that as it might, she shifted her ground to answer him. You had my uncle's letter? And I answered it. I know. But what he said, he will fulfill. Do not dream that he will relent if you carry out this horrible purpose. Come now. That is a better reason than the other, said he. If there is a reason in the world that could move me, it would be that. But there is too much between la Toute-Azir and me. There is an oath I swore on the dead hand of Philippe de Vilmorin. I could never have hoped that God would afford me so great an opportunity of keeping it. You have not kept it yet. She warned him. He smiled at her. True, he said. But nine o'clock will soon be here. Tell me, he asked her suddenly. Why did you not carry this request of yours to Monsieur de la Toute-Azir? I did, she answered him, and flushed as she remembered her yesterday's rejection. He interpreted the flush quite otherwise. And he, he asked. Monsieur de la Toute-Azir's obligations. She was beginning. And then she broke off to answer shortly. Oh, he refused. So, so. He must, of course, whatever it may have cost him. Yet in his place I should have counted the cost as nothing. But men are different, you see. He sighed. Also in your place, had that been so, I think I should have left the matter there. But then, I don't understand you, André. I am not so very obscure, not nearly as obscure as I can be. Turn it over in your mind. It may help to comfort you presently. He consulted his watch again. Pray, use this house as your own, I must be going. The chappellier put his head in at the door. Forgive the intrusion, but we shall be late, André, unless you. Coming, André answered him. If you will await my return, Aline, you will oblige me deeply. Particularly in view of your uncle's resolve. She did not answer him. She was numbed. He took her silence for ascent, and bowing left her. Standing there, she heard his steps going down the stairs together with the chappelliers. He was speaking to his friend, and his voice was calm and normal. Oh, he was mad. Blinded with self-confidence and vanity. As his carriage rattled away, she sat down limply with a sense of exhaustion and nausea.  André Louis was going to his death. Conviction of it. An unreasoning conviction. The result, perhaps, of all Monsieur de Kercadieu's rantings entered her soul. A while she sat thus, paralyzed by hopelessness. Then she sprang up again, wringing her hands. She must do something to avert this horror. But what could she do? To follow him to the bois and intervene there would be to make a scandal. For no purpose. The conventions of conduct were all against her, offering a barrier that was not to be overstepped. Was there no one could help her? Standing there, half frenzied by her helplessness, she caught again a sound of vehicles and hooves on the cobbles of the street below. A carriage was approaching. It drew up with a clatter before the fencing academy. Could it be André Louis returning? Passionately, she snatched at that straw of hope. Knocking! Loud and urgent fell upon the door. She heard André Louis's housekeeper, her wooden shoes clanking upon the stairs, hurrying down to open. She sped to the door of the anti-room, and pulling it wide stood breathlessly to listen. But the voice that floated up to her was not the voice she so desperately hoped to hear. It was a woman's voice, asking in urgent tones for Monsieur André Louis. A voice, at first vaguely familiar, then clearly recognized. The voice of Madame de Plugistelle. Excited, she ran to the head of the narrow staircase in time to hear Madame de Plugistelle exclaim in agitation. He has gone already? Oh, but how long since? Which way did he take? It was enough to inform Aline that Madame de Plugistelle's errand must be akin to her own. At the moment in the general distress and confusion of her mind, her mental vision focused entirely on the one vital point. She found in this no matter for astonishment. The singular regard conceived by Madame de Plugistelle for André Louis seemed to her, then, a sufficient explanation. Without pausing to consider, she ran down that steep staircase calling Madame! Madame! The portly, comely housekeeper drew aside, and the two ladies faced each other on that threshold. Madame de Plugistelle looked white and haggard, a nameless dread staring from her eyes. Aline! You hear! she exclaimed, and then in the urgency sweeping aside all minor considerations. Were you also too late? she asked. No, Madame. I saw him. I implored him. But he would not listen. Oh, this is horrible! Madame de Plugistelle shuddered as she spoke. I heard of it only half an hour ago, and I came at once to prevent it at all costs. The two women looked blankly despairingly at each other. In the sunshine-flooded street, one or two shabby idlers were pausing to eye the handsome equippage with its magnificent bay horses and the two great ladies on the doorstep of the fencing academy. From across the way the raucous voice of an itinerant bellows-mender raised in the cry of his trade. A racquement des les vieux soufflés! Madame swung to the housekeeper. How long is it since monsieur left? Ten minutes, maybe. Hardly more. Conceiving these great ladies to be friends of her invincible master's latest victim, the good woman preserved a decently-stallid exterior. Madame rung her hands. Ten minutes. Oh! It was almost a moan. Which way did he go? The assonation is for nine o'clock in the Bois de Boulogne. Aline informed her. Could we follow? Could we prevail if we did? Ah! My God! The question is should we come in time at nine o'clock, and at once but little more than a quarter of an hour. Madame clasped and unclasped her hands in anguish. Do you know at least where in the Bois they are to meet? No, only that it is in the Bois. In the Bois? Madame flung into a frenzy. The Bois nearly half as large as Paris. But she swept breathlessly on. Come, Aline, get in, get in! Then to her coachman, to the Bois de Boulogne, by way of the Corle Rennes. She commanded, as fast as you can drive. There are ten pistols for you if we are in time. Whip up, man! She thrust Aline into the carriage, and sprang after her with the energy of a girl. The heavy vehicle, too heavy by far for this race with time, was moving before she had taken her seat, rocking and lurching it went, earning the maledictions of more than one pedestrian whom it narrowly avoided crushing against a wall or trampling underfoot. Madame sat back with closed eyes and trembling lips. Her face showed very white and drawn. Aline watched her in silence. Almost it seemed to her that Madame de Plagestelle was suffering as deeply as herself, enduring an anguish of apprehension as great as her own. Later Aline was to wonder at this. But at the moment all the thought of which her half-numbed mind was capable was bestowed upon their desperate errand. The carriage rolled across the Place Louis Cairns and out on to the Corleurent at last. Along that beautiful tree-bordered avenue between the Champs Elysees and the Seine, almost empty at this hour of the day, they made better speed, leaving now a cloud of dust behind them. But fast to danger point as was the speed, to the women in that carriage it was too slow. As they reached the barrier at the end of the Cor, nine o'clock was striking in the city behind them, and every stroke of it seemed to sound a note of doom. Yet here at the barrier the regulations compelled a momentary halt. Aline inquired of the sergeant at charge how long it was since a cabriolet such as she described had gone that way. She was answered that some twenty minutes ago a vehicle had passed the barrier containing the deputy Monsieur le Chaperrier and the paladin of the Third Estate, Monsieur Moreau. The sergeant was very well informed. He could make a shrewd guess, he said, with a grin, of the business that took Monsieur Moreau that way so early in the day. They left him to speed on now through the open country, following the road that continued to hug the river. They sat back mutely, despairing, staring hopelessly ahead. Aline's hand clasped tight in madame's. In the distance across the meadows on their right they could see already the long dusky line of trees of the bois. And presently the carriage swung aside following a branch of the road that turned to the right away from the river and heading straight for the forest. Mademoiselle broke at last the silence of hopelessness that had reigned between them since they had passed the barrier. Oh, it is impossible that we should come in time, impossible! Don't say it! Don't say it! Madame cried out. But it is long past nine, madame. André would be punctual, and these affairs do not take long. It will be all over by now. Madame shivered and closed her eyes. Presently however she opened them again and stirred. Then she put her head from the window. Her carriage is approaching. She announced and her tone conveyed the thing she feared. Not already! Oh, not already! Thus Aline expressed the silently communicated thought. She experienced a difficulty in breathing. Felt the sudden need of air. Something in her throat was throbbing as if it would suffocate her. A mist came and went before her eyes. In a cloud of dust an open kalesh was speeding towards them, coming from the bois. They watched it. Both pale. Neither venturing to speak. Aline indeed, without breath, to do so. As it approached it slowed down perforce as they did to effect a safe passage in that narrow road. Aline was at the window with Madame de Progestelle, and with fearful eyes both looked into this open carriage that was drawing a breast of them. Which of them is it, Madame? Oh, which of them! Gasped Aline scarce daring to look or sense his swimming. On the nearsides had a swarthy young gentleman unknown to either of the ladies. He was smiling as he spoke to his companion. A moment later, and the man sitting beyond came into view. He was not smiling. His face was white and set. And it was the face of the Marquis de la Tour de Zire. For a long moment, in speechless horror, both women stared at him, until, perceiving them, blankest surprise invaded his stern face. In that moment, with a long, shuddering sigh, Aline sank, swooning to the carriage-floor behind Madame de Progestelle. End of book 3, chapter 10. By fast driving, André-Louis had reached the ground some minutes ahead of time, notwithstanding the slight delay in setting out. There he had found Monsieur de la Tour de Zire already awaiting him, supported by a Monsieur de Ormeson, a swarthy young gentleman in the blue uniform of a captain in the guard du corps. André-Louis had been silent and preoccupied throughout that drive. He was perturbed by his last interview with Mademoiselle de Kercadieu, and the rash inferences which he had drawn as to her motives. Decidedly, he had said, this man must be killed. Le Chappelleier had not answered him. Almost, indeed, had the Breton shuddered at his compatriot's cold-bloodedness. He had often of late thought that this fellow morot was hardly human. Also, he had found him incomprehensibly inconsistent. When first this spaticinicide business had been proposed to him, he had been so very lofty and disdainful. Yet, having embraced it, he went about it at times with a ghoulish flippancy that was revolting, at times with a detachment that was more revolting still. Their preparations were made quickly and in silence, yet without undue haste or other sign of nervousness on either side. In both men the same grim determination prevailed. The opponent must be killed. There could be no half-measures here. Stripped each of coat and waistcoat, shoeless, and with shirt sleeves rolled to the elbow, they faced each other at last, with the common resolve of paying in full the long score that stood between them. I doubt if either of them entertained a misgiving as to what must be the issue. Beside them and opposite each other stood Le Chappelleet and the young captain, alert and watchful. Allez, messieurs! The slender, wickedly delicate blades clashed together, and after a momentary glissade were whirling, swift, and bright as lightnings and almost as impossible to follow with the eye. The marquis led the attack, impetuously, invigorously, and almost at once, André Louis realized that he had to deal with an opponent of a very different metal from those successive duelists of last week, not excluding Le Maturoyeux of terrible reputation. Here was a man whom much and constant practice had given extraordinary speed and a technique that was almost perfect. In addition, he enjoyed over André Louis physical advantages of strength and length of reach, which rendered him altogether formidable. And he was cool too, cool and self-contained, fearless and purposeful. Would anything shake that calm? wondered André Louis. He desired the punishment to be as full as he could make it, not content to kill the marquis as the marquis had killed Philippe. He desired that he should first know himself as powerless to avert that death as Philippe had been. Nothing less would content André Louis. Monsieur le marquis must begin by tasting of that cup of despair. It was in the account part of the quittance due. As with a breaking sweep André Louis parried the heavy lunge in which that first series of passes culminated, he actually laughed, gleefully, after the fashion of a boy at a sport he loves. That extraordinary ill-timed laugh made Monsieur de la Tour d'Azur's recovery hastier and less correctly dignified than it would otherwise have been. It startled and discomposed him, who had already been discomposed by the failure to get home with a lunge so beautifully timed and so truly delivered. He too had realized that his opponent's force was above anything that he could have expected, fencing master though he might be, and on that account he had put forth his utmost energy to make an end at once. More than the actual parry, the laugh by which it was accompanied seemed to make of that end no more than a beginning. And yet it was the end of something. It was the end of that absolute confidence that had hitherto inspired Monsieur de la Tour d'Azur. He no longer looked upon the issue as a thing foregone. He realized that if he was to prevail in this encounter, he must go warily, and fence as he had never fenced yet in all his life. They settled down again. And again, on the principle this time that the soundest defences in attack it was the marquis who made the game. André-Louis allowed him to do so, desired him to do so, desired him to spend himself and that magnificent speed of his against the greater speed that whole days of fencing and succession for nearly two years had given the master. With a beautiful easy pressure of fort on foible, André-Louis kept himself completely covered in that second bout, which once more culminated in a lunge. Expecting it now, André-Louis parried it by no more than a deflecting touch. At the same moment he stepped suddenly forward right within the other's guard, thus placing his man so completely at his mercy that, as if fascinated, the marquis did not even attempt to recover himself. This time André-Louis did not laugh. He just smiled into the dilating eyes of Monsieur de la Tour des Irres, and made no shift to use his advantage. Come, come, Monsieur! he bade him sharply. Am I to run my blade through an uncovered man? Deliberately he fell back, whilst his shaken opponent recovered himself at last. Monsieur de Ormeson released the breath which horror had for a moment caught. Le chaperrier swore softly muttering. Name of name? It is tempting providence to play the fool in this fashion. André-Louis observed the ashen pallor that had now overspread the face of his opponent. I think you begin to realize, Monsieur, what Philippe de Vilmorin must have felt that day at Gavriac. I desired that you should first do so. Since that is accomplished, why here's to make an end. He went in with lightning rapidity. For a moment his point seemed to La Tour des Irres to be everywhere at once. And then, from a low engagement in sixth, André-Louis stretched forward with swift and vigorous ease to lunge in tears. He drove his point to transfix his opponent, whom a series of calculated disengages uncovered in that line. But to his amazement and chagrin, La Tour des Irres parried that stroke. Infinitely more to his chagrin, La Tour des Irres parried it just too late. Had he completely parried it, all would yet have been well. But striking the blade in the last fraction of a second, the marquis deflected the point from the line of his body, yet not so completely but that a couple of feet of that hard-driven steel tore through the muscles of his sword arm. To the seconds, none of these details had been visible. All that they had seen had been a swift whirl of flashing blades, and then André-Louis stretched almost to the ground in an upward lunge that had pierced the marquis's right arm just below the shoulder. The sword fell from the suddenly relaxed grip of La Tour des Irres fingers, which had been rendered powerless. And he stood now disarmed. His lip and his teeth, his face white, his chest heaving before his opponent, who had at once recovered. With the blood-tinged tip of his sword resting on the ground, André-Louis surveyed him grimly as we surveyed the prey that through our own clumsiness has escaped us at the last moment. In the assembly, and in the newspapers, this might be hailed as another victory for the paladin of the Third Estate. Only himself could know the extent and the bitterness of the failure. Monsieur de Ormeson had sprung to the side of his principal. You are hurt? He had cried stupidly. It is nothing, said La Tour des Irres. A scratch.  De Ormeson, a practical man in such matters, produced a linen kerchief, which he tore quickly into strips to improvise a bandage. Still André-Louis continued to stand there, looking on as if bemused. He continued so until the chapellier touched him on the arm. Then at last he roused himself, sighed, and turned away to resume his garments. Nor did he address or look again at his late opponent, but left the ground at once. As with the chapellier, he was walking slowly and in silent dejection towards the entrance of the bois, where they had left their carriage. They were passed by the calèche conveying La Tour des Irres and his second, which had originally driven almost right up to the spot of the encounter. The marquis' wounded arm was carried in a sling improvised from his companion's sword-belt. His sky-blue coat with three collars had been buttoned over this so that the right sleeve hung empty. Otherwise, saving a certain pallor, he looked much his usual self. And now you understand how it was that he was the first to return, and that seeing him thus returning apparently safe and sound, the two ladies intent upon preventing the encounter should have assumed their worst fears were realized. Madame de Ploge Estelle attempted to call out, but her voice refused its office. She attempted to throw open the door of her own carriage, but her fingers fumbled clumsily and ineffectively with the handle. And meanwhile the calèche was slowly passing, La Tour des Irres' fine eyes somberly, yet intently meeting her own anguished gaze. And then she saw something else. Monsieur de Ormeson, leaning back again from the forward inclination of his body, to join his own to his companion's salutation of the countess, disclosed the empty right sleeve of Monsieur de la Tour des Irres' blue coat. More, the near side of the coat itself turned back from the point near the throat where it was caught together by single button, revealed the slung arm beneath in its blood-sodden cambrick sleeve. Even now she feared to jump to the obvious conclusion feared lest, perhaps the marquis, though himself wounded, might have dealt his adversary a deadlier wound. She found her voice at last, and at the same moment signalled to the driver of the calèche to stop. As it was pulled to a standstill, Monsieur de Ormeson alighted, and so met madame in the little space between the two carriages. Where is Monsieur Moro? Was the question with which she surprised him? Following at his leisure no doubt madame, he answered, recovering, he is not hurt. Unfortunately it is we who. Monsieur de Ormeson was beginning when from behind him Monsieur de la Tour des Irres' voice cut in crisply. This interest on your part in Monsieur Moro, dear countess. He broke off observing a vague challenge in the air with which she confronted him, but indeed his sentence did not need completing. There was a vaguely awkward pause, and then she looked at Monsieur de Ormeson. Her manner changed. She offered what appeared to be an explanation of her concern for Monsieur Moro. Mademoiselle de Cercadio is with me. The poor child has fainted. There was more, a deal more she would have said just then, but for Monsieur de Ormeson's presence. Moved by a deep solicitude for Mademoiselle de Cercadio, de la Tour des Irres sprang up despite his wound. I am in poor case to render assistance madame, he said, an apologetic smile on his pale face. But with the aid of de Ormeson, and in spite of the latter's protestations, he got down from the calèche, which then moved on a little way, so as to leave the road clear for another carriage that was approaching from the direction of the bois. And thus it happened, that when a few moments later that approaching cabriolet overtook and passed the halted vehicles, André-Louis beheld a very touching scene. Standing up to obtain a better view, he saw Aline in a half-swooning condition. She was beginning to revive by now, seated in the doorway of the carriage supported by madame de Plogestelle. In an attitude of deepest concern, Monsieur de la Tour des Irres, his wound not withstanding, was bending over the girl, whilst behind him stood Monsieur de Ormeson and madame's footmen. The countess looked up, and saw him as he was driven past. Her face lighted. Almost it seemed to him she was about to greet him, or to call him, wherefore to avoid a difficulty arising out of the presence here of his late antagonist, he anticipated her by bowing frigidly. For his mood was frigid, the more frigid by virtue of what he saw, and then resumed his seat with eyes that looked deliberately ahead. Could anything more completely have confirmed him in his conviction that it was on Monsieur de la Tour des Irres' account that Aline had come to plead with him that morning? For what his eyes had seen, of course, was a lady overcome with emotion at the sight of blood of her dear friend, and that same dear friend restoring her with assurances that his hurt was very far from mortal. Later, much later, he was to blame his own perverse stupidity. Almost is he too severe in his self-condemnation, for how else could he have interpreted the scene he beheld, his preconceptions being what they were? That which he had already been suspecting, he now accounted proven to him. Aline had been wanting in candor on the subject of her feelings towards Monsieur de la Tour des Irres. It was, he supposed, a woman's way to be secretive in such matters. And he must not blame her, nor could he blame her in his heart for having succumbed to the singular charm of such a man as the Marquis. For not even his hostility could blind him to Monsieur de la Tour des Irres' attractions. That she had succumbed was betrayed, he thought, by the weakness that had overtaken her upon seeing him wounded. My God! he cried aloud. What must she have suffered then if I had killed him, as I intended? If only she had used candor with him, she could so easily have won his consent to the thing she asked. If only she had told him what now he saw, that she loved Monsieur de la Tour des Irres. Instead of leaving him to assume her only regard for the Marquis to be based on unworthy worldly ambition, he would at once have yielded. He fetched a sigh, and breathed a prayer for forgiveness to the shade of Vilmorin. It is perhaps as well that my lunge went wide, he said. What do you mean? wondered Le Chapellier, that in this business I must relinquish all hope of recommencing. End of Book III. CHAPTER XI For more information, please visit LibriVox.org. This reading is by Gordon McKenzie. SCARAMUSCH. A Romance of the French Revolution by Raphael Sabatini. Book III. CHAPTER XII. THE OVERWELMING REASON. Monsieur de la Tour des Irres was seen no more in the ménage. Or indeed, in Paris at all, throughout all the months that the National Assembly remained in session to complete its work of providing France with a constitution. After all, though the wound to his body had been comparatively slight, the wound to such a pride as his had been all but mortal. The rumor ran that he had emigrated, but that was only half the truth. The whole of it was that he had joined that group of noble travellers who came and went between the Tuileries and the headquarters of the emigres at Koblenz. He became, in short, a member of the royalist secret service, that in the end was to bring down the monarchy in ruins. As for André Louis, his godfather's house saw him no more as a result of his conviction that Monsieur de Quercadio would not relent from his written resolve never to receive him again if the duel were fought. He threw himself into his duties at the assembly with such zeal and effect that when its purpose accomplished, the constituent was dissolved in September of the following year, membership of the legislative, whose election followed immediately, was thrust upon him. He considered then, like many others, that the revolution was a thing accomplished, that France had only to govern herself by the constitution which had been given her, and that all would now be well. And so it might have been, but that the court could not bring itself to accept the altered state of things. As a result of its intrigues, half Europe was arming to hurl herself upon France, and her quarrel was the quarrel of the French king with his people. That was the horror at the root of all the horrors that were to come. Of the counter-revolutionary troubles that were everywhere being stirred up by the clergy, none were more acute than those of Brittany, and in view of the influence it was hoped he would wield in his native province it was proposed to André-Louis by the Commission of Twelve, in the early days of the Girondins ministry, that he should go thither to combat the unrest. He was desired to proceed peacefully, but his powers were almost absolute, as is shown by the orders he carried, orders enjoining all to render him assistance and warning those who might hinder him that they would do so at their peril. He accepted the task, and he was one of the five planapotentiaries dispatched on the same errand in that spring of 1792. It kept him absent from Paris for four months, and might have kept him longer, but that at the beginning of August he was recalled. More imminent than any trouble in Brittany was the trouble brewing in Paris itself, when the political sky was blacker than it had been since 89. Paris realized that the hour was rapidly approaching, which would see the climax of the long struggle between equality and privilege, and it was towards a city so disposed that André-Louis came speeding from the west to find there also the climax of his own disturbed career. Mademoiselle de Carcadillot, too, was in Paris in those days of early August, on a visit to her uncle's cousin and dearest friend, Madame de Plogistelle. And although nothing could now be planer than the seething unrest that heralded the explosion to come, yet the air of gaiety, indeed of jocularity prevailing at court, wither madame and mademoiselle went almost daily, reassured them. Monsieur de Plogistelle had come and gone again, back to coblends, on that secret business that kept him now almost constantly absent from his wife. But whilst with her he had positively assured her that all measures were taken, and that an insurrection was a thing to be welcomed, because it could have only one conclusion, the final crushing of the revolution in the courtyard of the Tullaris. That, he added, was why the king remained in Paris. But for his confidence in that, he would put himself in the centre of his Swiss and his knights of the dagger and quit the capital. They would hack a way out for him easily if his departure were opposed. But not even that would be necessary. Yet in those early days of August, after her husband's departure the effect of his inspiring words was gradually dissipated by the march of events under madame's own eyes. And finally, on the afternoon of the ninth, they arrived at the Hotel Plogistelle, a messenger from Moudon, bearing a note from Monsieur de Cercadio, in which he urgently bade mademoiselle join him there at once, and advised her hostess to accompany her. You may have realised that Monsieur de Cercadio was of those who make friends with men of all classes. His ancient lineage placed him on terms of equality with members of the noblesse, his simple manners, something between the rustic and the bourgeois, and his natural affability placed him on equally good terms with those who by birth were his inferiors. In Moudon he was known and esteemed of all the simple folk, and it was Rougain, the friendly maire, who informed on the ninth of August of the storm that was brewing for the morrow, and knowing of mademoiselle's absence in Paris. Had warningly advised him to withdraw her from what in the next four and twenty hours might be a zone of danger for all persons of quality, particularly those suspected of connections with the court party. Now there was no doubt whatever of Madame de Plogistelle's connection with the court. It was not even to be doubted. Indeed, measure of proof of it was to be forthcoming, that those vigilant and ubiquitous secret societies that watched over the cradle of the young revolution were fully informed of the frequent journeyings of Monsieur de Plogistelle to Koblenz, and entertained no illusions on the score of the reason for them. Given then a defeat of the court party and the struggle that was preparing, the position in Paris of Madame de Plogistelle could not be other than fraught with danger, and that danger would be shared by any guest of birth at her hotel. Monsieur de Kercadieu's affection for both those women quickened the fears aroused in him by Rougain's warning, hence that hastily dispatched note desiring his niece and imploring his friend to come at once to Mewdon. The friendly mayor carried his complacence a step farther, and dispatched the letter to Paris by the hands of his own son, an intelligent lad of nineteen. It was late in the afternoon of that perfect August day when young Rougain presented himself at the Hotel Plogistelle. He was graciously received by Madame de Plogistelle in the salon, whose splendors, when combined with the great air of the lady herself, overwhelmed the lad's simple, unsophisticated soul. Madame made up her mind at once. Monsieur de Kercadieu's urgent message no more than confirmed her own fears and inclinations. She decided upon instant departure. Bien madame, said the youth, then I have the honor to take my leave. But she would not let him go. First to the kitchen to refresh himself, whilst she and mademoiselle made ready, and then a seat for him in her carriage as far as Mewdon. She could not suffer him to return on foot as he had come. Though in all circumstances it was no more than his due, yet the kindliness that in such a moment of agitation could take thought for another was presently to be rewarded. Had she done less than this, she would have known, if nothing worse, at least some hours of anguish even greater than those that were already in store for her. It wanted perhaps a half hour to sunset when they set out in her carriage, with intent to leave Paris by the Porte Saint-Martin. They travelled with a single footman behind. Rogaine, terrifying condescension, was given a seat inside the carriage with the ladies, and proceeded to fall in love with mademoiselle de Kercadieu, whom he accounted the most beautiful being he had ever seen, yet who talked to him simply and unaffectedly as with an equal. The thing went to his head a little, and disturbed certain republican notions which he had hitherto conceived himself to have thoroughly digested. The carriage drew up at the barrier, checked there by a picket of the National Guard posted before the iron gates. The sergeant in command strode to the door of the vehicle. The countess put her head from the window. The barrier is closed, madame. She was curtly informed. Closed, she echoed. The thing was incredible. But, but do you mean that we cannot pass? Not unless you have a permit, madame. The sergeant leaned nonchalantly on his pike. The orders are that no one is to leave or enter without proper papers. Whose orders? Orders of the Commune of Paris. But I must go into the country this evening. Madame's voice was almost petulant. I am expected. In that case let madame procure a permit. Where is it to be procured? At the Hôtel de Ville or at the headquarters of madame's section. She considered a moment. To the section, then, be so good as to tell my coachman to drive to the Bondi section. He saluted her and stepped back. Section Bondi, roue des morts, he bade the driver. Madame sank into her seat again in a state of agitation fully shared by mademoiselle. Rogaine set himself to pacify and reassure them. The section would put the matter in order. They would most certainly be accorded a permit. What possible reason could there be for refusing them? A mere formality, after all. His assurance uplifted them merely to prepare them for a still more profound dejection, when presently they met with a flat refusal from the president of the section who received the countess. Your name, madame? He asked a brusquely, a rude fellow of the most advanced republican type. He had not even risen out of deference to the ladies when they entered. He was there, he would have told you, to perform the duties of his office, not to give dancing lessons. Pluggistel, he repeated after her without title, as if it had been the name of a butcher or baker. He took down a heavy volume from a shelf on his right, opened it, and turned the pages. It was a sort of directory of his section. Presently he found what he sought. Comte Pluggistel, Hotel Pluggistel, Rue de Paradis, is that it? That is correct, monsieur. She answered with what civility she could muster before the fellows affronting rudeness. There was a long moment of silence during which he studied certain penciled entries against the name. The sections had been working in the last few weeks much more systematically than was generally suspected.  He asked curtly, his eyes still conning that page. Monsieur Le Comte is not with me. She answered stressing the title. Not with you? He looked up suddenly and directed upon her a glance in which suspicion seemed to blend with derision. Where is he? He is not in Paris, monsieur. Ah, is he at coblens, do you think? Madame felt herself turning cold. There was something ominous in all this. To what end had the sections informed themselves so thoroughly of the comings and goings of their inhabitants? What was preparing? She had a sense of being trapped, of being taken in a net that had been cast unseen. I do not know, monsieur. She said her voice unsteady. Of course not. He seemed to sneer. No matter. And you wish to leave Paris also? Where do you desire to go? To Muldon. Your business there? The blood lapped to her face. His insolence was unbearable to a woman who in all her life had never known anything but the utmost deference from inferiors and equals alike. Nevertheless, realizing that she was face to face with forces entirely new, she controlled herself, stifled her resentment, and answered steadily. I wish to conduct this lady, mademoiselle de Kerkerdieu, back to her uncle, who resides there. Is that all? Another day will do for that, madame. The matter is not pressing. Pardon, monsieur, but to us the matter is very pressing. You have not convinced me of it, and the barriers are closed to all who cannot prove the most urgent and satisfactory reasons for wishing to pass. You will wait, madame, until the restriction is removed, good evening. But, monsieur, good evening, madame. He repeated significantly a dismissal more contemptuous and despotic than any royal. You have leave to go. Madame went out with Aline. Both were quivering with the anger that prudence had urged them to suppress. They climbed into the coach again, desiring to be driven home. Rogaine's astonishment turned into dismay when they told him what had taken place. Why not try the Hotel de Ville, madame? he suggested. After that, it would be useless. We must resign ourselves to remaining in Paris until the barriers are opened again. Perhaps it will not matter to us either way by then, madame, said Aline. Aline! she exclaimed in horror. Mademoiselle! cried Rogaine on the same note, and then because he perceived that people detained in this fashion must be in some danger not yet discernible. But on that account more dreadful, he set his wits to work. As they were approaching the Hotel Plage Estelle once more, he announced that he had solved the problem. A passport from without would do equally well, he announced. Listen now and trust me. I will go back to Moudon at once. My father shall give two permits, one for myself alone, and another for three persons, from Moudon to Paris and back to Moudon. I re-enter Paris with my own permit, which I then proceed to destroy, and we leave together we three on the strength of the other one, representing ourselves as having come from Moudon in the course of the day. It is quite simple, after all. If I go at once, I shall be back tonight. But how will you leave? asked Aline. I, phew, as to that have no anxiety. My father is mayor of Moudon. There are plenty who know him. I will go to the Hotel de Ville and tell them what is, after all, true, that I am caught in Paris by the closing of the barriers and that my father is expecting me home this evening. They will pass me through. It is quite simple. His confidence uplifted them again. The thing seemed as easy as he represented it. Then let your passport be for four, my friend. Madame begged him. There is Jacques, she explained, indicating the footmen who had just assisted them to a light. Rogaine departed, confident of soon returning, leaving them to await him with the same confidence. But the hours succeeded one another. The night closed in. Bedtime came, and still there was no sign of his return. They waited until midnight, each pretending for the other's sake to a confidence fully sustained, each invaded by vague premonitions of evil. He had beguiling the time by playing trick-track in the great salon, as if they had not a single anxious thought between them. At last, on the stroke of midnight, Madame sighed and rose. It will be for tomorrow morning, she said, not believing it. Of course, Aline agreed. It would really have been impossible for him to have returned to night, and it will be much better to travel to-morrow. The journey at so late an hour would tire you so much, dear Madame. Thus they made pretense. Early in the morning they were awakened by a din of bells, the toxins of the sections ringing the alarm. To their startled ears came later the rolling of drums, and at one time they heard the sounds of a multitude on the march. Paris was rising. Later still came the rattle of small arms in the distance, and the deeper boom of cannon. Battle was joined between the men of the sections and the men of the court. The people in arms had attacked the tuileries. Wildest rumors flew in all directions, and some of them found their way through the servants to the Hotel Progestelle. Of that terrible fight for the palace, which was to end in the purposeless massacre, of all those whom the invertebrate monarch abandoned there, whilst placing himself and his family under the protection of the assembly. Purposeless to the end. Ever adopting the course pointed out to him by evil counsellors, he prepared for resistance only until the need for resistance really arose, whereupon he ordered a surrender, which left those who had stood by him to the last at the mercy of a frenzied mob. And while this was happening in the tuileries, the two women at the Hotel Progestelle still waited for the return of Rogaine, though now with ever lessening hope. And Rogaine did not return. The affair did not appear so simple to the father as to the son. Rogaine the Elder was rightly afraid to lend himself to such a piece of deception. He went with his son to inform Monsieur de Kierkejo of what had happened, and told him frankly of the thing his son suggested, but which he dared not do. Monsieur de Kierkejo sought to move him by intercessions and even by the offer of bribes. But Rogaine remained firm. Monsieur, he said, if it were discovered against me, as it inevitably would be, I should hang for it. Apart from that, and in spite of my anxiety to do all in my power to serve you, it would be a breach of trust such as I could not contemplate. You must not ask me, Monsieur. But what you conceive is going to happen, asked the half-demented gentleman. It is war, said Rogaine, who was well informed as we have seen. War between the people and the court. I am desolated that my warning should have come too late. But when all is said, I do not think you need really alarm yourself. War will not be made on women. Monsieur de Kierkejo clung for comfort to that assurance after the mayor and his son had departed. But at the back of his mind there remained the knowledge of the traffic in which Monsieur de Plagestel was engaged. What if the revolutionaries were equally well informed? And most probably they were. The women folk, political offenders, had been known a foretime to suffer for the sins of their men. Anything was possible in a popular upheaval, and a lien would be exposed jointly with Madame de Plagestel. Late that night, as he sat gloomily in his brother's library, the pipe in which he had sought solace extinguished between his fingers there came a sharp knocking at the door. To the old seneschal of Gavriac, who went to open, there stood revealed upon the threshold a slim young man in a dark olive surcoat, the skirts of which reached down to his calves. He wore boots, buxkins, and a smallsword, and round his waist there was a tricolor sash. In his hat a tricolor cockade, which gave him an official look extremely sinister to the eyes of that old retainer of feudalism, who shared to the full his master's present fears. Monsieur desires, he asked, between respect and mistrust. And then a crisp voice startled him. Why, Benoit, name of name, have you completely forgotten me? With a shaking hand the old man raised the lantern he carried so as to throw its light more fully upon that lean wide-mouthed countenance. Monsieur André, he cried, Monsieur André. And then he looked at the sash and the cockade, and hesitated, apparently at a loss. But André Louis stepped past him into the wide vestibule, with its tessellated floor of black and white marble. If my godfather has not yet retired, take me to him. If he has retired, take me to him all the same. Oh, but certainly, Monsieur André, and I am sure he will be ravished to see you. No, he has not yet retired. This way, Monsieur André, this way, if you please. The returning André Louis, reaching Mudon a half hour ago, had gone straight to the mayor for some definite news of what might be happening in Paris that should either confirm or dispel the ominous rumors that he had met in ever-increasing volume as he approached the capital. Rougain informed him that insurrection was imminent, that already the sections had possessed themselves of the barriers, and that it was impossible for any person not fully accredited to enter or leave the city. André Louis bowed his head his thoughts of the gravest. He had for some time perceived the danger of this second revolution from within the first, which might destroy everything that had been done, and give the reins of power to a villainous faction that would plunge the country into anarchy. The thing he had feared was more than ever on the point of taking place. He would go on at once that very night and see for himself what was happening. And then, as he was leaving, he turned again to Rougain, and asked if Monsieur de Kercadieu was still at M udon. You know him, monsieur? He is my godfather. Your godfather? And you, a representative? Why, then, you may be the very man he needs. And Rougain told him of his son's errand into Paris that afternoon and its result. No more was required. The two years ago his godfather should, upon certain terms, have refused him his house weighed for nothing at that moment. He left his travelling carriage at the little inn and went straight to monsieur de Kercadieu. And monsieur de Kercadieu startled in such an hour by this sudden apparition of one against whom he nursed a bitter grievance, greeted him in terms almost identical with those in which, in that same room, he had greeted him on a similar occasion once before. What do you want here, sir? To serve you, if possible, my godfather, was the disarming answer. But it did not disarm monsieur de Kercadieu. You have stayed away so long that I hoped you would not again disturb me. I should not have ventured to disobey you now, were it not for the hope that I can be of service. I have seen Rogaine, the mayor. What's that you say about not venturing to disobey? You forbade me your house, monsieur. Monsieur de Kercadieu stared at him helplessly. And is that why you have not come near me in all this time? Of course. Why else? Monsieur de Kercadieu continued to stare. Then he swore under his breath. It disconcerted him to have to deal with a man who insisted upon taking him so literally. He had expected that André Louis would have come contritely to admit his fault and beg to be taken back into favour. He said so. But how could I hope that you meant less than you said, monsieur? You were so very definite in your declaration. What expressions of contrition could have served me without a purpose of amendment? And I had no notion of amending. We may yet be thankful for that. Thankful? I am a representative. I have certain powers. I am very opportunally returning to Paris. Can I serve you where Rogaine cannot? The need, monsieur, would appear to be very urgent if the half of what I suspect is true. Aline should be placed in safety at once. Monsieur de Kercadieu surrendered unconditionally. He came over and took André Louis' hand. My boy, he said, and he was visibly moved. There is in you a certain nobility that is not to be denied.  I desired to keep you out of the evil path of politics that have brought this unfortunate country into so terrible a pass. The enemy on the frontier, civil war, about to flame out at home. That is what you revolutionaries have done. André Louis did not argue. He passed on. About Aline, he asked, and himself answered his own question. She is in Paris, and she must be brought out of it at once, before the place becomes a shambles. As well it may once the passions that have been brewing all these months are let loose. Young Rogaine's plan is good. At least I cannot think of a better one. But Rogaine the elder will not hear of it. You mean he will not do it on his own responsibility, but he has consented to do it on mine. I have left him a note over my signature to the effect that a safe conduct for Mademoiselle de Kierke-Gio to go to Paris and return is issued by him in compliance with orders from me. The powers I carry and of which I have satisfied him are his sufficient justification for obeying me in this. I have left him that note on the understanding that he is to use it only in an extreme case for his own protection. In exchange he has given me this safe conduct. You already have it! Monsieur de Kierke-Gio took the sheet of paper that André Louis held out. His hand shook. He approached it to the cluster of candles burning on the console and screwed up his short-sighted eyes to read. If you send that to Paris by Young Rogaine in the morning, said André Louis, Aline should be here by noon. Nothing, of course, could be done tonight without provoking suspicion. The hour is too late. And now, Monsieur my godfather, you know exactly why I intrude in violation of your commands. If there is any other way in which I can serve you, you have but to name it whilst I am here. But there is André. Did not Rogaine tell you that there were others? He mentioned Madame de Plage Estelle and her servant. Then why? Monsieur de Kierke-Gio broke off looking his question. Very solemnly André Louis shook his head. That is impossible, he said. Monsieur de Kierke-Gio's mouth fell open in astonishment. Impossible? He repeated. But why? Monsieur, I can do what I am doing for Aline without offending my conscience. Besides, for Aline I would offend my conscience and do it. But Madame de Plage Estelle is in very different case. Neither Aline nor any of hers have been concerned in counter-revolutionary work, which is the true source of the calamity that now threatens to overtake us. I can procure her removal from Paris without self-reproach, convinced that I am doing nothing that anyone could censure, or that might become the subject of inquiries. But Madame de Plage Estelle is the wife of Monsieur de Kierke-Gio, whom all the world knows to be an agent between the court and the emigres. That is no fault of hers? cried Monsieur de Kierke-Gio through his consternation. Agreed. But she may be called upon at any moment to establish the fact that she is not a party to these maneuvers. It is known that she was in Paris today. Should she be sought to-morrow, and should it be found that she has gone? Inquiries will certainly be made, from which it must result that I have betrayed my trust and abused my powers to serve personal ends. I hope, Monsieur, that you will understand that the risk is too great to be run for the sake of a stranger. A stranger? said the Signure reproachfully. Practically, a stranger to me, said André-Louis. But she is not a stranger to me, André. She is my cousin, and very dear and valued friend, and mon Dieu, what you say but increases the urgency of getting her out of Paris. She must be rescued, André, at all costs. She must be rescued. Why, her case is infinitely more urgent than Aline's. He stood a suppliant before his godson, very differently now from the stern man who had greeted him on his arrival. His face was pale, his hands shook, and there were beads of perspiration on his brow. Monsieur, my godfather, I would do anything in reason, but I cannot do this. To rescue her might mean ruin for Aline and yourself as well as for me. We must take the risk. You have a right to speak for yourself, of course. Oh, and for you, believe me, André, for you. He came close to the young man. André, I implore you to take my word for that, and to obtain this permit for Madame de Plagestelle. André looked at him mystified. This is fantastic, he said. I have grateful memories of the ladies' interest in me for a few days, once when I was a child, and again more recently in Paris when she sought to convert me to what she accounts the true political religion. But I do not risk my neck for her. No, no yours, nor Aline's. Ah, but André, that is my last word, Monsieur. It is growing late, and I desire to sleep in Paris. No, no, wait. The Lord of Gavriac was displaying signs of unspeakable distress. André, you must. There was in this insistence and, still more, in the frenzied manner of it something so unreasonable that André could not fail to assume that some dark and mysterious motive lay behind it. I must, he echoed. Why must I, your reasons, Monsieur? André, my reasons are overwhelming. Pray allow me to be the judge of that. André Louis' manner was almost peremptory. The demand seemed to reduce Monsieur de Quercadillot to despair. He paced the room, his hands tight clasped behind him, his brow wrinkled. At last he came to stand before his godson. Can't you take my word for it that these reasons exist? He cried in anguish. In such a matter as this, a matter that may involve my neck? Oh, Monsieur, is that reasonable? I violate my word of honor. My oath, if I tell you. Monsieur de Quercadillot turned away, wringing his hands, his condition visibly piteous. Then turned again to André. But in this extremity, in this desperate extremity, and since you so ungenerously insist, I shall have to tell you, God, help me, I have no choice. She will realize that when she knows André, my boy. He paused again, a man afraid. He set a hand on his godson's shoulder, and to his increasing amazement, André Louis perceived that over those pale, short-sighted eyes, there was a film of tears. Madame de Progestelle is your mother, followed for a long moment, utter silence. This thing that he was told was not immediately understood. When understanding came at last, André Louis' first impulse was to cry out. But he possessed himself and played the stoic.  And he was true to his nature even in this supreme moment. He continued, silent, until obeying that queer, histrionic instinct, He could trust himself to speak without emotion. I see. He said at last, quite coolly. His mind was sweeping back over the past. Swiftly he reviewed his memories of Madame de Progestelle. Her singular, if sporadic, interest in him. The curious blend of affection and wistfulness which her manner toward him had always presented. And at last he understood so much that hitherto had intrigued him. I see. He said again and added now. Of course. Any but a fool would have guessed it long ago. It was Monsieur de Kercadieu who cried out. Monsieur de Kercadieu who recoiled as from a blow. My God, entree! Of what are you made? You can take such an announcement in this fashion. And how would you have me take it? Should it surprise me to discover that I had a mother? After all, a mother is an indispensable necessity to getting one self-born. He sat down abruptly. To conceal the two revealing fact that his limbs were shaking. He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket to mop his brow which had grown damp. And then, quite suddenly, he found himself weeping. At the sight of those tears streaming silently down that face that had turned so pale. Monsieur de Kercadieu came quickly across to him. He sat down beside him and threw an arm affectionately over his shoulder. André, my poor lad, he murmured.  You deceived me with your infernal pretense. And now I see. I see. He was not sure what it was, he saw, or else he hesitated to express it. It is nothing, monsieur. I am tired out, and I have a cold in the head. And then, finding the part beyond his power, he abruptly threw it up, utterly abandoned all pretense. Why? Why has there been all this mystery? he asked. Was it intended that I should never know? It was, André. It had to be, for prudent sake. But why complete your confidence, sir? Surely you cannot leave it there. Having told me so much, you must tell me all. The reason, my boy, is that you were born some three years after your mother's marriage with Monsieur de Plage Estelle, some eighteen months after Monsieur de Plage Estelle had been away with the army, and some four months before his return to his wife. It is a matter that Monsieur de Plage Estelle has never suspected, and for gravest family reasons must never suspect. That is why the utmost secrecy has been preserved. That is why none was ever allowed to know. Your mother came betimes into Brittany, and under an assumed name spent some months in the village of Moreau. It was while she was there that you were born. André Louis turned it over in his mind. He had dried his tears, and sat now rigid. And collected. When you say that none was ever allowed to know, you are telling me, of course, that you, Monsieur... Oh, mon Dieu, no! The denial came in a violent outburst. Monsieur de Quercadil sprang to his feet, propelled from André's side by the violence of his emotions. It was as if the very suggestion filled him with horror. I was the only other one who knew, but it is not as you think, André.  If you say that I am not, Monsieur, that is sufficient. You are not. I was Therese's cousin, and also as she well knew her truest friend. She knew that she could trust me, and it was to me she came for help in her extremity. Once years before, I would have married her. But, of course, I am not the sort of man a woman could love. She trusted, however, to my love for her, and I have kept her trust. Then, who was my father? I don't know. She never told me. It was her secret, and I did not pry. It is not in my nature, André. André Louis got up, and stood silently facing Monsieur de Quercadil. You believe me, André? Naturally, Monsieur, and I am sorry. I am sorry that I am not your son. Monsieur de Quercadil gripped his godson's hand convulsively, and held it a moment, with no words spoken. Then, as they fell away from each other again, and now, what will you do, André? he asked. Now that you know. André Louis stood awhile considering, then broke into laughter. The situation had its humours. He explained them. What difference should the knowledge make? Is filial piety to be called into existence by the mere announcement of relationship? Am I to risk my neck through lack of circumspection on behalf of a mother so very circumspect that she had no intention of ever revealing herself? The discovery rests upon the merest chance, upon a fall of the dice of fate. Is that to weigh with me? The decision is with you, André. Nay, it is beyond me. Decide it who can. I cannot. You mean that you refuse, even now. I mean that I consent. Since I cannot decide what it is that I should do, it only remains for me to do what a son should. It is grotesque. But all life is grotesque. You will never, never regret it. I hope not, said André. Yet I think it very likely that I shall. And now I had better see Rogaine once again and obtain from him the other two permits required. Then perhaps it will be best that I take them to Paris myself in the morning. If you will give me a bed, monsieur, I shall be grateful. I confess that I am hardly in case to do more tonight.


Well, welcome to the set. Can I get a quick show of hands on this one? How many people are in the room right now because the word sender is in the topic? Can I get a couple? All right. How many are here because containers is in the topic? I've got a lot more. And how many because persistent storage is in the topic? Excellent. Good. That seems like the most, which is good because that's what I'm actually excited about and that's what most of the talk is going to be about. How many are here under some sort of social obligation because your friends are coworkers of mine? All right. How many are here just killing time until lunch? All right. Good enough. So what we're going to talk about today is persistent storage for containers using sender. And so how do we get started with this? All right. Let's start with me. So I'm Drew. I've been a Linux nerd since about 1995. My first kernel was 1.2.13, downloaded on 28, 3.5-inch floppy disks. I've really not stopped since then. A couple of years ago, I moved to San Francisco to join a startup called Cloud Scaling, which some of my co-workers are here in the audience. Cloud Scaling, I don't know if you remember, was a distribution of OpenStack. But it was actually more of a product company. We didn't have a distribution that you could download. We had more of a, it was a product that you could purchase. We sold a hardware design along with the OpenStack software to create sort of a complete OpenStack solution, arguably the most advanced one that was available at the time, which is why we kind of got the attention of EMC, who acquired us in late 2014. If you know much about EMC, EMC is a very sort of old money East Coast, very corporate style corporation, and it doesn't... So we went from a spunky little startup of about 32 people to 67,900 over the span of a little while. And incidentally we got picked up by Dell, while the acquisition is still there, the merger is still happening, but I think that puts us up around 200,000 employees or something like that now. So it's a bit crazy. Anyway, when I joined EMC, I was drafted into a group called Code. And Code is a group, EMC Code, what we do is we do a lot of community outreach. We're open source engineers. We focus a lot on open source infrastructure, and we focus on infrastructure as code. Everything we do at Code is public. So everything we write, we publish to GitHub, and we sort of preach the gospel of how to properly use GitHub within larger enterprises. So you see a lot of enterprises that when they try to release open source for the first time, they just take a product and they dump the complete product on GitHub and never touch it again. We actually act more like we develop the software from day one on GitHub. We solicit comments and pull requests. Everything that we do is published there. All of our meeting structure, all of our notes for our interactions, our visits to conferences, everything else is on GitHub. We also have a Slack channel or a Slack server. It's codecommunity.slack.com, and that's open to anybody that wants to join. It's not just internal to EMC. So if you're one of these people that sits on Slack at work and you want another place to hang out with people who aren't necessarily your coworkers but who are also in the same industry, codecommunity.slack.com is a good place to go. And just like my atmux Twitter, we have an atemccode Twitter and a blog atemccode.com, so that's worth your time. So introductions done. Let's talk about persistence. How many here know who this guy is? I kind of like two. Well, you'd think with an open source audience, there'd be a lot more sort of juvenile. This is a character from a cartoon called Rick and Morty. And Rick and Morty, it's not a cartoon for kids, it's definitely more of a late night thing. The reason he's on the screen right now is because this is a character called Mr. Meeseeks, who comes from an alternate dimension. And he comes into play when you press a button on a box.  And then you give him an instruction like wash the dishes or clean the floors, and he does that with glee. And upon completion of his task, he vanishes and that's the end of his life cycle. Mr. Meeseeks is a perfect example of a third platform application. He's basically a microservice in cartoon form. The reason that's important is because that's what we've been focusing on so much lately, that's what we all sort of consider the future of writing applications for the web and for web scale. Is to write applications that are small, they do a single task. They come into existence, perform that task, and then they disappear. And that's really what containers and microservices are all about. Pardon me, I brought some water with me and I hid it on myself. There we go. So the problem with microservices that people don't really talk about very often is the fact that you can't really take every application as it stands and turn it into a microservice. You can't just take all of your legacy stuff and put it in a container and throw it up on the web and it's just going to work. What you need underneath is a way to maintain persistence within those applications. Every, well not every, but a huge majority of current applications require persistence. So one of my co-workers has an example. He says, even the simplest of applications in Windows, if you use, if you're Windows people, if even the most basic application that comes to Windows, he uses notepad as this example, even notepad requires persistence. If you use notepad and you go up into the menu and you click one of the view buttons or something like that, one of the menu items is word wrap. And all that does is just let your, as you're typing, whether it's going to wrap the word down to the next line or not. But if you click on word wrap and then you close the application and then you open the application again days later, that little checkbox is still there. So that bit of information has been stored somewhere. It's persisted between that application closing and not. So even in the most simple of microservices applications, even in the, say, something that just serves up a web page or, and my background is almost exclusively in web applications. So I might kind of tend towards that for examples. But even in the most simple of web applications where it's just PHP kind of chewing on something and spinning out a web page, if the user is logged in or if there's a cookie set or if there's a bit of information that has to be used somewhere that's going to persist as the microservice delivers its content. So that data, how we do that in modern web applications is we store that in either a database or a caching layer or a memcached D or a redis or some sort of key value pair. And that has to persist somehow. That has to be written to disk because that's valuable information. But when you're deploying all these applications, I mean, you're going to deploy your PHP churer and your image server and all of these things as microservices. But you want to deploy these caching layers and these databases side by each with it, probably on the same servers. Probably in your same container servers. So how do we put an application that persists data into a container and then have that container able to persist, basically? So the way we do that is, well actually we're going to talk about that a little bit later, OpenStack does somewhat provide persistence. I mean, OpenStack isn't really the substrate for microservices to begin with. OpenStack gives us the ability to run virtual machines. Those virtual machines have storage that storage persists. Once a virtual machine goes away, the storage doesn't necessarily go away. The storage is attached, but when that machine goes away, the storage can stick around. That's pretty normal. So we throw Docker on top of that to provide this layer of easy deployability, layer of rapid deployment, rapid instantiation. But does it provide persistence? And the answer is, well, sort of. I mean, with Docker, you can have a Docker volume. And a Docker volume is provided from the command line, and it writes at the disk. And if that container goes away, that Docker volume doesn't necessarily have to go away. So where's the problem? Well, let's follow up from the start. If you start with a container, you deploy it to a container server. That container server has storage attached to it. The container goes through its life cycle, dies, no problem. So what happens when you start to grow? Your company gets bigger. You start to have multiple container servers, multiple containers. You start to scale past what's available to you in your hardware substrate. What do we do? You need a scheduler.  You need something that's going to be able to auto scale those containers up and down, so you're making the most of your hardware. But what do you do about storage? So what we did to solve this is we built a little tiny application. And it's really, it's pretty basic. But it solves one thing and it solves it perfectly. And this is a piece of software that we called RexRay. And RexRay is, well, we build it as a storage introspection tool. But what it really is is an abstraction layer for the storage for containers. What it is, it's a driver for Docker that sits inside of Docker and allows Docker to talk to more than just local storage. So when we started this, we had a mission and that was to create a storage management component. We wanted to be able to handle as much different storage as possible. And one of the first ones that we built up was access to Cinder. Which is great because Cinder's APIs are very well documented in the very public. So we also jumped into EBS on AWS. We have native support for Google Compute Engine. And I mean, as is probably very obvious, we support all of the EMC style storage. So we got Isilon and Scale.io and Vmax and Extreme.io. And one of the most important ones is that we also support a driver for VirtualBox, and I don't know if you use VirtualBox, but it's a place that you can build virtual machines on your desktop. And why that's really cool is that now using this driver, you can build Docker containers on your desktop and then have them attached to storage on your desktop. And then deploy them out into any of these other substrates, pardon me. And the commands will be the same. So the driver works exactly the same across all of these different layers. How does it actually solve the problem? So basically, as I just said, you start Docker and on your command line, you specify it as a volume driver. The container attaches the storage to that container. And that's it, it works. It's simple, it's elegant, and it's simplicity, but it's pretty basic. So here's the big question, why is that exciting? Well, basically it makes running containers across many different substrate layers simple and easy. Again, if you like to develop on your desktop, you can deploy those same containers directly into GCE without making any changes, except to a single tiny configuration file that sits on your container server. So wherever that Docker engine is running, all it has to do is reach out. All you have to do is deploy it out, and that container works the first time. Pardon me, sorry, much love to the facilities crew here, but I'm pretty sure that caffeine or that coffee was not decaf. Anyway, here's what the config actually looks like. It's tiny, it's YAML, it's super easy. As you can see, all it's really doing at the top is just declaring that open stack is gonna be the storage driver. We have preemptibility, which is a really interesting feature. So why that's, why preemptibility is awesome is because if you have a container that has storage attached to it and something goes wrong within that application, say it's a database or something, and you want to replace that container with a new container runtime, you can have that new container come up and seize the storage, write it from under the previous container and write to it immediately. So if that container has had a problem, this enables basically all kinds of high availability and yeah. So basically, you can steal storage from the other containers around you, but only if you have preempt to true. The rest of the config is fairly easy, I mean it's the exact same thing you'd expect, with open stack, you have the URL for auth and the rest of your creds, if it was an AWS configuration file, it would be AWS and then the auth URL and your access key and secret key. And yeah, so this is very simple. So rather than continue to ramble, I'm going to show you guys something really simple here. If I hit over here, I should have access to, you may have to have me log in. So side note, this is actually open stack running on top of AWS, which pleases me kind of because, well, when I was a kid, we had a game that we used to play that we called stacking emulators. And in stacking emulators, you'd try to see how deeply you can nest things. And another co-worker of mine was telling me today that IBM was just showing this morning, what was it? Kubernetes and Swarm running on Mesos running on open stack. So this doesn't appear to be loading though. Well, good. Well, that's not great. Let's see if we have SSH access. Well, that's extra not great. Is there a 2G one? We'll try. What was it again? Cal Newton. Fingers crossed. There we go. That's better. Thanks for the tip. So this is open stack running on AWS. So what we're actually going to show is containers running in Docker, running in a virtual machine, running on open stack, running on a virtual machine, running on AWS, which pleases me unnecessarily, but I really like that kind of stuff. For what it's worth, drawing up my friend who won the ultimate nested virtualization track, he was an Amiga guy and he had Amiga 3000 tower running Amiga OS 3.1 in 3.0 emulation mode with hardware 386 bridge board running IBM OS 2 running Windows 3.1, running a Windows 386 emulation, running DOS 6, running DOS 4 mode, running a Commodore 128 emulation in Commodore 64 mode, running a VIC-20 emulation, running a Radar Rat Race. Okay. So here we are. Team likes attached. So what I have here is two machines, Docker 1 and Docker 2. And on Docker 1, I'm just going to do Docker PS. Then we have nothing running. So I'm going to create a volume through the Docker binary. And what this is going to do is it's going to use the X-ray driver and it's going to create a volume in Cinder on the OpenStack instance. So if I do Docker, volume create minus, minus driver equals X-ray. My name equals Postgres data and minus size equals 5. So this is going to create a 5 gigabyte Docker volume. And if we do Docker volume LS, we should see that as the third one in the list. If we go back to here and go into the project and compute volumes, you can see Postgres data was just created. It's available. It's not attached. All right. So I've got a long command here somewhere. That'll do. And on this Docker, I'm going to run Docker. I'm going to give it the option Postgres password. I'm going to use the Docker volume driver equals X-ray. And I'm going to mount that volume Postgres data into our lib data. And I'm going to run the Postgres container. So as this comes up, you'll see that it's going to initialize that drive. Since we just created it, it doesn't have any Postgres database data in it right now. So what's going to happen is you're going to see a bunch of messages here sooner or later saying that it's initializing that as a Postgres database.  So if we go over here to a Docker PS, this is a completely different machine. So you can see the container isn't running on this machine at all. But if we do Docker volume LS, we can see that because Docker has access to X-ray, it can see that X-ray Postgres data volume that's sitting on Cinder one layer up. Competing, syncing. All right, it's ready for startup. So that database is now up and running on Docker and on Docker server one. And over here, Docker server two, we're going to run the exact same command. And what's going to happen here is it's going to start up, but it's going to use that same volume. So it's going to use volume preemption. It's going to steal that volume from the other Docker container. Again, it's going to take a minute. It's a little bit steady. This is the point where I guess I can tell you guys a joke. I'll tell you a UDP joke, but I can't guarantee you get it. Okay, and that's up and running. You can see that at the top of the log, it says the database system was interrupted. It was not properly shut down. Recovery in process. It recovered that record. And it says a redo was not required. So this database is now up and running on a second server. So where are we at here? Right here. So just to recap what just happened. In that black box, we created a Cinder volume using the Docker command line. We ran a container with a database using that volume as the database storage. And then on a completely separate Docker server in the cluster, we ran another copy of that database and we reconnected that storage. So we preempted the storage, stole it from the first Docker container, and started using it without notifying the first one. So why that's important and why that's great is that it enables an awful lot of crazy high availability stuff. One thing that I really like about this tool in general is that there's no central cluster management that had to be used here. These are just a small binary that's running on each of these Docker servers. It's a native Go binary and it's talking directly to Docker as a Docker driver. So that's pretty much everything for Rexray. The real question is what's coming up next. And so what we have coming up next, actually it's not coming until next week, but we're dropping a new piece of software that we're calling Polly. And Polly is a polymorphic storage scheduler. What that means is rather than being a driver directly into Docker, this is a driver that goes directly into Mesos and Kubernetes and Swarm. So rather than just allow Docker to ask for storage, we can now have Mesos and Kubernetes and Swarm and even Cloud Foundry request storage, regardless of what the storage backend is. And so that's pretty important stuff. The official launch will be next Wednesday, but the code isn't already up on GitHub on our emccode.com, or sorry, github.com slash emccode repository. And if you're into that sort of thing, you should really check it out. And I think that might be just about everything. So questions? That's a good question and that's an application level thing. So we do it at a very, very low level. So basically what's happening is it's literally stealing the volume and dishing it over. And that's kind of up to the application what happens to that data. So the ability is there. But whether Postgres is written to recover cleanly from it, Postgres is one that actually is because it maintains a transaction log and that transaction log is written before the data is actually written to disk. But this is something that would have to be written into your own application. Like you don't provide a playback log or something that's waiting. Oh, sorry, actually. So just for note, the question was what happens to the data when we preempt? And if there's a second question coming up, would you mind using the microphone? Oh, there we are. I had a couple of questions. So in the YAML file, you're using the admin port for Keystone. Is that required? No, no. Keystone, it all needs to be as any user that has access to... Okay, so we don't need the admin port. Correct. The second question was if Cinder at some point supports Active-Active to multiple instances, then you guys will plan to add... Instead of just stealing, maybe sharing that volume between containers? That's a really interesting question. I am not sure and I would have to escalate that one actually to the architects of the software. But I'll absolutely add that as a note. Okay. Thanks. Cheers. Is there any advantage in using native Docker plugin versus the open Cinder driver plugin? Well, I would say the main advantage would be the fact that it's a tiny go application that works directly with Docker. If you were going to just use Cinder and Cinder alone, then that makes sense. But if you ever had any interest in moving beyond Cinder, in moving into maybe using Ceph as a back end, or maybe using some of your workloads over into AWS or GCE or anything like that, then it would make more sense to have something a little lower level. Preempt would not work though. Hi. May I know how much your is a luxury driver? It's an active production in quite a few different places now. We've had, we have some marketing people here, but I'm not exactly sure how many of the names I'm allowed to throw around. But if you go into our GitHub and look at the contact information for people who have contributed to Rex Ray, that might give you an idea of who's actively using it. But I know it's in production. Okay. Thank you. So when the second Docker container there attached to the volume, it triggered a detach from the first container, right? No, it did not detach the first. It has the first, doesn't know anything about it. It's just had the storage has disappeared. Right. So how would that appear in the first is actually my question. Oh, yes. What does it see when the Cinder volume detaches from the first host, move to the second host? All it sees is that the storage went away. So the usefulness of this is more or less, it's not to put this into your work stream as this is something that you can do to just like to move a workload around. It's more like if that container has failed or if there's a problem with the substrate or the server that that container is sitting on, you can continue that workload on another container server. Right. So from its perspective, the directory is just suddenly unmounted and gone blank. And you need to do that in application logic. Exactly. If there was a possibility that the first one might actually be live, but you're not detecting that. Sorry, can you say the last part again? If the first container is dead, you don't have a problem.  Either your application logic or perhaps your scheduler could determine that.  Right. Back up at the daemon level then, how does that detachment and sender volume appear to the host? A volume has disappeared from that Docker daemon and it's appeared on the other one? Or is it that there is a volume still registered there but it doesn't actually have any data attached to it? So all of the Docker servers are seeing storage presented to it as a single layer. All that's changed within Docker is the name of the container that it's attached to. Oh yes, that's right. It's at the volume driver level. Correct. Okay, thank you. Cheers. What is the storage back in that directly support right now except sender? Say again? What is the storage back in that... Oh, well, we've got sender. We've got all of the EMC backends, of course, because we're EMC, which is Scale.io, Extreme.io, Isilon, and... What's the fourth one? Vmax. Vmax, correct. Yeah, say again? Backend. Oh, this was sender. This was sender running on OpenStack. The whole thing was running on AWS, so we were talking to the sender demon for the back end. We also support... There's a plug-in for VirtualBox as well, so for your desktop. Anything else? Say one more? Any plans to support EBS? Absolutely, we support EBS natively right now. I guess not. All right, I guess that's fairly early, but thank you very much. Cheers.


We all understand the importance of supporting the causes that we believe in but sometimes and Usually by supporting causes we think about giving money to them, right? But one thing that we don't think about and I think that's really important is Where are we giving our attention every day? So I want you to stay with me. I want you to think about this here most of your attention is Probably being given to the Netflix to YouTube to Instagram and when you're on Instagram, you're probably viewing the videos on YouTube you're probably viewing the videos of People like Gary V or Marie Forleo or other major thought leaders and influencers, right? so When we're doing all this for these major thought leaders and influencers It makes almost no difference for them if you even add a comment to their to their video They don't care because it's it's one of dozens or hundreds of comments that they've gotten, you know in the past day Versus if you take a moment and realize that if you just give 10% of your attention to a fellow small creator Like you like, you know how when you get a comment Here you're so encouraged right because it's only one of few comments you've gotten Whether it's on your video or it's on your article or whatever. It's like you're so appreciative of your comments Well, why don't we do the same thing for our fellow small creators and not just give all our attention away To the Gary Vaynerchuk's of the world, which of course I and all I'm asking for us to do is 10% You could still give 90% of your attention away to Gary Vaynerchuk and Marie Forleo and the people like that Okay, let's give 10% of our attention to our fellow small creators. And when I say small creator I don't mean somehow that they think small or that they're not as worthwhile It's kind of like small business. We all understand the importance of supporting small business, right? Because small business is where people can really Implement their creativity they can determine their destiny. It's such an important Instrument in the world for people's livelihood Creating a small business well same thing with creating a YouTube channel or an Instagram profile or a Facebook page Or a medium account or or or writing a self-publishing a book or having a podcast or Going on Twitter. It's all of these things is people who's putting their hearts and their souls out there And so few people are getting supported because we're all giving our attention away to the big people Okay, so I'm making a pledge today And I hope that you'll make the pledge with me to give just 10% of our time Okay, more if we can but just give 10% of our time attention our comments Okay, and our shares to a fellow small creator. So what does this mean? So let's say you spend two hours a day Consuming media that's actually not that's probably less than most of us do right? If you think about Netflix think about YouTube think about Instagram think about scrolling on Facebook or Twitter or Reddit or or You know LinkedIn or where wherever you like to scroll two hours a day is 120 minutes Probably all of us spend on social media or on on Netflix or whatever 120 minutes Let's just take 12 minutes a day To go to a friend who is a small creator Who gets very few comments and add our supportive comment for them? That's it 12 minutes. You could probably do this for three or four friends and for them It's like finding water in the desert.  It's like life for them. Does that make sense now? I'm not talking about me I'm I would say I'm a small medium creator I'm so grateful that I do get some of your comments for every post I get probably three You know, maybe three or four. That's that's fine That's in your your comment might be the fifth or sixth one and I really appreciate that But some of your friends who are creators are getting zero comments for their things for what they post their art their articles Their podcast episodes their their YouTube videos their Instagram videos. They're getting no comments Be the one who comments and say hey, you know what? Thank you for posting this and what I liked about this was when you said that or when you wrote that That's what I like the most and it just taking three minutes to do that makes such a difference for them So I hope this is helpful. I'm making the pledge. I hope you'll do the same and this way We can all just make such a difference in so many people's lives every day very very simple and Make more connections as well. All right. I hope I hope you're doing well and go out there and support a small creator today


Vice Chancellor of Platter State University Professor Johanna Isam has announced the release of a kidnapped student, Stanley Shawolmushi. Shawolmushi is a final year accounting undergraduate who was kidnapped on Thursday and was freed by his captors on Friday evening. Shawolmushi was returned into the campus from Burkus Town when the incident occurred. The kidnappers took the 3,000-hour cash in him and used his ATM card to withdraw cash. Isam commended security operatives for the rescue operation and reminded students to minimize their off-campus late-night movement.