The Child Wife

“Where?”

“In Milan. The revolution’s broke out there. But I’ve no time to talk to you. Kossuth has sent me for you post-haste. He wants you to come at once. Are you ready?”

“You’re always in such haste, my dear Count. But when Kossuth commands, you know my answer. I’m ready. It only needs to put on my hat.”

“On with it then, and come along with me!”

From Portman Square to Saint John’s Wood is but a step; and the two were soon traversing the somewhat crooked causeway of South Bank.

When close to Kossuth’s residence they passed a man who stood, watch in hand, under a street-lamp – as if trying to ascertain the time of night.

They knew he was shamming, but said nothing; and went on, soon after entering the house.

Kossuth was within; and along with him several distinguished Hungarians.

“Captain Maynard!” he exclaimed, stepping out of the circle, and saluting his new-come guest.

Then taking him aside, he said:

“Look at this!”

While speaking, he had placed a slip of paper in Maynard’s hands. It was written in cipher.

“A telegram?” muttered the latter, seeing the hieroglyphics.

“Yes,” said Kossuth, proceeding to translate and explain them. “The revolution has broken out in Milan. It is a rash affair, and, I fear, will end in defeat – perhaps ruin. Mazzini has done it, in direct opposition to my wishes and judgment Mazzini is too sanguine. So are Turr and the others. They count on the Hungarian regiments stationed there, with the influence of my name among them. Giuseppe has taken a liberty with it, by using an old proclamation of mine, addressed to those regiments, while I was still prisoner at Kutayah. He has put it forth at Milan, only altering the date. I wouldn’t so much blame him for that, if I didn’t believe it to be sheer madness. With so many Austrians in the garrison at Milan – above all, those hireling Bohemian regiments – I don’t think there’s a chance of our success.”

“What do you intend doing, Governor?”

“As to that, I have no choice. The game’s begun, and I must take part in it, coûte que coûte. This telegram is from my brave Turr, and he thinks there’s a hope. Whether or no, it will be necessary for me to go to them.”

“You are going then?”

“At once – if I can get there. Therein, my dear sir, lies the difficulty. It is for that I have taken the liberty of sending for you.”

“No liberty, Governor. What can I do for you?”

“Thanks, dear captain! I shall waste no words, but say at once what I want with you. The only way for me to get to Milan is through the territory of France. I might go round by the Mediterranean; but that would take time. I should be too late. Across France then must I go, or not at all.”

“And what is to hinder you from travelling through France?”

“Louis Napoleon.”

“True, he would – I need not have asked the question.”

“He’d be sure to place me under arrest, and keep me so, as long as my liberty is deemed dangerous to the crowned conspirators. He has become their most trusted tipstaff and detective. There’s not one of his sergents-de-ville who has not got my portrait in his pocket. The only chance left me, to run the gauntlet through France, is to travel in disguise. It is for that I want you.”

“How can I assist you, my dear Governor?”

“By making me your servant – your valet du voyage.” Maynard could not help smiling at the idea. The man who had held mastery over a whole nation, who had created an army of two hundred thousand men, who had caused trembling throughout the thrones of Europe – that man to be obsequiously waiting upon him, brushing his coat, handing him his hat, and packing his portmanteau!

“Before you make answer,” continued the ex-Dictator of Hungary, “let me tell you all. If taken in France, you will have to share my prison; if upon Austrian territory, your neck, like my own, will be in danger of a halter. Now, sir, do you consent?” It was some seconds before Maynard made reply; though it was not the halter that hindered him. He was thinking of many other things – among them Blanche Vernon.

Perhaps but for the reminiscence of that scene under the deodara, and its results, he might have hesitated longer – have even turned recreant to the cause of revolutionary liberty!

Its memory but stimulated him to fresh efforts for freedom, and without staying longer, he simply said: “I consent?”

Chapter Seventy Three.

Purchasing a Passport

Twenty-four hours must elapse before Kossuth and his companion – or rather Captain Maynard and his servant – could set out on their perilous expedition.

It was of rigorous necessity that a passport should be obtained – either from the consular agent of France, or the British Foreign Office; and for this purpose daylight would be needed – in other words, it could not be had before the next day.

Kossuth chafed at the delay; and so, too, his new master – cursing, not for the first time, the vile system of passports.

Little thought either, that this delay was a fortunate thing for them – a circumstance to which they were perhaps indebted for the saving of their lives!

Maynard preferred taking out the passport from the French consular agency. This, on account of less trouble and greater despatch, the British Foreign Office, in true red tape style, requiring the applicant to be known! Several days are often consumed before John Bull, going abroad, can coax his minister to grant him the scrap of paper necessary to his protection!

He must be first endorsed, by a banker, clergyman, or some other of the noted respectabilities of the land! John’s master don’t encourage vagabondage.

The French passport agent is more accommodating. The meagre emolument of his office makes the cash perquisite a consideration. For this reason the service is readily rendered.

Maynard, however, did not obtain the document without some difficulty. There was the question of his servant, who ought to have been there along with him!

The flunkey must present himself in propria persona! in order that his description should be correctly given upon the passport.

So said the French functionary in a tone of cold formality that seemed to forbid expostulation!

Although Maynard knew, that by this time, the noble Magyar had sacrificed his splendid beard, his fine face was too well-known about London to escape recognition in the streets. Especially would it be in danger of identification in the French consular office, King William Street, either by the passport agent himself or the half-score of lynx-eyed spies always hanging around it.

Kossuth’s countenance could never be passed off for the visage of a valet!

But Maynard thought of a way to get over the difficulty. It was suggested by the seedy coat, and hungry look, of the French official.

“It will be very inconvenient,” he said. “I live in the West End, full five miles off. It’s a long way to go, and merely to drag my servant back with me. I’d give a couple of sovereigns to be spared the trouble.”

“I’m sorry,” rejoined the agent, all at once becoming wonderfully civil to the man who seemed to care so little for a couple of sovereigns. “It’s the regulation, as monsieur must know. But – if monsieur – ”

The man paused, permitting the “but” to have effect.

“You would greatly oblige by saving me the necessity – ”

“Could monsieur give an exact description of his servant?”

“From head to foot.”