The Rainbow Bridge Read Online Free PDF Page A

duty to identify and expose such vipers as pose a threat to our community, and then either destroy them or draw out their poison. At the moment of your arrival it appears that just such a viper has appeared in our midst.
    ‘You see, he means me!’ snapped the Count. ‘The damned cheek – a viper!’
    Monsieur Morteau raised his hand again. ‘We should not be too hasty. Perhaps he was afraid that this note might be intercepted. I think it is a warning, not a threat. As Brouchard would say, “look at the flour between the grains.”’
    ‘Well, it sounds like a threat to me,’ the Count blustered.
    Monsieur Morteau read on:
    Today the citizens gathered for the Summer Festival will march on the winery. You will hear many voices and many demands. I order you not to try, under any circumstances, to buy safety for yourself by offering bribes of land. Neither should you yield to the temptation to curry favour by bribing the people with wine from your cellars.
    ‘What rubbish! I’d shoot the lot of them before I did that;where are my pistols?’
    ‘My dear Count, that is precisely what Brouchard is warning you against. Listen to what he says:
    You must realise that it is not your wine but your blood that stands at issue. If you value your lives you will await my command and then declare your patriotism, speaking out for the Revolution and for France.
    Yours etc, Jean Brouchard.
    ‘He means that the viper is out there?’ The Count asked. There was a surge of shouting outside.
    ‘Precisely, Monsieur le Comte. Listen to them, I think we should go and do what he says. We are all in danger.’
    ‘I still don’t like being ordered around by my miller,’ protested the Count.
    At that moment Gaston spoke from near the door. ‘My father is right, we had better go,’ he said. ‘They will force their way in if we don’t.’
    They stood immobilised, not by Gaston’s words, but by his appearance. To Colette it was as if a peacock had suddenly spread its tail. Even in the relative dark of the room, he glowed, a glorious splash of colour. His trousers were cherry-red, his dolman blue and silver, colours that were repeated in his pelisse, and the shako, which he carried under his arm. His sabre hung low against his sabretache, trailing the ground. Colette blinked.
    ‘Come on, everybody out onto the steps,’ the Count ordered, taking command again, hitching his borrowed trousers and busily hiding the lace of his cuffs by rolling up his sleeves. ‘I’ll give them patriotism!’ His hair was short and spiked from the effects of wearing a wig but there was no hiding his authority. As he strode towards the door he grabbed a bottle of wine and a glass from the table, and thrust them into Gaston’s hands. Colette followed them in adaze, her feet obeying where her mind failed. There was a howl of derision as the Count led the way out of the door onto the three broad steps before the house. Colette would have turned back if Gaston had not put an arm reassuringly across her shoulders. As the family mustered behind the Count, Gaston moved forward to stand beside him.
    ‘Hurrah for the toy soldier!’ someone shouted. Colette, unable to look at the mob, fixed her attention on Gaston’s back. Her mind oddly detached, she counted the bands of braid on his back while the leader of the crowd raved. His words meant nothing to her but there was something in their tone that intrigued her. Then she understood; this was how she would have sounded if she had succeeded in using Margot’s vulgar language this morning. The man was trying to sound common, but he was no commoner. The crowd was getting bored with his ranting; a coarse voice started calling for wine, and others took up the call. Suddenly a louder voice cut through the clamour.
    ‘Declare yourself, Citizen. Are you a traitor or are you not?’
    ‘It’s Brouchard, my miller. Damn him!’ Colette heard the Count exclaim. Even the rabble was impressed at the miller addressing his own