It now-remained to be seen how these bandits should be captured.
The case was eagerly debated between the two officers while they had breakfast. By the time dessert was served they were both agreed upon a plan.
That same evening, Morgan received the following letter:
Just as Adler told us, next Friday at five o'clock the mail-coach will leave Paris with fifty thousand francs for the fathers of Saint-Bernard.
The three places, the one in the coupe and the two in the interior, are already engaged by three travellers who will join the coach, one at Sens, the other two at Tonnerre. The travellers are, in the coupe, one of citizen Fouche's best men: in the interior M. Roland de Montrevel and the colonel of the 7th Chasseurs, garrisoned at Macon. They will be in civilians' clothes not to excite suspicion, but armed to the teeth.
Twelve mounted Chasseurs, with muskets, pistols, and sabres, will escort the coach, but at some distance behind it, so as to arrive during the fray. The first pistol fired will be the signal for putting their horses to a gallop and falling upon us.
Now my advice is that, in spite of these precautions, in fact because of these precautions, the attack should be made at the place agreed upon, namely the Maison-Blanche. If that is also the opinion of the comrades, let me know it. I will myself take the coach, as postilion, from Macon to Belleville. I will undertake to settle the colonel, and one of you must be responsible for Fouche's agent.
As for M. Roland de Montrevel, no harm will befall him, for I have a means, known to me alone and by me invented, by which he can be prevented from leaving the coach.
The precise day and hour at which the mail to Chambery will pass the Maison-Blanche is Saturday at six in the evening. Answer in these words, "Saturday, six of the evening," and all will go on rollers. MONTBAR.
At midnight Montbar, who had complained of the noise his neighbor made, and had removed to a room at the opposite end of the inn, was awakened by a courier, who was none other than the groom who had brought him his horse ready bridled and saddled in the morning. The letter contained only these words, followed by a postscript:
Saturday, six of the evening. MORGAN.
P.S.--Do not forget, even when fighting, above all when fighting, that Roland de Montrevel's life is safeguarded.
The young man read this reply with visible satisfaction. The matter was no longer a mere stoppage of a diligence, but a species of affair of honor among men of differing opinions, with clashes of courage and bravery. It was no longer a matter of gold spilled upon the highroad, but of blood to be shed--not of pistols loaded with powder, and wielded by a child's hands, but of deadly weapons handled by soldiers accustomed to their use.
For the rest, as Montbar had all the day that was dawning and the morrow before him in which to mature his plans, he contented himself with asking his groom to inquire which postilion would take the coach at Macon at five o'clock for the two stages between Macon and Belleville.
He also sent him to buy four screw-rings and two padlocks fastening with keys.
He already knew that the mail was due at Macon at half past four, waited for the travellers to dine, and started again punctually at five.
No doubt all his plans were previously laid, for, after giving these directions, Montbar dismissed his servant and went to sleep like a man who has long arrears of slumber to make up.
The next morning he did not wake, or rather did not come downstairs until nine o'clock. He asked casually what had become of his noisy neighbor, and was told that he had started in the Lyons mail at six in the morning, with his friend the colonel of the Chasseurs; but the landlord thought they had only engaged places as far as Tonnerre.
If Monsieur de Jayat had interested himself in the young officer, the latter, in turn, had made inquiries about him, asking who he was, whether he came habitually to the hotel, and whether he would be willing to sell his horse. The landlord had replied that he knew Monsieur de Jayat well, for he was in the habit of coming to the hotel whenever business brought him to Macon, and that, as for the horse, he did not believe, considering the affection the young gentleman showed for the animal, that he would consent to part with him for any price. On which the traveller had departed without saying any more.
After breakfast M. de Jayat, who seemed to find time hanging heavily on his hands, ordered his horse, mounted it, and rode out from Macon by the Lyons road. As long as he was in the town he allowed his horse to take the pace his fancy dictated, but once beyond it, he gathered up the reins and pressed the animal with his knees. The hint sufficed, and the animal broke into a gallop.
Montbar passed through the villages of Varennes, La Creche, and Chapelle-de-Guinchay, and did not stop until he reached the Maison-Blanche. The spot was exactly as Valensolle had described it, and was admirably adapted for an ambuscade.
The Maison-Blanche stood in a tiny valley between a sharp declivity and a rise in the ground. A little rivulet without a name flowed past the corner of the garden and made its way to the Saone just above Challe.
Tall bushy trees followed the course of the little stream, and described a half-circle, inclosing the house on three sides. The house itself was formerly an inn which proved unproductive to the innkeeper. It had been closed for seven or eight years, and was beginning to fall into decay.
Before reaching it, the main road coming from Macon made a sharp turn.
Montbar examined the locality with the care of an engineer choosing his ground for a battlefield. He drew a pencil and a note-book from his pocket and made an accurate plan of the position. Then he returned to Macon.
Two hours later his groom departed, carrying the plan to Morgan, having informed his master that Antoine was the name of the postilion who was to take the coach from Macon to Belleville. The groom also gave him the four screw-rings and the two padlocks he had purchased.
Montbar ordered up a bottle of old Burgundy, and sent for Antoine.
Ten minutes later Antoine appeared. He was a fine, handsome fellow, twenty-five or six years of age, about Montbar's height; a fact which the latter, in looking him over from head to foot, remarked with satisfaction. The postilion paused at the threshold, and, carrying his hand to his hat in a military salute, he said: "Did the citizen send for me?"
"Are you the man they call Antoine?" asked Montbar.
"At your service, and that of your company."
"Well, you can serve me, friend. But close the door and come here."
Antoine closed the door, came within two steps of Montbar, saluted again, and said: "Ready, master."
"In the first place," said Montbar, "if you have no objections, we'll drink a glass of wine to the health of your mistress."
"Oh! oh! My mistress!" cried Antoine. "Can fellows like me afford mistresses? They're all very well for gentlemen such as you."
"Come, you scamp!" said Montbar. "You can't make me believe that, with your make-up, you've made a vow of chastity."
"Oh! I don't say I'm a monk in that particular. I may have a bit of a love-affair here and there along the high-road."
"Yes, at every tavern; and that's why we stop so often with our return horses to drink a drop or fill a pipe."
"Confound it!" said Antoine, with an indescribable twist of the shoulders. "A fellow must have his fun."
"Well, taste the wine, my lad. I'll warrant it won't make you weep." And filling a glass, Montbar signed to the postilion to fill the other.
"A fine honor for me! To your health and that of your company!"
This was an habitual phrase of the worthy postilion, a sort of extension of politeness which did not need the presence of others to justify it in his eyes.
"Ha!" said he, after drinking and smacking his lips, "there's vintage for you--and I have gulped it down at a swallow as if it were heel-taps!"
"That was a mistake, Antoine."
"Yes, it was a mistake."
"Luckily," said Montbar, refilling his glass, "you can repair it."
"No higher than my thumb, citizen," said the facetious postilion, taking care that his thumb touched the rim of the glass.
"One minute," said Montbar, just as Antoine was putting his glass to his lips.
"Just in time," said the postilion; "it was on its way. What is it?"
"You wouldn't let me drink to the health of your mistress, but I hope you won't refuse to drink to mine."
"Oh! that's never refused, especially with such wine. To the health of your mistress and her company."
Thereupon citizen Antoine swallowed the crimson liquor, tasting and relishing it this time.
"Hey!" exclaimed Montbar, "you're in too much of a hurry, my friend."
"Pooh!" retorted the postilion.