Sir Percy Leads the Band

23 THE RIGAUDON

Now then "allons enfants de la patri-i-i-e." The crowd in a high state of excitement had pushed open the great gates of excitement had pushed open the great gates of La Rodière-these were never bolted these days- and marched up the stately avenue bordered by a double row of gigantic elms which seemed to be waving and nodding their majestic crowns at sight of the motley throng. Ahead of them all marched the musicians, blowing with renewed gusto into their brass trumpets or sending forth into the frosty atmosphere prolonged rolls of drums. Only the fiddler was not in his usual place. He had dropped back on the other side of the gate in order to fit a fresh length of catgut on his violin to replace a broken one. But he was not missed at this juncture, for the other musicians appeared bent on proving the fact that a fiddle was not of much value as a noise-maker when there were trumpets and drums in the orchestra.

Up the crowd marched and mounted the perron steps to the front door of the mansion. They pulled the chain and the bell responded with a loud clang-once, twice and three times. They were themselves making such a noise, shouting and singing, that probably poor old Paul, rather scared but trying to be brave, did not actually hear the bell. However, he did hear it after a time and with shaking knees and trembling voice went to get his orders from Monsieur le Marquis. By this time those in the forefront of the crowd had tugged so hard at the bell-pull that it snapped and came down with a clatter on the marble floor of the perron; whereupon they set to with their fists and nearly brought the solid front door down with their hammerings and their kicks. They didn't hear Paul's shuffling footsteps coming down the great staircase, nor yet his drawing of the bolts, so that when after a minute or two, while they were still hammering and kicking, the door was opened abruptly, the foremost in the ranks tumbled over one another into the hall. This caused great hilarity. Hurrah! Hurrah! This was going to be a wonderful afternoon's holiday! Onward children of la patrie, the day of glory has certainly arrived. Striving, pushing, laughing, singing, waving arms and stamping feet, the bulk of the crowd made its way up the grand staircase. Poor old Paul! As well attempt to stem the course of an avalanche as to stop this merry, jostling crowd from going where it listed. Some of them indeed wandered into the reception-rooms to right and left of the hall, the larger and smaller dining-rooms, the library, the long gallery and so on, but they found nothing worth destroying. They were not in a mood to smash windows or tear up books, and treasures of art and vertu had long since been put away in comparative safety. There certainly were a few pieces of furniture standing about, looking aloof and solitary under their dust-sheets, and one or two of the women with the French instinct for turning everything into money, turned these over and over, trying to appraise their value. But soon there came from the floor above such prolonged laughter and such hilarious shouts, that curiosity got the better of greed and the quest after loot was soon abandoned.

Upstairs the rest of the merry party, after wandering from room to room, arrived in the grand salon where close on four years ago now the remains of the late Marquis de la Rodière had rested for three days before being removed for internment in Paris. On that occasion they had all come to a halt, awed in spite of themselves, by the somewhat eerie atmosphere of the place, the dead flowers, the torn laces, the smell of guttering candles and of stale incense. The crowd to-day, more jaunty than they were then, had also come to a halt, but only for a few moments. They stared wide-eyed at the objects ranged against the walls, the gilded consols, the mirrors, the crystal sconces and the chairs, and presently they spied the platform whereon in the happy olden days the musicians used to stand playing dance music for Monsieur le Marquis and his guests. The spinet was still there and the desk of the conductor, and a number of stands in gilded wood which were used for holding the pieces of music.

Amid much excitement and laughter the musicians were called up to mount the platform. This they were quite willing to do, but where was the leader, the fiddler with the grimy face and toothless mouth whose stentorian voice would have raised the dead? A small group who had wandered up to the window saw him stumping up the avenue. They gave a warning shout, the window was thrown open, and cries of "Allons! hurry up!" soon galvanized him into activity. He was lame, and dragged his left leg, but the infirmity did not appear to worry him. As soon as he had reached the perron he started scraping his fiddle. He was met at the foot of the staircase by an enthusiastic throng who carried him up shoulder high, and dropped him down all of a heap on the musician's platform. And a queer sight did this vagabond orchestra look wielding their ramshackle fiddles and trumpets and drumsticks. What a sight to stir the imagination of any thinking man who in the past had seen and heard the private orchestra of Monsieur le Marquis de la Rodière, dressed in their gorgeous uniforms covered with gold lace, under the conductorship perhaps of a Mozart or a Grétry. But the stirrings of imagination were the last things that troubled this hilarious crowd to-day. With much laughter and clapping of hands they ordered the musicians to play a rigaudon. Jacques, the son of the butcher of Choisy, a lad of thirteen with a humped back and the stature of a dwarf, was known to be a great adept at the dance and so was Victoire, the buxom wife of the cabaretier round the corner. They were commanded to perform and together they stepped forward, a comical pair, for Jacques's head only reached as high as Victoire's massive hip and his short arm could not conveniently encircle her waist.